The story of the Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg '35 is becoming increasingly well-known throughout the world. How as a 31-year-old Swedish National Guardsman he volunteered to go to Budapest in June 1944 to 
use diplomatic means to save as many Jews as possible from German and Hungarian Nazis. How he used American funds, Swedish neutrality and his own courage and ingenuity to provide protective papers and passports that helped at least 20,000 Jews escape death. How he was seized in January 1945 by Soviet soldiers upset over his connections with US intelligence, spirited to Moscow and never seen again. How his former friend and colleague Per Anger and others believe he lived long after the 1947 date that the Soviets give as his date of death in prison. How a few suggest he could even be alive today in what would be his 86th year.
These bold strokes from the life of the Swedish hero and U-M alumnus outline why the University's Wallenberg Endowment Committee commemorates his life with a lecture series bearing his name. The committee also awards the Wallenberg Medal to a humanitarian of "exceptional courage and determination" and provides summer grants to one or more graduate students pursuing research on a humanitarian topic.
When Anger, who served side by side with Wallenberg in Budapest, received the award in 1995, he stated in his lecture that "many of the ideals" that inspired Wallenberg's wartime decisions "were formed during his years in Ann Arbor." Wallenberg, whose family of bankers, shippers and industrialists has been dubbed "the Rockefellers of Sweden," lost his father, Raoul, when the younger Raoul was only 5 years old. 
His grandfather, Gustaf, raised him, and it was he who insisted that Wallenberg attend an American university because the old ambassador disliked the snobbery at Oxford and Cambridge and felt Ivy League schools were also too elitist.
Raoul was interested in architecture, and he and his grandfather decided U-M's architectural school [now the College of Architecture and Urban Planning] and location would give him the all-round educational and social foundation that would fit him for leadership in the international business world. Nonetheless, the youth felt the decision had perhaps unnecessarily condemned him to exile in a dull, rural backwater.
Excerpts from the letters Wallenberg sent to his grandfather illustrate the growth of the young man's personality and his observations about and attitudes toward "my little Ann Arbor." His last local address was 1021 Hill St., close by the architectural school, which was housed in what is now Lorch Hall.
Ann Arbor, Michigan, November 7, 1931.
Dearest Grandfather,
I think what you intended by sending me here was not so much to acquire the skill to build skyscrapers and movie houses as to acquire a desire to build them! In other words: to catch some of the American spirit that lies behind their technological and economic progress.
I am convinced that it was a smart decision to join a debating society within the College of Engineering and Architecture. Each week we have a long and thoroughly prepared debate, which is good practice for my English, extemporaneous speaking, and public debating skills.
I still have about $105 left from what you gave me, apart from the letter of credit. The largest expenses so far have been: registration $163, train fare $38, rent until beginning of December $28, school supplies $50, and somewhere under $1 per day for food. Except for movies there have been no unforeseen expenses.
November 21, 1931
Yesterday was so-called "black Friday," the day when all new freshmen and the upperclassmen go out into the streets yelling and fighting. The freshmen are the butts of all kinds of ridiculous jokes. It doesn't seem too fashionable at the moment, though: I was left alone, in any case.
One thing that has struck me is that all the offices and workplaces are filled with very stern-looking older and younger women. As a rule they are nice and quite knowledgeable. They also have more backbone than most of the men. I have noticed the same thing in school: the female students are much better prepared and less conservative than the boys ... I'm almost beginning to understand why American women's organizations are so powerful.
December 25, 1931
I traveled the entire distance between Ann Arbor and Greenwich, near New York, by bus, and the trip took almost 27 hours. It was pretty tiring, but far more interesting than going by train. A round-trip ticket only cost $14.85, compared to the $37 that I paid for the one-way train ride New York/Ann Arbor last fall!
I'm having a good time here [Greenwich], and the parties and dances I've been attending are a pleasant change from my somewhat monotonous life in Ann Arbor.
I like this big city atmosphere very much, and I'm not particularly looking forward to going back to my little Ann Arbor. The Colvins are very pro-American, and I have learned more about the real America in my two weeks here than during the whole term in Ann Arbor, where there is never any serious discussion.
April 9, 1932
You asked about my daily life in your last letter. I must confess that I hardly have one. I get up around 7. If I have time, I eat breakfast at the Michigan Union. It often includes grapefruit, which has become my favorite fruit. Two days a week my classes start at 8 and the other days at 9. I have a full schedule, and classes go until 5. Many of my friends have now joined these so-called fraternities, so I don't see as much of them at mealtimes as I used to.
Getting in the paper is otherwise not particularly noteworthy here, because they print long stories about anybody and anything. If a few students go to a factory to flirt and pass their time, a couple of columns immediately appear about how a "student group investigated social conditions of the working class," with pictures of all the participants and their comments reproduced in full. ... All this hoopla about students is part of their student government policy, which is that the students should--not govern themselves--but act as if they governed themselves.
Almost all the educated people that I know here, especially those studying architecture, are appalled by skyscrapers and standardization and straight roads, which they find ugly, and the factories which lack poetry, and jazz music, which they hate.
June 4, 1932
Looking back on the academic year I find that I've had just a wonderful time. The climate has been considerably better than its rainy reputation, actually better than at home. I have lots of friends whom I like very much. People have been very nice and treat me well. My schoolwork has, on the whole, paid off not only when it comes to grades, because that isn't too important, but because I really feel that I've learned something. You remember that before I came here, I argued that our institutions were better than American schools. But now I find that apart from the intended benefit, which was that I come to America to catch its spirit, I've also been getting a technical education that isn't inferior to what I would have gotten in Sweden. And at least it isn't marred by laziness.
July 12, 1932
Summer school has been great so far. The boys who will be graduating next year or have finished their studies, and who only need to put in their required practical time, are working as architects in a make-believe architectural firm set up by the school. The professors are their bosses, presenting them with rough ideas to flesh out. We underlings do all the detail work. This is much more fun than ordinary school, because this way everyone is a little cog responsible for an area of his own. We work eight hours a day but have no homework, which is nice.
December 24, 1932
It's been raining here nonstop for the entirety of the Christmas vacation. Most of my friends have gone home, and the town is deserted. I'm spending almost all my time sleeping, which feels good after such an exhausting term, and writing to my family, which I didn't have time for during the term. My plans for the vacation call for studying hard, but so far I've been too lazy to get started. I'm going to tackle it though--tomorrow, or maybe next week. Never postpone until tomorrow what you can postpone until the day after! Now there's a good vacation philosophy.
February 24, 1934
There's been a lot of grumbling and gnashing of teeth among the students because money that was to have gone for enormous construction projects in Detroit under Roosevelt's program has now suddenly been withdrawn and their hopes for finding employment faded again. Many of my friends have found work in private industry, however, so it may just be that things are picking up.
April 10, 1934
The depression is either definitely over or at least interrupted. ...Many of my friends who graduated in February have found employment, and others who had had to lead a very frugal life up to now because their parents were so poor have suddenly received large checks from home. The NRA [National Recovery Administration] codes have affected prices so much that the man in the street can see a clear difference. ...Most of the banks that had closed down have opened again, and you find an enormous number of new cars on the streets. The newspapers have become considerably fatter because of increased advertising. Magazines have also gotten heavier, due largely to increased advertising by manufacturers of alcoholic beverages. Ann Arbor, which is very Republican, is dry again, and no beer is served after midnight. Nor are you allowed to dance and drink beer at the same time. But the state has opened a store where you can buy what you want during daylight hours. You see very little drinking.
I feel so at home in my little Ann Arbor that I'm beginning to sink down roots here and have a hard time imagining my leaving it.
November 13, 1934
I've enjoyed being here so much that I'm sad at the prospect of leaving in February, even though I'm obviously happy about going home. I'm now finishing my final course in architecture. This past month we've been working with so-called "cheap housing." The problem calls for constructing 16 city blocks, with space for 4,500 people. The entire area--at least in my project--is designed as a park in which there are four-story laminated buildings. We are also to include two churches, a school, a childcare center, a "community center," stores, a fire station, etc.
January 1, 1935
I have spent this entire Christmas in Ann Arbor, as I had quite a lot to do, writing my thesis in architecture and also completing a rather elaborate notebook in a course on decorative design that I am taking. Everybody leaves town within a few hours of the last classes before Christmas, and from then to the seventh of January the place is like a tomb. However, I have been busying myself rather constantly with my work, and I haven't bored myself at all. We have been having a fine weather, snow most of the time and a few days of quite severe cold. One morning something peculiar happened. Due to changes of temperature, I presume, the street pavements, lawns, and even tree trunks were coated with a layer of perfectly clear ice almost an inch thick. It looked very strange and very beautiful.
The prospect of leaving the United States does not please me at all. From the way you talk and write about it I feel that you became just as infatuated in it as I have. It is a wonderful place and I am sure I will long to go back to it.
To tide me over the dreariness of the vacation I have borrowed a radio, which affords me a great deal of pleasure. American radio performances are quite wonderful, going constantly from early morning until late at night. The quality is also very high, and one can at any time hear good classical music if one does not like the jazz music which of course accounts for most of the programs. Yesterday afternoon, that is during the last day of 1934, I heard the midnight New Year's celebrations from Manila in the Philippine islands. It came through absolutely clear, due to the use of short-wave transmission. Another musical pleasure which Ann Arbor offers is Handel's "Messiah," which is sung every year at a free concert for 5,000 people at the University Auditorium. I have heard that now ever year since I came here. It is a wonderful piece of music. I don't think there is anything I would rather hear.
January 26, 1935
I had my last day of school yesterday. It felt very peculiar to end these pleasant and interesting years of study in America. I have had a wonderful time and the parting was very sad. The next weeks are taken up with examinations. I am quite fearful for the outcome of one subject, concrete, where, by the force of circumstances I had to take a harder course than my program required. Everything hinges on the final examination next Thursday.
Times still seem to be getting better and better, at least in the Detroit area, where automobile production is leading all industries in a small boom.
February 11, 1935
I'm now entirely done with school and busy working on my thesis, which seems to be taking longer than I'd expected. I find it somewhat difficult and futile to write about a subject like Sweden when there is nobody to talk to and match wits with. As a result I am proceeding slowly and without much enthusiasm. My grades have come in and they are a bit lower than usual. One of them seems to be a mistake, but I'm not going to bother about it. However, I'm all finished with school and that continues to amaze me.
My thoughts of Sweden had been lying dormant for three years and now suddenly they are breaking out in full bloom, and I'm actually dreaming about home every night. I long to get back soon to see my parents and everybody else.
Letters and Dispatches, 1924-1944, by Raoul Wallenberg, translated by Kjersti Board, was published in 1995 by Arcade Publishers, New York, in association with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.
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. . . Spring 1999