Coming of Age
by Emily Carlson
While studying how humans adapt and thrive in their natural environment, the School of Human Ecology itself has evolved, paralleling a changing society and finding its place in academia.
When parents step into the UW Preschool Laboratory, they glimpse a world of make-believe, where balls of pink yarn become scoops of strawberry ice cream and where rectangular blocks turn into cell phones. To the outsider and even to the children, it's all play. But to the preschool's teachers and some university researchers, it's learning disguised as fun.
"It looks like play, but the children are busy learning everything," says Jackie Leckwee '75, MS'78, director of the preschool. "Pretend play is a huge component of what they do every day. They take on roles so they can understand them."
By turning a classroom's corner into an ice cream parlor, for instance, the youngsters learn about colors, flavors, shapes, money, and how to interact with others. This knowledge, nestled inside games and activities, starts children down the path toward discovering the world around them and the real roles they will play in it one day.
While studying how humans adapt and thrive in their natural environment, the School of Human Ecology itself has evolved, paralleling a changing society and finding its place in academia.
When parents step into the UW Preschool Laboratory, they glimpse a world of make-believe, where balls of pink yarn become scoops of strawberry ice cream and where rectangular blocks turn into cell phones. To the outsider and even to the children, it's all play. But to the preschool's teachers and some university researchers, it's learning disguised as fun.
"It looks like play, but the children are busy learning everything," says Jackie Leckwee '75, MS'78, director of the preschool. "Pretend play is a huge component of what they do every day. They take on roles so they can understand them."
By turning a classroom's corner into an ice cream parlor, for instance, the youngsters learn about colors, flavors, shapes, money, and how to interact with others. This knowledge, nestled inside games and activities, starts children down the path toward discovering the world around them and the real roles they will play in it one day.
This educational philosophy applies to more than just the preschool. In fact, the School of Human Ecology (SoHE) — the administrative parent of the preschool — has followed this style of learning for nearly one hundred years. When it offered its first courses in the spring of 1904, students spent class time cooking in laboratory kitchens and sketching different room arrangements.
Someone peeking through the windows of South Hall, where the school started out, might have assumed these undergraduates - all of whom were women - simply played homemaker, just like the children at the preschool do today in small, plastic houses. But to people familiar with the home economics program, the young women who enrolled in the classes learned about chemistry, bacteriology, sociology, health, architecture, and economics. Their education taught them about the families and businesses that, in time, many would start.
Even though this learning disguised as "domestic science" leaves its students with just as much - if not more — knowledge about the world in which they live, the School of Human Ecology has struggled to be recognized for all its contributions by the outside world, including the university.
Over the years, this struggle has resulted in three administrative shifts, four physical moves, and four unique names. While each change has helped the school develop into what it is today, many people still think that its primary mission is to train the next generation of homemakers and home economics teachers.
Someone peeking through the windows of South Hall, where the school started out, might have assumed these undergraduates - all of whom were women - simply played homemaker, just like the children at the preschool do today in small, plastic houses. But to people familiar with the home economics program, the young women who enrolled in the classes learned about chemistry, bacteriology, sociology, health, architecture, and economics. Their education taught them about the families and businesses that, in time, many would start.
Even though this learning disguised as "domestic science" leaves its students with just as much - if not more — knowledge about the world in which they live, the School of Human Ecology has struggled to be recognized for all its contributions by the outside world, including the university.
Over the years, this struggle has resulted in three administrative shifts, four physical moves, and four unique names. While each change has helped the school develop into what it is today, many people still think that its primary mission is to train the next generation of homemakers and home economics teachers.
"We want to have people understand what it is we do and that it's more than vocational training," says SoHE Dean Robin Douthitt, adding that only twenty of the school's current 1,009 undergraduates are preparing to teach life management skills at the high school level.
"The challenge is to get them to see us for who we are."
Today, SoHE resides on Linden Drive in a building that it once shared with UW Extension. With forty-two faculty, many of whom have joint appointments across campus, and eight majors within five departments, the school strives to improve the quality of human life by studying people in their natural environments. This is human ecology.
"All of the biological sciences now understand that living things are best understood by studying them in their natural habitats — where they live," says David Riley, SoHE professor of human development and family studies.
For Riley and other faculty on campus, the preschool laboratory is a perfect setting for studying child development in action. He says, "It's a natural habitat where we can study children through direct observation."
"The challenge is to get them to see us for who we are."
Today, SoHE resides on Linden Drive in a building that it once shared with UW Extension. With forty-two faculty, many of whom have joint appointments across campus, and eight majors within five departments, the school strives to improve the quality of human life by studying people in their natural environments. This is human ecology.
"All of the biological sciences now understand that living things are best understood by studying them in their natural habitats — where they live," says David Riley, SoHE professor of human development and family studies.
For Riley and other faculty on campus, the preschool laboratory is a perfect setting for studying child development in action. He says, "It's a natural habitat where we can study children through direct observation."
SoHE may have more space, students, and administrative independence than it did a century ago, but it upholds a legacy of education, research, and service centered on improving human life, particularly that of the family.
"A lot of what we do here is family related in the broadest sense," explains Douthitt. "As goes the family, so goes civilization. We're very proud that we've recognized this throughout our history." The focus during much of this history, however, has centered on women — improving their daily lives and expanding their future roles.
All this began in 1903, when UW-Madison received $7,500 from the Wisconsin legislature to develop a domestic science department. Part of the College of Letters and Science, the new Department of Home Economics offered its first classes the following spring. Courses included house sanitation, house decoration, selection and preparation of foods, dietetics, and household economy. All thirty-four students were women.
While they would learn about domestic activities, such as decorating and cooking roast beef at the proper temperature, the students were required to complete one year of college chemistry before admission to the program. They were accepted under the same conditions as students applying to other programs. And, to graduate, the home economics majors had to take at least forty-seven credits in the sciences, including biology, physiology, and organic chemistry.
"A lot of what we do here is family related in the broadest sense," explains Douthitt. "As goes the family, so goes civilization. We're very proud that we've recognized this throughout our history." The focus during much of this history, however, has centered on women — improving their daily lives and expanding their future roles.
All this began in 1903, when UW-Madison received $7,500 from the Wisconsin legislature to develop a domestic science department. Part of the College of Letters and Science, the new Department of Home Economics offered its first classes the following spring. Courses included house sanitation, house decoration, selection and preparation of foods, dietetics, and household economy. All thirty-four students were women.
While they would learn about domestic activities, such as decorating and cooking roast beef at the proper temperature, the students were required to complete one year of college chemistry before admission to the program. They were accepted under the same conditions as students applying to other programs. And, to graduate, the home economics majors had to take at least forty-seven credits in the sciences, including biology, physiology, and organic chemistry.
These rigorous requirements established by Caroline Hunt, the department's founding director and first faculty member, set the school up as a training ground for not just wives and mothers, but also for scientists, researchers, and other professionals.
Hunt had trained in chemistry at the graduate level and conducted original research published by government agencies. Perhaps because of her experiences, she stressed the importance of grounding the home economics program in academics - not domesticity.
"Hunt set high standards for the curriculum. She and the other early women faculty members were scientists trained in economics, biology, and chemistry," says Douthitt. "They had a view of how important it was to open up opportunities for women in higher education. They themselves had worked so hard to get there."
From the very beginning, faculty and their students conducted research. The earliest project dates back to 1908, when Ellen Alden Huntington, assistant to Hunt, evaluated the "fireless cooker" - a precursor of today's electric slow cooker. Huntington, along with students in the department, performed a number of experiments to test the ability of foods to hold heat. They also determined the advantages of cooking food below the boiling point. And, just like students in departments across campus, those in domestic science wrote theses, often based on original research.
Hunt had trained in chemistry at the graduate level and conducted original research published by government agencies. Perhaps because of her experiences, she stressed the importance of grounding the home economics program in academics - not domesticity.
"Hunt set high standards for the curriculum. She and the other early women faculty members were scientists trained in economics, biology, and chemistry," says Douthitt. "They had a view of how important it was to open up opportunities for women in higher education. They themselves had worked so hard to get there."
From the very beginning, faculty and their students conducted research. The earliest project dates back to 1908, when Ellen Alden Huntington, assistant to Hunt, evaluated the "fireless cooker" - a precursor of today's electric slow cooker. Huntington, along with students in the department, performed a number of experiments to test the ability of foods to hold heat. They also determined the advantages of cooking food below the boiling point. And, just like students in departments across campus, those in domestic science wrote theses, often based on original research.
In some instances, the students carried out this research in one of the school's practice cottages, the first of which was purchased in 1911. Working laboratories complete with modern kitchens and living quarters, these cottages provided students with a simulated environment where they could apply and practice theories learned in their classes. For short periods, dietetics students lived in the cottage, where they planned, purchased, prepared, and served meals for themselves and two instructors. The kitchen, though, usually dished up more than dinner; it served as a chemistry laboratory for class experiments on food preparation, nutrition, and sanitation.
Looking inside the windows of the first practice cottage, which was originally located at the corner of Randall Avenue and Linden Drive, an observer might have spied a woman standing by the stove, setting the table, or washing dishes. Seeing her dressed in an apron - not a lab coat - the onlooker might have assumed the cottage was not a working laboratory, but a playhouse.
The school has always been committed to academics and research, but not many people have known this, says Douthitt. Many parents allowed their daughters to attend the home economics program, adds the dean, because they thought the young women would learn how to be wives and mothers.
"Many alumnae have said that they didn't choose this program, that their parents did," she recalls. "In many ways, the program made it acceptable for these young women to go to college." What parents didn't realize, says the dean, is that their children learned much more than vocations.
Looking inside the windows of the first practice cottage, which was originally located at the corner of Randall Avenue and Linden Drive, an observer might have spied a woman standing by the stove, setting the table, or washing dishes. Seeing her dressed in an apron - not a lab coat - the onlooker might have assumed the cottage was not a working laboratory, but a playhouse.
The school has always been committed to academics and research, but not many people have known this, says Douthitt. Many parents allowed their daughters to attend the home economics program, adds the dean, because they thought the young women would learn how to be wives and mothers.
"Many alumnae have said that they didn't choose this program, that their parents did," she recalls. "In many ways, the program made it acceptable for these young women to go to college." What parents didn't realize, says the dean, is that their children learned much more than vocations.
As the program pushed toward establishing an identity that reached beyond home economics, administrative moves altered its course.
In 1908, the board of regents voted to transfer the department from L&S to the College of Agriculture. The change also brought several physical moves — from South Hall to Agriculture Hall, then to the attic of Lathrop Hall, and finally to the east wing and fourth floor of the Home Economics and UW Extension building, completed in 1914.
"Moving us to the [agriculture] school was a major change," says Douthitt. "We took on more of a focus on homemaking."
But during this time, the department experienced its greatest growth in terms of courses, space, and outreach efforts. While it did not add a biochemistry program — as had been proposed by the department's second director in an effort to retain students interested in the sciences — it did create new majors in communications, and child development. It also added new facilities: practice cottages, a tearoom and cafeteria, and a nursery school that grew into today's preschool laboratory.
In all these places, students gained hands-on experience. At the nursery school, for instance, dietetics students prepared meals and watched the children eat, and students in child development observed the children at play and wrote reports on what they learned.
In 1908, the board of regents voted to transfer the department from L&S to the College of Agriculture. The change also brought several physical moves — from South Hall to Agriculture Hall, then to the attic of Lathrop Hall, and finally to the east wing and fourth floor of the Home Economics and UW Extension building, completed in 1914.
"Moving us to the [agriculture] school was a major change," says Douthitt. "We took on more of a focus on homemaking."
But during this time, the department experienced its greatest growth in terms of courses, space, and outreach efforts. While it did not add a biochemistry program — as had been proposed by the department's second director in an effort to retain students interested in the sciences — it did create new majors in communications, and child development. It also added new facilities: practice cottages, a tearoom and cafeteria, and a nursery school that grew into today's preschool laboratory.
In all these places, students gained hands-on experience. At the nursery school, for instance, dietetics students prepared meals and watched the children eat, and students in child development observed the children at play and wrote reports on what they learned.
The preschool also extended the department's growing commitment to outreach. Started at the behest of neighborhood mothers in 1926, the nursery school provided a learning environment and day care program for young children, whose parents were not necessarily affiliated with the university. As society's needs changed, so too did the preschool.
"In the old days, it was part time, part year," says Leckwee, the current director. "But as society changed — as more mothers went to work — we needed to be more flexible." Today, the preschool offers full-day programs throughout the year. Furthermore, growing interest in early childcare for babies and one-year-olds encouraged SoHE in 1999 to open an infant program at the preschool's second site, on Madison's west side. Leckwee says, "We're staying with the times."
Under the auspices of the College of Agriculture, the department served the community in other ways. It reached wives and mothers throughout the area with the radio show called the Homemakers' Program, which eventually aired five times a week on WHA. Students were involved in the sanitation, quarantine, and feeding of female influenza patients in 1918. And, during World War II, some students organized a Clothes Clinic to teach others how to repair and reuse clothing for conservation purposes.
"In the old days, it was part time, part year," says Leckwee, the current director. "But as society changed — as more mothers went to work — we needed to be more flexible." Today, the preschool offers full-day programs throughout the year. Furthermore, growing interest in early childcare for babies and one-year-olds encouraged SoHE in 1999 to open an infant program at the preschool's second site, on Madison's west side. Leckwee says, "We're staying with the times."
Under the auspices of the College of Agriculture, the department served the community in other ways. It reached wives and mothers throughout the area with the radio show called the Homemakers' Program, which eventually aired five times a week on WHA. Students were involved in the sanitation, quarantine, and feeding of female influenza patients in 1918. And, during World War II, some students organized a Clothes Clinic to teach others how to repair and reuse clothing for conservation purposes.
By 1941, the home economics department had 675 students. And, in 1947, it admitted its first male student, Paul Cleary '55 (he served in the Marine Corps from 1950 to 1953). He was not expected or even allowed to live in the practice cottage, at that time called the Home Management House.
Because of its continued growth, the university regents voted to turn the department into a school within the College of Agriculture. Effective July 1, 1951, it became the School of Home Economics with four departments: clothing and textiles, foods and nutrition, home management and family living, and related art. Four years later, the school added a fifth: home economics education and extension.
A campuswide advisory committee, however, suggested a different direction for the new school. In 1967, it recommended the school change its name to one that put more emphasis on research, and become an independent unit within the university. So within the next six years, the School of Home Economics switched to the name of School of Family Resources and Consumer Sciences, converted the remaining practice cottage into office and classroom space, and became an autonomous unit.
Because of its continued growth, the university regents voted to turn the department into a school within the College of Agriculture. Effective July 1, 1951, it became the School of Home Economics with four departments: clothing and textiles, foods and nutrition, home management and family living, and related art. Four years later, the school added a fifth: home economics education and extension.
A campuswide advisory committee, however, suggested a different direction for the new school. In 1967, it recommended the school change its name to one that put more emphasis on research, and become an independent unit within the university. So within the next six years, the School of Home Economics switched to the name of School of Family Resources and Consumer Sciences, converted the remaining practice cottage into office and classroom space, and became an autonomous unit.
Looking back on its history, Douthitt says, "Our legacy would have been different had we not become part of the agricultural school." But she admits that the program's independence marked a significant moment in the school's history. "Autonomy was important symbolically," she says. "We had always been looked upon as a women's program and seen as being incapable of running it. For the program to be autonomous and not perceived — whether real or not — as needing oversight by a predominantly male unit was a good thing."
However, one of the disadvantages of such independence, says Douthitt, is that the foods and nutrition program — originally part of the home economics department — remained part of the agriculture school, which by then had been renamed the College of Agricultural and Life Sciences.
"Most universities have foods and nutrition in human ecology," explains Douthitt. "This made our curriculum less interdisciplinary."
It might have lost a discipline or two, but the school's curriculum became even more diverse. With the focus shifting from vocational to professional training, courses reached into new academic areas, including financial planning and consumer economics. In 1961, the school offered twelve majors. Its department gained more independence in developing curricula, resulting in coursework geared toward specialties, such as interior and textile design. Beginning in the 1960s, the core curriculum included twelve credits of science-related courses. Today, students are required to take just nine.
However, one of the disadvantages of such independence, says Douthitt, is that the foods and nutrition program — originally part of the home economics department — remained part of the agriculture school, which by then had been renamed the College of Agricultural and Life Sciences.
"Most universities have foods and nutrition in human ecology," explains Douthitt. "This made our curriculum less interdisciplinary."
It might have lost a discipline or two, but the school's curriculum became even more diverse. With the focus shifting from vocational to professional training, courses reached into new academic areas, including financial planning and consumer economics. In 1961, the school offered twelve majors. Its department gained more independence in developing curricula, resulting in coursework geared toward specialties, such as interior and textile design. Beginning in the 1960s, the core curriculum included twelve credits of science-related courses. Today, students are required to take just nine.
"We're training fewer generalists than before, because that's what the market demands," says Douthitt.
The school has consolidated some of these majors. It now offers eight majors in retailing, consumer science (including personal finance and consumer affairs), textile and apparel design, interior design, family and consumer journalism, human development and family studies (with child development and family studies), human ecology, and family and consumer education. The majors span five departments: consumer science; environment, textiles and design; family and consumer communications; human development and family studies; and interdisciplinary studies.
These specialties, then and now, bring together faculty from a range of disciplines, often leading to unique interdisciplinary projects.
"I used to kid former Chancellor David Ward that he got the idea of the 'cluster hire' from us. We have always brought people together from many different disciplines," says Douthitt. Smiling, she adds, "We're delighted to see the rest of the campus doing it."
Along with more specialized research interests, new outreach efforts to improve the lives of women, along with their families, have emerged. While some reach only the university community, others reach globally.
The school has consolidated some of these majors. It now offers eight majors in retailing, consumer science (including personal finance and consumer affairs), textile and apparel design, interior design, family and consumer journalism, human development and family studies (with child development and family studies), human ecology, and family and consumer education. The majors span five departments: consumer science; environment, textiles and design; family and consumer communications; human development and family studies; and interdisciplinary studies.
These specialties, then and now, bring together faculty from a range of disciplines, often leading to unique interdisciplinary projects.
"I used to kid former Chancellor David Ward that he got the idea of the 'cluster hire' from us. We have always brought people together from many different disciplines," says Douthitt. Smiling, she adds, "We're delighted to see the rest of the campus doing it."
Along with more specialized research interests, new outreach efforts to improve the lives of women, along with their families, have emerged. While some reach only the university community, others reach globally.
In 1989, Douthitt, then an assistant professor of consumer science, helped to launch the Women Faculty Mentoring Program at UW-Madison. After learning through a research survey that female faculty members were twice as likely to resign as their male counterparts, Douthitt mailed letters to junior and senior women faculty asking if they would like to participate in a program designed to support the female teaching community at the university.
"I was bombarded with positive responses," recalls the dean. When the group gathered for its first meeting at the University Club, "the room was filled," she recollects. "Everyone just stood and smiled. It was the first time women faculty had come together," Today, the program includes about one hundred mentoring pairs.
A service project by human development and family studies professor David Riley targets a different audience — parents of newborns and toddlers throughout the world. Riley, along with UW Extension, developed a series of instructional newsletters mailed monthly to parents with infants. As "just in time" bulletins, the newsletters present parenting tips and information on infant development that's specific to certain ages.
Started in 1982, the newsletter now reaches more than forty thousand Wisconsin families with babies under one year old. About fifty thousand families in the state with children between one and three years old also receive the bulletin. Parents in fifteen other states, parts of Canada, and cities in Great Britain also receive it. Plus, English and Spanish versions are available on the Internet. The latter version, says Riley, receives about three hundred hits per day from Latin America.
"I was bombarded with positive responses," recalls the dean. When the group gathered for its first meeting at the University Club, "the room was filled," she recollects. "Everyone just stood and smiled. It was the first time women faculty had come together," Today, the program includes about one hundred mentoring pairs.
A service project by human development and family studies professor David Riley targets a different audience — parents of newborns and toddlers throughout the world. Riley, along with UW Extension, developed a series of instructional newsletters mailed monthly to parents with infants. As "just in time" bulletins, the newsletters present parenting tips and information on infant development that's specific to certain ages.
Started in 1982, the newsletter now reaches more than forty thousand Wisconsin families with babies under one year old. About fifty thousand families in the state with children between one and three years old also receive the bulletin. Parents in fifteen other states, parts of Canada, and cities in Great Britain also receive it. Plus, English and Spanish versions are available on the Internet. The latter version, says Riley, receives about three hundred hits per day from Latin America.
"The original goal of the parenting newsletter was to provide tips to parents in rural Wisconsin who were isolated from centers or resources," says Riley. "Combine the newsletter with its online presence, and suddenly we end up serving the whole world."
In a renewed effort to match its name to its far-reaching mission and interdisciplinary identity, the school underwent its most recent name change in 1996. It became the School of Human Ecology.
"Part of the reason for all the name changes is to differentiate ourselves from vocational training," says Douthitt. "When people hear home economics, they think high school home economics." But another important rationale for switching names was to align the school with similar programs at other institutions that vie for the same students and faculty, adds the dean. SoHE's competitors include Cornell University, the University of Minnesota, Penn State University, and Ohio State University.
Although the school now occupies all of the building it originally shared with UW Extension, plus the old practice cottage, the growing number of students, faculty, and their related research stretches the school's seams. Plans are under way to redesign the current building, establishing more space for projects. Douthitt expects this endeavor to raise the school's profile even more.
In a renewed effort to match its name to its far-reaching mission and interdisciplinary identity, the school underwent its most recent name change in 1996. It became the School of Human Ecology.
"Part of the reason for all the name changes is to differentiate ourselves from vocational training," says Douthitt. "When people hear home economics, they think high school home economics." But another important rationale for switching names was to align the school with similar programs at other institutions that vie for the same students and faculty, adds the dean. SoHE's competitors include Cornell University, the University of Minnesota, Penn State University, and Ohio State University.
Although the school now occupies all of the building it originally shared with UW Extension, plus the old practice cottage, the growing number of students, faculty, and their related research stretches the school's seams. Plans are under way to redesign the current building, establishing more space for projects. Douthitt expects this endeavor to raise the school's profile even more.
"Our faculty have spider legs across campus," she says. "While they and their research may be well known, their home base is not." She explains that the researchers, squeezed for space at SoHE, have established projects and centers elsewhere on campus. "What we're trying to do is bring resources back to the school so faculty can conduct their work here. Our research will be far more visible that way than having it diffuse on campus," she says.
During this remodeling, the Preschool Laboratory will expand into a more modern learning environment, as well as an updated research facility. "It'd be great to see a modern facility so the next generation of early childhood research can occur," says Seth Pollak, a UW-Madison psychology professor who studies emotional development. More than eight of his research projects have involved children who have attended
the preschool.
Whether outsiders looking into the school recognize all its depth may be beside the point. What counts, however, are the contributions it has made and continues to make to its students — may they be preschoolers or undergraduates — and society at large. Over the years, SoHE has trained teachers, researchers, and entrepreneurs. Its commitment to improving human life has been achieved every day for the last one hundred years through research and service-learning projects.
During this remodeling, the Preschool Laboratory will expand into a more modern learning environment, as well as an updated research facility. "It'd be great to see a modern facility so the next generation of early childhood research can occur," says Seth Pollak, a UW-Madison psychology professor who studies emotional development. More than eight of his research projects have involved children who have attended
the preschool.
Whether outsiders looking into the school recognize all its depth may be beside the point. What counts, however, are the contributions it has made and continues to make to its students — may they be preschoolers or undergraduates — and society at large. Over the years, SoHE has trained teachers, researchers, and entrepreneurs. Its commitment to improving human life has been achieved every day for the last one hundred years through research and service-learning projects.
"We're brought together by our mission of trying to enhance the quality of life," says Douthitt. "We're directed by our strong interests in teaching and research."
In the coming years, the school will continue to grow and evolve. Perhaps its name will change again or it will incorporate more majors into its overall curriculum. Perhaps passersby peeking through the windows of the new building will witness all the school's dimensions.
But one thing is certain: the school, whatever it's called or wherever it's housed, will shape the lives of the next generation of people who step inside.
In the coming years, the school will continue to grow and evolve. Perhaps its name will change again or it will incorporate more majors into its overall curriculum. Perhaps passersby peeking through the windows of the new building will witness all the school's dimensions.
But one thing is certain: the school, whatever it's called or wherever it's housed, will shape the lives of the next generation of people who step inside.
- Parents of newborns and toddlers can access Professor David Riley's research-based advice by reading his instructional newsletters.
- In 2003, the School of Human Ecology at the University of Wisconsin-Madison will mark its 100th anniversary. Learn about the people and events that made the school the vibrant educational and research institution it is today
- Trace the history of human ecology through archival material from one of SoHE's competitors for students, Cornell University.
