Thanksgiving, 1885. (Click on all images to enlarge.)
Thanksgiving, a national holiday since 1863, had special significance in Massachusetts, its state of origin. But the tradition of a school vacation is relatively recent. In the 19th century Williston Seminary celebrated the day, but that was all. Still, Seminary students welcomed any holiday.
George Benjamin Wardman, class of 1889, kept a scrapbook of his first two years at Williston, which he entered in the fall of 1885. It is a fascinating collection. Wardman saved printed memorabilia of debates, theatrical events (to which he happily journeyed significant distances), ballgames, dances, musical entertainments, the occasional restaurant meal – all in all, evidence of a student deeply committed to every aspect of school life except, perhaps, the academic program.
A new school year is upon us, with all the annual rituals that accompany it: friends to be made, rooms decorated, class schedules to figure out. An essential opening-of-school tradition is our attempt to instill into all our students’ consciousnesses the concept of “A Certain Minimally Consistent Standard of Behavior,” also known as “The Rules.” Yes, friends, this is when Alma Mater actually asserts her rights in loco parentis.
When I began to compile this essay, it occurred to me that it was a great topic for alumni input. A brief and wildly unscientific sampling of Facebook friends elicited many responses, some of which are reproduced here. But Amy Goodwillie Lipkin ’77 noted, “what I thought was ridiculous in my mind as a 16-year-old, I may not see as ridiculous now as an adult.” It’s a good point, one with which most parents or deans, if not every teenager, might concur. On the other hand, alumni recollections suggest that sometimes, even after many years, passions, or at least the memories of outrage, run high. It is also a reminder of the essential conflict between common sense and regulatory detail. Even today, the idea of having, say, a simple conceptual dress code of “neat, clean, and appropriate” is utterly impractical in a community of approximately 700 students and adults, who will voice as many opinions over exactly what that means.
The document below recently came to light. What prompted Silas Holman to write Principal William Gallagher (served 1886-1896) and confess his misdemeanors of forty-two years earlier is unknown — except that as every alumnus knows, the statute of limitations rarely extends beyond graduation. We will leave it to others’ historical perspectives to determine whether, at the most fundamental level, things have changed much.
Principal William Gallagher
Los Angeles Cal. Feb. 18th 1891
Mr. Wm. Gallagher Dear Sir: Yours of the 11th is received. Well do I remember the happy school days at East Hampton, when we irreverently nick named Mr. Wright the Principal “Boss Wright.” Post Master Ferry once caught me as I was climbing up the inside of the tower of the old Town House to ring the bell, or rather to attach a chord to the tongue. I remember getting a string through the ventilator of a fellow student’s room, attaching it to his door key, opening the door and putting eggs in his boots while he was asleep. I was not a bad boy but loved fun. Please call to see me when you come to Los Angeles. Truly yours, Silas Holman.
Silas Holman was a member of the Williston Seminary class of 1849, enrolled in the English (i.e. Scientific) curriculum. After Williston he returned to farming in his home town of Bolton, Mass., and also served as an Internal Revenue assessor and Deputy Sherriff. In 1879 he emigrated to California, where he became a fruit grower. He died around 1904.
Utterly off-topic: Holman’s papers at Williston also include an 1847 receipt for one term’s tuition. Any comment one might make would merely restate the obvious.“Bad Behavior” will undoubtedly be an ongoing series on this blog. What’s the worst thing you ever did? Keeping in mind that we really can’t revoke your diploma, consider confessing to archives@williston.com.
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Once upon a time, as the saying goes, new students were known as “Bucks.” Williston Academy alumni prior to around 1966 may recall an annual fall performance called the “Buck Party,” in which all new arrivals to the campus were expected to demonstrate their talents, if they had any. If they didn’t, they acted in skits.
The Buck Party was a mostly innocuous vestige of a larger tradition. Back in the Good Old Days, which is sometimes a euphemism for the Bad Old Days, new boys were subject to a certain amount of welcoming “indoctrination.” Today we call it “hazing” and do not tolerate it, either as an institution or as individuals, regardless of its intent.
But it is part of our shared history, and should thus be considered — especially when one comes across a document that is not only witty but very much a reflection of its times. The text below first appeared in the 1912 Log. This printed placard, ideal for dorm room decoration, must date from around then.
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