Your House

One of my favorite books in the collection is only five years old and contains just a single page of printed text. There are no words in Your House except for the colophon, (the note at the end of the volume which records the details of authorship and publication) -- just the negative space left from laser-cutting each of its 484 leaves.

Artist Olafur Eliasson designed the text block of Your House so that each leaf corresponds to just over two centimeters of horizontal space inside his own home. Turning the pages is a process of constantly discovering new spaces and details as we move through the house. All that's visible from the first few pages are a few doors and windows, but the house quickly opens up into a delicately detailed home complete with domed ceilings, a fireplace, and even a spiral staircase.

When the text block is initially opened, the spine of the book is vertical and the house aligns perfectly. But spine begins to move sideways to accommodate the turning of the pages, skewing the interior space and forcing the reader to look sideways to see into the house. The movement of the pages has other effects, too; even though Your House looks like a solid block of pages from the outside, that the cuts made into each page have resulted in a structure so delicate that the simple act of turning a page can warp a window frame or tear a step from a staircase.

Ask for Presses L559ely to see Eliasson's house for yourself.

Posted for Anne Peale '11

Jared P. Hubbard

"Dear Mother. We are at last out of fighting…at least for a while." So begins one of the letters from Jared P. Hubbard, a Union soldier with the Second Regiment New Hampshire Volunteer Infantry, to his mother. Jared was twenty-four when he joined the army. Married, he wrote to his wife Judith regularly, telling her about his experiences and describing his surroundings. The 2nd New Hampshire regiment, organized in 1861, was the longest serving volunteer regiment of the State of New Hampshire fighting in all the major battles of the Civil War, from Bull Run to Gettysburg. At Gettysburg Jared narrowly escaped death when "the cannonading was the most terrific ever seen. The shells passed over our heads so close that we could feel the wind of it." Death, however, was everywhere. "The ground was actually covered with dead and wounded men, union and rebels all together, with hundreds of horses, and the stench was awful."

51,000 men died in the three-day battle. Jared's regiment, which had entered the battle with 353 soldiers, saw 47 killed, 136 wounded and 36 missing in the first three hours. When not in battle Jared's letters depict the sometimes mundane, every day life of a Union soldier, from asking for more shirts and stamps from his wife to scolding his mother for her accusation that he cared "nothing for her interest."

To read more of Jared's letters ask for MS-1157.

Not to be removed from the Reading Room

The materials in Rauner are available for use only in our reading room, but we do at least let our users pick up and handle the items they request. The owners of a German law book in our Bindings collection clearly wanted to make sure the volume's users didn't walk away with the text - so they chained the book to its shelf. The manuscript was written in Latin around 1450 and bound with oak boards thick enough to support the substantial chain, which is fastened with a metal staple through the upper edge of the rear board. This somewhat drastic approach to security was fairly typical in institutional collections. Manuscripts were time-consuming to produce and hard to replace, especially if the source text was difficult to find. The practice of chaining books to their shelves was gradually abandoned as printing made texts cheaper and more easily available and as more fragile pasteboard bindings were substituted for heavy wood covers.

Ask for Bindings 122 to see this relic for yourself.

Posted for Anne Peale '11

The First Commencement

In 1771 the first group of Dartmouth seniors completed their long, arduous and sometimes tedious studies and were about to graduate from this new institution. Dartmouth was not only new, it was rustic. Eleazar Wheelock had arrived in what is now Hanover in August of 1770. With the help of some 50 devoted followers, and a handful of slaves – we must not forget the slaves – Wheelock managed to carve something resembling a community out of the wilderness in the course of the following year.

From Wheelock’s description of the College that first year, we know that after much labor they managed to build a small one-story structure for Wheelock and his family and another two-story structure to house the students. All, in Wheelock’s words, “in the plainest and cheapest manner.” After several failed attempts, they managed to establish two working wells, but two attempts to build saw mills failed completely.  Some small additions to these buildings were made the following summer. 

By other accounts we know that the town itself was growing up around the College, since there was, by the time of the first Commencement, an inn or tavern nearby. Rough though the town and College still were, Wheelock put a good face on things. In a letter to a friend he wrote that Hanover was beginning to become a “habitable world.”

Somehow, in the midst of all this building, well digging and sawing, Wheelock managed to hold something resembling classes. In August of 1771, he was ready to graduate four students (no, they were not necessarily geniuses; they had been studying with Wheelock prior to his arrival in New Hampshire). 

John Wentworth

Courtesy of the Hood Museum of Art

Currently on view
at the Hood Musuem of Art
in the American gallery

Wheelock called together the Board of Trustees to grant these first students their degrees. Invitations also went out to John Wentworth, the Royal Governor of the colony then in residence at Portsmouth, the New Hampshire Executive Council and many members of the clergy in New England.

In those days, travel to the Upper Valley was a somewhat arduous affair. Roads were, in Wheelock’s words, “new and bad.” Thus it should have come as no particular surprise that only one of the Trustees managed to show his face. Interestingly, an article in the Boston Evening-Post describing the affair noted that the audience included “a concourse of other persons beyond all expectation.” Of course, this might just have been a nice way of saying more people managed to make the journey than could have been expected under the circumstances.

But the poor showing by the Trustees was just the beginning of the problems that would beset this first of many celebrations. Governor Wentworth, clearly a hardier or more devoted soul than many of the Trustees, may have been the person who coined the good Yankee phrase “Ya can’t get thar from here.” The Governor and his retinue, numbering sixty or more by some accounts, were forced by the lack of roads running east and west in New Hampshire—a problem that persists into our own time—to travel by a wildly circuitous route. They began by going north to Wolfeboro and then through Haverhill, camping by the open road several nights in a row. Frustrated by this trip, Wentworth would later build an almost direct route from Portsmouth to Hanover that came to be known—fittingly—as the Governor’s road. Parts of this ancient highway still exist today, but alas, for those of us traveling east, much of it has returned to its original state—forest.

Once all were assembled, it was found that because they were lacking a quorum of the Trustees, they could not actually award the degrees. Instead, each graduate was issued a simple piece of paper in place of a formal diploma until such time as a proper vote could be taken.

From here, things went from bad to worse. The only thing that seems to have cooperated was the weather. “There was a stand erected… from which each graduate presented the assembly with an oration. The graduates then performed an anthem that they had composed and set to music.” Following the ceremony there was a meal. Unfortunately Mrs. Wheelock was “sick in bed and wholly confined to her chamber” and thus unable to participate in any of the proceedings. This was particularly unfortunate, as Wheelock explained later, because “the chief cook I had depended upon for the College was laid asleep it was said, by making too free with the bottle.” In the same letter Wheelock notes, “We were indeed in very trying circumstances.” All in all, it was pretty rough affair and some of the finer gentry in the crowd “turned up their noses at the plainness of the surroundings.”

The Wentworth Bowl

After his return to Portsmouth, Governor Wentworth sent Wheelock a gift. This gift was no small piece and carried a great deal of symbolism. He sent a large silver bowl, weighing, by one account, sixty-six ounces or just over four pounds. But this was not just a bowl, or as some have called it, a “punch-bowl with a movable crown”; it was a monteith. A monteith, for those who don’t have one of these at home—or have never heard of this article—is a bowl for chilling wine glasses. The crown is for holding the stems so that the cup of the glass can rest in the cold water inside the bowl. 

What is significant about this gift is that a monteith is something that only a gentleman of high station would have in his house—a member of the nobility as Wentworth was. Remember that Wheelock lived in a rude log cabin in the midst of a wilderness that had only recently been shaped into something resembling a settlement. The gift of the monteith can be seen as symbolic gesture. Though the College was a crude and rough place where an elegant silver monteith would serve little or no function, Wentworth’s gift showed that he hoped it would grow to be a place where such an item was not out of place – in short, that Dartmouth would become a shining, elegant and revered thing in time.  Wentworth gave this bowl as something for the College to grow into.

So, at each Commencement, as we look back on and celebrate the rough beginnings of the College, we should also remember the monteith as a symbol of what Dartmouth must always strive to be.

Ask for:

A Continuation of the Narrative of the Indian Charity-School, in Lebanon, in Connecticut: From the Year 1768, to the Incorporation of it with Dartmouth-College, and Removal and Settlement of it in Hanover, in the Province of New-Hampshire, 1771: DC Hist E97.6.M5 W55 1771

Eleazar Wheelock, Hanover, NH to Moses Peck, August 5, 1771, regarding conditions in Hanover: DC Hist Mss 771455.3

Aaron Storrs, Portsmouth NH to Eleazar Wheelock, August 10, 1771, regarding roads: DC Hist Mss 771460

Eleazar Wheelock, Hanover, NH to William Patton, September 2, 1771, regarding success of Commencement: DC Hist Mss 771455.3

Vertical Files: Commencement 1771-

The Wentworth Bowl, Realia 109

Class Day

Class Day, usually the day preceding Commencement, began with the seniors meeting at the senior fence dressed in caps and gowns. From there they formed a procession, headed by the College band, and marched from the fence to the steps of Dartmouth Hall, where the class president gave a welcome speech. This was generally a short nostalgic piece that looked back at the class’s experience over the previous four years.

The President’s address was followed by the Address to College and the Class Oration. In 1912 this was a short speech looking forward to life after College titled “The Other Eight Hours,” a discourse on work and avocation.

Following the oration, the procession reformed and marched to the Bema. Here the Class Poem was read. Again, nostalgia was the rule, but also an epic poem style was often adopted.

The darkness rests on mullion and rafter,
   High and unlit of the lamp below.
The great hall wakes with the lights and the laughter,
   Of the last, long feast in the home we know.
The tapestries stir in their ancient places,
In the high-hung helms flicker spectral faces;
Sweet are the joys that toil comes after,
And the final goblet is emptied slow.

The Class Poem was followed by the Sachem Oration. In later years this was done on the site of the Old Pine. This was more light-hearted and satirical. It was also done in full Indian garb and couched in Olde English.

Give ear and hearken, ye braves of Occom. For many days the signals of the great hunt have burned and signs of the chase has been upon the hilltops. It is well then, that ye should meet in council, that ye should smoke the sacred peace pipe, and should see the smoke uprising, the Pukwana of the peace pipe, while you pledge anew as man to brother.

Since the whole idea of the Sachem Oration was based on the Hovey song “Eleazar,” it was often followed with a drink of rum, since that satirical song has Wheelock bringing a 500-gallon keg of rum with him to share with the imaginary Indians he met on the Hanover plain.

The Sachem Oration was followed by the class ode. This was a song or chant. In 1921 it was sung to the tune of an old Welsh song called the Men of Harlech. The ode began:

Here we stand with life before us
Dartmouth’s green still waving o’er us
Raise a song in sounding chorus:
Dartmouth live for aye!

At this point the procession reformed and everyone adjourned to the Old Pine where the pipe smoking took place. This was a symbolic peace pipe ceremony related to the fictitious meeting between Eleazar Wheelock and the Abenaki Sachem, again, as depicted in Hovey’s song “Eleazar.” Traditional 18th-century style clay pipes were used.

Once the pipes were smoked, they were broken on the stump of the Old Pine following its demise in 1892. This was to symbolize the breaking of the seniors’ bonds with the College in their role as students.

While the pipes were smoked, or just before, there was also an address to the Old Pine. As with so many of these addresses, it was again a nostalgic address that also admonished the listeners to go forth and make the institution proud of them.

Here is a brief example from 1921:

Let us take a backward glimpse, for a moment, with the spirit of the Old Pine.  Towering above its companions on this eminence, for nearly a century it greeted first the rising sun and was the last to catch its declining rays…. That majestic pine is gone. And yet the qualities called to mind by its remnant indicate the significance of this rite. Uprightness, vigor, and courage, the Old Pine had in its day; and we, too, must evidence these characteristics if we would as successfully rise to the places of superior trust and opportunity which the college has made possible for us.

Finally the Dartmouth song was sung, the procession reformed and marched to the senior fence where they received their class books (the Aegis) and dispersed.

The Flood of 1927

On November 2, 1927, the forecast in Vermont called for "fair and colder." However, as with many predictions, this one proved false. Around 9:00 PM that evening, the rain started. It didn't stop until two days later and almost nine inches of rain had fallen - the same as had fallen for the previous two months combined.

The already saturated ground was unable to absorb the additional water and the rivers overflowed, causing one of the worst natural disasters in the history of Vermont. Many of the towns along the rivers were severely damaged as cars, trains, roads, bridges and even buildings were washed away.

Hanover is located on a hill overlooking the Connecticut River and escaped flooding damage, but the nearby towns of Hartford and White River Junction were devastated. In White River Junction, the water level reached some second floors after rising 38 feet over its normal level. Dartmouth students, including Nelson Rockefeller '30, aided in the recovery effort and according to a local newspaper account, were organized into nine divisions of one hundred and set to work removing the accumulated mud and debris. After a long day of recovery efforts, the local Police Chief, perhaps somewhat optimistically, declared that the homes the Dartmouth men had worked on would be "almost as good as new," thanks to the students' efforts.

These three images are unidentified other than the location and date,
but appear to be Dartmouth students on the scene in White River Jct. in 1927.

Ask for the vertical and photo files on "Floods" to learn more.

Wet Down

One of the more curious Senior Week traditions, which is no longer practiced, is Wet Down, which began sometime before 1885.  As with all traditions, it morphed and changed over time.  At one point Wet Down appears to have been the conclusion to Sing-out (a community concert), but later it took on a life of its own and became a stand-alone activity. For many years it served as the kickoff for Senior Week.

Wet Down began with a parade of the classes through campus to the President’s house. Along the way cheers were given to each of the College buildings on the route and to the houses of dignitaries (such as the Dean) and/or for each of the classes.  At the President’s house, the President would give a brief speech and the procession would continue on, culminating at the Senior Class Tree where a ritual keg of lemonade—possibly of the hard variety—was consumed.  As part of this ritual, participants would splash some of their lemonade on the tree (thus the term “wet down”).

By 1901 the tradition also involved the transfer of the senior fence from the seniors to the juniors as well as the transfer of power from the outgoing Palaeopitus officers to the incoming officers.

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Sometime in the early 1900s the tradition of the three lower classes running the gauntlet was added.  This involved the seniors lining up in two rows across the Green, or sometimes down College Street, and the other three classes would have to run between the rows while the seniors beat them with belts and paddles.  New Hampshire State law now prohibits this sort of behavior as a form of hazing.

Later, Wet Down came to be the occasion when sports awards were given out.