They came, they taught, they stayed: Le Mars absorbs Westmar faculty

A former biology professor could be spotted painting part of a mural for a display at the Plymouth County museum. A previous Westmar P.E. instructor might now be seen leading an eighth-grade civics class. A former creative writing professor is now stringing beads rather than words at a Le Mars bead store.

More than a few professors and instructors that graced the halls of Westmar adapted themselves to openings in Le Mars after the college closed in 1997. Westmar drew them here, but when it left, they decided to stay.

Lunch matters

Kolleen Queener was living in Seattle when a friend told her about a job at Westmar. She took the position in 1988, teaching creative writing and freshman composition, and running the tutor center.

"I figured I'd never have the guts to move across the country again, so I did it," she said.

It turned out to be a good move for her. She taught at Westmar full time, then part time while she spent time at Iowa State finishing her Ph.D. In terms of atmosphere, she favored Westmar.

"Lunch was great. I know that sounds weird, but the faculty were really good about eating lunch together," she explained. "You'd get to know people in other departments, and it was a really good way to learn about teaching."

Westmar also afforded the chance to really get to know students, she added.

"I'm still friends with some of the students that worked in the tutor center," she said.

Nearly 20 years later, the college is gone, but Queener is still here. The short story: she got married.

The fellow, Randy Becker, was teaching art at Westmar then. He started there in 1987 after growing up in Le Mars.

In their time, they saw a lot of faculty come and go, some seeing Westmar as a stepping stone to larger institutions, Queener said, but there were some that kept their place at Westmar for years.

"The people who stayed, stayed on purpose," she said. "They really believed in the idea of a small college, and some even saw it as an act of service to teach here. They saw it as a place worth sticking with."

The day faculty were told the college was closing is burned into Queener's memory. People had always thought Westmar was "about to close," but still she was shocked.

"Then they told us on Oct. 9 that not only would they be closing in the middle of the year, which was unheard of, we were supposed to accelerate classes to finish the semester early," she said. "It was a real challenge to teach under those circumstances. Students were scared about what was going to happen to them."

They weren't alone in that. The faculty were also wondering about the quickly-approaching horizon.

Queener and her husband chose to adapt to Le Mars.

"In the first year, Randy and I had like nine W2s between us," she laughed.

Her husband had started refinishing wood floors before the closing and picked up work with that. Now he also teaches graphic design at Buena Vista University. As for Queener, she continued to teach, finding openings in other towns she could commute to.

"But driving to Orange City and Sioux City got to be a pain in the neck," she said. Now she handles beadwork at Beads in the Back downtown.

From student to teacher

For Dave Copenhaver, who grew up in New Jersey and eventually taught computer science at Westmar from 1986 until it closed in 1997, it was actually classes that first drew him to the college. Though he already had his degree, he enrolled in classes as a non-traditional student in the computer department.

Working then as a night computer operator in a Cherokee packinghouse, he commuted to Le Mars to take courses for a few years.

"And that opened up opportunities to become part of the Westmar family, first working there and then teaching," he said. "When I started teaching, I moved here. I figured being an instructor, I should be in town."

The environment of Westmar was what drew him in.

"I liked all the students, developing those relationships," he said, remembering trips to computer programming contests or science days. "And graduation was always interesting. It was fun to watch students make that step."

He still keeps in touch with some of his students today.

"And I liked all the activities that go with a college -- the drama department, and the dance they had toward the end."

He was even part of the Gourmet Club, a group of faculty and staff and their spouses that would put together a fancy meal each month.

Even with the good times, Copenhaver remembers the stresses that faced a college the size of Westmar.

"Finances were always a problem, and enrollment," he said.

And that made job security less than perfect.

"It's something we lived with in a school that size," he said. "And that's not unique to Westmar -- other schools that size have the same issue."

When the announcement for closing Westmar came, Copenhaver wasn't completely surprised. The rumblings had been coming, and the college had almost closed several other times, he said.

Then there were the multiple administration changes, as Westmar tried to "re-define" its identity, he recalled.

"Then once you can't get accreditation, it's just a matter of time," he said, speaking of Westmar's struggle in the last years to be accredited, plagued by governance issues.

"Still, the suddenness of the whole thing, when things were going to end, that was a shock," he said, echoing Queener's sentiment.

For eleven years, Westmar was home, Le Mars was home.

For Copenhaver, it was personal connections that made him decide to stay in Le Mars post-Westmar, commuting to a new job in Orange City, although he had to leave teaching behind.

Now he works in advertising at the Daily Sentinel in Le Mars.

In his blood

Like Copenhaver, biology professor Wayne Marty first came to Westmar as a student.

He would later give 35 years as an educator and years after that as a de facto historian for the place.

Marty came to Le Mars as a college freshman in 1949, moving here from a farm by Luverne, Iowa, near Humbolt.

Even though he was from out of town, Westmar was practically in his blood. Four of his five siblings attended the college, as did some of his cousins, and in the 1923 freshman class, four of his aunts were enrolled.

"We didn't do any college search, essentially," he laughed. "We just knew we would go here."

After graduating from Westmar in 1953, Marty left Le Mars for six years, teaching two years of High School, completing his master's degree at the University of Iowa, then returning to town in 1959, teaching at Westmar for more than three decades. In 1962, he earned his doctorate.

"The administration at that time was very supportive in helping me as I continued completing that degree," he said.

And the faculty, he said, was a very close knit group, especially in the 1950s and 1960s, when many of them were even from the same denomination of church.

"We went to ball games together, we went to church together, our social life became somewhat 'inbred,'" he laughed.

The late '60s and early '70s were some of the best times, as he recalls.

"Enrollment was up, we had a larger faculty and we were doing creative things, we started the January interim term," he said. "Then the college started having financial struggles in the '80s and more in the '90s. I saw some good people go."

Marty retired in 1994, but he planned to stay in Le Mars.

"We had so many long associations with Westmar the institution and the people, the faculty and students. Valuable connections."

He was visiting Texas, however, when he heard Westmar was closing its doors. The announcement, he said, wasn't so much of a shock in the sense that Westmar had faced economic challenges for the 10 years leading up to it.

"But I was somewhat surprised," he remembered. "Homecoming had just occurred a few weeks earlier and the perception was that everything was wonderful, they communicated that everything was fine, upbeat."

Although he was no longer on Westmar payroll at that point, he was still involved as the alumni representative on the Westmar board.

And he was on the county museum board at the time as well. From there he started collecting pieces of Westmar and its story to preserve.

"Being an alumni as well as a faculty member, it seemed like a natural thing," he said.

Now he keeps up on Westmar history, writing for the alumni newsletter, and he's part of the WAFA, or Westmar Alumni and Friends Association, which he predicts will someday be a "Last Man's Club" as each graduating class grows older.

One project he's taken on his writing up history on each of the buildings. As a former Westmar biology professor, one building has a special connection for him: the Kime Science Center.

"I was involved in the planning and building of Kime," he said. "It's very hard to see that building where we spent so many good years now sitting idle."

In the end, though, he said. It's just stones. He's not spending his time mourning the loss of the college.

"I think I accept Westmar as an institution, not a living soul. Institutions come and go. They're buildings," he said. "It is the spirit we all retained that will continue on."