Tag Archives: Student Humor

So Help Me, Alan Quatermain

by Richard Teller '70, Archivist
A formal meeting of Sigma 'Eta Delta. The reverse of the photograph is dated 1890. (Click images to enlarge.)
A formal meeting of Sigma ‘Eta Delta. The reverse of the photograph is dated 1890. (Click images to enlarge.)

The 1870s and ’80s saw the rise of several secret societies or fraternities at Williston Seminary.  Initially there were four: Iota Zeta, L.L.D., Pi Beta Pi, and F.C.  A fifth, Phi Rho Alpha, appeared somewhat later, although its existence was sometimes not acknowledged by the four “legitimate” societies.  History knows relatively little about them; as secret organizations, they kept their petty confidences, and worse, to themselves.  So we have no idea what the initials stood for, not even for the two societies that didn’t affect Greek names.  We do know that their membership was selective; that at least some of their alumni remained loyal to the clubs, often at the expense of loyalty to the school, and that they posed as “service” organizations: in 1916, for example, their leaders formed the first Student Council.

None of the preceding can be said of a sixth fraternity, Sigma Eta Delta.

In fact, the Greek letters ΣΗΔ were a rendering of the society’s real name, the South Hall Devils.  (Since classical Greek doesn’t accommodate the “H” sound, it was the preference of the membership to spell “Eta” with an apostrophe: Sigma ‘Eta Delta.)  The group was formed in the winter of 1889, mostly to poke fun at the elite, thus much-resented, fraternities.  Membership was open to any resident of South Hall, the dormitory with the least desirable and least expensive rooms — thus a dorm shunned by any self-respecting (and they were nothing if not that) frat boy.

South Hall, ca. 1890.
South Hall, ca. 1890.

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Un-Alma Mater

by Richard Teller '70, Archivist

Happy new year from the Williston Northampton Archives!

Not long ago someone asked about school songs.  She was a bit surprised that Williston has had several “official” alma maters1 — that would be almae matris for the Latin purists among us — over the last century or so.   Many of us recall “God Preserve Our Alma Mater” (insufficiently secular for today’s Williston, and with a controversial tune), “Arise, Sons of Williston” (we’re fully coed; are our girls supposed to sit?), “As We Put Long Years Behind Us” (from Northampton School; includes the line “Our Girlhood Days Are O’er”), and a few others less memorable.  Today’s anthem of record is “O Williston,” also known as “Hail to Williston Northampton.”2  The traditional and ageless “Sammy,” of course, remains ubiquitous.  Long may we cherish it.  Him.  Whatever.

Richard Gregory
Richard Gregory

All these songs share a kind of sentimental reverence.  Well, almost all.  Back in 1966, when Williston Academy was celebrating its 125th anniversary, legendary music teacher Richard Gregory, no doubt cringing over the mawkish encomiums such events tend to inspire, penned the following lyric for the Caterwaulers.  The piece became one of their signature tunes during the sixties and into the seventies.

We need no songs about your Founder.
We mourn no matriarchal elm.
The mists of time that rise around her
Somehow fail to overwhelm.

Five hundred cynics, all austerely
Unsentimental every one.
We’d rather die than speak sincerely,
But when all is said and done,
We do confess we love you dearly,
You old relic, Williston!

The 1966 Caterwaulers
The 1966 Caterwaulers

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To taste her bunkum joys . . .

By Rick Teller '70, Archivist
Cartoon from the 1878 Caldron, a senior class yearbook. (Click all images to enlarge.)
Cartoon from the 1878 Caldron, a senior class yearbook. (Click all images to enlarge.)

There was a time, before the advent of radios and recordings, and long before the current era of individually headphoned, asocial music, when everyone sang.  Sang together, without coercion, for the sheer joy of singing.  (Anyone who sings will tell you that it is a marvelous means of community-building.)  Williston Seminary students were no exception.  There were, of course, many singing-societies and glee clubs, but any occasion or activity, from football games to debate meetings, was a cause for music.  Student letters describe athletes and spectators riding the train to away games, singing all the way.

Many of the tunes were from well-known songs of the time, but often with words unique to Williston.  Some were borrowed from college songbooks, notably those of Yale.  To disseminate the lyrics, student organizations printed song sheets and songbooks.  “Sammy,” by Pitt Johnson, class of 1905, and still ubiquitous today, made its first printed appearance in a song sheet from that year.

Detail from "Williston School Songs," 1905.
Detail from “Williston School Songs,” 1905.

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Thou shalt not . . .

by Rick Teller '70, Williston Northampton Archivist

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.

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