'We Lit the Clock'

At Commencement time in 1936, when the class of 1906 came back for its thirtieth reunion, it brought one banner for the alumnae procession that delighted all beholders. Across the campus marched the class, waving high the prideful slogan, 'WE LIT THE CLOCK.'

The clock referred to was the one on the tower of Mary Lyon. At the time when they lit it, clocks were not as generally illuminated as they are now, and the convenient four-way radiant clock-face made a great impression every evening upon all. An alumna wrote in a letter recently to her freshman daughter a remark that was quoted in the freshman Sphinx: 'I can see Mary Lyon's clock-tower winking her cheerful face at you - much the way her eyes in the odd old picture twinkle out at me from under the flappy edges of her cap.'

The light in the clock was given in memory of Miss Annah May Soule, a lady after Miss Lyon's own heart, witty, original, a born teacher. Those who knew her remember one evening when a good friend of hers on the Faculty started a campaign to abolish Miss Soule's favorite hat. The hat had been Miss Soule's favorite for some time, and the friend felt strongly that it ought to be 'called in.' After the friend's vocabulary (no mean one) was exhausted, the bystanders asked Miss Soule what she was going to do about it.

'Oh,' said she, quite unruffled, 'I just let the heathen rage.' In her memory one of the seminar rooms was given, and also the chimes in the tower of Mary Lyon.

A college is a homelike thing that its graduates can adorn with three quite different kinds of gifts.

The first sort is the material gift - memorials, scholarships, buildings, a light in a clock, a Daniel Garber landscape, endowed professorial chairs, swings for a garden, books for a house library, portraits, rooms, endowments, and a flight of stone steps to the pond. Classes and individuals ever since the beginning have been thinking up practical and imaginative presents of this kind. One of the most entertaining examples of the early gifts from the students is recorded under the date of May 9, 1851, by Helen Peabody in the manuscript of the Seminary Journal preserved in the Archives. This Journal, by the way, was itself an unconscious gift to the College. It had been started by Lucy Lyon and other friends of Fidelia Fiske after she had gone as a missionary to Persia. In letters to 'Dearly Beloved Fidelia,' those friends kept up a record of Mount Holyoke doings from day to day. The plan was continued by groups of young graduates who had been invited to South Hadley to teach, and the Journal was regularly sent to far-away 'missionary sisters' later on. A practically unbroken collection is in the library archives now - an enchanting first-hand record of early days. The style is friendly - such remarks as 'Let me tell you a thing to make you stare,' followed by the current gossip. Here is the entry about an idea that came suddenly into the heads of the 'young ladies' of 1851 at the time when a new carpet had arrived for Seminary Hall.

The carpet did not come till last night, and you surely would have been interested to have seen the zeal manifested by the young ladies today in making it. It was cut out early this morning, and had you passed through Seminary Hall at almost any time during the day, you would have seen many happy faces, and a set of nimble fingers at almost every yard in those long seams. But they did not manifest their interest in the pleasant appearance of their Holyoke home by sewing on the carpet alone. As the work went on, it was whispered among themselves that the 'old brown linen piano spread' would not be in keeping with the new carpet, whereupon it was suggested that if each one would contribute a few cents, a handsome one could be obtained.

The suggestion met with a hearty approval; and all thought it would be a pleasant memento to leave. To this end permission was sought and obtained and in about an hour $20 were collected, a sum too large for the Piano Spread. The desirableness of a pair of Solar Lamps, one to stand upon each end of the highest desk, to be used instead of the long row of unshaded lamps, has often been spoken of by the young ladies this year. Their petition now was to appropriate the surplus to that project. As there seemed to be no objection to it, three of their number were delegated to Springfield to select the articles. They returned this evening with a fine Robroy Spread, a very good match for the carpet, and two large, beautiful Solar Lamps. The Sem. Hall has been newly painted this Spring, and it would not be strange if, when the new carpet is down and the new cherry bell ropes and tassels are up, and the other appendages arranged, we should any of us find it difficult to recognize the identity of the place.

The 'Robroy Spread' and the 'Solar Lamps' and the 'cherry bell ropes' captivated the imagination of the students of 1851; a swimming pool captivates them now. Between-times, according to Miss Bertha E. Blakely, 'the teachers and students were fired with enthusiasm for securing gifts for particular ends desired, sometimes for physical comfort, as for chairs to replace hard settees, or for the elevator in the old building of five stories. I remember that my brothers and I earned pennies for both these objects when we were children and my sisters were students at the Seminary.'

Some of the gifts have brought down with them lovely old names like Fidelia and Delia and Nancy and Sarah and Georgiana, and Cynthia and Abby and Polly and Rose - many of them commemorated by their daughters, as for instance in the gift from Harriet R. Pease. Harriet R. Pease was the daughter of Mary W. Chapin Pease of the apple blossom wedding on May 17 so long ago; and because of that gift we hold Commencement now in Chapin Hall.

But it is not only material gifts that students leave behind them in the records. Every college generation contributes, usually anonymously, new ideas. One generation establishes a student government organization and calls it 'Student League.' Another changes the League and enlarges it into 'Community,' and establishes 'Judicial Board.' One generation starts Freshman Frolic. Another abolishes it. One generation invents 'Competitive Sing.' Another drops it. One generation starts a Y.W.C.A. organization. Another substitutes a 'Fellowship of Faiths' including all religious affiliations, besides members who might not wish to put a precise title to their faith. One generation has a 'Ten O'Clock Rule.' Another has a 'Noise Commission.' One generation goes as a missionary; another goes as a war nurse; and another goes for 'Junior Year in France.' One generation goes out for wartime gardens; another establishes Outing Club with Mr. Joseph Skinner behind them in building them a cabin. One generation is oblivious to everything old in the village of South Hadley.Another comes in with eyes already trained to appreciate every old roofline and doorway - Mr. Skinner again co-operating with his restorations of lovely old houses and the little white-steepled church that he saved from a reservoir project in Prescott and brought in bit by bit, making it into a museum and leaving the bell-rope hanging inside the door so that any student who wants to hear the curious tone of the old bell can ring it in the steeple as she goes in. Students today appreciate South Hadley's original 'Meeting House' where they used to blow the conch-shell to call the town to 'meeting,' and the old South Hadley parsonage that had a well inside so that one could still get access to drinking-water when hostile Indians were on the prowl. We had never even heard that there was such a place in the time before the revival of interest in colonial things.

One of the best of the new ideas is the 'Public Hearing' - a meeting that can be called together when a sizable group has an idea to propose. They can bring out a big crowd if the idea is a good one; and nobody comes if the idea falls flat. But in either event they have a chance to state their views.

And the very best of the new ideas is the expeditious manner of the big campus elections. Instead of the endless business meetings for election of officers in each of the organizations, nowadays a slate of nominees for all the organized activities is presented at one mass meeting - a 'required Chapel' usually, that 'Community' launches on a given morning. All the nominees are there on the platform, and one by one they are briskly introduced by the chief officer of the organization they represent. This gives the whole college a chance to 'see the slate,' as it were, and saves no end of time. Balloting is done later without those long-winded meetings we used to have - so long and tiresome, with 'tellers' running around and eternal waits between the bouts of voting, that everybody had to be exhorted to attend and make a quorum. Nowadays they exhort less and accomplish more.

Students can bring both gifts and new ideas to the campus in their undergraduate days. But there is one contribution to college history that can be made only by those who have been for some time its graduates; the handing down of a college education to those who are next in line, so that the family reappears perhaps four times in a century on campus.

This is more evident on the campus of a college for men than it can ever be in a college for women, because the name of the father is the same as the name of the son, and the succession is obvious. In a college for women, on the contrary, a girl's mother and grandmother and great-grandmother may have preceded her on the campus, but nobody would guess it from her name. The following scene is what happens:

Back in college comes an alumna from thirty odd years ago. She is married; her name Mrs. Page. Up to Mrs. Page comes a senior named Dorothy Smith, and after being introduced inquires, 'Mrs. Page, was your name Elizabeth Huntington before you were married?'

'Yes,' replies Mrs. Page in surprise that anybody as young as this Miss Smith should know her maiden name.

'My mother told me to speak to you if you ever came to college,' explains Miss Smith. 'She was in college with you.'

At this point Mrs. Page cudgels her brains - Smith, Smith - there were three Smiths in other classes, but she didn't know them very well. Is this going to be one of the times when she will have to admit that she had forgotten somebody? Then she recalls that of course this girl's mother would not have been a Smith.

'What was your mother's name?' says she.

'Oh, that's right, you wouldn't know,' exclaims Dorothy Smith. 'My mother was Kate Underhill.'

'Kate Underhill! Are you -'

But there is no need to ask. Dorothy Smith is laughing and it is Kate Underhill's laugh - and there they all are back in Mead Hall, freshman year - Elizabeth Huntington and Kate Underhill and Helen and Mary and Betsey and Lucy and Sally and Eunice, laughing over a copy of Le Figaro in which M. Gaston Deschamps described in gallant French a visit he had made to Mount Holyoke.

The College was so much interested in the account that the College magazine reprinted it from that issue of the April 3 Le Figaro in 1901. But the part that the freshmen had most enjoyed was the conclusion that the 'filles de Mount-Holyoke' played 'le jeu du basket ball' as follows:

Il faut les voir commodement et sommairement vetues d'un costume de serge bleue, tres souple et tres court, se diviser en deux camps lancer la balle vers la haute corbeille qui semble inaccessible, et vers laquelle est tendu tout l'effort des bras nus, des reins cambres, des jarrets flexibles. Les joueuses de basket-ball, afin d'attraper la balle fantastique qui rebondit au-dessus de leurs chevelures denouees, song obligees de courir comme Atalante, de sauter, de gambader, et parfois de tomber avec bonne humeur en de brusques culbutes. La coquetterie feminine n'abandonne jamais ses droits. Elles savent que ces divers mouvements, soulignes par la complaisance d'un gentil costume de zouave, sont fertiles en gestes plastiques et en attitudes sculpturales. Elles profitent de cette occasion pour montrer vaillement qu'en Amerique les femmes savantes ne portent pas toujours des bas-bleus.

Kate had been on the team, and appreciated especially the parts about the 'coquetterie feminine' and the 'attitudes sculpturales.' And here was Kate's daughter, a stranger - and where to begin?

'Are you on the team?' asks Elizabeth Page in a daze.

'Yes, hockey,' answers Dorothy Smith. 'Was mother?'

When the class of 1911 came back to Mount Holyoke for its twenty-fifth reunion in 1936, its daughters among the students then on the campus helped their mothers to put on their 'Commencement Stunt' at the Alumnae Fete. The big stage in Chapin Auditorium was lighted so as to center attention on a golden archway with a tracery of June flowers. Up the aisle through the great audience of alumnae and seniors and parents of seniors came those members of the class of 1911 whose daughters chanced to be in college at the time. Each of these graduates of 1911 was dressed as on her own Commencement Day in cap and gown. Led by the Class President, also in 'full academicals,' they gathered at both sides of the stage.

Behind the scenes all their daughters were waiting their turn. As it happened, these daughters represented different sorts of college activities and each was dressed for the part, one in choir costume, one in ski suit, and so on, making a rather complete and picturesque review of the college girl in her various manifestations today. But for the moment they were keeping very quiet out of sight.

On the stage the 1911 Class President was explaining to the audience that they must imagine themselves on the scene of 1911's Commencement Procession twenty-five years ago, at the moment when the seniors are waiting for their procession to start. To while away the time for the seniors, their President said that she would try to tell them what would interest them most about college twenty-five years after graduation. Turning to one of the group she said in fortune-telling tones:

Mabel Wilder: Twenty-five years from now you will have another name, and your deepest interest at Mount Holyoke will be your daughter Nancy - for two years treasurer of her class, chairman of Student Industrial Committee, leader of Silver Bay delegation, member of choir, and though she is a senior, 1911's 'Class Baby.'

In the golden archway, at the mention of her name, Nancy had appeared, wearing her white senior dress - and all the 1911 'seniors' had turned to watch her step out of the picture in the archway and come to join her mother.

The Class President turned to another member of the group:

Betsey Farley: In 1936 you will be coming back to South Hadley to see your daughter Polly, winner of mid-western regional scholarship from College Board Records. She is wearing the dress in which she ushered at Junior Prom, for she is President of the freshman class.

At the sound of her name, Polly had looked out through the archway, in the lacy yellow evening dress that she wore at Junior Prom.

One by one the golden archway framed the daughters - the choir girl in white cotta and black choir costume; the athlete in furry cap and red ski suit; the dramatic club member in a smock with a stage costume over her arm and a wig in her hand; the editor with a book; the musician, the House Chairman - until all but two had stepped through the frame and joined their mothers.

Last of all the President said:

Sarah Streeter: Twenty-five years from today, although your name will be different, your enthusiasm for Mount Holyoke will be the same and even greater - for you will have two daughters here, Jane and Rhoda.

[Enter Jane in cap and gown, Rhoda in yellow gym suit.] Rhoda, athletically inclined freshman, member of the Representative Council, and Chairman of the freshman class rings . . . . Jane, for two years President of her class, and now, in her senior year, Chairman of the Judicial Board.

Out from the frame stepped the two daughters.Their mother went to meet them and, with one of them at each side of her, centered the tableau, while the Class President recited the old text from Mount Holyoke's College seal: 'That our daughters may be as corner stones, polished after the similitude of a palace.'

The curtain went down. But the gifts to the college remain, whether they are of the kind represented by a daughter, or a palace, or a good idea - or something like the lighting of a clock.