“Bad orthography, bad penmanship, or bad grammar— bad habits in any of the rudiments— if they be not corrected in the preparatory school, will probably be carried through College and not unlikely extend themselves to other studies and pursuits; whereas the habit of doing every thing well, so far as he goes, will likewise follow the student as long as he lives, and give completeness to whatever he does.”
So wrote Samuel Williston, in his 1845 Constitution of Williston Seminary. Surviving examples of Sam’s handwriting suggest a measure of hypocrisy where penmanship was concerned. In fairness, Sam had poor vision and hadn’t enjoyed the benefits of a Williston education.
An especially egregious example of Samuel Williston’s handwriting: a log of charitable contributions from the 1840s. (Click all images to enlarge.)
A course in penmanship was an option, sometimes a requirement, at Williston Seminary from the very beginning until late in the 19th century. There are suggestions that ducking out of it could have serious consequences.
Memorandum to Principal Marshall Henshaw, 1875. Henry Alvord taught drawing, penmanship, and gymnastics, and occasionally “commercial arithmetic” and surveying, 1873-1881. While the signature is Alvord’s, the text appears to have been written by someone else.
The Archives have a few examples of penmanship workbooks. Instruction appears to have largely consisted of students being asked to write the same thing over and over again, in the hope that practice would eventually lead to success. Pupils also appear to have been encouraged to try different handwriting styles.
A page from an anonymous penmanship notebook, probably from the 1840s or 1850s.
The waning days of summer: faculty are preparing for meetings and fall classes while students are finishing their shopping and summer reading — or in a few instances, starting it. School opens in less than two weeks, with all the joy, angst, and tradition associated with the event. Once upon a time the tradition included a tea for new students, hosted by the Headmaster’s spouse and a phalanx of faculty wives. In 1966, a well-scrubbed and tightly necktied “newboy” myself (yes, it was one word then), I was present at this event. A woman of extraordinary warmth and empathy, Mrs. Stevens really did help to take the edge off of the noisy and sometimes impersonal first week of school. On the other hand, many of her guests had never tasted tea, and when offered cream or lemon, took both. Having lived in England the previous year, I knew better, but after 49 years I’ve never learned to like the stuff.
Mrs. Phillips Stevens at the New Boys’ Tea, September 1966 (Dorothy Potter Associates)
These days we have student arrival and orientation organized and personalized down to the last detail. It was not always so. There is certainly no suggestion of the gentility evoked by Mrs. Stevens’ tea-party in the following letter, by Charles Carroll Carpenter, class of 1856, to his father. Carpenter, of Bernardston, Mass., was a new student in the spring of 1854. (Original spelling and punctuation have been retained.)
Dear Father, The bell has rung for evening study hours, and I will improve the signal by penning a few hasty lines homeward.To speak of events, historically, I arrived safely at No. H. on Tuesday morning. On the way, met (in the cars) with a young fellow, like myself, Williston-bound; Leavitt, of Charlemont,1 son of Roger H. Leavitt, Esq. Had to wait in No. H. all day—crowds of students came up in the train—and several stages and teams were in readiness to convey them over.2 Ten of us got into a three seated wagon, with my distinguished townsman, Mr. Moore, for a driver. It was most terrific going—mud and melted snow formed a horrible coalition—Could hardly get out of a walk, a single step. We suffered the greatest trouble, however, in fear that other students would get ahead of us and engage the rooms; but after two hours we arrived—“put” for the “Sem.” The Chief Boss of the Institution, Mr. Marsh,3 is absent, on account of dangerous family sickness— and everything went hurly-burly. I engaged however of the pro tem. janitor, a room, for safety—and then went to President Hubbard’s.4 That official is very pleasant and courteous; and when I informed him that I had written to Mr. Warner,5 he called me by name, and said he had engaged me a room, and gave me other useful information. Then returned and found Pres. H. had bespoken me an excellent room, in the Brick Seminary—I obtained the keys to it, and at once, with young Leavitt, moved in “bag and baggage.”Continue reading →
The Archives Acquire a Fascinating Record of Science Teaching
Meticulous renderings of earthworm anatomy, from William T. Mather’s biology notebook. (Click all images to enlarge.)
It was one of those phone calls that vastly improves one’s week. “My name is Will Wyatt – I’m a dentist in Texas. I have what appear to be a notebook from a Williston biology class, dated 1890. Would you like it for the Archives? If so, I’d be happy to donate it.”
Would I like it? That would have been an understatement. Among the more important things we collect are examples of academic work: what was studied, and how it was taught, going back to our beginnings 175 years ago. We actively seek current student work, as well as that from the past. Consider: all the other things we save and cherish – theater photos, box scores, school newspapers, and dozens of other categories, most of them well-represented in this blog, wouldn’t even exist without the academic program. It provides a context for everything else in our daily lives at a busy school. Academics are the most important thing we do at Williston.
Mather’s title page. While much of the notebook is handwritten, some pages were reproduced using a transfer process similar to what we, mid-20th century, called “purple ditto.” The machine used was probably a Hectograph, invented in 1869. Other documents in the Archives indicate that Williston Seminary had one as early as 1877.
So yes, we were thrilled to accept Dr. Wyatt’s generosity – the more so given the age of the item. It is relatively easy to lay hands on student papers from 2015. Anything from the 19th century is another story entirely. And as shall be seen, this particular item is very special.
The document is a set of teaching notes for an 1890 Williston Seminary biology course taught by William Tyler Mather (1864-1937). Mather, Williston class of 1882, went on to Amherst College, graduating in 1886. He taught at Leicester Academy, 1886-1887 then, like many Williston and Amherst alumni, returned to Williston to teach (1887-1893). During this time he also completed a master’s degree at Amherst (1891). In 1894 he entered Johns Hopkins University, earning a Ph.D. in physics in 1897. In 1898 he became Professor of Physics at the University of Texas, Austin, where he remained the rest of his life. (This would tend to partially explain how a set of teaching notes found their way from Easthampton to “a very eclectic used book store” in San Antonio, where Will Wyatt purchased them in the 1980s.)
This is adapted from an article that originally appeared in the January 1999 Williston Northampton Bulletin. At that time Doug Stark was Librarian and Archivist at the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Massachusetts. Today he is Museum Director at the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Newport, RI. He is the author of The SPHAS: The Life and Times of Basketball’s Greatest Jewish Team (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2011) and coauthor of Tennis and the Newport Casino (Charleston: Arcadia Publishing, 2011).
From The Willistonian, January 2, 1898.
On a cold, wintery northeast night in 1898, a group of five Williston Seminary students “lined up for the first time . . . in a regular game, and defeated their opponents, the Y.M.C.A. of Northampton, by a score of 12-10.” The Jan. 29, 1898 Willistonian reported that Williston’s first basketball game “excited much interest in the school. The fellows turned out to a man, also several members of the faculty were present, as well as a representation of townspeople” to witness first hand this “new and intriguing game.”
In 1898, basketball was still in its infancy, having been created just seven years earlier at the School for Christian Workers (now Springfield College) in Springfield, MA. In the winter of 1891, Dr. James Naismith, a recent graduate of McGill University, enrolled as a student-instructor in a school that trained YMCA general secretaries and physical education instructors. Asked to create a game to occupy a class of “incorrigibles” between the football and baseball seasons, Naismith invented basketball. After hanging two peach baskets at both ends of the gymnasium balcony and dividing the 18-man class into two nine-man teams, Naismith put the first ball, a soccer ball, into play. Legend has it that only one basket was scored in that game.
Almost immediately, the game took off and spread quickly through the YMCAs. Within a few years, the game was being played in 15 different countries and in colleges from the East to West Coasts. Due to the rough play associated with the early game and the growing need for more court time, the YMCA banned basketball from its gyms in 1898. Later that year, basketball was introduced at Williston Seminary, one of the first high schools in the country to embrace the game. Continue reading →
“Bad orthography, bad penmanship, or bad grammar— bad habits in any of the rudiments— if they be not corrected in the preparatory school, will probably be carried through College and not unlikely extend themselves to other studies and pursuits; whereas the habit of doing every thing well, so far as he goes, will likewise follow the student as long as he lives, and give completeness to whatever he does.”
