In the first days the Campus was only a backwoods clearing with lines of forest oaks on the east and south, the fence-rows of the Rumsey farm, and from it the stumps of the original forest trees had to be removed before the University was opened. For many years it was, to all intents, a farm lot upon which a few scattered buildings were to be seen. The early Regents and Faculty were necessarily occupied with pressing practical problems, and the first steps toward rendering the Campus more attractive were very casual and ineffective. The sum of $200 was given Dr. Houghton for the planting of trees in 1840 but action was delayed because of Pat Kelly's wheat, and when eventually the trees were planted—tradition has it they were locusts—they were soon destroyed by insects. Andrew D. White describes the Campus when he came to the University in 1857 as "unkempt and wretched. Throughout its whole space there were not more than a score of trees outside the building sites allotted to professors; unsightly plank walks connected the buildings, and in every direction were meandering paths, which in dry weather were dusty and in wet weather muddy."
Yet as early as 1847 the forlorn condition of the Campus began to be officially noticed; appropriations of small sums were made from time to time for trees and shrubs and a scheme for the laying out of avenues and walks and the planting of groups of trees was adopted. Unfortunately, the trees came before the walks, and as they were all of quick-growing varieties the effort did not go far. Nevertheless a vision of the traditional academic grove appeared in the report of the visiting Committee of that year, which recommended that "regard should be had, in making the selection, to the cleanliness, desirability, symmetry, and beauty of foliage of the trees to be planted" and observed that "the highway of thought, and intellectual development and progress, much of which is parched and rugged, should, as far as may be, be refreshed with fountains and strewn with flowers." Truly, an alluring picture! The Faculty, however, somewhat more practical, insisted on walks, protesting that they were "obliged before clear day to wend their way to their recitations through darkness and mud." A similar plan was undertaken in 1854 when citizens, students, and Faculty all joined in the work, the citizens to set out a row of trees on the farther side of the streets outside the Campus, while the students and Faculty were to do the same on the Campus side. Five hundred trees were thus set out within the grounds while an equal number was added through an appropriation by the Regents. But apparently small success attended these efforts, for few of these trees have survived.
It was with the coming of the young Andrew D. White, as Professor of History, with his youthful enthusiasm and memories of the "glorious elms of Yale," that the first effective effort for the improvement of the Campus began. He says, in his Autobiography:
Without permission from any one, I began planting trees within the university enclosure; established, on my own account, several avenues; and set out elms to overshadow them. Choosing my trees with care, carefully protecting and watering them during the first two years, and gradually adding to them a considerable number of evergreens, I preached practically the doctrine of adorning the Campus. Gradually some of my students joined me; one class after another aided in securing trees and planting them, others became interested, until, finally, the University authorities made me "superintendent of the grounds," and appropriated to my work the munificent sum of seventy-five dollars a year. So began the splendid growth which now surrounds those buildings.
His example was doubtless infectious, for the Ann Arbor citizens continued their tree-planting efforts around the outside of the Campus in the spring of 1858, while a group of sixty trees presented to the University were set out inside. The seniors of '58 left a memorial in the shape of concentric rings of maples about a native oak in the center of the Campus, one of the few survivals of the original forest growth, which has since become known as the Tappan Oak, and is now marked by a tablet on a boulder placed there in later years by '58. Many of these maples still survive, though all traces of the circles are lost. The juniors also set out another group further to the east, while Professor Fasquelle planted a number of evergreens east of the north wing to balance a similar group of Professor White's at the south. The maples outside the walk on State Street were also the gift of Professor White and were balanced by a similar row of elms on the inside, given by the Faculty of the Literary Department. This general interest in Campus improvement did not escape the Regents and successive appropriations, though comparatively small, continued the work until Michigan now has, in the words of the father of the movement, written forty-six years after his work was undertaken, "one of the most beautiful academic groves to be seen in any part of the world,"—a monument to him and to the students of his time.
The development of the building program, if a thing so haphazard can go by that name, was less fortunate for the University. Only in very recent years has there been any appreciation of the need of some degree of uniformity and planning for the future. Many of the present buildings have been evolved, as the needs of the University grew, rather than planned, while others have been built to suit the tastes of certain officers, or the special needs of the departments concerned, with no reference to the larger unity which has come to be recognized as so necessary in any group of buildings. Some of the oldest buildings have gone; in particular the two residences on the north, which became the old Dental College and the Homeopathic School in their last incarnations, while the picturesque old Medical Building followed them a few years later. The two on the south still survive; the President's House, though often remodeled, still retains its old lines, but the adjacent building, now known as the Old Engineering Building and used largely for instruction in modern languages in the Engineering College, has lost all semblance of its former character.
The University Campus in the Seventies