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Web Exclusives:
Under the Ivy March 24, 2004: President
Patton The spot in the Princeton pantheon of presidents between James McCosh and Woodrow Wilson is an unenviable position. Francis Landey Patton, the occupier of that difficult slot, was a gifted man: keenly intelligent, witty, gentle, and pious. In the end, though, his modesty and his resistance to change kept him from equaling the legends of his predecessor and successor. Born in Bermuda in 1843, Patton studied at the University of Toronto and then at the Princeton Theological Seminary. Shortly after he was ordained as a Presbyterian minister in 1865, he married Rosa Antoinette Stevenson of New York City, of whom an alumnus later wrote in PAW, “No one can come into the same room with her without feeling the exquisite charm of her presence; she could, I verily believe, make a saint out of a sinner.” Patton served as a minister in various places in New York and in Chicago before accepting a professorship in 1872 at a seminary north of Chicago, now known as McCormick Seminary. According to The Princeton Companion, one of his responsibilities was to protect the traditional wing of the church from a liberal faction that was gaining power in Chicago. “Thin, bespectacled, wearing side whiskers, a white lawn tie and a black frock coat, Patton looked every bit the part he was called to play,” records the Companion. Two years after his appointment Patton led the prosecution at a heresy trial of the leader of the liberals. Though he lost the case, the Companion notes, he “gained a great reputation as the eloquent champion of orthodoxy,” which he would maintain his entire long life, writing in his 1926 book Fundamental Christianity, “We cannot change Christianity; we may reject it if we please, but its meaning is plain.” In 1881 Patton returned to the Princeton Seminary, and just seven years later was selected by the trustees of the College of New Jersey to succeed the beloved James McCosh as its president. Though Patton and his wife were popular with the students of the “golden nineties” — the Class of 1891 sent Mrs. Patton a cablegram every year on her birthday, to which she replied in 1938, “Mrs. Patton 92 sends grateful thanks to Princeton 91” — Patton was overseeing the college at a time of tremendous change. The student body and faculty more than doubled in size, illustrious new scholars arrived, new buildings proliferated, and “campus life,” as manifested in the eating clubs and in athletics, particularly football, gained importance. In 1896, during the college’s sesquicentennial celebration, these many changes were symbolized by a significant name change, to Princeton University. Yet, according to the Companion, Patton still ran the institution like a small school, working from his home office at Prospect with the help of a single dean. He resisted curriculum change and came to be haunted by a quote, taken out of context from his very first presidential speaking engagement, in which he said, “I am not prepared to say that it is better to have gone [to college] and loafed than never to have gone at all, but I do believe in the genius loci,” going on to extol the atmosphere of learning present at a college. Critics excerpted the first part of the quote, “It is better to have gone and loafed than never to have gone at all,” and Patton became known as lax about scholarship. In 1900 the Graduate School was organized, and its dean, Andrew Fleming West, took full control. By 1902 Patton was forced to accept the will of the trustees that he was not the man to lead the new university into a new century, and somewhat reluctantly resigned, while giving his full support to successor Wilson (who would come to regret the amount of power given to West upon the founding of the Graduate School). Just a few months later, however, Patton was named president of the seminary, a position he held for 11 years (leading one to conclude that the notion of change was not as favored down the street from Nassau Hall). In 1913 he and his wife retired to Bermuda, where he continued to write and lecture until his death in 1932. Despite the turmoil leading to his departure, he remained beloved by his students, and as the Companion notes, he kept his wit; when once asked if he had any connection to the University, he replied, “Yes, indeed, I am President of Princeton University – once removed.”
Jane Martin ’89 is PAW's former editor-in-chief. You can reach her at paw@princeton.edu
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