The University of Michigan

by Wilfred Byron Shaw

I changed or rather left Mrs. Andrews and went ... to Professor Ten Brook's. I like it so well at the Prof's that I have remained there since. Lest you should be unwilling, or perhaps fearful for my health, I would say that the Prof. has kindly offered me his horse to use every morning or as much as I please. A ride on horseback is exceeding good exercise. Especially when a horse is as hard to ride as the Prof's is wont to be. Do you recollect a sorrel steed you sold to Mr. Dan Stowell? Prof's horse's movements are just about as convenient as that one's were. My objection to boarding at a public boarding house, is, that no regard is paid to the rules of politeness and good manners. Every one for himself, is the motto. Not so in a private family. Mrs. Ten Brook is a very accomplished lady and the Prof. is not much behind her in that respect. They set a good table, not a very rich one, but rather a plain one. In the morning, Buckwheat pancakes and maple molasses, besides potatoes and sausage. At noon, 'steak,' sometimes fish. The professor charges 12 shillings for board. I like him of all the Prof's, the best.

What would a student nowadays think of a menu like that for $1.50 a week?

The first boarding club was established in 1860 in the house, not far from the ancient "Cat-Hole," of one Mrs. O'Toole, "a pretty good all-round cook, whose forte was apple dumplings" served daily. The steward was Charles Kendall Adams, '61, while other members were Walter W. Perry and Byron M. Cutcheon of the class of 1861 and Martin L. D'Ooge of the class of 1862.

Recreation was not a part of the earlier curriculum and athletics were unknown under that name, though feats of strength, jumping, lifting dumb-bells, the heavier the better, and foot-races, were common. Perhaps that woodyard and the favorite games of one-old-cat and wicket, a modification of cricket, were sufficient substitutes, occasionally varied by a fishing trip on the Huron or a walk to Ypsilanti, whenever the necessary permission from the authorities to leave Ann Arbor was forthcoming. Social opportunities came largely through the relations of the students with the townspeople and their lovely daughters, particularly at the popular church socials. Many of the brightest and most beautiful local belles came from "lower town," or north Ann Arbor, a most important section at that time,—some even lived nearly a mile beyond the old long bridge at the foot of Broadway hill. To them the new students were invariably introduced; the wise ones surrendering all rights, so that when the social was over, it was only natural for the new men to ask for the privilege of escorting them home; something of an ordeal on a winter night. The old wooden viaduct over the tracks was known in those days as the "Bridge of Sighs."

Of conviviality there was comparatively little in the earliest days, though occasionally some students succumbed to the beer and wine of the German townspeople. A certain drinking bout in 1858, however, had most serious consequences; one student died as the result, and this, with the resultant expulsions, seems to have had a very restraining influence for some years. Societies or other groups often went down to a Mrs. Slack's restaurant, where they were served by a pretty waitress named "Rika"—whose only claim to fame lies in the reminiscence of those undergraduates of '49 who were her patrons. But for the most part the life of the University was lived in a sane and wholesome atmosphere. The students were almost all from farm homes; they were used to the simple life and were in earnest in their efforts for an education. They were watched with a paternal eye by the Faculty and duly admonished at the two daily chapel exercises, long a part of University life. Their hours were carefully provided for; their courses were compulsory; and their attendance at classes insured by numbers on the class-room benches which had to be duly covered. For this, the shawls that the students wore in the late fifties seem to have been popular—several students, plus shawls, were able to conceal many gaps if the monitor were not too observant.

Throughout the earlier years there was a great emphasis on public speaking, for which ample opportunity was given in various "class exhibitions." These were inaugurated by the sophomores in 1843 with a programme of four orations, four dissertations, four essays, and one poem. The same class continued the precedent the next year, followed by succeeding junior classes, so that these exhibitions became an institution, long supported not alone by the students but by Faculty and interested citizens as well. The end did not come until 1871 when the last junior exhibition was held. The first class-day was held by '62 in the spring of their junior year, but it was celebrated informally and not taken very seriously until 1865 when the first real exercises took place in May at the beginning of the "Senior Vacation." The place was the old Presbyterian church, which seems to have been the favorite auditorium. The "presentation" of the class was made in Greek by Professor Boise, while President Haven replied in Latin. In one at least of these first class-day programmes the oration and poem only were public, while the history and prophecy were submitted to the class at a convivial session at the popular Hangsterfer's.

The place which these early platform efforts took in the life of those days is shown by two incidents. The first is related by Gen. W.H.H. Beadle, '61, later President of the University of South Dakota, who tells how an address by "one student" in 1858, denouncing the iniquity of the Mexican War as begun and waged for the extension of slavery, called him to the attention of the abolitionists, one of whom asked him if he would care to take a "long ride on a good horse." He would of course, and did, carrying a message to a Quaker farmer in Lenawee County, whose home was a station of the underground railway. Andrew D. White also describes with reminiscent pleasure how he groomed one of his students to defeat a local politician, known as "Old Statistics," who was characterized by his senatorial aspirations and his carefully appropriate garb, tall hat, blue swallow-tail and buff waistcoat with brass buttons. The wrath of this worthy, as a disciple of Henry Clay, had been aroused by the teachings of Professor White, who at that time was opposed to a protective tariff, and a public debate was to clinch the discussion. The result was a complete victory for the young David, who had the audience with him from the first, to the immense chagrin of his pompous opponent.

The annual Commencement exercises were usually held in one of the local churches and sometimes, after 1856, in the hall of the Union School building, though nowhere was there an auditorium large enough to hold all who wished to attend,—a situation not changed, in fact, until the erection of Hill Auditorium in 1913. Upon one occasion women were admitted an hour earlier than men, a bit of partiality which drew a protest against such injustice and a reference to the perfectly good space wasted through the necessities of the prevailing crinolines. One class, at least, that of '46, held its exercises in a great revival tent, especially imported from Chicago and set up after a week's strenuous exertion on the part of the students. The programme consisted of short orations by the graduates, who were democratically placed on the programme with no reference to standings. The increasing size of the classes led eventually to a Faculty selection of certain speakers to represent the students. In 1878 class participation was abolished and the practice of inviting distinguished men to give the Commencement address was inaugurated. The old practice of giving the seniors a vacation period in which to prepare their speeches also came to an end with this change.

The traditional rivalry between classes in the University existed from the first and many were the lessons taught the upstanding freshmen, with natural retaliations on the sophomores. To this was added a natural inter-departmental rivalry which came with the establishment of the professional schools. The "medics" and the "laws," however, soon grew strong enough to take care of themselves and were in fact for many years largely in the majority. And with this growth of class and departmental spirit, which increasing numbers brought, the rushing and hazing episodes in the seventies and eighties became more serious—not so much because of their dangerous character in themselves, as for the opportunity they gave to unfriendly critics of the institution. The usual student, however, yields to no one in his love for his alma mater and time and again it has only been necessary to point out the real danger to the University arising from such practices to bring about their abandonment,—until the next crop of hazers has to go through the same process of education.

This inter-departmental rivalry, which was most intense about 1900, naturally led to many escapades. One picturesque incident resulted when 1900 ran a flag bearing the class numerals to the top of the University flag-pole, and left it to sweep the skies with the halyards cut. A Western sharpshooter was enlisted from the ranks of the Law Department and the offending emblem was brought down on the second shot, to the great satisfaction of the "laws." Less excusable was the method the class of 1902 took to immortalize its victory over the "laws" by painting the class numerals prominently on the soft sand-stone of the Law Building, of which traces remain to this day for those who know where to look. The guilty class was made to feel mightily ashamed of itself for a while, but in after years it has proudly borne the title of "Human Skunks" conferred upon it at the time.