Juan David Campolargo

Paul Schroeder

Paul Schroeder was a student at the University of Illinois in the late 1960s, a period when the university was not just a place where students attended class, but a living battlefield over what education was supposed to mean.

People often label him a "student activist." That is true, but incomplete. The word “activist” can make a person sound like a professional protester, someone who simply opposes things. What I admire about Paul is something larger than opposition: his vision. He envisioned a better university and fought for that vision, which transformed the university and continues to inspire generations far into the future, including, of course, yours truly.

What I admire most about him is his willingness to act on his convictions. Paul wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, follow his conscience, or pursue a life aligned with his values. When he first arrived on campus, he began as an accounting major, a choice reflecting societal and parental expectations more than his own desires. Realizing this path didn't resonate with his true self, he switched to political science, a major he felt was more appropriate.

He wasn’t scared of deviating from the standard career path or pursuing nontraditional jobs. At various points, he drove a mail truck around Champaign, remodeled houses, and took on other forms of manual labor. Eventually, fifteen years after graduating, he went to library school and became a librarian. Yet, throughout every job and every life stage, Dr. Schroeder never stopped fighting for the ideas and visions he believed were right. In recent years, he’s actively worked in his home state of Maine, tackling environmental justice issues, challenging harmful corporate practices, and advocating tirelessly for the public interest. He and his wife, Mazie, also owned and operated Happy Acres Hall, a local dance hall.

When I first wrote about Paul, I misunderstood one important factual point. I described him too directly as part of the Heuristics class and the production of The Whole University Catalog.

He corrected me.

Paul was not directly involved in the Heuristics class, and he was not directly involved in the production of The Whole University Catalog. That happened in the fall semester of 1969. At that particular time, he was in California until mid-October, then traveling to Montreal and Toronto in early November, then back in Champaign from mid-November 1969 until about February 1970, before beginning work for the Sixth Illinois Constitutional Convention in Springfield.

He was also not directly enrolled in the classes that followed, with one important exception: he was part of the second semester of the Cybernetics of Cybernetics class in spring 1974.

So the accurate version is not: “Paul made The Whole University Catalog.”

The accurate version is more interesting.

Paul was part of the wider conversation that made projects like that possible. He was in close touch with the students and teaching assistants involved in those classes. He moved through the same reform circles. He shared the same questions. He knew the people. He stayed connected to the discussion even when he was living elsewhere.

And, crucially, he was with Bruce Badenoch when Bruce brought up the idea of the Heuristics class to Heinz von Foerster. Paul now describes Bruce as the catalyst.

That word matters: catalyst.

A catalyst may not be the final product. It may not appear on the cover. It may not receive the credit later readers try to assign. But without the catalyst, the reaction may not happen.

That is the more precise way to understand Paul’s relationship to the 1960s movement that changed the university. He wasn’t the author, direct producer, or official participant in the fall 1969 class. He was something subtler and, in some ways, more powerful: a person inside the living network of conversations, frustrations, friendships, and visions from which those projects emerged.

Authorship matters. But atmosphere matters too. Paul was part of the atmosphere.

To me, Paul Schroeder’s life reflects a consistent effort to live according to his values. He reminds us to stay true to ourselves, to pursue our vision of the future relentlessly, and to live life fully engaged with the world around us.

How I Met Him

I was destined to meet Paul Schroeder. I’m not exactly sure why, but it was going to happen whether I wanted it or not. Looking back, it makes perfect sense because it was a period in my life when I was deeply reflecting and actively working on ways to change the campus culture.

I tell the story of how it all happened in my first email to him.

In fact, here’s my first email I sent to Paul Schroeder:

Hello Mr. Schroeder

Your name has popped up everywhere in the last few weeks. In many ways, I am a modern-day Paul Schroeder. That is a weird thing to say because we're similar due to your non-conformist nature, your ability to make connections, and your desire to challenge the status quo.

My name is Juan David Campolargo and I'm a current engineering student at UIUC. A little about me: I write, am the author of Generation Optimism, started several companies, and created The UIUC Talkshow, The UIUCFreeFood, among many other things.

Let me give you some context. I got the intuition to learn about Buckminster Fuller which led me into cybernetics, and which then led me to the BCL, and just a few weeks ago, it led me to the Whole University Catalog, and I continue to be blown away at every step of this journey of curiosity.

I'm especially interested in The Whole University Catalog because it's one of those things that you cannot ignore and serve as an awakening moment.

Stewart Brand described the Whole Earth Catalog as a tool for “the individual to conduct his own education, find his own inspiration, shape his own environment, and share in his adventure with whoever is interested.” In the same way, The Whole University Catalog was the unofficial guide to the U of I.

But why are we interested and why now? We need a new narrative for students to thrive, the number of depressed students who don't know what they want to do in their life is through the roof. People don't need to know what they want to do but it's come to a point where the university has lost its essence where students are just focused on internships, clubs, and just finding a job. But what about doing what you truly want to do and following your curiosity? That has been lost, and it's quite sad, especially at a place like the U of I.

To which he replied:

It is kind of you to say ‘modern-day me’; there may be some reflections, but I'm glad you're being you.

In the same email, he also wrote:

Were you aware that Stewart Brand of the Whole Earth Catalog financed the production of the 1974 class book Cybernetics of Cybernetics?

He also mentioned that Buckminster Fuller provided the design structure that later became the core visualization for his PhD.

It all came together, connections from every angle, like a wave function collapse.

But what was even crazier was that, just two weeks later, I happened to be in a class that had invited him and his friends to speak about those very times and the amazing things they did.

Quite unbelievable.

From that moment, a relationship unfolded. I began learning more about the history of the 1960s, researching what it was all like, and was introduced to many fascinating ideas and people from his circle. We learned from each other, shared stories and photographs from the places he had lived, and discovered unexpected similarities.

He has supported several of my projects, read essays I published, and consistently offered perceptive thoughts.

Truly one of a kind.

Badass Moment

The first time I heard about Paul Schroeder was when I read his March 1968 convocation address.

It described the same thoughts I was having, and what was even more interesting was that it happened in the same college I was in.

I’ll let you read it:

Why?

Why did those students walk out, so quietly, from this place? You must be able to see that there is something wrong.

Why are we students forced to walk out on our University, on the society that produced us? Our University is simply not listening to the critical questions of our age. Our educators were schooled before Hiroshima, before Watts and Detroit, before automation and anonymity, before university education was provided for all facets of society, except the Blacks.

Governor Kerner sits with us today. His commission only repeated the obvious: our society is diseased. I and thousands of students question the priorities of a nation that devotes to a senseless war resources badly needed to cure the disease at home.

Students chose me to come today to talk with you. They did not pick me because I follow a party line, or because I am a radical, or because I know the answers. I am simply a student who spent four disappointing years at the University of Illinois.

The University has not fulfilled its responsibility. It never taught me how to ask a question. I was told; I was lectured to. I was asked to accept the answers to yesterday‘s questions. In some rare instances teachers have looked at me, expecting something new to come out of my head. I failed them, and myself.

By the most important standard , the development of critical minds, this University has failed us. It has led many students to really believe the recent industrial recruiting ad which said: “College is a waste of time unless you find a job that turns you on.”

But I am not looking so much for a job as for some guidance in solving for myself the critical questions of my duty to my society and to myself. This is a people ‘s university, and it must fill the needs of Illinois and the nation. Are the technicians produced here really the men with vision who are needed to lead our country?

Formal classroom structures are out of phase with reality, and we students are painfully aware of this. You teachers feel that the questions of your era are important today. It isn‘t so. We students want to be heard, we cry out to you in our need, and we see no one is listening.

The duty to teach the future generation how to question has been neglected for a long time. What has been the result?

The United States suffers from a crisis in criticism. Society is full of people conditioned only to the acceptance of authority. Thoreau told us of the existence of unjust laws, and asked why the government “does not encourage its citizens to be on the alert to point out its faults?”

This principle was affirmed when American self-righteousness led to the condemnation at Nuremberg of Germans who unquestioningly obeyed the orders of their government.

What is the status of these principles today?

It is clear: The man who questions is a dissenter, a “Nervous Nellie;” the man who obeys is a patriot.

Secondly, we are in a crisis of direction. Technologically we accomplish the possible, regardless of its rationality. We use more and more sense to do the more and more senseless. Who is directing our progress?

Someone today must accept personal responsibility to build a more sensible society.

One hero of students today is Regis Debray, a man who lives his ideals. He says: “To judge an intellectual it is not enough to examine his ideas; it is the relation between his ideas and his acts which counts.”

Students must begin to act. We are members of the University, and are capable of analysis of its flaws. We must begin revolutionizing the educational process.

Without our participation the faculty, the administration, and the government will continue to be unable to provide for our needs.

Following this Convocation I invite all students to meet outside the Assembly Hall to walk together to the Union. There we will join with others in trying to decide how to build education for a new century. We want to humanize the University, to introduce critical thought, to restructure the University into units which are vital and personal. We want to learn with our teachers, and not merely from them. The pleasure of creative scholarship must be found.

Students must join together. We can not bring about changes by asking the administration or the faculty to do the job for us. We must build for ourselves. We can create in our own lives the relationships and critical attitudes the University is not providing. Only then have we accepted our responsibility.

Faculty and administrators, join with us, and listen to us. We have needs, and we will begin to satisfy them. The urgency of the moment is the result of past frustrations. We can not wait. The drift from the sterile academy has begun. The gowns of dead tradition are being shed. Let us all work together not so much to liberalize the present order, as to gain our liberation from it.

—Paul Schroeder, Convocation Address, March 1968.

What a speech!

Michael Metz documented the scene in Radicals in the Heartland. It was the university's hundredth anniversary. The Assembly Hall. Four thousand people. The president. The governor of Illinois. Every dignitary of the institution could gather in one room to celebrate itself.

Schroeder was the only student on the agenda. They gave him four and a half minutes.

Every speaker before him praised the university. When his turn came he stood up, unzipped his academic gown, took it off, and laid it on the chair next to him. Then he told the room that "by the most important standard, the development of critical minds, this university has failed us" and that "someone today must accept personal responsibility to build a more sensible society." Then he invited everyone to walk out with him.

Years later Metz caught up with him. Schroeder said he misspoke about those four disappointing years. That "all of us found the place coming up short when measured against what it really needed to be or what it could be. And yet my years there weren't really disappointing. If anybody had fulfilling, enriching, growth-inspiring years at Illinois, I would have to say that I had them." He added, "I probably more regret saying I had four disappointing years than I regret taking off my academic gown."

I disagree. The university failed students then, and it continues to fail students today. Paul managed to use that failure as a way to learn something deeper, something beyond the institution itself.

But I understand what he means. Looking back, those four years were full of learning through action, precisely how I feel. Like a good dramatic love story, it's complicated; from that struggle and dissatisfaction came something meaningful.

It’s strange. From something bad, you created something good. So now you can’t fully call it bad, because somehow it turned out good. That doesn’t erase the failure, but it complicates how you judge it.

Advice to Young People

Figure out what your vision is and follow it. Just see where you can go with it [...] and take your vision as far as you can.

—Paul Schroeder, Oral History Interview, 2019

Most Cherished Memory

When I met him, I was very excited. Naturally, I wanted to share that excitement and energy with my friends.

Earlier, I mentioned that Paul and his friends were scheduled to visit our class to talk about their time as students. They had all been students or graduate students at the university and were involved in anti-war organizing, civil rights work, feminist movements, and efforts to change how the university operated. They drew inspiration from figures like Heinz von Foerster, Herbert Brün, and the Whole Earth Catalog, whose ideas emphasized experimentation, self-direction, and learning beyond formal structures.

Secretly, they were hoping they'd inspire at least a few of us.

The day before their visit, I texted a bunch of my friends whom I thought would genuinely enjoy meeting Paul and his friends. When the day arrived, my friends began to arrive one by one, eager, ready to listen and learn. A faculty member worried that bringing in extra guests would change the room’s atmosphere and limit the students officially enrolled in the class. I understood the concern, but I also felt the moment was bigger than the roster. My friends had come to listen, and the whole point of the university, at least to me, was learning that overflowed the administrative container. Meanwhile plenty of the students who were actually supposed to be there were just on their laptops.

She clearly wanted my friends to leave. But no one was going anywhere. I stood my ground. When she finally said something, I asked, “What’s wrong with learning? Isn’t that the whole point of being in the class?”

As the class got underway, Paul and his friends began sharing stories, and it was fascinating. Their lives were fearless, fully lived, entirely free of the typical meaningless college worries. They spoke about the different paths they’d taken: direct organizing, conscientious objection, dropping out, and pursuing alternative careers in teaching, library science, and art. One person, Jeff Glassman, especially caught my attention when he described his work in experimental theater. He also shared how, during college, he decided to travel the world, and actually did it. In a world dominated by internship anxieties and carefully tracked career paths, Jeff’s story was an example of the kind of things you can do.

These speakers were unlike anyone I had ever encountered during college. They had very similar thoughts and experiences, like the ones I was having.

Reflecting now, I realize that it was during this time, in the spring of 2023, that the idea was planted for The Jailbroken Guide To The University. A seed that has kept growing ever since, driven by the question: How can we awaken ourselves—and others—to truly live?

When the speakers finished, it was time for questions. My friends and I eagerly jumped in, firing questions left and right. This again made one of the professors uneasy. She tried to redirect the conversation back to the pre-submitted, boring homework questions, hoping other students would participate. Few did. Eventually, Paul and his friends gently took back the conversation, reopening the floor for genuine, thoughtful exchanges.

When the class officially ended, I didn't want the conversation to stop. I approached Paul, excitedly suggesting I interview him and his friends on The UIUC Talkshow. He had an even better idea: “Gather anyone you want, and let’s just talk.”

So, once again, I invited anyone I thought would appreciate meeting these fascinating people. More than twenty of my friends showed up, filling a room to talk freely about college, life, dreams, inspiration, and what we truly wanted. It was one of the most magical moments during my time at UIUC. A genuinely open and unguarded conversation between friends.

They talked about challenging rigid university rules—pass/fail grading, course evaluations, curfews—and the personal costs that sometimes followed: arrests, stalled careers, and long environmental fights. Still, they kept going.

My friends shared their own frustrations. One electrical engineering student talked about being blocked from design courses by rigid prerequisites. Others described a persistent sense of meaninglessness and a desire for movements that felt as alive as those of the 1960s. Someone talked about building a Latin American aerospace network.

We all responded with mutual curiosity, and they shared a quiet but powerful little secret with us: young people, with their conviction, energy, and fresh perspectives, can and should challenge existing systems, just as they had done in their youth.

They encouraged us to find faculty allies who could open doors, sponsor independent, personalized studies, and bend the rules for you. They emphasized the strength of small, committed groups, explaining how their greatest successes came from intimate cohorts meeting consistently over the years. They advised collaboration over competition, suggesting we build communities that freely share knowledge rather than competing for narrow prizes. Additionally, they reminded us to expand beyond the campus "bubble," suggesting we engage meaningfully with local and global communities. Above all, they urged us to redefine success beyond material goals, advocating for a life filled with learning, curiosity, and authenticity.

That conversation, and the reflections and gatherings that followed, remain one of my most cherished memories at UIUC. It was one of the experiences that quietly reoriented how I thought and saw the world.

And it all happened on March 28th, 2023.

What I Took Away

The lesson I take from Paul is not simply “be an activist.”

That is too small.

The lesson is: figure out what kind of world you believe should exist, and then live in a way that helps bring that world closer.

Paul’s life shows that the university is not a finished object. It is a living system, shaped by the people inside it. Students can change it. Faculty can change it. Conversations can change it. A speech can change it. A class can change it. A catalog can change it. A group of people in a room, talking honestly about what they want, can change it.

After he left the university, he realized the world works the same way. I hope you realize this now.

Paul’s story reminds me that the point is not to be rebellious for its own sake.

The point is to stay awake. To notice when the institution becomes deadening. To ask better questions. To find your people. To create what is missing. To keep your vision alive long enough that it begins organizing your actions.

This is what Paul did.

That is what this whole book is trying to help young people do.

Learn more

Front cover for The Jailbroken Guide to the University
Use the appendixThe back of the book is part of the book.

The appendix keeps the examples, guides, profiles, and source trails close. The book gives them sequence, context, and a way to turn curiosity into action.