Two students, sixty years apart, reflect on their Westmar memories

(Sentinel photo by Beverly Van Buskirk) The Westmar Memorial Park was established on a part the former campus property as a way to remember the college and display many memorial items and gifts from classes from around the campus. [Click to enlarge]

Even though it's been more than 70 years, Cliff Perry is still proud of his time as a "grub lugger."

"That's what they used to call us farm kids," the Le Mars man explains. "There were only six or seven of us kids who'd commute every day from the farm to the campus, carrying our own lunch."

"We lugged our own grub, so to speak," he says with a laugh. "Gotta watch every penny when you were going to school."

Perry enrolled at the then-Western Union College (later known as Westmar College) in 1936 at the height of the Great Depression and in the midst of a record-shattering drought across the midwest.

Beginning its life as the Northwestern Normal School in 1887, the Le Mars Normal Association was founded, five years later, on what would become the Westmar Campus.

In 1900, the property was sold to the United Evangelical Church, which began Western Union College.

"It was highly unusual for someone with my background to receive any sort of higher education," Perry says. "I wanted to become a journalist and this was considered a religious college, full of PK clubs."

"Y'don't know what a PK Club, is?" he mentions playfully. "That stands for 'preacher's kids.' Western Union had a whole lotta preacher's kids."

Even though he felt like somewhat of an outsider, Perry was appreciative of having a school of higher learning that was affordable and so close to home for the rural Le Mars native.

"As long as I had my 1928 Chevy roadster," he laughs, "which if I recall ran on a dollar's worth of gasoline a week, I was going to take full advantage of it."

For Perry, college held out a promise that a world of opportunity could be found just a short distance from home.

In the case of Ginger Ivanov, that promise came thousands of miles from her birthplace and more than half a century later.

"I had spent my entire life in New Jersey," the Class of 1997 Westmar graduate explains. "Coming to Le Mars where everybody was so open and so friendly was a bit of a culture shock for me."

"It sorta freaked me out," she admits.

But, in a short amount of time, Westmar became "home" to the transplanted Easterner.

"Now, I can't imagine living anyplace other than in the midwest," the now Sioux Falls- based Ivanov maintains.

A gifted athlete, Ivanov was attracted to the college because of its athletic programs.

"I played soccer there for four years," she recalls, "and coached for one. I also played basketball for two years."

"The athletic competition and the camaraderie that I experienced there are some of my most cherished memories," Ivanov contends. "That is, outside of the birth of my three children."

Although she realize her school was going through a tumultuous time, Ivanov says she was unaware of how bad things were becoming.

Westmar's peak enrollment of 1,000 during the mid '60's gradually leveled off to little more than half that by the time the college reorganized with Japan's Teikyo University in 1990.

Although the influx of Japanese students onto the now-renamed Teikyo-Westmar University campus caused enrollment to increase, the result was too little, too late.

Financial shortfalls became more the norm when the school was sold to California businessman Robert Driscoll and renamed itself Westmar University in 1995.

The next year, the City of Le Mars passed a $1.6 million bond to pay for Westmar's operating budget and a $4.25 million bond for its assets as it became the college's new owner.

With gift giving falling $571,000 short of anticipation, student revenue $313,000 short of anticipation, and the 586 fall student enrollment bringing a 57 student shortfall to meet their budget, Westmar was forced to close its doors in 1997.

"It was a shock," Ivanov remembers. "We knew things had been bad but thought we had turned the corner."

"The end came so abruptly," she says sadly, "it was just a shock."

Many of the friends that Ivanov made at Westmar, she says, are still her friends today.

"I stayed in Le Mars for a few years," she explains, "and it made me extremely sad. I really feel that the town is a shell of what it once was because the college brought so much vitality to the place."

"It still saddens me that I'll never been able to go 'home' again," Ivanov observes. "People will ask where did I go to school. 'Westmar? Where's that?'"

"It still hurts knowing that your school is no longer there," she adds wistfully. "You can never go home again."

Despite it all, Ivanov says she will always remember her time at Westmar with great happiness and fond memories.

As will Cliff Perry.

Even though it's been more than 70 years since he attended college, Perry still remembers his role in the Westmar Homecoming Parade as if it were only yesterday.

"Since I was one of the few students who had a car," he remembers, "I was nominated to propel the 'Grub Lugger' float in the parade."

Perry's '28 Chevy roadster carried the float which contained a baby's bed and a sophomore by the name of Vincent Buss.

"Vince was attired only wearing a diaper and carrying a baby bottle with a giant nipple attached to it," he laughs. "On the side of the float boasted the command: 'We're Crying for a Victory -- BEAT MIDLAND!'"

Perry takes a little time to chuckle at the memory.

"We didn't win the game," he says, shaking his head, "but, boy, did we have fun."

"The stories that I took away from college have stayed with me for a lifetime," Perry says with a mischievous grin. "Westmar may be gone but its influence and the memories will never go away."