USA > Ohio > Butler County > Oxford > Old Miami, the Yale of the early West > Part 6
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schools that will inevitably cluster around these, will constitute for us a true University of Oxford." Alas, for the buoyant hopes of sophomores! That prophetic editor failed to consider that the little vitals of this young and blush- ing sister were inoculated through and through with something called the Hol- yoke System; and whatever else this sys- tem might or might not be, it was uncom- promising on one point: boys were-well, they just simply were not. That's all.
Many people of that day, patrons as well as citizens, were a trifle hazy as to what Rev. Tenney and his associates really had in mind as the Holyoke Sys- tem, and many times they were called upon to define and defend their position. They put it, with apparent clearness, under three heads:
1. Moral and religious culture should be regarded as paramount to all things
elsa
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2. The intellectual faculties, and es- pecially the reasoning powers, should be most judiciously educated, but not by or- namenting the surface with the mere tinsel of accomplishment.
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3. There should be a distinct depart- ment for the cultivation of the physical . nature.
This last item had a corollary attached to it, and there-on Mondays, perhaps- came the rub. Physical exercise is good; very excellent good. Hence, "to secure appropriate physical exercise, all the members of the school will aid to some extent in the domestic work of the family. The portion of time thus occupied will be so small as not to retard their progress in study, but rather facilitate it, by its in- vigorating influence." Not unwholesome doctrine this, especially when you read, a few lines farther on, that, by this mini- mizing of expenses, the entire cost of
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· board, room, and tuition during a year was brought as low as $60.
The whole proposition, though, was a bit too strenuous for many well-meaning folk. They had been taught to believe in a serious, man-size education for their daughters, but this was too serious. They were glad to have religion placed first before these girls, and even to have them urged to consecration in the mission fields. But when they heard of young and unhandsome male missionaries, who came urging the faculty to select them helpmeets for intended careers among the Fuzzy-wuzzies, these good citizens were not so sure. They wavered some more on hearing of a nice list of iron-clad rules of conduct, read each morning in chapel, while rosy culprits, trembling in confes- sion, were assigned to secluded sittings on the front row. But that "physical exercise" scheme was the strongest test
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of loyalty. Those were the proud days, you know, when mother, fainting over the hot cook-stove, protested she was bringing up her girl to be a lady; and father, clinging to the plow-handle, prayed that his boy might not become a man who had to work. So there was much parley about the Seminary. It was usurping mother's place in girl-life; it was training up refined cooks and house- maids; it was sapping the sweetness of young womanhood. At this point even the Female College put in a lady-like word or two, not exactly complimentary to her sister.
Right through the controversy the Seminary kept on growing. The build- ing was always crowded, and applications poured in a year ahead. The great family was ever busy, working. like beavers, worshiping like saints, playing like the school-girls that they were. One
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winter midnight in 1860, the fine new building caught fire in the attic, and burned to the ground. Those brave young girls fought the destroyer of their home, yielding only inch by inch, and not a one of them was harmed. A better building rose from the ashes, and was packed with students from the day of its dedication. Diligent, resourceful, self-reliant, such a student community of consecrated young women the world has rarely seen. A colored burglar had been terrorizing the village, and eluding every attempt at capture. Then he foolishly tried burglar- izing those females at the Seminary, and the very first night they got him. Men? Oh, what's the use? "Most of the so- called men about us, young ladies," said the principal, Miss Peabody, "are snakes; just snakes." Perhaps the good lady was right.
historic
Pranks
I N many respects the decade of the 50's appears to have been a sort of golden age in the student life about Miami. Good will and harmony prevailed gen- erally. Corridors and class-rooms were thronged with clean-limbed, clear-com- plexioned lads, intent on learning some- thing, but equally intent on having a grand good time about it. North and south met together in the closest comrade- ship, argued dangerous questions in the literary halls, and glanced but rarely at the thunder-heads of approaching storm. Social opportunities were abundant. Any student who desired-and many of them did-might run the gamut any week,
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from the moon-struck serenade beneath some precious window of the Female Col- lege to the rollicking barn-dances, with hard cider sparkling from the tap, for which Joe Titus rallied friend and foe and transported them to his father's country-place.
Living accommodations, at this time, were pretty sorely taxed. Both dormi- tories were crowded, as was the little old frame cottage since destroyed. Most popular of dining tables was that at the Hughes house, just west of the campus, where the finest cook on earth vied with the most gracious hostess under heaven to satisfy that largest of all cravings, a school-boy's appetite. The pies Anne Re- gan made-those great, deep, flaky crusts, secreting untold deliciousness and carefully arranged in a convenient pantry where she knew her boys could find them in the dark-why, those same pies have .
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been the theme of orator's encomium and poet's pen. They have brought moisture to the lips of tortured creatures panting on the battle field, and forced poor fam- ished wretches in Andersonville to cry out in agony.
A slimmer menu, but as ruddy a com- plexion and as good a time had those pinch-pursed fellows in the Old South- east, who acquired skill in keeping Bachelor's Hall. Like many a great chef in later days, these chaps all had their specialties. One was a shark at making coffee; another was a regular whale at corn dodgers. Everybody of course could take a fling at the festive flapjack, but Tom Allen, the genius of them all, made perfectly scrumptious buckwheat cakes, and in times of great prosperity set them off with "papered eggs." He would show you how to do the eggs, but nobody was ever admitted to the innermost arcanum
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of his buckwheats. That perished with Tom on the field of Spotsylvania.
Athletic sports were crude proceed- ings then, compared with our modern system of elaborate training and inter- collegiate schedules. There was no place for mollycoddles in them either, and science gave way to brute strength and native agility. Impromptu wrestling matches of a decidedly catch-as-catch-can type were very much in vogue; and box- ing contests, without seconds, ropes or gloves, were no rare occurrences. A foot- ball game, in which every fellow booted the ball when he wasn't planting a cop- pered toe in an opponent's eye, was a fine working-off of animal spirits. But the test of real, genuine, blue-tempered nerve was the old swing. It was easy enough when you got in practice. Easy as-well, as falling off a hickory limb in nutting time. But it looked terrible to a new
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Freshman. It was one good rope fastened to an iron ring some thirty feet up in a .tree. This rope ended in a loop, dangling a foot or so from the ground. Thirty feet away was another tree, with a projecting branch the proper distance up. Here the performance began. You skinned up tree number two, and caught the loop, which somebody kindly threw you. In this you inserted your foot, and began to feel squeamish down inside. Then with your free hand you seized the rope as far out as possible, while you took a final fleeting glimpse of your past sins. Then you swung off, clutching at the rope with your other hand enroute. At your age a broken bone would knit in about six weeks.
All the exercise and social gayety in creation would have failed to give outlet to the buoyant spirits of that seething mass of young manhood. Few of them
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were really bad. True, the editor of the Oxonian, a college periodical at Miami in '56, utters a sweeping criticism of all western colleges, and is presumably drawing upon some local conditions. Comparing eastern colleges with western, he says: "In the east, where endowment and salaries are secure, discipline may be enforced. But at almost any western in- stitution a man may be an habitual drunkard, may be notoriously immoral and corrupting, may commit penitentiary offenses against civil law and unpardon- able ones against decency, and this be well known by the faculty, and for all that he may not only stay in college, but may visit the Professor's or the Presi- dent's daughter with impunity and pro- priety." Surely the amateur editor was overdoing his argument, or there is some mistake in the traditions that have reached us. Of course there were young
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rascals in school then, as before and since, some of whom had to be entirely disposed of, while others continued to be farmed out to nice country ministers as of old. But generally, when the safety-valve lifted with a wild, glad shriek of freedom, the force behind it was the non-malicious, gloriously creative spirit of pure mis- chief.
Mercy me, the pranks of college days! To hear the grizzled old grads when they get together, you'd think that nothing else was ever doing then. Which only proves that people always remember the pleasant things of life. Don't you recall how father used to sit for hours some- times and chuckle himself sore about the time Jim Sharp-or was it Bill ?- painted real stars and stripes on Prexy's old brindle cow? And father himself had a hand in it: he stole the paint and brushes from a shop up town. At least he con-
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fessed as much one night in an extra burst of confidence, just before mother · sent you marching off to bed. So it goes, and so it will go with all of us as we reach our anecdotage. Don't tell us, please, that the day is really done for the wholesome, harmless college prank, with the originality of genius fairly oozing out of it. . You are robbing posterity of its sweetest reminiscences.
There is a sort of college pranks which a good classical scholar might call ubiqui- tous. The college that can't furnish a replica of each and every one of them, has no excuse to claim a history. Fancy a girl's boarding-school where they haven't at some time or other drawn up the good old president in a basket, low- ered for other and less sacred purposes, only to let him drop or leave him hung in midair till he was discovered. Fancy a boy's preparatory school without a
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stolen bell-clapper. Of such dear old con- ventionalities, yellow with the dignity of age, Miami has a rich abundance. Some of them are drawn from their wrappings only at commencement gatherings and passed tenderly about from one wrinkled hand to another, with an accompaniment of queer little wheezy chuckles. All of them are under some suspicion since the story-papers have blazoned them before the whole world and made us feel how disgracefully common they are.
"Stacking" rooms is perhaps the most ancient and natural pastime in this group. Any rank amateur could perpe- trate it and chortle merrily when the owner stood horrified before his dis- mantled property. You'll find this men- tioned in the earliest records of the fac- ulty. Only there it is called "pernicious and ungentlemanly devastation within the college property." The appropria-
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ting of chapel keys is another one that came early, as we have seen. Kindly note that the very first time this went on re- cord the offender was a prep. It has ap- peared only in children's sizes ever since. For many years the old Miami chapel was located on the first floor,-a fine and adaptable arrangement. For look you, there was nothing easier on a bright Sab- bath afternoon than to drop a pitcher of sparkling water on the gladsome raiment of the fine young ladies trailing in below. Unless it was, in the silence of a Saturday night in Spring, to fill that chapel up with fragrant new-mown hay and leave a vag- rant village cow peacefully munching there behind the pulpit.
There is one deep mystery about this last type of pranks. Why is it, brother mine, that the lazy ne'er-do-well, who in the cheery light of day will never strike . a lick at any useful occupation, is always
"A PITCHER OF SPARKLING WATER ON THE VINK YOUNG LADIES TRAILING IN BELOW."
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ready to release his precious horde of energy in these bits of midnight devil- ment ? The things that found their way of nights into that old place of prayer would seem marvelous to modern eyes. Yet it is not so long since "Bobby" Bishop's old gray horse, tied snugly be- hind the sacred desk in a newer upstairs chapel, looked his disgust through enor- mous leather spectacles, as the giggling lines of youngsters straggled in. The thing that meant real labor, though,- real leg-weary, back-breaking toil-had to do with a wagon and some wood. Long years ago, a young farmer had come in to spend the night with relatives in town, and brought a big load of cord-wood to dispose of in the morning. His horses were unhitched near the college building, and the loaded wagon left standing there. Restless spirits walked abroad that night, and in the morning a perfectly dumb-
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founded son of the soil stood gaping at his wagon, completely put together and loaded as before, perched peaceably on top of the building, one hundred feet above the ground. This has a sequel the old fellows rarely tell. Every man-jack of them was promptly put to work re- storing things to terra firma, and the stairs were full ten times as long and tortuous as the night before.
There are a few pranks, however, to which the little old college can read her undivided title clear. The greatest of these, and certainly the most epoch- making, took place some time before the decade of the 50's,-in the bronze age, perhaps. There was a spirit of mutiny about before it happened, and the lark itself, harmless enough in its first inten- tion, set this ugly spirit working over- time, with what proved to be disastrous effects. As in real tragedy, the gods
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themselves furnished the exciting force to temptation, old Jupiter Pluvius being most to blame. The affair has gone into history as the Snow Rebellion.
On the morning of the twelfth of Jan- uary, 1848, the good people of Oxford rubbed their sleepy eyes and looked out upon a fine specimen of snow-storm, then well under way. All nature was already enveloped in a great white blanket, and still the snow came down; immense bil- lows of it that shut out the day and made one think the very heavens had opened. "See the old woman a-picking her geese!" yelled one college boy to another, as dormitory windows were flung wide for a better look at things. Poor chaps! Before long that same old goose was to be cooking for them. Throughout the whole day the snow kept tumbling on as if the supply was inexhaustible. The old- est inhabitants sat up and rubbed the
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moisture from their glasses, croaking that this was "cairtainly the peartest storm they'd seed sence the year twelve." The boys went floundering back and forth to classes through the great white drifts, which were as wet and soft and sticky as any rogue of a school-boy could desire. You know that type of snow. Remember how it used to sparkle at you, and just dare you to fling a nice hard ball of it at Deacon Spriggin's new stove-pipe hat?
About ten o'clock that night some fel- lows went downstairs, daring each other to a flounder in the drifts. Somebody started to roll a snowball, and to his sur- prise soon had before him a great moun- tain of the stuff, too much for him to move. He yelled for help and the other fellows came slipping and puffing to join in the fun. All hands together they struggled with the monster and slowly pushed its fast-increasing bulk toward
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the unlatched door of the main building. Then what? "Let's make a giant image of old Mac and leave it here for him to see in the morning," somebody suggested. "Here's one better than that," came a mocking voice from the darkness; "let's block up all the doors and passages in here, and there'll have to be a holiday to- morrow." Some people have maintained to this day that here was no utterance of earth, but that the accursed Fiend him- self spake words of infernal temptation to those attentive ears.
However that may be, there was no parleying with conscience. A hurry call went out in all directions, and the re- serves came plowing through the path- less campus with fire in their eyes. All night long they grunted and perspired, fairly swarming about the fine soft masses of stickiness that were to seal for them the passage ways to another kind
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"ONE BY ONE THE DOORS AND CORRIDORS WERE CLOSED WITH GREAT WHITE HAYCOCK>, "
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of labor. This wasn't labor anyhow; it was the greatest sport of the ages! One by one the doors and corridors were closed with great white haycocks, a few over-particular Juniors having seen to it that each lock was securely spiked before the barricade was placed. Just for va- riety the job was ornamented, when complete, with slabs of cord-wood, planks, broken benches, and a few stray bits of scrap iron; and the conspirators slunk to their rooms as the first light was breaking, to toast their soaked and aching shins and speculate on what would hap- pen next. The air had chilled perceptibly toward morning and the stars had come blinking out; and now the sun rose radi- ant on a crisp and dazzling winter day. The campus was a labyrinth of tracks in the frozen slush, and old Miami stood in the midst of it, a castle sealed and barred against intruders.
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Not much happened that first day. Professor Stoddard took one good look at things, and went sniffing away to his little laboratory, which nobody had thought to barricade. Young Bobby Bishop walked squarely into the snow- drift at his class-room door, before he noticed anything wrong. Doctor Mac- Master was in bed with a heavy cold. Toward noon one or two servants ap- peared with picks and shovels, and went to pecking away at the mass in the halls, but hardly made a visible impression on it. It took the boys less than fifteen min- utes to repair their defenses that night, so they had most of their time for decora- tive effects. Free-will offerings of dis- carded furniture poured in prodigally, crates and boxes found their way from up-town, an old stove was located some- where about the premises. Really it was no trick at all to produce a deckle-edge
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finish to those snow-heaps that was ar- tistic in the extreme. Then somebody mounted the roof and carried off the big bell, and the job was pronounced com- plete.
A large part of the second night was consumed in caucus, for something seemed to tell these midnight prowlers that there was trouble ahead. They took a principle from MacMaster's favorite text-book, Wayland's Ethics, and warped it somehow so as to read out of it an ap- parent justification of their proposed line of conduct. Their plan was to con- fess their guilt openly and even submit a complete list of those concerned, but in no case to express regret for what had passed or give promise of good conduct in the future. Under-classmen were drilled thoroughly in the parts they were to play, and then the weary company crawled into bed. There was no neces-
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sity for early rising. Indeed, it was the morning of Saturday, the 15th, before Doctor MacMaster was on his feet again and things began to take their old shape around the campus. All that day the faculty was in session on the case, as well as the afternoons of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday in the week following. Indeed there were frequent echoes of the thing during the whole term.
Strictly according to program the pro- ceedings dragged out, always with a re- markable similarity. Outside there was always a group of excited boys, giving a rousing send-off to each fresh witness, and tearing the released one almost limb from limb in their eagerness for new in- formation. But it was all the same. Milt. Sayler, Will Cumback, John Noble, Davy McDill, one after the other they took the stand, cheerfully confessed par- ticipation in the ceremonies, and just as
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cheerfully refused to express the desired contrition and promise of a better life. A less regenerate bunch of heathen never assembled before a horrified college fac- ulty. One after the other they were solemnly admonished regarding their duties to society, and given a period of respite to reflect upon their scandalous behavior. Many returned later to ex- press repentance and be reinstated. A clique of the most stubborn ones stamped the slush of Oxford from their feet and made tracks for Centre College in Ken- tucky, where somehow they got admitted. A third group, dissatisfied with condi- tions generally, stayed the year out to re-establish a reputation for good be- havior, and then wandered elsewhere to complete their courses. Among other ef- fects of the escapade, the two Greek fraternities hung their harps on a willow, and the scholarly president gave up all
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hope of winning the affections of the uni- versity community.
Some of you may have heard of the Hopkins myth. It grew up in the early 50's, created by some vivid student im- aginations, assisted by a consuming and unholy thirst. Some of the boys in one of the dormitories-no matter which- had run across the recipe for a particu- larly fancy milk-punch; and when they could muster the price of the ingredients, indulged themselves in orgies that meant thick heads and parched palates on the morrow. At the edge of town lived a kindly and gullible old farmer who kept a sort of dairy and had quantities of good rich milk. One day when funds were low the boys approached him with the har- rowing story of a supposed youth named Hopkins, sick unto death in the college building. He could take no solid food, they said, but his very life depended on
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his getting plenty of nice fresh milk every day. It was told so well that they almost believed it themselves, and the old gentleman was moved to tears of pity. He offered to supply all the milk needed day by day, and not charge them a red cent.
Thus encouraged, the fame of those milk-punches spread far and wide, and Hopkins was fast becoming the most popular man in college. Then President Anderson heard of it, and immediately prepared one of his characteristic flank movements. Next morning in chapel, he spoke at some length on prevailing here- sies in the church, leading up carefully to the particular opinions of the Rev. Hopkins, a leader in these controversies not long before. At the end of a burst of real eloquence he paused, with a twinkle in his eye, and looking straight at the bibulous culprits, said quietly :
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"But, young gentlemen, I want you all to understand that Hopkins is now dead and has no further need of fresh milk." There was but one more public reference to the case, and that unnecessary. At the first roll-call next year, the students were listening intently to the new names. "Hopkins!" pronounced the president, and a roar went up from the old-timers. The doctor twinkled again and remarked, "This, gentlemen, is a veritable Hopkins; this is no myth."
In many colleges there used to be the custom of paying in public the last sad re- spects to some particularly gruelling text-book. At Miami this practice be- came a solemn tradition, the book se- lected being that time-honored enemy of self-righteous Juniors, the Logic. Year after year, when the syllogisms were all built and the fallacies detected, a group of free-hearted veterans kindled a mid-
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night fire, and chucked therein, with a few brief but sulphurous words, the vol- umes they had thumbed so long and learnedly. Of all these annual mortuary rites, the ceremony conducted by the class of '56 has always been pronounced the most impressive. Perhaps because, as the country papers say, "the very heavens poured a flood of tears on the bier of the dear departed." People al- ways expected things worth while of '56, anyway. When Al. Berry and Curran and Joe Fullerton and Reid put their heads together and got their shoulders to the same wheel, there had better be a clear track ahead.
According to accounts this "Crema- tion of the Logic" was fully up to all ex- pectations. Several of the old black- letter programs are still floating about, containing even the words of the funeral hymns, and the arrangement of the sad
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