The Rough-and-Ready Eighties
They did such things and they said such things in theEighties that later generations find those doings and sayingshighly entertaining. We have heard of the mule in chapel,and even the mixup in organ pipes but we never heard ofthe revolver practice in the Webster House. But here arethese things and a great many more.
A SHORT distance from our home is the old Wayside Inn, now owned by Henry Ford, where Long fellow, Hawthorne and others from Concord foregathered, and whence came the Tales.
In a corner of the room, where these genial gentlemen met, is a remarkably fine, and even sumptuous, desk. A card on it says "Used by Daniel Webster during his college course at Dartmouth College, in a room of the Dorrance Currier House."
If a youth, even in my time, had such a piece of furniture, he would have had little space for his two chairs; to say nothing of its being a reason for hazing. I recall paying $7 to an impecunious senior for his desk, as he wished to get out of town. It graduated with me, and accompanied me to Chicago. I regret that it has escaped the notice of Henry Ford. It may be in some museum.
For two years I boarded at what was known as the Daniel Webster house, then occupied by Miss MacMurphy, a good friend of the boys. There was no such desk there, nor anywhere else, that I know of. To speak academically, it would have been an anachronism, and I don't see how Daniel got away with it.
I daresay the research department of the college can throw light on this piece of brie a-brae.
In harking back, one takes a chance of boring the present generation which does not always enjoy hearing their elders descant on the time when they were hewers of wood and drawers of water. We of the dim past never felt that ours was a bad case of primitive hardship. But there may be danger in referring to incidents of those years, as not setting a good example to posterity. It reminds me of the editor of a reform paper who said to his reporters, "Of course we must have the stories of murders, and other crimes, but always speak of them with regret, gentlemen, always with regret."
I can vouch for the authenticity of these simple annals of the poor, but it might be understood, of course, that I speak of them with regret. We must have history, even if we cannot approve of it.
STEALING TURKEYS
Ours was a somewhat care-free age,—a sort of help yourself era. Certain of the Norwich farmers thought it was carried too far, when, on a morning, they missed turkeys which had not been trained to roost high. With grim visage they would drive over to the president's office, demanding damages. These gatherings had a certain resemblance to some faculty meetings of the time. Prexy was supposed to know just where all the boys were at night, and who were the best climbers.
I recall getting mixed up with some climbers one night, and later ran in panic through the bridge. If the run had been officially recorded, it might have lowered the then ten and a quarter pace for the hundred yards. The "bird" was not with me, but was supposed to be in the vicinity. Until this moment I have refrained from referring to the incident, lest the heirs of the farmer might still be on the war path.
Perhaps a tragedy of youth is its thoughtlessness. During our freshman year a classmate, quite mature, made a desperate effort to get what many of us regarded lightly. He had no money for new shoes, and tied burlap over the old ones. He was said to eat oat meal exclusively and in his own room. He flocked by himself. He was letter-perfect in his recitations. Then he disappeared; he couldn't stand it.
It is said that J. Ramsay Mac Donald, prime minister of Great Britain, would have been a scientist if he had not broken down through working all day, studying most of the night, eating two light meals with a glass of water for luncheon. So it may be that our classmate, whose name I do not recall, became a statesman.
They say that being president of the United States is no sinecure. I cannot speak from experience, but Mr. Hoover, with his several secretaries, has the advantage of earlier occupants of the White House: so, with the former presidents of Dartmouth College. The prexy of our time had no secretary. He wrote all his letters in long hand, except for two successive winters when he fell on the ice and broke his right wrist. Then he learned to punch the old-fashioned caligraph with his left digit, and to make a legal signature with the same member.
Parents often wrote to him asking how many pillows and sheets their offspring should bring in entering the classic shades of the institution. He replied to all letters, but I cannot recall the number of sheets he recommended —another job for the research department.
But there were occasional compensations even in the life of a college president in that renaissance period.
ORIGIN OF WILD JACKASS
One Wednesday afternoon when the head of the college arrived at old Dartmouth Hall chapel to be entertained by the rhetorical prowess of some seniors, he found an alleged donkey standing on the platform "Contagious" to the presiding official's chair. Incidentally, this proves that the "Wild Jackass Club" ante-dated Senator George, as well as the United States Senate.
The president and the animal regarded each other amicably, and the exercises began. Taking the list of speakers in his hand, prexy remarked, "as I call the names you may come up and stand beside your brother and declaim."*
It was said by those present that it was a toss up as to who was the most fussed, the ass or the orator. The most authentic reports however indicate that the quadruped was the first to regain his composure. All agree that the smile never left the face of the man in the chair.
On another occasion the weights of the old college clock disappeared. Not many wore the wrist watch then, and we missed the bell. The president casually remarked at the morning chapel, that if the weights were not in place within 24 hours, he should put the matter into the hands of the law. There was a cocksureness about his manner that was disconcerting to a select few. The weights were in place the next morning, and the incident was closed. Years afterwards, this same president, with much hilarity, said that it was a case of pure bluff, as he had no idea who took the weights.
Speaking of old Dartmouth Hall, its chapel was used for examinations as well as morning devotions. The floor was said to be honeycombed with holes for cribs (term probably obsolete now). The Latin professor was said to "read" a newspaper with a hole in it to watch transgressors. The pipe organ in this room must have been in Noah's Ark chapel. The organist was supposed to be a senior, but as he had frequent out-of-town engagements, I was often commandeered to play, even when a freshman. Fortunately the musical culture at that time was not highly developed, and I escaped with merely threats of ripe eggs and vegetables.
SOMEBODY MIXED THE ORGAN PIPES
One morning the president gave out the hymn as usual, a classmate worked the broom-handle blower and I laid my taper fingers on the keys. The resulting sound would have shocked a calliope, but was entirely in line with some modern music of the Boston Symphony orchestra. Having a certain pride in my end of the service, I swung 'round, jumped down and lifted my voice in the hymn. The choir joined in, and the impending riot averted. It took a full day with a helper to remove C oboe out of B open diapason, and restore the insulted "Kist of whistles" to a condition where old "Dundee" could be played without sounding like a Debussy serenade.
Referring again to the Webster house, there is now quite a halo of traditional anecdote about the ancient structure. One more may be added. One afternoon an informal gathering was held in the then northeast room which was said to have been occupied by Daniel.
A flat-topped soap-stone stove stood at the south side of the room, on which one youth had placed a horn with his soft hat gracing the top. The little circle of eight or ten, believing that a long time should elapse after eating before giving the brain much strain, were, like the Maine farmer in winter, not even thinking, but just "setting." One member of the group produced a gun. Another youth asked to look at it. Recalling that he had done some target practice in former years, he computed the distance from the stove to the nearest sitter, and concluded it was safe to make a try for the hat. He did. After a few seconds of unwholesome silence, the room was filled with smoke, reverberations and lurid observations. The hat, with three holes in it, including the brim, had fallen. Then someone said, "Where did the bullet go?" The fellow who did the shooting nearly fainted when it came over him that Miss MacMurphy's room, across the hall, was in direct line with the target. A jump was made for the stove, and, then, thank the Lord, it was found that the bullet, having pierced one side of the pipe, had fallen into the ashes.
Sometime later, as there was a vacancy at the table, Miss Mac Murphy was asked if the reckless youth could have that place. She replied that she would not say no, but it seemed to her that he was a desperate character.
It will not be necessary for the research department to go into this, for it is on record that this youth and the lady of the Webster house became fast friends, and that he always called on her, on his Hanover pilgrimages, as long as she lived.
WEST SIDE OF CAMPUS IN THE EIGHTIES For sport lovers the baseball game presents a problem. What is happening? The man at bat has just started for first base. The man on third seems to be a runner starting for home. Yet where is the pitcher and where is the third baseman? The first baseman is standing on his base and the second baseman seems set to stop a ground ball. The ball has not been knocked to the outfield since the centerfield is standing still as if the ball is in the infield. On the other hand the right fielder is rushing in probably to back up the throw to first. In this case the man at third is the regular third baseman who has dashed in to catch a bunt and is whirling to make a throw across the diamond. Perhaps some person who took part in the game can identify the play. The catcher is not expecting a throw and the umpire is starting for the scene of action. It is possible that the batter has hit to right field but in such a case the center fielder should be moving in the direction of the play
CAMPUS IN THE EIGHTIES
*Another version has it that the president, glancing about, calmly observed, "Gentlemen, excuse me for disturbing your class meeting," and departed.
