Not So Long Ago

GETTING THE YOUTH of the land through college has now become like most everything else, a matter of concern to the authorities in Washington. Out of that magic alphabet soup have been drawn three more mystic letters—N.Y.A.—and, presto, there are funds on tap for deserving boys and girls struggling for an education. Right or wrong, good or bad, all this is very much in the present, quite unlike anything that ever happened in the past. Nevertheless, it ignites a fuse of recollection, leading back to the cost of living in Hanover some fifteen or twenty years ago.

As it seems now, when we scan the terrifying peaks and abysses of statistical charts, the prices of everything must have been outrageous in those days. We were on the verge of war, and finally in it, with inflation as its forerunner and high costs as an aftermath. And yet most of us then spoke in awed whispers of the few bloated plutocrats whose running expenses totalled more than a thousand dollars from the college year's beginning to its end. A mere thousand sounds like a pitiful parcel of chicken-feed, compared to the staggering sums that harassed fathers quote nowadays.

We didn't many of us make even a pretense of budgeting income and outgo. We took what we could earn and added it to what was forthcoming from home, and that was what we spent. There were, of course, such things as I. O. U.'s. Sometimes a fraternity's pet athlete would set himself up in business, establishing a "store" in the house (chiefly chocolate bars and cigarettes) for the benefit of the brethren and for his own presumable financial gain. He bought on a would-be wholesale basis down-town and carted his spoils a hundred yards or half a mile, as the case might be, placing them on sale at top retail prices. Losses, however, crept in. If and when the luckless entrepreneur attempted to balance his books, he more than likely found himself with a depleted stock in trade, an utter lack of capital for further investments, and nothing in the way of assets but a stack of paper slips, bearing figures and initials that could not even be deciphered.

A change in cigarette styles, by the way, marked the steadily rising costs of the times. In 1916 your choice was almost surely among Murads, Moguls, and Melachrinos. If you were man enough for it, a Peter Schuyler panatela was the thing. Came the War, sounding the death knell of every brand of tobacco on the campus, except those enfolded in the hitherto unknown Camels, Chesterfields, and Lucky Strikes.

Just how we kept within the financial bounds we did may seem hard to figure out in retrospect, but it was simple enough then. In general, most of us had about everything we wanted or needed. For one thing, tuition was in the neighborhood of $200 a year, and there was an ungodly amount of education for the money. The eating clubs competed chiefly on a price basis, with good food available at five dollars a week or so. (Memory may have unwittingly donned its rose-colored glasses.) When it came to the fascinating business of selecting a dormitory room, there were remarkable diagrams to study, inscribed with figures which most of us rent-payers no longer dare to think about. Anyhow, the range was remarkable, from Hell Gate to Hitch. Hallgarten, Reed, Thornton, Hubbard, and Sanborn offered rock-bottom prices. The conservative was safe in New Hamp or Wheeler. Crosby gave you magnificent open spaces for your money, and the distinction of Mass Row commanded a few extra dollars. But, if you let yourself in for the luxury of Hitchcock, Richardson, or South Fayer, you had to suffer the consequences. Common opinion invested you with all the scandalous possessions of the smart set, from knickers and silk bathrobes all the way to gloves and spats.