'Tis the Chinning Season

Prior to coming to Dartmouth, the word "rush" meant being in hurry and nothing more to me. It didn't take more than two weeks in Hanover for me to learn that the word "rush" has a different meaning. The process of meeting Greek house members to receive a bid to join a house was not always called rush though. Back in fall of 1897 when Douglas VanderHoof, Class of 1901, was a freshman at Dartmouth, boys dressed up and visited fraternity houses for "chinning."

During his time at Dartmouth, VanderHoof regularly wrote to his parents in Chicago, and I recently re-processed his papers to provide descriptions of the contents of his letters. Reading his letters was an eye-opening experience (glad he had a very legible handwriting!) as I was able to grasp a sense of Dartmouth experience in the early 20th century. Some aspects have survived through the passage of time whereas some others have faded and remain as a thing of the past. So what survived and what didn't?

The battle to eradicate hazing goes back further than people might expect. In the 1890s all freshmen were subjected to hazing regardless of their affiliation with a specific group. One night on September 1897, VanderHoof wrote to his parents that a horde of sophomores entered his room, blind-folded him, took him to a wood and told him to count to five hundred. In the meantime, the sophomores fled, and he had to find his way back to his room on his own in dark. VanderHoof's later letters hint that his parents became very concerned. So he sent a letter a few days later that then-President of the College, William Jewett Tucker, had "put a strict ban on hazing and the 'sophs' are very careful not to overreach the limit." He tried to dispel his parents' concern, saying that the hazing is "more of a humiliating than hurtful nature" and he is taking "it with a grain of salt as a part of [his] college training." He tried to turn this around as a chance to boast his reputation as a cool newbie, adding that only the freshmen who were well-known and popular were hazed and that was why no one bothered to haze his roommate.


A year later, VaderHoof became a part of the class that arguably had done "more hazing than any other class in the history of college," according to the President Tucker. In October 1898, President Tucker determined to forestall a ban on hazing, and he wrote to his parents that "every member of the class was called up before the dean at different times and questioned."

Grading system was different back then as well. VanderHoof explains in details about the grade system in one of the letters to his mother: "E," which stands for "excellent," was the highest mark that a student could earn, equivalent of nowadays A. The next high mark was "VG," which stood for "Very Good," then G for "Good," which all sound more similar to a grading system one might find in an elementary school nowadays.

Concerns about deciding which Greek organization to join (or whether to join one at all) seems to be the most timeless aspect of Dartmouth experience. VanderHoof, just like many Dartmouth students in 2010s, dreaded the Chinning process. He wrote in October 1897 that he fell "greatly troubled" as brothers from different houses approached him. "I feel just like a young girl, I imagine," he wrote, "who has had several offers of marriage and likes all her suitors but sees some slight preference for one and hates to throw off the others." The most interesting aspect of VanderHoof's fraternity experience was his struggle to persuade his parents of the harmlessness of affiliating with a fraternity, and in fact, of the benefits it entails. He began one of his letter in November saying that he was "sure [his mother doesn't] understand the value of belonging to a good frat." Out of the 185 freshman students, only 89 received offers to join fraternities, the point which VanderHoof used to stress how fortunate and special he was. His efforts to appeal the positive aspects of Greek affiliation continued throughout the year as some of his letters highlighted his fraternity brothers' achievements, including their placement into the first division in a freshman math class.

Just like today, VanderHoof had to explain how the class year system is used in everyday language at Dartmouth. In one of his letters, he explained that he would be referred to as a '01, rather than a freshman.

As much as the letters inform us on the good ol' Dartmouth days, they also provide insights into nation-wide issues that are more particular to the time period. VanderHoof mentioned the Spanish-American War in his letters, noting that newspapers in Chicago cover the war more extensively than those in New England. Contrary to his initial conjecture that the war wouldn't last long, he was surprised that by April 1898, many boys on campus were receiving summons from their regiments. He added that the President Tucker seemed to consider this war as a more serious, long-term struggle. By May 1898, VanderHoof wrote to his parents that some students even left Hanover to join the war efforts.

Rauner also has the scrapbook (also known as membook) that he kept throughout his time at Dartmouth, which provide visual materials that supplement his letters to his parents. There are so much more about VanderHoof that this blog post could not cover - he was a music enthusiast who played banjo and mandolin in various performance groups including the Glee club and he worked at a biology lab, just to name a few.

To see the letters, ask for MS-470.

Therapy Book

This book feels so great. It is a limited edition book of German folktales produced in Berlin in 1918 with a gold-stamped suede binding. Usually this kind of thing is a nightmare for Special Collections. Suede bindings generally don't hold up well, and after a hundred years, every time you touch one, leather dust comes off and you have to go wash your hands. We have to wrap them up so they don't pollute the books near them.

But this copy of Deutsche Märchen (Berlin: B. Cassirer, 1918) used really nice leather that has held up remarkably well. When we paged it for class last week we were stunned by the tactile sensation of the book--it just made us feel good.  So, if you are stressed out, come in and pet our therapy book by asking for Illus S632g.

Raiding the Nugget

As was mentioned in a previous blog post, the Nugget Theater in Hanover turned one hundred on September 13, 2016. We at Rauner feel a special kinship with the institution, given that it also has been a long-time bastion of culture here at Dartmouth, especially early on in its life when opportunities for civilized entertainment were few and far between. However, Dartmouth students didn't always go to the Nugget to see interesting documentaries or watch quality films. Often, the young men in attendance grew quite rowdy during screenings, to the point that snacks as projectiles were commonplace and the theater even began to encourage audience participation as an attempt to mollify the crowds.

Still, at some point, Dartmouth students' antics grew dangerous despite the theater's attempts to contain the violence. At some point previous to 1937, a tradition had arisen in which the freshmen were goaded by the upperclassmen into conducting an evening raid on the Nugget as a part of bonfire festivities. College administration had previously turned a blind eye to this tradition, partially because Palaeopitus, a secret society, had dedicated itself to protecting the Nugget against the freshman mob that habitually assaulted the theater every year. Still, this dubious administrative approach was soon to change. On the evening of October 21st, 1937,  freshmen in the class of '41 rushed the doors of the Nugget, only to be met by a wall of Palaeopitus members and Nugget employees wielding tear gas guns. In the midst of the chaos that ensued, Bobby Reeve '38, a defender of the theater, was injured when a tear gas canister exploded in his face. The Nugget defenders were able to repel the freshmen, but the student newspaper termed it a "Pyrric victory" because all the patrons were dispersed by the overpowering clouds of tear gas that filled the theater.

A week later, the administration clamped down, effectively squelching the tradition. Several deans of the college issued official proclamations, stating that "what started as an undergraduate prank has lost its humor and becomes simple destructiveness." Dean Neidlinger asked Palaeopitus to stand down and the Nugget employees to rid themselves of their tear gas and any other "sporting challenges to raiders." In return, he promised swift and severe reprisals for any organizers of or participants in future. Palaeopitus complied, stating that they disapproved of the "mob violence," and the tradition failed to continue.

To learn more about the fascinating and lengthy history of the Nugget Theater, come to Rauner and ask to see its vertical file and photo file. To read the newspaper articles related to the tear gas incident and following disciplinary actions, pull an old copy of the Dartmouth student newspaper off the shelves in the reading room and flip through the October 21st and October 28th issues from 1937.

Tiedust!

The D, 11/21/1941

This weekend Dartmouth will co-host the North American Orienteering Championship 2016. Orienteering, for those not in the know, is a competition where contestants hike/race from point to point using a map and a compass. It is like competitive Geocaching without the technology. Dartmouth is a fitting sponsor of the event because 75 years ago the first Orienteering competition in the United States pitted Dartmouth fraternities against each other in what they called a "Tiedust."

The event occurred just two weeks before Pearl Harbor, and Dartmouth students were arguing in the pages of The Dartmouth whether the U.S. should enter the war. The campus atmosphere was beginning to change as students contemplated the prospect of future military service and war.

Finnish Army Lieutenant Piltti Heiskanen, who was on campus teaching military skiing, organized the event. Both members of the winning team entered the military after Pearl Harbor. Paul Hanlon '43 became a lieutenant on a landing craft in the Pacific and Dick Whiting '44 served in the Army infantry. Orienteering, though it seemed like a game at the time, was preparing them for an all-too-"real life" that was coming far sooner than they realized.

To Boldly Go

Even though we missed the actual anniversary by a week, we still feel the need to acknowledge the 50th anniversary of the TV show and global phenomenon that is Star Trek. At Rauner we have several collections of members of the TV and movie industry. Among them are the papers of film and television director James Goldstone (1931-1999). In 1966 Goldstone directed an episode of Star Trek entitled What are little Girls Made Of? It was his second time in the director's chair for Star Trek.

His first had been on the second pilot episode where he had won the approval of many of the production staff. However, according to IMDB, things did not go so smoothly his second time out. Plagued by script problems, the episode went two days over schedule and Goldstone was never asked to direct another episode.

Written by Robert Bloch for Desilu Productions, What Are Little Girls Made Of? focuses on Nurse Chapel, played by Majel Barrett, Gene Roddenbery's wife, who is reunited with her fiancé only to learn that he has gone mad, leading him to make an android duplicate of Captain Kirk.

CHRISTINE 

Are you all right?

KIRK 

(eyes Korby; then to Christine, nods) 

As far as I know.

KORBY

(to Christine) 

And now…meet an Android.

Korby signals over his shoulder; the table slowly rotates until Kirk is out of sight…then a second Captain Kirk rotates into sight, the turntable stopping. It’s the Android, perfect in every detail. The eyelids flutter…slowly the eyes open. Then a look around, fastening on Christine. A smile of recognition.

The shooting script we have makes the aforementioned script problems quite obvious as there is nary a page where large parts of dialogue are not crossed out. In addition there are call sheets, shooting schedules and handwritten notes by Goldstone.

To read the entire script, ask for MS-1073, the papers of James Goldstone.

"Live long and prosper"

Safe Waters

Last week, after over 160 years of searching, the Terror was located at the bottom of the Arctic Sea. The Terror was one of two ships lost by John Franklin in the most disastrous of the 19th-century attempts to find a Northwest passage. We also blogged about Franklin when his other ship, Erebus was found two years ago. The Terror, it turns out, has remained amazingly well preserved, safely submerged in icy water.

To celebrate, we thought it might be nice to remember the Terror's glory days when it successfully navigated arctic waters, provided shelter for its crew, and returned triumphant. In 1836, Captain George Back led a two-year expedition of discovery into the Arctic commanding the Terror. The ship had been specially fitted with a heating system and the hull reinforced to withstand the ice's pressure. The Terror was home to the crew during the long polar winter when they were trapped in the ice.

Back, who was later knighted for leading the expedition, wrote a stirring account. The illustrations show the ship in peril, but always as a refuge from the real terror, the weather. The Terror brought Back and his crew home safely on this journey, Franklin was not so lucky.

To see the images, ask for Back's Narrative of the Expedition in H.M.S Terror, Stef G650 1836 .B12.

Occom's Archive

Today we are borrowing a slightly edited blog post from the Dartmouth Digital Library Program's brand-spankin'-new blog. We hope you like it!

This weekend, Dartmouth College will co-host with the Society of Early Americanists a symposium on Indigenous Archives in the Digital Age. The event celebrates The Occom Circle, a digital edition of the papers of Samson Occom (1723-1792), a Mohegan Indian who was instrumental in Dartmouth’s founding. The Occom Circle is one of the Dartmouth Digital Library Program’s largest projects to date, involving librarians, archivists, technologists, scholars, students, and members of the Mohegan tribe.

For an exhibit at Rauner Library in conjunction with the conference, we wanted to explore Occom’s role in a series of events related to the founding of Dartmouth College. In 1765, Eleazar Wheelock, wanting to raise funds for his project of converting Native Americans to Christianity at his school in Connecticut, sent Occom, who was already an ordained minister, to Great Britain. There, Occom became a celebrity, preaching to numerous congregations, meeting religious leaders like George Whitefield (one of the founders of Methodism) and political figures like William Legge, 2nd Earl of Dartmouth (for whom Wheelock would eventually name his fledgling institution). Occom’s return to the colonies, however, precipitated his break with Wheelock. He discovered that his family had been neglected, and that his mentor planned to move the school to the New Hampshire frontier.

Some years later, Occom wrote a scathing letter berating Wheelock for abandoning his intention to teach Indian youth in favor of creating a College. He felt like Wheelock’s “Gazing Stock, Yea Ever a Laughing Stock, in Strange Countries, to Promote your Cause.” Other mentors, such as Whitefield, Occom noted, had warned him that he was nothing but a tool that would be used and set aside. Even in the heat of passion, Occom did not forget his schooling. He threw the learning Wheelock had given him back in his face. He wrote:

I am very Jealous that instead of your Semenary Becoming alma Mater, She will be too alba mater to Suckle the Tawnees, for She is already a Dorn’d up too much like the Popish Virgin Mary She’ll be Naturally ashame’d to Suckle the Tawnees for She is already equal in Power, Honor, and Authority to and any College in Europe.

With alba mater (in Latin, “white mother”), Occom puns on alma mater (“foster mother”), a traditional metaphor for a college.

This was an extraordinary moment in the story of Dartmouth’s founding. Occom recognized the failure of the institutions and people who nurtured him to uphold the values which he had been taught. Archives have always contained marginalized voices; digital archives amplify those voices to help fill the silences of history, and to remind us of our communities’ ideals. During the celebration of its 250th anniversary, Dartmouth will certainly reflect on its struggle to embrace the original commitment to Native education for which Occom worked so hard, and which we can see evidence of in the documents of The Occom Circle.

The Occom Circle includes digital editions both of Occom’s journal of his trip to Great Britain and of his final letter to Wheelock. The journal and the letter themselves, along with many other related documents, are in the exhibit “Power, Honor, and Authority: Samson Occom and the Founding of Dartmouth College.” The exhibit was curated by Laura Braunstein and Peter Carini, and will be on view in Rauner Library’s Class of ‘65 Galleries until October 28, 2016.