By RALPH MORGAN, '06, from the General Magazine and Historical Chronicle, April, 1926. pp. 300-306.
"Bill ain't as good a man as he uster to be," said the old fellow, sitting by the stove at the crossroads store.
"No, and he never wuz, nuther," said his argumentative old crony.
To an alumnus of forty years standing customs at the University twenty years ago were merely a- flabby excuse for what they had been in his undergraduate days. To the alumnus of twenty years standing customs of his day were customs, breeders of manhood and college spirit. Those of to-day are colorless and too highly organized. No doubt in 1946 today's undergraduates will look with pity upon undergraduate customs of those days.
With this apology for human nature and due recognition of the roseate hues painted by time, the writer will proceed to lament the decay of the present-day undergraduate "traditions."
Twenty years ago the Freshman class were greeted upon the opening day of college with the Hall Rush and Comer Fight immediately after the opening exercises in the college chapel. The origin of the Hall Rush is obscure. It probably began about 1880 and was the result of organization by upper Class men of more or less unorganized conflict between Freshmen and Sophomores. The Hall Rush was abolished in 1903 or 1904 and probably very properly so, for the danger of injury was very great. Its abolition probably came with the offer of Erwin Clarkson Garrett, of the writer's class, for six men to volunteer, to die for the class by diving under the feet of our opponents as they rushed to meet our class. Needless to say, the upper classmen present did not allow the volunteers to "die for the class," if there were any volunteers. The Hall Rush was a terrible ordeal and, for the information of those who never participated in it, a brief description may be in order.
After chapel on opening day classes were given a few moments to strip for action--strip to the waist. The Freshman class of the writer's first year massed outside of the west door of the basement corridor in College Hall. This corridor is now cut off by the Department of Psychology, but twenty years ago it ran the full length of the building-and was about one hundred yards in length . The Sophs gathered at the east end. At a signal from Sol Metzger, of the Senior class, who was referee, the classes rushed the length of the hall, meeting half way with a sickening thud. The writer, who is short in stature, was well to the back of his class and had none of the sensation of the first impact that the taller, steadier fellows on the front rows had. We in the rear were merely in an impenetrable jam, comparable only to the New York subway in rush hour or the ancient joke-book gag about the department store bargain sale, except that our plight was emphasized by the lack of ventilation and the reek of several hundred sweating bodies. The black hole of Calcutta seemed sweet to think about during the seemingly, indeterminable minutes of the Hall Rush, which wasn't a rush at all after the first impact but was merely a jam.
Immediately after the Hall Rush, the Corner Fight was announced. This fight undoubtedly was instituted in 1872, when the University moved from Ninth and Chestnut Streets to its present site. In those days and for many years the classes assembled in the basement of College Hall before going to chapel. "The corner fight began," says Dr. Addinell Hewson, '76 C., "in the fall of 1872 when the Freshmen sought to dislodge the Sophomores from their corner."
The Corner Fight in those days was a daily occurrence and undoubtedly a class member of 1876 or subsequent years thinks very slightingly of 1906, who only had one corner fight a year.
In the fall of 1902 the Corner Fight was, like the Hall Rush, organized by the upper classmen. The Sophomores took a corner of one of the small locker rooms at the foot of the stairs, put their corner man in the Comer, surrounded him with a picked guard, then marshaled the remainder of the class on the outskirts. The Freshmen were given fifteen minutes to get the corner men out. It seemed like fifteen hours, milling around in the dark or semi-dark, and it was an impossible task-the Sophomores always won.
This was the first day of college in those days. Nowadays they give the Freshman a hand-book issued by the Christian Association. In those days they told him to fight for his life. Perhaps somewhere between the two extremes is the correct measure, and while the writer laments the passing of the good old days as molders of character, class spirit and esprit de corps, he likewise recognizes that with the increase in the size of our universities most all of the old customs at all universities have been modified.
Hazing was in vogue in 1902 and all authorities agree that hazing should be eliminated, as has been done. The writer was hazed--but very mildly. One incident can be called to mind. A small group of boys, all Freshmen, from the Friends Central School, met in a dormitory house one evening for a social time about the second week of college. About 10-30 a very sedate hour, refreshments consisting of ice cream and cake were served by the host and very tempting they appeared, for "hash house" food was none too good in those days, and our dinners had not been very plentiful. With spoons poised for the first taste there was a knock at the door. Like fools, we answered it. There confronted, five or six of the "scaredest" little Freshmen the world has ever seen, the most formidable-looking sight of a Committee of Sophomores, who in most injured tones told us how we were violating all the rules of the University, the city, the state and the nation by being up so late and by daring to cat ice cream. And they proceeded to eat our ice cream while we were tied to beds and bureaus, and when they were through with our repast they proceeded to put us through some stunts. The writer was made to be a dog-tied to a bed-post and made to lap up the dregs of the ice cream.
A few days later came the Poster episode. For nights at a time Freshmen squads ranged the campus striving to prevent the posting of the Sophomore Poster--an insulting and vulgar sheet of instructions to Freshmen. It was good fun but had to be stopped because in the exhuberance of youth some individuals went too far and placed the posters on outside property, so that the episode became a police matter. At first it was organized and a regular Poster Fight was held, but this was discontinued within the past decade.
The Pants Fight has survived on the campus to this day, although in somewhat modified form, and is a splendid spirit breeder. The Pants Fight, like the Corner Fight, didn't originate in cold blood. It just happened. It was in October of 1902 when an upper classman, if the writer's memory serves him correctly it was Bow Crowell, '04 C., the oarsman who later died while an undergraduate, who came dashing up to the third floor of College Hall looking for some Freshmen. He found the writer's section waiting to go into a German recitation.
Said he: "You Freshmen go out in front of Houston Club and rescue some of your class, who are being hazed by John Brown and his Sophomores." John Arthur Brown, present chairman of our Rowing Committee, was Sophomore President and in charge of disciplining the Freshmen class, who had painted the numerals '06 over nearly everything in sight. Our section was off in a body some twenty-five or thirty strong, and we, with our captive classmates, out-numbered John Brown's henchmen. The Sophs therefore ran around to the rear of Houston Hall and bellowed "All Sophs out," and they came from College Hall, Logan Hall and elsewhere until the Freshmen were in turn, badly out-numbered. The writer will never forget his sensation of gratitude and relief when he saw the Freshman Engineers, four abreast, in almost military formation double-quicking it from the old power plant, then the Engineering Building. What a cheer we gave them!
Up to this point, and perhaps the fight had lasted an hour, there did not seem to be any definite objective. When the Sophs were out-numbered, they massed together against the Houston Club doors and we dislodged them. Then they out-numbered-us, as reinforcements kept pouring in, and they dislodged us, and so it went until some bright member of the Freshman class piped up, "Let's take off John Brown's pants." And then the fun began. This was possibly at eleven o'clock in the morning. By three in the afternoon John Brown's pants were off--and almost lay mouldering in the grave--all except the belt and a narrow strip of perhaps an inch at the waistband, the Freshmen thereby claiming victory. The Sophs, on the other hand, claimed as long as any particle of John Brown's pants were in place the victory was theirs--and the mooted point has not been settled to this day.
The major portion of John Browns pants were confiscated, they were new that very day, cut into little squares, tied with red and blue ribbon and distributed among the members of the Freshman class. The writer's bit was on his wall for many years. It was a great fight and great fun, though something of a hardship on clothing, and it started from spontaneous combustion, which proved among other things that young men's minds were in correct channels in those golden days.
The next organized Fight that we as Freshmen indulged in was the historic Bowl Fight, which was held late in March on the then old Athletic Field.
"The exact origin . . . is still obscure," said Edward W. Mumford, '89 C., writing in the Alumni Register in 1906, "but it seems safe to say that the germ of the idea was born in the early sixties."
In the sixties and subsequent years the first term ended with Christmas, and it was customary to read out the honor men. Some ironical soul was inspired with derision when the third honor man of the Freshman class was read out. W. W. Montgomery, of '65, is authority for the statement that about 1863 or 1864 the Sophomores presented this third honor man with an ordinary kitchen spoon-in derision. Mr. Charles H. Spencer, '68, wrote Mr. Mumford at the time of the publication of his article referred to that the Sophomores not only presented him with a spoon but tried to "chair me, which I avoided." This is the first record of a conflict between the classes, and it will be noted occurred during the height of the Civil War when a spirit of conflict was undoubtedly rampant.
"It is interesting to note," says Mr. Mumford further, "that during that same college year of 1864, no less than three spoons were presented, viz; this one to Mr. Spencer, one by '68 to Mr. W. L. Bull, their classmate, at the "Freshman Vale" (a kind of Freshman class-day, exercises) and a third was voted by his own class to Mr. John T. Lewis, '65, as "most popular man" at the Senior class-day exercises in the spring. This was, apparently, by the way, the beginning of another University custom, maintained, I think, ever since."
By 1866 the Freshman third honor man was presented with not only a wooden spoon but also a wooden bowl. In 1867, Robert W. Leslie, '71, was the third honor man, and as he had recited a poem apropos of the Irish Fame a pathetic ballad entitled "Three Grains of Corn." This was too much for the Sophomores, and they determined to present Mr. Leslie with a bowl containing three grains of corn, and they lay in wait for him after the exercises intending to seat him in the bowl. Mr. Leslie, sensing the indignity, bolted for the street, across Ninth Street, across Chestnut and through the windows of the old Continental Hotel into Sansom Street. Notwithstanding that the hue and cry was raised and that the entire Sophomore class pursued, he made his escape, but he served to give further objective to the Bowl episode from which the Bowl Fight emerged.
In December, 1869, the Freshman Bowl Man broke the Bowl. Mr. L. C. Madeira, '72, still preserves a piece of this bowl. In 1870 there was a bitter battle between the classes on Ninth Street, "where blood was spilled." Likewise in 1871 there was a heated battle between the classes, and the bowl was broken by the Freshmen. The next year, 1872, the University moved to West Philadelphia and the Bowl Fight was carried on all around the rough ground outside of College Hall. The fight was an annual occurrence in December year after year until the college abolished the three-term system in the academic year 1882-83, when the Bowl Fight was moved up to February. In 1885 the college authorities took a hand and organized the Fight, giving specifications as to size and quality of the Bowl and drew up rules for the Fight which were substantially -the same down to the date of its abolition in 1914. Dr. J. William White was appointed referee of this fight. The effect of "rules" was in 1887 to cause the Bowl Fight to be abandoned, the Pennsylvanian commenting editorially: "If we cannot have an old-timer, let us yield gracefully." The Athletic Association had also barred the Fight from the Athletic Field.
The break of a year, however, only served to increase interest, for the next year it was renewed and everybody--Seniors and juniors and Medicals-participated. In 1890 the college did away with the custom of announcing the honor men at mid-years, so the Freshman class elected its own Bowl Man. In 1896 the Medicals stole the Bowl after it had been taken by the '98 men to their quarters-the Fight was a draw.
For the most part the Bowl Fight was a draw in these times. The rules provided that the Freshmen should get their Bowl Man out of the enclosure--over the fence-within five minutes. This done, the Freshmen sought to take the bowl away from the Sophomores. Later this was changed to count the hands on the bowl. Usually the Freshmen got their man away and the Sophomores kept their bowl-hence the fight was a draw.
In the writer's Freshman year we got our Bowl Man over the fence, due to a case of mistaken identity, in a minute and a half-a world's record. Good strategy dictated that we send our class surrounding a fake Bowl Man, dressed for a fight, to the left-the real Bowl Man, dressed for a drawing-room, walked nonchalantly to the right and skipped over the fence. Brains had triumphed over brawn. Our college education had been justified. We also won the second half and broke the long line of ties. As Sophomores we likewise won the fight, tackling '07's Bowl Man in football fashion and sitting upon him for the required time. We won the second half as well, and as far as the writer knows, his class is the only one to ever win the Bowl Fight twice.
The Bowl fight was abandoned in 1914, after it resulted fatally to a student. Classes had gotten too big, and even an old-timer probably must admit the wisdom of the authorities in ending it after fifty years of existence.
There seems no good reason, however, for the May Day festivities to have been so altered when May Day was turned into Hey Day some ten years ago. An old-fashioned May Day Carnival, or rather May Night it should have been termed, was looked forward to by the undergraduates as a great event and was a great breeder of spirit. It began when the lower classmen gathered wood for a bonfire, and here was the first cause for suppression by the Faculty. This privilege could easily be abused, but the writer of these lines respectfully subscribes that the present, modern, dehydrated manner of organized and regulated celebration does not express the honest feeling of youth or give the training or reaction that an oldfashioned spontaneous May Day did. Well, what was May Day?
First of all, it was a celebration of Dewey's victory at Manilla and an expression of joy at the coming of May--and Spring. It began with a Nightshirt Pee-rade around a huge bonfire and finished with boxing and wrestling bouts and a tug-of-war between the Freshmen and Sophomores, all events counting toward the Dean's Trophy. Possibly it ended in something like a riot, but a pleasant time was had by all and after all the smoke had cleared away no one or no thing was hurt much.
The Houston Club Election--once a big event-was discarded apparently because of lack of interest or lack of direction, and here again the oldtimer heaves a sigh and then brightens up with the thought that under the capable management of Director Thomas Hart and Assistant Director Paul B. Hartenstein, perhaps in the fullness of time some of the old glamour of the Houston Club will return and the honor of its Presidency will be hotly contested for at the polls.
Still another ancient custom to go by the board was the Sophomore Cremation, started in 1877 by Thomas Aquinas Edwards, Of '79 C. The Cremation Committee elected the two most unpopular professors. Effigies of them were stuffed with straw and "learned lawyers" from the class read' the charges against the offenders and they were called upon to answer. As they remained silent, the sentence of burning at the stake was passed and carried out forthwith, with members of the class in suitable costume executing weird dances. Text-books were burned, symbolizing the completion of the Sophomore year. This custom was stopped by Dr. Smith in 1917.