By the time Lou had made her presence to Bob of weightier concern, another young woman appeared on the scene to distract the first-year lecturer of history, this at Michigan State College (later university) in the fall of 1952.9 Lila was a student of Ferrell’s in an undergraduate American history course in his first semester there (see Figure 2.1). The attractive, young coed captured her teacher’s attention, at least in part, because she wore a red dress, sat near the front by the window, and excelled at history.10 Bob favored blondes as did Ferrell men generally, and Lila fit the mold. Lou and Lila were only two of several that the MSC history teacher would entertain during these early years, which raises the question whether in fact he had designs on any one woman or merely enjoyed the company of a variety.11 But available correspondence throughout this period provides evidence that these two, Lou and Lila, were the primary foci of Ferrell’s romantic interest from 1952 through 1956.
Figure 2.1 Lila Sprout, a graduate of Michigan State College, had been a student in Ferrell’s history course in the Fall, 1952; she worked as his office assistant in the Spring, 1953. Source: Courtesy of Carolyn Ferrell Burgess.
The Lou and Lila courtships represent, as did the episodes on how young Bob found his way to Yale and the anomaly of his war service, the postmodernist repartee against that of Bob’s unitary, coherent, truthful approach to stories of the past. The extant evidence, particularly from Ferrell’s correspondence, suggests that at least two stories vied for the truth, and even more, it is possible that one truth dominated at times against the other, depending on the volatility of his relations with either or both girls. The two competing stories documented in the letters are that Robert Ferrell was a playboy or that he was desperate, on his way to matrimony. Other evidence suggests too, at times, Ferrell played hard-to-get or was just too hard to please.
An added part of the intrigue highlighted in his engagement with these two love interests was their training and commitment to the profession of social work.12 This adds more paradigmatic richness because Ferrell-type traditionalist historians were fighting a battle against an onslaught of social science disciplines (e.g., political science, sociology, psychology, statistical demography, economics, among other fields) that were muddying the boundaries and the distinctive contributions and outlook of formally trained chroniclers of the past.13 American historians were also opening new avenues of interest and pursuing stories, those of racial and ethnic minorities and women (by women), that Ferrell’s preparation and/or personal biases had dismissed. Ferrell found himself fighting battles on both professional and personal fronts: The ambitions of professional, career-oriented, future potential mates, and the interdisciplinary mix that underlay their career training, particularly sociology and psychology, set against its encroachment on the young professor’s work.14 A significant strand among these complexities, however, was a simple truth. Ferrell wanted a 1950s-era traditional wife, mother, and family caretaker, not a working professional equal.15 As he wrote a friend and former history professor at BGSU, “Above all, I want just some common, ordinary person who will cook potato soup and talk sense. No cocktail parties and sophistication.”16
Before turning to the main thrusts discussed here, in this era of the “Me-Too” movement, it is useful perhaps to address the potential for unwarranted accusation borne of the historical notion of presentism, that professors in the 1950s who engaged their students romantically were somehow unethical or predatory or unworthy of the profession, as the alarm is raised today. It is fair to say that while these relationships can be problematic to all concerned, the result in many cases, especially at mid-twentieth century, were long-lasting, reasonably felicitous marriages. To this point, an older history department colleague, Maurice Baxter, shared the following insights with Ferrell soon after the Yalie had joined the IU history faculty. Bob passed on the full context to Lila in a letter:
Baxter saw me [Ferrell] coming out of a bookstore, and so brought me home in his car, after which we sat around and talked for a couple hours. . . . He turns out really to be quite a good person. He kept asking when I planned to go to Washington (for the American Historical Association meeting), so finally I broke down and told him that it was after you [Lila] arrived. This reminded him, he said of how he got married (not, he added, that he was suggesting such a thing to me). It seems that he picked his wife out of the junior—no, it was the sophomore class here [at IU], and married her when she became a senior. After that she took her M.A. in history and started work in the library. . . . The way he got acquainted with his wife was by playing bridge!17
The chronological narrative of Bob’s early-to-mid-1950s love life, its nod to postmodernist allegory, and the intriguing mixture of parallel professional antagonisms is the story told here. The conflicting disciplinary angst of these antagonisms was borne of the underlying expertise thought to make social workers something beyond amateur do-gooders and similar disciplinary confusions mucking up Ferrell’s conception of the discipline of history.18
Few details remain of the first meeting between Bob and Lou during the summer of 1951 wedding celebration.19 Reflections years later, however, reveal a restive attempt by the first-year history lecturer to learn more about his cousin’s former roommate. What he came to discover in the initial courtship was perplexing yet worthy of pursuit.20 Bob shared his thoughts and optimism with family, childhood friends and colleagues. His dad learned of the budding romance perhaps at first after his son borrowed a car to use on an outing with Lou. The oldest son wasted no time after the date, writing, “I don’t know where I stand with this girl [Lou], although I would marry her if the chance presented itself.”21 Such boldness may have reflected some desperation, given his younger, only brother’s success creating a family, and of course, the coming-of-age professor had arrived at middle age.22 To friends Kit and Bob, Ferrell confessed that when Lou came to see him during a Christmas break in Washington, D.C., “I don’t know where I stand [with Lou],” but that he “was all ready to go,” yet she “was not.”23
Lou certainly had qualities that recommended her to Ferrell as a first-class future wife. One gets the sense of this as the young MSC history lecturer introduced her to his dad.
Her name is Loueva Pflueger (what a name!) and she comes from a very small town in Nebraska. She has an M.A. from Smith College in Massachusetts, a very good school—in fact, considered at the top for girls’ schools in the East. . . . As for the social graces, she is the sort which could travel in any sort of company. She knows how to act in all occasions. . . . No smoking, no drinking; and a lukewarm Lutheran.
Lou’s physique and age were less endearing (“rather tall and quite thin” and “26 years old”), and these along with occupational choice, a social worker (“a dead end for any girl . . . where [one] meets few eligible men”), marked her, in Ferrell’s mind, as reaching the upper limit to find a mate or “be left out.”
In their early exchange of letters, the history lecturer cum professor fumbled a bit in describing the desirability of social work.24 The confusion as Ferrell described it stemmed from his belief that social work and by extension its workers were plying a trade long thought within the Christian duty to care for those less fortunate, yet social work training and professionals tried to dress themselves up in scientific garb. Recognizing social work as a “Christian calling,” and “demanding some Christian principles to serve as fixed points for purposes of guidance,” would demonstrate the unnecessary resort to finding best practice through science.25 Of course, social work did have deep roots in religious efforts to ameliorate social conditions. Lou attempted to meet Ferrell half way: Nonjudgmental psychology had to be practiced within a sensible ethical framework.26 By the end of 1954, Ferrell would learn a lot about the intricacies of social work from both Lou and Lila, and its demands came in conflict with what the rising star in history circles wanted from a potential mate. Part of the science of social work training, in practice, came from psychiatric consultants who coached social workers, most of whom were women that they must push beyond society-sanctioned roles. For Ferrell, this seemed to be the case with Dr. C. in Lou’s training, requiring that she become “an emancipated female of the sort