UD Magazine

The year was 1787. Powdered wigs and buckled shoes were all the rage. People spent their evenings binging on almanacs by the hearth in an 18th-century version of ‘Netflix and chill.’ And the Constitutional Convention—a sweaty summer of debate, compromise and impassioned gesticulating with quilled pens behind locked doors—had just concluded.

A woman reportedly asked Ben Franklin, fresh from this convention, what type of government he and his fellow delegates had outlined for the newly minted United States of America. “A republic,” he responded. “If you can keep it.”

The message was clear: Survival of this system would not be automatic. Such a wild, unprecedented experiment was going to require vigilance from citizens, ongoing participation and—perhaps most notably in Franklin’s mind—education.

Now, as the nation marks its 250th anniversary, it’s easy to see how far we’ve come—and how far we have left to go. Those quilled pens have been usurped by touch-screen technology (invented by a Blue Hen!); closed-door debates replaced by televised sparring that unfolds in real time. But, to many, the great American experiment feels as tenuous as it did to Franklin more than two centuries ago. Years of protesting and fractured discourse mean this milestone moment demands not just celebration, but reflection. How do we safeguard those American ideals in these polarized times?

Enter the University of Delaware. As one of the first universities in the country (located in the First State, no less), UD’s mission is bigger than geometric equations and the rhetoric of Cicero (although both would have been part of the curriculum in those early days). It was to graduate adults capable of stewarding American ideals: freedom, civic engagement, opportunity.

But making sense of their efforts requires understanding UD’s beginning as a modest colonial school with outsized influence. In 1743, a Presbyterian minister by the name of Francis Alison felt troubled by a lack of advanced learning opportunities in the region. He believed that young men, if they were going to become principled leaders in church and society, would need a solid grounding in languages, philosophy, ethics and theology. So, with backing from fellow Presbyterian leaders, he opened the Free School at New London, colonial precursor to UD.

In a class comprising fewer than a dozen students, three went on to sign the Declaration of Independence. One of these men, George Read, also signed the U.S. Constitution. A precedent was set—ever since the 18th century, UD has been shaping citizens who thoughtfully engage with public life: governors, judges, diplomats, even President Joe Biden.

Modern Blue Hens will be forgiven for generously deploying this information at dinner parties or over happy hour drinks at Deer Park Tavern. But UD’s ties to the founding of the nation are more than a cool bit of trivia.

“They are a reminder that we have a responsibility to uphold.”

Lisa Gensel
University Archivist

The University isn’t merely a pipeline for the labor market—this place treats history as obligation; education as infrastructure for democracy. Consider the work of UD’s small-but-mighty Delaware Center for Civics Education. Here, Blue Hens coordinate programs that help the state’s K-12 students understand not just the mechanics of government, but their role in sustaining it. The center recently partnered with the Delaware Department of Education on an $8.7 million federal grant—Literacy for the People—that will train 120 teachers over five years to deepen students' civic knowledge while strengthening their ability to navigate a chaotic media landscape.

"Kids are encountering misinformation all over the place, and that’s toxic and overwhelming," says Scott Abbott, the center's assistant director. But he finds hope in small victories: a teacher reporting that her students now interrogate each other's sources during class discussions before accepting a claim. It's exactly the kind of critical thinking born in candlelit chambers.

“In Delaware, we have power of place,” Abbott says. "Students can stand where the founders once stood. That's not just history—it's a reminder that they're part of this ongoing experiment."

This type of community engagement isn’t accidental. It dates back to 1867, just after the Civil War ended. The nation was rebuilding, and the government wanted universities that would serve the public good—institutions focused not on educating elites behind ivy-covered walls, but on making knowledge accessible to everyday citizens. This, legislators believed, is how a fractured nation would heal and grow. Federal parcels were sold to fund the community engagement work of designated “land-grant” institutions, including UD. Ground Americans had bled to defend would now be harnessed for the good of the Republic. 

While the values supported by SBDC (Individualism! Autonomy! Charting your own course!) are unmistakably American, UD also leans into another, seemingly opposing ideal: communal care. For all the celebration of personal agency, the U.S. has long wrestled with the tension between self-determination and responsibility to others. UD embraces this duality, advocating that one can pursue independence and personal growth while still anchoring themselves in a supportive community, where mutual respect, shared resources, and care for the most vulnerable are as essential as freedom itself.

At UD, this work coalesces in the Community Engagement Initiative, which develops partnerships across the state to make communities safer, healthier and more informed. Michael Vaughan, who leads the program, cites UD’s Healthcare for All initiative, which provides mobile cancer screenings across the state, as well as UD’s Early Head Start Program, which supports low-income pregnant women and young families. 

“We see ourselves as a catalyst of impact,” Vaughn says, adding that reciprocity is key. None of this is about working on these communities; it’s about working alongside them toward a shared vision of success. 

“We don’t want to merely push out information without context,” he says. “This means listening, really listening, to understand what the needs are—and then rolling up our sleeves and getting to work. It’s about bringing hearts and minds together to make a difference.” 

As Vaughan puts it, the University has an obligation to deliver a return on the public’s investment—one that is visible in more resilient neighborhoods, stronger civic institutions and communities better equipped to meet the moment. If the American experiment depends on citizens willing to do more than cast a ballot—citizens willing to listen, to build, to partner, to serve—then the work unfolding across UD’s campus is not extracurricular. It is democracy in motion.

University of Delaware Magazine

Volume 34, Number 1
April 2026