Sally Drew Hall: "One of Dartmouth’s Greatest Ladies of All Time"

For nearly a century, generations of Dartmouth students have turned to the college’s infirmary, known as Dick’s House, for first aid and medical care. Yet few realize that this enduring institution was born not merely out of necessity, but as a lasting testament to the profound love and devotion a mother had for her son. That mother was Sally Drew Hall and it was her perseverance, generosity, and unwavering dedication in the face of heartbreaking tragedy that gave rise to what we now know as Dick’s House.

Throughout her life, Sarah “Sally” Drew Hall was devoted to serving the many communities she belonged to. She served as a trustee of her alma mater, Radcliffe College, as well as Boston Children’s Hospital. Beyond her institutional roles, she was also an active member of the League of Women Voters and a dedicated supporter of the American Red Cross.

But it was the sudden and tragic death of her son, Richard “Dick” Hall, in 1924 that would inspire her most enduring act of philanthropy. Dick died of polio in 1924 during his sophomore year at Dartmouth. At the time, the college lacked proper on-campus medical care, and Dick passed away far from his family in a local hospital.

In the midst of overwhelming grief, Sally and her husband, Edward K. Hall (Dartmouth Class of 1892), resolved that no other Dartmouth student should have to endure serious illness without the comfort of home and family nearby. They donated $300,000 (around $5.7 million today) to create that home and worked hand in hand with the college, sharing ideas and overseeing the project to ensure it reflected their vision.

In 1927, the year Dick was meant to graduate, Dick’s House was completed and opened its doors. Throughout its planning and construction, Sally worked closely with the architect she selected, Jens Larson, to ensure the building felt more like a residence than a hospital. She insisted on including guest rooms so that family members could stay with ill students and advocated for the hiring of a House Mother, so there would always be a comforting presence within its walls.

Once construction was complete and attention turned to the interiors, Sally truly came into her own. With a deep sense of purpose and an eye for warmth and beauty, she immersed herself in designing a space that was both functional and comforting. Her notebook (now preserved in the Rauner Special Collections Library) contains detailed plans for each room, along with swatches of wallpaper, paint samples, and handwritten notes. These materials reflect not only her aesthetic sensibilities but also her profound dedication to making Dick’s House feel less like a hospital and more like a true home.

The final cornerstone of Dick’s House was placed during a special ceremony attended by members of the Class of 1927. At the event, Sally and Edward Hall shared their vision for the building:

“This House will serve as an infirmary for Dartmouth students who are sick, as a place of recuperation for those who simply need rest and a bit of care, and for all who sojourn within its walls we hope that it will serve as a home.”

Just five years later, in 1932, Edward Hall passed away. Sally continued to oversee Dick’s House with unwavering devotion, receiving frequent letters of gratitude from students who had stayed there. In one of her own letters, she responded to a student:

“If Dick’s House has served you well both physically and spiritually, it has once more fulfilled its highest purpose and I am happy indeed.”

In 1947, twenty years after Dick’s House first opened, Sally was awarded an honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters by Dartmouth College at the commencement of the Class of 1947. Among the seven recipients that year, she was the only woman. In presenting the degree, President John Sloan Dickey called her “one of Dartmouth’s greatest ladies of all time” and praised her unrelenting commitment to the care of students through Dick’s House. Fittingly, Dickey himself would receive hospice care and pass away at Dick’s House more than four decades later.

When Sally passed away in 1949, she ensured the continued care of Dick’s House by establishing the Sally and Edward K. Hall Fund, overseen by her daughter, Dorothy Leavitt. The fund was created specifically to preserve the home-like atmosphere she had so carefully crafted from the wallpaper and furniture to the comforting library still intact today. Her son’s portrait still hangs in the lounge, and the quiet warmth she instilled in every room continues to embrace each student who walks through its doors.

Though Sally Hall was formally recognized with an honorary degree, her letters make it clear that her greatest reward was knowing that, thanks to her, generations of Dartmouth students, just like her son, would find rest, healing, and comfort in the house.

To see Sally Drew Hall's design plans for Dick's House, request MS-1370. Her correspondence can be found in Mss 003179 and ML-33, boxes 8, 9, and 10.

Posted for Caítlin Layhe Nugent '25, recipient of a Historical Accountability Student Research Fellowship for the 2025 summer term. The Historical Accountability Student Research Program provides funding for Dartmouth students to conduct research with primary sources on a topic related to issues of inclusivity and diversity in the college's past. For more information, visit the program's website.

New York, Boston, and Chicago in Costa Rica? Sounds Bananas!

Every day, when you walk into the ‘53 Commons Dining Hall — locally known as FOCO — or any other dining location at Dartmouth, you can pick one out of three choices of fruit: apples, oranges, or bananas. The latter, in particular, are displayed in an array of baskets of their own, for you to select the one you desire. The variety extends not only to the state of ripeness, but also to the brand. At least at FOCO, Dartmouth alternates between Dole and Chiquita bananas, offering one brand on some days and the other on the next.

Dartmouth’s connections to these fruits extend beyond their availability within dining locations. Victor Cutter, one of the college's beloved Trustees and Alumni, was president of the United Fruit Company, the corporation that became Chiquita. Cutter, a Dartmouth ‘03 and Tuck ‘04, took a job as a timekeeper for the United Fruit Company in Costa Rica shortly after graduating. He quickly began to rise within the ranks of the Company, landing a promotion that placed him as the superintendent of the Costa Rican Zent division, located in the Province of Limón.

The United Fruit Company is notoriously known for its monopolistic and exploitative operations in Latin America. The company left behind a legacy of environmental degradation, labor abuses, and political interference in the region, as the United States profited at the expense of local workers and governments. Cutter’s personal collection, housed at Rauner, is firsthand evidence of such.

One compelling artifact is a leather-bound collection of maps of the UFCO’s properties in Costa Rica, which Cutter saved from his time as superintendent in Costa Rica, carefully preserved for around a century. These maps are detailed cartographic records of United Fruit’s landholdings in the country, with delineations of the different farms, existing railroad crossings, and even projected railroad lines, as the company sought to tighten its grip on Central American transportation networks.

Strikingly, individual farms are labeled New York, Boston, and Chicago—names of U.S. cities imposed onto a foreign land. This naming was not merely administrative. It reflects a deeper form of colonial capitalist thinking: that Costa Rica could be transformed into an extension of U.S. commercial and cultural space. The land was not only used, but renamed, repurposed, and reimagined to serve corporate interests.

The railroad system, in particular, was a key tool of United Fruit’s monopoly. In Costa Rica, as in other countries where it operated, the company owned and controlled the very infrastructure that allowed bananas to be exported, often to the detriment of national sovereignty. Railways were designed not to connect Costa Rican communities, but to move bananas efficiently from the plantation to the port.

To this day, that legacy of corporate colonialism remains visible. Incredibly, some locations in Costa Rica still bear the names given to UFC-owned farms. Boston and New York remain identifiable on modern maps of the Limón region, corresponding precisely to locations recorded in United Fruit’s internal documents. The names that once served as internal waypoints for corporate logistics have, in some cases, become permanent fixtures of local geography—reminders of a time when a U.S. company could redraw the map of a sovereign nation to mirror its own.

Cutter's maps of Boston Farm and New York farm overlaid onto the modern Google Maps satellite image. The corresponding areas are still labeled "Boston" and "Nueva York."

To take a look at these maps, come to Rauner and request MS-63, Box 2, Folder 7, or see what else is in Victor Cutter's papers.

Posted for Alejandra Sequeira Argüello '27, recipient of a Historical Accountability Student Research Fellowship for the 2025 summer term. The Historical Accountability Student Research Program provides funding for Dartmouth students to conduct research with primary sources on a topic related to issues of inclusivity and diversity in the college's past. For more information, visit the program's website.