Education: Ad Valorem . . .

To anyone who had never seen it, Christian Theological College “in the heart of New York” sounded like an impressive place. It had a Latin motto (“Ad Valorem Divinitatis”‘), a fancy slogan (“A Christian College for the Christian People”), and some snappy school colors (white and old gold). Cried its catalogue: “Today, through seven years of sacrifice, the College boasts a fine library, spacious offices in three cities, five extension Classes, a faculty of accredited teachers and alumni scattered all over the world. But yet there is room for more!” Its admissions policy managed to sound both selective and generous at the same time: “Only students who have committed their lives into the Lord Jesus Christ and His Service . . . are accepted . . .” But, added the catalogue: “NONE TOO OLD TO TAKE THE COURSE.”

The Christian Theological College might have gone on for some time ad valorem divinitatis, had not its president covered too much territory. For eight years the president, a stocky little Puerto Rican named William De Jesus, had been drawing relief checks from the New York City Department of Welfare. Yes, he would admit, he was a “college president.” But his college collected no fees, and he himself headed it as an act of Christian charity. He claimed to be an epileptic, unfit for ordinary work. Last August the Department of Welfare decided to investigate.

“Toys & Translations.” The college, it turned out, was no charity. It owned a shabby building on the edge of Harlem. There, behind a store front plastered with signs (“Apartments for Rent,” “Translations,” “Travel Agency,” “Toys,” “School Supplies,” “Notary Public”), President De Jesus had sold enough academic degrees to bring in at least $8,000 in two years.

De Jesus obviously knew his business. Though he himself had graduated only from a Puerto Rican grade school (he came to the States in 1935), he soon learned how to make up for any lack of education. From something called the Institute Biblico de San Jose in Costa Rica, he got a certificate (by mail) and began calling himself “Reverend.” Later he received a mail-order Certificate of Honor from the “Ohio Bible Institute” and the degree of Master of Bible Philosophy. Then the “National Bible College” at Grand Forks, N. Dak. sent him a Doctor of Divinity degree.

De Jesus had also been lucky. When he set up his own college and filed a certificate of incorporation with the New York County clerk, no one noticed that he listed only five trustees instead of the necessary seven, or that no justice of the state supreme court had signed the certificate.

Pastor or Bachelor. As the months passed, the college sold at least 300 degrees to students who sent in the proper number of “freewill offerings.” There were doctorates of law, divinity, philosophy, theosophy and Bible study. There were such titles as “evangelist,” “missionary,” “pastor,” or just plain “bachelor.” There was a blank certificate which students could have filled in any way they wanted.

Last week the law caught up with De Jesus. He was arrested, finally consented to an injunction dissolving his college as an illegal corporation; he would still face charges of the Department of Welfare for having accepted too much relief. But there was no injunction to stop his hundreds of students from using their titles and degrees for whatever purposes suited them—the man who paid $1.25 to become a “missionary,” the one who paid $65 for a “Bachelor of Theosophy” degree, or the one who gave $100 to call himself “Doctor of Divinity.”