VOL. XXIX.

THE TUFTONIAN

JANUARY, 1904

SOME TUFTS TRADITIONS

ROBERT WILLIAM HILL

No. 4

No college is a real college unless it possesses a mass of traditions, a collection of anecdotes, both true and false, of events and men of the past. No gathering of alumni is complete without an hour or two devoted to reminiscences of college days gone by, when the deeds of the bold, bad sophomores, and the youthful green freshmen, the "stunts" on April first, in neighbors' orchards and henhouses, are related over and over again, and never grow tiresome. That is when one's college days return in all the vividness of the present, when a man is once again a student at his Alma Mater, living the old life all over again, with its joys and sorrows, successes and vicissitudes. It is these traditions that unite the alumni and the student body, keeping alive to-day the old and tender memories of yesterday.

Tufts has many of these traditions for such a young institution, but they are not very well known, so the author has endeavored, with the aid of some of the alumni, to present a few of them. to the Tufts world, in the hope that this collection, though small, may serve as an incentive to others to more successfully perform the task.

Like all colleges, for many years a certain day in the year was observed at Tufts with an appropriate celebration. April first was the approved day, and the most popular ceremony was the stealing of the Chapel Bible, or the bell tongue, or both (students are not over particular about small things). So it came to be a regular occurrence to conduct the morning devotions on April Fool's day without the aid of either the Scriptures or the bell. In those days, you know, the "Pride of the Hill" was not in existence, and services were held in Ballou Hall, in the room that is now divided and used by Professors Wade and Fay. One April first, when Hosea Ballou was president, he opened the ex

ercises as usual, and tried to find the Bible lesson in an unabridged Webster's Dictionary, which was reposing peacefully before him. With a snort like that of a bull when a human being has just made a successful flying leap into a neighboring field, the good doctor removed his spectacles, folded his hands, and launched into one of the most fervent and comprehensive prayers ever made on College Hill. He prayed for the law-defying malefactors in particular, for the students as a whole, for the college and the world of which such desperadoes were members; and it is said that he even uttered a sigh of a few hundred words over the degeneracy of the whole human race. Those who heard that prayer will never forget it. History does not say whether recitations were held that day or not, but it does tell how our present president cured the students of any desire to continue the practice after his inauguration. When April first came and the Chapel Bible again disappeared, "Prexy," with a wise smile on his face, calmly drew from his pocket a small edition of the Scriptures and conducted the service as usual. The joke was dead, from that time on, but to this very day, it is said, he or Dean Shipman always comes prepared for emergencies, "wellheeled," as the cowboys say.

The old chapel has been the scene of many similar pranks played on the faculty. One day a slowmatch was placed under the altar, and connected to it were bunches of fire-crackers which went off with a tremendous racket. Dr. Leonard, who was conducting the services, was not "jarred" half so much as the innocent students in the front rows, and the joke failed. The timehonored trick of opening a bottle of chemicals which would not sell if put on the market as perfumes has also been tried and given up as useless. The faculty wouldn't budge.

Probably all of us have read in the papers stories purporting to be told by reformed burglars, but here is one which was told by a reformed pugilist, and is authentic. The author was informed that there was such a person on the Hill, and he immediately looked him up with the following result:-

Sometime before 1860 an international prize fight occurred in England between Sayers of that country, and Heenan of the United States. Intense interest in the contest was aroused on

this side of the water, and the Tufts students caught the infection. They decided to be up-to-date, and have a fight of their own. A careful search was made for gladiators, for the committee was determined to do itself proud. Finally Messrs. Porter and Capen, of the class of 1860, were chosen to defend the titles. of "The Boy" and "The Chicken" respectively. They at once went into training for the fray, and though there was no New York Journal to describe to the anxious world the details of their daily preparation, yet the students on this Hill certainly kept. posted, so that when the fateful day arrived the excitement was intense. A ring was constructed on the ground where the "Rez" now stands, and the whole college, including President Ballou, who watched from his attic window, witnessed the combat. Just who won is somewhat in doubt. The narrator of the story claimed that he did, but the author, remembering that he was prejudiced, searched exhaustively for the truth. After careful examination of the files of the Police Gazette, however, it seems most probable that the president is right, and that the "Chicken" carried off the palm.

In the early days of the college, the Hill was surrounded with fruit orchards of all sorts, and raids on them were matters of everyday occurrence, or, rather, everynight occurrence. The students had the country terrorized for miles around, and many a farmer used to spend his nights among his trees and vines accompanied by a dog or a gun. Fortunate, indeed, were the raiders that the many traps failed to work, for in the excited condition of the farmers' minds, a heavy fine, if not imprisonment, would have followed capture. One night a student, now a respected professor, sallied forth after grapes, and was having great luck, when a form suddenly rose up from the ground close by, and made for him. The pursuer, by the way, was another student who had taken advantage of his opportunity to play a practical joke on the "grape prospector."

Consternation seized the poor victim, and visions of at least one night in "durance vile" passed before his mind. Though he had had no previous reputation as a runner, he ran as few men ever did before, and those few only when actuated by a similar purpose. But it was in vain; the pursuer was gaining step by

step, chuckling all the time at the surprise the victim would feel when the denouement should take place; when the pursued in desperation suddenly turned and aimed a revolver at the supposed "farmer." One blow only was struck, and that was when the joker landed. He did not fall, he simply collapsed. From a triumphant pursuer he was instantly transformed into a trembling suppliant for mercy. For a few moments his chances of living to attain a degree were rather slim, but explanations and apologies prevailed, and the twain joined forces in a combined attack on the grapes.

From the early '60's until the '70's there existed at Tufts, in addition to the two Greek letter fraternities, two societies called "Coffee Pot" and "Round Table" respectively. These were secret, but purely local and open to both fraternity and nonfraternity men, or "oudens," as the latter were then called, from the Greek word. They were literary societies with convivial tendencies, and membership in them was, as a rule, highly prized. As time went on, however, the natural rivalry between them became so very bitter that they cut each other's throats. The beginning of their end came about in an amusing way.

One of the students had already joined the Round Tables when he discovered that the members of the Coffee Pot were more to his liking. So he deserted the Round Tables and united with their rivals, a most unusual proceeding, and one causing as much talk and surprise then as the transfer of membership from one fraternity to another would now. Naturally enough, the Round Tables became very indignant, and from that state of mind to the boiling over point was an easy transition. They were positive that the deserter would, if he had not already done so, betray all their secrets to the other society, so they plotted revenge. At the first favorable opportunity they broke into the rooms of the Coffee Pot, burned its regalia, insignia, records, etc., and melted its medals. The wreck was about as complete as it could be. Then it was the Coffee Pot's turn to become excited. The members of that society appealed to the law, and policemen with search warrants came up on the Hill, and a thorough examination of rooms made with no success. The one thing they did accomplish, though, was rather startling. Word of their ap

proach had been brought to the College, and practically every student had "dusted." The Hill was as deserted as in summer. Remember, this occurred in the days of orchard raiding, and very few students had clear consciences. So a panic ensued. Some of those who had visited orchards the night before hid themselves and what was left of their booty in the first favorable place, such as barn loft, stone wall, etc.; others even, in their terror, went so far as to return their plunder with pleas for forgiveness; while many of those who were innocent of any wrongdoing caught the infection, and took "to the tall timbers," also. When the students recovered from this demoralization they had lost most of their interest in the two rival societies, and practically nothing was heard from them afterward.

Probably many of the undergraduates have heard of the mishap which befell Professor Schneider's room one night, but it will bear repetition. When the morning came, the room was found to be destitute of chairs, but filled with hay from the old college barn, while contentedly munching the hay there stood a fine specimen of the "genus jackass." The feelings of the professor can better be imagined than described.

One of the greatest feats of practical engineering ever accomplished at Tufts, a thing which completely eclipsed the placing of a well-known cow on the belfry of Ballou, was the escapade of the brick cart. This cart, loaded with bricks, was captured by some of the students one night, taken apart, carried in pieces to the top of Ballou Hall, put together, and loaded again with the bricks, before morning dawned. When the rest of the college awoke and saw the phenomenon, it was surprised, to say the least. History, unfortunately, does not record the names of those devoted laborers, so that no tablet can well be erected to their memory.

Somewhere around '85 there was a student in this college who was usually so well informed on all matters pertaining to the lesson that he could not wait to be called upon, but persisted constantly in volunteering information. You have heard of such people before. This habit of his became rather tiresome to the others in the class, and they resolved to put a stop to it, so two or three of the ingenious ones invented and prepared the means