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an Mini 
 
 CENTURY 
 
 ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF CAMPUS LIFE 
 
 EDITED BY ROGER EBERT 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE COMMITTEE ON THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS CENTENNIAL 
 BY THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS PRESS, URBANA ■ CHICAGO ■ LONDON, 1967 
 
© 1967 by the Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois. Manufactured in the 
 United States of America. Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 67-17897. 
 

 i 
 
 x 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 \ 
 
 <( t 
 
 ■ 
 
 / 
 
 At first it was the Student, not the lllini, and graduates of the Illi- 
 nois Industrial University were not granted degrees — an Eastern 
 custom, and this was the Middle West. Also there were no college 
 colors; but in 1879, five years after it had given itself its present 
 name, the paper appointed a committee which chose cardinal and 
 silver; and it took fifteen years for these to change into orange and 
 blue. The lllini thought there might be some college songs, too; 
 though it shuddered at the prospect of "a college 'shout,' a regular 
 whoop, a real live yell. . . . Poor shout! It is neither good English 
 nor good Choctaw. It is a cross between a Dutch warble and the 
 bleating of the street gamin." Of course the songs and the yells 
 came in, along with fraternities and sororities, long resisted, and an 
 Athletic Association to manage intercollegiate baseball, football, and 
 basketball (originally a girls' game). The lllini in time accepted 
 all this, however steadfastly it maintained its opposition to Eastern 
 fashions. It was then, as it still is, sturdy in its opinions. In 1881 
 it altered its masthead to read: "Published semi-monthly by stu- 
 dents at the University of Illinois," thus abolishing the word "In- 
 dustrial." The legislature waited four years to approve what it had 
 done. 
 
 Nothing escaped the eyes of the editors. In 1883 they remarked 
 upon the way men students were wearing their hair. "Some of the 
 boys look like frizzy roosters in a cock fight, others like senseless 
 apes, still others like vicious gorillas. Boys, abandon the 'agony,' for 
 it puts all about you in agony." The lesson, if heeded, was not 
 
learned; for in 1895 the Illini complained once more. "Perhaps the 
 greatest peculiarity of the American college youth is his hair. . . . 
 Its length varies from five to ten inches and is usually in a much 
 tousled condition." There was, it seems, an "English style in which 
 it is about seven inches long and allowed to droop over the right 
 eye." 
 
 Not that the Illini restricted its gaze to manners merely. It never 
 forgot that the characteristic activity of a university is intellectual. 
 In the 1930's it asked the students not to stop thinking, and in the 
 1950's it spoke out against McCarthyism in a way of which every 
 alumnus should be proud. It insisted that political speakers be in- 
 vited to the campus. It implored the students not to become a 
 Hollow Generation, "quiet and voiceless." It issued warnings against 
 "the anti-intellectual Black Plague that is lulling our generation 
 into a kind of mental stupor." 
 
 Meanwhile the University had grown at a pace which takes the 
 breath, now that this informal history of it is here to read. When it 
 was fifty years old, in 1918, President James wrote a moving piece 
 for the Illini — by that time the Daily Illini — in which he tried to 
 foresee how the University would look when it was a century old. 
 He was remarkably accurate in his estimates of the material progress 
 it would make. But neither did he fail to say in his closing para- 
 graph: "Let Illinois become one of the holy places in the history 
 of the human spirit." Only a great president would say this, and 
 he was one of the University's great presidents. (In 1914, when I 
 graduated, his Commencement address dealt among other things 
 with the Greek tragic poets: Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides.) 
 Not the least interesting thing to me in the lively record to which 
 I now invite the reader's attention is that the Daily Illini not only- 
 printed the above sentence but presumably approved. 
 
 Mark Van Doren 
 
 VI 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 This book began to take shape on a night some three or four years 
 ago when the last remnants of that night's Daily Illini staff lolled 
 about the office waiting for the press to roll, passing the time by 
 paging through old volumes of the newspaper. Eventually the 
 conversation took a turn to the philosophical, as it frequently does 
 among apprentice editorial writers, and the question deliberated was 
 whether all of those generations of undergraduate journalists, all 
 of those pages of crumbling newsprint, had succeeded in leaving 
 behind a record of what it was like during all of those years to be 
 a student at Urbana. 
 
 It was agreed that the Daily Illini might indeed have a history 
 buried in its pages, but that it would be tricky to extract. The 
 "formal" writings, ponderous editorials duly observing this or that 
 University milestone, would be a shoreless sea of platitudes. But 
 might not the less pretentious items — the news articles, editorial 
 columns, letters to the editor, even advertisements — have a story 
 to tell? From these perishable items of daily journalism, an eaves- 
 dropper of later years might obtain an idea of the day-to-day life 
 of a great university: the achievements, disappointments, contro- 
 versies, and trivia which together made up the undergraduate 
 experience of thousands of Illinois students. 
 
 That is essentially the plan of this book. After browsing through 
 a century's back issues, I have attempted to compile an informal 
 anthology reflecting a century of campus life at the University of 
 Illinois. 
 
 VII 
 
I wish to express my gratitude to Mark Van Doren for his in- 
 troduction. One of the University's most honored graduates, he has 
 been an inspiration to generations of students everywhere. It was 
 his typically generous response to an eighth grader's letter, ac- 
 companying a sheaf of terribly sincere poems, which encouraged 
 the undersigned many years later to ask this further favor. 
 
 And, a special salute to the Daily Illini itself is in order. It is 
 among the half-dozen oldest college dailies in the nation, and was 
 the first to join the Associated Press. Largely self-supporting, it 
 maintains editorial independence from the University so that it is 
 truly a student publication. 
 
 R.E. 
 
 Urbana, 1967 
 
 VIII 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 \ / 
 
 THE FIRST DECADE 1867 "76 ] 
 
 THE SECOND DECADE 1877" 86 17 
 
 THE THIRD DECADE 1887" 96 38 
 
 THE FOURTH DECADE 1897" 1906 55 
 
 THE FIFTH DECADE 1907" 16 76 
 
 THE SIXTH DECADE 1917" 26 10 ° 
 
 THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927'36 125 
 
 THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937"46 148 
 
 THE NINTH DECADE 1947" 56 167 
 
 THE TENTH DECADE 1957" 66 187 
 
We lately had occasion to look over the old files of The 
 lllini. It would take long to tell of all the curious and inter- 
 esting things we found within those dingy covers of old time. 
 The acts of students whom we never heard of before sound 
 strangely on account of our familiarity with the surroundings 
 and utter ignorance of the actors themselves. In those pages 
 every change which was made about the University was 
 recorded. Each successive improvement is there set forth in 
 glowing words. The whole makes a story of rapid advance- 
 ment which is delightful to read. 
 
 Editorial, the lllini, November 3. 1880 
 
 \ / 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE FIRST DECADE 
 
 1867-76 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 In America, Literature and the Elegant Arts must grow up side by side 
 with the Coarser plants of daily Necessity. 
 
 — Washington Irving (motto of the first issue of the Student, November, 1871) 
 
 During the first years, necessity was perhaps a more constant com- 
 panion than the elegant arts. When John Milton Gregory was 
 named first regent of the Illinois Industrial University, it consisted 
 of a single building purchased from an unsuccessful "female acad- 
 emy." Gregory's entire faculty the inaugural year consisted of two 
 professors, who welcomed the first class of fifty on March 2, 1868. 
 The students were assigned beds in a dormitory on the top floor of 
 the University building, which also housed classrooms, a lecture 
 hall, a laboratory, and a modest museum. The library was situated 
 in Gregory's office at first, and students were required to check out 
 each book with the Regent himself. Thefts under this system were 
 negligible, fortunately, because the state still looked with some doubt 
 upon the institution it had so recently fostered, and replacements 
 were expensive. The Student observed in December, 1871, "That 
 benign looking corps of men, the Board of State Charities, inspected 
 the I.I.U. a few days ago." 
 
 The campus was situated on a swampy field midway between 
 the Urbana courthouse and the Illinois Central station in Cham- 
 paign. In spring and autumn, students waded through mud to 
 attend classes, and in January, 1873, the newspaper issued a plea 
 for repairs to the sidewalks before the wet season began: "For 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 instance, the walk leading to the Avenue consists of two boards for 
 a short distance, where the gravel walk is usually dry; then another 
 strip, composed of but a single plank, which leads into the worst 
 mud-hole in the vicinity and there ends: leaving a person to wade 
 out the best way he can. It would take but a slight expenditure of 
 money or labor, to make these walks at least sufficiently good to 
 keep persons out of the mud." 
 
 Funds for improvements were scarce, however. DON'T THEY 
 FEEL BIG? the newspaper asked in March, 1873, adding, "We 
 mean those students who, when they come into the Library, find 
 the chairs all occupied and have to stand up or sit on the tables." 
 Better days were coming. In January, 1875, a news item reported the 
 conversion of the overcrowded library into a chemistry laboratory: 
 
 During vacation the carpenter boys fixed up the old library prepara- 
 tory to its occupation this term for the old students in chemistry. The 
 University has enough new apparatus to furnish fifty new desks in the 
 most approved style, but twenty-four are all that are in the laboratory 
 at present. Among the costly apparatus now unpacked and placed 
 in readiness for use may be mentioned a large platinum retort costing 
 $235; a Dove's polarizer; a Geissler's mercurial air pump; a Soleil- 
 Scheiber's saccharometer; a Hauy's goniometer; a camera with Ross' 
 lenses; a RuhmkorfT's coil; galvanic batteries of Grove and Bunsen; 
 a potassium dichromate; a spectroscope; a large binocular micro- 
 scope magnifying 500 diameters; scales weighing the 100th part of 
 a millogramme; and other instruments too numerous to mention. 
 
 To this catalogue of wonders, the editors added modestly, "Taking 
 it all in all our University has the best laboratory in the State, if not 
 in the West." 
 
 The general tone of the student newspaper was positive as it 
 scrutinized the University's progress. The editors greeted the eighth 
 anniversary in March, 1876, with metaphors of purple majesty: 
 
 The stature of the University has increased; its shadow has length- 
 ened as the years have passed. Its morning light struggled fitfully to 
 penetrate the clouds, the gloom, of doubt and uncertainty; but as the 
 day advanced the dark spots one by one sped from the face of the 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 1867-76 
 
 heavens; and now, through a serene sky, as the light of a land of 
 mighty promise, the sun of our institution moves on majestically to its 
 meridian splendor. . . . The call of its bell is answered by hundreds 
 of students, thirsting for truth, endeavoring to lay hold of high wom- 
 anhood and manhood. 
 
 A student hoping to partake of this glory, however, had to be pre- 
 pared to undergo considerable hardship. "Is it possible to work my 
 way through the Illinois Industrial University?" a correspondent 
 queried in May, 1872. The editors answered, 
 
 JAMES. — Yes! You can work your way through College, by industry 
 and economy. You must be able to board yourself on fifty cents a 
 week. This is easily done, for students don't require much substantial 
 food, nor any luxuries. 
 
 By careful calculation and extended experiments, it has been 
 found that fourteen cents' worth of corn meal and thirty-six cents' 
 worth of milk (well watered) will suffice. You can use your own judge- 
 ment in preparing this. I have found but sixteen different methods, 
 but it is not improbable that more may be discovered. 
 
 It will be necessary for you to work about six hours each day, at 
 from five to six-and-a-quarter cents per hour; this, you see, will leave 
 quite a margin for spending-money. You must take at least three 
 studies; these will occupy you six or eight hours in your own room 
 and three in the classroom. It is also expected that each student will 
 read three or four hours each day in the Library. 
 
 For physical development, I would recommend two or three hours 
 daily exercise in the gymnasium. The remainder of your time can be 
 profitably employed with the collaterals of student life, such as social 
 gatherings, serenades, billiards, etc. 
 
 If you find study becoming irksome, omit it, and occupy the time 
 with something useful. Several young men have worked their way 
 through in this manner. It killed them — but what of that, they got 
 the education. 
 
 Despite such a rigorous program, the students did somehow discover 
 time for "the collaterals of student life." In February, 1873, the 
 Locals column noted, "It is reported that some of our students spend 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 considerable time at the Temperance Billiard Room in town, where 
 not even the smell of tobacco-smoke is allowed to permeate. It is 
 a curious fact that a few of the boys come away dizzy-headed, which 
 perhaps may be accounted for by the aerial situation of the room, 
 being in an upper story." 
 
 Heights held no fear, however, for male admirers of the Alethenai 
 Ladies Literary Society. A member of the society wrote to the 
 editors in March, 1872, 
 
 The boys of the fifth story display a curious interest in the proceedings 
 of the young ladies' society, and Wednesday afternoons are gala 
 days for them. Then it is that they perform most astonishing feats 
 [feets also) in gymnastics. They mount the roof and, with praise- 
 worthy courage, come close enough to the edge to tap the window 
 with hair-pins swung at the end of a cord; but after all, anyone could 
 do that. 
 
 They get stiff necks (and sometimes the mumps) while endeavoring 
 to inspect the young ladies through the west window of the society 
 room; and "once upon a time," a young gent was so moved that he 
 could not stay within his lonely cell, but must needs stand astride of 
 his lower window, and at the imminent hazard of life and limb, en- 
 deavor to see through that same west window. 
 
 Horn-blowers and pipers have hushed their wailings and sighs to 
 some extent, but an occasional toot or a heartbroken moan on the 
 flute will remind us, now and then, what terrible self-denial such 
 silence costs. Courage, ye fifth-story boys, courage! and hereafter 
 your fame shall shine as the sun. . . . 
 
 Unfortunately, not all young ladies were as understanding as the 
 Alethenai's correspondent. From the Locals column, February, 
 1873: "One of our Juniors has discovered a new way to 'get the 
 mitten.' When about to ask for a young lady's company, he is 
 presented with a very fine mitten and asked to go to the chapel and 
 look for its mate; upon returning, he finds that the young lady has 
 absconded." 
 
 The chapel was the scene of a daily compulsory service in the 
 early years. Regent Gregory usually addressed the student body. 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 1867-76 
 
 although occasionally another faculty member or a visiting dignitary 
 might speak. The University's anniversary celebration on March 11, 
 1873, provided variety in the morning chapel program: 
 
 After the usual exercises, and the remarks of our Regent, he intro- 
 duced a gentleman as Mr. Warner of Henry county. This gentleman 
 accepted the invitation to speak, and expressed himself highly 
 pleased with all he had seen. He remarked, that Illinois is often 
 called the Garden State, and wished us to remember that the people 
 look to Champaign as the garden spot of Illinois. He referred very 
 pleasantly to the ladies; made a comparison between ladies of fash- 
 ion and the girls of the Illinois Industrial University, quite favorable to 
 the latter. He spoke of his own trials, for our encouragement. . . . 
 
 After the applause had subsided, the Doctor introduced a pleasant 
 looking gentleman on his left, as the chairman of the committee. We 
 were surprised and pleased to hear the well remembered words of 
 "Boys and Girls," and expected to hear words of counsel to such 
 boys and girls as we, but how disappointed, to hear an excuse in- 
 stead, as "he could not make a speech." However, he was glad to 
 meet us, he said, and we knew he meant it, and were satisfied. 
 
 Next we were favored with a speech from a young gentleman, who 
 expressed himself already tired of political life, and advised all 
 young men to stick to the farm. . . . The gentleman favored the ladies 
 especially, and gave them to understand that house-keeping should 
 be their chief accomplishment. 
 
 Regent Gregory was the regular speaker at Sunday services, as 
 described in the November, 1873, issue: 
 
 The Regent's Sunday lectures during this term have been upon "The 
 Temptations of Young Men." The first lecture of the course, tak- 
 ing its topic from financial panic, was a discussion of the tempta- 
 tion to make money-getting the chief aim of life. . . . The evils, public 
 as well as private, which flow from the excessive greed for gold, 
 were also portrayed. The love of luxury often grows faster than the 
 means to gratify it, and so the richest man may be, in effect, the 
 poorest, having wants so much beyond his wealth. 
 
 The second lecture was upon the temptation to gambling, and the 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 essential meanness of this vice was shown from the fact that its aim is 
 precisely the same as that of the thief — the desire to get another's 
 money for nothing. 
 
 The third treated of the common and destructive temptation to use 
 intoxicating drinks. An earnest plea was made to the young men not 
 to disappoint the hopes of their friends and of the State by allowing 
 themselves to become victims of these alcoholic drinks, whose direct 
 and well known tendency is to inflame and strengthen the brute appe- 
 tites, while they weaken the will and the higher sentiments. 
 
 A news item from April, 1876, suggests that decorum during the 
 compulsory chapel sessions was sometimes lacking: 
 
 The system of rapid distribution of testaments in chapel which was 
 organized by a few public benefactors, is strongly objected to by 
 many, especially by owners of books. To say the least, the appear- 
 ance of half a dozen or so of Belia's comets rushing relentlessly to- 
 wards the cranium of some innocent victim, is not a very agreeable 
 spectacle, to a visitor, unless like the Governor, his memory is carried 
 back to the time before he became "somebody" but got his whipping 
 just like anybody else for similar performances in school. 
 
 Personal safety was in hazard not only during chapel, but also in 
 the classrooms and laboratories. A news item in April, 1876, advised, 
 "It is customary for the shop boys to employ the time after as- 
 sembling from dinner and the starting of the engine, in practicing 
 atrocities upon each other in the different departments. There is a 
 young war between the boys of the iron and wood-work depart- 
 ments almost every day, carried on after the bushwhacking manner, 
 i.e., when a person is least suspecting an enemy, one will suddenly 
 appear from an ambuscade and assail him with saw-dust, iron- 
 turnings, water, &c. . . ." Painful mishaps in the line of scholarly 
 duty were common, according to a June, 1872, item: "Student 
 C. A. Smith met with an accident a short time since, which resulted 
 in a slight burn, but came near being serious. While removing a 
 crucible of molten brass from the furnace, it overturned, a portion 
 of the contents running into his shoe, causing an unpleasant sensa- 
 tion. He says, 'I took that shoe off right away.' " 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 1867-76 
 
 Sometimes the hazards were more serious. An item from March, 
 1875, described the adventures of a student who had earlier risked his 
 neck on the horse-drawn trolley between Champaign and Urbana: 
 
 Our broad-shouldered agricultural student met with another accident 
 lately, which came very near being as serious as that occasioned by 
 his jumping out of No. 11 two years ago. He was filling a pipette in 
 the chemical laboratory with ammonia, and accidentally drew some 
 of the liquid into his mouth, and swallowed a portion. The result was 
 that he was suddenly in want of air and was on the verge of strangu- 
 lation, when the impromptu Dr. M. A. Scovell administered to the 
 patient a solution of acetic acid, which neutralizes the action of 
 ammonia. 
 
 The patient speedily showed signs of recovery, and within fifteen 
 minutes Dr. Scovell had dismissed him from medical treatment, but 
 with a badly blistered mouth. Still uncertain as to his entire recovery, 
 the patient, so the story goes, consulted two down-town physicians, 
 who seeing blisters in his mouth, pronounced it a severe case of diph- 
 theria, and told the afflicted student that he would be dead in fifteen 
 minutes. The confidence of the aforesaid student in the abilities of 
 said physicians immediately vanished, and he resolved that should 
 sickness ever afflict him, he would consult Dr. Scovell in their stead. 
 
 Despite such temporary setbacks, scientific progress marched for- 
 ward at the Illinois Industrial University. In November, 1873, an 
 article described an experiment in "Silver Creek" (a name which 
 the fastidious Gregory hoped to substitute for the Boneyard) : 
 
 We are pleased to see education taking such a practical turn as it 
 seems at the I.I.U. Lately, a few days since, we saw the Senior class 
 in Practical Hydraulics engaged in the interesting process of gauging 
 the amount of water flowing through that beautiful little creek called 
 Silver Creek, which meanders through our front yard. It was a highly 
 interesting process and a beautiful sight, to see a half-dozen digni- 
 fied Seniors perched along the bank, fishing for tad-poles "with 
 spools of thread for fishing line and beaded pins for hooks," and 
 waiting for it to rain in order to get enough water to flow through 
 
AN ILUNI CENTURY 
 
 a notch in a board to be visible without the aid of a powerful 
 microscope. 
 
 We have noticed that the milk-man's milk has been rather "Hy- 
 draulic" lately, and suppose that is the reason the creek is so low. 
 The class have appointed a committee to remonstrate with the milk- 
 man. 
 
 The result of the Silver Creek experiment has been worked up 
 since, and gives minus 1.52 cubic feet of water per minute; the class 
 have been at a loss to interpret it, and have decided that it runs up 
 hill, or else there is that much water that is not there. The question is 
 left open for discussion. 
 
 If the activities of the hydraulics students were taken less than 
 seriously, the entire subject of agricultural education was under fire 
 from all over the state. In February, 1875, the Illini reprinted this 
 editorial from the Hillsboro Journal, describing "the way they make 
 scientific farmers out of our young men at the Agricultural College 
 at Champaign" : 
 
 They take the young men out in the spring of the year and compel 
 them to sit on the fence with kid gloves on their hands, umbrellas 
 over their heads, and fifteen cent cigars in their mouths, and there 
 watch the men who are employed to do the work at twenty dollars a 
 month, as they turn the stubborn glebe for the coming crop. This is 
 hard on the young gentlemen but they learn to farm, you know, and 
 that is what the institution is for. They analyze the soil, probe craw- 
 fish holes, call doodle-bugs from their secure retreats, dissect horse- 
 flies, and pursue their investigations into various other branches, the 
 knowledge of which goes to make up the scientific farmer. They 
 actually spent $15,000 in one year in determining the various points 
 of difference between a gnat and a musquito. This money belonged 
 to the people of the State of Illinois, but they did succeed in finding 
 two or three hundred points of difference between these interesting 
 insects. The gnats and musquitoes will rejoice to learn that so much 
 difference exists! 
 
 The Illini counterattacked with an editorial of its own: 
 
 After laughing at the absurdity and smallness of the article, it oc- 
 
 8 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 1867-76 
 
 curred to us that most certainly it was intended to put to the blush 
 other mud flings that have been sent against us, by becoming as 
 absurd and pointless as they. It is decidedly Quixotic and as such 
 we present it. . . . 
 
 We can do no better, we think, than to quote in connection with 
 the above, a few sentences from the address of Prof. J. B. Turner, 
 delivered at the laying of the cornerstone of the new University build- 
 ing. "This institution will need in the future as in the past, a magnan- 
 imous patience within and a magnanimous forbearance without its 
 walls: our little censorious criticism can neither destroy nor aid it. 
 The fly that can annoy the elephant cannot devour him, even though 
 he may continue to keep him in an unseemly wagging of his tail." 
 
 We beg leave to add by way of application, that in most cases it 
 has been neither a fly nor a musquito, but a gnat. "The gnats and 
 musquitoes will rejoice to learn that so much difference exists." 
 
 Perhaps the Hillsboro Journal would have been reassured by this 
 item from the Personals column of January, 1876: "L. E. Williams, 
 class of '77, writes to his brother to get him a wife. He says that 
 sensible women are very scarce in Iowa. She must be good looking, 
 amiable, of kind disposition and a Christian. She should be well 
 versed in domestic affairs, wealthy, charitable, and last but not 
 least she should be a granger." 
 
 The search for such a woman was probably no easier in Urbana 
 than in Iowa. Men greatly outnumbered women students at the 
 young university, and the imbalance was particularly severe during 
 vacation periods. A news item from January, 1874, preserves the 
 atmosphere of an early Christmas holiday : 
 
 While the greater and more fortunate part of the students spent the 
 holidays at home with admiring friends and fond parents, about fifty 
 forlorn youths languished in the desolate confines of the Bastile. It is 
 in their behalf that we publish this as a minority report. 
 
 To enumerate the desperate attempts they made to amuse them- 
 selves, in absence of their usual stimulants — studies — would tax 
 our ingenuity too severely. . . . Sociables they haunted not much, 
 they were too poor. But a few enterprising spirits prevented monot- 
 ony from hovering like a night-mare upon their souls. A series of 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 social dances were organized. The first grand ball of the season 
 took place on Christmas eve, in room 23, Old Building. . . . The dim 
 rays of a single lamp lighted the spacious hall. In the absence of the 
 fair sex, a deficiency of hats and a handkerchief tied around the 
 left arm, one-half of the dancers served to represent them. The 
 dance was soon progressing; feet unaccustomed to the "giddy 
 mazes" were soon yielding to the enticing strains of the festive violin; 
 the Virginia reel was being reeled through, one gentleman in partic- 
 ular putting in an infinite number of extra steps; the "lady" mated 
 with the gentleman with the blue necktie, was beginning to see an 
 indefinite number of blue neckties, red moustaches, etc., and the 
 infatuated youths were persuading themselves that they were having 
 a better time than they would have if the ladies were there: when a 
 terrific rapping was heard at the locked door. 
 
 All was quiet in an instant. . . . The eager participants huddled 
 behind some unsophisticated visitors. . . . The door suddenly opened, 
 and the Professor appeared. He immediately took a hand, and 
 "called off" for a "walk around" ouf of the room. A look of amaze- 
 ment came over their faces and in vain they pleaded ignorance of 
 the step. He insisted and suggested sarcastically that it was a move- 
 ment that pleased him exceedingly, and hoped they would have the 
 kindness not to refuse this favor. He also said many other insinuating 
 things and they reluctantly consented. ... An impression got among 
 them that dancing was not held to be a necessary part of chemical 
 studies. 
 
 Three of the perennially controversial aspects of student life at 
 Urbana had already appeared during the first decade: compulsory 
 military training, fraternities, and undergraduate politics. All male 
 students at I.I.U. were "cadets," technically on call as part of the 
 Illinois National Guard in case of emergency. Their services were 
 required only once, in October, 1871. 
 
 On the night of Tuesday, October 13, in obedience to a call from the 
 Governor, the Cadets started for the needy, terror-stricken, still flam- 
 ing city of Chicago. They reached there early the next morning and 
 were almost immediately assigned to duty. 
 
 Company A was detailed on the West Side to guard the General 
 
 10 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 1867-76 
 
 Receiving Depot for supplies for relief of sufferers, and the churches 
 in its vicinity; while the rest of the Battalion was retained on the South 
 Side to maintain order by patrol and special guards. The Cadets 
 were relieved on Friday afternoon and returned to the University on 
 Friday night. 
 
 The first cadets took great pride in their training corps, and when 
 the state awarded them three dollars apiece for their service at 
 Chicago, they voted the money to "garnish with plaster" the walls 
 of the Drill Hall. 
 
 Advertisers of the day included a supplier of cadet uniforms, 
 whose notice in the December, 1874, issue read 
 
 R. M. EPPSTEIN 
 
 CLOTHIER AND MERCHANT TAILOR 
 
 Original Designer and Manufacturer 
 
 Illinois Industrial University 
 
 UNIFORMS 
 
 Made from the GENUINE WEST POINT CADET CLOTH 
 
 warranted for fast color and unsurpassed 
 
 for Durability. 
 
 The editors took notice of this Christmas advertising campaign in 
 their January, 1875, issue. 
 
 It is really amusing to see how rapidly the innocent Freshmen pur- 
 chase uniforms just before going home for the holidays. They return 
 to their homes dressed in full suit, parade streets in soldier's attire, 
 inspire the youths of the community with warlike aspirations, receive 
 quite extended notices in local papers, and are gazed upon in 
 wonderment by all, sought after by the lovely "fair ones," and, in 
 general, create an excitement, raise great curiosity, rouse consider- 
 able inquisitiveness, and do a great deal of free advertising for the 
 University. 
 
 Nonetheless, students took their military training seriously. The 
 lllini sniffed in November, 1874, "The military drill which caused 
 the expulsion of 119 students from Bowdoin last year has been made 
 'elective.' A little more backbone is needed in the Faculty of that 
 Institution." When the Corps marched at the unveiling of the 
 
 11 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Lincoln Memorial in Springfield, a writer for the Chicago Times 
 criticized their ability. The occasion inspired, in October, 1874, the 
 first letter to the editor the Illini ever printed: 
 
 Editors, Illini: The military critic of the Times gracefully dismisses our 
 commander on the charge of "unfixed bayonets," but pitches into us 
 poor students in a way that is "child-like and bland." He accuses us 
 of having carried our muskets on all possible slants. . . . 
 
 Now, I have the following scientific question to propound to this 
 learned critic: Why is it that this old or new musket of mine, which 
 I carried so slantingly on the four mile stretch through Springfield to 
 the Lincoln Monument, did, then and there, without any provocation 
 on my part, grow heavier after the first mile or so and keep increas- 
 ing in weight in proportion to the square of the distance passed? 
 Odd, isn't it? But chum and others affirm this phenomena. . . . 
 
 CO. A. 
 
 P.S. Chum is a queer fellow. He says if it had been Douglas' or 
 Horace Greeley's monument that was unveiled his musket would have 
 been all right. 
 
 Fraternities, or "secret societies," were a center of controversy on 
 many campuses during the 1870's, and Gregory announced himself 
 as firmly opposed to them. The Illini reprinted his remarks to the 
 Board of Trustees in June, 1876: 
 
 I am requested by the Faculty to lay before you the facts in regard to 
 a secret society, whose existence at the University has become fully 
 known during this year, and which has been made the occasion of 
 unwonted disturbance and strife. At the outset of our career, and 
 during each successive year, I warned the students faithfully against 
 the introduction of these pests of our American colleges; but several 
 years ago as it now appears, some young men, disregarding my 
 counsels and wishes, yielded to the temptation offered from some 
 other college, and organized secretly a chapter of one of the secret 
 societies known elsewhere. . . . Their organization is felt as an insult 
 and injury to the general community in whose midst they exist as a 
 separate growth, and they therefore lead naturally and necessarily 
 to perpetual ill-will, jealousy and strife. 
 
 12 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 1867-76 
 
 The difficulty of their abolishment lies in their wide diffusion, and 
 in an absurd claim to reverence, which their bad antiquity gives 
 them. . . . Their existence in a country so free and intelligent as ours 
 is an anachronism, which ought to shame them out of existence. . . . 
 
 I had hoped that this new institution, with its grand public aims 
 and its high purpose, might escape the incursion of these effete follies 
 of the older colleges, and that our students would prove too manly to 
 be caught by these traditional tinsels of a more barbarous time. Nor 
 am I now without hope that a simple resolution of disapproval passed 
 by you, and a request to the society to throw away its mask or its 
 charter, may awaken the more manly impulses of our Western young 
 men, and lead them to discard this tattered toggery of the college 
 lads of the older states. 
 
 Gregory clearly did not anticipate that the University would be the 
 "fraternity capital of the world" within a few years. 
 
 The Regent had insisted from the first upon self-government for 
 his students, and their political parties waged spirited campaigns. 
 Undergraduate politicians issued newspapers (one, the Reporter, 
 survived four issues and presented a $7 profit to the Illini's press 
 fund), plastered the campus with posters, and in general imitated 
 the uninhibited campaign tactics of the western United States 
 during the 1870's. A news item from February, 1875, described 
 one campus election: 
 
 It was thought a few days before the election was to take place that 
 there would be but little excitement or interest aroused, and that the 
 Government ticket would be elected without opposition. But the 
 grangers and working-men, or more properly the Reformers, raised a 
 cry against the old Senators, charging them with corruption, bribery, 
 and "salary grabbing" in office, and bent their efforts toward defeat- 
 ing the "Bosses," and with that end in view, put up the Reform ticket, 
 which, to say the least, was made up of good men and women, but 
 lacked in its platform. 
 
 Then followed the "Enforcement of the Laws" ticket, timidly pre- 
 senting the names of sore politicians and soft-shell office seekers. 
 The lllini ticket, coming out late in the day, meant and did no harm, 
 except advertising the ambitious and egotistical crew who manipulate 
 
 13 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 the type and brains of the lllini. But we must not neglect the Dress 
 Reformers, who fought on the "Woman's Rights" platform, every 
 nominee being an earnest advocate of Dress-Rights and Woman- 
 Reform. With these tickets and accompanying wire-pullers and 
 ropers-in the election passed peaceably and quietly, even every 
 Freshman casting his vote without being intimidated by the threats of 
 any Ku Klux or White League. 
 
 The Reformers or Grangers are in the minority, and on a joint ballot 
 will not have the balance of power in their hands. Yet this is of no 
 moment, after all, since there will be no U. S. Senators to elect. But 
 the Reform element will still exert a wholesome influence in ferreting 
 out corruption, investigating "Credit Mobiliers," and exposing "sal- 
 ary grabbers," thereby causing the "Governmenters" to be a little 
 careful in their legislation and appropriation of the funds in their 
 care. . . . 
 
 The lllini concluded its report with a sentiment often attached since 
 to student politics: "the wheels of the Government rolled on as 
 though nothing had happened." 
 
 On the whole, it was an eventful and optimistic decade for the 
 fledgling university. Toward its end, the Student changed its name 
 to the lllini and thus provided the campus with its permanent 
 nickname. An editorial in January, 1874, introduced the great 
 event : 
 
 Like a rosy-cheeked bride, we are all aglow over our new name. Had 
 you noticed it? Did you ever see it before? Do you know what it 
 means and where it comes from? Sound it trippingly on the tongue. 
 Accent the second syllable and pronounce with us, ll-li-ni. Good! . . . 
 Here ambition steals away our modesty and with a thrill of excite- 
 ment we hopefully query: Shall our name be known in future time 
 as far and wide as that of the broad, fair State we honor, and shall 
 it be cherished and loved like that? . . . Illinois! queen of the Union, 
 we place upon thy fair brow the diadem of the States: ILLINI! — ah! 
 what will others say? 
 
 Newly graduated lllini were spreading out to all parts of the state 
 and nation. In general, they had been trained as teachers, farmers, 
 
 14 
 
THE FIRST DECADE 1867-76 
 
 or industrial engineers. In its Personals column, the newspaper 
 tried to keep up with the progress of former students: 
 
 Kniff Goodrich is wielding the birch this winter at Cobden. 
 
 R. L. Brown is helping the youth of Tolono climb the hill of knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 T. C. Clendenen, '77 , is wielding the hickory ruler in the city of 
 Ogden, this County. 
 
 Miss Boyer is taking care of the sick and selling Livingstone's 
 Travels. 
 
 Y. A. Parsons still slingeth ink in the Regent's office. 
 
 We understand that Prof. Robinson and Mr. Ells have gone north, 
 where they are engaged in fixing the latitude, or longtitude, we 
 forget which. 
 
 Charley Jeffers, the enthusiast of the entomology class, is as happy 
 as ever, and is catching bugs by the wholesale. 
 
 W. S. Chase, a student of '68, '69, '70, '71, '72, '73, and '74, and 
 probably of '75, '76, '77, '78, ad infinitum, goes home to Missouri 
 on a furlough. 
 
 The Misses Abbot and Fowler, who graced our halls with their 
 presence during the last spring term, are now teaching "just as hard 
 as they can," one near Princeton, the other near Bradford their home. 
 They sigh for nothing but the University, for a repetition of "that 
 sweet dream" as they are pleased to call their short stay here. 
 
 G. P. Christie has bought an interest in the Champaign Union and 
 now wields the quill as proprietor and publisher of same. 
 
 L. F. Warner is in College City, Cal., wielding the tripod. 
 
 H. A. Knapp, '76, does not wield the birchen rod, play the part 
 of a "Hoosier Schoolmaster," nor teach young ideas how to shoot, 
 but simply teaches school at Darlington, Indiana. 
 
 The Illinois Industrial University was safely on its way. The fifty 
 original students had grown to several hundred, and the original 
 building was joined by half a dozen. When the University's first 
 class graduated in the spring of 1872, an unknown author com- 
 memorated the occasion with a poem titled "Four Years Ago." 
 
 15 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 ... Of the full number that four years ago 
 
 Marched out to labor their "three hours a day," 
 
 But nine remain within these narrow halls. 
 
 Many have gone to labor on their farms 
 
 Quite rich with knowledge gained by several terms 
 
 Of earnest studying and work, and some 
 
 Have chosen from the many industries 
 
 One suited to their taste, and now toil on 
 
 To benefit the world. 
 
 But, ere they went 
 To join the laboring millions of the world, 
 Their places had been asked by twice or thrice 
 Their number; and to-day more than four times 
 That first brave band, now throng these crowded halls. 
 
 And soon the nine who came four years ago, 
 Will go and others come to fill their seats. 
 No one who helped to celebrate the time 
 When Learning wedded Labor, will be left 
 But loved instructors; and may four times four 
 Times four proud, happy years roll smoothly by 
 Ere they are called away. 
 
 16 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE SECOND DECADE 
 
 1877-86 
 
 I 
 
 / 
 
 The tendency to cram is universal; and less of it will be found here 
 than is common, if not less than in any other American institution of 
 the size of this. . . . Still there is too much truth in this charge of 
 cram; and there always will be. I do not look for the millennium 
 of colleges more than for the millennium of Christianity. 
 
 — John Milton Gregory, in the Mini, May, 1879 
 
 Nor did the millennium come. In many ways the second decade 
 was a time of doubt for the Illinois Industrial University, as it 
 began to claim its place among older, well established rivals. Which 
 direction should it take? The faculty and students proudly waved 
 the banner of no-nonsense, populist, Western education, and an 
 1885 survey indicated the average annual expenses of I.I.U. stu- 
 dents were the lowest in the country among comparable institutions. 
 Costs ranged from a low of $77 to a high of $416. The University 
 had no song, no official colors, no fraternities, and gave no degrees. 
 Even its motto stubbornly declared "Learning and Labor" in 
 English, not the fashionable Latin. Professor G. E. Morrow, newly 
 arrived as the Professor of Agriculture, told a chapel meeting 
 at the beginning of the 1877 school year that the University was 
 part of the movement "to secure a wider and better education for 
 the industrial classes." On this point there had been some mis- 
 understanding, Morrow said. "A multitude of crude plans have 
 been made public, and some extraordinary expectations have been 
 held." Nevertheless, "the words of the laws under which the Uni- 
 
 17 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 versity was organized show that this institution was designed to be, 
 and must be, a school in which branches of learning are to be 
 taught, and not simply and only a collection of farms and work 
 shops in which the manual labor of the farmer and mechanic is 
 shown and practiced. They show also, and equally clearly, that the 
 teaching is to have a definite object, and that this institution is not 
 to be an exact copy of other and older schools, of which there was 
 no lack. . . ." Morrow put his theories into practice the following 
 spring by planting what was to be the oldest experimental corn field 
 in America. 
 
 Despite their brave disregard for educational frills, however, the 
 students and faculty occasionally found their eyes straying east to 
 the famous and well-endowed universities of New England. The 
 Illini sniffed in April, 1877, "The cap and gown movement is be- 
 coming the rage in eastern colleges. Harvard, Princeton, Williams, 
 Rutgers, Columbia, Trinity, Allegheny, and other colleges seem to 
 have caught the infection." Because some I.I.U. graduates found 
 their lack of an official degree embarrassing, the question of granting 
 degrees was seriously reconsidered. Emery Kayes, editor of the 
 Illini's educational section, wrote in December, 1877, 
 
 When this University was chartered, it was determined by the man- 
 agers of the movement that no degrees should be given to its grad- 
 uates. This was not because education was designed to be less 
 expensive and valuable than that given at other American Univer- 
 sities, but from a feeling of dislike to the whole system of degrees, 
 as a part of an old monkish system of education already effete and 
 passing away. It was the aim to erect an institution which should 
 have no superiors in the breadth and richness of its scholarship, but 
 which should rise above all the mummery of effete systems, and be 
 thoroughly modern and progressive in its spirit and learning. . . . 
 
 But [I.I.U.] graduates found themselves confronted in the world's 
 market for men by their contemporaries from other universities, not 
 better educated, but certified as graduates by the degrees they had 
 taken. The country had learned by long usage to count the college 
 degree as the proper evidence of a college education. . . . 
 
 Urged by a just regard for their own interests and those of the 
 
 18 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 University, which it was ascertained was suffering a loss of students 
 on this account, the graduates, to the number of over one hundred, 
 memorialised the legislature to amend the law. . . . Their petition was 
 listened to, and the amendment was passed and approved during 
 the last session. . . . 
 
 If we are to have degrees, let them be a badge of sound and high 
 scholarship in the several courses, given without fear or favoritism to 
 those who have fairly earned them, and to none others. 
 
 Having conceded this much, the Mini would go no further. A news 
 item from March, 1878: "If degrees are to be conferred, it is 
 hoped that the parchments will not be defaced by the imprint of 
 the University seal. However, we can recommend the seal to the 
 Agricultural students as a first-class caricature of a barnyard scene." 
 
 The desire for college traditions gradually outweighed the spartan 
 resolve of the early years, however. By November, 1879, the lllini 
 applauded a committee which had selected cardinal and silver as 
 the official University colors. In October, 1880, the editors queried, 
 "Why can't we have some college songs? . . . They would add 
 interest to our gatherings, and would be something to hand down 
 to future generations. Let the college poets go to work, and see if 
 we don't get a good result." And in March, 1884, the last vestige 
 of decorum was lost: "At length there seems to be a prospect that 
 our school will succumb to the fashion and become the proud owner 
 of a college 'shout,' a regular whoop, a real live yell. Indeed, such 
 an article seems to be in the process of development, and oh! for 
 a cruel, biting frost to nip it in the bud. Poor shout! It is neither 
 good English nor good Choctaw. It is a cross between a Dutch 
 warble and the bleating of the street gamin. . . ." The tradition- 
 alists had some consolation. In April, 1886, a senior class meeting, 
 called to change the motto from English into Latin, failed in its 
 purpose when a quorum could not be found. 
 
 One source of conflict in the early years was the grading system. 
 Related to this was the difficulty the University had in finding 
 students adequately prepared for college work. For several years, 
 a preparatory school was operated in connection with the University 
 to ready students for the freshman year. An editorial on March 24, 
 1883, examined the problem: 
 
 19 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 The whole examination system, even in its present significance, is 
 open to objection. This method of periodically dragging the student 
 over the coals is losing favor the land over, and in some cases has 
 been entirely abolished. ... A reform in the examination system is 
 not far distant, and the day is coming when the authorities here must 
 meet the issue. But there can be no innovation, in this direction, while 
 the University is obliged to do duty both as a high school and college. 
 If the day shall come, when our institution shall become a university, 
 a center of higher education, where the student must be a man, 
 laboring not for high marks, nor college honors, but for knowledge 
 for its own sake, if we shall ever reach that ground, then the old 
 examination system must fall back to high schools, and preparatory 
 academies, where it will ever be a necessity. 
 
 In the meantime, I.I.U. students, like their counterparts everywhere, 
 were charged with being something less than scholars. An unsigned 
 essay in April, 1879, complained that "we have had too much of the 
 flauntings of the magnificent results of education, and the grand 
 beauties and work of a great university: and catch so little of the 
 true soul of the matter that to some those phrases become hardened 
 and indigestible." Grades again absorbed part of the blame. 
 
 Under our methods of instruction, every attainment stands on the 
 dead level of marks and on the daily routine of an inexorable grind. 
 In this way, inevitably, will be developed some glittering Phraseology, 
 and a vast amount of truisms are obtained; but the eternal, ever- 
 sparkling truths are completely obscured. This is abundantly dis- 
 played in most of our college orations. Out of the 350 students at 
 our university, how few do any reading in the library beyond the 
 bound volumes of Harper's Monthly. . . . 
 
 Speaking from our own knowledge, do we not know of the in- 
 numerable cases of merciless cramming, for examinations, and the 
 reward received therefor — of the every-day cramming to recite the 
 lessons of that day, while the lesson of two days ago had fled 
 the mind like the things that were and are not? . . . The truth is we 
 become superficialists and let other men do our thinking for us. . . . 
 
 The essay drew a reply from Gregory, who conceded that the anon- 
 
 20 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 ymous writer had a point: "It is natural to substitute memory for 
 thought: it is far easier to remember than to think." 
 
 One student who had an inexhaustible supply of ideas for im- 
 proving the situation was Lorado Taft, whose father, Don Carlos, 
 was the Professor of Geology. Taft, later to be the sculptor of the 
 Alma Mater, was education editor of the Illini during 1878-79. He 
 examined "The Scholar's Duty to Society" in December, 1878: 
 
 The thoughtful student, the dignified professor, those who display 
 genius and depth of intellect in the class-room, those whose names 
 become authority in the world of the intellect, all seem doomed by 
 our society customs as by some malign work of magic, to leave at the 
 door amid umbrellas and overshoes all traces of the mind that makes 
 them what they are, in order that they may vie with one another in 
 the arena of polite conversation, with puppet pranks and senseless 
 jokes. . . . The least premonition that anything bearing a tinge of 
 thought is to be expressed is viewed with horror from afar. A few 
 reckless repetitions of the offense and social excommunications is the 
 result. 
 
 Taft felt intellectual society in Urbana deserved something better: 
 "Evidently then, an impulse or reform in our colleges will effect 
 wonders in after years throughout the extent of the nation. . . . The 
 most efficient ways would be to form little conversation circles — 
 'conversazioni' — not too large; take some author, work, or other 
 subject of interest and discuss it a few minutes, say once a week. In 
 so doing we believe our use of language would be improved, our 
 thoughts quickened by comparison of ideas, much reliable informa- 
 tion would be gained and, in time, we might learn how to talk." 
 He ended on what was to become a characteristic note: "You smile 
 incredulously. Very well; we shake the dust of your benighted city 
 from our feet, and continue our pilgrimage, hoping to have next 
 time something more practicable if not more needed." 
 
 Part of the University's difficulty in forming its own identity 
 seemed to grow out of the name itself. At first the word industrial 
 had seemed a happy idea, expressing the University's interest in 
 practical education, but by October, 1878, the Illini reported grow- 
 
 21 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 ing campus sentiment for a name which would "express better th< 
 whole scope of the Institution, and its relation to the state, lik< 
 those of other states, rather than to give the idea of simply a work 
 shop or reform school." An editorial on December 15, 1880, advisee 
 students who knew members of the legislature to explain to then 
 "the disadvantages arising from the present unlucky name of th< 
 institution" : 
 
 When the legislators of the state once come to understand what we 
 as students are painfully aware of, that the mass of the people of the 
 state consider their boasted State University to be a mere manua 
 labor school, they will have little hesitation in bestowing on it a name 
 which will rightly represent its character. ... If this is the State Uni 
 versity, why should it not be called so, instead of bearing the name 
 Industrial in common with reform and other manual labor schools' 
 . . . Until this name is changed we will often find it hard to make the 
 incredulous world believe that here brains become cultured and no 
 hands hardened. 
 
 The editors of the Mini took things into their own hands with the 
 issue of January 19, 1881, by altering the masthead to read, "Pub 
 lished semi-monthly by students at the University of Illinois." The 
 change, of course, was unofficial; the masthead would not be accu- 
 rate for four more years. But the editors stuck to their guns anc 
 reported in the same issue that a campus vote showed 235 student: 
 in favor of changing the name and "only 20 who love it more dearl) 
 under its present home-like signature." Two weeks later, an edi- 
 torial officially proposed the new name for the University. In 1884 
 a committee of alumni was organized to support the cause. Its 
 chairman, G. R. Shawhan, had edited the Mini during the previous 
 school year. He searched the University's correspondence for prooi 
 that it was time for a change, and in the January 28, 1884, issue 
 quoted from letters sent to the University: 
 
 "I am a widow lady and have two boys which I find it very difficull 
 to support and give proper care and education. I should like to pul 
 them under your regulations." 
 
 "I have the care of an orphan boy, twelve years old, a smart, in- 
 
 22 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 genious one. Can he get an education and a trade in your institution, 
 by work of his own hand?" 
 
 "I lately lost a wife who left me six children, the eldest eleven 
 years of age, the youngest two. As yours is an Industrial University, 
 I desire to commit them all now into your hands, that they may be 
 suitably trained to 'Learning and Labor.' " 
 
 "Thought possibly you could assist us in getting a young girl to 
 come and live with us. Say a girl from ten to fourteen years of age. 
 An American preferred, but would take one of another nationality if 
 bright and intelligent." 
 
 Similar misunderstandings grew ever more common. On September 
 22, 1884, an editorial trumpeted, "We want it distinctly understood 
 that this is not a home for the feeble-minded, that homeless repro- 
 bates are not received in charge, and that the dairy on the farm is 
 not to supply milk for orphans, but that this is the Illinois State 
 University, endowed by an act of congress and chartered by the 
 state . . . and offering facilities to men and women unequaled by 
 any institution in the state and unexcelled by any institution in the 
 union. . . ." 
 
 Victory finally came. The legislature approved the name change 
 on June 19, 1885 — by coincidence, the University's commencement 
 day. The Illini rejoiced in its next issue, September 21, 1885, 
 "Every student in attendance last year will no doubt recall with 
 what anxiety our bill for change of name was watched as it passed 
 the various readings before the last general assembly, and when, at 
 last, on Commencement Day, the telegram came that it had finally 
 passed, how joyfully the glad tidings were received. . . ." 
 
 But the tidings were received sourly in some quarters. An edi- 
 torial on October 19, 1885, described the opposition to the change 
 which came from such agricultural papers as the Iowa Homestead, 
 which wrote, "Now that the legislature of Illinois have stricken the 
 word 'Industrial' from their agricultural college, the sensibilities of 
 the dude students will no longer be shocked. It now remains to 
 strike out the motto, which, we believe, is 'Learning and Labor,' and 
 substitute, 'Lavender and Lily White.' " 
 
 The Illini had a ready reply: "We desire to say that every one of 
 
 23 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 us would rather be a dude than be the editor of the Homestead, 
 although we are thankful that we are neither. . . . We must refer to 
 the suggestion made in the above article concerning our motto, 
 'Learning and Labor.' Suffice it to say that we are proud of it, and 
 that we shall earnestly strive to be true to it. We would suggest, 
 however, that the Homestead adopt it likewise, and pay careful 
 attention to it, especially the first part. . . ." 
 
 Times were changing for the newly christened University of Illi- 
 nois. An era had passed with the resignation of Gregory in the 
 spring of 1880. His successor, Professor Selim H. Peabody, received 
 great support from the students, who had feared someone from out- 
 side the University community might get the post. The lllini re- 
 ported on April 19, 1886, the undergraduate reaction when it was 
 learned that Peabody had rejected an offer from Rose Polytechnic 
 and would stay at Illinois: "One night last week we were aroused 
 from our peaceful slumbers by two explosions. ... By diligent in- 
 quiry we learned on the following morning that Captain M. Far- 
 gusson had left the cannon on the campus the evening before, and 
 that some students were celebrating the action of the trustees in 
 retaining the Regent for another term of years." 
 
 Such enthusiasm was not uncommon among the small student 
 body. An especially joyous event at the beginning of the second 
 decade was the celebration of the University's tenth anniversary. 
 A news item from April, 1877, preserves what must have been a 
 typically midwestern fete. 
 
 Ail was excitement and expectation for a week or two previous to the 
 11th of March for it was announced that a large delegation from 
 the State Legislature was to be in attendance at our anniversary 
 exercises. . . . 
 
 Saturday morning the reception committee with the university band 
 went to Tolono where they met the special train from Springfield 
 bearing our expected guests. The train reached the Doane House 
 about noon where a part stepped into the dining room and partook 
 of a bounteous repast, and the remainder were taken to the Griggs 
 House, Urbana, and there similarly served. At a little after one 
 o'clock, the Battalion headed by the band appeared at the Doane 
 
 24 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 House to act as escort to the visitors. The Battalion made a very 
 creditable appearance and was admired by all for its orderly move- 
 ments and military bearing. Having arrived at the drill hall, the sixth 
 regiment was ready to show its guests what excellent military disci- 
 pline is given at this institution. All the spare room was soon filled 
 by spectators. . . . 
 
 These inspiring influences seemed to spur the boys on to their 
 best; consequently fewer mistakes occurred than is usually the case. 
 The visitors were then requested to fall into line with the band and 
 march to the Auditorium of the University where the anniversary 
 exercises proper would take place. The Urbana cornet band was 
 waiting in front of the building and discoursed good music. Ushers 
 were present at the Auditorium doing their duties well and soon the 
 room was filled to its utmost capacity. The Rossini club opened the 
 exercises with well executed instrumental music. After a prayer by 
 Rev. Mr. Evans, of Urbana, the choir sang the University hymn. The 
 addresses of Dr. Gregory, Gov. Cullom, Judge Smith and Speaker 
 Shaw were universally admired. . . . After the close of the exercises 
 the guests were invited to the formal opening of the museum and 
 were there addressed by Professor Taft. The cabinet has lately been 
 enriched by the Ward Cast collection donated by Mr. Cobb, and 
 we do not doubt but that the visitors found much to interest them. 
 The students live with the hope of enjoying similar privileges 
 sometime. 
 
 After a hurried visit to witness the exercises of the Calisthenic 
 class, the audience betook themselves to the Physical lecture room 
 where the ladies of Champaign and Urbana had spread a feast fit 
 even for legislators. . . . Our visitors showed us that they were not 
 in the least out of practice in this exercise, and we can give them 
 credit for doing thoroughly what they were attempting to do. . . . 
 
 Another item in the April, 1877, issue suggested that the legislators 
 had absorbed something on their hurried visit : 
 
 A certain part of the exercises on Anniversary day had a bad effect 
 on some of the invited guests. The next week some member of the 
 Legislature would jump to his feet, shout Mr. Speaker and thrust his 
 
 25 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 right hand violently out in front of his body, while the left at the 
 same moment would rise above his head. Then these would change 
 positions with the rapidity of lightning. The astonished law-makers 
 gazed admiringly on. But those who did not come over could not 
 understand it. Each thought tremblingly of newspaper paragraphs 
 he had read, where men by great mental work had produced soften- 
 ing of the brain, and firmly resolved to have his landlady put blue 
 glass in the windows of his room. . . . We dare not picture what the 
 results might have been, had the fact not been made known that 
 the I.I.U. had a Calisthenic department. 
 
 By 1877, the campus had apparently mastered the art of putting on 
 a good show for the visiting dignitaries. This was not always the 
 case. An item from April, 1880, describes another demonstration. 
 "On Friday afternoon, March 12, the annual exhibition of the gym- 
 nasium was given in the drill hall. A large audience was present to 
 see the boys exhibit their skill and muscle. The performance was 
 very creditable and spoke well of the efficiency of the leaders, T. C. 
 Hill and J. H. Whitmore. During the exhibition the railing of one 
 of the upper platforms gave way, causing a number of the spectators 
 to do some lofty tumbling which was both astonishing and danger- 
 ous. No one was seriously hurt, however." Shortly after the ill-fated 
 exhibition, the Drill Hall was again in the news.: "On a windy 
 morning a few days ago, one-half of the drill hall roof went heaven- 
 ward and came down again in the shape of a pile of boards and 
 twisted tin, far over on the campus. . . ." Nor was the unhappy Drill 
 Hall the only hazardous building. 
 
 About one o'clock on the morning of April 19, the students in the 
 dormitory were awakened by the falling of the wall at the west 
 end of that ancient structure. The rooms in the third and fourth 
 stories were left open like so many post-office boxes. The lower 
 part of the wall was badly shattered. Fortunately no one was hurt. 
 One would think that the wind which could blow down a brick wall 
 was something of a wind, but the fact is that the wall in question 
 was as poorly constructed as it well could be. About ten o'clock the 
 same morning, most of the roof was blown off the west wing. Besides 
 
 26 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 this, five or six chimneys were blown down. This thing of having a 
 hurricane come along every week or two and tumble our buildings 
 about our ears, is beginning to lose its novelty, which was its only 
 virtue. . . . 
 
 In the September 16, 1880, issue, the ancient dormitory's obituary 
 was recorded: "Why should it longer remain to be a nightmare to 
 the faculty, and a great, lumbering, useless elephant to the trustees? 
 Let it sink to the earth, and let a new one spring forth at a Phoenix- 
 birth from out its ruins. . . ." But by February 16, 1881, the Phoenix 
 had still not taken wing: "Two weeks ago we experienced another 
 boiler explosion at the main building, which compelled us to take 
 one of those delightful holidays so heartily greeted by the student, 
 which gives him double lessons for the next day." 
 
 Early attempts at visual aids in the classroom were not encourag- 
 ing, as Peabody discovered in March, 1884: "The Regent showed 
 some dark-room experiments on Thursday. The magic lantern was 
 put in working order, but had not been lighted long before some 
 defect in the burner transferred the fire to the tubing. Through 
 that it traveled into the oxygen bag. The rubber burned in that gas 
 until enough C0 2 was formed to burst the sack, when an explosion 
 occurred. All were more or less frightened, although none would 
 own it. No one was hurt. The hydrogen was not reached, or more 
 serious results might have been expected." 
 
 The University's second decade saw a continued ban on frater- 
 nities, despite determined attempts by several houses to gain a foot- 
 hold on the campus. A mysterious item in the May 25, 1881, issue, 
 signed by "Q.E.D.," raises the question of whether Phi Kappa Psi 
 was the first fraternity to be established at Illinois. The first house 
 legally recognized was Delta Tau Delta. The item states, "There was 
 once a secret society in the old dormitory. I don't know whether the 
 faculty ever found it out or not, but it was there. It was the Phi 
 Kappa Psi and always obtained its recruits from the freshmen. The 
 initiation fee was 25^, and was always spent for peanuts. I do not 
 recall the exact year, but it must have been about 1872." Other at- 
 tempts to establish clandestine chapters were frequent. A news item 
 from November 25, 1881 : 
 
 27 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 The question of college fraternities has been very much agitated 
 among our students during the last year or two, and the founding 
 of at least two chapters here has been the result. After the demise 
 of the Deltas, about three years ago, nothing more was thought about 
 the matter until last spring we were horrified at the appearance of 
 three of "Brady's cousins," all of whom sported "sig pins." Scarcely 
 had we recovered from this, when Heath's cousins visited him. N. A. 
 Gray soon expects some cousins, and then we suppose the girls will 
 have some cousin K.A.T.'s to visit them. . . . 
 
 On December 14, 1885, an Mini editorial took notice of a letter to 
 the Board of Trustees from the grand council of Sigma Chi. "To be 
 sure," the editors wrote, "our true relations to our fellow students 
 should be properly understood and cultivated. Does it require the 
 medium of secret societies to do this?" And on April 4, 1886, noting 
 with approval that the Trustees had retained their ban on frater- 
 nities, an editorial argued, "[Fraternities] give rise to a distinction be- 
 tween rich and poor — a distinction which, in democratic America, 
 should never be recognized, but least of all in America's educational 
 institutions, where we are taught that before wisdom's shrine all are 
 equal, and that there is no aristocracy other than that of mind. . . ." 
 
 If fraternities were still outlawed, political clubs were not. Al- 
 though the Mini noted on October 20, 1880, that students at Ur- 
 bana still lived "apart from the universal every day rush of the 
 world," and had no political clubs to "uselessly drag into their midst 
 such a discordant element as politics," it was not long until partisan 
 enthusiasm appeared. On September 3, 1884, in the heat of the 
 presidential campaign, the Mini noted, "Dr. Prentice deserves 
 credit for not showing the white feather during the recent rally. 
 Though the university may rest on a non-partisan basis, we are glad 
 to know that some of the professors and students stand on a solid 
 republican platform. We believe in standing by our convictions." 
 
 The 1884 election year was apparently the first in which Illinois 
 students took an active role. It may also have been the high point 
 in student participation. A news item from November 17, 1884, 
 preserves the flavor of state politics: 
 
 A number of the best young men in school had quietly made arrange- 
 
 28 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 ments to celebrate the election of Oglesby by pronouncing obsequies 
 over the political death of his demagogue opponent. Before taking 
 any decided steps in the matter, they interviewed two of the city 
 aldermen, the county prosecuting attorney and a number of prom- 
 inent business men on Main street, all of whom accorded their 
 hearty approval to the plan. Wednesday night was the time ap- 
 pointed for the services. During the afternoon preceding, it seems 
 that rumors reached the ears of the mayor that St. John was to be 
 burned in effigy. Such a thing as this the policemen were ordered 
 to prevent. And calling to their aid the bummer element of the city, 
 drunken brutes, heartless rascals, at home to crime, the valiant 
 officers took up a position on the street to "keep the peace." About 
 eight o'clock, from some unseen source, the street was suddenly 
 flooded with programs for the evening in the form of obituary notices, 
 and a few moments after, marching to the beat of a muffled drum, 
 a body of some two hundred masked and silent mourners solemnly 
 entered the west end of Main street and marched eastward. They 
 had gone but a short distance when they were ordered to halt. . . . 
 At about this time they were greeted with a shower of eggs and 
 rocks by certain of the valiant defenders of the peace. These un- 
 expected attacks from all sides disorganized the column, and during 
 the commotion two of the brave policemen captured one of the boys 
 . . . and marched off victoriously to incarcerate him in the calaboose. 
 The boys held themselves under perfect control, and did not 
 attempt to resist the officers, but followed them down the street. 
 When the calaboose door was unlocked, one of our young men 
 requested permission to go in to keep the arrested one company. 
 Being refused, he made himself "obnoxious" to the sensitive police- 
 men, and was promptly pushed in and the iron door swung back 
 and locked upon the two. A crowd of roughs with stones and clubs 
 were ready to defend the jail, and the boys peaceably demanded 
 of the officers that the imprisoned ones be set free. The demand was 
 laughed at. Things were nearing a crisis. Forbearance could not 
 have lasted much longer. . . . But, fortunately, a guarantee was given 
 by the only sensible officer, that the prisoners would be released 
 within half an hour. . . . 
 
 29 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 The Illini concluded its not noticeably impartial account, "There 
 are not half a dozen respectable citizens in the community who have 
 not sided strongly with the students." And in its December 1, 1884, 
 issue, the newspaper proclaimed, "During the past few weeks, the 
 students of this University have made themselves known. They have 
 been alive and awake, not dead, cold and disinterested. . . . Let our 
 young men study politics, and when they go from the narrow college 
 society and enter upon the great society of humanity they will wield 
 a powerful influence in the cause of good government." Forgotten 
 was the need to live "apart from the universal every day rush of the 
 world." 
 
 Politics was at best a seasonal sport, and as such it took its place 
 with the other new games that were beginning to win popularity. 
 Of these, baseball was the best organized. A news item from April, 
 1878: 
 
 The spring term has fully opened and with the new studies there 
 come the new plays. Base ball is the favorite pastime in the spring 
 term. The gymnasium that has been in use during the fall and winter 
 is closed and all the necessary exercise is found on the ball ground. 
 Here we have simply an association formed for amusement and 
 championship among ourselves, principally, though there have been 
 several match games played with boys from town and with a few 
 clubs from a distance. However, as a rule the games are limited to 
 the University nines. The association is quite large, usually consisting 
 of six or seven nines. . . . 
 
 A base ball contest must assuredly be as fascinating, and is much 
 more American, than the boat racing contests which the eastern 
 colleges so much indulge in; and it seems appropriate that in the 
 West we should avail ourselves of the popularity and value of base 
 ball and institute a system of match games with some of our neigh- 
 boring colleges. . . . 
 
 Football also had its adherents. The game, apparently still closely 
 related to soccer, "entirely superseded baseball and all other kinds 
 of amusement" in the autumn of 1878. An item in the December 
 issue reported, "Two goals have been erected on opposite sides of 
 
 30 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 the campus, and a ground with marked 'touch lines' laid out. On 
 every possible occasion the ball can be seen flying about, and boys 
 with limping gaits, bandaged shins and skinned noses are no longer 
 objects of sympathy, but rather he who has the most bumps and 
 bruises, and can run the fastest and kick the hardest and the most 
 numerous times in a small circle and in a still smaller time is the 
 hero." 
 
 A year later, in December, 1879, the Illini called for the forma- 
 tion of an athletic association. "In looking over our exchanges, we 
 find that almost every college has its Athletic Association and we do 
 not see why such an organization would not be a good thing among 
 us. Our gymnasium is a right step in this direction but so few of 
 the students take advantage of it that we think some other means 
 for exercise should be offered. . . ." But by October 20, 1880, some 
 of the fervor must have been lost: "Those of the old students who 
 remember the eagerness and enjoyment with which football was 
 played two years ago will have no doubts as to the possibility of 
 establishing it once more. Some one to lead the movement is all that 
 is needed; there will be followers enough. . . ." 
 
 Drinking and temperance were frequently at issue on the campus. 
 A news item on April 15, 1882, reported, "One of the Champaign 
 saloon-keepers asserts that the students like to drink as well as any- 
 body, but that they always vote the anti-license ticket." The May, 
 1877, issue reported a Sunday chapel lecture by Gregory on the 
 subject: 
 
 The speaker considered the subject under three heads, Social, 
 Political, and Financial. Under the financial he brought forward 
 reliable statistics showing the enormous expenditure in Illinois alone. 
 He said while hard times was the cry over the world yet there was 
 no decrease in the sale of liquors. While the spindle, the forge, the 
 hammers were still, yet the saloons, the distillery, the brewery, and 
 consequently, the poor-house, prison and courts were in full blast. 
 The speaker then unfolded at some length the social aspect of the 
 question and especially denounced the dangerous custom of ladies 
 offering wine to their guests. He then showed the influence that 
 whiskey exerted in American politics. That it was indeed a proud 
 
 31 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 privilege to cast your ballot on election day, when you knew that it 
 would in its significance be swallowed up by the thousands which 
 whiskey bought. He closed with an eloquent appeal to the students, 
 as educated men, to use their influence to lessen this army of sixty 
 thousand persons going to drunkards' graves each year in the United 
 States. 
 
 Lectures such as Gregory's had considerable competition from the 
 other attractions of chapel services. An item in October, 1877, re- 
 ported, "The choir has been removed from the south end of the 
 Chapel to a position near the door, in order that the bashful ones 
 will not be compelled to walk the entire length of the platform with 
 all of those boys looking at them." And an item on May 11, 1885, 
 cautioned, "Students who are addicted to the habit of chewing to- 
 bacco should not inflict their ofTensiveness upon others. The chapel 
 floor is not the place to spit. . . ." On April 1, 1882, the newspaper 
 solemnly reported. "A student in one of the Eastern colleges was re- 
 cently killed by smoking forty cigarettes." 
 
 Not all of the co-eds at Illinois were too shy to walk across the 
 chapel platform. "Wouldn't it astonish our Eastern college friends," 
 The Illini asked in May, 1879, "to see our lady taxidermists out be- 
 fore sun-rise, with shot-guns, ammunition, young men and other 
 accoutrements 'chasing the antelope over the plain,' and returning 
 to breakfast with pockets full of birds. It's a very exhilarating sight 
 — from a safe distance. Can you beat it, Vassar?" Some of the 
 younger students lacked courage to approach these amazons, accord- 
 ing to an October 29, 1883, article: "One of the senior boys is 
 devoting himself to his matrimonial agency. His latest victim was 
 an architectural junior. The latter had a season ticket to the enter- 
 tainment course, and wanted company for the concert. He never 
 spoke to a girl in his life, probably, so the senior arranged the matter. 
 Then the junior become so thoroughly frightened that he offered 
 his ticket for a dollar and a half, and — well, he didn't take the 
 maiden." 
 
 Alexander Graham Bell's new invention made it easier to ap- 
 proach a young lady, as the February 25, 1884, issue made clear: 
 "Marquis is mashed on the telephone at the half-way house. He 
 
 32 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 stands there for hours holding its lily-white hand in his, cooing and 
 turtle-doving in a most affectionate manner; the telephone, how- 
 ever, remains silent and motionless, and apparently does not return 
 his caresses." 
 
 Times change. In the 1880's, the rebels were the ones who shaved 
 off their beards. "A number of boys have been using the razor 
 rather too freely of late," an article on April 27, 1881, complained. 
 "True, the days are getting sultry, but a man should have some 
 regard for his personal appearances. As examples, there are Spencer 
 and Coddington. Both of them have disfigured their countenances 
 so thoroughly that their friends hardly recognize them. This whole- 
 sale slaughter of moustaches must be stopped." Revolutionary new 
 hair styles also made their appearance. An item on November 12, 
 1883, reported, "The dude hair mania is almost monopolizing our 
 boys. We can not say that it is much of an improvement over the 
 old style of hair combing. Some of the boys look like frizzy roosters 
 in a cock fight, others like senseless apes, still others like vicious goril- 
 las. Boys, abandon the 'agony,' for it puts all about you in agony." 
 Two weeks later, on November 26, another item observed. "A new 
 dude method of combing hair is making its appearance. A.S.C. parts 
 his hair in the middle. This is all very well for New York youths, 
 but for solid college boys is inappropriate." 
 
 Relations between students and the townspeople, while friendly 
 on the whole, sometimes ran into snags. A long editorial in the De- 
 cember, 1879, issue, headed "Of Course It Was the Students," com- 
 plained that students were blamed everytime something "of a dis- 
 orderly and riotous nature" occurred. The editors suggested that 
 the "town boys" might be responsible for some of the misdeeds. Yet 
 the students seem to have been responsible for their share. On Oc- 
 tober 5, 1880, an item suggested that the commissioner who left 
 tiling strung along Wright Street for a week or more might have 
 known it would be "lodged safely in the tree-tops." On April 27, 
 1881, the Illini reported that a buggy "belonging to one of the cit- 
 izens" was poised on the peak of the old dormitory. "It was, doubt- 
 less, much more fun for them [the students], than it was for the 
 owner to take it apart yesterday, and let the pieces down one by one. 
 He was not in a condition to fully appreciate it." 
 
 33 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Sometimes the skirmishes between town and gown were more 
 direct. An item on November 26, 1883, describes a skating party: 
 
 Last Saturday the monotony was broken. Hazard and the proprietors 
 of Crystal Lake are the parties concerned. The lake was frozen over, 
 and the boys were having fine sport skating. Hazard, having arrived, 
 strapped on his skates, and joined in the sport without paying the 
 usual fee. The proprietor, Mr. Wallick, hailed him but to no effect. 
 This was repeated but still was unheeded. This justly incensed Mr. 
 Wallick, who began firing at him with a revolver containing other 
 than blank cartridges. . . . Several shots were fired. Hazard stood 
 his ground like a soldier. After the firing had ceased, he left the 
 lake. . . . 
 
 An article on November 15, 1886, described a typical Champaign- 
 Urbana Halloween : 
 
 Enough of the campus fence was torn down to furnish entrance for 
 the cows, and not enough to secure a new fence. A bonfire was 
 made on the campus, in which the idiots burned the back-stop. The 
 cannon, which should have been in the armory, were taken to pieces, 
 and one was thrown into the Boneyard. Then the mob rolled down 
 through Champaign, pulling gates and loose fences, and raising the 
 deuce generally. Policemen did not show their starry fronts, so full 
 sway was given to the invaders. Reports are conflicting as to how 
 many had to be carried home. 
 
 Another frequent object of student pranks was the senior class tree, 
 planted each autumn and then the object of attacks by the juniors 
 all winter and spring. During the 1880-81 school year, six trees were 
 struggled over. The November 3 Illini reports that the first tree 
 survived only three or four hours before the juniors had tarred and 
 feathered it. The second tree survived until early 1881, according 
 to the February 2 issue, when the juniors cut it down "with our 
 little hatchet." On April 27, an article reported. 'The seniors 
 have planted another tree, the third of the year, and we hope, the 
 last. . . ." No further mention of this tree is made, but a Locals note 
 on May 11 is ominous: "The fourth senior tree of the season is 
 
 34 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 prospering finely." Finally, on June 8, the year-long struggle reached 
 its conclusion: 
 
 The senior tree has been having hard times again of late. Last 
 Thursday evening, while two boys were watching it, a couple of 
 students came along and, disturbing it a little, were fired upon. The 
 next night the scene was repeated with increased interest and excite- 
 ment. A party of boys with shot guns, pistols or some other deadly 
 weapons, neared the tree and fired in among the evergreens to 
 awaken any watchers dozing there. Immediately two wise seniors 
 began to scatter. When they were safely out of the way, Horti- 
 culturist No. 2 approached with their sharpened steel and hewed 
 the shrub to the ground. . . . Tree No. 6 was planted the next day. 
 It is a soft maple, and resembles much its predecessor. . . . 
 
 Not all of the dissension on campus was in fun. Both military train- 
 ing and compulsory chapel were centers of controversy during the 
 decade. Early in 1880, the military classes "mutinied," according to 
 the February Illini: "Consequences: No drill, dreadful confusion 
 prevails, the entire Faculty appears in chapel, mirable dictul ! ! , 
 long lectures from the 'powers that be,' the faculty sit upon the 
 military class with such force that it is doubtful whether the gallant 
 soldiers will ever recover their elasticity, the Faculty decide, after 
 the officials have resigned, that the rebels shall be deprived of their 
 commands if they don't repent. ... As immense captains are needed 
 to enforce discipline, the Faculty have to choose officers from their 
 own numbers." At the March meeting of the Board of Trustees, a 
 compromise was reached: only freshmen and sophomores were re- 
 quired to drill. 
 
 The question of compulsory chapel attendance was considered in 
 an editorial on January 25, 1886. 
 
 In several institutions chapel attendance has been made voluntary, 
 and we venture to say that this course will, ere long, be pursued by 
 most of our public institutions. Last spring the point was raised here 
 by Mr. F. North, of the class of '85, whether or not the faculty had 
 a right to compel students to attend chapel exercises. He absented 
 himself from chapel for several weeks, persistently refusing to attend 
 
 35 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 without even presenting an excuse. The faculty finally suspended 
 him indefinitely. . . . 
 
 It must be admitted that, although Mr. North was actuated purely 
 by principle, his case nevertheless partook considerably of the nature 
 of insubordination. . . . The faculty offered to excuse Mr. North from 
 chapel provided he would declare that chapel attendance was re- 
 pugnant to his religious convictions. This Mr. North refused to do on 
 the grounds that he denied the authority of the faculty to make such 
 a request. 
 
 Yet we believe that everyone should attend, as nothing is to be 
 gained by refusing to do so or even by securing a permanent excuse. 
 True, these exercises become very monotonous at times and it is not 
 entirely inexcusable on the part of those who occasionally feel like 
 "skipping." 
 
 The Illini had made this last point earlier, on November 26, 1881 : 
 "Professor Burrill conducted the chapel exercise one day last week, 
 but not even he would relieve the monotony." And in the October, 
 1877, issue: "Scene in Chapel. — Prof. Crawford, librarian, on be- 
 half of certain books in the library appeals to the class in English 
 Literature to keep their hands clean. Prof, of English Literature 
 indignantly examines his hands. Exit Prof. Crawford. Curtain 
 drops. Profound cheering by preps." 
 
 Within a few years, compulsory chapel would be discontinued. 
 But another campus institution — the foreign student — first ap- 
 peared during the decade. The first mention found in the Illini was 
 this letter published March 24, 1883: 
 
 MR. EDITOR. — Many of the students are doubtless aware that we 
 have among us an Armenian (often wrongly called "the Turk"), and 
 as they have passed the little fellow in the hall, or spoken briefly 
 with him, they have often wondered how he came to be among us 
 here in an American college, so many thousands of miles away from 
 his home across the sea. . . . 
 
 He is seventeen years of age, has attended Roberts' College in 
 Constantinople for a short time, but his widowed mother is unable 
 
 36 
 
THE SECOND DECADE 1877-86 
 
 to pay the $200 tuition they require, and hence it seemed as if his 
 education must be at an end. 
 
 But anyone who has looked into those sharp dark eyes can easily 
 see the ambition and determination that caused him to take a deck 
 passage for America, his mother and sister entreating him not to 
 come to this "wild" country, and his uncle threatening never to write 
 or speak to him again. Thus it was that he found himself at Cham- 
 paign about the first of October, with but two dollars in cash. 
 
 He came all this distance to get the benefit of the free Illinois 
 Industrial University, thinking, as any sensible person would, that by 
 working a certain time each day he would get his education. Our 
 Regent has not thus far required him to pay his fees, but thinks he 
 is going beyond his authority, and says he can do so no longer 
 without an action of the trustees. Now my object in writing this is that 
 the students may see the condition of affairs and when a petition is 
 presented to them, asking the trustees to excuse his fees, at least 
 for a time, they will heartily respond with their signature. 
 
 By the decade's end, the University of Illinois had developed from 
 an agricultural and mechanical college into a more rounded institu- 
 tion. The students had adopted many collegiate customs of the age, 
 and wanted to add fraternities to the list. Although still very small, 
 the University had already taken the form it would retain until at 
 least World War I. Ahead lay a decade of growth so rapid that no 
 one fully anticipated it. 
 
 37 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE THIRD DECADE 
 
 1887-96 
 
 \ 
 
 7 
 
 Rah! Hoo-rah! Zip, Boom, Ah! 
 Hip-zoo! Rah-zoo! 
 Jimmy, Blow Your Bazoo! 
 Ipzidyiki, U. of I.! 
 Champaign! 
 
 — The first University yell, 1894 
 
 If the University's first two decades were a sort of apprenticeship, 
 the decade of 1887-96 was one of growing confidence and a develop- 
 ing sense of direction. The young institution was winning a reputa- 
 tion beyond the state boundaries, and demanding greater recognition 
 within Illinois. In this struggle, it had a powerful friend in Gov- 
 ernor John Peter Altgeld (1893-97), who often stopped at the 
 campus for informal visits. The new spirit was expressed in the in- 
 augural address of Andrew Sloan Draper, who became the fourth 
 president of the University on November 15, 1894. Draper's speech 
 sounded a note of promise : « 
 
 I have been speaking of what the state university may do as a 
 localized institution, but the university should be much more than a 
 localized institution. Its operations should be as broad as the state. 
 Its influence should be exerted everywhere. It should accomplish 
 things at arm's length. . . . 
 
 It is bound to keep its laboratories of all kinds in operation and 
 to prosecute all lines of research, and give the world the result of 
 its experiments and investigations. It is to encourage and cherish 
 
 38 
 
THE THIRD DECADE 1887-96 
 
 all other universities, help them whenever it can, and get their help 
 whenever it can. It is to uphold the hands of the state department of 
 public instruction. It is to articulate sharply with the public school 
 sysem of which it, itself, constitutes the highest grade. It is to be a 
 student of public school problems. It is to gather up the world's 
 experience and most advanced thought concerning the construction 
 of buildings, the training of teachers, the courses of work and the 
 development of minds. 
 
 Learning the truth, it should speak it. It should not speak in a 
 far-away, autocratic, disinterested fashion. It is to walk upon the 
 earth, among people who yet live in the body, and circumstances 
 that are not ideal but real. It should be sympathetic at all times and 
 helpful whenever it can be. It should be alert in the interests of all 
 the children, the dearest possessions of the people, whose intelligent 
 training is the greatest concern of the state. . . . 
 
 Even before Draper, the struggle to gain recognition for Illinois as 
 the official state university was gaining force. Illini editorials railed 
 against mention of "the Champaign University," indignantly pointed 
 out that it was the University of Illinois, and backed a campaign to 
 elect the trustees by a statewide vote. On April 25, 1887, an edito- 
 rial noted, "There is every probability that the bill which provides 
 for the election of the trustees of our University by a direct vote of 
 the people will soon become a law. The University will thus be 
 brought into more intimate relations with the people and the ex- 
 cellent advantages offered here will become more widely known and 
 extensively patronized, and this institution will become to the state 
 what Ann Arbor is to Michigan or Harvard and Yale are to New 
 England." 
 
 In spite of its far-reaching goals, however, the University had not 
 yet shaken off all its early provincialism. An editorial on February 
 28, 1887, complained that education at Urbana often consisted of 
 "much learning, but little application of knowledge, a ceaseless 
 routine of text book study, a cramming of facts for daily recitation 
 — these seem to constitute the great barren shore whither so many 
 barks are drifting." On May 8, 1893, an essay titled "Meditations 
 
 39 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 of a Prep in Class" gave a stream-of-consciousness portrait of class- 
 room ennui in the spring: 
 
 I'd like to know what a fellow is to do. I don't want to flunk, but 
 all the Professors say I must go to the ball games, and how can I go 
 to the ball games and get my lessons at the same time, I would like 
 to know. And then the "Hints for Students" say I mustn't study after 
 nine, so there I am. Now by the look of that man's eye I am going 
 to get called on. Well if he asks me about Longfellow I'm in for it, for 
 I learned all about him yesterday. I asked the girl in there in the 
 library for a dictionary with Longfellow in it, and she handed me out 
 
 a great big book called the American ency pshaw, what was it? 
 
 Anyway, the name was as big as the book and it was just about the 
 same as a dictionary. But that girl kind of tries to guy a person and 
 I don't think she knows it all either. I asked her once to give me 
 Westward Ho by Horace Greeley, and she said she didn't think he 
 wrote it, but she'd see if it was in. It wasn't, so I couldn't prove to 
 her that she was wrong, but if Horace Greeley didn't write "West- 
 ward Ho Young Man" I'll give up the job, and she — Oh now I am 
 going to recite next for I came after Jones yesterday and I know 
 I'll have to today. "O wretched me, I sit here awaiting my doom." 
 That's from Romeo and Juliet that the Professor read to me the other 
 day. There goes Jones ker-flunk. Saved again by the skin of the 
 teeth for he's calling on the girls. I don't think a fellow ought to 
 argue with the Professor the way Jones does. He acts as though he 
 knew as much as the teacher. I don't think it's respectful at all and 
 I wouldn't do it. They say the seniors argue all the time and I heard 
 they just did that when they didn't have their lessons. I don't believe 
 that for I heard a senior say that he got all ones last term and I 
 suppose they all do. I wish I could get all ones sometime, but I am 
 glad I have never flunked yet in examination, for ma would feel 
 awful bad about it if I did. There goes the bell; I am so hungry I 
 can hardly bear to think about the four blocks between me and 
 dinner. 
 
 The class bell itself was a fairly new addition, mentioned in the 
 February 15, 1892, issue: "The system is controlled by a regulator 
 
 40 
 
THE THIRD DECADE 1887-96 
 
 in the physical lecture room, which automatically regulates the two 
 other clocks and rings the bells according to a regular program." 
 
 Perhaps nothing more clearly revealed the changing campus at- 
 mosphere than the spectacular growth of intercollegiate athletics. In 
 1887, most athletic activity was on an informal basis. By 1896, 
 athletics had eclipsed all other extra-curricular activities and were 
 hailed as a means for gaining the University wider attention. A 
 news item on October 17, 1887: 
 
 Every Sunday we notice a number of boys playing ball on the 
 campus. They fill the air with their shouts and loud profanity, and 
 make the immediate vicinity of the campus far from a pleasant place 
 to be. They are not students, but a miscellaneous collection of the 
 lower stratum of the society of the two cities, who resort thither for 
 a day's amusement. Something should be done by those who have 
 the power to stop this or we shall next hear that U. of I. students, 
 coupled with their other vices, are violently addicted to Sunday 
 ball-playing. 
 
 A year later, a campus landmark in spectator sports was achieved. 
 A news item reported on October 8, 1888, "The Athletic association 
 erected seats on the campus, stretched ropes around the diamond 
 and charged an admission fee of 10 cents to those who desired to 
 view the game in a sitting posture from an elevated position." 
 
 On December 6, 1890, the Illini reported one of the University's 
 early ventures into intercollegiate competition : 
 
 The interest in foot ball among the students of the U. of I. has been 
 sensibly increased in the last few weeks. There is no reason why 
 the game should not be as popular as it is in the East. The size and 
 enthusiasm of the crowd at the fair grounds on Thanksgiving shows 
 that it would be an easy matter to make it popular. 
 
 The eleven went to Lafayette, Ind., November 22nd to play the 
 Purdue college eleven. This was done on the suggestion of Dr. Smart, 
 their president, who challenged us in chapel, at the time of the 
 meeting of experiment station delegates. 
 
 The boys found on arriving that the Purdue eleven had been 
 training under a coacher from Indianapolis for some time and could 
 
 41 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 show our boys more tricks in five minutes than our boys ever knew 
 about foot ball. They had a faculty of appropriating the ball to 
 their own use and only allowed their opponents to get possession 
 of it about a dozen times during the game. This accounts for the 
 on our side of the score. However, our boys learned a great deal 
 more about foot ball than they would if they had not gone so they 
 have that for consolation. The score was 62-0. 
 
 The same issue made the first mention of a name that was to be 
 legendary at Illinois: "Huff was bed-fast several days last week on 
 account of injuries received in the football game on Thanksgiving." 
 By the spring of 1888, the need was felt for an official college yell. 
 Students J. V. Schaefer and Van Gundy shared a $5 prize for com- 
 posing "Rah-Hoo-Rah" (see beginning of chapter) . On November 
 2, 1891, a news item observed, "A few nights ago at a called meet- 
 ing, the Faculty were overheard practicing the college yell, and from 
 the remarkable energy which they showed and the volume of sound 
 which resulted, it is safe to say that they enjoyed it fully as much 
 as the boys ever did." By autumn of 1894, "Rah-Hoo-Rah" had 
 been joined by two other official yells, reported in the Illini on Oc- 
 tober 25 : 
 
 Hol-a-ba-loo! Horrah! Horrah! 
 
 Hol-a-ba-loo! Horrah! Horrah! 
 
 Hoo-rah! Hoo-rah! 
 
 U. of U 
 
 Wah-Hoo-Wah! 
 
 Yah, yah, yah, ki! 
 Yah, yah, yah, ki! 
 Boom-a-langer! 
 Boom-a-langer! 
 U. of I.! 
 
 As athletics gained in prominence, the literary societies went into 
 decline. An editorial on November 15, 1892: 
 
 Fifty years ago literary societies were important factors in the educa- 
 tional work of colleges and universities. Since then a change in this 
 respect has made itself apparent. . . . The literary society no longer 
 
 42 
 
THE THIRD DECADE 1887-96 
 
 claims [the student's] attention as something indispensable, but as 
 a part of this feast of college life which is spread before him, which 
 he can take or let alone at will. 
 
 The growth of athletics is, no doubt, responsible in a great degree 
 for this feeling; within the last quarter century, altar fires have been 
 kindled to the gods of athletics in every college in the land; gym- 
 nastics are subjects of interest to all, and field sports are, in their 
 season, the all-absorbing theme upon which both students and in- 
 structors dwell. A place on the football team is generally more 
 eagerly sought for than oratorical honors. 
 
 We would not condemn this granting of such a high place to ath- 
 letics, for the old fallacy that the athlete could not be a scholar is an 
 exploded theory; the well-developed brain is more frequently co- 
 existent with the perfect body. Be this as it may, but one thing can 
 be supreme at a time, and if this be athletics, the work of literary 
 societies must necessarily be considered of minor importance. . . . 
 
 Despite exploded theories, the stereotype of the athlete as an un- 
 civilized lout began to make its appearance. From the Answers to 
 Queries column of October 11, 1894: "Athlete — No, the library 
 is not a gymnasium. Tumbling there is strictly forbidden, while box- 
 ing is looked upon with disfavor. If some of the new material fails 
 to grasp this truth, the librarian will feel compelled to use his 
 authority, or a large two-by-four scantling which he owns." 
 
 On April 5, 1894, an editorial commented favorably on a new 
 regulation requiring athletes to maintain an academic average of 
 75 per cent in order to play on the University teams. But such set- 
 backs were temporary, and in the age of the Frank Merriwell at 
 Yale-dim^ novels, even President Draper surrendered to the ro- 
 mance of college football. On November 1, 1894, he said during a 
 chapel address, 
 
 I attended the football game last Saturday and enjoyed it very much. 
 It was a hard and well-fought battle . . . but I was seriously affected 
 by the sad accident. I wish that football could be so modified so as 
 to lessen its dangers. I shall always remember one incident of that 
 afternoon. When Mr. Woody lay crushed and mangled on the 
 
 43 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 ground and his little brother was sobbing by him, he turned and 
 kissed him. And then, looking up and seeing the look of pity in 
 my eye, he smiled and said, "Why, doctor, I'm all right." Now if 
 that didn't indicate manliness and true courage, there is no courage 
 anywhere. . . . 
 
 The same period saw the appearance of two institutions long identi- 
 fied with Illinois sports: the colors orange and blue, and the Uni- 
 versity band. During the same chapel address on November 1. 
 1894, Draper noted that the University had used several colors, in- 
 cluding old gold and black, without ever officially adopting one set 
 of colors. A committee of the Athletic Association had been ap- 
 pointed to settle the matter, and chose orange and blue. Draper 
 continued, 
 
 And now I wish to submit the question to this body. All who are in 
 favor of accepting orange and navy blue as the colors of the Uni- 
 versity of Illinois will please arise. [All arise.] I am proud to be 
 able to be the first to hold aloft the University colors. [Applause.] 
 I congratulate you upon the selection, for they represent much. Blue 
 is an emblem of steadfastness and stability. Orange has come down 
 to us through 200 years of history. It was the color over which the 
 world's first great battle for liberty was fought. May they long be 
 held aloft and be proudly triumphant, not only on the athletic field, 
 but in the field of literature, of science and of art. 
 
 The University band had also started playing at athletic contests, 
 although with a mixed reception. An editorial on May 3, 1890: 
 
 The band has done better work this year than any previous one since 
 our connection with the University. While we all should feel grateful 
 to the boys for the excellent music they furnished on so many occa- 
 sions, much more should the Athletic Association feel under obliga- 
 tions to them for the gratuitous favors which they so frequently confer 
 upon that association. It would seem very much out of place then 
 that any member of the association should in any way molest the 
 instruments, many of which are quite valuable and besides this are 
 private property. The band boys feel that such acts are an indica- 
 
 44 
 
THE THIRD DECADE 1887-96 
 
 tion that their labors are not appreciated and so are not very highly 
 pleased over it. . . . 
 
 An important aspect of undergraduate life finally made its appear- 
 ance at the University in 1892, when the Trustees at last approved 
 the establishment of fraternities. The Illini had reversed its stand 
 of earlier years, arguing in an editorial on January 30, 1892, "There 
 is room enough here for both fraternities and other societies, without 
 any injury to either." On March 12, 1892, a news item reported: 
 "The Sigma Chi fraternity gave a reception to the Faculty and 
 Board of Trustees at their club-rooms at No. 7 Main St., on Wednes- 
 day evening, March 9. Dr. Chamberlain, President of the Univer- 
 sity of Wisconsin, and Dr. Purington, of the University of Missouri, 
 were also in attendance. . . ." In an editorial on September 21, 1892, 
 the Illini examined the new institution: ; 'The coming year will 
 constitute a crucial test for our fraternities. Whether ^they will attain 
 a high standard in our University or, on the contrary, prove them- 
 selves worthy of little respect, remains to be proved. College fra- 
 ternities were organized and exist for mutual help and encourage- 
 ment and not for the purpose of having the 'biggest time' possible, 
 as non-fraternity men and non-college people generally suppose. . . ." 
 
 By 1894, fraternities were apparently well established at Illinois, 
 and in its Answers to Queries column of October 11, the news- 
 paper advised, "Good Fellow ■ — It would not be the best thing for 
 you to join a fraternity at once. The fraternities are nice things, 
 but they cost money and besides you will require some ten or twelve 
 years of social training before your presence would be desired there. 
 Your intentions are no doubt honorable, but you are very much 'in 
 the soup' mentally, financially and physically. Do not seek to be- 
 come popular all at once, when perhaps by a careful attention to 
 your studies, and a systematic development of gall, you can never 
 become so." 
 
 Another characteristic of the decade was a growing rivalry among 
 the classes. False moves toward "class peace" were hailed from 
 time to time by the Illini, but the competition remained, reaching 
 its peak in the memorable "color rush" of 1891. On February 8, 
 1890, an editorial observed, "The fact that the sophomores and 
 
 45 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 freshmen have united to have a banquet at Danville on the evening 
 of February 14 is certainly an innovation, and has called forth much 
 comment pro and con. The prophetic time when the lion and the 
 lamb shall lie down together seems to be rapidly approaching. It 
 has been suggested that the sophs are afraid of the juniors and the 
 freshmen dread the sophs, therefore the two classes combine for 
 mutual safety. ..." 
 
 Such harbingers of peace were misleading. The issue of March 
 7, 1891, described a disastrous freshman sociable: 
 
 The annual freshman sociable is again a thing of the past. The class 
 had chosen Eichburg's Opera House to be the scene of their festiv- 
 ities. The intense interest which all the other classmen manifested 
 toward the freshmen was wonderful and nearly every student in the 
 University turned out to assist in celebrating the occasion. 
 
 The freshmen made a fatal mistake in not having the doors, and 
 indeed the whole building, guarded by officers of the law. Early in 
 the evening the crowd, which had collected in front of the building, 
 succeeded in depositing large quantities of "eye water" on the 
 stairs and in various parts of the building. Soon the freshmen and 
 their ladies began to arrive, but on ascending to the dancing hall, 
 which is on the third floor, they found the atmosphere so completely 
 "loaded" as to render it impossible for them to stay there any 
 length of time. 
 
 Many of them immediately returned to their homes, while others 
 took refuge in the carpet room on the second floor. At last the door 
 keepers were overcome by the impurity of the atmosphere, and 
 deserted their posts. 
 
 The crowd then rushed into the building and, through their tears, 
 began searching every nook and corner for hidden treasures. 
 Nothing was found but the program for the banquet and the class 
 colors, which were confiscated. The crowd also made an attempt 
 to force the door of the carpet room but were unsuccessful. . . . The 
 freshmen now came forth from their hiding-place and marched off to 
 a restaurant, where they partook of refreshments, after which they 
 returned to the hall, which had been aired during their absence, 
 
 46 
 
THE THIRD DECADE 1887-96 
 
 where they apparently enjoyed themselves until the break of coming 
 day bade them depart. . . . 
 
 The same issue described the color rush held every spring, in which 
 the classes battled for possession of the freshman colors. "Scratched 
 faces, broken noses, black eyes, torn clothes, were numerous and 
 prominent after the color rush Wednesday morning. The visitors 
 gazed with open-eyed wonder at the performance, which has not 
 been equaled in the history of the institution." Another item in the 
 same issue: "The latest topic of conversation among the students 
 is the action taken by the faculty, at a special meeting last night, in 
 regard to the conduct of the students in the color rush, which oc- 
 curred last Wednesday morning. Although nearly three hundred 
 students took part in the rush, the members of the faculty have de- 
 cided to punish but thirteen of them. These unfortunate thirteen 
 have been suspended from the University for an indefinite length of 
 time. . . ." 
 
 And another news item reported, "Mr. S. M. Sanford, the well 
 known evangelist of Boston, held meetings for the benefit of students 
 in the Christian Church, of East Champaign, on Wednesday and 
 Thursday evenings. His efforts were much appreciated and would 
 have been a source of good if continued. The gentleman, however, 
 after witnessing the freshman sociable and color rush, seemed to 
 think that his efforts would be barren of result on such material and 
 left with the regret and good wishes of all who heard him." 
 
 Hand-in-hand with the class rivalry, of course, was the hazing sys- 
 tem. The lllini reported on December 20, 1890, "According to the 
 Chicago News, there was a terrible case of hazing in our midst re- 
 cently. This was greatly exaggerated. The student in question had 
 made himself rather numerous and the boys just undertook to teach 
 him that a fellow who has been in this University a few weeks, ought 
 not to know more than all the upper classmen and faculty combined. 
 Such a condition is dangerous to all concerned, and it was thought 
 best to give the patient a dose of 'experience tea.' ' But the news- 
 paper, nothing if not impartial, also had advice for unfortunate 
 freshmen. From the Answer to Queries column of October 11, 
 1894: "Inquirer — If a senior crowds you out of line at the hat- 
 
 47 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 room, do not apologize to him; this is unnecessary. In a gentle, un- 
 assuming manner simply break his nose with the back of your hand 
 or crowd his teeth into the neighborhood of his palate. This will 
 demonstrate not only your powers of concentration, but will also do 
 away with the impression that you are green." 
 
 Social life on campus developed apace with the Gay Nineties. 
 Dances at the local "opera houses" were particularly popular; and 
 an item on January 17, 1887, suggested other wintertime amuse- 
 ments: "Two senior ladies, with their proper escorts, took a sleigh- 
 ride on the evening of the sociable. There being no pleasure for 
 them in the motley crowd assembled, they eagerly departed in a 
 single seated sleigh for other enjoyments. How all four managed to 
 get comfortable seats must be left to the reader to determine from 
 personal experience." Romance must have bloomed under such 
 conditions, although an item on April 9, 1889, indicates that student 
 marriages were far from common: "There are four married men in 
 the University this term, which is a larger quantity of that com- 
 modity than we have had at once for some time." 
 
 As always, the fashion in men's hair was an object of editorial 
 comment. From the issue of September 27, 1895: 
 
 Perhaps the greatest peculiarity of the American college youth is 
 his hair. The hair in itself is not so peculiar, although nearly every 
 shade and color in the prism is represented, but the style in which it 
 is worn. Its length varies from five to ten inches and is usually in a 
 much tousled condition. 
 
 The leading styles are the "duster" in which the hair is worn 
 perpendicular to the tangent plant at the point of contact. Other 
 styles are the "chrysanthemum," from which that popular flower de- 
 rives its name, and the "mop" in which no two hairs are the same 
 length. 
 
 At the U. of I. no one style holds complete sway. The oldest style 
 is the "Weary Wilkins," which is a cross between Breck's head and 
 an after-using sign, but this is being replaced by the English style 
 in which it is about seven inches long and allowed to droop over the 
 right eye. The leading exponent of this style is a popular instructor, 
 
 48 
 
THE THIRD DECADE 1887-96 
 
 who is still a bachelor and therefore has no incentive to wearing 
 short hair. 
 
 Just before the Gay Nineties, concern for local moral standards was 
 expressed. The Mini ran this editorial on October 3, 1887: 
 
 From the wholesome remarks of the Regent last Tuesday morning in 
 chapel, it appears that there is prevalent the notion that the majority 
 of the students are habitual drinkers of spirituous liquors. In order 
 that this erroneous and dangerous impression may not succeed in 
 accomplishing the object whereunto it is well fitted by those who 
 are circulating it, we would suggest that some movement on the part 
 of the students themselves be set about to counteract it. Would it 
 not be a good idea to circulate a pledge among the students for 
 signature, to the effect that the drinking of no intoxicating beverage 
 be indulged in between now and — say next June? The idea we 
 would have the signers bear in mind is not so much the desire to 
 begin temperance work in our midst ... as to clear ourselves of 
 the charge of drunkenness. . . . 
 
 The campaign was evidently unsuccessful. A news item on Novem- 
 ber 29, 1892: " T say,' confidently remarked one freshman to an- 
 other, 'I'm afraid I'm getting awfully tough. I've smoked two 
 cigarettes, played a game of pool, and I'm going to drink a glass 
 of beer before I go home!' " Another attempt at local prohibition, 
 two years later, was more serious. An editorial on September 27, 
 1894, commented, 
 
 Last spring the Champaign Local Temperance union conceived the 
 idea of prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors within four miles 
 of the University. The movement was encouraged by the Young 
 People's Christian associations of the twin cities. . . . 
 
 There are many people who, other things being equal, prefer to 
 send their boys to a college where they will be thrown in the way 
 of temptation as little as possible. That condition is not likely to be 
 found in a town as full of saloons and other disreputable places as 
 Champaign. . . . 
 
 The appearances of decorum were falling on all sides. Both com- 
 
 49 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 pulsory chapel attendance and compulsory chapel orations to be 
 given by every senior had been required since the University's found- 
 ing. Both were discontinued during the decade. On February 14, 
 1887, the Illini observed, "Foot-riots during chapel services are to 
 be condemned and are certainly out of order." And on October 22, 
 1888: "To one who pays any attention to the 'eternal fitness of 
 things' there is something exceedingly incongruous in applauding 
 sacred songs in chapel. The chapel exercises are not a pleasant little 
 intermission to afford amusement to those who may happen to at- 
 tend, but are, or should be, a sacred service where one ought to feel 
 as much hesitancy in applauding the music as he would in encoring 
 the Lord's Prayer." A news item on February 8, 1890, suggests that 
 orations were not spared: "It would be well to remind the students 
 that chapel orations are not gotten up entirely to furnish amusement. 
 It is very likely to confuse an orator to have an audience make a 
 point of keeping up a noise, or laughing at his remarks unless he is 
 trying to make a humorous address. It should be remembered also 
 that the seniors are required to give orations in chapel and if courtesy 
 and good manners are forgotten by us we should try to have a little 
 sympathy for a fellow student. . . ." 
 
 Two weeks later, the newspaper editorialized, "It is reported on 
 very good authority that if the students continue to disturb public 
 meetings in the chapel, to the discomfort not only of performers but 
 of those attending from the two cities, that the business men will 
 refuse to aid in securing Field Day prizes." Yet apparently the stu- 
 dents were not the only offenders. A news item on February 21, 
 1891: "There must be a screw loose somewhere when a professor 
 may sit on the platform at chapel reading a newspaper, while a stu- 
 dent is reported for studying during the exercises." At last, on No- 
 vember 29, 1892, an editorial observed, 
 
 Senior orations are at last dispensed with, thanks to the favorable 
 action of our faculty. For many years the chapel orations have been a 
 bugbear to the ones who gave them and to the ones who listened to 
 them. Not that any fault is attached to the theory of having each mem- 
 ber of the senior class deliver an oration and thus gain some ideas 
 of delivery and composition, but the fault lies in the practice. . . . 
 
 50 
 
THE THIRD DECADE 1887-96 
 
 The feeling that these orations were compulsory has led men in the 
 past and would in the future, instead of composing and delivering an 
 oration, to bunch together a thousand or more words of anything 
 that would pass the veto of the scrutinizing professor, and inflict this 
 upon a bored and defenseless audience in the chapel. Subjects such 
 as "Protoplasm" or "Taylor's Theorem" were as likely to be taken 
 as anything else; so this system, instead of being productive of good 
 results, really produced the opposite, and rapidly developed into a 
 silly farce. . . . 
 
 Undergraduate interest in politics continued to develop during the 
 decade. A rally described in the October 22, 1888, issue appears to 
 have been typical : 
 
 The student rally on the evening of October 13 was the biggest thing 
 of the season. . . . Instead of the time-honored torch all carried 
 Chinese lanterns hung on canes, and headed by the Flambeau bi- 
 cycle club and "Grimes' Band" they wended their way to the city 
 park, and proceeded to disclose their political views. Lin Terbush 
 was master of ceremonies and introduced first N. A. Weston, who 
 upheld the principles of the republican party in an eloquent manner. 
 J. V. Schaefer followed, and in his inimitable style presented the 
 claims of the united labor party. His speech scored more good points 
 than any other one of the evening. C. A. Bowsher was greeted with 
 rounds of applause when he arose to speak for Cleveland and free 
 trade, but he gained the attention of the crowd and gave good 
 reasons for supporting the democratic party. J. S. Terrill was the 
 advocate of prohibition, and showed by his earnestness that he was 
 certainly in earnest. The last speaker of the evening was Phil Steele, 
 who was a supporter of woman's suffrage. If his remarks were not 
 convincing, they were at least appreciated by all present. . . . The 
 band discoursed excellent music and the fire works helped illuminate 
 the scene. . . . 
 
 Another diversion during the decade was bicycle racing, which was 
 sweeping the nation. The Mini noted on March 14, 1887, "The 
 Athletic association has made arrangements with the Champaign 
 bicycle club by which the latter will conduct the bicycle races. It 
 
 51 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 is expected that cyclists from abroad will be present to take a part 
 in one of the mile races, and thus add interest to this sport." On 
 October 31, 1887, a news item noted, "It is an imposing sight and 
 one that gladdens the wheelman's heart, to see the long line of 
 'cycles' at the east end of the main building on any fine day." But 
 bicycle traffic, which was to force the construction of bicycle lanes 
 some sixty years later, was already a hazard. An item from Novem- 
 ber 22, 1890: "The man who rides a bicycle on the side-walk 
 should remember that he has no right there. And the people who 
 give him the right of way, do so through mere courtesy. He should, 
 therefore, be very careful about discommoding pedestrians, and 
 should remember that he properly belongs in the middle of the street 
 when the condition of the ground admits of the wheel being used 
 there." At last, on October 4, 1893, an inevitable bicycle accident oc- 
 curred, the first ever reported in the Illini: "Hottes of '96 was run 
 down and knocked senseless by a wheelman on the track last week. 
 He has quit school and gone home on account of the accident. Men 
 are likely to be training on the track at any time, especially in the 
 afternoon, and persons entering the Athletic park through the small 
 south gate should always look for wheels before crossing the track." 
 Two banes of the campus — already traditional — were the local 
 mud and the "town cows." On February 28, 1887, a news item ob- 
 served, "The bottom has fallen out of the Champaign roads, and 
 the curious spectacle may often be seen of four horses, unable to 
 move an empty wagon, half sunken in the mud. Hacks, too, come 
 high, and the festive pleasure seeker sighs as he drops his last shekel 
 into the ready palm of the greedy hackman. Why is it thus, O Bac- 
 chus?" A news item from September 19, 1887: 
 
 As the days of Autumn pass, and the season of mud and slush ap- 
 proaches, we naturally wonder whether the citizens of Urbana are 
 going to replace the walk along the west side of the campus. It is 
 very trying to the morals of the student to have his train of thought 
 abruptly broken by stepping ankle deep into the mud before he is 
 awakened to the fact that the sidewalk has ceased. Certainly the 
 citizens of Urbana and Champaign ought to do their part to en- 
 courage morality among the students. To do this they must not put 
 
 52 
 
THE THIRD DECADE 1887-96 
 
 needless temptations in their way. If they make it necessary for the 
 student to cloud the air with the cloud of his wrath, they may be 
 sure he will take advantage of the opportunity. . . . 
 
 Students who chose not to walk or take a hack could use the local 
 streetcar line, which ran between Champaign and Urbana, past the 
 University. But tickets were a source of discontent, according to the 
 October 25, 1890, issue: "Very many of the students here boycotted 
 the new street cars on account of the half fare tickets being limited 
 in respect to time. The students are the most numerous patrons of 
 the car line; it is no more than fair, therefore, that their interests 
 should be considered. The $2.50 ticket is all right but it should not 
 have a time value. . . ." Nor was it pleasant to stand in the rain 
 while waiting for the streetcar. This inconvenience led to the return 
 of Halfway House, now the oldest campus landmark. An editorial 
 on January 24, 1894: 
 
 Although the street car company has reaped abundant harvests from 
 the pocket-books of the students and professors of the University, it 
 has not deemed it necessary in the least to arrange for their comfort, 
 having provided no protection from storms for persons waiting for 
 cars at the University stopping place. 
 
 The trustees took the matter in hand and voted recently to recon- 
 struct the old halfway house, which used to stand, in years gone by, 
 where the street car track turned into Wright street, and place it at 
 the north entrance to the main grounds. . . . 
 
 The building is not a very elegant one, but it will keep off the 
 rain and snow. . . . 
 
 A constant preoccupation of Illini editors for more than twenty 
 years had been the "town cows," which periodically broke through 
 the campus fence to graze on the campus lawn. An item on Febru- 
 ary 14, 1887: "Some necessary repairs have been given to the 
 campus fence, and the cows gaze with a melancholy look at the 
 shady bowers and green plain from which they are forever banished. 
 A roller will need to be hauled over the campus before it will be 
 in order for ball playing or foot-ball." But the optimism of the 
 editors was premature, as an item on September 19, 1887, indicated, 
 
 53 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 "The town cow still roams at her own free will. Her incursions are 
 limited only by her desires. No such impediments as fences ever 
 oppose her wishes. By right of continual possession she has come to 
 think that the campus is her own property. Where is the necessity 
 for tolerating such an unbearable nuisance? A few hours' work on 
 the fences would set a limit to her wanderings and keep the parade 
 grounds free from her depredations. . . ." 
 
 At last, on October 17, 1887, the Mini cheered, "The campus 
 fence is at last being rebuilt!" The cows could no longer graze on 
 the campus green, and that perhaps was an omen of some kind for 
 the University of Illinois in its third decade. 
 
 54 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE FOURTH DECADE 
 
 18971906 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 "It seems to me," said the critical junior, looking out on the campus 
 one rainy day last week, "that the girls — " (Here at Illinois we 
 always designate the co-eds by the somewhat indiscriminate title 
 "the girls") — "that the girls could manage some other way. They 
 drape their skirts about them in a very inartistic fashion — one side 
 to the shoe-tops and the other side in the mud. It seems to me there 
 ought to be some sensible way to fasten them up out of the wet." 
 
 We were watching a girl make her way up the walk. On her right 
 arm she carried a small library, the right hand held her raised 
 umbrella, while the left vainly strove to manage both her lunch-box 
 and her bedraggled skirts at the same time. It was her appearance 
 which called the remark from the junior. He had scarcely ceased, 
 however, when another girl hove into sight. The rain pattered un- 
 heeded upon the slouch hat she wore, and her hands were free from 
 books or parcels. She wore a jaunty bicycle skirt, plenty short 
 enough to clear the ground, and then some. She swung along with 
 an air of easy independence. I waited for the junior's opinion. 
 "Well," he said at last: "That's more sensible, but it's too short. 
 Think of her going to recitations in it!" 
 
 — News item, January 28, 1898 
 
 By the beginning of the University's fourth decade, the institution 
 had indeed developed a sense of its direction. Many of the basic 
 elements of undergraduate life of the future had appeared. Athletics 
 were followed with enthusiasm, fraternities were solidly established, 
 
 55 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 and the nation's first Dean of Men, storied in song by generations 
 of Illini as "that matriarchial, patriarchial, Thomas Arkle Clark," 
 was overseeing a student body which would number 2,300 by 1900. 
 The decade was one of growth in the University's educational in- 
 terests, as colleges of medicine, law, and library science were formed. 
 The growing confidence of Illinois and the other state universities 
 was demonstrated in April, 1897, when President Andrew Sloan 
 Draper joined the presidents of other land grant schools in eleven 
 states at a historic conference in Madison. Draper returned with an 
 enthusiastic defense of the state university idea, identifying students 
 of these schools as "the best in the world, for they have been sifted 
 out of the multitude and are the foremost products of the great, 
 hardy masses who have always done the most to bear the world's 
 burdens and push the world's progress." Draper reported on the 
 conference in a special statement to the Illini, printed on April 23, 
 1897. It recorded an atmosphere of optimism as the University 
 completed its first thirty years and looked ahead to the twentieth 
 century: 
 
 This hasty statement will give some idea of the strong foothold 
 secured by the State universities. It will hardly convey an idea of 
 the spirit of their work. They are in touch with the "plain people." 
 They have broken out the roads for a great movement in world 
 history. They have carried the advantages of higher learning to the 
 homes of the multitude. Here and there, for generations, a youth 
 has broken through the conditions which were holding him down and 
 has made the most of himself and the opportunities which he has 
 been able to seize . . . but it remained for the newer States of the 
 American Union to organize a movement which should lead all youth 
 of the land to consider the question whether or not they would go to 
 college, and make the road smooth and continuous and practically 
 free, in order to induce them to pursue it to the end, and to enable 
 them to pursue it easily. . . . 
 
 When the American people advanced to the point of providing 
 schools managed by public authority, and supported at common cost, 
 for all the people, it should have been easy to see that it would not 
 be long before the American spirit would extend the scope of their 
 
 56 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 work to the point where it must include the most and require the 
 best the world could give. . . . 
 
 There are some new and great social, economic, and political 
 questions pressing upon the people of the country for a more thought- 
 ful and unprejudiced investigation than they have yet had. They are 
 more urgent in the West than in the East. The East has just heard of 
 some of these questions, but as yet has not been able to see more 
 than one side to them, and they will have to be met. They must 
 necessarily be settled in accord with the foundation principles of 
 republican government, and in the interests of the multitude, and it 
 seems more and more obvious that scholars trained in the atmosphere 
 of the State universities will exert the largest influence in working out 
 their solution. 
 
 President Draper's remarks, reflecting the populist spirit of the Mid- 
 west, were a sign that Illinois and the other land-grant schools had 
 at last broken away from their envy of the East. There were more 
 tangible signs that an era had ended. On October 28, 1898, an 
 editorial noted, "With the death of Dr. John Milton Gregory the 
 University of Illinois loses its pioneer president and its greatest 
 friend and supporter. His life work was the furthering of the insti- 
 tution's interest, and his efforts to that end will never be forgotten 
 and always be appreciated as long as the University lives. The most 
 fitting monument that the people of the State can erect to his mem- 
 ory will be the perpetuation of the University which he helped to 
 found." Gregory's body was buried on the Urbana campus, and the 
 inscription on the stone read, "If you seek his monument, look about 
 you." Three months later, another of the University's founders, Pro- 
 fessor Jonathan Baldwin Turner, was also dead. 
 
 Still another sign of the University's growth and maturity was the 
 gradual decline of opposition to its fundamental educational philos- 
 ophy. A closing volley in the thirty years' war was loosed by a trustee 
 and answered by the Mini with a touch of humor in contrast to 
 the furious debates of earlier years. An editorial on March 27, 
 1901: 
 
 Some time ago Trustee Hatch, in the course of some remarks, de- 
 
 57 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 plored the "departure" of this institution from purely agricultural and 
 industrial endeavors. He seemed to believe that the founders of 
 "Illinois Industrial University" intended to feed cattle and plow corn, 
 and keep safely away from the delusion of "book-larning." 
 
 Commenting upon that and other aspects of his remarks, the 
 Chicago Chronicle took up the question and having added some 
 wisdom of its own, rejoiced and was exceedingly glad for what both 
 had done. It said in part: 
 
 "The institution at Champaign was founded as an agricultural 
 school. It was meant for farmers and those connected with the soil. 
 There were at its foundation, as there are now, more than enough 
 schools for every other kind of education. It could not have been 
 created for any purpose but that stated in the original application. 
 To undertake to place it in competition with the many richly endowed 
 institutions devoted to other kinds of education is only a device for 
 increasing public burdens for private benefit." 
 
 The chief trouble seems to be that they are laboring along under 
 the idea that when this institution was founded nothing was to be 
 taught but agriculture. If they know anything concerning the origin 
 and establishment of this and the many other institutions founded 
 under the same act they must be aware that "other kinds of educa- 
 tion" were provided for, expected, and introduced as soon as the 
 institution was established. It might be true that there were already 
 schools for every other kind of education, but it would have been 
 poor economy to bring together a group of students here, to be 
 taught nothing else than farming. Even farmers want to know other 
 things. . . . 
 
 Come down and see us, Mr. Hatch, and bring the Chronicle 
 along. You may see some interesting things at Illinois . . . and we 
 feel sure that if you were to pay us a visit you wouldn't be so sorry, 
 after all, that we are not all getting ready to put in the spring crops 
 and turn the yearlin's out to pasture. 
 
 If the University itself was growing older, the age of the undergrad- 
 uates remained exactly the same. In 1897 the annual freshman 
 "social" was once again the occasion for a class fight. Draper was 
 indignant, and told the Mini so on January 29, 1897: 
 
 58 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 I am sorry to say that this whole affair is deplored by me even more 
 for its suggestiveness than because of its immediate results. That 
 young men will dress in preparation for a fight and invite young 
 women to accompany them thereto is a thing I have never been 
 accustomed to. That young ladies will accept such company and 
 seem to derive pleasure in it is most amazing. I cannot understand 
 what such young people are thinking about, and I must add that I 
 cannot understand what the mothers of such young ladies are think- 
 ing about to permit them to enter such a scene. 
 
 There is another thing I am bound to say. I find that it is quite a 
 common idea among students that one is in honor bound to refuse 
 information and protect another student in such an affair as this. I 
 know of no such code of honor. I repudiate any such suggestion. The 
 University never has and never will encourage tattling among students 
 concerning small matters, but this affair is a crime against the law 
 of the University, as well as against the criminal law of the State. 
 The security of good order in the University, and of good order in 
 the State, is dependent upon every honest man's hand bearing 
 against the violators of the law. The side of honor is always upon the 
 side of right. 
 
 By the turn of the century, the class fight had been formalized, so 
 to speak, as part of the annual color rush. The form of the color 
 rush had taken shape in the 1880's, and consisted of the freshmen 
 hanging their class colors from a pole and the sophomores trying to 
 capture the prize. The freshmen, new to the campus, were unable 
 to identify their classmates and usually lost. But the Mini on No- 
 vember 3, 1904, described brilliant tactics which turned the tables: 
 
 For the first time in the history of Illinois, the annual color rush 
 yesterday afternoon was won by the freshmen. The contest, which 
 was held on the gridiron at Illinois Field, lasted forty-five minutes and 
 was witnessed by about 2,500 people. The beginning and end of 
 the rush was announced by the firing of a gun. Colonel Fechet was 
 timekeeper. 
 
 Early in the day a squad of freshmen erected the flagpole on the 
 gridiron midway between the two bleachers. It consisted of a forty 
 
 59 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 foot length of three inch pipe sunk ten feet into the ground. Outside 
 of this a thirty foot length of six inch pipe was planted at an equal 
 depth. The pole was liberally smeared with axle grease. While the 
 greasing process was going on some valiant sophomore picked up 
 a five gallon pail of the lubricant and disappeared up Springfield 
 avenue with it. 
 
 When the 300 sophomores, captained by W. Lewis and E. L. 
 Murphy, entered the Illinois field at 3:15 in columns of fours, they 
 found 450 freshmen under the leadership of Clyde T. Dyer lined up 
 in a column not far from the pole. Each freshman bore his class 
 numerals in red ink upon his forehead for the purpose of identifi- 
 cation. Upon the cross pieces of the pole twenty feet from the 
 ground set J. R. Horr. Ten feet above him were the red and black 
 streamers wired to the pipe. 
 
 At twenty minutes after three the first gun was fired and the rush 
 began. The sophomore column made a rush for the pole and the 
 freshmen met it halfway. Then ensued some of the loftiest ground 
 tumbling seen on Illinois Field for many a day. Several "sophs" 
 reached the pole but its coating of axle grease proved too much for 
 them. Time and time again they attempted to climb, even after 
 frequent contact had rubbed the grease off, but were pulled down 
 by some long armed freshmen. 
 
 On the outer edge of the struggling crowd, policemen and upper- 
 classmen parted heated combatants and prevented the rush from 
 becoming a series of personal combats. Around the pole a fierce 
 struggle was taking place. Shirts and underclothing were torn off 
 and several collar bones were broken. A sigh of relief went up from 
 the contesting classmen when at five minutes after four the last gun 
 was fired and the rush declared over. 
 
 If the color rush of 1904 was a freshman victory, it was only tempo- 
 rary. With the new century came the establishment of more-or-less 
 accepted freshman hazing. A news item from September 30, 1906: 
 
 During the last few nights hazing parties have been out and Urbana 
 seems to be the scene of the most daring outbreaks. Several first 
 year men have been taken out and put through the customary 
 
 60 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 "stunts," and then have been treated to a bath in the cold, dark 
 waters of the Boneyard. Little is known about the hazing, as the 
 sophomores implicated did not herald their coming with a brass 
 band, and have maintained a strict silence since it occurred. 
 
 One freshman was not only hazed, but was relieved of a consid- 
 erable amount of personal property during the operation. In order 
 that his climbing a pole might be expedited, he removed his coat. 
 When he was released and sent home, he discovered that $16 in 
 money and a set of drawing instruments had been taken from the 
 coat. As yet the guilty person has not been discovered. 
 
 After several such thefts, a few injuries, and the expulsion of a 
 number of students, the sophomore class officially repented. The 
 Mini reported their somewhat half-hearted resolution on October 
 25, 1906: 
 
 The sophomore class at a meeting held yesterday afternoon passed 
 resolutions against hazing, which it is thought will completely abolish 
 the practice at Illinois. Vice-president Beckman presided and T. W. 
 Samuels, the president of the class, took the floor and introduced 
 the resolutions. He discussed at length the subject of hazing and 
 dwelled on the need for its abolition. He called attention to the 
 fact that hazing is generally condemned by the public and by the 
 members of the Legislature. The following are the resolutions that 
 were adopted: 
 
 Whereas: Hazing is undemocratic, un-American, unfair, and has 
 resulted in the injury of freshmen, and has shown that undeserving 
 freshmen are sometimes punished by it, and 
 
 Whereas: Hazing has not yet the right to be called a tradition 
 or an institution at the University of Illinois, but has on the other hand 
 tended to injure the name and prospects of the University among the 
 people of the State, and 
 
 Whereas: If it is shown that freshmen need some supervision and 
 guidance from upper-classmen, methods less dangerous to the sub- 
 jects and less hurtful to the institution can be devised, therefore, be it 
 
 Resolved, that we, the sophomore class [1909] of the University 
 of Illinois, do hereby declare our unqualified opposition to hazing 
 
 61 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 (believing the good it may do some freshmen insignificant as com- 
 pared with the injury it has done and may continue to do to our 
 Alma Mater). 
 
 During the entire decade, collegiate athletics were on the rise. 
 Charges came from several quarters that sports were being over- 
 emphasized, but undergraduate enthusiasm carried the day. The 
 progress of out-of-town games was followed with vigor despite great 
 difficulties, as the Mini reported on November 26, 1897: 
 
 As early as 7 o'clock students began to gather in front of Otten- 
 heimer's store to await the returns of the game. They, however, came 
 later than expected, but when they did come they were favorable 
 to the "rooters." 
 
 The crowd was getting larger, and megaphones were numerous. 
 
 The returns now came at minute intervals. Eleven minutes were 
 passed, and the lllini had scored. The "rooters" yelled louder than 
 ever. 
 
 The Indians' goal from field surprised the Illinois sympathizers, and 
 some suspected that Carlisle would use that method to win the game. 
 Time is called for the first half; score: Illinois 6, Carlisle 5. Yells were 
 now renewed, and even more vigorously than before. 
 
 Telegrams of the second half were soon in, and the imaginary 
 ball was watched with interest, as the Indians pushed it down the 
 field. Carlisle scores again. The students are quiet and expect more 
 scores. The Indians score again, and the students begin to go home. 
 Once more they score, and the "rooters" are hopeless. 
 
 The other telegrams read: Illinois' ball on Indians' 20-yard line. 
 The few who are left yell. Next telegram: lllinois's ball. Last tele- 
 gram: Time. Final Score: Carlisle 23, Illinois 6. 
 
 Apparently, the use of megaphones was not limited to the front of 
 Ottenheimer's store. A news item on November 5, 1897, reported, 
 "Some of the residents of Champaign and Urbana are beginning to 
 kick since the advent of the megaphone. Some of the owners of 
 these instruments have a habit of conversing through them with 
 friends who may room on the next street, and as these pleasant con- 
 versations generally take place late at night there is a mild but de- 
 termined protest." 
 
 62 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 One of the most persistent objections to large-scale intercollegiate 
 athletics was against emphasis on professional coaches. The Univer- 
 sity's Council of Administration called on other midwestern schools 
 to reverse the trend, according to the April 3, 1901, Mini: 
 
 The Council of Administration has begun an active campaign, looking 
 to the elimination of professional coaches from college athletics. 
 This is a step in a general tendency in that direction which has been 
 noticeable for a year or so. The attitude of the council is expressed 
 in the resolutions printed below, and is not at variance with that of 
 graduate manager Huff. The resolutions recently passed are: 
 
 RESOLVED, That in the judgment of the Council of Administration 
 of the University of Illinois, the common usage of western university 
 athletic associations in employing eastern professionals at large 
 salaries to coach football teams is unwise; because, among other 
 reasons, it is destructive of University self-dependence; because it 
 encourages extravagant expenditures and invites professionalism; 
 because it makes the games a battle between rival coaches who be- 
 come indifferent to the hazards of the contests; and because it re- 
 sults in the overtraining of the men to an extent which is hurtful 
 physically and which unfits them for regular University work. . . . 
 
 Other voices were raised in objection as athletics grew out of their 
 relative obscurity and dethroned debating as the primary arena of 
 competition among universities. An unsigned letter on the March 
 13, 1903, issue complained, 
 
 But we must, after all, reflect whether our sense of dignity or even 
 propriety is not amiss, when, in the contests of brain, the contestants 
 are left to address empty benches, to get no send-off, if, as debaters, 
 they fare forth to win a contest from a rival institution, to get no 
 reception when they return. If a man wins on the athletic field, he 
 has an "I" on his shirt front big enough to be seen half a mile. No 
 objection to that; but we object to the other thing as showing a very 
 great lack of proportion among us. Nobody fetes the man who wins 
 with his head, nobody points him out as a marked man. . . . 
 
 Among those agreeing with charges of overemphasis was Coach 
 George Huff, an Illinois football star of the 1890's who had returned 
 
 63 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 from Princeton. On November 8, 1905, the lllini ran this quote 
 from an article in Collier's, then a muck-raking weekly : 
 
 Coach George Huff of the University of Illinois, one of the oldest and 
 best coaches in the west, told me that there are "more liars and 
 hypocrites than amateurs made through the efforts of colleges to 
 keep within the boundaries of the conference rules." He added that 
 he had seen but few college athletes of any ability that were willing 
 to study and do honest work to sustain themselves in school after a 
 position on the team had been assured, and he asserted further that 
 victory in the west today depends upon the ability of the colleges to 
 maintain men by devious means. 
 
 Nevertheless, college sports remained popular through the period. 
 On October 25, 1901, a news item reported that new bleachers had 
 been added to Illinois Field, making room for at least 1,600 football 
 fans. In the same issue, a classified advertisement advised, "Don't 
 forget to take a pennant to the game. Finest line in town at Mrs. 
 Donley's, corner of Wright and Green streets." And on November 1, 
 1905, a news item reported, "One of the most novel schemes ever 
 used for advertising a football game will go into effect tomorrow 
 afternoon when a Big Four train leaves at 12:45 for Peoria and 
 intermediate points. On board the train, which will consist of a 
 baggage car and a number of coaches, there will be several hundred 
 members of the Champaign Chamber of Commerce, four or five 
 hundred students, two hundred cow bells, numerous torches, and 
 much noise. . . ." 
 
 The favorite sport of the co-eds was basketball, but males were 
 unfortunately barred from their games. An editorial on January 31, 
 1900, asked, "In regard to basketball, why is not a men's basketball 
 team organized?" A news item on February 20, 1901: 'The lllini 
 management has been asked several times why reports of the basket- 
 ball games, which are of little interest to the majority of students, 
 since they cannot see the games, are always published. We can give 
 two reasons: First, because these reports are good fillers, and sec- 
 ond, because we like to please the dear girls, even though they bar 
 us from the games. . . ." At last, on March 22, 1901, a male break- 
 
 64 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 through took place: "Considerable interest is being taken in the 
 men's gymnasium in the esteemable feminine sport of basketball. 
 Dr. Shell has teams at work all hours of the day, and some valuable 
 men are coming out. Plans are on foot for the organization of class 
 teams and the seniors are already nearly organized under the leader- 
 ship of E. C. Slocum. Tuesday morning a picked team defeated the 
 seniors by a score of 10 to 0, and the story was repeated Thursday 
 to the tune of 10 to 6." Three days later, on March 25, 1901, the 
 women basketball players gave an open exhibition, and the Mini 
 noted, "Several of the players from the men's gymnasium were seen 
 upon the side lines. They had good reason to watch for pointers for 
 in passing the ball with quickness and precision the girls are very 
 much superior to what the men have done so far." 
 
 The cumbersome telegraphic method of relaying football play-by- 
 play information was replaced in 1905 by a direct telephone line. 
 The Mini helped arrange the first "broadcast," and honors as the 
 original Illinois sports announcers were shared by Editor P. A. Shil- 
 ton and Sports Editor J. M. Boyle. A news item on November 18, 
 1905: 
 
 The lllini has made arrangements to receive returns from Marshall 
 Field in the Chapel this afternoon. Through the courtesy of the 
 American Telephone and Telegraph Company ... a telephone circuit 
 extending from the field in Chicago to the University Chapel will be 
 placed at the disposal of the lllini. . . . 
 
 Mr. Hobbs, local manager of the Central Union company, will 
 install an instrument in the Chapel this morning and Edward Corrigan 
 will anpounce the returns. C. T. McCully will operate the miniature 
 football on Mr. Kaufman's football bulletin board. 
 
 At the Chicago end of the wire, J. M. Boyle and P. A. Shilton 
 will have charge of an operator's set attached to a long flexible 
 cord so that it may be dragged up and down the side lines. . . . 
 
 The bitterest rivalries for Illinois during these years were with Chi- 
 cago and Michigan. Under Amos Alonzo Stagg, the Chicago Ma- 
 roons grew so powerful that some opposing team members cast 
 about for a supernatural explanation. An editorial on October 22, 
 
 65 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 1903, noted, "The Athletic Advisory Board has decided not to take 
 the University Band to the Chicago game. . . . The statement is 
 given out that some of the players are superstitious; that they think 
 we can not win if the Band accompanies the team. This statement 
 is alleged to have been made by some superstitious player who thinks 
 that because we won the year before last when the Band was not 
 there and lost last year when the Band was there that we would 
 surely lose again this year if the Band were to accompany the team." 
 Organized cheering was still in its infancy. A great importance 
 was attached to special songs for big games, such as this composition 
 for the 1905 contest with Chicago: 
 
 Give our regards to Midway, 
 
 Remember us to Big Chief Stagg, 
 Tell all the boys at old Chicago 
 
 That they'll have to quit their brag; 
 Tell all those Standard Oil tanks 
 
 Old Rockefeller's pride and joy, 
 Just how the boys in old Chicago 
 
 Got a jolt from Illinois! 
 
 Some cheers were less genteel. An editorial on November 5, 1897, 
 suggested that "such terms as 'Kill him,' 'Smash him,' are, to say 
 the least, not very elegant. . . . Another thing that is sometimes done 
 which we think is hardly fair, is yelling while our opponents have 
 the ball." 
 
 A legend in the early days was "Red" Matthews, known as the 
 best cheerleader Illinois possessed. An item on October 13, 1906, 
 announced that Red had arrived in town, bringing his "big white 
 sweater," and an item the next day reported, "The weather was 
 warm and the bleachers had the full effect of the sun's rays. Wabash 
 appeared on the field amid the cheers of the faithful Wabash rooters 
 and was enthusiastically greeted by the Illinois bleachers. The Var- 
 sity then came on the field, preceded by the Military Band, which 
 was playing 'Illinois,' and the crowd arose and sang the song. 'Red' 
 Matthews then put in his appearance, and despite the fact that he 
 had forgotten his big white sweater, led the yelling with great 
 
 success. . . ." 
 
 66 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 There were always a few soreheads. A letter to the editor on No- 
 vember 7, 1905, read, 
 
 Dear Sir: — I was greatly delighted by the magnificent display of 
 
 college spirit in the cheering at the Michigan game Saturday but I 
 
 was keenly disappointed by two features of the rooting. . . . 
 
 Those two features were the song in which the phrase "We don't 
 
 give a damn for old Michigan" occurred and the series of nine rahs 
 
 for "the whole damn team" given repeatedly at the south end of the 
 
 east bleachers. Now that is the kind of stuff we expect to hear 
 
 coming from the doors of the saloons and low dives in Chicago, but 
 
 I never expected to hear Illinois men give vent to such expressions on 
 
 Illinois Field. ... Aki .,.,.„„,_ 
 
 AN ALUMNUS 
 
 The alum's review of the rooting was matched in gentility by a 
 review of a student stage production written for the Illini by Presi- 
 dent Draper on March 29, 1901 : 
 
 The University is to be congratulated upon the success of The Rivals 
 by University talent, at the opera house, on Wednesday evening. It 
 was the best amateur performance I ever saw. It was worth more 
 than the Stuart Robson play on Saturday evening and cost but half 
 so much. 
 
 Five years ago University actors were content to try weak and 
 shallow things and they presented them indifferently. Now a standard 
 and different play, requiring deep study, much in the way of stage 
 settings, and three hours' time, is carried through without skip, and 
 with more dramatic effect than we are accustomed to see by profes- 
 sionals in this community. It surely marks a decided advance in 
 University affairs, and is the earnest of weightier things yet to be 
 done. But would it not have been just as good or a little better if 
 
 the unnecessary "damns" had been omitted? 
 
 A.S.D. 
 
 On the whole, however, the editors believed the campus should be 
 congratulated on its high moral tone. An editorial on December 6, 
 1905, proclaimed, "Illinois men are clean thinkers and clean talkers. 
 The presence of the 'coeds' in the college community is credited 
 with some of the inspiration for this condition, but there are other 
 
 67 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 causes. The men that enter the university have not large means and 
 come from the smaller cities of their own and adjoining states, 
 where the simple American life still obtains. They are not used to 
 costly pleasures or wild dissipation, and they keep the moral tone of 
 their alma mater as clean as that of their homes." 
 
 Draper took an interest in the development of fraternities, which 
 flourished during the decade. By 1905, competition among sororities 
 had also grown heated, and on October 6 the Illini printed the first 
 rush creed : 
 
 We, the undersigned girls' fraternities at the University of Illinois, 
 have agreed to observe the following regulations during the rushing 
 season of 1905: 
 
 1. Invitations to join a fraternity shall not be extended to students 
 entering the University in the fall of 1905 for the first time, previous 
 to the fourth Tuesday after the University opens. 
 
 2. Previous to this time, no chapter of the fraternities named 
 below shall hint or in any way suggest to a student that she will or 
 may be invited to join any fraternity. 
 
 3. During the rushing season, with the exception of the first week 
 of school, there shall be no rushing after 7 o'clock p.m. or before 
 7 o'clock a.m. on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday 
 nights. 
 
 Kappa Alpha Theta 
 Kappa Kappa Gamma 
 Alpha Chi Omega 
 Chi Omega 
 
 Fraternity traditions got an early start. Members of Phi Gamma 
 Delta wore blackface for their annual "Fiji Island" celebration, and 
 inspired a verse in the Illini on October 29, 1905. 
 
 A MEMBER OF THE FACULTY IS SET UPON 
 BY THE PHI GAM CANNIBALS 
 
 Behold a Prof and his good dame, 
 Who by his brains has made a name, 
 Behold him set upon by pals, 
 He really thinks them cannibals, 
 
 68 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 Who with their torches burning bright 
 Do seek his coat tails to ignite. 
 Our verdict, we repeat with vim, 
 Tis surely good enough for him. 
 
 The Spanish-American War caught the imagination of Illinois stu- 
 dents, who were possibly of the last generation to consider war a 
 lark. A rally was held after the sinking of the Maine, and described 
 in a news item on April 15, 1898. 
 
 Last Monday night a well built effigy of General Weyler was hung 
 on a telephone pole at the corner of Green and Sixth streets. On 
 Tuesday night in the presence of an immense crowd the effigy was 
 taken down with great ceremony and placed in a wagon and hauled 
 by students to Wright street. Just west of the President's house a 
 huge bonfire was built and when the fire was at its hottest the image 
 of the soon to be ill-fated general was cast into the flames while 
 the earth to its center shook with the exulting shouts of the triumphant 
 assembly. 
 
 Loud cries were made for "Buck" Hinrichsen who was supposed 
 to be the architect of the figure and soon that gentleman who is the 
 son of his father stepped forward into the light of the fire. He planted 
 one foot firmly in Urbana and the other in Champaign, pried his pipe 
 from between his clenched teeth and with unheard of eloquence 
 poured forth the story of the wronged Cubans to the multitude which 
 stood hushed and awed by his words. When he had finished the 
 pent up feelings of the crowd broke forth in a prolonged and tre- 
 mendous cheer, while the young orator assumed his smile and lighted 
 his pipe which had gone out. 
 
 Loud calls were now made for Adams, "the boy orator of the 
 Boneyard." That gentleman was pushed to the board which was 
 used for a platform. He drew a deep breath and the audience again 
 became silent, awed by the picture of the intrepid young man as he 
 stood in the weird fire light with the rustling wind slowly blowing 
 through his jet black locks. His speech which told of the Maine 
 episode was continually interrupted by the bursts of applause which 
 broke forth from the audience. After he had finished several others 
 
 69 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 were pushed into the speakers' place and some bright youth con- 
 ceived the idea of making the old night watchman speak but his 
 arguments proved to be better than words. As it was getting late and 
 the morrow was not Saturday nor Sunday the flood gates of elo- 
 quence were closed and locked, the fire died down and the patriotic 
 students went to their rooms to consume the mid-night oil. 
 
 Some students thought of leaving school to join Teddy Roosevelt 
 in Cuba. A news item on April 29, 1898: 
 
 Last Monday night the University band was heard on the campus and 
 soon after a crowd of over a thousand people had assembled on 
 the campus to hear what might be said about "Cuba libre." 
 
 After a selection by the band, Captain D. H. Brush made a few 
 remarks to the students, telling them to stay at home and finish their 
 college work if they could, as he thought after they went away to 
 war only a few would return to school again. But if on second thought 
 they felt like going they should do what they thought best for them- 
 selves and their country. . . . After the speaking a large bonfire was 
 made and the Indian war dancing was the feature of the evening. 
 After this everybody went down through Champaign headed by the 
 University of Illinois drum corps. 
 
 Spanish-American War sentiment even entered the controversy 
 over the wearing of caps and gowns, which was still being debated. 
 The senior class voted in February, 1898, not to wear caps and 
 gowns, and an editorial on February 1 1 applauded, "The clown no 
 longer wears cap and bells, why should a senior wear his cap and 
 gown? They are oriental, and belong to the childhood of the race. 
 Besides, their use is in direct violation of the Monroe Doctrine, 
 which declares America to be for Americans. For this sentiment 
 are we to waste our blood and treasure, and not resent the coloniza- 
 tion of caps and gowns on American soil?" 
 
 Starting with its organization in 1899, Star Course brought a 
 parade of famous lecturers to the campus. The first year's schedule, 
 it was claimed, "cannot be equalled anywhere either in quality or in 
 price." A season ticket was $1.50. The October 18, 1899, Illini 
 listed these seven attractions: the Schalchi Operatic Company, 
 
 70 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 General John B. Gordon, Colonel George W. Bain, Will Carleton, 
 General O. O. Howard, Elias Day, and the University School of 
 Music. 
 
 Campus speakers during the decade included James Whitcomb 
 Riley, Senator Robert La Follette, the Rev. Henry Van Dyke, and 
 William Jennings Bryan. Great interest was stirred up in November, 
 1905, when Jack London spoke on the reasons he had become a 
 socialist. A year later, London was a co-founder of the Intercolle- 
 giate Socialist Society, and on October 25, 1906, a classified adver- 
 tisement appeared: "PROPOSED — Study chapter of the Inter- 
 collegiate Socialist Society. If organized, Vanderveld's 'Collectivism 
 and Industrial Evolution' will be studied." The same society would 
 appear again at Illinois as American Youth for Democracy in the 
 1940's and as Students for a Democratic Society in the 1960's. 
 
 The new century brought a new invention, and a set of problems 
 which were to plague the University from that time on. An item on 
 September 25, 1899, was headlined "AUTOMOBILES: New 
 Factor in Transportation." It advised, 
 
 All students of the University will no doubt be greatly interested in 
 the enterprise to run automobile carriages for public transportation 
 between Champaign and Urbana. The projectors have petitioned the 
 City Council of Champaign for a twenty-year franchise, which was 
 almost unanimously favored by the aldermen. The matter will be 
 brought up in the Urbana council at the next meeting. ... It is the 
 intention to have the carriages in running order by the end of the 
 college year. Each carriage will seat at least thirty people, and a 
 fare of five cents will be charged for transportation between the Twin 
 Cities. 
 
 More than a year later, however, the line was still not in service. 
 A news item on February 27, 1901, tells of a three-seated auto- 
 mobile plying the streets, and then announced that the automobile 
 line proposed earlier would be in operation within sixty days. 'The 
 new cars, four in number, are to be much larger, accommodating 
 twenty passengers, and affording luxurious service. They will be 
 enclosed, and will be furnished in a palatial style, lighted with 
 
 71 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 acetylein and electricity and heated. They will be run three miles 
 without recharging. . . ." 
 
 It took little time for two of the thorniest auto problems to make 
 their appearance: parking and taxi fees. On September 29, 1905, 
 a news item declared: "Graduate Manager Huff states that no 
 carriages or automobiles will be admitted to Illinois Field this 
 season. . . . They not only cut up the sod and take up more than 
 their proportion of room, but also increase the opportunities for 
 accidents to happen." And a news item from December 21, 1906: 
 "Representatives from the fraternities held a meeting Wednesday 
 evening at the Delta Upsilon house and conferred with the cabmen 
 in regard to prices. Heretofore prices have been $2 for a cab in 
 Champaign, $3 in Urbana, and the cabmen recently raised the price 
 to $4 in Champaign. It was against this that the fraternity men 
 protested and voted to use street cars instead of cabs at all future 
 annuals and formal parties." 
 
 For new students at the University, the Mini supplied a quick 
 introduction to campus terminology in its "U. of I. Dictionary" on 
 March 3, 1899: 
 
 ART: The skill with which an unprepared student asks questions de- 
 signed to use up the time until the hour bell rings. 
 
 FLUNK: The result of an exam. 
 
 HORSE: A device by which exams can be passed with one day's 
 study. 
 
 HUMP: To boil a term's work down to three days' work. 
 
 LAW DEPARTMENT: A place where you can graduate in three 
 years; the Mecca of all "flunkers." 
 
 RED-TAPE: See Registration. 
 
 REGISTRATION: See Red-Tape. 
 
 VALEDICTORIAN: A wind instrument belonging to the graduating 
 class. 
 
 Manners and morals remained the subject of many Mini articles 
 during the decade. In the era before Playboy, classified ads like 
 these appeared: "Charles Dana Gibson, America's greatest artist, 
 is putting on the market his most famous pen sketches at reduced 
 prices. His agent, Mr. Henry Clay Markson, '10, of 918 Oregon 
 
 72 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 St., will see every student within the next two weeks." The advertis- 
 ment for "Gibson Girl sketches" appeared October 4, 1906. Nor 
 were pin-ups the only source of vice. David Kinley, then secretary 
 of the Council of Administration, published this "Warning" in 
 the November 27, 1901, issue: 
 
 The attention of the University authorities has been called to the 
 case of a student who offered bets, and to the cases of two students 
 who visited saloons, in connection with a recent football game. 
 Athletic success, however brilliant, is too dearly bought if it is to be 
 the occasion of indulgence in such practices. . . . The Council of 
 Administration takes occasion to say that it looks upon such offences 
 as of a most serious character, and will summarily dismiss from the 
 University any student who is found guilty of betting, or frequenting 
 saloons, or of becoming intoxicated. 
 
 Another sign of the times was an editorial on October 5, 1905: 
 
 Ever since the University opened, the Senior Bench has been the 
 favorite resort of pipe and cigarette fiends. Not only do they monop- 
 olize the seat but from time to time they exhale clouds of tobacco 
 smoke into the faces of those passing up and down the walk. This 
 is especially annoying and discourteous to the University women. 
 Not the slightest consideration, however, is shown to either sex. 
 Several years ago student sentiment forbade the smoking of either 
 pipes or cigarettes in the University buildings or on the campus. We 
 are heartily in favor of a revival of this custom as a protection against 
 future annoyance. . . . 
 
 A letter to the editor in October, 1902, observed, "A woman who 
 had paid a dollar to see Illinois play Purdue, was on account of 
 cigarette smoking in her vicinity, compelled to leave the bleachers 
 before the first half of the game was finished. . . ." 
 
 One of the more philosophical observers of changing campus 
 morals was Dean Thomas Arkle Clark. Himself an editor of the 
 Illini in the 1890's, Dean Clark was quoted on the subject of dis- 
 cipline in a news item on March 27, 1906: " 'There is something to 
 be said in favor of letting a man go his own way and work out his 
 own mental and moral salvation by his own method,' he said. Tt 
 
 73 
 
AN ILLIN1 CENTURY 
 
 may ruin some men, but perhaps they would be of little value under 
 the most careful supervision and might as well find it out early as 
 late.' " 
 
 And an item on September 30, 1906, described Dean Clark's an- 
 nual welcoming address to the freshmen : 
 
 Dean Clark's "Annual" to the freshmen class occurred in the chapel 
 yesterday at 4 o'clock. Beginning with the difficulty of hearing in 
 that assembly room, calling their attention to the scattered seating, 
 he at once went to the heart of things in his fatherly way of giving 
 advice to the freshmen. 
 
 He recited his feelings and life when he first entered the University, 
 and showed that it had been no different than theirs was to be. . . . 
 The Dean touched on the experiences which he had had and which 
 would come to his hearers. He spoke of the rules of attendance and 
 explained them thoroughly. Such rules allow the student a great deal 
 of liberty with his time, but he advised them not to take all their cuts 
 at once, lest "she" should pay an unexpected visit and find him 
 unable to properly entertain her. 
 
 So much for the mechanical part of college life; the advice now 
 turned upon the attitude with which the freshman comes to college. 
 He has listened to the stories which have been told him, widely 
 exaggerated in the telling, and believes that to be a real college 
 man he must duplicate these feats. He was warned against com- 
 mitting pranks which if done by other than a college student would 
 be crimes. . . . 
 
 An administrative period of great progress closed on March 9, 1904, 
 with President Draper's resignation to become Commissioner of Ed- 
 ucation for New York. On March 30, the students gave Draper a 
 rousing send-ofT by improvising a band, marching to the President's 
 house, and giving nine "rahs" for the President and his wife. Named 
 to follow Draper as president was Edmund Janes James, then presi- 
 dent of Northwestern University. James was inaugurated during a 
 week of festivities in the autumn of 1905 which included a memo- 
 rable parade described in the Mini on October 19, 1905: 
 
 The students' parade which took place last evening was a great 
 
 74 
 
THE FOURTH DECADE 1897-1906 
 
 success. . . . There were some 20 floats in the parade and they were 
 specially good. Each school had at least one float, and several 
 schools had two or three. 
 
 The Agricultural College had a traction engine, which furnished the 
 motive power for their floats, and the Engineering College had a 
 considerable amount of machinery on their floats. The Household 
 Science department was busily engaged in making "brick" and the 
 Science College had a float on which astronomers, geologists and 
 botanists were diligently working. The Chicago University was rep- 
 resented by a Standard Oil wagon and the Law College's float 
 represented a court scene. . . . 
 
 The take offs were well prepared and called forth much applause. 
 There was a fake board of directors and several faculty members 
 were well remembered. Baker's cement was well advertised and the 
 physical powers of Hana were loudly proclaimed. Dean Clark's office 
 hours were announced and the invitation extended for all sopho- 
 mores to call and see him. . . . 
 
 The College of Physicians and Surgeons of Chicago was well rep- 
 resented in the parade and had a float, on which a man was being 
 dissected or operated on, just which spectators were unable to 
 determine. . . . 
 
 Before leaving for New York, Draper made some last remarks to 
 the student body. A news item on October 19, 1905: 
 
 Hundreds of people crowded the Armory to the last available foot of 
 space yesterday afternoon to attend the Inaugural Exercises. Many 
 hundreds were also turned away. At this assembly the presidency 
 of the University was formally released by ex-President Draper, 
 formally tendered by President of Trustees Bullard, and accepted by 
 President James. . . . 
 
 Ex-President Draper spoke of the material from which the University 
 has been made. "Without lake, or hill, or river, or rock," said Mr. 
 Draper, "one of the most impressive of college grounds you can find 
 anywhere has been made. Without building materials in the vicinity 
 a respectable architectural showing has been made. Two towns have 
 also been converted into quite respectable suburbs." 
 
 And without quite realizing it, the University had come of age. 
 
 75 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE FIFTH DECADE 
 
 1907-16 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 OVERHEARD IN MASS MEETING 
 
 "Is that little fellow with the big neck Zuppke?" 
 
 "Gee! You'd never think Tommy Arkle could talk like that just to 
 
 look at him." 
 
 "Who is the classy jane the Thetas are rushing?" 
 
 "That man Huff's got the dope all right." 
 
 "Do you like those new collars? There's one over there." 
 
 "Say, Perc, this is just like the college life we read about, isn't it?" 
 
 — Campus Scout, October 4, 1913 
 
 In broad outline, the University of the postwar years was already 
 recognizable in the decade of 1907-16. The most notorious ingre- 
 dients of the Roaring Twenties — cars, new dances, and drinking — 
 were already present on the campus, and the era of big-time football 
 at Illinois was ushered in with the hiring of Robert Zuppke as head 
 coach. (The Campus Scout, a column devoted to humorous mis- 
 cellany, caught Zuppke's style on September 22, 1914, by quoting 
 his favorite expression: "Ha-a-r-r-der, ha-a-a-r-r-der.") 
 
 Still, there was a naivete about the decade that would not be felt 
 after the war years. The idea of student automobiles was still a 
 novelty; the new dances were a cause for concern as often as celebra- 
 tion. Dean of Students Thomas Arkle Clark rode herd on a lively 
 student body which was hewing out, by trial and a good deal of 
 error, the style of collegiate life which would prevail in the twenties. 
 
 The University, under President Edmund J. James, had grown 
 
 76 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 rapidly in size and stature, leading the Illini to predict in 1909 that 
 within fifty years the campus would have 10,000 students requiring 
 1,000 professors "providing, of course, that the present progress con- 
 tinues." Attending James' inauguration, President Lowell of Har- 
 vard described Illinois as the best of the state universities. 
 
 Toward the end of this ten-year period, James himself defined 
 the direction of the restless, growing institution in an address on 
 'The Future Illinois" which served to open the new Auditorium. 
 The Illini reprinted it on October 31, 1914. 
 
 I should define a university to be a higher center of learning where 
 young people with an adequate preliminary education may be pre- 
 pared for any calling which requires for its successful pursuit a 
 thorough training in the sciences underlying the professions. 
 
 Now that means, with our advancing knowledge, that an ever in- 
 creasing number of new callings is to find its place of cultivation 
 inside the University. It hasn't been so very many years since only 
 the physician, the lawyer, the clergyman, and the teacher went to 
 the university for his training — in other words, only a comparatively 
 few years since the so-called learned professions occupied the whole 
 field of higher training. Today we find that an engineer, if he is 
 going to accomplish the best results for the community, must have, 
 in the first place, a good preliminary training and an adequate 
 liberal education; in the second place, a training in the science 
 underlying the successful pursuit of his education. And so we have 
 developed a course of study for the engineer at the University. We 
 have gone further and developed it for the farmer, for the dentist, 
 for the pharmacist, for the chemist, for the architect, for the public 
 librarian, for the teacher of music, for the teacher of all the different 
 subjects and for the directing and controlling positions in all industrial 
 banking, insurance, railroading, merchandising, and so on. There will 
 be no stop in all this development. On the contrary, the University 
 will become ever more comprehensive, and an ever better equipped 
 and ever better manned institution, if it is to do the large service 
 for society which lies within its appropriate and easy reach. . . . 
 
 The growing pains in the University's expansion led, however, to 
 
 77 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 occasional misunderstandings among students and their teachers. 
 One correspondent complained indignantly in the letter column of 
 the Daily Illini on December 12, 1909, that his instructor required 
 class members to work from 5 to 6 a.m. and from 4 to 5 p.m. seven 
 days a week at the University farms. The professor, C. C. Hayden, 
 replied on December 15, "It is not intended that anyone should get 
 credit for this course who has never fed an animal, and there are 
 men in this course who have here, for the first time in their life, 
 given food to an animal. . . . The young man who is so seriously 
 afflicted with the Hook-worm disease that he cannot spare one early 
 hour from his bed daily, for one week, has no business studying to 
 be a farmer." 
 
 The University's quickly increasing enrollment brought space 
 problems. A news item on November 21, 1908, reported that a 
 woman student had fainted in the Botany Lecture Room of the 
 Natural History Building. The reporter described the room as "a 
 fit successor to the Black Hole of Calcutta." On April 14, 1909, an 
 article blamed a heavy rain the night before for a shower which 
 dripped from the ceilings of two more lecture rooms. 
 
 The pressure of overcrowding was released in the autumn of 191 1, 
 when Lincoln Hall was opened. But the Campus Scout column, 
 inevitably, had some caustic remarks about modern fashions in seats 
 for the building. An item on September 22, 1911: 
 
 SUBURBAN NOTES 
 
 LINCOLN HALL, SOUTH CAMPUS, September 22 — Things are fairly 
 quiet here. The students seem to like the magnificent furnishings of 
 the class-rooms. The chairs especially are the objects of much 
 favorable comment. . . . 
 
 Another on the following day: 
 
 SUBURBAN NOTES 
 LINCOLN HALL, SOUTH CAMPUS, September 23 — On all sides are 
 still heard the expressions of satisfaction concerning the luxuriantly 
 furnished class-rooms in Lincoln Hall. So elegant are the desks that 
 the professors as a rule have hesitated about sitting down to them, 
 preferring rather to stand during classes. The students' chairs are 
 
 78 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 built after an improved pattern; they have no troublesome arms, and 
 will easily fold up, should anyone choose to stand during recitation 
 periods. 
 
 At last, on September 26, Campus Scout gave detailed instructions: 
 
 HOW TO SIT DOWN IN A KINDERGARTEN SEAT 
 IN LINCOLN HALL 
 
 By Prof. Jasper Otwell Stiff, Ph.D. 
 
 Any adult may learn to sit in one of the new seats, providing he 
 follows my directions. First, then, pause outside the door before 
 going in and bend yourself forward and backward thirteen times. 
 Next, march confidently in to the end of the row wherein your pew 
 is located. Mounting to the backs of the seats, walk carefully to 
 your destination. Holding yourself rigid, drop into the hole left for 
 you, and there you are. 
 
 On September 28, the Campus Scout column concluded the contro- 
 versy with the observation, "When the authorities decreed that the 
 new recitation seats in Lincoln Hall be screwed to the floor, an un- 
 surmountable defect of human nature was overlooked — namely, 
 the tendency to tip back in the chair. The average student cannot 
 recite without tipping back in his chair, any more than a mule can 
 bray without elevating his tail. . . ." 
 
 Part of the University's rapid growth was accounted for by an 
 increase in woman students. Coeducation had been a tradition at 
 Illinois, but never before had so many women determined to obtain 
 a college education. A news item on March 6, 1908, was evidence 
 that not everyone believed this was altogether a good thing: 
 
 That tendencies in college life for girls are away from ideals of 
 womanliness and gentleness, was the burden of remarks made by 
 Miss Ruth Paxson, national secretary of the Young Women's Christian 
 Association, before members of the local organization at the 
 Woman's Building yesterday afternoon. . . . 
 
 According to Miss Paxson, college life does three things for a girl; 
 (1) It makes her coldly intellectual, (2) It makes her worldly, and (3) 
 It gives her an excess of social life, caused by too many organiza- 
 
 79 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 tions. These tendencies, however, can be modified by a proper 
 attitude. . . . 
 
 The University viewed the influx of college women with a great deal 
 less alarm. Speaking to the first mass meeting for women, held Octo- 
 ber 8, 1913, President James noted that coeducation "arose from the 
 demands of young women to have the same education as the men." 
 To permit this goal, he said, "the faculty and trustees of the Uni- 
 versity have in no way limited or restricted the life of the women 
 more than that of the men. For the present at any rate the question 
 of rules and regulations lies entirely with the women. As long as the 
 women make use of the rules as they should be made use of, and 
 use moderation, there is no need for change nor will any changes 
 be made." 
 
 Despite this generous attitude, by 1916 the undergraduate women 
 had brought into being one of the perennial objects of campus con- 
 troversy: the demand for more liberal women's hours. A news item 
 on January 11 described a debate in the Woman's League Council 
 over "whether to abandon the time-honored 10:30 rule for week- 
 end dates and substitute 11, or to abide by the rule and bring pres- 
 sure to enforce it. . . ." 
 
 Sororities had become well established by the start of the decade, 
 and the fall rushing season was the object of wide interest. A typical 
 "rush day" was described in a Daily Illini article on September 29, 
 1912: 
 
 Yesterday was sorority day. The rushees were bidden, carried to the 
 respective houses, and pledged in the midst of a veritable bedlam 
 created by the men along John street. Automobiles were used in 
 carrying pledges from their rooms to the houses, and nearly every 
 machine was manned with a speed-demon chauffeur and a body of 
 energetic rushers. 
 
 For two solid hours John street was a picture of jeering men 
 surrounding small detachments of fluttering coeds. The pretty female 
 exponents of fraternalism were live wires. They were sleuthing for 
 new sisters, and figures show that they got just about what they 
 wanted. 
 
 80 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 Sensational scenes attended the final period of the rushing season. 
 "Rusty" Bainum breezed forth cleverly masqueraded as a flashy coed. 
 He was gowned in a distinctive pink evening dress, and his ever- 
 visible hosiery was of the same color. He got a big hand from the 
 motley crowd of rush-rooters when he was brought forth in a wheel- 
 barrow. A sign reading "I accept — thanks," covered his breast. 
 
 The only school yell given by the throng of spectators was a 
 "Nine Rahs for Sally" in front of the Pi Beta Phi house. "Sally" is a 
 Chicago girl whom the Pi Phi's pledged. ... 
 
 The increasing numbers of woman students brought a growing de- 
 mand from them for equality in campus activities. This letter to the 
 editor, signed "Suffragette," appeared in the Daily Illini on Feb- 
 ruary 27, 1908: 
 
 The signs of the times point to the fact that Illinois is about to become 
 a center for the dissemination of the principles of woman suffrage. 
 The activity of the girls in the last few weeks is a strong indication of 
 this. In the recent Woman's League election all the political methods 
 known to Tammany Hall were used, and the greatest excitement pre- 
 vailed. The choice of the president was made amid much frenzied 
 electioneering. In yesterday's freshman election, the main struggle 
 was between the supporters of the two girl candidates for vice- 
 president. The presidency of the class, the office for which the fight 
 usually takes place, sunk into the same unimportant position as the 
 election of sergeant-at-arms for the Mathematical Club. There were 
 more votes cast for the woman candidates than for the nominee for 
 president. 
 
 To cap the climax, there are six speakers in the Woman Suffrage 
 contest this evening. These were chosen from about a dozen, all of 
 whom favored woman suffrage in their orations. 
 
 Is not the time ripe for the formation of a Woman Suffrage 
 society, and the filing of an application for admittance to the na- 
 tional association? It seems to me that this healthy active interest in 
 University politics points in only one direction, and that is toward a 
 strong organization that will join in the struggle for woman's rights 
 so nobly carried on by our sisters. 
 
 81 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Dancing was, if anything, more popular during the 1907-16 decade 
 than after the war. But the growth of the art created problems. A 
 news item on September 28, 1912, noted, 
 
 Dancing clubs, university cafes, and the new grape-vine dance are 
 pleasures which a marked cloud of faculty disapproval now hangs 
 over. 
 
 Those of "high officialdom" are still on the warpath, and have 
 decided to work radical changes in the way in which the dancing 
 clubs are conducted. . . . 
 
 The practice of patronizing cafes after 12 o'clock is also con- 
 demned. Frequently parties have remained in these restaurants until 
 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 Last winter the student social leaders seized upon the new fantastic 
 steps with avidity. Everyone soon learned the "Texas-Tommy" and 
 the grape-vine twist. The authorities now think that these question- 
 able dances were rather over-tolerated. The aesthetic dances are 
 therefore tabooed. 
 
 But the dance fad did not die out. On October 4, 1913, a classified 
 advertisement read, "WANTED - — Party to take over a dance date, 
 October 10, at College Hall. Reply H. F. H. care Daily Illini." 
 Finally, on December 10, 1913, a crackdown began. 
 
 Following the Council of Administration's request that the tango and 
 other doubtful new trippings be eliminated from the University dances, 
 the women's Pan-Hellenic Council last night unanimously passed a 
 resolution disfavoring the new steps and agreeing that its members 
 would not dance them at University dances. 
 
 The Pan-Hellenic's ruling goes into effect immediately and means 
 that not a sorority girl in the University will tango at the Junior Prom 
 Friday night. Apparently it comes as the last sad rites to the memory 
 of the tango at the University of Illinois. 
 
 While the girls of the University were busying themselves with the 
 passing of this resolution at the Alpha Delta Pi house, the Council 
 of Administration of the University also was concerning itself with 
 the momentous question. . . . 
 
 Instead of taking any more definite action itself the Council 
 
 82 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 decided to give Dean Clark the privilege of saying the last word 
 on the dance situation should he desire to do so, according to Dean 
 Kendric Babcock, secretary of the body. 
 
 Dean Clark told a Daily lllini reporter last night that he had no 
 intentions of making any additions to the Council's previously- 
 expressed disfavor of the new steps. "The Council's request stands," 
 he said. "Anyone who dances the tango or its kindred dances will 
 incur the displeasure of the Council. A sign saying 'please keep off 
 the grass' is not generally taken as an invitation to walk all over the 
 lawn. This same courtesy I expect to see applied to the Council's 
 request." 
 
 Another important development in the dance question yesterday 
 was the mysterious disappearance of a petition signed by some one 
 hundred men to the effect that they would like to dance the tango 
 at the Prom. . . . 
 
 While speculation is rife as to the alleged unpopularity of the 
 Prom owing to the abolishment of the new dances, never before has 
 there been such a demand for tickets to the spectator's gallery 
 sought by persons curious to see whether the tango or the pristine 
 two-step and waltz will be the order of the evening. 
 
 It took only a month for Panhellenic to reconsider its action banning 
 the tango. Possibly the prom was the occasion of its change of heart. 
 A news item on January 22, 1914, reported, 
 
 The new dances tangoed a little farther last night when the girls' 
 Pan-Hellenic Association rescinded their former action of putting the 
 ban on the latest steps. 
 
 The first regulation never proved popular with the sorority girls, 
 especially those who were not members of the association, and the 
 result has been almost continual warfare. 
 
 In their attempt to carry out the wishes of the dean of women and 
 the Council of Administration the sorority girls found that they were 
 practically alone. They complain that chaperons and faculty members 
 often paid little heed to the wishes of the authorities. It is also known 
 that the breaking of the rule by some girls made the fetters seem all 
 the tighter on those who stuck to the text of the resolution. Such 
 
 83 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 being the case, last night's action was considered inevitable by most 
 persons who understood the situation. . . . 
 
 By the end of the year, however, the Daily Illini had published an 
 editorial asking if dancing had lost its popularity with students. A 
 letter to the editor, published December 13, 1914, replied, 
 
 Mr. Editor, dancing at Illinois is no longer a social diversion; it is a 
 profession. Show me the student who can keep up with the new 
 dances and still hold dancing a diversion. The majority of us have 
 plenty of University work to do without devoting our spare time in an 
 endeavor to gain proficiency in the fine art of the hesitation, fox 
 trot, canter, and what not. Furthermore, there is no assurance that 
 the dances will not be changed next semester. It takes time to learn 
 a new dance, and time to the student is scarce. No student can hope 
 to become — and continue to be — proficient in the new dances 
 unless he makes a business of it. 
 
 Right here I wish to severely criticize the Ag. Dance committee. 
 They probably are still wondering why they sold only half their 
 tickets. If there is any affair which should stand for conservatism, it 
 is the Ag. Dance. <• Instead of having the old dances they were carried 
 away with the senseless whirl of the minute and had all the new 
 dances. It would be quite interesting to know whether the Agricul- 
 tural students were well represented. I doubt it. 
 
 The letter drew a reply, which was printed December 18, 1914. 
 
 I am moved to speak a few words in defense of the much abused 
 modern dance. It grieves me to think of the unattractive epithets 
 which have been applied to the graceful art in these columns. Why 
 is it that in these days of strenuous activity in other lines we are too 
 busy to cultivate the esthetic side of our natures which finds expres- 
 sion in the modern dance? 
 
 Illinois students are falling into a lamentable state of lethargy. 
 No longer do they greet the appearance of some new enterprise 
 with vigor and enthusiasm. Instead we see spirit falling at a de- 
 plorable rate. Activities which have formerly proved popular now 
 go begging. 'Tis true that we still maintain an interest in athletics 
 and other activities of the cruder sort. But there are other things just 
 
 84 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 as important to the perfect rounding out of character — things which 
 develop the finer sensibilities. Why not support these as well? 
 
 What were the names of these modern dance tunes, played for "the 
 senseless whirl of the minute?" In the Daily Illini for February 19, 
 1915, Nelson's Orchestra announced its program for the Cadet Hop 
 to be held in the Armory on the following Saturday : 
 
 1. One step, "Winter Nights." 
 
 2. One step, "Aba-Daba Honeymoon." 
 
 3. Waltz, "Parfum D'amour." 
 
 4. One step, "Oriental Tango." 
 
 5. Hesitation, "Cecile." 
 
 6. One step, "When You Wore a Rose." 
 
 7. Hesitation, "Sari." 
 
 8. One step, "Everybody Rag." 
 
 9. Two step, "Maurice Glide." 
 
 10. Hesitation, "Please." 
 
 1 1 . Two step, "Mississippi Cabaret." 
 
 12. Hesitation, "Millicent." 
 
 13. One step, "Rag Picker." 
 
 14. Fox trot, "I Want to Linger." 
 
 15. Hesitation, "Love Moon." 
 
 But there were other entertainments to be had in Champaign- 
 Urbana, as well. A news item on March 14, 1912, observed, "Cheap 
 vaudeville, such as is alleged to be presented in the Twin Cities, was 
 condemned at the meeting of the Women's League yesterday after- 
 noon, and resolutions were adopted to discourage the practice of 
 attending the cheaper forms of amusement. ..." A controversy 
 arose immediately. One of the resulting letters to the editor, signed 
 "F. E. L.," appeared on March 16: 
 
 One cannot help but be amused at the efforts of a few self-appointed 
 reformers who are attempting to pose as true representatives of 
 student sentiment in regard to the so-called "cheap amusements" of 
 the Twin Cities. Despite the efforts of these modern Calvinists, there 
 seems to be little probability of our student body blacklisting the 
 Orpheum and the Illinois — at least not those students whose red 
 
 85 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 blood prompts them to sometimes seek more strenuous amusement 
 than perusing the ancient archives in the library or composing soul- 
 sad sonnets in the solitude of the Woman's Building rest-room. . . . 
 
 Why should we not go to the Orpheum, or the Illinois? Assuredly 
 the moral tone of the attractions seen at these amusement halls is 
 no worse than that of our comic operas. We wonder if our "suf- 
 fragists" departed in wrath from the Walker Opera House one night 
 last winter, when the opening chorus of the "Arcadians" danced into 
 view — mostly view, partly obscured by small bits of gauze? Or did 
 they sit still and gayly accept another chocolate? 
 
 Of course all things may be carried too far, but surely attendance 
 at one of our vaudeville houses, once or twice a week, will harm 
 no one. True, it may do him no actual good. He may not become 
 better fitted to work a problem in algebra. But then algebra is not 
 everything. . . . 
 
 The last word belonged to the Campus Scout, who wrote on March 
 22, 
 
 THAT ORPH AGAIN 
 
 When I go to the Orpheum and sit down, 
 The girls on the stage kick their legs aroun' — 
 It makes no difference how I sit and frown: 
 They keep on kicking their legs aroun'. 
 
 The tango and the Orpheum were not the only threats to campus 
 morality. A letter to the editor on March 2, 1912, complained, "A 
 wave of reform is coming over us. While we are at it, why not stop 
 spitting on the campus, in the halls, and, for that matter, in streets 
 and buildings generally?" 
 
 Yet another target of disapproval appeared during the decade. 
 This target, as reported in the September 26, 1912, issue, was a 
 standby for reformers of the period. 
 
 Faculty disapproval hangs in a heavy cloud over several popular 
 local pool and billiard rooms, and in all probability the lid will be 
 screwed down tight on all questionable games at these places. 
 
 Saturday evening one of the high men in University officialdom 
 walked in on a well-financed game of Kelly pool, and stoically inter- 
 
 86 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 rupted the declaration of dividends. The manager of the emporium 
 and the players were thrown into a paroxysm of fright, and during 
 the scramble the low man disappeared with all the money. 
 
 For some time rumors have been abroad in the land and it has 
 also been pretty generally known that many prominent upper- 
 classmen have been acting irregularly in the pool parlors. Games 
 of pea pool and twenty-five cents a corner rotation pool have been 
 popular among the students. It has also been persistently hinted that 
 in one or two places thirst-quenching beverages have been doled 
 out in the rear of the building. . . . 
 
 In the next day's issue, however, the following report appeared: 
 
 "I understand the Kelly pool game is 'not' for the time being at 
 least," said Dean T. A. Clark in his office yesterday. "I have been 
 told confidently that the game will cease to run, and I have also 
 heard that they will run again in such a way that the men higher up 
 in the University officialdom will know nothing of them." 
 
 Dean Clark appeared optimistic over the prospects for keeping 
 the popular pool-room pastime under an air-tight lid, and he laid 
 down a little proposition for licking the game absolutely if its insti- 
 gators furnish any more trouble. 
 
 It has been rumored that the Kelly pool magnates will endeavor 
 to expose alleged games at the Y.M.C.A. if the University authorities 
 continue to hamper their business. Dean Clark will probably investi- 
 gate the charge that games have been tolerated in the association 
 building. He is inclined to believe the charges are too shallow for 
 consideration. 
 
 Gambling in the YMCA? The "Y" secretary, who was later to write 
 such best-sellers as The Robe, replied in indignation in the Septem- 
 ber 28, 1912, issue, " 'There has been no gambling going on in our 
 rooms; there is no gambling going on in our rooms at the present 
 time, and there shall be no gambling going on in our rooms in the 
 future for the reason that we have men employed to oversee the 
 game rooms during all the hours they are open,' said Lloyd C. 
 Douglas, religious work secretary of the Y.M.C.A., yesterday in re- 
 
 87 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 futation of the report that has been gaining circulation that Kelly 
 pool has been played in the association building. . . ." 
 
 Hand in hand with the offensive against Kelly pool came a total 
 ban on smoking, announced by the Council of Administration on 
 September 22, 1909. Smoking was prohibited everywhere on the 
 campus between Springfield Avenue and the Auditorium, and in all 
 University buildings. 
 
 During the same period, Dean Clark waged enthusiastic warfare 
 on drinking. In connection with a campaign to preserve Champaign- 
 Urbana as "dry" territory, Dean Clark told the Daily Illini on April 
 5, 1910, 
 
 I have no hesitation in saying that we have had far less student 
 drinking under the present regime, badly as it has been managed, 
 than we had under the old system. Students who had not learned 
 to drink before coming to college are not likely to learn under the 
 present system, though of course students who have contracted the 
 drink habit can find opportunities for drinking. It is true that a 
 number of people go to nearby towns to drink, and it is true also 
 that some students bring liquor to their rooms; but these cases are 
 far less numerous than were the cases of drinking with the town wet. 
 With all the evils attendant upon a dry town, I am unreservedly in 
 favor of the present system, because I believe that it has reduced the 
 amount of drinking done 75 per cent. With a vigilant and forceful 
 city government it might be done ever more than this. 
 
 On the following day, April 6, the newspaper carried an account of 
 the Champaign-Urbana prohibition election : 
 
 The local option question, "Shall this town continue to be anti- 
 saloon territory?" was definitely and decisively answered yesterday 
 when "yes" received a majority of 257 over "no". . . . 
 
 The election was one of the most exciting in the history of the two 
 towns and the large vote polled is evidence of the thorough work 
 done by both the "wet" and "dry" interests. In the second ward, 
 the student community of Champaign, the vote was 523 to 1 88 in 
 favor of the continuance of the anti-saloon policy, a majority of 
 335 
 
 88 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 That the work of the students in their wards was efficient needs no 
 further proof than the statement that the vote in the second ward was 
 far in excess of what it had ever been before. . . . Senior hats and 
 junior caps were conspicuous among the crowds just outside the 
 100-foot limit. Even sophomores and freshmen took part. ... In all 
 the wards luncheon to the workers was served by the ladies of the 
 neighborhood. The ladies of Urbana gave sandwiches and carna- 
 tions to all voters. 
 
 Despite the prohibitionist victory, the battle continued to be waged. 
 On November 1, 1914, a news item reported a statement by Dean 
 Clark warning fraternities "to abstain from furnishing their alumni 
 with something to drink at the coming Home Coming season." 
 Clark observed in his warning, "The local chapters argue . . . that 
 their alumni expect something to drink, and that their good time is 
 spoiled if they do not get it, and the general interests of the frater- 
 nity suffer because the alumni are disgruntled." 
 
 The success of the "dry" ordinance was brought into question by 
 a news article on November 20, 1915, which observed, 
 
 Bootlegging remains one of Champaign's chief sports, despite the 
 alleged efforts of city officials, according to the latest advices from 
 those who are informed on the correct condition of affairs at the 
 present time. Although a good many of the joints have been closed, 
 at least six are running in almost open violation of the law. 
 
 Although it is true that students in a large measure have been barred 
 from the several resorts, the old standbys still find it possible to gain 
 entrance through the back ways. Especially in the North Walnut 
 street district it is easy to obtain the coveted liquor and many auto- 
 mobiles and other private parties are served from the door without 
 ever entering the place. A house conducted by a certain woman, 
 where beer and whiskey also flow freely, still retains a large per 
 cent of its former patronage. 
 
 Recent investigations have been made by the University authorities 
 in the interest of protection to students and some startling condi- 
 tions, for a dry town, have been discovered. In certain instances, 
 liquor has deliberately been purchased merely to ascertain whether 
 
 89 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 or not the purchase were possible. It was found to be a compar- 
 atively easy task. 
 
 "I think that the bootlegging situation is somewhat better con- 
 trolled than previously. Anyone who wishes to buy intoxicants, 
 however, can do so without difficulty or the expenditure of much 
 time," said Dean Clark when asked concerning the situation in regard 
 to University students yesterday. 
 
 Nor was bootlegging the only "sport" prohibited locally, according 
 to a news item from April 20, 1915 : 
 
 "We're pinched, we're pinched, we're pinched, by Golly, we're 
 pinched." 
 
 So sang the united chorus of Phi Delta Theta and Psi Epsilon as 
 they marched in lockstep down First street Sunday. 
 
 One of Champaign's Keystone policemen had pinched the chapters 
 for violating the university ordinance against Sunday baseball. The 
 game was waxing hot when the Lone Star put in an appearance. He 
 scattered the Sabbath breakers and when they reassembled in a 
 peaceful row along the sidewalk he invited them to accompany him 
 to the city building. 
 
 With cries of "On to the city building!" the boys responded 
 willingly, and so the long line of culprits wound down First street. 
 When Green was reached, the meeting dispersed, despite the pro- 
 tests of the cop. 
 
 Besides Sunday baseball, hazing provided a favorite way for students 
 to let off steam. Noting that a "meeting" of freshmen had been 
 called for midnight behind the Cattle Barn, Oscar Herausmittem 
 wrote in the Campus Scout column for September 24, 1911, 
 
 Upon a dark and blustering night, 
 
 When fog hung o'er the town, 
 Nine sophomore youths on hazing bent, 
 
 Begat unsought renown. 
 
 Upon their faces each had dropped 
 
 A mask as black as jet, 
 For fear that Tommy, Pete, et al. 
 
 Would mesh them in their net. 
 
 90 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 As quiet as an Italian band 
 
 They mounted to a room, 
 And dragged from there, three frightened lads 
 
 Who recognized their doom. 
 
 Then when a sudden uproar rose, 
 
 They hastily decamped, 
 Except for three unlucky ones, 
 
 Whom Pete had firmly clamped. 
 
 There is no further tale to tell, 
 
 The three have now "sore eyes;" 
 They left the blithesome college days 
 
 With many sad goodbyes. 
 
 Despite this warning, a "general melee'' of sophomores, upperclass- 
 men, University deputies, and Champaign police took place a week 
 later. A news item on October 1, 1911, described it: 
 
 On Friday night the hazing spirit among the sophomores reigned 
 supreme. Evidently this spirit permeated the ranks of the upperclass- 
 men, and their curiosity resulted in direful consequences. At about 
 2:30 o'clock in the morning, as a party of upperclassmen were 
 walking south on Wright Street along Illinois Field, they perceived 
 the presence of a body of men standing in front of the Gymnasium. 
 Passing in that direction, the students were amazed to find themselves 
 attacked by the group, and several of their number were rushed 
 away in the direction of Burrill Avenue. 
 
 The remaining students, alarmed at this procedure, fled in all 
 directions, spreading the alarm that their comrades had been seized 
 by the "gas house gang." A party of rescuers was quickly recruited, 
 and started in the direction of the gas house. 
 
 At the corner of Springfield Avenue and Fourth Street, the relief 
 party encountered another set of opponents. These proved to be the 
 University police, fifteen or twenty strong, under the command of 
 "Pete" Adams. . . . 
 
 It appears from the accounts that are given of the affair that the 
 upperclassmen who encountered the party in front of the Gymnasium 
 were completely mistaken as to their identity. Instead of being mem- 
 
 91 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 bers of the gas house gang, or even sophomores, they were Univer- 
 sity policemen, out on hazing duty. They, of course, mistook the 
 upperclassmen for sophomores out on hazing duty, and immediately 
 seized two or three of them. 
 
 These men were hurried away, and placed in a furnace room in 
 the heating plant, to await the arrival of Dean Clark, who had been 
 called to settle matters. . . . 
 
 Meanwhile, the southwestern section of the student district was 
 having its share of excitement. Bands of sophomores prowled every- 
 where, raiding houses for frightened freshmen, who were hauled 
 forth in their thin clothes and made to sing and dance in the night 
 air. One freshman, in particular, was forced to climb a telephone 
 pole and sing "Nearer My God to Thee," while the gleeful soph- 
 omores applied the paddles. . . . 
 
 Another method of letting off steam, which began during this 
 decade and was carried forward into the next, was the practice of 
 "celebrating" sports victories by marching on downtown theaters to 
 demand a free show. One such celebration, following a football win 
 over Indiana, led to a near-riot on November 6, 1909. A statement 
 by President James on November 13, while noting that it was the 
 duty of the civil authorities, and not the University, to maintain 
 order in such disturbances, threatened to expel all students involved 
 in the melee. James advised bystanders to "get as far away as pos- 
 sible" in the event of another student riot. 
 
 Such a riot did occur almost every year, notably in 1912. An item 
 in the October 20 issue preserves the occasion : 
 
 After a wild crowd of University celebrators had stopped the show 
 at the Walker Opera House last night by driving the chorus of a 
 musical comedy company into hysterics, and had torn down doors 
 and broken windows galore, "G" Huff mounted the fire escape 
 stairs at the side of the building and quelled the disturbance by 
 making the most impassioned speech ever heard from the lips of 
 the veteran athletic director. 
 
 "If you want to kill football," said Mr. Huff, "this is the way to 
 do it; you're killing it now. There has been talk of abolishing football 
 here because of just such things as this. . . ." 
 
 92 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 The bricks and broken glass flew upon the stage during the 
 progress of the show and two chorus girls, a stagehand, and a 
 member of the mob were hit by the flying missiles. The two chorus 
 girls fainted and had to be carried off the stage and the rest of the 
 chorus flew into hysterics, ending the performance. 
 
 At the end of the 1912 football season, an era began with the hiring 
 of Robert C. Zuppke to coach the team. Zuppke, the first Illinois 
 football coach who had not attended the University, said in an 
 interview published on December 15, 1912, that "he wished that 
 former Illini players would come back and help before the big 
 games, but that he must insist upon his style of play. . . ." On 
 March 29, 1913, the Daily Illini reported that "Coach Zuppke gave 
 his proteges their first lesson in the rudiments of Scientific football 
 at the Armory last night. Over fifty men turned out to hear 'Bob' 
 tell how the great football teams of the country are turned out. . . ." 
 
 The enthusiasm for football was matched by a notable lack of 
 interest in basketball. An article on November 23, 1907, mention- 
 ing the need for tall men for the University basketball squad, sug- 
 gested, "If loyalty to the Orange and Blue is not sufficient to induce 
 them to come out, the prospect of an unusually long and pleasant 
 trip should prove attractive. The schedule will probably take the 
 team through the south, and the team will be well worth trying for, 
 because of this consideration alone." 
 
 In 1910, a national tradition began at Illinois with the first 
 collegiate Homecoming. On October 18, 1910, the Daily Illini 
 reported, 
 
 The First Annual Fall Home-Coming is even now but a pleasant 
 memory. The thousands of all Illini who were here Saturday and 
 Sunday to renew their enthusiasm at the fountain of Illinois loyalty 
 have returned to their homes. . . . 
 
 The echoes of the events of this great Home-Coming will be heard 
 as long as the University endures, for it is now almost a certainty 
 that it will be adopted as a permanent annual institution the like of 
 which no other University can boast. Illinois may well pride itself 
 on being the originator of the plan for drawing home the alumni, 
 a plan which will undoubtedly be adopted generally. 
 
 93 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Featured at the first Homecoming, of course, was the band of A. A. 
 Harding, the famous Illinois conductor and close friend of John 
 Philip Sousa. Although the finished product of a Harding band 
 apparently was excellent, a poem in the Campus Scout column for 
 September 26, 1909, suggested that tryouts were something else. 
 
 When Harding tries out his band, — 
 
 Merciful wind 
 
 Sing me a harsh, rough song, 
 
 For there is other music made tonight 
 
 That I would fain not hear. 
 
 On September 29, however, the newspaper was able to report: 
 "Just an instance of how things are done at Illinois — Harding as- 
 signs instruments Monday, has band practice Tuesday, and presents 
 a finished band Wednesday." 
 
 As in the previous decade, the high cost of transportation con- 
 tinued to plague undergraduates. A correspondent who signed her- 
 self "One of the Girls" wrote to the editor on November 24, 1907, 
 
 In view of the recent decision by some men not to use cabs I think it 
 would be no more than right that we girls who have practically 
 nothing to say in the matter and whose views are not asked for 
 should tell what we think of it. In the first place it is not the proper 
 thing to go to so formal a function in any other way than in a cab; 
 second, we girls dress in much thinner clothing that evening than is 
 common for us to do ordinarily, and being exposed to the raw night 
 air — especially after the dance in a warm hall — we are very 
 likely to catch bad colds; third and last, some of the fellows will take 
 cabs and we who do not have cabs will not feel in the best of 
 humor on seeing other girls get in comfortable cabs when we have to 
 walk home or ride in some dirty, crowded street-car. 
 
 Automobiles also cropped up in 1910, during class elections. The 
 newspaper observed on March 17, "It is reported that some of the 
 candidates intend to use automobiles 'to carry reluctant voters to 
 the polls.' " 
 
 On May 24, 1911, a news item reported that "one of the things 
 to which residents of the Twin Cities in their neighborhood of the 
 
 94 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 campus have lately become habituated is reckless driving of motor- 
 cycles and motor-cars at dangerous rates of speed by student enthu- 
 siasts. The city regulations on the subject, which hold vehicles to a 
 limit of 12 miles per hour, and which in addition prescribe definite 
 precautions in rounding corners, are constantly broken by the under- 
 graduate. . . ." And Campus Scout announced on September 29, 
 1911, "A sheep-bound copy of the Freshman's Bible will be given to 
 any wideawake youth who can prove that an automobile without 
 the muffler cut out ever cannonaded down John Street." 
 
 The University's fifth decade saw the continued prominence of a 
 stock character on every campus, the Irate Landlady. According to 
 a news item on May 1, 1915, 
 
 There was a regular battle on Romine street, Urbana, yesterday. 
 Gory and bleeding was the vanquished sophomore who sought other 
 fields, but not until he had planted his fist in his landlady's face and 
 seen her hit the dust of her own carpet. 
 
 The difficulty began when the Romine street landlady, who does 
 not believe in self-government, discovered unmistakable sounds of a 
 "rough house" in progress. Did she remonstrate gently? No, she 
 proceeded to the dormitory, slapped the offenders vigorously and 
 emerged triumphantly from the scene. 
 
 Later in the evening the roomers recovered from their chastisement 
 and began to grow hilarious again. Only silence was the answer. 
 
 Next morning the sophomore was returning from breakfast and 
 innocently opened the front door to find that he had walked into an 
 ambush. Without any preliminary battle-cry the landlady crouched 
 for the attack and the first round resulted in some scratches on the 
 right cheek of the sophomore and the landlady emerged intact. The 
 second round results were the same, only the student received 
 wounds on the other side of his face while the landlady eloquently 
 told him about his faults. 
 
 In the last round the sophomore rallied and parried the landlady's 
 drive from the right with his trusty left and felled the enemy on the 
 floor. Now the '17 man and his friends are looking for a home. 
 
 Another collegiate tradition at the time, now largely defunct, was 
 
 95 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 the practice of selling articles door-to-door to work one's way 
 through college. On March 23, 1910, a student who had tried this 
 method of underwriting his education wrote to the editor, 
 
 Every spring there sweeps in upon us like the locusts of old, hordes 
 of nice, clean-shaven "gentlemen" who, in their disguise, might be 
 mistaken for disciples. Unfortunately, their sleek, white, well-curried 
 wool does not conceal their tawny hides and carnivorous teeth. 
 These "gentlemen" are solicitors. At heart they are working for 
 your good, fellow student — that is always the way with the shrewd 
 business man. . . . 
 
 When you are approached by one of these god-fatherly men, do 
 not think he will get the best of you. Oh, no! Sign up for your 
 territory; sell his nice leather-bound books, silver aluminum ware, 
 gilt-edged cross-reference Bibles, and thank heaven that you are 
 so fortunate as to be one of the "gentleman's" favorites. Work 
 industriously throughout the pleasant summer days, suffer patiently 
 the stings and slurs of your "wise" friends, and, when all is over, 
 return home, swelled with pride, that you, even you, are a man, an 
 independent, self-made man. If your room-mate sarcastically mutters 
 that you might have chosen a better pattern, knock him down. . . . 
 
 Classified advertisements during this period promoted the Sanitary 
 Suction Cleaner, and advised "ONLY ONE MORE WEEK in 
 which to get territory for the Wear-Ever Aluminum money-making 
 proposition." 
 
 Rumors which, if valid, would have perhaps changed the future 
 development of the University were reported in the Daily lllini on 
 January 26, 1909: "There is a strong probability that Thomas Arkle 
 Clark, Dean of Undergraduates, will resign his office within the 
 next few days in order to accept a similar position at Leland Stan- 
 ford University. . . . No definite understanding has been arrived 
 at, as yet, between Dean Clark and the Leland Stanford authorities. 
 It is understood that very enticing overtures have been made by 
 President Jordan, and he has consulted with Dean Clark about 
 making an offer. . . ." 
 
 The hold which "Tommy Arkle" held over the students was con- 
 vincingly demonstrated in a story on February 11, 1909: 
 
 96 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 The Most Popular Dean, i.e., Thomas Arkle Clark, was given a mon- 
 ster ovation last night when two thousand students, jubilant over the 
 fact that the Friend of the Students would remain at Illinois, as- 
 sembled in the Armory to do him honor. . . . 
 
 When everyone had been supplied with "eats" and "smokes" and 
 when the air had become sufficiently foggy to make the evening a 
 success, the Glee Club got into action with a rousing rendition of the 
 "Siren Song," after which Mike Wells sang a tribute to "The Best of 
 Dads to Undergrads." Harry B. Hershey then spoke on "Dean Clark, 
 the Father of the Freshmen;" J. C. Herbstman on "Dean Clark, the 
 Father of Us All," and A. R. Warnock on "The Relation of Dean Clark 
 to Illinois Loyalty." Dean Clark himself followed these speakers. 
 
 Beginning with a characteristic story the speaker said that the 
 things said and done at this time meant a great deal to him. He 
 was present with no intention of leaving Illinois because the students 
 had shown that they wanted him to remain. . . . 
 
 At the close of the Dean's speech the Glee Club led in the singing 
 of Illinois Loyalty and the heartiest of "nine rahs" were given for 
 "The Father of Us All." 
 
 That no one went hungry or suffered from the want of smoking 
 material is shown by the list of articles consumed in the course of 
 the evening, which included 1,000 doughnuts, 10,000 ginger cakes, 
 5 barrels of apples, 1,500 cigars, 2,500 cigarettes, and 100 gallons 
 of cider. 
 
 By the end of the decade, Europe was at war, and the United States 
 was clinging to its professed neutrality. A news item on October 19, 
 1915, reported, 
 
 President James made a tour of the University district yesterday 
 dressed in a suit that made him look like a general instead of a 
 president. In a military suit of fine olive drab cloth, and with leather 
 puttees, he made a very soldiery appearance. Major F. D. Webster 
 said that Dean Thomas Arkle Clark also had ordered a uniform. Was 
 the faculty of the University planning to organize a regiment for the 
 defense of the country, with President James as colonel and Dean 
 Clark as lieutenant-colonel was the question asked Dean Clark, when 
 
 97 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 he was interviewed concerning the matter. Just as he has broken 
 the hopes of parents of many erring freshmen, he shattered the 
 popular expectations in a few words. 
 
 "Yes, I have ordered a uniform," he said. "But there is nothing 
 patriotic about it. The olive drab is the best and cheapest form of 
 outing clothing that can be secured. I am getting mine merely for 
 riding and walking purposes." 
 
 The attitude of the United States, official neutrality, was strained 
 by November, 1915. A news item on November 9 could barely con- 
 ceal its patriotic fervor: "Presenting a neutral program in a cosmo- 
 politan University, the world's greatest military band of the greatest 
 neutral country of the world will appear in a concert at the Univer- 
 sity Auditorium tomorrow night at 8: 15." 
 
 On November 23, 1915, surveying the mounting war spirit, the 
 Daily Illini published this editorial: 
 
 War possesses a certain glamour for a great many spirited American 
 youths. University students frequently express a desire to join one of 
 the contending armies and take some more or less active part in the 
 struggle. Strangely enough, most of these men are not foreign born 
 and have no strong leaning toward either of the combatants, but are 
 American born citizens. A number of students have already given 
 up scholastic pursuits to train for one of the European armies, with 
 the expectation of returning to complete their courses after the war. 
 
 It is not necessary to condemn the action of these so-called loyal 
 Americans in throwing themselves into a terrible conflict merely for 
 the sake of adventure. The conduct condemns itself because a man 
 plainly cannot be loyal to one nation while he is fighting under the 
 flag of another. Furthermore it is strictly out of keeping with the 
 policy of a neutral nation to allow its citizens to engage in a foreign 
 war. 
 
 But aside from sentimental objections . . . American students will 
 soon forget their imaginary desire for a taste of real war on one 
 of the fields of Europe, when they learn of the priceless privileges 
 they would lose in their native land. 
 
 Sixteen months later, the United States declared war on Germanv. 
 
 98 
 
THE FIFTH DECADE 1907-16 
 
 Dean Clark's purchase of an olive-drab uniform for "outings" be- 
 came the gesture of a forgotten era for both the nation and the 
 University. 
 
 99 
 
\ 
 
 THE SIXTH DECADE 
 
 1917-26 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 FOR SALE — Greased-up Ford Speedster. Guaranteed to do 50 
 per hour. Price $100. Call Chilly Harner, M. 217. 
 
 -t— Classified advertisement, June 2, 1923 
 
 "This is destined to be the greatest University in the world," de- 
 clared retired President Edmund Janes James at the 1922 Home- 
 coming. A postwar wave of optimism had quickened the pulse of 
 the campus, and a campaign to raise funds for the construction of 
 Memorial Stadium had stirred identification with the University 
 among hundreds of alumni. For years the Ivy League schools had 
 provided the stereotypes for collegiate life, but in the 1920's that role 
 belonged to the big midwestern universities. And no single figure 
 symbolized the new era more than Harold (Red) Grange, almost an 
 archetype of the football hero. 
 
 The forces which were now shaping the University had been 
 present before the war. But on the campus, as in the nation at large, 
 the sobering experience of a world war produced a state of mind 
 which could never again return to the previous decade's unquestion- 
 ing faith in progress. Even students who had not been to Europe 
 were influenced by the experience of their contemporaries in the 
 trenches of France. "You are all a lost generation," Gertrude Stein 
 told Ernest Hemingway, and her statement, directed to the Amer- 
 ican expatriates of Paris, had meaning as well in Urbana. 
 
 In the pages of the Daily Illini, the war at first seemed almost a 
 lark. The newspaper sponsored a tobacco and chocolate fund for 
 
 100 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 "the boys over there," and sorority girls gave up an evening a week 
 to the manufacture of bandages. But for the soldiers themselves, the 
 war was an experience which they — raised in an isolationist, 
 neutral America — could not altogether comprehend. Before the 
 United States officially entered the war, a volunteer ambulance unit 
 was raised among University of Illinois students. One of the vol- 
 unteers, Chris Gross, wrote a letter to the Daily Illini in which the 
 depth of his experience could be read between the lines of bravado. 
 It appeared September 26, 1917. 
 
 Here I have been away from the old familiar haunts for nearly four 
 months and over here in a country of heathens and pirates who are 
 trying their damnedest to tear each other apart with every kind of 
 fowling piece they can make — from hand grenades and gas shells 
 to cannons half a yard across and hoses spouting flaming oil. Of all 
 rotten and idle pastimes — this war game is the worst. 
 
 From the way we see it here it seems like a couple of dogs chasing 
 each other's tails only the result is a darned sight more sickening. 
 For example — now we are back here in this hell-hole, the Chemin 
 des Dames sector of the French front after having been here three 
 weeks ago for a period of twenty-two days, during which there was 
 very little rest and during the same time we had eleven of the twenty 
 Berliets we started with knocked to pieces by the Germans. Now we 
 are back here with twenty new cars — they are Fiats with four 
 speeds forward and very fast. 
 
 In the 200 yards between the trenches there are bodies that have 
 been there for four or five months. This is one of the common sights 
 that greets us now while the old "No Man's Land" is being cleaned 
 as much as the conditions will allow. Often a part of a body, or a 
 few shreds of a hand, or a mangled arm or leg, will be brought in 
 and tied up in a bag at the post. Usually these are not identifiable 
 as the tag on the wrist or the neck has been torn off with that part 
 of the body. What I am saying seems impossible, doesn't it, and 
 you wonder if it can be true. I thought the same things before we 
 got here and into the work, but I will tell you now that this is only 
 the telling of it, the seeing it and the feeling that it is going on very 
 near you makes it seem all the more forceful. 
 
 101 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Two days ago, three of the cars, Hawley Smith, Earl Swain, Milt 
 Silver, Mike Dailey and I were laying along the side of the road in 
 a town three kilometers back of the lines near the cave where the 
 division headquarters are. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when 
 all of a sudden without even the usual short whistle which a shell 
 usually makes, there was a hell of a smash and a bang like we have 
 never heard since the aeroplane bombs were dropped near us a 
 month ago. There was immediately a lot of dust and smoke and 
 then we jumped up out of the car to see what was up. A German 
 shell had come in, evidently the German balloons or the planes for 
 observation had located the town where the general headquarters 
 were near and so they dropped a few in for good luck. They sent 
 about eight in within two minutes and they certainly were lucky for 
 them, the first one did the dirt, too. There was a bunch of soldiers 
 standing around, shells seldom fall this far back in the daytime and 
 very few of them had their steel helmets on. The first shell swept the 
 street and put at least a dozen men on the ground and those who 
 were not hit were beating it hotfoot up the street for the dugouts all 
 around. Just in front of the entrance to the headquarters, a young 
 lieutenant was lying loose and limp. He had gotten a piece of the 
 shell about the size of a walnut in the head, he had no helmet on at 
 the time, and his head was just beginning to pour out blood that 
 soon made red mud of the dust. Hawley and I beat it up to him and 
 saw how bad he was hurt and grabbed a stretcher and rolled him 
 onto it and trotted bareheaded into the cave and laid him down. 
 Hawley cranked his machine and I held the poor chap's head and 
 then we ran him half a mile down the road to the nearest dressing 
 station, but he was dead when we got him there, poor fellow. 
 
 We got into the Croix de Guerre, one day when we were off duty 
 and there was a few regiments of French Colonial troops in the town, 
 Algerians and Senagalese. After supper they would play some of the 
 awfullest whang whang music I ever heard. They would imitate what 
 we would say often, so Hawley Smith got one of them hollering 
 "Mooka-Hi, Fung-gong-gong, Arabugel, Ooga-boo," and ended up 
 with "Oskee-wow-wow." It was rich to see this duck open that mug 
 of his and bellow out those wild sounds. 
 
 102 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 The incidents are too numerous to put down here — both joyful 
 and sickening. But it is soon forgotten in the continual stream of 
 horrors one sees daily at the second line posts. 
 
 While back of the line the last time we also had a baseball game 
 with Section 66 (we are Section 65) just four days after they had 
 returned from the section of the Chemin des Dames just to our right, 
 of which you have heard a great deal in the reports. They had just 
 had two men killed and four wounded, one of whom lost a leg. They 
 talked of it a bit but it had no other effect because death was all 
 around and the only difference was they knew these Americans 
 better than the many nameless French who come in, in pieces. 
 Nobody is surprised at anything, and we always ask at the post 
 when another car comes up, if the last one got through all right. 
 
 The gulf between the experience in France and the mood back on 
 the campus was enormous. The same issue of the Daily Illini which 
 carried the above letter also published this editorial: 
 
 There are some freshmen whose conduct doesn't deserve to be called 
 green. It is outright ignorance and ill-breeding. We don't refer to 
 any general group of freshmen. This is directed to a few amoeba- 
 like individuals who have been making sport of the aviators. 
 
 Several times a day, the entire corps of men in training at the 
 School of Aeronautics is drawn up outside the barracks for assembly. 
 They stand there rigidly at attention, the result of a stringent disci- 
 pline that is training these men to be our protectors and the means 
 by which America hopes to win the war. 
 
 Yet disregardful of this vital fact, there are some freshmen so 
 unprincipled and so disregardful of the sacrifice these men are 
 making that they sneer and make cynical, critical remarks as they 
 pass the lines. . . . Unfortunately the privilege of ducking freshmen 
 is legally and officially withdrawn, but that doesn't alter the fact that 
 they deserve it anyway. 
 
 As the United States commitment to the war deepened, however, its 
 effect began to be felt at home. A news item on December 16, 1917, 
 reported that Illinois and Northwestern would drop all minor sports 
 "because of the lack of interest." The decision was announced at 
 
 103 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 the annual conference of Big Ten coaches. The article continued, 
 "Hand grenade throwing will become an intercollegiate sport if 
 recommendations of the coaches are adopted. George Huff, base- 
 ball coach of the University of Illinois, declared that it was the duty 
 of colleges to promote this form of athletics because participants 
 would gain valuable training for bomb throwing in the war." And 
 on December 18, a news item asked, 
 
 Will a new clause be placed among the famous rules of Woman's 
 League? Will such advice as this statement: "It is recommended 
 that the women of the University receive no men callers on Sunday 
 and Thursday evenings" be added to the "No lingering on the 
 porches after dances" and "Walking on the South Campus is con- 
 sidered unwise" regulations which appear in the annals of the 
 Woman's League? 
 
 If it should come to pass that dateless nights be instigated at the 
 University, the cause of this stern decree must be traced to the 
 "lightless night" and thence to that final source of all 'less days and 
 nights — the Kaiser. 
 
 As a means of saving coal, the fuel administration has issued an 
 order putting into effect "lightless nights" on Sunday and Thursday 
 of each week. The first lightless night in the history of the United 
 States since electricity began to be used for illumination will be next 
 Sunday night. 
 
 Verily, it must be said that one must sacrifice in times of war. 
 
 In March of the following year, 1918, the University reached the 
 center point of its first century: its fiftieth anniversary. In a special 
 essay written for the Daily lllini, which appeared on March 10, 
 President James observed that "the task of forecasting in this crisis 
 of the world's history is more difficult than it would be under ordi- 
 nary circumstances, for we know not what the world is going to 
 be, let alone any particular institution in it." Nevertheless, he at- 
 tempted to predict the University's next fifty years: 
 
 The United States in 1865 was an entirely different people from what 
 it was in 1855 and the marvelous growth of our beloved country in 
 the next fifty years depended largely upon the fact that we had be- 
 
 104 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 come a different people after the great struggle for liberty. . . . And 
 so now I believe that the American people at the close of this war 
 will be a new and different people with a wider outlook, with higher 
 ideals than ever before. As in many other fields, so in this of educa- 
 tion; as in many other institutions, so here in Illinois, all that we have 
 accomplished will seem small compared with that for which we shall 
 be reaching out, all that we have done mere preparation for that 
 which we shall do. Our successors, because of their larger outlook 
 and alas! because of our own short-sighted vision will find in our 
 work little inspiration. They will only wonder that our outlook was 
 so limited, our views so narrow, our plans so incomplete and unsatis- 
 factory, our foundations in the laying of which we take so much 
 pride, so inadequate to the superstructure which they will wish to 
 raise. 
 
 It will be a new world into which human society will advance when 
 victory comes and peace is assured; old standards will be displaced 
 by new and higher ones set up in each department of national and 
 individual life. We shall be thinking ... in terms of freedom and 
 liberty and democracy instead of privilege and caste, in terms of 
 the development of the ability of all our people instead of that of 
 a few limited classes. 
 
 As to what concrete forms this new spirit shall clothe itself in, we 
 have, I think, now little notion, and even our dreams are not large 
 enough to take in the reality, but I venture to mention a few points 
 in which the University of Illinois in 1968 will be different from the 
 University of today. 
 
 We think now of a University with low fees for instruction; then 
 we shall see a University with no fees. Now a University in which 
 boys and girls with little money can come and make their way; then 
 we shall see a University in which every boy and girl, who can and 
 is willing to profit from a University education, will be able to get it, 
 no matter how poor their parents, no matter how difficult the condi- 
 tions under which they have lived. We think now of a University 
 with half a million books; then we shall see one with five millions. 
 Now of a University with few laboratories, with very inadequate 
 equipment; then we shall see an institution made up of numerous 
 
 105 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 laboratories and furnished with all the equipment which can be of 
 use in making the laboratory turn out the largest and best output of 
 scientific truth. We see a University now in which only a few of the 
 subjects which have stimulated the human intellect and stirred the 
 human heart are made the object of scientific study; then we shall 
 see an immensely larger number of subjects, which have interested 
 the human intellect, made the object of strictly scientific study and 
 development, so that in every line of human life the largest possible 
 enrichment will be worked out. 
 
 We see now an institution in which a large part of the work done 
 is elementary in character; that will all be relegated to the high 
 schools and junior colleges. Young men and women will come up to 
 the University primarily for the purpose of preparing themselves for 
 some distinct profession or calling, for the practice of which a study 
 of the sciences underlying the art will be useful or necessary. This 
 means that the number of professions for which the University will 
 prepare will steadily tend to increase, because the human race will 
 be basing everything more and more upon science; and when the 
 business of a profession rests upon the solid formulations and accu- 
 mulations of human science, it becomes a proper subject for Univer- 
 sity cultivation. 
 
 The University will in the next fifty years become still more a great 
 center of light and life and leadership for the whole community in 
 an ever-increasing number of directions. We shall press forward to 
 new achievements in science and art. We shall become free in a 
 new and different sense from what we are now, for the truth, the 
 pursuit of which is one of the primary ends of the University, will 
 make us free. We shall not be afraid to speak our minds; we shall 
 win that academic freedom which now exists nowhere in the world, 
 for as yet men are not willing to accept its full consequences. The 
 dangers of Bolshevism in our undeveloped human society are still 
 too great to permit the largest degree of liberty, but that time will 
 be brought perceptibly nearer by this great war, and our University 
 should help in this development, and Illinois should lead the way. . . . 
 
 Our five thousand students will have become ten or fifteen or 
 twenty thousand. There is in fact no limit to the possible numbers of 
 
 106 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 a University organized on sound democratic self-governing lines. . . . 
 Let Illinois become one of the holy places in the history of the 
 human spirit — great among all the Universities which have been 
 and great among those new institutions which will surpass those of 
 the past as our material advance surpasses all the past of the race. 
 Let it be counted one of the very greatest because it has ministered 
 most. 
 
 In an editorial in the same issue, the Daily Illini editors wrote, 
 "Another half century will bring additional untold changes. Some 
 of us will live to see Illinois pass the century milestone. Perhaps 
 men will smile then at us even as we do now at the University of 
 the 70s. But we are proud of our achievement and rest secure in the 
 belief that another fifty years will bring greater and even more won- 
 derful developments at Illinois, without whose story the tale of 
 western development may not be unfolded." 
 
 While wars were fought and anniversaries celebrated, however, 
 the everyday undergraduate life continued much as before. As a 
 postwar campus edged into the 1920's, Robert Dickenson, freshman 
 class president, wrote to the Daily Illini editor on November 12, 
 1919, "The Freshman class wishes to apologize to the University for 
 painting the senior bench and walks of the campus with the green 
 numerals, '23. The numerals were painted while in fun. Care will 
 be taken that no more such acts will take place, and the paint will 
 be cleaned from the bench and walks by the freshmen. An appeal 
 is made to the freshmen to come with brush, sponge, turpentine and 
 knives to clean the paint from the various places on campus. . . ." 
 
 The advent of the 1920's saw the gradual replacement of vaude- 
 ville with motion pictures. Movie managers tried various promo- 
 tions to popularize the new art form, as a news item on December 7, 
 1919, attests: "Further publicity for Tug Wilson. Tug was the 
 winner of the $1 prize at the Orpheum last week and the Orpheum 
 management has been flashing his name on the screen for the past 
 few nights, thereby taking advantage of the unusual opportunity to 
 use a prominent name for advertising purposes. The prize came to 
 Tug as the result of finding the six missing letters in the program ads 
 needed to spell the word 'closed' as prescribed by the managers." On 
 
 107 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 February 24, 1921, an editorial proclaimed, "If Charlie Chaplin, 
 Doug Fairbanks and Mary Pickford could realize that the public 
 generally is a little weary of seeing them grouped together in a news- 
 paper picture section, they would perhaps refuse to pose for so many 
 camera men. Or if the newspapers could only realize it we might be 
 able to get the same desirable result." 
 
 Not all was simple and straightforward with the splendid new 
 invention. An advertisement on April 23, 1922, declared, 
 
 NOTICE 
 
 The pictures presented at the Park are run as near the correct pro- 
 jection speed as possible. 
 
 We have never speeded the pictures in order to let waiting people 
 inside. 
 
 Make this theatre your theatre. 
 
 With the twenties, college football was at last a major national pre- 
 occupation in its own right. At Illinois, Zuppke stuck to his guns 
 and refused to seek out high school stars with a recruiting campaign. 
 But the Daily Illini complained that arch-rival Michigan had taken 
 to something called "scouting." An editorial on January 25, 1920, 
 was titled "The Michigan Way" : 
 
 The Michigan Daily, our worthy contemporary at the University of 
 Michigan, feels hurt, grossly insulted, because The Daily Illini has 
 objected to its policy of luring prep school athletes to Michigan by 
 an organized system of scouting. In fact, it feels so badly hurt that 
 it has replied with the jejune argument that the Wolverines must 
 solicit athletes because everybody else is doing it. 
 
 The Daily is, at least, frank in admitting that Michigan is going out 
 with the avowed purpose of bringing athletes to her campus to bolster 
 up her fast fading athletic reputation, but frankness does not lessen 
 the evil, although the Michigan paper seems to think that because 
 the Wolverines are openly boasting of their feat in bringing young 
 athletes to Ann Arbor they are absolved of all blame. It intimates 
 that the difference between Illinois and Michigan is that Michigan 
 is crooked and admits it, and that Illinois is crooked and says 
 nothing about it. 
 
 108 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 Illinois, of course, does not boast of being crooked, nor does she 
 go about boasting of bringing first-rate prep school athletes here; 
 indeed, she keeps very, very quiet on the subject. But she keeps 
 quiet about it because there is nothing to reveal, no crookedness to 
 tell of, no fishing for athletes to discover to the public gaze. Illinois 
 does not have to organize its student body into a scouting body to 
 gather athletes. The teams that represent the lllini are made of men 
 who come to the University of their own free will to get an educa- 
 tion. ... It is incidental that Illinois has winning teams. . . . 
 
 The Michigan Daily shows a woeful ignorance of the facts when 
 it states that lllini clubs have been organized for the purpose of 
 inducing athletes to attend the University . . . deliberately bribing 
 athletes is not their line of work. The Daily's statement that the Uni- 
 versity recently held a banquet for high school athletes and tried 
 to persuade them to attend Illinois need not be dealt with, lllini 
 do not have to be told that such an accusation is entirely false. The 
 University has never given such a banquet and unless it degenerates 
 considerably it never will. 
 
 In the early spring of 1921, a movement began to build a stadium 
 for Illinois comparable to those at Michigan and Chicago. The 
 Daily lllini reported on April 1, 1921, 
 
 Six hundred members of the county committee of the Stadium drive 
 crowded into 100 Chemistry Building yesterday afternoon to hear 
 Coach Robert C. Zuppke, Tug Wilson '20, and James Bliss '21, chair- 
 man of the county committee, outline the duties of the committee in 
 putting the Stadium drive across. Many students were turned away 
 from the meeting. 
 
 Wilson, lllini basketball and track star, challenged the committee to 
 set the ball rolling for the Stadium. "Now is your opportunity to do 
 as much for Illinois as the football player in the biggest Chicago- 
 Illinois game," Wilson said. 
 
 Coach Zuppke spoke for a stadium built on an Olympic plan, one 
 which would be more than a football gridiron, which would represent 
 the sportsmanship and culture of Illinois, "lllini is part of the word, 
 
 109 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 llliniwek, which means the complete man," said Zuppke, "and we 
 want a Stadium which will represent the complete man." 
 
 By 1924, Memorial Stadium was ready 'to be dedicated. The stage 
 was set for a mammoth Homecoming celebration, which inspired 
 the Interfraternity Council into a piece of the most involved reason- 
 ing ever to grow out of Prohibition. The Daily Illini reported on 
 October 10, 1924, 
 
 Placing the emphasis on the desirability of a dry Homecoming rather 
 than on enforcement of the Eighteenth amendment, but conceding 
 that a dry Homecoming is impossible, and declaring that it would 
 never do to antagonize Michigan fraternities by asking them not to 
 bring liquor to the campus October 18, Interfraternity Council last 
 night agreed to do "all in its power" to bring about a dry weekend. 
 
 The problem of relations with Ann Arbor chapters was solved by 
 a suggestion of E. C. Lesch, '25, Beta Theta Pi, to point out to the 
 Michigan men that Illinois students are gentlemen and that they 
 would expect Michigan to live up to that standard while in the Twin 
 Cities. . . . 
 
 C. C. Lipe '25, Beta Theta Pi, introduced the subject by claiming 
 that the drinking done at Homecoming is not by University students, 
 but by outsiders. He believed that the council could not even hope 
 for a dry Homecoming this year, but that each one could be improved 
 a little over the last. 
 
 W. R. Brown '25, Phi Gamma Delta, maintained that students are 
 not shocked by drunkenness, and that they would not go about 
 waving the flag of prohibition. His chief reason for advocating a 
 dry Homecoming was to save the University's reputation, he said. 
 
 General discussion which followed subscribed to the sentiment that 
 Michigan chapters would bring liquor with them if only to show their 
 independence, should they be asked not to. 
 
 Finally the big day arrived. Recalling the Illinois soldiers to whom 
 the stadium was dedicated, the Daily Illini began its front page 
 article on October 17, 1924, "Taps. The University bows its head 
 for a moment today. The blaring bands and flaunting colors are 
 stilled. Two hundred sons of Illinois went out, and never came 
 
 1 10 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 back, and now two hundred white columns stand on rank at atten- 
 tion. The Stadium will be dedicated today. The blaring bands and 
 flaunting colors are stilled. Taps. . . ." 
 
 After Taps came perhaps the most famous game of football ever 
 played in Memorial Stadium, as the "Galloping Ghost" made him- 
 self an immortal. Daily Illini Sports Editor Tom Morrow, later to be 
 widely known as the conductor of the Chicago Tribune's Line O' 
 Type or Two column, wrote the story. 
 
 "All Grange can do is run." 
 
 But that was plenty. Four times yesterday in the first twelve 
 minutes the red-headed lad cut loose for the goal line and four 
 times he went as far as he could within the fence. Seven times in 
 those first 12 minutes he carried the ball, four times across the goal, 
 and then Zup let him rest. 
 
 When he returned in the second half he didn't do much except 
 run 15 yards for a score and toss a 20 yard pass to Benny Leonard 
 for the final score of the game. 
 
 But that first dozen minutes was plenty to change the Wolverine 
 domain from all the West to points surrounding Ypsilanti. Hardly 
 had Captain Steger got his foot down from the kickoff, expecting to 
 trot up and find Mr. Grange strewn on the 20 yard line, until Red 
 passed him on the way back. Ninety-five yards he journeyed that 
 time. 
 
 Then Michigan kicked off again. After an exchange of punts 
 Illinois got the ball and Grange went goalward again, 66 yards 
 this time. Number three popped up a few plays later when Red took 
 off around right end, cut across the field two times with the Wolver- 
 ines in hot pursuit, and ended up behind the goal 55 yards away. 
 Forty yards Red went for the fourth one and then Zup called him off. 
 
 After the first Grange amble the crowd sat still and gasped, the 
 gasp changed to a chuckle on the second, a laugh on the third, and 
 on the fourth it gasped again. . . . 
 
 Before the game on Homecoming, 1924, Michigan had been ranked 
 first in the nation. Grange's great performance seemed in keeping 
 with a campus which was gradually gaining a reputation as the 
 
 111 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 most typical center of "collegiate" life in the nation, as described in 
 the song of the same name. There were those who claimed that the 
 famous "Old Siwash" stories in the Saturday Evening Post were 
 based on the University, and the Post did little to discourage them. 
 On March 9, 1925, the exuberant spirits of the campus boiled over 
 in another perennial riot, reported the next morning by the Daily 
 Illini: 
 
 Four hundred of the 2,000 in the mob that marched into the Cham- 
 paign business district last night succeeded in forcing the doors at the 
 Rialto theatre at 9 o'clock and peaceably saw Jackie Coogan in 
 "The Rag Man" after a riotous evening. 
 
 The mob was checked from entering the Orpheum theatre after a 
 stormy attack which resulted in damages estimated at $800. A force 
 of a dozen police officers and deputies, armed with clubs, black 
 jacks, and revolvers, kept the mob from forcing the doors of the 
 theatre. 
 
 Tear bombs were used after all other efforts to stem the actions of 
 the mob had failed. Sheriff John Gray of Champaign County and 
 Roy Innis, Urbana chief of police, arrived with the tear bombs after 
 a call was put in for assistance. Attempts to call out the fire depart- 
 ment and Company B of the Illinois National Guard to aid in dis- 
 persing the mob failed. . . . 
 
 Horns, cowbells, whistles, sirens and guns rivaled the shouts of 
 the mob as it reached the center of Champaign. Cries of "on to 
 the Orph" were cheered by the celebrants. 
 
 Rocks and eggs began to fly in rapid succession shortly after 7:30 
 o'clock, breaking in all but one door of the theatre and smashing 
 glass in the canopy. . . . 
 
 Entreaties by Harold (Red) Grange, Earl Britton and members of 
 the mob who had become disgusted with its tactics were of little or 
 no avail. Small groups followed Grange and Britton when they left 
 for the campus. 
 
 Less than 500 remained in the mob when it marched from the 
 Orpheum to Main Street shortly before 9 o'clock. A rush was made 
 toward the Park theatre, but the mob changed direction when 
 
 112 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 someone called attention to the fact that Jackie Coogan was playing 
 in "The Rag Man" at the Rialto. . . . 
 
 University officials did not intervene in last night's celebration, 
 although calls were put in by the Orpheum management. Dean 
 Thomas Arkle Clark said that he did not intend to aid in dispersing 
 the mob, but that he would leave that task to the Twin City police 
 and fire departments. 
 
 Other celebrations were less violent. On April 5, 1921, a news item 
 reported, 
 
 After awakening the women of the Alpha Gamma Delta house with 
 a half hour serenade, the Ag Club quartette was set upon at 2 o'clock 
 yesterday morning by the Urbana police. Those grasped in the firm 
 hand of the law were Frank H. Shuman '23, Frank G. Makepeace '23, 
 Richard W. Jeffrey '22, and Alvin W. Craver '22. 
 
 The Ag quartette is one of the best known combinations of vocal 
 artists on the campus. The Alpha Gamma Deltas are said to have 
 been duly thrilled and appreciative; they applauded loudly although 
 not noisily, just enough so as to not overreach the bounds of lady- 
 likeness. The quartette waxed more vociferously as they warmed 
 into their work — they had previously made but 13 visits. 
 
 It is said, by those who know, that a resident living in the near 
 distance felt the need of nocturnal rest. So she called the police. 
 
 The Agmen appeared before Police Magistrate U. G. Martin 
 yesterday afternoon. Said the judge: "Urn! I was young once 
 myself. Case dismissed." 
 
 On April 6, 1922, a University milestone was reached with the first 
 broadcast of the campus radio station. The Daily Illini reported the 
 next day, 
 
 With the simplicity of talking into a telephone mouthpiece, Dean 
 Thomas Arkle Clark; Josef E. Wright, director of publicity; Carl 
 Stephens, secretary and treasurer of the alumni association; and F. 
 A. Brown of the department of electrical engineering, inaugurated 
 the radio broadcasting service of the University last night in the 
 electrical engineering laboratory. 
 
 Offerings that ranged from the announcement of the new broad- 
 
 113 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 casting station to a talk on "Why College Students Fail" by Dean 
 Clark filled the half hour of service, while a small audience watched 
 the work in honor of the initial performance. 
 
 Track and baseball news of the University, including the personnel 
 of the baseball team that leaves today on the southern training trip, 
 timely news items clipped from The Daily lllini, special articles on 
 "Turning Cream into Gold," by P. H. Tracy of the department of 
 dairy manufacture, and "The Value of Parks for Towns of Illinois," 
 by Karl B. Lohmann of the department of landscape gardening, 
 stadium facts, and jokes constituted the first program for all hearers. 
 
 Plans were announced for the broadcast of concerts by the Univer- 
 sity Band and the Glee Club, as well as symphony and Star Course 
 numbers. But the Daily lllini, in an editorial on April 7, forecast a 
 much greater role for the new station: 
 
 Through the newly-licensed radio broadcasting station here, the 
 University will gain one distinct and outstanding advantage — a 
 better-informed alumni. ... An effort will be made to have lllini 
 clubs throughout the country to meet on Thursday nights, when the 
 University will send out radio letters on the events of the week. 
 
 Conveying the sounds of University life will give a much more 
 personal touch than the cold, black type of newspaper and magazine 
 correspondence. Seniors of years before may hear the chimes and 
 realize their money was well spent. Alumni may renew acquaintances 
 when they hear their former professors lecturing. The atmosphere 
 of the campus may be transferred to distant points through reproduc- 
 tions of campus lectures, concerts, mass meetings and recitals. . . . 
 
 Not everyone was without reserve in praise for the new venture, 
 however; in a letter headlined "Common Decency in Wireless," a 
 correspondent who signed himself "ZN4" wrote on May 2, 1922, 
 
 Admitting that the transmission of music by wireless is of great benefit 
 to the public in general, there should be unwritten laws observed 
 when using the air for this purpose. 
 
 In the first place it is not considered good practice to keep the 
 generator running when voice is not being transmitted. Also the 
 large Westinghouse stations, located in various parts of the United 
 
 114 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 States, discontinue their programs at 8:55 until 9 o'clock in the 
 evening in order that the local people may receive the time sent out 
 from Arlington, Va., at 9 o'clock. 
 
 It is sincerely hoped that the Oniversity station will allow their 
 intermissions to extend over the hour in the future. 
 
 Despite such occasional sour notes, however, on the whole it was a 
 time of "boosterism" on the campus, as described by Sinclair Lewis 
 in Babbitt and Main Street. Lewis himself applied his viewpoint to 
 the University of Illinois, and it was reprinted in the April 7, 1921, 
 issue. 
 
 In the midst of his lecture last night in the Auditorium, Sinclair Lewis 
 gave a neat little interlude: an impromptu phonographic imitation of 
 "Dr. Kennicott on Illinois" as the character of his book "Main Street" 
 would see it. 
 
 Lewis pictured Kennicott riding north after a day at Illinois talking 
 to the inevitable drummer on the Pullman: 
 
 "Kinda flat around here aint it. Went to the University today. 
 Went down to look it over. 
 
 "Some sorta women's society or organization or something had 
 a lecturer there. Can you imagine that. I tell you they're teaching 
 'em the wrong things now. 
 
 "I'm a college man. I guess I know as much about education as 
 the next one. Oh it's all right for these girls to come to college and 
 take domestic science and go to a dance once in a while but this 
 lecturing. I tell you we got to keep women in their place. Let 'em 
 learn to take care of the kids. 
 
 "Now when I went to college we had Latin, Greek and athletics. 
 My God what else do you want. We need to get back to the old 
 earnestness, that's what this country needs." 
 
 The rest of Lewis' lecture was a faithful mirror of the new events 
 in American letters which were coloring the 1920's. Lewis indicted 
 O. Henry, Kipling, Stevenson, and James "for all the ills present 
 literature is heir to" and then listed "the young school of authors" 
 who were pointing the way to "a great American literature." In- 
 
 115 
 
AN ILLIN1 CENTURY 
 
 eluded on his list were Edith Wharton, Sherwood Anderson, Theo- 
 dore Dreiser, Joseph Hergesheimer, Cable, and Zona Gale. 
 
 Despite such radical criticisms of American society as Lewis' 
 books, however, the new era had not quite dawned. In Tennessee, 
 the Scopes Trial dominated the news of 1925, and the Daily Illini 
 examined it on March 26, 1925, in an editorial titled "The Sun Do 
 Move and Other Stories." 
 
 Down in Tennessee, by the hand and seal of Governor Austin Peay, 
 evolution doesn't exist. It may exist in all the rest of the country, but 
 for Baylor university in the Bible belt of Texas and the colleges of 
 Tennessee there is no such thing. The Tennessee idea is that man 
 sprung full grown calling for beer and sausage. 
 
 Perhaps man didn't come gradually out of the trees — we are 
 not prepared to argue it, but the men who would suppress accredited 
 scientific theories certainly show stronger characteristics of the 
 amoeba than the divine spark in a rational animal. 
 
 And this is what the Republican hillbillies have brought upon 
 Tennessee after many sombulent years under the rule of the Demo- 
 crats. But enough of this — we will prove ourselves as intolerant 
 as the solons of Tennessee if we don't watch out. 
 
 Prof. Oldfather last semester told the story about the two pious 
 old ladies who attended a lecture on evolution. The faith of one of 
 them was shaken a bit by the force and power of the speaker and 
 when it was over she leaned over to her friend and said, "Martha, 
 suppose there should be something in this evolution business after 
 all?" The devout one answered: "If there is, Mary, we must do 
 everything we can not to let it get about." 
 
 And the legislators aren't taking any chances with the young of 
 the good state to the south. 
 
 We are informed also, that over in Indiana a practical-minded 
 Senator introduced a bill to make pi equal to 4 instead of 3.1416 
 plus, as has been the custom for many years, so that the square root 
 might be extracted more easily and the figure handled more con- 
 veniently. The good Senator thought that if he could make the use 
 of pi easier he would make it more popular, which would be a boon 
 to the state, of course. 
 
 116 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 And so we might go on, but William Allen White's favorite on the 
 subject will suffice. J. F. Todd, a Populist orator of the 90's, was 
 pleading for $2 wheat and 75 cent corn. He wanted a law. "If 
 the law of supply and demand gives us 65 cent wheat and 20 cent 
 corn," he roared, when reminded that we already had a law of 
 supply and demand, "repeal the dad-burned old law." 
 
 "This is a funny world. And the sun do move," remarked White 
 editorially later when he came around to supporting a measure for 
 maintaining the price of grain against the law of supply and demand, 
 which had been nullified by the speculators. "Age is wiser than 
 youth because age knows what has happened. Youth only has an 
 idea of what can't happen." 
 
 And so age may bring agreement with the solons of Tennessee. 
 Already we admit the possibility of the fact of their position. Youth 
 merely finds fault with their methods, for if man really did emerge 
 from the slime of the pool, their laws cannot change the fact. 
 
 "Youth only knows what can't happen." 
 
 If evolution was one raging controversy of the decade, "flappers" 
 were another. An editorial on February 11, 1922, quoting a Univer- 
 sity of Chicago student as saying, "The time for the bob is passed. 
 The girl of today wants to look like she had plently of pretty, long 
 hair," asked, "What will become of the arguments for sanitation and 
 ease of care, now?" The answer was, nothing: the demise of the 
 bob, like the demise of so many fads, turned out to be greatly exag- 
 gerated. The boom in coeducation after the war received, in gen- 
 eral, a decidedly mixed reaction from students. On May 12, 1922, 
 a correspondent who signed herself "Victoria N. Mayde" wrote to 
 the editor, 
 
 "A girl just has to be a three-ringed circus nowadays to keep a man 
 amused. He wants a continuous vaudeville." This remark came 
 from a girl of quiet demeanor. Perhaps this is one reason why women 
 have taken to using rouge, powder, plucking their eyebrows, dress- 
 ing their hair in such outlandish fashion, and so out-doing Mother 
 Nature in brilliancy, and in so-called beauty, that the girl who does 
 not use cosmetics, nor dress her hair in the latest puff, is paled by her 
 more highly colored sister. She gets little attention. 
 
 117 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 It is encouraging to see that one of your readers is interested in 
 the serious-minded girl. Would there were more. It is woman's am- 
 bition to please the opposite sex, and I am sure that if it were ever 
 known that men did not like this flappishness one would find the 
 tables reversed. The majority would be sober-minded, serious and 
 lovable girls. 
 
 Two days later, a correspondent signed "Achilles" wrote, 
 
 I am an alumnus. I came to Illinois before the co-educational propor- 
 tion had reached its present status. It is with regret that I see the 
 changes which are coming about. I refer to the demoralization of 
 Illinois men. 
 
 One who glances about over the campus these warm days can 
 come to no other conclusion than that the lllini race is becoming soft. 
 Our men are losing their vitality and their virility: they are becoming 
 nothing but pampered daters. Every day we see men and women 
 nestled together as they come to class in automobiles. Our campus 
 confectionaries are filled with couples and foursomes, sipping sugary 
 beverages, whispering weak flub-dubs, lolling, making eyes, choking 
 with smoke, stroking hands, killing time, and trifling with affection. 
 
 Every pleasant afternoon finds hundreds of strong, ambitious men 
 with nothing to do but stroll on the south campus. Every week-end 
 night finds our campus leaders clamouring for dance tickets. 
 
 Men of Illinois have ceased to strengthen themselves through asso- 
 ciation with their fellow men; they must have the company of women, 
 and through over-indulgence in their society, they are losing their 
 energy and their spirit. 
 
 What has become of the old days when we saw men, MEN, walk- 
 ing together on our campus and in our University district? Where are 
 the times when men went together to concerts, celebrations, athletic 
 games and theatres? Where are the days when men engaged in 
 spirited conversation among themselves as they walked to and from 
 classes? What has become of the man who would walk from Main 
 Hall to Lincoln Hall without extending his arm to some University 
 woman? 
 
 Illinois is facing a crisis. Either her men will have to wake up and 
 take an interest in life, or she may well resign herself into being a 
 
 118 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 young ladies seminary on callers' evening. Illinois men cannot be 
 slaves to women and retain the virility that used to characterize the 
 tribe. 
 
 The letter received an avalanche of replies; one, signed "TWO OF 
 'EM," appeared on May 16, 1922. 
 
 Upon perusing the communication entitled "lllini Degeneration," we 
 learned with great consternation and regret that Illinois men no 
 longer possess the strength, energy and spirit of their forebears. 
 Since we are among the number of those thus accused of effeminizing 
 the manly race, we decided to conduct a scientific investigation to 
 determine whether Illinois men have degenerated to this appalling 
 degree, and if so, whether it is due to the "present status of co- 
 educational proportion." 
 
 To be more than fair in gathering our data, we choose a time as 
 unfavorable to our own viewpoint as possible, for on Sunday evening 
 one would expect to find an unusually large number of "pampered 
 daters" in the vicinity of the University. 
 
 The statistics we gathered were as follows: 
 
 "Pampered daters" 31 
 
 Unattended coeds 26 
 
 Men 168 
 
 It is apparent that there were nearly as many non-seducing co-eds 
 as the number of those who were hastening the supposed degenera- 
 tion of the virility of the lllini tribe, while the feminists were far out- 
 numbered by their manly brothers. 
 
 Many men were able to hold themselves aloof from the softening 
 influence of women. To this heroic self-sacrifice is due, no doubt, 
 Illinois' continued high standing in athletics. 
 
 The numbers of students "nestled together as they come to class in 
 automobiles" inevitably led to a campus traffic problem. On March 
 9, 1918, a news item reported a motion at the Champaign City 
 Council to assign a uniformed policeman to arrest speeders in the 
 campus district. 
 
 Commissioner Ramey pointed out that there were a great many com- 
 plaints from the people living in the University district asking for re- 
 
 119 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 lief from the excessive speed of automobiles. It was for this reason 
 that he recommended that a motorcycle policeman be assigned to 
 the district daily from noon until midnight. After much discussion, 
 the commission voted to table the motion until next meeting. The ob- 
 jections offered by Commissioners Babb and Franks were that a uni- 
 formed officer would scare the speeders and violators of the law. 
 
 An editorial on April 8, 1925, indicated, however, that such scruples 
 eventually had to be overcome: 
 
 The student car has been chased out of another favorite refuge. For- 
 bidden on Wright street for more than an hour and crowded off John 
 and Daniel streets, the Flivver sought parking space in the large 
 cinder yard back of the Illinois Union building [later renamed lllini 
 Hall]. But even the politicians did not want them. The Union has 
 ordered cars to stay out of its back yard. 
 
 The Union, of course, was right in barring cars from parking there. 
 But the result is that the available parking space has been cut down. 
 In fact, there is practically no room on or within a block of the campus 
 where unlimited parking is permitted. And even one hour parking has 
 been confined to a hopelessly inadequate space. 
 
 We recognize the fact that the University administration looks with 
 disfavor upon the student car. It has done what it could through 
 propaganda to create a sentiment against them. It has done all it 
 can to discourage cars by abolishing parking on the campus during 
 school hours and persuading the city commissioners to limit parking 
 on Wright street. It has not provided any parking space in an in- 
 offensive locality and has taken no steps, so far as we know, to widen 
 Wright street. 
 
 Now we will not question the morality of the student car. All we 
 concede is that they are not wanted. The University has the power to 
 completely bar them if it chooses to do so. This, it strikes us, would 
 be a better plan. Rather than taking these indirect measures to dis- 
 courage the student car and making it harder for those citizens who 
 have a constitutional right to gasoline navigation, the administration 
 would do better to say "no" to the student car owners and be done 
 with this dilly-dallying once and for all. . . . 
 
 120 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 The student car shared the limelight with Prohibition during much 
 of the decade. On January 23, 1920, Campus Scout noted, "Ike 
 Hanan advertises, 'Turn Old Clothes into Money.' If Ike is well- 
 versed along the lines of transformation, we have a case of near-beer 
 we would like to have him work on." And on December 4, 1926, a 
 news item described the scene in the rear of the county courthouse 
 when Sheriff John Gray and six deputies poured some $7,000 worth 
 of illicit liquor into the ground: "More than 300 gallons of wine 
 and 1,500 pint and quart bottles of home-brewed beer sank out of 
 sight before the moist eyes and watering lips of the crowd which 
 assembled to watch the carnage, drawn by the odor of alcohol. . . ." 
 Despite the stereotyped picture of the twenties, however, student 
 life did not consist entirely of football games and souped-up autos. 
 Many students were working their way through college, and an item 
 on February 7, 1922, noted, 
 
 Hard times, lack of work, and depletion of the student loan funds 
 have combined to make the lot of the self-supporting student hard, 
 according to Dean Thomas Arkle Clark and M. I. Coldwell, employ- 
 ment officer of the student YMCA. 
 
 Although it is impossible to check up on withdrawals, because stu- 
 dents who withdraw between semesters need no clearance papers, it 
 is likely that many are staying out this semester for financial reasons. 
 All the money in the loan fund has been loaned, and many are on 
 the waiting list. 
 
 "Students are slow about paying back what they borrow. They 
 find it hard to meet their notes when they fall due," said Dean Clark 
 yesterday. "I think another angle to the tight money situation is the 
 economy which it makes necessary. There is undoubtedly less ex- 
 travagance than usual among students." 
 
 Coldwell announced yesterday that the applications for jobs far 
 exceed the positions open. "Several have told me they will have to 
 withdraw unless they get work immediately," he said. "Others are 
 delaying registration until they are sure of employment. They are 
 willing to do any sort of work, but boarding house jobs are wanted 
 most." 
 
 A possible cause of the shortage of work, according to Coldwell, 
 
 121 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 is economizing by boarding houses. "I am sure some establishments 
 work men overtime without extra pay," he said yesterday. "They get 
 along with fewer men than they really need by making the helpers 
 work more than three hours a day, the established period for waiters 
 or kitchen helpers. The men cannot complain publicly or they would 
 lose their jobs, and they prefer doing an unfair amount of work to 
 doing none at all." 
 
 A more direct indictment of campus landladies — known by the 
 generic term of "Mrs. Jeremiah" — came in a letter to the editor 
 from "Mrs. Jeremiah's Roomer," published April 28, 1922: 
 
 As one of the unfortunate birds who has lucklessly fallen into the 
 miserly clutches of the Mrs. Jeremiah and a few others of her ilk, I 
 would like to take this opportunity to expose some of the crude pred- 
 atory methods which she employs. 
 
 Periodically and with unfailing regularity db we notice the pseudo- 
 angelic and super-courteous demeanor of Mrs. Jeremiah at the be- 
 ginning of each semester. Ye Gods, how cheerful and accommodat- 
 ing she was that day we looked at her rooms. Here at last, we 
 thought, was the perfect landlady. But we were soon disillusioned. 
 
 Her choosing of the time to ventilate her perennial grouch is a 
 case in point, sufficiently late to avoid losing the room-rent from her 
 present roomers, yet sufficiently early to avoid losing the prospects of 
 the summer's supply. . . . 
 
 If Mrs. Jeremiah did not wish to pay for her house and lot out of 
 her first year's rent she might be able to place a receptacle in the 
 bathroom for the "rusty razor blades" with which the freshman crops 
 his weekly growth of down. Or she might furnish some heat to ob- 
 viate the necessity of taking warming exercises by "plunging through 
 left tackle," to say nothing of the sheer necessity of "smoking ciga- 
 rettes in bed." And as to wading through mud, little did we think 
 when ankle-deep in Flanders that we should need to go through it 
 all again, albeit as an indoor sport. 
 
 But for all this we do not become profane until we find, upon going 
 to church, that there she is, singing and praying — heavens, what a 
 travesty on Christian ethics. We would even wax profane on the spot 
 
 122 
 
THE SIXTH DECADE 1917-26 
 
 were it not for that we exhausted our available supply while trying 
 to get hot water for our Sunday morning shave. So we humbly bow 
 with our landlady and pray that the good Lord deliver us. 
 
 Landladies, Prohibition, unemployment, and the parking problem 
 notwithstanding, advertisements such as this one, published on April 
 25, 1922, give the impression that the 1920's were not the worst of 
 times to be an undergraduate : 
 
 AN EXPLANATION AND AN APOLOGY 
 
 Our ad headed, "Is it 'din' or is it 'music'?" offended some of our 
 cafeteria and cafe friends who do not have orchestras during meals. 
 They thought our ad was aimed at them. But we beg to explain and 
 apologize: we were referring to the slogan of a large Chicago cafe 
 that advertises "No orchestral din." 
 
 We said, you remember, that we thought our patrons liked music. 
 The large numbers that come in the evenings now certainly proves it. 
 
 Wednesday Special 
 VEAL POT PIE 
 
 COOPERS CAFETERIA * Music Every Evening, 5:50 to 6:50 
 
 In the June 11, 1923, issue of the Daily Illini, a special Com- 
 mencement edition, the Campus Scout column was given over to 
 the thoughts of a new graduate. The author was David Felts, now 
 retired editorial page editor and a columnist for Lindsay-Schaub 
 newspapers. 
 
 After a brief vacation of a week spent in putting the finishing touches 
 on our college education, we return to grind out this Commencement 
 edition of the Campus Scout, monumental offering to the Great God 
 Bunk. We find our typewriter jammed and the sacred desk drawers 
 stuffed with sophomoric ideas of wit, humor and cynicism, the latter 
 the most laughable of all. During our vacation we have had the su- 
 preme pleasure of making this column, an honor denied us heretofore 
 because we have held positions of honor and trust on the staff of the 
 World's Greatest College Daily. 
 
 But our time has come and we trundle southward next week with 
 
 123 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 a hazy idea of conquering the world single-handed but always cher- 
 ishing the thought that if our parent has maintained us for 23 years 
 perhaps he can hold out for another year. He expects it and we 
 shrink from disappointing our parent. But that is neither here nor 
 there. 
 
 Today we don the funny gowns and march with the measured tread 
 as befits an alumnus and Bachelor of Arts. We have fulfilled our 
 group requirements and proudly own a C in Botany and five precious 
 hours in math. We have toiled for four years to get ahead and now 
 find ourselves one of several hundred thousand eager young men and 
 women bursting from the academic halls clutching a diploma and 
 kidding ourselves into believing that they are of the elect. 
 
 Next homecoming, if we have a boss, and if the boss lets us off, 
 we will be back to sit on the particular rivet that our subscription [to 
 the Memorial Stadium fund drive] bought and paid for, and pull this 
 old grad stuff that we have heard so much about. And we hope that 
 you will be patient when we look about and reminiscently start — 
 "Yes, but when I was in college — " 
 
 124 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE SEVENTH DECADE 
 
 1927-36 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 Some sort of a dirge for the "good old days" of the theatre should 
 
 be sung over the new policy of R.K.O. in conducting the Orpheum. 
 
 For the first time in the history of the house, no vaudeville at all will 
 
 be shown. . . . 
 
 — News item, September 28, 1930 
 
 The University's seventh decade began at the height of the Jazz Age 
 and ended in the depths of the Depression. The market crash 
 brought substantial changes to the campus, and to the student mind. 
 The spirit of the Roaring Twenties was muted as more students 
 sought part-time work, and by 1933 even the familiar chimes of 
 Altgeld Hall were stilled. It was no longer possible to pay the chime 
 player's salary. 
 
 The undergraduate whirl of frenetic social life never quite recov- 
 ered from the Depression. The advent of the "three-dollar prom," 
 a Depression measure, came at a time when the "Gentleman's C" 
 was no longer quite respectable. The campus had grown more seri- 
 ous, more bent on education as education became more difficult to 
 obtain. And a quickening interest in social and political questions 
 was present in the student body. 
 
 It was an especially eventful ten years for the University; Harry 
 Woodburn Chase, a liberal educator from North Carolina, became 
 president in 1930 and undertook wide reforms of regulations, teach- 
 ing practices, and campus life. Some described his administration 
 as "stormy"; others believed the shaking-up of established practices 
 was in keeping with the times. Chase left after three years, the tar- 
 
 125 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 get of those who disagreed with his policies, and after the interim 
 administration of Arthur Hill Daniels, Arthur Cutts Willard began 
 a long tenure as president in 1934. Willard was perhaps more tem- 
 perate in his attitude toward change than Chase had been, but he 
 clearly understood that the Depression had brought with it a new 
 kind of University with new kinds of problems. The passing of the 
 old guard seemed final when, on July 18, 1932, death came to 
 Thomas Arkle Clark. 
 
 President Chase's inaugural address on May 1, 1931, reflected the 
 sense of change : 
 
 To drift toward a comfortable theory of mass production is easy. It 
 involves merely a multiplication of general rules and regulations, de- 
 signed to label all conceivable acts in advance, so that all that is 
 necessary in any given case is to determine the proper pigeonhole in 
 which it belongs. The way out is not so simple. It includes, first, 
 recognition of the fact that general regulations should be kept at an 
 absolute minimum. . . . 
 
 For exceptional and unusual students must be given a large mea- 
 sure of freedom. I am convinced that, given intelligence and the dis- 
 position to do so, the large institution, with its resources and capabil- 
 ities, is in an exceedingly favorable position to meet the individual 
 problems and needs of the student body. . . . 
 
 After all, we have here, not only students, but a student community 
 and we have a responsibility to that community. In it, as in our class- 
 rooms, we are making men and women. Out of that community ought 
 to come people with habits of self-reliance and with a willingness to 
 assume responsibility. The task of the university is not merely the 
 negative one of preventing and punishing breaches of discipline. It 
 is also the more difficult one of helping to secure in that environment 
 happiness, stimulation, adjustment, proper living and working, recre- 
 ational conditions and the formation of ideals and character. . . . 
 
 The problems which Chase saw in 1931, however, would have still 
 
 been alien to the University of 1927, when the decade began. The 
 
 Jazz Age still reigned then, and automobiles still presented a moral 
 
 — not, as would be the case in a lew years, a financial - — problem. 
 
 126 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 The atmosphere of fraternity life in the 1920's was reflected in a 
 news item on March 8, 1927, which reported, 
 
 A new light on fraternity ideals and a discussion of fraternity prob- 
 lems from various angles was given by four men who have been 
 active in the national organizations of their respective fraternities in 
 the first all-fraternity gathering ever to be held on this campus last 
 night in the Auditorium. 
 
 The fraternity's duty in the promotion of decency and good-fellow- 
 ship was emphasized in all the talks, and when H. H. Rice of the 
 General Motors Corporation brought out the contention that this 
 could only be effective through the individual himself and not through 
 any artificial means such as the prohibition of cars, the audience be- 
 came keyed to high pitch and applauded loudly. 
 
 The speaker indicated that the automobile was no more a force 
 for immorality than the telephone over which students made their 
 dates, and he cited a few incidents to show that cars were not an 
 important factor in determining a student's scholarship. The car 
 itself does not make for snobbishness, he continued, for democracy is 
 a thing of the heart, and if the car owner has the right temperament, 
 it makes for good fellowship. 
 
 "While I do not approve of cigarettes for girls, nor flasks for men," 
 Mr. Rice explained, "I do not fear the future because all this is on 
 the surface. . . ." 
 
 In discussing the criticism of fraternities, Dean Thomas Arkle Clark 
 showed how a great many of these were justified. "The best workers 
 and the worst loafers are in fraternities," he said, "but this is not 
 inherent in fraternities." 
 
 If love and brotherhood mean anything to the fraternity man, he 
 will give up the things that make for disintegration, the speaker con- 
 tinued. There would be no drunkenness if the symbolism of the re- 
 spective orders were lived up to, Dean Clark concluded, and scholar- 
 ship and character would then take care of themselves. . . . 
 
 Despite Mr. Rice's defense of the automobile on moral grounds, the 
 Daily Illini was able to note in an editorial on September 16, 1928, 
 
 127 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 ; 'The parlor sofa isn't what it used to be. It's made of black leather 
 now, and is set right behind the steering wheel." 
 
 Dean Clark gave the impression in his regular Sunday articles for 
 the Daily Illini, however, that time-tested methods of discipline were 
 still adequate to deal with new kinds of offenses. In his Sunday 
 Eight O'Clock column for May 8, 1927, Dean Clark wrote, 
 
 Gregory was brought in by the campus policeman a few days ago 
 for smoking in one of the buildings, or driving by the stop light near 
 the Agricultural building, or for some minor dereliction. He was a 
 trifle high-hatted at first, but before he went out he saw his error and 
 admitted it. He came back in a few minutes rather shyly and a little 
 embarrassed. 
 
 "Well?" I inquired. 
 
 "Are you going to write my mother about this?" he asked. 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 "It didn't amount to much," he said, "but mother thinks I'm per- 
 fect, and she would be hurt and would worry if she knew I had got 
 into any kind of difficulty." 
 
 "I have no thought of writing anyone," I said, "but if I were you 
 I shouldn't get into any difficulty that would worry her if she knew 
 of it." 
 
 I scarcely ever see a boy who has been drunken or dishonest or dis- 
 sipated who, when he is detected in disgrace and the publicity of it 
 stares him in the face, does not think first of his mother and try to 
 devise some way in which he may pay the penalty alone so that she 
 may be spared the humiliation and the disgrace attached to his ir- 
 regularity. Even the worst boy I have ever known has always wanted 
 to appear well in the eyes of his mother, and to have her think him 
 worthy of respect. . . . No matter how nearly men may lose respect 
 for other women, there is always in their hearts a regard for her, a 
 desire to keep her confidence. . . . The boy is pretty far gone who 
 will not be appealed to for his mother's sake. 
 
 When fraternities found difficulty in keeping their pledges in line, 
 however, they appealed, not to a boy's regard for his mother, but to 
 
 128 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 an even tenderer spot. "Sud" Hurt of the class of 1929 wrote to the 
 editor on November 9, 1927, 
 
 After having spent three semesters as a pledge in three different 
 social fraternities upon our campus . . . and upon now being a so- 
 called "upper classman" and member of such an organization, I am 
 of the opinion that the paddle has no place in the hand of a student 
 dealing with a fellow student. . . . 
 
 Now as an upperclassman I find that in the majority of cases in 
 dealing with freshmen, that it is the Sophomore who is most in favor 
 of paddling, and the Senior who is least in favor, which is further 
 proof to me that paddling can well be characterized as a means of 
 expressing the desire to "get it back on the other fellow". . . . 
 
 Freshmen who come to the University are in the habit of having 
 been reasoned with during their last five or six years of experience 
 — why should they be made to come under the influence of this 
 childish method of discipline through fear? . . . 
 
 Two days later, G. H. Fitzgerald of the class of 1928 replied to 
 Hurt's letter, "I will take my stand with anyone who is against 
 unnecessary and wanton paddling and I hope that the day will soon 
 come when the use of the paddle will be very rare but as long as 
 freshmen act like children they should be treated as such." 
 
 Times changed with the advent of the Depression, however. A 
 news item in the freshman edition for September, 1932, noted, "For 
 the first time in many years freshman fraternity pledges will not 
 wear the traditional green 'spot' this fall. The Interfraternity coun- 
 cil, composed of fraternity representatives, agreed to this action last 
 spring. The class of '36 will be the first one almost since the found- 
 ing of the University in which some group will not wear the green 
 cap. When the tradition was started years ago, all freshmen wore 
 the 'spot.' But later it became customary for only the fraternity 
 first year pledges to wear the caps. . . ." 
 
 But if "spots" and hell week were officially condemned, there 
 were other ways of gaining entertainment from the green freshmen. 
 One was the annual Pajama Race, one of the oldest standing prac- 
 tical jokes on campus. The 1935 version was described in an Octo- 
 ber 10 news item: 
 
 129 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Pajama clad freshmen filled the streets surrounding Fraternity Row 
 last night as the preliminary heat of the Skull and Crescent pajama 
 race, variously known as the Freshman Splash Party, or "Slaughter of 
 the Innocents," was run off before several hundred yowling upper- 
 classmen, and what few astounded passersby happened to be in the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 The pledges from the Fraternity Row houses, after running around 
 the block in their pajamas in what was supposedly a preliminary heat 
 for the regular race to be held next Wednesday night, were lined up 
 on the steps of the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house to have their picture 
 taken. 
 
 They lined up eagerly, but instead of the anticipated flash of the 
 camera bulb, the freshmen were deluged by a small Niagara of 
 water poured on them by the upperclassmen from the roof of the 
 SAE house. The same trick has been staged for years and years. . . . 
 
 Another freshman task for many years was the collecting of wood 
 for the annual bonfire. An editorial on October 10, 1934, warned. 
 
 Not even the shingles on the smokehouse are safe when the annual 
 collection of wood for the Homecoming bonfire begins. Too many 
 Twin Cities residents are feeling apprehensive just now as they see 
 pledges scouring the city for inflammable miscellanea. ... To keep 
 the respect of townspeople and fellow-students, those gathering wood 
 for the bonfire should refrain from stealing property. It is true that 
 an urban district such as the Twin Cities is unusually lacking in free 
 and available firewood. But it is also true that University students 
 have a position to maintain. . . . 
 
 Position to maintain or otherwise, some students did not heed the 
 annual warning. The very next issue of the newspaper reported, 
 "Ten University students, all members of Phi Delta Theta fraternity, 
 were charged with larceny last night for an alleged theft of prop- 
 erty from Willard school and from a grain elevator near Myra sta- 
 tion, four miles southeast of Urbana. Given preliminary hearings 
 before Justice J. J. Reynolds of Urbana, they stated they had been 
 hunting wood for the Homecoming bonfire. . . ." 
 
 At a more sedate level, President Chase's reforms continued. On 
 
 130 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 October 20, 1931, the University for the first time made class atten- 
 dance a matter between the instructor and student. Abolishing the 
 practice of official "excuses" for non-attendance, Chase said instruc- 
 tors should report absent students to the deans of their colleges "if 
 attendance becomes so irregular that their scholarship is likely to be 
 impaired." And on the same day, an editorial commented on the 
 new women's hours, also put into effect by Chase, 
 
 Co-eds on other campuses have been staging major and minor in- 
 surrections against authority, but a much wanted reform has been 
 effected on this campus without many persons being aware of what 
 was happening. . . . Woman's League last night ratified the proposal 
 that closing hours be extended for all nights. From now on, week 
 nights will be 10:30 nights and on Friday and Saturday night, the 
 closing hour will be 1 o'clock. On Sunday night, campus women may 
 stay out until 11 o'clock. . . . 
 
 As one of the first evidences of liberalism on the campus, and a 
 recognition of the fact that conditions have changed since the time 
 the rules were made, the action is to be especially commended. 
 Woman's League, the dean of women, and other authorities have 
 recognized the need without any agitation on the part of campus 
 women in general. 
 
 The liberalized rules put into effect in 1931 would stay unchanged 
 for more than 30 years. Explaining his reforms of regulations to 
 more than 1,000 fathers of Illini at a Dad's Day meeting in the new 
 Huff Gymnasium, Chase said on November 7, 1931, "There is a 
 feeling that if we are to avoid the danger that universities are to be 
 agencies for mass production in which students move in lock step 
 we must think more of the individual and his needs. . . ." 
 
 The decade was one of great popularity for campus "hangouts." 
 By September 22, 1928, the Daily Illini was already waxing nostalgic 
 about the good old beaneries of the past : 
 
 Each passing year marks in its turn the passing of some famous 
 campus "dive". . . . 
 
 When we were freshmen, there were a number of "open all night" 
 beaneries on the campus which we frequented during our spare 
 
 131 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 hours. Almost every night at midnight, or 1 o'clock, or later, we went 
 to the particular place which was the favorite for the moment to get 
 the necessary coffee. The next year, almost every one of these haunts 
 was closed, or had decided to close after the dinner hour. . . . 
 
 But this year the greatest blow of all was dealt. Three of the 
 famous haunts — places which we had grown to know as we know 
 our own homes — have been remodeled beyond recognition. 
 
 They have been modernized, and they have been cleaned, they 
 blaze with lights, and glisten with mirrors; they have new phono- 
 graphs and new china, but we liked the old places better. We pre- 
 ferred the dirty floors and tables, the cracked chinaware, and the 
 raspy phonograph. We liked the places, not because they were sani- 
 tary, but because they were home-like to us, and we felt comfortable 
 in them. . . . 
 
 The author of that editorial might have been comforted had he 
 known that a new generation of campus "dives" would come into 
 being with the repeal of Prohibition. A news item on December 5, 
 1934, surveyed the effects which repeal had on the campus. 
 
 Today marks the first anniversary of the death of Federal prohibition 
 in America, and of legalized drinking of hard liquors for this genera- 
 tion of University students. 
 
 In an effort to find out what effect the new privilege has had 
 on campus drinking — and campus drunkenness — The Daily lllini 
 queried campus activity and social leaders, and adults connected 
 with University life. The survey indicated: 
 
 1. A majority of campus leaders feel that drinking is done in a 
 less boisterous fashion now, even though they don't know whether 
 amounts are greater or less. They seem to believe that repeal was 
 a worthwhile step. 
 
 2. Organized house dances, according to the reports of sponsors, 
 are on a much higher plane this year than they were formerly. At 
 only one house-dance all year has there been a complaint concerning 
 conduct, and that case was not based on any liquor trouble. 
 
 3. Apparently the demoralizing illness and complete loss of self- 
 control which often followed drinking during prohibition is largely 
 gone. 
 
 132 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 4. A good share of the opinion that student drinking has in- 
 creased, and that conditions are worse now, comes from adults, part 
 of whose duties concern social work. 
 
 5. There is no great difference of opinion on the question between 
 students in organized houses and independents. 
 
 6. The offices of the dean of men and of the dean of women both 
 comment that the situation seems better than it was. . . . 
 
 When Arthur Cutts Willard took office in 1934, following the in- 
 terim presidency of Daniels, his early speeches reflected a concern 
 for social problems that was equal to Chase's. However, in such 
 matters as class attendance Willard was a member of the older 
 school. Willard's general philosophy was set down in a speech which 
 the newspaper reprinted on July 18, 1934. 
 
 It is the function and the great obligation of the University of Illinois 
 to develop the latent abilities of our students in any field of human 
 endeavor in which they may be interested. It is, in my opinion, 
 equally mandatory on the University of Illinois to produce men and 
 men who, when face to face with life in a world that is far from 
 perfect, in a world that measures success too often by material 
 accomplishments regardless of the means employed, will use their 
 knowledge for the good and not the harm of other men and women. 
 The college educated man or woman who has received that educa- 
 tion largely at public expense at a state university owes a particular 
 debt, indeed must accept a unique obligation, to those other men 
 and women who may not have had the privilege of attending such a 
 university. The problems ahead of us can only be appraised and 
 possibly solved by an intelligent body of citizens equipped with 
 knowledge of, and keenly alert to, the significance of present social, 
 economic and political trends. Above all, we must be actuated by an 
 honesty of purpose which accepts no program and recognizes no 
 leadership which will not stand the test of an intelligent criticism by 
 educated, alert, straight thinking college men and women. . . . 
 
 Despite his generally progressive philosophy, Willard received criti- 
 cism at the beginning of his term from some who considered him an 
 opposite to the liberal Chase. Daily Illini Editor J. Ben Lieberman 
 
 133 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 considered the problem after class attendance checks were reintro- 
 duced. In a column on November 6, 1934, Lieberman wrote, 
 
 I am in classes in which before this week there was no roll taken. We 
 used to come to class meetings if we wished, and stay away if we 
 wished. When we came, we sat wherever we wished — hardly ever 
 in the same seat twice. The instructors frankly did not care. They 
 felt — and quite correctly, I say — that their only business was to 
 teach. If we as students did not want to come, that was our business. 
 They were to teach us all they could, and give us grades on what we 
 learned. And the entire proceeding, of course, was up to us. We 
 had been the ones that decided we wanted to come to college; now 
 that we are here, it follows, we are the ones to decide if we want to 
 go to class. 
 
 The result was an informality about these classes that made learn- 
 ing a pleasure. We did not go to class muttering about how we 
 wished we didn't have to go. We went because we wanted to go — 
 because we wanted to learn. And we went because there was none 
 of that formality and restraint about sitting in assigned seats and 
 knowing we were being checked each day as sheep. We felt that 
 we were at last being treated as men and women, upon our own 
 responsibility. . . . 
 
 Some students felt, however, that this informality had ended with 
 the inauguration of Willard. In his column on the next day, Lieber- 
 man wrote, 
 
 When Harry Woodburn Chase assumed the presidency, he upset the 
 applecart, and turned things over to the students to a large degree. 
 The faculty, which before had done the ruling, sat and shivered — 
 what would the students do? President Chase left — some say he 
 ran out, some say he was turned out, and some keep their opinions 
 to themselves — and the university faced indecision, in the midst of 
 a revolutionary change without a leader to guide it. Acting President 
 Daniels, to some extent at least and possibly to a great extent, did 
 not agree with Dr. Chase, but whether he did or did not mattered 
 but little since he was in temporarily for one year, with no opportun- 
 ity of doing anything constructive on his own account. It was as 
 
 134 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 much as one could expect — if not more — if he could keep order. 
 That he did remarkably. 
 
 The task has been left to President Willard. As one student more 
 or less in touch with the Administration's attitude and plans, my per- 
 sonal opinion has so far been sympathetic for what President Willard 
 has in mind and what he is trying to do. I have said it before: he 
 must be given a fair chance, and even we students who are here for 
 such a short period and must jump at hasty conclusions if we are to 
 have any at all should be at least that fair about it. 
 
 I have heard the cry already — because of the change in the at- 
 tendance records procedure — that the President is fast becoming 
 "reactionary." Some say that the two words "president" and "re- 
 actionary" are synonymous anyhow, but that is a little too dogmatic 
 for me. I say that I don't know — but I think not. . . . 
 
 The Depression, of course, was a constant fact of the 1930's. It 
 forced changes in campus organizations, adjustments in student 
 lives, and an ever-present search for work. A news item on Septem- 
 ber 1, 1930, reported, 
 
 That competition for jobs will be unusually keen this fall is the warn- 
 ing that comes from the employment bureau of the YMCA. . . . "Many 
 jobs have been filled in advance and a large number of men will be 
 after those which remain," according to Dwight Bracken. "In view of 
 these facts a new student who enters the University with a reserve of 
 less than $300 . . . will be unable to do justice to his studies and his 
 health. Only those who actually need work to stay in school should 
 seek jobs. If a student takes a job which he does not need he will 
 force some other student to go home." 
 
 On June 21, 1931, noting "there is at least one of these in every 
 day's stock of contribs," Campus Scout reprinted this letter: "Dear 
 Scout: The stock crash seems to have made Dad intensely patriotic. 
 Every time we hit him for an additional tenner, he says, 'Son, re- 
 member the Vanishing American.' We think he means U.S. Steel." 
 
 On September 10, 1931, the YMCA surveyed the employment 
 situation for the coming year and found it worse than before. The 
 "Y" reported that 552 applications had been received for employ- 
 
 135 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 merit, compared to 150 on the same date in 1930. On September 
 30, 1931, Elston D. (El) Herron of the class of 1932 wrote in his 
 Campus Inactivities column, 
 
 I think I'm safe in saying that probably more parents and more sons 
 and daughters are making sacrifices for an education this year than 
 in many, many years past. Seriously, there's something grand about 
 the thing, and something cheery about the way these hundreds of 
 young bloods get along on half as much money as they've had be- 
 fore, and still keep their collegiate grins going full blast. 
 
 You don't hear much griping about the depression, but everyone's 
 thinking about it. It's such a far cry from the small townism so many 
 of us are used to where men get so busy talking about hard times 
 that they never have any time to do anything about it. As far as 
 they're concerned, opportunity is the thing that just passed by. 
 
 To me the most interesting thing about the depression's visit to the 
 campus is the bevy of tasks it has led students to take upon them- 
 selves in addition to their school work. Students are selling every- 
 thing from needles to threshing machines, from electric refrigerators 
 to shoe laces. 
 
 And they aren't making any bones about admitting that they're 
 selling things. The day has passed when fellows were ashamed, for 
 some foolish reason, to admit that they were trying to make a little 
 money in ways other than writing back to the old homestead. 
 
 On October 7, 1931, in a letter to the editor, President Chase asked 
 men who were working only for spending money to "consider the 
 fact that there are students struggling hard to get work enough to 
 make a bare subsistence in order to stay in the University at all." 
 In September, 1932, the University for the first time opened its 
 own employment bureau. Dwight Bracken moved over from the 
 YMCA to head it, and told the Daily lllini, "As long ago as last 
 October, men began to write in about securing jobs for the fall. 
 They began to pay personal visits to the employment office in 
 March, and many students have been walking the streets of Cham- 
 paign-Urbana since that time in an attempt to find some kind of 
 work. . . ." Another sign of the times, on October 19, 1932, was this 
 
 136 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 article: "Since the campus fraternities began to feel the effects of 
 the crash, which came late in 1929, monthly house-bills of the or- 
 ganized houses on the University campus have dropped 11.52 per 
 cent from October 1930 to October 1932. . . ." 
 
 There was a feeling, often expressed, that the market crash had 
 brought sobering and often beneficial changes in the student body. 
 A news item on October 22, 1932: 
 
 "College students of today are developing clearer concepts of their 
 responsibilities both politically and socially, partially as a result of 
 the present economic depression and partly as a reaction to the so- 
 called 'collegiate' or 'jazz' age of a few years ago," Prof. W. L. 
 Burlison, head of the department of agronomy, declared in an inter- 
 view yesterday. 
 
 The average student is recovering splendidly from the jazz age — 
 which was not so wild as many people suppose, Prof. Burlison said. 
 There has always been a strong underlying current of conservatism 
 among the University student body and all the wrong impressions of 
 the irregular life led by college students are given by relatively few 
 students. 
 
 "Present economic conditions," continued Prof. Burlison, "have 
 slowed down the fast living pace of a few years ago, sobering youth 
 and changing them for the better. Even the so-called radical of the 
 campus is not really radical in the true sense of the word. He is 
 only thought so by observers, much like older people who are not 
 acquainted with the University, interpreting the ideas of youth in the 
 light of an older mind. . . ." 
 
 Exception was taken to this view, however, in a column by Editor 
 J. Ben Lieberman on October 7, 1934: 
 
 Students are supposed to be thinking more seriously now that the de- 
 pression has had its sobering influence, but I'm afraid that the change 
 hasn't been very great. For some reason, the usual undergraduate 
 still refuses to be worried by anything except immediate problems. 
 
 I suppose the reasons for it are simple enough. We are here as 
 undergraduates for only four years. In that time, we try to crowd 
 in as much of everything within the school sphere as is possible. We 
 
 137 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 go to every athletic event, take in all of the dances, meet all of the 
 people we can — because we know we are here for a limited time, 
 and it is a matter of getting what we can while we have the chance. 
 We dismiss outside affairs as secondary, because we feel we will get 
 to them soon enough anyhow. . . . 
 
 A student lives from week-end to week-end, having to be content 
 in the meantime with just keeping even with assignments. Something 
 must suffer — and, of course, the thing that we must leave out is 
 thinking. It's the easiest and most natural to overlook. . . . 
 
 The real death knell for the pre-Depression life of the university was 
 sounded — or rather, not sounded — - by the bells of Altgeld Hall. 
 An item on October 26, 1933: 
 
 The depression, which everyone was beginning to think was under 
 control, has wrecked another treasured University tradition. 
 
 The chimes in the law tower, as you might have noticed, no longer 
 send out their mellow pealings every Sunday morning at 10:30 and 
 every Sunday afternoon at 3. The big, bad depression has our lovely 
 state in such a condition that it just had to cut down on many of its 
 appropriations. 
 
 So our University, having to help in reducing the government costs, 
 decided to sacrifice, among many others, the appropriation which 
 came in as the chime player's salary. . . . 
 
 An earlier Depression economy measure was announced on October 
 31, 1930: 
 
 Junior prom-goers got a break yesterday when J. L. Porter '32, junior 
 class president, and J. E. Downey '32, prom chairman, definitely an- 
 nounced plans for a $3 prom. . . . 
 
 "We may not be able to bring down one of these so-called 'big 
 name' bands, at a fancy price, but we will endeavor to get a good 
 15-piece orchestra for the affair. We will pay for the music — not 
 the name," Porter said. 
 
 Both Downey and Porter will collaborate with C. R. Frederick '30, 
 assistant dean of men, in practicing strict economy in preparation for 
 this year's prom. The general business depression has so affected the 
 student body that it is essential to keep prices as low as possible. 
 
 138 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 Despite the Depression, however, the proms maintained their pop- 
 ularity into the 1930's. Esther Deutch, the Daily Illini's campus 
 editor, described one such dance in the December 8, 1935, issue: 
 
 A long line of taxis encircles the Gym Annex block, each cabbie 
 jealously guarding his inch or two of leeway, each keeping an alert 
 watch for a chance to stop before the canopied entrance. At last the 
 big moment arrives. The cab comes to a halt and its occupants are 
 discharged. 
 
 The girl and the boy who step out are an attractive couple. Dressed 
 in their formal finery, they carry the very essence of glamour and 
 sparkle with them. Already they have forgotten the humdrum exis- 
 tence of the school week. They think only of the happiness which 
 they now experience and of the spirit of fun and good-fellowship 
 which has welled up within them. So it is that they abandon them- 
 selves to the swing of the dance and the light-heartedness of the 
 evening. 
 
 The music starts up once again, and as the first notes of a new, 
 popular tune are sounded, hundreds of couples start to dance, all of 
 them smartly attired, all of them young and full of pep. 
 
 Balcony-gazers find the scene a never-tiring one and sit for hours 
 watching the dancers weave their way back and forth over the 
 crowded floor. They enjoy their absorption in the maneuvers of the 
 couples below and the curious impressions they get as a result of their 
 elevated perspective. To them the dancers seem to be but hundreds 
 of flesh-colored arms and black-covered shoulders swaying rhyth- 
 mically in time to the music. All else is lost in the shadows. 
 
 Hours pass. Even the class promenade is suffered through. The 
 climax of the evening follows shortly when the queen, chosen by 
 popular vote of those assembled, is announced, escorted to her 
 throne, crowned, and presented with a scepter. After posing for a 
 few flashlight pictures, she resumes her place with the multitude and 
 the dance goes on. Thus is Prom history made. 
 
 To many observers, the Depression had the effect of bringing with 
 it a new awareness of political issues among the members of the 
 student body. An editorial on October 20, 1931, commented, 
 
 139 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 The depression is accomplishing some good, for the college student 
 is now taking courses he would have evaded two years ago. He is 
 turning his attention to economics and political science and allowing 
 the "pipes" to fall by the way. His interest in private and government 
 finance may spring from the direct contact he is having with the 
 present chaos through family affairs or it may result from his in- 
 direct knowledge of conditions gained by newspaper and periodical 
 reading. 
 
 Of particular interest is the statement of a professor in the Univer- 
 sity on the expansion of student interest in economics. The number 
 of students taking public finance at the University has increased by 
 60 this year. This professor estimated that over 200 graduate stu- 
 dents in various universities and colleges of the country are writing 
 their theses on this subject. . . . 
 
 A greater opportunity lies before the student this year, for he 
 has first hand information through the news columns. He is able to 
 use this supplementary material in conjunction with the information 
 and principles presented by his texts. With the chance to see govern- 
 ment and private finance in the flux, the student seems to be showing 
 an interest in the present day cross section of economics through the 
 medium of his studies. 
 
 Still additional evidence of new political trends was a survey pub- 
 lished by the newspaper on March 3, 1936: 
 
 For political science students at the University, the Democrats and 
 Franklin D. Roosevelt are still the party and the candidate to guide 
 the country. 
 
 According to a secret presidential preference poll conducted yes- 
 terday by The Daily lllini among the 685 attending the political sci- 
 ence classes Monday, Roosevelt swept to victory by a margin of 198 
 votes over his nearest rival, Alf London, Republican. The count 
 totaled 326 for Roosevelt and 128 for London. 
 
 Indicating perhaps that they are blinded by party prejudice and 
 swept along by hearsay without possessing a real reason, 180 of the 
 voters were unable to give two definite policies of the candidates that 
 they favored. . . . 
 
 140 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 Still others gave such choice answers as "treating the constitution 
 like an undesirable mother-in-law," "I haven't read The Daily lllini in 
 the last few weeks," "cocktail lounges in every school building," 
 "two cars in every garage," and "no eight o'clocks or afternoon 
 classes." 
 
 The 1930's saw a stirring of interest in civil rights for Negro stu- 
 dents, an issue that would grow much more prominent in the late 
 forties. A correspondent signed "B. G." wrote to the editor on 
 February 23, 1936, 
 
 About two months ago, a certain small boarding establishment oper- 
 ated by a colored proprietor was forced, due to the proprietor's mov- 
 ing away, to close its doors. It is a characteristic of such businesses 
 upon the campus that they often cease operating during the term, so 
 this of itself was nothing unusual. But to a large .group of colored 
 students, this action has a special and serious significance. Why? 
 The answer lies with us. Because this small eating place closed its 
 doors, a large number of colored students faced in dismay the pros- 
 pect of being able to eat only one meal a day, and that meal during 
 noon at the University Home Economics Cafeteria. 
 
 Why? Because the proprietors of other eating places, coke-and- 
 smokes, confectionaries, drug stores, etc., would not allow their pres- 
 ence there. Why? Because you and I would not patronize their busi- 
 nesses if they permitted colored persons to enter. Now we are face 
 to face with our responsibility. What they are saying of us, the sig- 
 nificance of it, is this: we are too narrow, prejudiced, and selfish to 
 allow our fellow students of another race equality under God and 
 society to realize their heritage to the world's prayer: "Give us" — 
 not white, not black, not yellow or brown men and women but — 
 "Give us this day our daily bread." 
 
 If, however, certain places, after knowing our attitude for reform, 
 shall yet discriminate, let us have the courage to suffer inconvenience 
 for right, and, because of their failure to cease discriminating, let us 
 take our patronage elsewhere, and continue to do so until they dis- 
 card this shameful policy. 
 
 The political climate of the campus during this period was primarily 
 
 141 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 New Deal in nature. Although members of the generation of the 
 thirties were often considered radical in politics, radicalism never 
 really got off the ground at Illinois. Nevertheless, pacifism found 
 adherents in both students and professors. A news item on January 
 16, 1934: 
 
 A mass meeting to protest compulsory R.O.T.C. will be held at 4 
 o'clock this afternoon in 300 Mathematics building under the auspices 
 of Campus Forum. Max Bussel '34 will preside. 
 
 Speakers will include Prof. W. A. Noyes of the department of 
 chemistry, Prof. F. S. Rodkey of the department of history, the Rev. 
 M. Y. Kennedy, the Rev. J. W. Malone, the Rev. J. Brogden, the Rev. 
 D. P. Bair, and students. A message will be read from the Rev. Paul 
 Burt who is unable to be present. 
 
 Today's meeting comes as a sequel to the discussion of compulsory 
 R.O.T.C. precipitated by the expulsion of seven students from Ohio 
 State University. 
 
 More organized movements did not always meet with approval, 
 however. An editorial on March 24, 1934: 
 
 Official University recognition has been denied the National Student 
 League by the senate committee on senate affairs, presumably on the 
 grounds that the league is a Communistic organization. . . . 
 
 The University of Illinois — if it is a university in the truest sense 
 of the word — should carry no particular bias for any political sys- 
 tem. Whether a student believes in autocracy, democracy or com- 
 munism should not make a great deal of difference to the University, 
 as long as he abstains from arson and rioting. 
 
 Why shouldn't the National Student League be permitted to hold 
 meetings? Their most serious offense so far is to make a few students 
 think about compulsory R.O.T.C. Not until they begin to throw bombs 
 need the student affairs committee worry. 
 
 As the war machines of Germany and Italy began to draw increas- 
 ing attention in the headlines, sentiment against war grew more 
 widespread on American campuses in general. On March 4, 1936, 
 a news item reported, "Eleven hundred signatures, endorsing Sen- 
 ator Gerald P. Nye's neutrality program which he introduced here 
 
 142 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 in an address February 16;, have been secured by members of the 
 Freshman Council in their campaign to obtain 2,500 signers to back 
 Senator Nye when he introduces his program before Congress during 
 the middle of this month. . . ." 
 
 But an international "strike against war," which on many cam- 
 puses drew thousands of participants, fared poorly at Illinois. An 
 editorial on March 31, three weeks before the proposed strike, 
 declared, 
 
 A. C. Willard, president of the University, has set forth in no uncertain 
 terms his opposition to the emotional appeal of peace strikes. 
 
 At the same time he declared the willingness of the University to 
 foster freedom of thought and expression. His policy is that of the 
 president of a state university, an institution dependent upon popular 
 approval for its support and existence. In his efforts to maintain and 
 increase both the benefits of the University to the state and the good 
 feeling of the state toward the University, Mr. Willard should be 
 supported. . . . 
 
 To oppose conflict by noise and disturbance is effective only in a 
 negative sense. Almost no one wants war. Support of a definite 
 legislative program such as the Nye neutrality bill in the end would 
 be far more effective than all the strikes ever held. . . . 
 
 And a news item from April 23, 1936: 
 
 One per cent of the University of Illinois student body — 100 persons 
 — yesterday took part in the national "strike against war," climaxing 
 their preparation by repeating the Oxford oath which pledges them 
 against being a party in any armed conflict in which the United States 
 might become involved. 
 
 It was a strange assembly as they met at 11 a.m. on the Auditorium 
 steps and were joined by 225 students and faculty onlookers. 
 
 Some of the strikers were there because of a sincere belief that 
 war is nearing rapidly and that drastic action is necessary. One par- 
 ticipant broke into tears as he discussed later how "our poor students 
 who must die soon go on their way to classes without realizing that 
 the crisis is here." 
 
 Onlookers were, on the whole, gentlemanly. "On to Moscow," "Heil 
 
 143 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Hitler/' "throw him a herring," and "I'll tell Willard" broke the 
 silence only a few times. A student in uniform paraded across the 
 platform for a while but grew tired as his joke fell flat. 
 
 Dr. David Kinley, well-known friend of R.O.T.C., attracted attention 
 as mere chance brought him across the campus in front of the strikers 
 as their program got underway. He smiled tolerantly and excused 
 himself as he walked through the group. 
 
 George Edwards, youthful national chairman of the American Stu- 
 dent Union, urged students not to fight for other people's advantage 
 and to demonstrate opposition to being slaughtered at the dictation 
 of trade and economic interests. . . . 
 
 Said Mr. Edwards, who accused President Willard and The Daily 
 lllini of being co-reasons why the mass of the student body did not 
 strike: "I am pleased the way the affair turned out." He had pre- 
 dicted that from 400 to 1,000 would strike. 
 
 A general survey of political opinion at the University, probably a 
 fairly accurate one, was made by the Daily lllini after William 
 Harlan Hale, an Ivy League student, wrote an article for the New 
 Republic protesting that liberalism was dying on the American cam- 
 pus. After reprinting the article, the newspaper assessed the climate 
 at Illinois in an editorial on May 8, 1931. 
 
 We too might sound a funeral note for college liberalism — if there 
 had ever been such in existence here. 
 
 Perhaps the young and somewhat disillusioned Mr. Hale doesn't 
 realize how fortunate he is to have lived in the environment of a col- 
 lege liberalism for which he now sounds his dirge. He speaks of the 
 revolt against the civilized order — somehow we have never seemed 
 to realize a civilized order against which to revolt. ... He speaks of 
 a decrease in the freedom and advancement of thought on matters 
 of educational interest or scientific progress. It is something about 
 which we have little to worry. You can't decrease something which is 
 at its minimum. . . . 
 
 Mr. Hale decries the conservatism in dress and mannerisms. . . . 
 While the eastern collegian lives in fear of the sartorial dictates of 
 Park avenue, the youth who would keep in the swim here is kept on 
 
 144 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 the hump to stay with the fashions set by the extra-time clothing sales- 
 men from the collegiate haberdasheries on Green Street. There is no 
 middle ground Bohemia here between the oafs who can't shake off 
 the hay, and the upper class members who all wear grey-blue suits, 
 stiff collars, white ties with figures, and snap brim hats. . . . 
 
 College liberalism in the mightiest university of the corn belt? Per- 
 haps a few seeds implanted in those members who comprise a section 
 of the campus oddities — who are tolerated with a touch of kind- 
 liness and a vein of humor. But college liberalism here is a concept 
 — it is of the unborn. 
 
 Minor social revolutions did take place during the decade, however. 
 In 1927, smoking was outlawed on campus, and women who smoked 
 were frowned upon anywhere. This letter signed "R. S. '28" ap- 
 peared on October 11, 1927: 
 
 Agitation has been heard for rooms in sorority houses where members 
 who smoke may do so. Now a sensible argument against such a thing 
 is presented and we favor it. 
 
 "To set aside such a room would be wrong," a national officer of 
 Kappa Alpha Theta points out, "because such a room would be a 
 center of conviviality that would attract to it many girls who would 
 not smoke otherwise." 
 
 This would be true. Whereas there may be only a few girls who 
 smoke in each sorority now, such rooms would make the smoking 
 habit among women grow by leaps and bounds. And smoking by 
 University women should not be cultivated. If some women want to 
 smoke it is their privilege . . . but smoking by women is objectionable 
 to society as a whole and so the University and sororities should not 
 stimulate it. 
 
 On November 21, 1930, a letter signed "Serious '31" appeared 
 which observed, "Ten years ago smoking on the campus side of the 
 street was not done. Even three years ago when I was a freshman 
 it was unusual to see a person smoking on the campus side of Wright 
 street or Mathews street. It seems that this tradition is undergoing 
 a process of evolution, the end of which will apparently be the total 
 disappearance of the tradition." And on October 14, 1932, a letter 
 
 145 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 questioned, "Why is smoking on the campus more prevalent this fall 
 than it has been before? Is it because Pete, the Campus Cop, no 
 longer patrols up and down the grounds, and the students think that 
 they can get away with it? People who come to the University 
 should be old enough to get over the habit of doing something just 
 because they can get away with it. Have they lost all respect for 
 their school and grounds? So it seems. . . ." 
 
 But the ban on smoking was generally conceded to be a thing of 
 the past, and when President Willard asked a group of 750 parents 
 of students to aid in reinstating the no-smoking tradition on a vol- 
 untary basis, the admission that "the University will not use police 
 methods in enforcing the no-smoking rule" was considered, on No- 
 vember 4, 1934, to mark the end of the prohibition. 
 
 In areas other than smoking, Illini co-eds were also growing more 
 "modern." On November 20, 1928, Edgar K. Zook of the class of 
 1930 wrote to the editor, "If some girls in the University of Illinois 
 would spend less time on rouge, powder, and cold cream and get 
 down on their knees and pray, God would make them better look- 
 ing." And on September 27, 1934, this editorial appeared: 
 
 The history of women for the past two generations has been a history 
 of emancipation. The American Woman, and especially the Amer- 
 ican college woman, has been waging a constant fight against old 
 restrictions and inhibitions. . . . 
 
 That has changed, let the present facts attest. The woman of to- 
 day is winning new freedom. Her steps are becoming less impeded 
 by fashion-imposed and man-made agencies of torture. We have on 
 this campus an example of a type of sports clothing that would have 
 been the object of severe reproof on this same campus five years 
 ago. Five years ago such attire would have been prohibited by the 
 University administration as decidedly immoral. But not now. We 
 refer to the wearing of shorts on tennis courts. 
 
 A sign of the gradual emancipation of women was the emergence of 
 the "blind date." A column by Jean Dragoo in the freshman edition 
 of September, 1934, scrutinized the practice: 
 
 Men, you should be in your seventh heaven here for women actually 
 
 146 
 
THE SEVENTH DECADE 1927-36 
 
 hurry to get ready for blind dates. (And they're the same ones who 
 took an hour to put vaseline on their eyelashes at home.) They never 
 do it for their steadies . . . it's the blinders who rate. 
 
 At about 9 o'clock (that's the fashionable time for dates) buzzers 
 start ringing incessantly and the upper regions of the house are 
 thrown into a sudden state of pandemonium. Twenty to thirty women 
 make a mad dash for the stairs. First there, first served, is the order. 
 For although they may have a word description of their roommates' 
 fellows' houses' best pledge, who is gallantly waiting them at the 
 bottom of the stair, they will never look for him when once they set 
 eyes on the bevy of handsome young gentlemen below. 
 
 The first enthusiastic maiden to reach the hall nabs the most eligible 
 young man she can pick from the milling mob and makes a bee-line 
 for the door. The poor, ignorant, but cosmetic-besmeared little sister 
 who spends two hours smoothing the polish on her toe-nails is left 
 holding the bag when she comes tripping expectantly down at a 
 quarter to ten. 
 
 After trying for two hours to dance with someone who does the 
 double-toddle when your specialty is the waltz, you will go out to eat. 
 Don't feel duty-bound to buy your lady-friend anything more than 
 a Coke, gentlemen. Women here are trained to eat ice on their 
 dates and like it. 
 
 Another hour and a half at the dance and it's time to go back to 
 the house and discover the knock-out of a good-looking date you 
 should have had. (And, now, women, here is your chance to find 
 your status with the gentlemen. If he hails a cab, you'll do, and if 
 he walks you off with a cab-man doing his best to be seen, it's no 
 use.) 
 
 Nothing more clearly signaled the end of the pre-Depression Uni- 
 versity, and the advent of a new and still uncertain age, than the 
 death of Thomas Arkle Clark on July 18, 1932. "Endless words 
 have and will be written about the exploits of this slight white- 
 haired man," the Daily Illini wrote on the following day, hailing the 
 "guiding spirit that seemed to be present when anyone mentioned 
 the name of Dean Clark in the same breath with Illinois." 
 
 147 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE EIGHTH DECADE 
 
 1937-46 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 Infamous first lines: "You couldn't pay me to go to a dance in those 
 military boots again!" 
 
 — Campus Scout, February 18, 1939 
 
 1st Alpha Chi: "How was your date?" 
 
 2nd Ditto: "Well, in peacetime he would have been CORN." 
 
 — Campus Scout, March 12, 1944 
 
 The lengthening shadow of war hung over the early years of the 
 University's eighth decade, and after Pearl Harbor the attention and 
 energy of the campus were given over almost entirely to the conflict. 
 But there seemed to be less feeling of exhilaration this time than 
 there had been before World War I. A few students did celebrate, 
 perhaps in relief after the long wait, when Congress finally declared 
 war. But then the campus grimly settled down. The ratio of men to 
 women changed almost overnight from 3-to-l to l-to-4. Girls spent 
 Saturday mornings wrapping bandages for the Red Cross. It was a 
 time of waiting, of listening to the war news on the radio, of a Uni- 
 versity preoccupied with the fact that most of the men who would 
 have been its students were in uniform. 
 
 But the last years of the 1930's were filled with other concerns 
 besides the approaching war. There was a general lifting of the 
 Depression, a slightly revived social life on the campus, and, 
 from 1937 to 1939, a continuing scandal over vice conditions in 
 Champaign. 
 
 Jack Mabley, 1937-38 Daily lllini editor, and his managing edi- 
 
 148 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 tor, Mike Connolly, broke the vice story early in the fall of 1937. 
 Its crusade probably had a greater impact than any other effort by 
 the Daily Mini to improve the University community. The storm 
 broke on October 13, 1937, with a column by Mabley on the edi- 
 torial page. 
 
 This morning we shall have a short study of gambling and prostitu- 
 tion in the Twin Cities, with sidelights, observations, and simple 
 conclusions. 
 
 As you undoubtedly know, both gambling and prostitution thrive in 
 Champaign on a rather large scale. Gambling "joints" have flour- 
 ished downtown for many years. . . . 
 
 A couple of ambitious madames on Walnut Street run free taxi service 
 to and from fraternities on the campus. And on rainy nights, the boys 
 don't even have to go to Walnut Street. Walnut Street will come to 
 the fraternity. 
 
 It is said that more than 70 per cent of the patrons of the Walnut 
 Street houses are students. This in spite of the fact that Champaign 
 is the railroad man's paradise. 
 
 How can Champaign be cleaned up? That is not my business to 
 figure out. . . . However, I do not think it out of the way to call at- 
 tention to the conditions that exist here — conditions which have 
 been here so long that townspeople and facultymen and some stu- 
 dents have come to take them as a matter of course — a necessary 
 evil. I'd like to see some action. . . . 
 
 On October 15, 1937, Sveinbjorn Johnson, the University legal 
 counsel, pointed out in a letter, "Please note . . . that the Univer- 
 sity, its officers and agents have no power to enforce the penal ordi- 
 nances of the city of Champaign or the criminal laws of the state of 
 Illinois. ... If the evidence you have were given to the mayor and 
 the chief of police of Champaign, the University and the citizens of 
 the community would have the right to expect effective action from 
 these officials. The county sheriff, of course, has important duties in 
 this connection. . . ." Johnson underlined the "fervent desire" of 
 the University administration to correct the conditions described by 
 Mabley. 
 
 149 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 In the October 16 issue of the newspaper, which reported on the 
 front page that Champaign police had raided a disorderly house 
 and arrested the keeper, three woman inmates, and five University 
 students, Mabley asked, "Is or is not the University responsible for 
 the welfare of the student body? It feels responsible enough to pass 
 regulations concerning the use of automobiles, and spends money to 
 enforce these regulations. It feels responsible enough to rule that 
 couples may not loiter on the south campus after dark. But the 
 University does not feel responsible enough to use its influence with 
 the city of Champaign to have the red-light district cleaned up. . . ." 
 
 Then, this news item on October 23, 1937: 
 
 A vigorous drive to clean up Champaign's red light district was in- 
 augurated by the University yesterday when President Willard de- 
 manded at a conclave of University officials and the mayors and 
 police chiefs of Champaign-Urbana that all houses of ill repute and 
 gambling places be closed — "and kept closed." 
 
 Mr. Willard stated that he had asked this group to meet with him 
 not only pursuant to the request of the Board of Trustees but because 
 he and other University officials were concerned over reports pub- 
 lished in The Daily lllini concerning the existence of prostitution and 
 gambling in the local communities. . . . 
 
 But, a news item on October 26 reported, "The Standing Room 
 Only signs were strung out all along Champaign's lengthy Great 
 Red Way again last night. Three of the houses of prostitution were 
 closed, but the rest were doing capacity business. The ladies of the 
 evening drummed a steady tatoo on the windows of houses along 
 the dimly lit streets of the Walnut district, keeping time to the re- 
 sounding footsteps of Champaign's guardians of the law as they 
 patrolled their beats. . . ." 
 
 In the next day's issue, Mabley went out on a limb. "Still no 
 action. Question is beginning to arise as to the underlying reason 
 why the Champaign officials continue to do nothing to clean up the 
 red light district. There is more to it than mere reticence on the 
 part of the police. There are too many officials and prominent citi- 
 zens up to their necks in this business." 
 
 150 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 By November 2, however, all of the houses of prostitution sup- 
 posedly were closed. On November 17, Mabley announced (prema- 
 turely, as it turned out) that the Daily ///mi's campaign had been a 
 success: "They are now all closed. They really are, yet when that 
 statement is made there are many, many doubters. Well, here is the 
 best offer I can make to them. I ask that anyone questioning that 
 statement please see me and personally point out any bawdy house 
 that is open for business. And I will guarantee that immediate 
 action will be taken, and that house will be closed. . . ." 
 
 Finally, the fatal shooting of a University student outside an al- 
 leged house of prostitution inspired a full-scale crackdown. A news 
 item on February 18, 1939, reflected the subsequent uproar: 
 
 Death of William Spurrier '41 at 6:40 a.m. yesterday, following a 
 shooting affray early Thursday morning in Champaign's red-light dis- 
 trict, resulted in increasing demands for a thorough investigation of 
 vice conditions in the city. The University Board of Trustees will meet 
 in special session at Chicago this afternoon to consider the situation. 
 
 Champaign was in an uproar after A. C. Willard, president of the 
 University, issued a statement blaming the Champaign city adminis- 
 tration for "the prevalence of vice." 
 
 "Responsibility for the existence of conditions which attracted the 
 students into this unsavory neighborhood is upon the Champaign 
 city administration," Mr. Willard declared. . . . 
 
 In a statement the same day, Willard warned, "If the University 
 cannot depend upon [local officials] to see that the local environ- 
 ment in which its students live is wholesome and conducive to their 
 welfare, it will seek outside aid." 
 
 In its special meeting, reported on February 19, the Board of 
 Trustees called on the state government to "proceed with utmost 
 vigor against the delinquent officials of Champaign." At various 
 times during the past two years, the board revealed, it had "called 
 attention of the [city] administration to highly objectionable condi- 
 tions in certain quarters of the city. On those occasions city officials 
 assured the University that efforts would be made to correct the 
 evil conditions, but little was done, the board declared." 
 
 151 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 The controversy assumed national proportions. Thomas E. 
 Dewey, then the crusading Attorney General of New York, wired 
 support to a rally of students, described on February 25, 1939: 
 
 Assembled shortly after 11 a.m. yesterday in Huff gymnasium, 6,500 
 students of the University in a gigantic mass meeting to proclaim their 
 position to the people of the state, adopted a resolution asking the 
 legislature to provide the power to compel local law enforcement 
 officials to do their duty in order to permanently eliminate vice condi- 
 tions from Champaign. 
 
 At one of the largest gatherings solely of students ever held on the 
 campus — a meeting unique in lllini history — speaker after speaker 
 arose to deplore the misrepresentation that has become associated 
 with the University through the prevalence of these conditions, and to 
 stress the necessity for a lasting solution. . . . 
 
 Action, at last, was rapid in coming. State Attorney General John 
 E. Cassi ordered a special probe into the situation on February 21, 
 and Chicago Prosecutor Walker Butler assumed complete command 
 of a special investigation that led to the indictment of eleven city 
 and county officials. Mabley, now graduated, came back to the 
 campus to testify before the grand jury, and his 1937 campaign was 
 hailed as a service to the community. This time, it appeared, the 
 "great red way" really had disappeared for good. 
 
 During this entire period, however, events on the campus had as 
 a backdrop the gathering clouds of war. As the grand jury met, 
 Franco was winning the Spanish Civil War, and Hitler was prepar- 
 ing to move against Czechoslovakia. A column by James Monroe 
 on March 31, 1939, gave the flavor of the campus: 
 
 Six or eight fraternity men were lounging around the parlor fireplace. 
 One was sprawled on the floor reading one of our fine metro- 
 politan newspapers. He scanned the streamer. "CZECH NATION 
 DISSOLVED," it said. This drew him to the lead story, on Adolph 
 Hitler's recent annexation of the central European buffer state, cre- 
 ated in 1919 by the treaty of Versailles, when the victorious nations 
 of the world drew up the new map of Europe. 
 
 "Well," he said when he had skimmed the story, "I guess I can 
 
 152 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 flunk my chem after this. Military is about all that matters now." 
 His brothers had been talking about athletics, Coke dates, and 
 sex — as is the fraternal wont — but they looked up at his remark, 
 and began in their way to scan the foreign scene. They knew little 
 about what caused the dictatorships, little about British foreign policy, 
 less about American, and almost nothing about the export trade of 
 Rumania. But one question was common to them all — "Are we 
 going to war? And if so, when?" 
 
 But if such conversations grew increasingly common, campus life 
 stubbornly clung to peacetime as long as it could. Campus Scout 
 of September 17, 1939, published as Hitler's intentions grew un- 
 mistakable, ran an anthology of talk heard in the Coke shops : 
 
 "Let's go to the Cat's Neck." Where is it? "About 15 inches from the 
 Cat's Tail." ... he looked like an accident going somewhere to 
 happen ... it was a darling dress. Too bad it didn't fit her . . . they 
 were sitting closer'n 10 minutes to 11 . . . he's so bashful he blushes 
 every time he steals a police car . . . and he's been up the river so 
 much they named the Albany night boat after him . . . that girl's so 
 dumb she thinks smelling salts are sailors with B.O. . . . and he's 
 so dumb he thinks Western Union is cowboy's underwear. . . . 
 
 Gradually, however, tradition for its own sake was dying away on 
 the campus, as Tom Mayhill reported in his column for September 
 28, 1939, 
 
 Hobo Parade. Freshman Caps. Snake dances. Senior jackets. Sen- 
 ior duckings. These and countless other traditions were vital cogs of 
 college life when father and mother went to school at the University. 
 But today we have none of these tabooed practices. Oh, sure, every 
 spring some fraternity breaks the rules to cast its seniors into a nearby 
 mud pond. But that is about the limit. 
 
 A few traditions are still lingering at the University — law seniors' 
 canes, no walking on the bronze tablet at Lincoln Hall, and — well, 
 you wrack your brain for some more — that'll convince you how 
 scarce traditions are here. Collegiate atmosphere — in its strictest 
 sense — has nearly disappeared from the campus. And with it has 
 flown much of the school spirit. 
 
 153 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 What are we driving at? Simply this — school spirit at the Uni- 
 versity of Illinois is at an all-time low. About the only persons who 
 really get enthused about approaching football games are fraternity 
 pledges. And who wouldn't get pepped up with a well-varnished 
 paddle chasing you down the street, while you scream "Beat Bradley" 
 every five steps? Outside of hapless fraternity pledges, very few stu- 
 dents really get excited about the football squad — - representatives 
 of the University of Illinois in the nation's eye. . . . 
 
 A more lenient attitude toward drinking and smoking also ap- 
 parently developed in the immediate prewar years, and the practice 
 of "pin hanging" gained in popularity. The results of a poll of 1,270 
 students, published on October 15, 1939, indicated that 30 per cent 
 of the men and 25 per cent of the women favored a woman drinking 
 on a date; 40 per cent of the men and 62 per cent of the women 
 favored a woman smoking on a date; and 45 per cent of the men 
 and 47 per cent of the women were in favor of "pin hanging." Rea- 
 sons given in favor of steady dating ranged from "it's a necking 
 permit" to "it's a way to save your money and get better grades." 
 
 Despite such indications of a growing liberalism in social matters, 
 some held back. A news item on November 6, 1937 : 
 
 Lipstick, for the first time we've heard, is driving lllini men from the 
 company of the co-eds to the safe seclusion of a virtual boycott on 
 girls who paint. . . . 
 
 And they have not confined their protests to mere individual action, 
 but, by a recent pact formed what amounts to a University of Illinois 
 Anti-Lipstick Society, with the pledge that "Lips that touch lipstick 
 shall never touch mine." . . . 
 
 After the traditional mugging sessions that leave a revealing red 
 trace from forehead to shirt bosom, a few of the more progressive 
 males decided that something must be done. Accordingly they met, 
 chose Lee Blaylock '38, Wilmette, as president of the Anti-Excess 
 Lipstick League, and drew up a resolution of opposition to excess lip- 
 stick use. . . . 
 
 Another conservative in social matters, who requested that his name 
 be withheld, wrote to the editor on October 18, 1939, "Probably the 
 
 154 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 first thing the Illini noticed Sunday morning in The Daily Illini, the 
 'World's Greatest College Daily,' was the results of the student poll 
 on drinking, smoking, and pin hanging. It seems that last year said 
 WGCD devoted a great part of its effort toward cleaning up the 
 vice situation. This year if the poll on drinking and smoking, ex- 
 cluding from our discussion the poll on pin hanging, is an indication, 
 The Daily Illini is building up the vice situation. . . ." 
 
 Although Bob Zuppke was by now an almost legendary coach 
 with a national reputation, increased grumblings began to be heard 
 for his removal. The records of his recent teams had not been good, 
 and some alumni believed he should relax his attitude toward re- 
 cruiting practices. Replying to his critics, Zuppke was quoted on 
 September 28, 1939. 
 
 The University of Illinois is not an institution where proselytizing pre- 
 vails, and all the jobs for athletes here are "honorable and clean," 
 Football Coach Bob Zuppke told the Campus Business Men's associa- 
 tion last night at their fall banquet. . . . 
 
 "This is not a community gifted for proselytizing," he declared. 
 "You find successful teams at universities and big cities where jobs 
 are easy to find and where there are men with money and time to get 
 athletes. We have no such athletes. 
 
 "We've had slumps," he continued. "Why not? Are we so great 
 we can't have slumps? In 1934 we only lost the championship by 
 four points and in 1935 only by a place kick. We don't have to be 
 ashamed. Wisconsin hasn't had a championship since I've been in 
 school." 
 
 Scoring the Athletic Association board of directors, Zuppke de- 
 clared that "not one man on the board has ever been an athlete 
 except 'Weenie' Wilson." 
 
 "If they were wise they'd keep still," he said. . . . 
 
 But on November 17, 1941, the peppery Dutchman gave up his post. 
 A news item from the next day's edition : 
 
 It happened last night! Robert C. Zuppke, with 29 years of football 
 service behind him, solved the greatest athletic wrangle in University 
 history, by stepping out as head football coach. Still smiling and as 
 
 155 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 talkative as ever, the little Dutchman, the least concerned of any par- 
 ticipant, had a simple explanation for his gesture. "I resigned in the 
 best interests of the University." 
 
 Athletic Director Doug Mills, who was with Zuppke in his com- 
 fortable West University Avenue apartment, declared: "The coaching 
 spot is wide open. I know Zup believes he did right and what he 
 thought best for the University. The resignation was complete news to 
 me. 
 
 With almost three decades of service, Zup, an Illinois football tra- 
 dition, said the action was inspired by no one and that it had been 
 in his mind since the July squabble with the University Board of 
 Trustees. . . . 
 
 During all of this time, the war drew closer. On April 20, 1941, 
 Mary Alice Burgett wrote in her column, 
 
 Someone asked, "How would you characterize the campus scene of 
 1941?" Casually the query was put, implying an answer idly un- 
 ravelled from the old yarn — bright skeins leading to Coke joints, 
 and bogey-wogey dances, and exam cramming, and all-night bridge 
 binges, and the pin exchange, and fads blooming like strange flowers 
 brazenly unrelated to their academic soil. . . . 
 
 The surface has had all this for years with little more variation than 
 change from Dutch shoes to moccasins, from narrow brimmed hats to 
 wide. But beneath the surface? What pattern of interior decoration 
 characterizes this campus scene as 1941 and distinctively 1941? 
 
 Beneath the solid front of imperturbable youth there has seemed an 
 uncertainty of the future, bred of the accumulated forces of war 
 abroad — forces which but slowly combined gathering power, to 
 push themselves into the American college scene, undermining not 
 courage, but that substantial bulk of certainty upon which youth once 
 sprawled to fool away the hours. 
 
 Physical ratings are a joke of padded shoulders and potato peel- 
 ings. But as they joke, these boys and girls together, they feel with 
 youth's keen perception a sense of impending — impending? They 
 are not sure what, but they feel it will be a change in their lives, 
 subtle and inevitable. Perhaps it will be war, and the boys with 
 
 156 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 whom they banter will no longer be kids playing in soldier suits; their 
 padded-shoulder jokes hold a vague undertone of something akin to 
 worry; in older people it would be worry; to them it is uncertainty. 
 
 What of jobs? What of marriage? What of continued education? 
 Beneath the pretty faces, under the carefree expressions, these ques- 
 tions lie, stirring uneasily, disturbing the customary pattern of expec- 
 tation. The indifference is mockery; the infrequency with which such 
 thoughts find voice is a surface acceptance, founded on no confirmed 
 basis. 
 
 Beneath the feigned indifference, the laughter, the flying hair and 
 chatter there has been some serious thought, more perhaps than 
 usual, though there must always be more beneath the college surface 
 than collegians would unblushingly admit! Into the college sampler, 
 1941, must go threads of darker hue than gaudy little cross stitches of 
 carefree gaiety: The cold dark colors of war must be worked into the 
 scene. . . . 
 
 On April 22, 1941, a column by Fred Pope agreed with these 
 opinions: 
 
 This columnist begs leave, not to question, but to concur with Miss 
 Burgett in her theme of uncertainty and the resultant more than usu- 
 ally serious thinking underlying the campus scene this spring of 
 1941 
 
 Even the brief experience of these last few months' uncertainty of 
 a future that, when we enrolled in the University four years ago, 
 seemed so certain and so safe, has made us realize that certainty 
 even of unpleasantness may be preferable to the uncertainty of any- 
 thing and everything. . . . 
 
 One has only to leave the campus and discuss the chaos that is 
 today with friends in other communities to realize that considerably 
 more serious thought and a better grasp of the meaning of the day's 
 events is shown in many college bull sessions than in hometown con- 
 versations on the same subjects. . . . There is a great deal less fact- 
 dodging and smug, it-can't-happen-here optimism on the campus 
 than off it. Beneath the laughter and the somewhat bitter jokes about 
 the draft and war, there is here a great deal more courage and 
 bravery. . . . 
 
 157 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 By the following September, the tension had mounted considerably, 
 as evidenced by Ronny Nystrom's column on September 11, 1941 : 
 
 Men of Illinois, like a University football notable begins, you will find 
 steam-rollered into your year here a panorama of international crisis, 
 and national blundering that will probably call for shells and bay- 
 onets in American tummies. All of this you will hardly notice in com- 
 petition with what you do here — you and your Cokes, cigarettes, 
 and beer, football, pledging, and dances, scholarship, dates, and 
 bull sessions. But back home in Washington there are those who will 
 notice. You'll have sympathy from the folks and they'll go to bat for 
 you. In Washington they're aiming their bats at you. . . . 
 
 On September 25, the newspaper observed, "Probably most indica- 
 tive of changed college campuses throughout the country is a rising 
 clamour this fall for once-scorned ROTC training. This is as notice- 
 able here at the University as everywhere else. It is in direct con- 
 trast to previous years when military training was something to be 
 endured, when officials of the University health station were kept 
 busy proclaiming physically perfect students who sought ROTC 
 exemptions." 
 
 On the morning of December 6, 1941, the Daily lllini published 
 this confident editorial: "At present the United States is in a most 
 fortunate position — considering it is waging an undeclared war. . . . 
 The United States is in the war on the Atlantic, and it may be soon 
 on the Pacific. Even if war comes on both oceans, it will be 'away 
 from home' and Americans will be relatively secure. Soldiers and 
 sailors may have to travel a thousand miles to die, but they won't 
 clutter up American soil while doing it. The advantage of an of- 
 fensive war is that the invader can fight on his own terms and 
 times. . . ." 
 
 The next morning, Pearl Harbor was bombed. The first reaction 
 was essentially one of relief that the waiting was over. Adele Kaplan 
 wrote in her column on December 9, 1941, 
 
 At the first mention of the United States declaring war with the Far 
 East, all eyes immediately turned to the men! What was going to 
 become of the reserve officers, draftees, and all capable men be- 
 
 158 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 tween the ages of 17 and 50? They are the ones who are going to 
 "do or die" for the sake of their country. . . . 
 
 Yesterday afternoon as the first reports of war were broadcast 
 over the air waves, women listened intently . . . too stunned, too 
 baffled, and too shocked to realize what had really happened. 
 
 Independent and sorority houses, as well as other student rooming 
 houses, were quiet, with the exception of news reports over the 
 radios. . . . Men may think that they are the only ones who will play 
 an important part in this great show, but don't forget there are wives, 
 sweethearts and relatives who will be living in this war period, 
 too. . . . 
 
 Studying seems to be an impossibility at this present time. Women 
 can't forget about the war. . . . After a few days things will settle 
 down to almost normal conditions again, and women will go about 
 their duties on campus as always. However, you can bet that every 
 Saturday morning will find the lower parlors of the Women's building 
 filled to capacity with women rolling bandages for the Red Cross. . . . 
 
 A considerable number of students, in the first flush of feeling after 
 the news came, had marched to President Willard's house for a 
 demonstration. Also on December 9, the Daily Illini ran this edi- 
 torial about their actions: 
 
 Why should University students and responsible citizens rejoice at the 
 onslaught of war? 
 
 Such reprehensible actions can be motivated by but two reasons: 
 first, a mistaken belief that the Japanese war will be short and easy, 
 and second, illogical pleasure received from the release of war ten- 
 sion strain. 
 
 The Japanese war will not be short and easy, but instead will be 
 long and difficult. The average American has built up a cartoon 
 stereotype mental picture ridiculing the Nipponese. Many Americans 
 are already sadly realizing that a teeming, well-armed nation of 
 these desperate little people can offer a whale of a fight. . . . 
 
 Note to joyous revelers: Think it over before you again depravedly 
 shout "we don't give a damn for Japan" and rattle your silly cowbell. 
 
 159 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Within days, the campus was again on a wartime footing. An edi- 
 torial on December 13, 1941, observed, 
 
 Hope you enjoyed the Junior Prom last night. If you didn't make it, 
 have fun tonight at the many campus dances and parties. 
 
 Somehow, this weekend will be the last for some time on which 
 University students will really "swing out." As you no doubt realize, 
 formal affairs are in poor taste during wartime. It doesn't seem just 
 right, either, to have too good a time unless you're relaxing from 
 strenuous work in your country's behalf. . . . 
 
 So store your memories of this weekend, remember what a formal 
 dance is like, recall the joys of peacetime days not long past, and 
 then return revitalized to take up your share, or more, of the battle. 
 
 On December 19, 1941, an open letter to the students was published 
 by President Willard, who cautioned moderation. 
 
 These times of waiting, or preparation, and of eagerness to do some- 
 thing are very difficult indeed, but in an emergency of this sort, we 
 must be trained and equipped to win or else our sacrifices may be in 
 vain. 
 
 Most of you will soon leave for the holidays. While you are away 
 I know you will think seriously of your own personal qualifications and 
 preparations for your share in the defense program. Just at present 
 you are engaged in securing a college education which is no less 
 valuable to you because we are now at war than it was before war 
 was declared. You will best serve the country and yourselves if you 
 will continue with that education exactly as you had planned. . . . 
 
 Despite such counsel, students took the war as an occasion for quick 
 personal decisions. An editorial on January 14, 1942, observed, 
 "What we're interested in is the number of University students mar- 
 ried this year, by both announcement and in secret. Possibly being 
 a senior has something to do with it, but it seems that we have heard 
 of many more 'secret' marriages and many more announced mar- 
 riages this year than ever before. Now that the increase has been 
 established, what can be said about it? Can anyone condemn a 
 couple merely for marrying in wartime? Can anyone commend a 
 
 160 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 couple merely for marrying in wartime? Both answers are obviously 
 in the negative." 
 
 The war years were the first years of the "sweater girls," whose 
 pin-ups decorated GI lockers around the world. Lana Turner do- 
 nated a sweater to Illinois student journalists for first prize in a 
 beauty contest and dance they were planning, but a news item on 
 March 5, 1942, reported, "The Headliners' Hop 'sweater girl' con- 
 test was banned last night as being 'prejudicial to the best interests 
 of the University.' . . . First objection to the contest arose when some 
 University officials objected to a headline over a queen story, ap- 
 pearing in Tuesday's Daily Illini, which read 'Girls in Shape for 
 Sweater Contest.' The headline was declared a violation of decency 
 and not in good taste with the campus war effort. . . ." 
 
 It was obviously going to be a long war, and the campus settled 
 down to wait and work. On September 16, 1942, Columnist Nick 
 Shuman wrote, 
 
 The beginning of a new school year, 1942-43, is at hand, and with 
 it, thousands of Illini, old and new, have arrived on the University 
 campus. To the newcomers, freshmen and transfer students, the 
 entire college scene is strange, new. But to the veterans of one or 
 more years in Champaign-Urbana, the changes since the end of last 
 May have been few. 
 
 But there has been an important change, a subtle change which in 
 most cases, perhaps, has not consciously been noted; one, rather, 
 that has been felt subconsciously. That change is in the returning 
 Illini themselves. This year's students, for the most part, are a far cry 
 from the blatant interventionalists, smug isolationists, and multi-varied 
 inbetweeners who registered for classes last September. Most of 
 them are much advanced from the hysterical kids who paraded up 
 and down Twin City streets that fateful Sunday afternoon in Decem- 
 ber 1941, screaming "beat the Japs." Gone, almost completely, are 
 the weeping fatalists who registered for the spring semester burdened 
 academically by a what's-the-use philosophy. 
 
 This term's student is different. 
 
 He is doing his best to prove that complacency and apathy left the 
 campus with the underclassmen and* graduates of June — if not en- 
 
 161 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 tirely, then at least significantly. A single summer furthered the 
 changing process of the undergraduate's mental make-up to such 
 an extent that even the most casual observer can't help but feel its 
 effect. 
 
 The newspaper's warning that the Junior Prom of 1941 might be 
 the last "swinging" weekend of the war was underlined by a news 
 item on December 15, 1943. "War stamp corsages, the only corsages 
 which will be acceptable for those planning to attend the Christmas 
 cotillion, are on sale from 1 to 5 p.m. every day in the ticket office 
 on the first floor of the Illini Union. Called Christmas 'warsages,' 
 they are colorful — red holly berries form the center, surrounded by 
 evergreen decoration and nine 10-cent war stamps." 
 
 When victory came at last in Europe, President W'illard told 3,000 
 students in a ceremony on the Auditorium steps on May 8, 1945. 
 "We have not met here today to celebrate our great victory in 
 Europe, but rather to rededicate ourselves to the winning of the 
 final victory over Japan and the establishment of a new world order 
 which will secure an enduring peace for all mankind." 
 
 And then the flood of returning GFs hit the campus. As early as 
 October 14, 1943, humorist Allan Sherman, then conducting Campus 
 Scout, had sized up the housing situation : 
 
 We thought we'd glance over the housing situation. Aha, we mur- 
 mured. Certainly housing at old State U. hasn't changed. 
 
 And it hadn't. 
 
 The Approved Rooms for Men are still so small that the furniture 
 has to be painted on the walls. And the mice have to walk hunch- 
 back. You have to step out in the hall to change your mind. 
 
 So we tried the Greeks. They haven't changed either — except 
 that the one they used to call the 4-H club is now the 4-F club. 
 
 We were standing in a room in one of the fraternities when the 
 housemother knocked on the door and screamed, "Have you got a 
 woman in there?" 
 
 "No," we answered. 
 
 So she threw one in. 
 
 This made us unhappy, but you Can't Keep a Good Man Down. 
 
 After all, we thought, This is War. 
 
 162 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 The situation had not improved by January 13, 1945: 
 
 Wallpaper hanging in shreds four or five feet wide, plaster moulding 
 and crumbling onto the floor some three feet from the kitchen stove, 
 dark airless hallways haunted with the stale smell of superannuated 
 cabbage — such are the conditions to which some co-eds are forced 
 to return when they leave the classroom. 
 
 Narrow, steep stairways, carpeted with material whose pattern has 
 long since been obliterated by an accumulation of dust, are a com- 
 mon sight. Carpets which have been worn completely through, curl 
 back from gaping holes and one must tread carefully to avoid being 
 catapulted down the stairway. In upstairs halls, rough flooring serves 
 as a soundingboard for the passing parade and adds a homey touch 
 to the living quarters. 
 
 These conditions, existing at this time on the University campus, 
 are gleaned from a hit-and-miss survey. . . . This is a dehydrated pic- 
 ture of living conditions now actually present on the campus of your 
 University. . . . 
 
 In November, 1945, the University announced plans for "temporary" 
 housing quarters. An item on November 7 : "Government-owned 
 prefabricated houses now set up at Charleston, Ind., have been ap- 
 plied for by the University through the National Housing Agency, 
 President A. C. Willard announced yesterday. Mr. Willard said that 
 if the request is approved it is 'quite probable' that the houses will 
 be ready for occupation by married veterans by the beginning of 
 next semester. . . ." These, of course, were the famous Stadium Ter- 
 race and Illini Village units, which were to house thousands of mar- 
 ried students for the next twenty years. 
 
 On January 11, 1946, Daily Illini Editor Jean Hurt called for 
 quick measures to bring about both a cleanup of existing housing 
 and construction of additional University-owned dormitories for 
 students. "The prospect for housing students in the future looks 
 very dismal," she wrote. "With the University bureau of institu- 
 tional research estimating an enrollment of 15,500 for the fall 
 semester of 1947, hdusing authorities state that with all present 
 facilities pressed into use, over 2,000 students still could not be 
 accommodated." 
 
 163 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 On January 17 of the same year, President Willard announced 
 that he would provide living quarters in his home for two veterans. 
 He asked Champaign-Urbana residents to join the campaign to 
 obtain accommodations in private homes for the flood of returning 
 vets. On the same day, University officials announced that "at the 
 present time there are absolutely no apartments available for return- 
 ing servicemen." And on January 25, as an emergency measure, the 
 University suspended its housing policy for men for the duration of 
 the shortage. S. Earl Thompson, acting director of the housing divi- 
 sion, said the division would no longer require University approval 
 for living quarters; men could rent rooms wherever they could find 
 them. But that, too, was a problem. On January 31, 1946, on the 
 eve of the spring semester, a news item reported, "UI vets are out 
 today, tramping the streets of Champaign and Urbana in a house- 
 to-house canvass of the residential districts in an attempt to scout 
 out all potential housing that might be available for the coming 
 spring term." 
 
 The return of the veteran caused many campus activities to 
 change their emphasis in order to appeal to more mature male 
 students. On September 17, 1939, an editorial had portrayed the 
 fraternity situation before the war: 
 
 Pity the freshman — 
 
 Who this week starts life in a fraternity he was forced to join 
 through expert manipulation of a smooth-working "hot box." 
 
 He didn't have a chance to make up his own mind. He had no 
 opportunity to express a preference, one way or another. He was 
 a victim of rushing of the most despicable sort. . . . 
 
 Pledges obtained through shady rushing tactics benefit neither the 
 fraternity nor the freshman. Some rushees "hot boxed" into joining, 
 break their pledge before the first semester has ended. Disillusioned, 
 they rarely give fraternities a second thought. All the fine points — 
 and there are many — inherent in fraternity life, learning to live with 
 other men, are battered down before the insidious assault of dirty 
 rushing. . . . 
 
 But in the years immediately after the war. the tables were turned. 
 
 164 
 
THE EIGHTH DECADE 1937-46 
 
 It was the rushee, often a returned serviceman, who held control of 
 the situation. The appeal of fraternities to veterans was the subject 
 of a column by Jean Hurt on September 20, 1945. 
 
 Fraternities may very well be wondering what the reaction of the 
 majority of the returning servicemen will be toward the Greek letter 
 institutions. To date, most reports would seem to indicate that the 
 men who are coming back to college are anxious to become fraternity 
 members. 
 
 But many men still in service who are planning to return to college 
 campuses express different views. They say they have no time for 
 the social activities connected with a fraternity. They will tell you that 
 they want to complete their college education in as short a period of 
 time as possible. 
 
 Fraternities may have been good things in the past, they admit, but 
 they haven't time for them now. And they aren't impressed by the 
 prestige of a Greek letter name after they have been a member of 
 a much larger fraternity — Uncle Sam's armed forces. 
 
 Hazing is bound to be a sore spot for the men who will be coming 
 back to school. They have no intention of going through the rigorous 
 paces of pledge training after battling bullets in the southwest Pa- 
 cific or in Europe. 
 
 The fraternities, on the other hand, feel this way about it. If the 
 returned service man wants to enjoy the privileges of a fraternity, he 
 will be required to go through the same kind of training as others 
 have before him. Admittedly, the veterans don't want exceptions 
 made for them. They would rather just skip the fraternity side of col- 
 lege life altogether. . . . 
 
 On March 3, 1946, Dean of Men E. E. Stafford wrote in a letter to 
 the editor, "I know some of the veterans of World War II, who 
 come to the campus, are a little hesitant about pledging fraternities 
 because of stories that have been circulated concerning hazing and 
 rough stuff in initiations. If that is holding you back, let me reassure 
 you. Hazing is as out of date among our campus fraternities as the 
 horse and buggy. . . ." 
 
 Perhaps the most noticeable effect of the return to peacetime was 
 
 165 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 the adjustment, once again, of the men-to-women ratio. But not all 
 was the same. One of the most controversial subjects of discussion 
 in the spring of 1946 was an article by a Chicago Daily News re- 
 porter who had visited the Urbana campus. His report was re- 
 printed in the Daily Illini on April 12, 1946. 
 
 G. I. Joe has met Betty Coed. 
 
 The result? A baying of wolves that rises from the green campus 
 at the University of Illinois and echoes in its historic halls. 
 
 But here's the twist — the howl of the pack is distinctly feminine. 
 
 Nearly 6,000 vets have invaded the university, to change the 
 three-maids-to-a-man ratio to two men to a girl. The coeds are de- 
 lighted; the men, wary. 
 
 "They're too aggressive," asserts Marshall Linsky, 20, a former 
 marine, now in the school of commerce. "They're not the same girls 
 we left behind. . . ." 
 
 The howl of the wolves was nothing to the resulting howls of pro- 
 test. A news item on April 12, 1946, reported that "anxious parents 
 called offspring on the campus last night to warn their sons to choose 
 dates carefully and to upbraid their daughters for 'loose conduct.' 
 This parental anxiety was brought on by the Chicago Daily News 
 article yesterday." 
 
 But peace — and peacetime — were restored when Dean of 
 Women Leah F. Trelease said in a statement to the Daily Illini, 
 
 Anyone who knows a fair cross section of the 4,000 undergraduate 
 women on campus could not call them aggressive "wolves" who have 
 forgotten how to blush. Of course, they are glad the war is over and 
 the young men have returned to the campus, and they enjoy more 
 dating than they have known for several years. That their frank joy 
 is not generally misinterpreted was proved by the prompt repudiation 
 of the Daily News charges, by a group of veterans in yesterday's 
 Daily Illini. 
 
 All the effects of the war have not gone, but they will go soon, and 
 the young men — veterans or not veterans — will live on campus as 
 thousands of young men have lived before them; they won't think 
 about being pursued, but each will enjoy as friends many U. of I. 
 co-eds — and finally marry one. 
 
 166 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE NINTH DECADE 
 
 1947-56 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 Student to date in parked car: "Aw, c'mon baby, I'll never make the 
 Kinsey report if you act like that." 
 
 — Cartoon caption, September 28, 1948 
 
 The postwar and Korean War years at Illinois were typified by 
 students who belonged to the "hollow generation," according to a 
 1955 column by Bob Perlongo. If this was true, the campus was 
 only reflecting what many observers found to be a generally apa- 
 thetic campus attitude throughout the nation. It was a time for 
 hard studying and a thoughtful look at careers. Veterans, many of 
 them married and with families, had to make ends meet under the 
 GI Bill. They had little time for undergraduate activities. Nor did 
 the atmosphere engendered by Senator Joseph McCarthy encourage 
 political involvement on the campus. By 1947, the campus could be 
 recognized again as an undergraduate center on a peacetime basis, 
 and with a peacetime shortage of coeds, but there was a seriousness 
 added to the student mixture by the veterans and the growing num- 
 ber of graduate students. 
 
 The University's new president was George D. Stoddard, who 
 took office in the summer of 1946 after the retirement of Willard. 
 Stoddard's reputation as New York State Commissioner of Educa- 
 tion was as an outspoken, liberal administrator, and he brought 
 these qualities to his new position at Illinois. U A policy which en- 
 courages independence and freedom in student enterprises is better 
 both for the students and the University than one which attempts 
 
 167 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 too much guidance and supervision," he said in a letter to the Daily 
 Mini published April 11, 1947. In a statement which reflected his 
 general administrative philosophy as well as his policy on the student 
 newspaper, Stoddard continued, 
 
 From the point of view of an institution, it is far better for the Univer- 
 sity administration to assume and to let the public know we assume 
 no responsibility for student utterances. Freedom of expression of 
 student editorial policy carries with it corresponding responsibility. 
 Intelligent and responsible students do not, as a rule, abuse the priv- 
 ilege of freedom of expression. If occasionally such abuses occur, 
 they should be promptly corrected. 
 
 Were the University to assume any measure of responsibility for 
 student opinion, two results would follow. First, such a policy would 
 drive student opinion underground. Second, it would force the Uni- 
 versity to assume responsibility for every student utterance since it 
 would assume responsibility for some. Both of these results would 
 be unfortunate. . . . 
 
 Returning veterans found life made somewhat easier for them by 
 the GI Bill and crash housing programs, but not all of their prob- 
 lems had been solved. A news item on January 11, 1947, reported, 
 "Sorry, soldier, but from now on you're going to have to kick out 
 that two bits a page for typing term papers. The Veterans Admin- 
 istration regional office in Chicago has just notified Richard D. 
 Meyer, office of veterans' procurement, that 'in no instance was 
 authority granted the VA to pay the cost of typing term papers.' 
 However, there's some consolation. Circular 268 mentions typing 
 of a required degree thesis as being acceptable as a part of the cost 
 of education or training." 
 
 The returning vet ran into other educational hazards as well. A 
 news item on the same day: "The power of a good story told by an 
 instructor was demonstrated in an economics class recently. A vet- 
 eran thought a story his instructor told sounded vaguely familiar. 
 Then other things came back to him. When he checked his pre- 
 vious record in the commerce office, he found that not only had he 
 taken the course in 1943, but he had made a C for the semester. 
 He's doing better now, and expects a B this semester." 
 
 168 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 Improved grades might have been the result of more maturity, 
 increased attention the second time around, or a simple lack of 
 anything to do except study. A news item on January 29, 1948: 
 
 How about a date for the Senior Ball? Yes, men, perhaps you can 
 get a date for it if you try right away. 
 
 The male population of the University is complaining about the 
 hardship of getting dates. The ratio of four men to one woman may 
 have lots to do with the situation. However, these figures include the 
 married students. 
 
 Fellows object to asking two weeks or more in advance for dates. 
 Many fellows have given up dating almost entirely, excepting the big 
 events on campus and their house dances. They have given up even 
 trying — they just go out with the fellows. . . . 
 
 One of the favorite solutions for the campus housing squeeze was a 
 house trailer, and for a few years widespread trailer living created 
 a new set of campus social patterns. Campus Scout reported on 
 October 25, 1949, 
 
 Life in a trailer isn't half as bad as you'd expect despite the fact that 
 everything within these wheeled boxes must serve a dual purpose. 
 
 We experienced our first "trailer-going" party Sunday evening 
 when some cheery folks invited us over to their chateau for dinner 
 and a few forbidden snorts. 
 
 Apparently there is no limit to the number of people a trailer can 
 hold. They're built for two and three persons but our little party de- 
 veloped into a feast for some 10 people. Of course, you have to 
 sit in one another's laps, but strangely enough campus cops and 
 homelike housemothers have not yet wandered into the confines of 
 trailerdom. 
 
 Trailers are having their period of prominence now because of the 
 difficult housing situation and they are meeting the shortage admir- 
 ably. Hundreds of students and faculty couples live in these Pullman 
 cars of the highway, hidden away in secluded backyards and in 
 trailer colonies on the outskirts of town. These vehicles are a godsend 
 for landladies and other deprived souls who have run out of space 
 
 169 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 in which to cramp boarders and at last have found a way to make 
 money off their two-by-four backyards. 
 
 For several years after the war, the initials "DP" entered the every- 
 day language, as thousands of displaced persons from Europe came 
 to the United States. Many of them continued their education at 
 American universities, including Illinois. A news item on October 
 13, 1949: 
 
 Aside from the fact that "girls here use too much lipstick" and that 
 some of them never saw "all girls painted up so much," the DP's are 
 rapidly adjusting themselves to life at the University. 
 
 Football games were among the "firsts" for the DP's. They im- 
 mediately compared football to soccer, which is "a much faster 
 game." They couldn't quite understand the necessity of having so 
 many huddles. After commenting about the games, they said they 
 especially liked our marching and singing band, and, of course, 
 Block I 
 
 The hospitality the DP's have received in their first few weeks on 
 campus has overwhelmed them. The best way to express their appre- 
 ciation can be summed up in a statement by one of them, "If an 
 American student would come to Europe, I don't think he would get 
 this much help." 
 
 As the campus gradually realized that the war — and temporary 
 wartime relaxing of regulations — were over, prewar gripes began 
 to appear in the Letters column of the Daily lllini. A correspondent 
 wrote on October 19, 1949, 
 
 The war is over and the veterans are disappearing from the campus. 
 This exodus marks the passing of what some have called the "golden 
 era," that period during which certain violations of restrictions were 
 overlooked by the University administration because there was a 
 sense of unfairness in applying certain regulations to older, more 
 worldly college students. 
 
 Yes, the war is over, and we are gradually reverting to prewar 
 standards. Certain infractions, formerly overlooked, are no longer 
 taken in so light a vein. 
 
 Organized student houses, in planning a dance or party, no longer 
 
 170 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 have the courage to take a chance at being caught drinking at these 
 affairs. The feeling of enforced prohibition is again setting in. 
 
 Those of us who are 21 years of age and over are being made sub- 
 ject to unfair stipulation. The state is the representative of the people. 
 The people have made a law: "One must have attained legal ma- 
 jority before being granted the right to consume alcoholic bever- 
 ages." Let us, as honest citizens, repeal this law, amend it, or im- 
 partially enforce the now two-faced thing. 
 
 An editorial noted on May 6, 1950, 
 
 Informal initiations and pledging practices are beginning to swing 
 back to their prewar status. 
 
 As an article in Tuesday's paper pointed out, many educators had 
 hoped the veteran influence in honoraries and professionals would 
 do away with many of the "silly practices" pursued by the groups. 
 That evidently isn't the case, as can be seen by conditions on campus 
 this spring. Pershing Rifles, Skull and Crescent, and Sachem are only 
 a few examples of the new fad of making pledges carry various items 
 to all classes. 
 
 Many students consider this type of pledging procedure silly and 
 childish. Veterans refused to take part in campus organizations un- 
 less it was omitted. Now the "youngsters" are beginning to accept 
 the old practices again. 
 
 Some of the enthusiasm of the old practices was evidenced by a news 
 item on October 1, 1949: 
 
 Premeditated and unpremeditated mayhem resulted in a possible 
 fractured collar bone at the MIA-WGS mixer in the lllini Union ball 
 room last night. 
 
 The accident occurred to Ernest Kaufmann, University student, dur- 
 ing what was called a "shoe dance." 
 
 After the men and women at the mixer had been lined up on op- 
 posite sides of the room, each woman threw one of her shoes into a 
 pile in the center. The object of the "game" was for each man to 
 try to get a shoe and match said item with the other shoe of the 
 female owner. 
 
 Kaufmann rushed into the struggle attempting to get a shoe, and 
 
 171 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 in doing so was thrown to the floor, where he was smothered by 
 bodies. . . . 
 
 What could be done to alleviate this struggle (both allegorical and 
 physical) among date-deprived males? An editorial on November 1. 
 1951, suggested an answer: 
 
 Ah, how the lowly Coke date hath arisen to the heights of glory! 
 'Twill soon have a place to which all things aspire, that of a "social 
 function." 
 
 There was a time when a Coke date was just what the term implies, 
 two people going off for a Coke and conversation. It seemed like a 
 good way to get better acquainted. Houses saw the possibilities in- 
 volved in such a nice, easy, informal way to "meet people," which 
 everyone in his right mind is supposed to desire above all else. 
 
 So-o, houses adopted the Coke date. 
 
 Social chairmen could expect anything from groans to glee as they 
 put up the much-heralded Coke date lists. "Your pledges have a 
 Coke date with ours today," and "How many girls can go Wednes- 
 day at 9?" became standard phrases. . . . 
 
 Only the people who wanted to "meet people" would go. Many 
 of them took place from 9 to 10:30 p.m., the time when students take 
 a break from studying, anyway. And some of the perennial Coke- 
 daters liked nothing better than the possibility of the affair turning 
 into a "beer bust." Often their anticipations were fulfilled. . . . 
 
 An article on March 31, 1954, suggested another avenue for men 
 without dates: 
 
 With the three men to one woman ratio on the campus, six dateless 
 men from Medea Lodge, Men's Independent Association house at 412 
 W. Green, Champaign, decided to advertise. 
 
 When warm spring weather briefly came to the campus last Sun- 
 day, these occupants painted their names on the back of an old 
 "Sweet Sixteen" sign. Underneath the names were the words "dates 
 available" and their phone numbers. The fellows hung the sign on 
 the house porch. 
 
 The men explained that they had been dateless for quite a while 
 
 172 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 now and decided they wanted a little social life. Medea placed first 
 last semester for scholastic averages of MIA houses with over 40 resi- 
 dents. Three of the advertised men could not be contacted because 
 they were at the library — trying to find dates. . . . 
 
 Nor was the situation cased by the installation of new street lights on 
 Wright Street. Phil Petty wrote in his column on April 14, 1955, 
 
 Now that winter has been gone for three days and it is already 108 
 degrees in the minute areas of shade available we once again con- 
 verge on Champaign-Urbana, or what of it that hasn't already melted. 
 
 Perhaps the most striking feature to behold after the vacation is 
 the addition of several new light poles that now illuminate Wright 
 Street from sundown on. . . . 
 
 Not that we are unappreciative for the gift of added light to our 
 campus, no indeed. It is simply that it could possibly have been 
 placed more to advantage elsewhere. No doubt it will come in handy 
 should anyone lose a needle at midnight in front of the YMCA, which 
 in exterior lighting now resembles the French Capitol Building. But 
 there are certain places where light ain't wanted, pardon the expres- 
 sion, and this area, unfortunately, is one of them. 
 
 There were, at last count, some three sororities iocated within a 
 two-block span along said avenue. And it is a well-known fact that 
 at approximately 10:15 (four nights per week) and any time from 11 
 on (the other three, there still being seven nights per week the last 
 time Student Senate discussed the matter) there are numerous vehicles 
 parked along Wright Street, in which students discuss topics of the 
 day, the weather, current clothing fads, and the evils to be en- 
 countered in Home Economics. 
 
 In addition to this sparkling repartee, they have been known to 
 sip soda pop from carry-out containers, play the radio, and shake 
 hands. It's the shaking hands part that seems to be interrupted in 
 the recently acquired light. And it also is a known fact that hand- 
 shaking of the type known on this campus does not reach full flower 
 under a sealbeam with the intensity required to melt a windshield. 
 
 Therefore, something must be done. Things cannot go on as they 
 are. Dr. Salk solved only one of our problems. 
 
 173 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Spring of 1955, memorialized under streetlights by Petty, was scru- 
 tinized in the daytime by Columnist Irwin Gold on April 7, 1955, 
 
 Spring had hit Chambana. For real. Those dirty glances I'd been 
 getting from the disgruntled robins about town were beginning to get 
 me down. But it seems that Warm Weather is with us at last. 
 
 Signs of the season are everywhere. I've been able to start my 
 favorite spring game, Watching the Children Watcher. It consists of 
 sneaking up on the eager young women — notebook, pencil, and 
 small tattoo of John Dewey on the left wrist identifies them — who 
 sit outside the pen between Bevier and Lincoln where the guinea- 
 children are kept in recreational pursuits. The Children Watchers 
 peer through the mesh and take notes. Watch a Children Watcher 
 for spring time edification. 
 
 On the other side of Lincoln Hall, beneath the magnolia tree, Bob 
 Sward, Boy Poet, sits and waits and watches. He has already written 
 odes to bubblegum, Al the Eskimo, and the Kitchen Sink; he feels that 
 it is time now for magnolias. If only the tree would blossom, a son- 
 net a petal would flow forth. 
 
 Not everyone in town has been as stirred by spring — and trees. 
 For the fourth consecutive election the Urbana voters have decided 
 not to levy a forestry tax. This is a fine example of the civic pride 
 that is said to be so prevalent in small towns. As each diseased elm 
 topples over, and we're forced to look upon a denuded Urbana, with 
 its mouldering clapboards, we can thank the local electorate for their 
 generosity during the vernal days. 
 
 For years, undergraduate legend had it that there were unofficial 
 lists of rules for sorority and independent women. Such imaginary 
 lists were ingrained in campus folklore as early as the 1930's, and 
 on September 21, 1955, John Scheldrup published a typical pro- 
 nouncement in Campus Scout: 
 
 Don't ask where and how we found it, please, but the following is 
 what an aspiring pledge trainer directed toward her "greenies" on a 
 sorority bulletin board: 
 
 Girls: As a pledge, it is mandatory that you represent the entire 
 sorority in a manner befitting our fine name on campus. Below are 
 
 174 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 indicated fundamental rules with which you will be expected to abide: 
 
 1. Sorority girls do not smoke while walking. In the company of 
 men wait for them to light your cigarette before you do so yourself. 
 
 2. You are expected to wear your pledge pin at all times, except 
 when you are attired in blue jeans and/or pajamas. 
 
 3. Don't wear blue jeans unless okayed by your senior roommate. 
 
 4. Sorority girls don't use toothpicks — brush your teeth! 
 
 5. Don't wear shorts on the streets — that's for boys. 
 
 6. Lipstick, like most cosmetics, is obnoxious in excess. 
 
 7. If you have an itch, leave it alone or seek privacy. Nosepickers 
 are subject to depledging. 
 
 8. Above all, remember: you have graduated from Blackboard 
 Jungle! Rattle and roll elsewhere. 
 
 9. Motorcycle jackets, sweat sox are out of vogue. 
 
 10. Keep your room spotlessly clean to mirror your personality. 
 
 If the rulings for sorority women had a tinge of the fantastic, the 
 "lounge code" for independent women published in an editorial on 
 December 8, 1954, was almost certainly apocryphal. Nevertheless, 
 it reflected social mores of the time. 
 
 This is the new "lounge code" as passed by the joint governing 
 board of Lincoln Avenue Residence Halls (if you don't believe it look 
 for yourself): 
 
 1. Occupants are to assume a vertical position. 
 
 2. No sitting on laps. 
 
 3. No petting in public areas. 
 
 4. Telephone booths cannot be used for anything but telephone 
 calls. 
 
 5. No feet allowed on furniture. 
 
 6. No shoes off in the lounge. 
 
 And so, the LAR "lounge code" takes its place among the great 
 moral codes of the world's history. It makes the Koran pale by 
 comparison. Moses would never have bothered with the Ten Com- 
 mandments had he known what would be. 
 
 And think of the financial repercussions. Telephone business 
 should be doubled. Shoemakers will have the benefit of added 
 
 175 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 wear on students' shoes. Cars will be parked with their motors 
 running and it will be a bonanza for the oil companies. 
 
 This truly is a remarkable document. We, the living, hereby 
 pledge our lives to insure that these great works endure the taunts 
 and jibes of the wrong-thinkers and radicals who would seek to 
 overthrow the document and make a mockery of the cherished insti- 
 tutions which it seeks to protect. 
 
 Vive le WCTU! Vive le Protecteur! 
 
 There was, however, a certain relaxation in moral standards as the 
 Daily Illini surveyed the field on September 15, 1955. "We have 
 decided to take a stand on the matter of bermuda shorts. Unlike 
 other portions of our editorial policy, this opinion will be rigid, in- 
 flexible and dogmatic. It will not be swerved by changing clothing 
 styles or ugly legs. It shall be our eternal editorial feeling. We are 
 in favor of bermuda short for males." 
 
 Some forms of attire did not pass muster, however. The Men's 
 Independent Association's annual Ugly Man Contest was the sub- 
 ject of an article on March 4, 1954: "A green-faced, putty-nosed 
 Ugly Man was asked not to enter the University Theatre perfor- 
 mance Wednesday night at the Lincoln Hall Theatre. Joe Scott, 
 supervisor of the University Theatre, detained the Ugly Man and 
 his campaign manager in the foyer of the theatre and said, 'You 
 would cause a riot and detract from the play.' Scott said he would 
 see that the ticket money was refunded. The Ugly Man felt this was 
 'unfair, because I have worn my costume to class all day without 
 creating a commotion.' " 
 
 A revived interest in football, which had gone into eclipse with 
 the sadly depleted wartime teams, took place during the late 1940's. 
 And (shades of the legendary Red Matthews!) co-ed cheerleaders 
 were permitted for the first time. A news item on September 26. 
 1950: 
 
 The first coed cheerleaders in Illini history were appointed yesterday 
 by the cheerleading advisory board. . . . 
 
 The appointments were announced after the pep rally kick-off 
 dinner last night at the Illini Union. Highlighting the program was a 
 
 176 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 speech by lllini Coach Ray Eliot, who lauded the efforts of the 
 cheerleaders and student body in promoting spirit at football games 
 in former years. . . . 
 
 Pledging his support to the cheerleaders, Athletic Director Doug 
 Mills asked activity leaders present to help "do all we can to make the 
 cheerleading a recognized activity as it has been in times past. . . ." 
 
 An editorial on October 5, 1950: 
 
 "Rickety, rackety, sackety, foo. Coed cheerleaders, do we love you!" 
 And that could be called the general reaction of the crowd at last 
 
 Friday's pep rally which cheered with more enthusiasm than similar 
 
 crowds have done during the past few years. . . . 
 
 During the long battle last year to enlist women cheerleaders, 
 
 opponents argued that coeds would add nothing to the pep 
 
 gatherings. 
 
 They claimed the women are less adept at handling large group 
 
 cheering. The result of last Friday's rally certainly has closed the lid 
 
 on those arguments. . . . 
 
 McCarthyism was a factor in campus political life during the de- 
 cade, as it was on almost all American campuses. The Clabaugh 
 Act, passed by the state General Assembly in 1948, prohibited "sub- 
 versive speakers" from appearing on the campus, and a series of 
 investigations into alleged communist activity at the University were 
 proposed during the early fifties. An editorial on December 13, 
 1950: 
 
 Here we go again. The quarterly "investigate the Communists at the 
 University of Illinois" campaign is under way once more, this time 
 conducted by an old grad, Rep. Harold H. Velde, who is quite sure 
 that things are not as they should be at his alma mater. . . . 
 
 We haven't had a chance for an investigation since the middle of 
 August when the Republicans, in a fit of vote desperation, indulged 
 in the red scare fiasco which ended with Red Grange's nomination 
 as a GOP candidate for the University Board of Trustees. 
 
 At that time it was charged by State Rep. Ora Dillavou that there 
 were at least "50 Reds, Pinks and socialists" on the University staff. 
 And Grange was swept into the nomination on the strength of the 
 
 177 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 statement (not made by himself) that he would oust red sympathizers 
 from the University. . . . 
 
 We don't know about the rest of the state, but as far as this 
 campus is concerned we prefer to go along with University security 
 officer Joseph Ewers, who fails to see the dangers outlined by Velde. 
 And Ewers has kept pretty well on top of such things locally. 
 
 Finally, we have a hunch there are at least two or three (or maybe 
 20,000) dogfeet waiting for evacuation ships in Korea today who 
 would prefer that the likes of Velde direct their talents toward live 
 Communists in Korea than toward imaginary Communists in Cham- 
 paign-Urbana. 
 
 A long-standing policy of the Board of Trustees prohibited political 
 candidates from speaking on the campus. A news item on December 
 18, 1951, reported, 
 
 Another appeal to get political speakers on campus — this time with 
 the added backing of the University Senate — was denied Monday 
 by the Board of Trustees. 
 
 Unlike the 1950 action, when the matter had to be reconsidered 
 to break a tie vote, only one trustee this year favored allowing 
 political candidates to speak at the University. . . . 
 
 Except for a remark by Wayne Johnston, Chicago, that "the 
 board's decision was a good one in 1890 and it's a better one now," 
 there was no discussion on the actual issue. . . . 
 
 After the meeting, Johnston, who is president of the Illinois Central 
 Railroad, remarked that he opposed "mixing" education and politics. 
 
 "If you get some of these rabblerousers down there it will just 
 mean a lot of headaches for the trustees," he said. . . . 
 
 The latter part of the decade saw the emergence of a "hollow gen- 
 eration," according to Bob Perlongo, one of the best known Daily 
 lllini columnists of the period. Perlongo wrote on January 8, 1955, 
 
 I want to tell you why this is the Hollow Generation. 
 
 Imaginations are being stepped on all over the place nowadays, 
 romance even is becoming ugly and instead of vitality and vigor there 
 is a deadly white national pasty-faced expression of indifference. 
 
 178 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 The horror of being blown up even is obliterated by this indif- 
 ference. Nobody seems to care anymore. . . . 
 
 A University president is elected and there is a lot of controversy 
 about it among those whose interests are very directly affected by the 
 selection. But the students of this University are quiet and voiceless. 
 
 A senator who perhaps has done more than his share to make this 
 generation (yours and mine) one whose people hesitate to speak out 
 and only timidly when they do, was censured. There were no letters 
 about this, pro or con, sent to The Daily lllini editor. An argument 
 about a housemother and a student who thought she had been unjust 
 to him netted about half a dozen. A Fred Waring review got two 
 or three and there were many injured sensibilities and much heated 
 discussion about this review. . . . 
 
 By finding out why this is the Hollow Generation, we may find 
 ways to make it a better one. Many reasons are given. There is 
 hope that some people will give an ear to these reasons and decide 
 whether they are valid. 
 
 One reason given is the big bomb. Our security is bubbling 
 away in test tubes where better ways of destroying us are being 
 developed. . . . 
 
 Another possible reason is the anti-intellectual Black Plague that 
 is lulling our generation into a kind of mental stupor. The motion 
 picture men who sometimes grit their teeth and lose money on 
 artistically successful productions dish up celluloid slop and we eat 
 it up. Black, grooved discs that scream and screech and give forth 
 with audio garbage and sell for 89 cents each, we purchase by the 
 millions. Boxes of idiot sound and light, we watch until the National 
 Eye is nearly bloodshot. . . . 
 
 You are being lulled to sleep and you are being made indifferent 
 and some few people are trying to silence you. . . . This is not the 
 lost generation. The spark, though weak, still can be seen. But if 
 you remain hollow and indifferent, the spark doubtless will die. You 
 are better lost. 
 
 Despite their supposed indifference, however, students during the 
 entire decade took a deep interest in civil rights. National attention 
 
 179 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 was directed to a campaign to integrate campus barbershops when 
 football hero J. C. Caroline was denied a haircut because he was 
 Negro. Progress of a sort was noted in the late forties, although of 
 a sort that would be considered naive later. An editorial on Decem- 
 ber 2, 1947: 
 
 Last week Panhellenic took a big step forward in the abolishment of 
 racial prejudice when its members unanimously voted to accept a 
 Negro sorority as a full member body. 
 
 For a long time many students in the University have been preach- 
 ing equality among the races and done little practicing of their high- 
 sounding morals. The interracial committee has had large odds 
 against it in its struggle against suppression of minority racial 
 elements. . . . 
 
 Some honest efforts have been made by University students both 
 in organized groups and individually to eliminate friction between 
 the races. Notable examples have been the campaign to stop dis- 
 crimination in restaurant service, the acceptance of two Negro 
 fraternities into Interfraternity Council, and the election of a Negro 
 to the Student Senate as a vice president of that body. . . . 
 
 A news item on January 16, 1948: 
 
 Discrimination against Negroes, Jews, and foreign students in Cham- 
 paign-Urbana has lessened greatly in the last two years, according 
 to the student members of the panel which discussed intercultural 
 relations at the teachers-in-training meeting last night. 
 
 However, it was pointed out discrimination is still very prominent 
 on campus and in the Twin Cities, especially in the latter. Housing 
 for all three groups is still a great problem. Ralph Hines told the 
 group that although surface discrimination of Negroes in eating 
 establishments has been abandoned on campus, the Twin Cities have 
 not completely followed this policy, and theaters accept Negroes 
 reluctantly. . . . 
 
 On May 18, 1950, a survey of 311 students by the newly formed 
 Student-Community Interracial Committee indicated that 96 per 
 cent of those questioned had no objection to Negroes eating in the 
 same public eating establishments, 92 per cent did not object to a 
 
 180 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 Negro sitting at the same table, and 83 per cent approved of Negroes 
 being served in campus barbershops. These figures did not provide 
 a hint of the storm that was to break within four years. On Feb- 
 ruary 11, 1954, a news item reported, 
 
 John's Barbershop, 506 E. Green St., Champaign, closed shop 
 Wednesday half an hour after opening when a Negro student came 
 in requesting a haircut. . . . 
 
 Tom Rowan, assistant in psychology, said he was in the shop 
 waiting for a haircut about 8:30 a.m. when the Negro student, whom 
 he identified as Don Stokes, entered. Rowan said the only others in 
 the shop were Barthelemy (the owner), his assistant, and two cus- 
 tomers who were already being waited on. 
 
 Stokes sat down on a bench, Rowan said, when Barthelemy told 
 him, "Sorry, fellow, we're closed." 
 
 When Stokes asked why, Barthelemy only replied, "We have to 
 go to a funeral; we're closed the rest of the day," Rowan said. 
 Stokes then left the shop. . . . 
 
 It was indicated that this action was part of the campaign by the 
 Student-Community Human Relations Council to have campus-area 
 barbers provide service on a non-discriminatory basis. It was also 
 indicated that this may be just one of several "tests" of shops in the 
 near future. 
 
 And so it was. The next day, a "no haircut" campaign was sug- 
 gested at a meeting of the YMCA Racial Equality Committee, and 
 representatives were appointed to ask heads of the campus ROTC 
 units to excuse demerits against unshorn students joining in the boy- 
 cott. In a letter to the editor, Harry M. Tiebout, then an Assistant 
 Professor of Philosophy and a leader of the campaign, wrote on 
 February 7, 1954, 
 
 Ever since this barbershop ruckus began, I have been asked, "Why 
 do you people go around stirring up trouble?" A friend introduced 
 me as "the man who hates the barbers." Local barbers sometimes 
 refer to SCHRC as the "anti-barber club." In a letter to the YMCA, 
 officials of the barbers' union said that everything had been peaceful 
 and harmonious until the "Y" started making trouble. In endless 
 
 181 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 variations the theme is repeated: everything was going along fine 
 until the "Y" and the SCHRC started creating trouble. 
 
 But just what is this "trouble" that we are supposed to have 
 created? Certainly, no one can accuse us of creating prejudice and 
 discrimination. That "trouble" existed long before we called any- 
 one's attention to it. What we did was to make an "issue" out of it. 
 A year and a half ago discrimination in barbershops was no trouble 
 whatsoever to the overwhelming majority of students and faculty. 
 
 Because the overwhelming majority of students and faculty had no 
 idea that it existed. Only a few people knew. The Negroes knew. 
 Day in, day out, they suffered indignities and humiliations, sometimes 
 silently and sometimes with protests that nobody heard. (One barber, 
 when asked what he did if a Negro tried to get a haircut in his shop, 
 responded: "I try to embarrass him so much he will never come 
 back.") 
 
 Now that has changed. People know. The campus has been sensi- 
 tized to the problems of prejudice and discrimination — and not just 
 in barbershops. . . . 
 
 Another campus poll, published on March 11, 1954, showed 2,153 
 students in favor of action against discrimination, and 443 opposed 
 to such action. 
 
 An increasing seriousness on such issues as civil rights did not 
 affect the irresistible undergraduate urge toward pranksterism, es- 
 pecially in the springtime. The class riots and color rushes of de- 
 cades past had their inevitable descendants. A news item on May 
 13, 1953: 
 
 "Panty-raid" fever, plaguing many other colleges during the past 
 week, last night swept over the University campus. . . . 
 
 Results of last night's raid include: 
 
 Eight students arrested — two by Champaign police for disturbing 
 the peace; one by state police for lighting firecrackers; and five by 
 University police for disorderly conduct. 
 
 At least four women's houses entered — temporarily. These were 
 Delta Zeta, Theta Upsilon, Pi Beta Phi sororities and 4-H House. 
 
 A small quantity of "panties" and other feminine apparel secured 
 
 182 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 as spoils for the victors. (Most of the "spoils" were voluntarily tossed 
 down to the raiders.) 
 
 The teams in last night's action included 1,000 men students at 
 peak strength versus any and all organized women's houses — with 
 University, Urbana, Champaign and state police as referees. . . . 
 
 The raiding students seemed almost inexhaustible. They marched 
 from Champaign to Urbana and back to Champaign and then back 
 into Urbana again. . . . 
 
 Those among the students who had accomplished their mission — 
 the securing of panties — proudly displayed their battle trophies. 
 One slipped into a pair of panties and begged photographers to 
 take his picture. 
 
 And while the raiders went about their business, the police fol- 
 lowed closely behind. For them it was a rough job of keeping the 
 mobs in some semblance of order. . . . 
 
 Throughout the night, the taunts flew back and forth. The students 
 jeered the ever-present police and the police handed it right back. 
 
 The decade also saw the re-emergence of the humor magazine, 
 which had been in eclipse at Illinois since the 1930's. The College 
 Tumor, a Homecoming publication of Sigma Delta Chi, the jour- 
 nalism fraternity, was in trouble with the authorities repeatedly 
 from its founding. A news item on November 13, 1951 : 
 
 The fate of Sigma Delta Chi, publisher of the College Tumor, and its 
 student officers may be taken up Tuesday at a meeting of the Uni- 
 versity subcommittee on student discipline. . . . 
 
 A possible measure that may be taken is expulsion of SDX's 
 student officers. 
 
 More than $1,000 belonging to the fraternity was "frozen" in the 
 Student Organizations fund Monday by Fred H. Turner, dean of 
 students. . . . The dean condemned the Tumor for "obvious lack of 
 good judgment." Monday he added that the action had been en- 
 tirely his own. He also pointed out that the Tumor had previously 
 been suspended from publication several times because of similar 
 difficulties. . . . 
 
 Several campus sources doubt that action against the Tumor will 
 
 183 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 be based on moral grounds. They say that a case against it probably 
 will be built on such things as the "cheapskates" column and the 
 picture of Pres. George D. Stoddard and Actress Susan Cabot with 
 beer-hall scenery dubbed in. 
 
 On April 9, 1954, an article reported, "Any student who works on a 
 publication such as Shaft will be in jeopardy of disciplinary action, 
 according to a decision of University officials and a resolution passed 
 by the Committee on Student Affairs Thursday. The resolution was 
 presented to CSA by Dean of Men Edward Stafford. He said Uni- 
 versity officials had received numerous complaints about the maga- 
 zine's obscenity from University alumni, students' parents and other 
 persons. . . ." 
 
 On August 12, 1953, a news item reported that the University's 
 27-year-old ban on automobiles would be scrapped for a one-year 
 trial period the following autumn. In his announcement, Dean of 
 Students Turner said, "It was agreed that the motor vehicle has 
 become so much a part of everyday life that the University regula- 
 tions should be directed chiefly to those students who abuse the 
 privilege of operation rather than those who need cars and operate 
 them satisfactorily." 
 
 In November, 1954, the age-old practice of fraternity "Hell 
 Week" was once again laid to rest. Howard Neuberg, Dean of Fra- 
 ternity Men, announced that "Help Week" would replace "Hell 
 Week," and fraternities would replace their secret informal initia- 
 tion with a community-wide cleanup campaign. A resulting Daily 
 lllini poll showed that twenty-eight fraternities admitted still having 
 Hell Week. 
 
 Stoddard's tenure as president ended in the summer of 1953. The 
 University had been the stage for a number of major controversies 
 in the late 1940's and early fifties, including a dispute over economic 
 philosophies in the College of Commerce and a struggle revoking 
 around the so-called cancer drug krebiozen with which the vice- 
 president of the professional colleges was experimenting. Then, in a 
 meeting of the Board of Trustees on the night of July 24, Trustee 
 Harold (Red) Grange asked that a vote of confidence in the chief 
 
 184 
 
THE NINTH DECADE 1947-56 
 
 executive be taken. Stoddard lost 6 to 3, and immediately submitted 
 his resignation. 
 
 The board's action drew criticism from several areas, and the 
 students, with whom Stoddard always had been popular, gave him 
 their own vote of confidence. A news item on July 30, 1953: 
 
 Nearly 1,000 students and faculty members singing "Illinois Loyalty" 
 and "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" marched to the President's Man- 
 sion to tell Dr. George Stoddard that his departure "will be a great 
 loss to us." 
 
 The group moved in a long column from the Auditorium steps to 
 the front lawn of the mansion, where Dr. and Mrs. Stoddard ap- 
 peared to acknowledge the applause. Leading the march were 
 Richard Thies, former YMCA president, and Joe Bachelder III, junior 
 in LAS. 
 
 An estimated 1,500 persons were at the summer band concert pre- 
 ceding the rally. At its conclusion, the crowd approved by applause 
 a resolution which Thies later read to the president. 
 
 It said: 
 
 "Dear Dr. Stoddard: During your tenure as president you have 
 been largely responsible for the outstanding progress made by the 
 University of Illinois. 
 
 "We always have had a high degree of confidence in your ad- 
 ministration, in your personal integrity, and in your ability to admin- 
 ister the office of president. 
 
 "Your departure will be a great loss to us, but we know you will 
 make a significant contribution wherever you go. With best wishes 
 to you and Mrs. Stoddard." 
 
 The resolution, written on a scroll, was handed to the president 
 by Thies. 
 
 The crowd laughed as Stoddard, accepting the scroll, said, "I 
 certainly appreciate this, but I'm not sure that this business we're 
 engaged in is legal — I don't have the approval of the Board of 
 Trustees. 
 
 "In the second place, we aren't supposed to have any more raids 
 on campus. I don't know what Joe Ewers will say about this. And we 
 aren't supposed to have any political speeches." 
 
 185 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Stoddard quipped about the attention his dismissal has caused, 
 saying, "If you're like the Stoddards you won't believe everything 
 you read in the papers. If you do, you're likely to meet yourself 
 coming around the other way." 
 
 The large problems with which the president had to deal had their 
 humbler, yet stirring, counterparts at the student level. On May 20, 
 1953, the Kaeser Room of the University YMCA announced "with 
 deep regret" that it could no longer sell coffee at five cents a cup. 
 Three years later, beer went up a nickel at campus-area pubs. And, 
 fudging on one's age at the beer counter became almost impossible 
 after 1954, when there came into being a modern campus fixture, 
 the identification card displaying a photograph of the bearer. 
 
 186 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE TENTH DECADE 
 
 1957-66 
 
 \ 
 
 / 
 
 In every student generation there are a few incautious, innocent ones 
 who cannot understand the doctrine of waiting in lines. 
 
 — Column by Liz Krohne, May 21, 1964 
 
 The University's tenth decade was perhaps its most spectacular in 
 terms of growth and achievement. In his "State of the University" 
 message for 1963, President David D. Henry wrote, "It is readily 
 apparent that 'the future is now' and that there is no time to lose." 
 Around him was evidence that the campus reflected his opinion. 
 Guided by Henry, who became president in 1955 after the interim 
 administration of Lloyd Morey, the University passed a series of 
 historic landmarks. A new campus at Chicago Circle was completed 
 and opened to some 15,000 students. At Urbana, the Assembly Hall's 
 giant dome dominated a construction program which would include 
 the erection of skyscraper dormitories, the Krannert Center for the 
 Performing Arts, and a dozen major classroom and research facilities. 
 Enrollment more than kept pace with the rapid growth of the cam- 
 pus; in a report to the campus printed in the Daily Illini on Septem- 
 ber 26, 1964, President Henry noted, "The new academic year opens 
 under the shadow of the grim fact that for the first time in its history, 
 and at a time when the need for educated people is at its greatest, the 
 University of Illinois has denied enrollment to several thousand qual- 
 ified students." In the midst of growth and change, however, the 
 aims of the University remained constant. Henry wrote in his 1963 
 message, reprinted on January 12 in the Daily Illini, "From its be- 
 
 187 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 ginnings in 1867 there has been but one over-all aim: to provide 
 programs of the highest quality in instruction, investigation, and 
 educational service to meet the needs of the people of Illinois." Such 
 programs required a large institution, but, the President observed, 
 "large size is a by-product, not an objective." 
 
 From the student viewpoint, the University's size and scope 
 seemed a mixed blessing. Thousands of them came to Urbana from 
 every state and dozens of foreign countries, attracted by the pro- 
 grams which only sizable resources made possible. Yet the Univer- 
 sity "monolith" was a favorite target of student critics. In a sense, 
 their criticisms reflected similar unrest all over the country, and the 
 student riots at Berkeley during the 1964-65 school year served 
 notice that a student generation had arrived which was not liable to 
 the charges of "apathy" leveled at them in the 1950's. Indeed, at 
 Illinois as elsewhere, the decade saw the rise of a student activism 
 that perhaps surpassed even the involvement of the thirties. Civil 
 rights was the issue which first awoke the "apathetic" campus, but 
 once the lid was off Pandora's Box, the causes and the issues were 
 many. Some University students joined peace demonstrations and 
 others joined the Peace Corps, some split ofT into vociferous liberal 
 and conservative factions and others remained in established student 
 channels, but across the campus there was a sense that the period 
 would be one of increased involvement for the students. 
 
 The new mood was reflected in an article by Mike NefT, then the 
 Student Senate president, written for the Daily Illini of September 
 28, 1960: 
 
 Whether or not we agree that students should assume more respon- 
 sibility or are ready to voice concern over their lot, we must agree 
 that there is moving across the country today a student mood that 
 is asking students to face up to issues of social responsibility and to 
 articulate their opinions. 
 
 Yet this is a drifting restlessness. Students are now seeking an 
 expression of their reaction to the lack of moral and social leadership 
 in the country. I would suggest that this restlessness be directed and 
 focused on the university and the problems of higher education. It 
 
 188 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 is the educational experience which is in fact the central bond among 
 students, and that which unites them in their "pursuit of truth." 
 
 The student is different from the rest of society in that in his search 
 for education, he has decided to submit himself to a more or less 
 formal course of study. The melancholy fact, however, is that those 
 who enter for other reasons discolor this search. To these students, 
 the fact that the total environment is relegated to the educational 
 situation is unintelligible. They view their life in the University as little 
 more than a four-year lay-over, a time to "prepare" for life. 
 
 On the other hand, those students who enter the University search- 
 ing for intellectual development realize they have a commitment to 
 their education. . . . They realize that certain prerequisities must be 
 obtained from the society around them, and it is in the search for 
 these prerequisites that the students develop a commitment to higher 
 education and the goals of education. . . . 
 
 To many students concerned with the issues in education, the Uni- 
 versity often seemed to be paternalistic. Throughout the decade, the 
 doctrine of in loco parentis, the philosophy that the University's re- 
 lationship to the student was "in place of parents," was a frequent 
 target of undergraduates. On November 11, 1958, Frank Mill- 
 spaugh wrote in his Daily Illini column, 
 
 What can colleges and universities do to enable students to obtain 
 the beyond-the-book education of personal responsibility? This is a 
 question which our University and others are trying to answer. 
 
 Part of the answer lies in forsaking the old assumption that the 
 University is doing the student a service when it takes him by the 
 hand and leads him down the paths of academic learning, protecting 
 him against the temptations of the mundane world and his own 
 weaknesses. 
 
 Psychologists have long recognized the dangers of the over-pro- 
 tection of a child by his parents. It is time that educational institutions 
 also realize this danger. . . . 
 
 The student body has responded gratifyingly to liberalizations. It 
 is time for a new challenge to the student's maturity. It is time for a 
 new test of individual responsibility. . . . 
 
 189 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 As the decade grew older, NefT's theme of educational reform and 
 Millspaugh's call for student responsibility grew together into a 
 broad request by many students for a greater voice in University de- 
 cisions, and greater independence in their own affairs. Perhaps the 
 most widely noted and remembered article on this theme was one 
 on February 16, 1963, by Philip Martin, Student Senate vice- 
 president who had just been named the University's first Rhodes 
 Scholar in thirteen years. Martin wrote, 
 
 What worries the concerned undergraduate? He is worried because 
 he senses that in the University's planning he and his class are coming 
 to occupy a status of increasingly low priority as the University sinks 
 more and more of its money, attention, and creativity into a bottom- 
 less pit of highly specialized research and training programs for 
 industry and government. He is concerned that his motives and 
 capabilities are misunderstood by faculty and administration when he 
 has to fight tooth and nail for every small chance to be included in 
 University affairs, or even for every small piece of information about 
 what is going on in policy and planning. He is concerned about the 
 professional aloofness of some of our faculty and deans who dis- 
 courage student inquiry and participation because things are quieter 
 when they are muzzled. 
 
 The undergraduate senses that the thrust and spirit have gone out 
 of the University's efforts in the undergraduate field, that the con- 
 ception of the teaching role has remained frozen in the formality of 
 the classroom, that the student and faculty communities exist in iso- 
 lation from one another, and that the University seems to suffer from 
 an acute case of hardening of the hierarchical arteries, making ex- 
 perimentation and initiative even in extra-curricular affairs a madden- 
 ingly frustrating endeavor. In sum, he feels that the University is 
 stagnating at the very point where it should be striving the hardest — 
 in its effort to reach the student in a positive and comprehensive pro- 
 gram of enrichment. . . . 
 
 We need to develop a new philosophy, one of mutuality, and 
 along with it a new style, one of openness. Students need to think 
 more seriously about their own relation to the University, and faculty 
 need to do some re-casting of their ideas about students. We don't 
 
 190 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 need to wait until the next biennium in order to break down the 
 barriers that divide us from ourselves. 
 
 While student interest in "University reform" was quickened by 
 articles such as Martin's, social and political issues continued to hold 
 the attention of most of the campus "activists." During the entire 
 decade, the questions of racial discrimination and civil rights were 
 central ones. The campus itself did not witness the "direct action" 
 techniques employed by civil rights workers in the South, but on 
 many fronts students occupied themselves in the "revolution" which 
 some observers said characterized their generation. A news item on 
 April 2, 1963, reported the first local tutorial project for Negro 
 students: "In an ancient unused school, some 12 blocks north of 
 campus, Illini House became a reality Monday night. The school- 
 house, Lawhead School, has not been used for years, and is covered 
 with dust from long idleness. The only bright spot in the two story 
 building is a room on the second floor, where three University stu- 
 dents Monday afternoon awaited the arrival of the first teenagers 
 interested in, or at least curious about, the new study center. . . ." 
 Illini House, guided by Assistant Dean of Men Gaylord Hatch, was 
 to blossom into a large-scale attempt to provide underprivileged 
 Champaign-Urbana Negro youths with a place to study and Uni- 
 versity students as advisors. 
 
 The student community triggered the first in a nation-wide series 
 of "silent vigils" when, on September 15, 1963, a bomb killed four 
 Negro children in a Birmingham Sunday school. Starting the next 
 day, students stood in silence for fifteen minutes each noon for a 
 week in front of the Auditorium. An editorial on September 19, 
 1963, noted, "Never before in recent years has a demonstration on 
 the campus drawn so much support as the series of noon-time vigils 
 in protest of the Birmingham murders." On September 20, mes- 
 sages in support of the vigil were read from deans of all colleges on 
 the Urbana campus. 
 
 Other controversial issues also drew student attention, but one 
 was laid to rest. After more than 90 years, compulsory ROTC came 
 to an end at the University. A news item on December 19, 1963: 
 
 191 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Effective Sept. 1, 1964 no student at the University will be required 
 to take ROTC. "I can hear the cheers in Urbana now," said Univer- 
 sity Board of Trustees President Howard W. Clement in announcing 
 the new voluntary program at the trustees' meeting Tuesday. 
 
 The board acted on the recommendation of the Urbana-Champaign 
 Senate that the University replace compulsory military training for 
 male freshmen and sophomores with voluntary basic programs. . . . 
 
 The action came as the final result of several years of study by uni- 
 versities across the nation, the University of Illinois in particular, and 
 the Department of Defense. . . . 
 
 If ROTC was no longer compulsory, physical education was. On 
 November 13, 1964, Editor Bill Nack wrote in his column, 
 
 The question of whether the University should or should not require 
 freshmen and sophomores to enroll in physical education is one 
 which deserves deeper thought and more dialogue than it has been 
 getting in the past few years. 
 
 It is difficult for me to imagine how a mandatory physical educa- 
 tion program, as it is served up in any institution of higher learning, 
 could ever assume to play a truly significant role in raising the well- 
 being of those students who slave beneath its atrocities. 
 
 Daily and hourly, armies of half-naked freshmen and sophomores 
 participate in rituals of muscular development. They spend three 
 hours per week playing games, receive an hour of credit, and 
 emerge, at the end of a semester, with a distaste for calisthenics 
 and nothing really to show for it. . . . 
 
 I have known countless individuals, many of them intelligent, who 
 groan painfully when they have to slip into gym shoes, robe them- 
 selves in glorified underwear and plod out to the Men's Old Gym for 
 a game of volley ball. It's the type of pain felt when one is forced, 
 by some power to which one cannot rationally appeal, to do 
 something which is absolutely without value in one's framework of 
 values. . . . 
 
 The debate over physical education continued to attract attention, 
 especially after ROTC was no longer available as a target for stu- 
 dents opposed to compulsory courses, but it was inconclusive. 
 
 192 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 Not so with another long-standing area of controversy, the campus 
 speaker's ban. The Board of Trustees had prohibited "political 
 speakers" in 1890, and in 1948 the Illinois General Assembly banned 
 "subversive speakers" from the University campus. The first lifting 
 of the earlier ban was tried on an experimental basis in 1956, when 
 Democratic Vice-Presidential Candidate Estes Kefauver was the 
 first authorized political speaker on campus in more than sixty years. 
 A Daily Illini editorial on September 26, 1958, said, 
 
 A decade before we moved into the 20th century the Board of 
 Trustees decided that "hereafter the University buildings and grounds 
 be not used for political purposes." Sixty-eight years later this anti- 
 quated ban is still prevalent on campus although there have been 
 many attempts to remove it. 
 
 The Trustees did consent in 1958 to permanently remove the ban on 
 candidates for the offices of President and Vice President of the 
 United States. But this action in reality did little to help students and 
 faculty members in their desire for political education through the 
 most effective and obvious way — through actual debate with the 
 candidates over their views. 
 
 Everyone is affected by politics and it is ridiculous in a university 
 community of Illinois' size that the personalities who are directly 
 involved in politics cannot be heard. The members of the Board of 
 Trustees are not that naive that they cannot see the educational ad- 
 vantages in bringing to the campus politicians who could make text- 
 books come alive. . . . 
 
 In October, 1960, John F. Kennedy became the first Presidential 
 candidate to address Illinois students. He spoke from a platform in 
 front of the University Auditorium. 
 
 But the speaker controversy continued to pop up from time to 
 time. During the 1961-62 school year, Daily Illini Editor Wade 
 Freeman sponsored a drive against the ban. In November, 1963, 
 the issue again made headlines, this time through the case of a 
 student evangelist who had stationed himself outside the Library to 
 give away religious tracts. A news item on November 19, 1963: 
 
 Richard McMullfri, widely known on campus because of his "Christian 
 
 193 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Bookstore" north of the Library, was arrested late Monday and 
 charged by the University with trespassing. 
 
 He was placed under arrest shortly after 4 p.m. . . . 
 
 McMullin has been notified several times of the University's dis- 
 approval of his literature center, but announced an intention to make 
 it a "test case." He was warned near the end of October that the 
 University was considering legal action. . . . 
 
 McMullin said the arrest had given him an opportunity to increase 
 the scope of his activities. "Judge Skillman said that, as long as I 
 was so interested in distributing my literature, he wouldn't mind 
 reading some of it," McMullin said. "I gave him a pamphlet and a 
 Biblical tract." 
 
 The arrest had a happy outcome. McMullin was found innocent of 
 the charge of trespassing in a trial on May 19, 1964. And on Sep- 
 tember 25, 1965, a Daily Mini news item noted the opening of an 
 "Illini Forum" free speech area south of the Illini Union. 
 
 Such cases were not infrequent during the decade, as students at 
 Illinois and many other campuses copied the sit-in techniques of the 
 Southern civil rights movement and applied them to student causes. 
 On October 2, 1963, the Daily Mini reported a sit-in by UI students 
 at the Champaign City Building in support of municipal open hous- 
 ing legislation. In November, 1964, students staged a series of 
 demonstrations on campus against a proposed intramural sports 
 building. Daily Illini Columnist Liz Krohne viewed the phenomena 
 of student demonstrators in her column on May 21, 1964: 
 
 One of the things about students which makes them anathema to 
 administrators and bureaucrats and which makes them, at the same 
 time, the hope of tomorrow, is their persistent habit of running reck- 
 lessly into the "thou shalt nots" of our legal and social system. 
 
 Yesterday's paper carried two stories about students which had to 
 do with trespassing. Richard McMullin, student and Christian, was 
 acquitted on a trespassing charge in the county court, and 14 students 
 were arrested for criminal trespassing at the office of the Champaign 
 County Real Estate Board. . . . 
 
 What is it they are trying to say? They don't seem to respect law 
 
 194 
 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 of private property. They keep singing, these stubborn-hearted ones, 
 and return day after day. Eventually they graduate and others take 
 their places. And they go on trespassing. 
 
 What they are really trespassing against is not a law but a doc- 
 trine. The doctrine proclaims that there shall be distances between 
 people, and silence within and without the mind. The doctrine says 
 that no one shall cross those distances or break that silence. . . . 
 
 In their criticisms of the University, the community, and higher ed- 
 ucation, the student "activists" often seemed negative. Because their 
 activities often gained more public attention than those of their more 
 silent contemporaries, the public possibly did not receive an accurate 
 sense of the student mood. Behind the criticism was, often, thought- 
 fulness. Roger Ebert wrote in a Daily Illini column on September 
 16, 1964, about the student climate at Illinois, 
 
 There is still, at least, the possibility of change here. There is still an 
 honest feeling that we do not know where we are going, or why. 
 There is still a sense, shared by the more thoughtful members of both 
 the academic and student communities, that we are moving in the 
 dark but that we are still at least free to move. 
 
 During the past year I have had opportunity to visit several 
 smaller campuses, some of them with less than a thousand students. 
 At most of them, I found a depressing dedication to the idea of a 
 "model student." These are colleges that are turning out a product, 
 instead of an assortment of individuals. The students are expected 
 to reflect, in their actions and attitudes, the "best image" of the 
 school. Indeed, they are often sent to such schools for the specific 
 purpose of being made into "Sweet Briar girls" or "Citadel men." 
 
 There is, thank God, no such thing as an "Illinois student." We 
 are so various that not even the most misty-eyed alumni could con- 
 fuse us. We are not typical — of each other, or of anything else. 
 This University is too big, and we are too many, for it to be possible 
 that a product could be turned out here. . . . And that is not a 
 weakness but a strength. 
 
 The style of "activism" which seemed to dominate the decade knew 
 no political boundaries. It began on the Left, but was quickly 
 
 195 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 adopted by students of all persuasions who found it satisfying to be 
 involved directly in issues of interest to them. At the decade's end. 
 for example, the Viet Nam conflict preoccupied the student body, 
 and the prospect of the draft appeared once again in the futures of 
 the male students. In the autumn of 1965, both opponents and sup- 
 porters of American policy could be classified as "activists." A news 
 item on October 16, 1965: 
 
 About 400 students and faculty crowded into the Free Speech Area 
 Friday night to hear discussions of U.S. policy in Viet Nam. 
 
 A good 200 demonstrators left the area at 11 p.m. to hold an 
 all-night vigil around the U.S. Army missile in front of the Armory. 
 At 1 a.m. there were 20 demonstrators. The demonstration, which 
 began at 8 p.m., will close Sunday afternoon after all-day picketing 
 of the Armory. . . . 
 
 The rally was sponsored by the Students for a Democratic Society 
 as part of an "international days of protest" movement emanating 
 from the University of California at Berkeley. Although the Ad Hoc 
 Faculty Committee on Viet Nam provided several speakers, the entire 
 demonstration was student organized. 
 
 A month later, it was the turn of supporters of American policy. A 
 campus-wide "blood for Viet Nam" crusade, sponsored by Sigma 
 Alpha Epsilon fraternity, was held during the week of November 15. 
 A news item on November 19 reported, "The University of Illinois 
 Blood Crusade ended Thursday night as 2,135 people gave blood 
 and support to American soldiers in Viet Nam. . . ." And on No- 
 vember 23, 1965, an editorial remarked, "By giving 125 pints more 
 than the crusade's top goal of 2,000 pints, students on this campus 
 proved that they can be stirred from an apathy which now, perhaps, 
 seems to have been an unjust accusation. . . ." 
 
 Part of this new spirit on the campus, after the "apathy" of the 
 1950's, could be traced to President Kennedy, whose youth and en- 
 thusiasm won him many undergraduate supporters. The Univer- 
 sity was an early participant in Kennedy's Peace Corps proposal, 
 and on April 6, 1961, editor Chuck Kerchner reported on a national 
 student conference, attended by several Illinois delegates, which 
 made suggestions for the new agency: 
 
 196 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 Like all eventual realities, the Peace Corps started as an idea. It is 
 now undergoing the painful and sometimes awkward transformation 
 into a working government agency. . . . 
 
 Delegates to the National Conference on Youth Service Abroad, 
 meeting at the American University, were enthusiastic about the 
 Peace Corps. They hoped that the program would be a real aid to 
 the underdeveloped nations of the world, and not serve only to 
 create publicity for the United States foreign program. . . . 
 
 A week later, on April 11, the Daily Illini reported that the Univer- 
 sity had offered aid to the Peace Corps for its training and recruiting 
 programs. 
 
 Through the highly popular Peace Corps and because of his own 
 personality, Kennedy became something of a hero-' for undergrad- 
 uates. His assassination was a traumatic shock to Illinois students. 
 A story by News Editor John Keefe on November 23, 1963, told of 
 the campus reaction : 
 
 "A lot of the kids were listening to the TV's report of it. It was kind 
 of morbid. It got so repetitious. It got so you couldn't stand it. . . ." 
 
 The girl who made the statement was sitting in the lounge of Clark 
 Hall telling of the reaction of students to the assassination of Presi- 
 dent Kennedy. . . . Everywhere on campus the reaction seemed to be 
 the same — shock and disbelief. 
 
 Leaving Clark a girl said, "It takes so long to grasp a realization of 
 what has happened." 
 
 Another answered her, "It kind of makes you feel. . . ." Her 
 voice trailed off and she shrugged her shoulders. Words could not 
 express her feelings. 
 
 Everywhere on campus it was the same. People talked to each 
 other in small groups. Some just sat around the TV set and listened. 
 Others visited the churches for private prayer and meditation. 
 
 Classes were dismissed. Business closed. The halls emptied. An 
 unnatural hush settled over the campus. The rain added to the 
 gloominess of the atmosphere. . . . 
 
 A news item on November 26, 1963: 
 
 The University community paid respect to its late President, John F. 
 
 197 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Kennedy, Monday morning in the Assembly Hall. The ceremony was 
 simple and brief, lasting only 11 minutes. 
 
 The audience, numbering more than 11,500, including more than 
 6,000 University ROTC cadets, was hushed and sober while waiting 
 for the service to begin. 
 
 It started with the muffled roll of a single snare drum and the 
 command for the cadets, seated in the east half of the Hall, to come 
 to attention. The color guard, followed by special Army, Navy, and 
 Air Force honor guards, entered onto the Assembly Hall floor. 
 
 Then David D. Henry, president of the University, stepped forward 
 to the microphones and in a wavering voice, which told of the strain 
 of the moment, delivered a short address. . . . 
 
 Otto Dieter, professor of speech and Army chaplain, asked for a 
 moment of silence. The 11,500 paused, prayed and meditated once 
 again. 
 
 Then the long, sad notes of taps, played by Cadet Lt. Barry Katz, 
 carried throughout the Hall. The cadets were dismissed and the 
 ceremony was over. 
 
 The Daily Illini printed dozens of letters on the assassination in the 
 week following. One from Bill Schwarz, on November 27, was rep- 
 resentative: "We, as students, have not only lost a President, we 
 have lost a friend. A friend who, like us, was youthful and vigorous. 
 He, probably more than any other President, associated himself with 
 the young, the new generation. From playing football to the Peace 
 Corps ... he showed more of a youthful spirit, and a concern for 
 us — the students, the youth of America — than any other Presi- 
 dent. . . ." Kennedy's death was a quiet, serious moment during the 
 decade; a time when students paused in their own pursuits to ex- 
 amine for a moment their values and G:oals. 
 
 But not all was seriousness; that would have been impossible. Illi- 
 nois students during the tenth decade, like their predecessors for 
 ninety years, had a streak of irrepressible collegiate joy that kept 
 popping up. "In the old days," a veteran professor recalled in the 
 author's column for the 1963 Daily Illini freshman edition, "most 
 colleges were sort of like Olcj Siwash — you know, rah-rah team 
 spirit, dancing the Charleston and 12 per cent bootleg brew. . . . 
 
 198 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 Those old days, for all their reputation of hell-raising and cramming, 
 were not really too bad." But the professor shook his head about 
 the fate of the modern student, whom he envisioned as quiet, serious, 
 and oriented around grades and a career. "Part of this comes from 
 the stiffened grade requirements, which seem to be caused by the 
 hordes of applicants crawling over one another in their eagerness 
 to enroll and learn how to be well-adjusted cogs. . . ." 
 
 Perhaps the veteran educator had a point. But during the Uni- 
 versity's tenth decade, students did not allow higher grade require- 
 ments -and stifTer admission policies to keep them bent over their 
 books quite all of the time. Perhaps not even the 1920's saw more 
 fads at the University. And like all fads, those of the tenth decade 
 were designed to prove little more than that students would be stu- 
 dents. On November 10, 1959, the Daily Illini reported that Ken 
 Kreutziger, senior in architecture, had shaken 10,676 hands in ten 
 hours and ten minutes to break the world hand-shaking record, pre- 
 viously held by an Oxford student. On March 25, 1961, a news 
 item noted, "Illini on their spring pilgrimage to Ft. Lauderdale can 
 solve the problem of getting a good night's sleep on the road by 
 following the lead of Delta Kappa Epsilon members, who are push- 
 ing a bed to Chicago." The DKE's successfully completed the 130- 
 mile push, and held the world bed-pushing championship, however 
 briefly. In the late autumn of 1961, the twist became the latest 
 dance craze on the campus. A Daily Illini column examined the phe- 
 nomena as it was practiced in the Men's Residence Halls Canteen: 
 
 The Wednesday night Twist session was already in full grind when 
 we arrived about 9:30 and pushed our way through a barricade of 
 upended tables. 
 
 A space about the size of a double bed had been cleared in the 
 center of the floor, and several hundred students grouped around it 
 watched as half a dozen experts staged a demonstration. 
 
 Most demonstrations are in protest, but this one seemed to be in 
 full agreement. . . . 
 
 There was also a girl who sat next to the juke box, and whose 
 only apparent purpose was to catch dimes thrown to her across the 
 
 199 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 crowded tables. These she inserted into the machine, pressing K-6 
 ("Let's Twist Again," by Chubby Checker). 
 
 "Whew, I'm tired," reported a probable redhead. "And I gotta 
 hour exam in the morning." 
 
 "What in?" asked her friend. 
 
 "I dunno," she said. "I guess it's in my Mini Book." 
 
 "Yeah," her friend said, "or in mine." 
 
 "Whose hour exam?" . . . 
 
 "What did they do before the Twist?" we asked a friend at a 
 corner table. 
 
 "Oh, water riots or something. Throwing bricks, Indian wrestling, 
 spiritualism, who knows?" 
 
 "Yes," we agreed. "Who knows." 
 
 At the decade's end, the twist was still the reigning dance form, and 
 showed little sign of surrendering its crown to a newer step. Other 
 fads did not have similar longevity. On November 18, 1961, a news 
 item by Nan Lundberg reported yet another try at a record: 
 
 At noon they dropped in the dime. . . . 
 
 And the first of a 40-woman relay from Flagg House began their 
 60-hour talkathon with a team from Hopkins 3 West. 
 
 It was felt that sometime during the marathon gabfest the men 
 would have a chance to get a word in edgewise. 
 
 If Flagg and Hopkins make it through the weekend without stop- 
 ping (except to clear their throats), they'll claim a National Collegiate 
 Pay Phone Talkathon Record. 
 
 Anyone, they point out, can jam 45 people into a phone booth. 
 Phooey to that. . . . 
 
 The idea for a talkathon came up about two weeks ago. Why? 
 Organizer Jerry Goldstein explained the underlying purpose in a 
 few select words: "Just for the hell of it." 
 
 The original talkathoners achieved their modest 60-hour goal. But 
 other universities challenged the Illinois record, and a year later a 
 second UI talkathon probably achieved the definitive all-time record. 
 A news item on November 20. 1962: 
 
 200 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 It's all over! 
 
 After toppling the record held by the University of Michigan by 
 talking for 609 uninterrupted hours, the talkathon-ing residents of 
 LAR North and Babcock Residence Hall decided to throw in the 
 sponge (or, more appropriately, the telephone directory) at 8 a.m. 
 Saturday. . . . 
 
 The talkathon, which began Oct. 27, managed to weather midterm 
 examinations, but was ended because of the difficulties in scheduling 
 encountered for Dad's Day weekend, despite a general rise in spirits 
 which was evident throughout LAR North by midweek. . . . 
 
 Another Illini fad was possibly of more general use than talkathons, 
 although that would be hard to prove. It was the Snoot Boot, dis- 
 covered "by accident" while a Busey Hall co-ed was learning to 
 knit in December, 1961. The Snoot Boots, designed to keep the end 
 of the nose warm in cold weather, were featured on the cover of 
 Life magazine and began a Christmas season tradition at Busey Hall, 
 which sold them to raise money for leukemia patients. The first 
 Daily Illini story of the tradition-to-be was on December 12, 1961: 
 
 It was a big day Monday for the Snoot Boot, Illinois' contribution to 
 world culture. 
 
 The invention — designed to end "beak leak" by encasing the 
 nose in a soft protective shield — was presented to two men famous 
 on the University campus: President David D. Henry and WLS disk 
 jockey Dick Biondi. 
 
 Henry, Ul President, said "Gee, thanks. Just what I wanted." . . . 
 
 The Associated Press sent a wirephoto of Henry confronting his 
 Snoot Boot over its national photo network. . . . The Snoot Boot 
 thus joins the talkathon as an original fad which began at the Uni- 
 versity and then swept the nation. . . . 
 
 Another fad was inspired by the late President Kennedy. A Daily 
 Illini news item on March 14, 1963, reported that some 200 students 
 had signed up for a Kennedy-style fifty-mile hike sponsored by the 
 Intramural Department. And on January 12, 1965, the Daily Illini 
 reported perhaps the most useless new record of them all: shower- 
 sitting. Mark Goldman, freshman in commerce, brought the record 
 
 201 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 to Illinois by sitting underneath a running shower for fifty consecu- 
 tive hours. 
 
 Another "fad" of sorts did not last out the decade; the spring 
 "water riots" which began on Memorial Day of 1957 ran into stern 
 disapproval by the University administration, just as color rushes 
 and the perennial marches on downtown Champaign had in years 
 past. On May 27, 1959, a hundred lettermen representing the Tribe 
 of Illini dried up a water riot by closing fire hydrants themselves and 
 mounting guard over them. On May 31, 1961, more than sixty stu- 
 dents faced charges after a water riot in which a local radio news- 
 man was blinded in one eye. A letter from University authorities 
 was sent to the parents of every student the following year, warning 
 of serious consequences if the student were involved in another water 
 riot, and although perhaps 100 students milled around for a time on 
 the annual anniversary, May 31, 1962, the Daily Illini reported that 
 no riot got off the ground. 
 
 Another "tradition" which authorities were still trying to end as 
 the University completed its tenth decade was that of Hell Week, 
 which proved durable enough to withstand any number of public 
 announcements that it was a thing of the past. In February, 1962. 
 Interfraternity Council announced that it would assign squads of 
 fraternity men to help enforce a voluntary ban on Hell Week, and 
 on February 9, a Daily Illini editorial helpfully offered advice 
 which, incidentally, supplied some clues to still-surviving Hell Week 
 practices: 
 
 We were greatly heartened to learn that the Interfraternity Council 
 intends to "keep the noise down" during Hell Week. 
 
 We are sure that this is a sincere, ambitious effort to enforce the 
 high-minded ideals of the IFC Pledge Training Creed. 
 
 And while some cynics have suggested that the IFC program this 
 year is a mockery . . . we do not take this position. 
 
 Instead, since we are confident that the Council's investigators will 
 have their ears perked up all week for "excessive noises," we wish 
 to make a few suggestions to aid the enforcement program. 
 
 Of course, we hardly have to remind IFC that such noises as 
 
 202 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 screams, sadistic laughter and the whack of paddles are tip-offs that 
 a fraternity is up to something. We think perhaps the IFC committee 
 can figure this out for itself — even from a distance of several blocks. 
 But there are a few other noises, more subtle, which IFC may not 
 realize the significance of. Since the announced goal of IFC's pro- 
 gram this year is to "keep the noise down," we offer a short list of 
 these noises to help them along: 
 
 1. "Thud." Usually caused by a pledge fainting and falling to the 
 ground after being forced to stand motionless and erect for several 
 hours. 
 
 2. "Plop." Sound made by an egg dropped four floors into the 
 open mouth of a pledge. 
 
 3. "Ratcha-ratcha." This noise, almost inaudible, is caused by a 
 burlap bag scratching against the human skin. 
 
 4. "Creak." Sound made by a door when a pledge sits on it. 
 
 5. "Thudddd." Slightly different than Sound No. 1. Caused when 
 the pledge in Sound No. 4 hits his head against the ceiling. 
 
 6. "Cock-a-doodle-doo." Usually heard about daybreak, when 
 pledges are herded up to the roof to greet the dawn. 
 
 7. "Whirrr." Sound of toothbrushes against linoleum. 
 
 8. "Slush." Sound made by moving a cake of ice after it has 
 been sat upon for several hours. 
 
 9. "Shs-s-s!" Sound made by lookout when IFC investigators 
 approach chapter house. 
 
 What did an actual Hell Week consist of? Traditionally, fraternities 
 have cloaked their "informal initiation" in secrecy, but Phi Delta 
 Theta announced a new pledge training creed in 1961, and during 
 Hell Week of 1962 they accepted a Daily lllini challenge and threw 
 their chapter house open at all times of the day or night to Editor 
 Wade Freeman and Columnist Dave Young. Young's article on 
 February 16, 1962, provided a rare glimpse behind the scenes of a 
 fraternity Hell Week : 
 
 Phi Delta Theta is a fraternity that has cast aside most of the "crude" 
 activities surrounding informal initiation, but which still retains many 
 of the traditional stunts — "enough to make the program meaningful." 
 
 203 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 The pledges' evening began with rigidly enforced study hours ending 
 at 10:30. The pledges were not allowed out of their rooms and were 
 not allowed to speak with one another. 
 
 After a short line-up . . . the pledges were lectured on what it is 
 to be a Phi Delta Theta. The lecturer discussed suggestions made by 
 the pledges in written themes. 
 
 Then, again, the pledges stood in line with hands palm up in front 
 of them holding packs of cigarettes and matches for the actives' 
 convenience. 
 
 They were told to change into burlap overshirts and be back in 
 the room in five minutes . . . with an onion for their personal con- 
 sumption. Then Bill Pigman, sophomore in engineering, discharged 
 them to get to work cleaning house. On the double. . . . 
 
 At noon Thursday the pledges were required to eat soup with 
 light bulbs, but were given sandwiches so that "they would get plenty 
 to eat." At dinner Thursday the actives ate steak. The initiates got 
 green spaghetti. 
 
 According to Dave McGann, president of the house and senior in 
 physical education, pledges must walk with their noses to the wall 
 and must execute three pushups before entering their study rooms. 
 
 Other pledge rules include: 
 
 — Every initiate must recite a short poem concerning the fra- 
 ternity's founders at every stair landing. 
 
 — Burlap bags must be worn by all initiates after their study 
 hours on Thursday. 
 
 — Initiates must refer to seniors as "ace," juniors as "kings," 
 sophomores as "stud," and graduate students as "jack." 
 
 — Initiates must only use the middle toilet in the second floor 
 washroom. Written permission to use the toilet must be obtained 
 from three actives. "Susie," a goldfish, must be removed from the 
 toilet before each use and later returned. 
 
 On February 21, 1959, a Daily Illini cartoon caption read, "You 
 know, Gloucester, ever since Help Week, I've developed a terrible 
 craving for onions!" 
 
 If Hell Week was a venerable campus tradition, so was the under- 
 graduate pastime of beer drinking. But a blow was dealt to this 
 
 204 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 form of recreation in 1961, when state law was altered to raise the 
 drinking age for women from 18 to 21, the same as men. In his 
 column on September 14, 1961, Dave Beal wrote, 
 
 God's annual gifts to Champaign-Urbana, the University of Illinois 
 freshmen coeds now streaming down to campus for registration, were 
 brutally discriminated against by Governor Otto Kerner on Tuesday, 
 August 1, 1961. On that now infamous date Kerner, acting with the 
 Illinois Council of Churches and the Illinois Temperance League, 
 affixed his signature onto evil State Bill Number 35, kicking the legal 
 drinking age for women up from 18 to 21. . . . 
 
 We don't yet know how fully this law will affect east-central Illinois 
 social life, but it is safe to say that many lllini coeds will now be 
 equipped with dual identification and will, at least on^some occasions, 
 be forced to play the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde role all sub-21 lllini 
 boys have been saddled with for so many years. 
 
 Perhaps some of the Daniel Street halls won't put the squeeze on 
 Betty Coed this fall, but the more sophisticated Champaign County 
 pubs will most certainly card the girls as well as the boys. . . . 
 
 Beal was prophetic. A news story on September 29, 1961, reported, 
 : 'The word was out late Thursday that ground rules are being laid 
 for a general 'stiffening-up policy' on campus underage drinking." 
 On October 3, four students were arrested in a prelude to consistent 
 arrests all during the autumn. And, on November 2, 1961, the 
 gloomy news was sent abroad that campus pubs were experimenting 
 with "near beer." Beal wrote in his column, 
 
 Under glass, near beer seems to be just plain beer, but once inside 
 the body near beer is not even in the same neighborhood with just 
 plain beer. . . . 
 
 One trench-coated, 20-year-old Bidwellite sat comfortably in his 
 booth last Saturday night, carefully etching an obscenity into the 
 table-top about "not-so-very-near-beer." He flashed that fallout- 
 shelter smile toward the doorway and commented sweetly, "I've 
 heard near beer is brewed up in Minnesota, but it really tastes as 
 though it comes from the shores of the Boneyard. . . ." 
 
 Since real beer is now consumed publicly only by seniors — and 
 
 205 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 privately by lesser undergrads in 5,000 speakeasies — the near beer 
 invasion solves some problems. We can still have our old time fun, 
 but now it will be remodeled into the form of "near beer breakfasts," 
 "near beer exchanges," and "near beer near blasts." . . . 
 
 Near beer was an unfortunate experiment, and the campus went 
 back to the real stuff — for those over 21, of course. For those 
 underage, there was the possibility of a police raid, as described by 
 News Editor John Grady in an article on December 17, 1965: 
 
 "It looks like an alley — all wet and covered with broken glass," is 
 how one student described the aftermath of a Wednesday night visit 
 by the Champaign police. 
 
 "This song is dedicated to the Champaign Police Department and 
 we hope they take the hint," the blond drummer said as he started 
 "We Gotta Get Out of This Place." 
 
 The patrolman laughed. 
 
 One of the bartenders said, "Coke sales have increased quite a 
 bit in the last few minutes." 
 
 Everybody was having a good time even though the heat was on. 
 Very few couples sat; most stood in the aisles. They were dancing 
 now. Students knew the law. One student did go to the station, 
 however. 
 
 A few more numbers went by, and the policeman left the basement 
 to stand by the bar. Some students walked upstairs to the bar to 
 order. 
 
 "Sure you're 21?" the patrolman asked. 
 
 "Yep, I'm sure." The policeman did not ask for the student's 
 identification. 
 
 Another bartender announced to the basement crowd: "If you 
 are caught drinking underage, you could be arrested and thrown 
 out of here." 
 
 In mock horror many gasped, but the police were still around so 
 things were quiet. 
 
 By 10 p.m., a few braver students had persuaded their mature 
 friends and fraternity brothers to begin buying. 
 
 Debbie and Edie were looking for somebody to buy them a pitcher. 
 
 206 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 There were several volunteers. 
 
 Things were back to normal; the police had left. 
 
 "Hi-ho, hi-ho Silver; hi-ho, hi-ho Silver, ride, ride, ride." 
 
 The girl in the red slacks and red sweater made another trip to 
 
 the washroom, and it was time for everybody to go home. 
 
 Another incident on February 26, 1966, at Kam's, a favorite campus 
 hangout, fired the student body to take up the cause of constitutional 
 rights. As part of a state-wide operation, authorized members of 
 Secretary of State Paul Powell's staff checked student driver's 
 licenses; three were arrested for holding false ID cards and large 
 numbers were taken to the driver's license bureau and held for 
 several hours. Few details were immediately available and rumors 
 spread around the campus and the local papers. On March 1, the 
 following editorial appeared on the front page of the Daily Illini: 
 
 Under the pretense of enforcing the law, "investigators" from the 
 office of Secretary of State Paul Powell invaded this campus Friday 
 night, raided Kam's and managed, by the end of a very long and 
 sorry evening, to ignore practically every constitutional right granted 
 the accused. 
 
 Ignoring local police and local understanding in this matter, 
 Powell's raiders made a farce of their claim to law enforcement; 
 rather, their own outrageous activities constituted a serious breach of 
 those laws instituted by both the state and the federal governments 
 for the protection of citizens against arbitrary arrest, search and 
 seizure which are the basic tools of a police state. . . . 
 
 An arrest, to be LAWFUL, can only be made if the arresting officer 
 has a search warrant or REASONABLE cause to suspect particular 
 persons of having violated a law or carrying contraband. Clearly, a 
 forged driver's license would be contraband. But there were no 
 reasonable grounds upon which to make arrests. You simply cannot 
 round up 70, 100 or 250 persons in a bar and claim to have reason- 
 able ground for detaining them against their wills — and this means 
 either locking them in a business establishment or transporting them 
 to a makeshift jail, as the Country Fair driver's license examination 
 center was turned into. . . . 
 
 207 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 The same law governs public officials and police that governs the 
 public. Vigilante raids were not tolerated in the past; they should 
 not be tolerated now. The people must make known that they will 
 not sit back and watch rights usurped for political expediency. 
 
 Indeed, few sat back. The Daily Illini championed the cause and 
 this editorial was only one of many items on the subject that filled 
 the paper for days. Since the local police apparently had not been 
 advised of the impending raid, they too were upset and seemed to 
 be siding with the students. The local chapters of the American 
 Civil Liberties Union and the American Association of University 
 Professors said they would start an investigation. Student organiza- 
 tions of all political hues from the John Birch Society and Young 
 Americans for Freedom to the Students for a Democratic Society 
 united in indignation, claiming that constitutional rights were at 
 stake, and the administration was blamed, this time, for not acting 
 in loco parentis and protecting the students. Irving Dilliard, a mem- 
 ber of the Board of Trustees and a former Daily Illini editor himself, 
 sent the paper the following telegram on March 4: 
 
 I have just read the March 1 issue of The Daily Illini with its extensive, 
 detailed coverage of the Illinois Secretary of State agents' raid, 
 search, seizure and detention of University of Illinois students when 
 peaceably assembled . . . near the campus. 
 
 While I cannot hold at this distance an informed opinion as to 
 every fact about that deplorable episode, I am deeply moved by The 
 Daily lllini's rise to the occasion so vigorously and so promptly. 
 
 Violations of the State Drivers' License Act and misuse of University 
 identification cards are serious and should be punished adequately 
 by proper authorities. But violations of citizens' constitutional liberties 
 by officials, when and wherever these occur, are far worse. They 
 too should be held to strictest account. 
 
 Charges against students involved were quickly dismissed, but the 
 clamor did not dissolve with the same speed. Later, the Secretary 
 of State announced that no further raids would be made without 
 notifying local law enforcement officials and that his "special force" 
 was disbanded. 
 
 208 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 If drinking and rights were perennial subjects of discussion, so was 
 sex, which provided both the loudest controversy of the decade and 
 also some of the most thoughtful discussion. One source of conten- 
 tion was the visit of the Army football team to campus in the fall 
 of 1959. An editorial on September 23 reported, 
 
 As if there weren't enough Illinois men to satisfy fickle University 
 coeds, now the U.S. Army is sending some 600 of its supposedly top 
 males to campus October 3 for the Army-Illinois football game. 
 
 And 200 of these he-men from the banks of the Hudson even had 
 the gall to ask if they could have blind dates with Illinois girls for that 
 precious Saturday evening. 
 
 Reports leaking from West Point indicate that a cadet's life is 
 rough, tough, and one that builds men. If so, why can't these guys 
 tight their own battles with our campus cuties instead of letting our 
 Dean of Women do the spadework and come up with 200 ready- 
 made coeds, expecting a combination of Cary Grant, Superman and 
 Albert Einstein? 
 
 On September 22, 1959, a news item quoted Assistant Dean of 
 Women Mary Harrison as saying, ''With the cream of American 
 manhood coming to the campus, women should sign up on a first- 
 come, first-served basis in the dean of women's office" for dates with 
 the West Pointers. On October 6, a letter to the editor from Ira M. 
 Frank noted, "Epilogue! On October 3, 1959 the 'inadequate' Illini 
 homogenized the 'Cream of American Manhood' from West Point, 
 20-14." 
 
 But there was a more serious dialogue involving personal relation- 
 ships on campus. In the Daily Illini on March 16, 1960, YMCA 
 President Dick Hutchison and Dan Bures co-authored a column 
 which charged, 
 
 Fraternities and sororities have ritualized sex in an organized fashion 
 and independents have ritualized it in an unorganized fashion. Con- 
 sider first what happened to "John" on Saturday night: 
 
 He entered the sorority with his date. It was a little past midnight. 
 A hushed murmuring first caught his attention. Passing through the 
 vestibule, he noticed along a wall on his left four couples sitting, 
 
 209 
 
AN 1LLINI CENTURY 
 
 smooching, and now and then mumbling passionately. A few steps 
 further, and he noticed that along another wall there were about five 
 more couples — same activity, same noise, and undoubtedly the 
 same satisfaction. . . . 
 
 It was now 12:20. Only 40 minutes more! And it had to be 40 
 minutes. One could not leave in 30 minutes — not one of the girls 
 would dare return to her room before 1 o'clock. And all of the boys 
 knew that they were obliged to entertain their dates until then. . . . 
 
 The column went on to charge that "rituals" such as the one de- 
 scribed led to a situation in which "men are not so concerned with 
 a girl as a living individual — as an organic complexity of person- 
 ality and character, emotion and intellect, passion and reason — as 
 they are concerned with her as a simple female sex unit. All she 
 need be is female and good looking enough to have some prestige 
 value on a date." 
 
 It was to this column that Leo Koch, Assistant Professor of Bi- 
 ology, was replying on March 18 in what the Daily lllini was to 
 describe three weeks later as "perhaps the most controversial letter 
 to the editor in Daily lllini history." Koch wrote, in part, "I sub- 
 mit that the events described by Hutchison and Bures are merely 
 symptoms of a serious social malaise which is caused primarily by the 
 hypocritical and downright inhumane moral standards engendered 
 by a Christian code of ethics which was already decrepit in the days 
 of Queen Victoria." He added, "There is no valid reason why 
 sexual intercourse should not be condoned among those sufficiently 
 mature to engage in it without social consequences and without vio- 
 lating their own codes of morality and ethics." 
 
 Because of the letter, Koch was relieved of his University duties 
 on April 7, and eventually dismissed. President Henry said the pro- 
 fessor, in his letter, had violated commonly accepted standards of 
 morality, and in doing so had misused his professional status. On 
 April 9, the Daily lllini wrote in an editorial, "There is little doubt 
 that Koch had the right to say what he did concerning his startling 
 opinions on sex, but the difficulty arises when one questions whether 
 or not he should have said them in public print. It has been estab- 
 lished that freedom of speech is for everyone, but this does not mean 
 
 210 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 one can yell 'Fire' in a crowded theater. . . . Koch's only crime seems 
 to be that of crying 'Sex' in a crowded campus. Reverberations of 
 this cry are now ringing throughout the state as distraught parents 
 have flooded the administration with protests concerning Kor ~'s 
 position on the faculty. . . ." 
 
 In subsequent years, the debate over proper personal conduc 
 matters of sex continued in the student newspaper, although c 
 perhaps less sensational level. On March 5, 1963, Dean of Women 
 Miriam Shelden said in an interview with the Daily Illini, "I think 
 young people have lost their belief in tomorrow. This drives them 
 to seek security in intimate relationships, to seek to belong to some- 
 one." Dean Shelden added, "The University has obligations in the 
 field of ethical values and as such has the right to make certain de- 
 mands of students. I don't think you can compartmentalize ethics. 
 A University is one of the great social institutions. I feel the family, 
 the school, and the church all have responsibilities for ethical educa- 
 tion; it is not any one person's job." 
 
 Another side of the same question was presented by Daily Illini 
 Executive Editor Tony Burba in a column titled "Dear Granny" on 
 April 10, 1964: 
 
 One of the greatest tragedies of the University is the existence of 
 the mother surrogate organization known as the Dean of Women's 
 office. This group, in the center of one of the greatest centers of 
 learning, takes it upon itself to dictate social and ethical codes, and 
 indeed to regulate every facet of a coed's life at the University. 
 
 A 21-year-old University senior, supposedly highly educated, cap- 
 able of deep understanding, and legally allowed to drink and vote, 
 has restrictions placed on her that an 18-year-old high school drop- 
 out wouldn't have to put up with. Strange that education, one of 
 society's greatest rewards, should carry with it such terrible penal- 
 ties. . . . 
 
 This is a University, Granny, not a kindergarten. You're not mother- 
 ing a bunch of little girls here — you're trying to force your ideas of 
 what's right on young women who have come here to further their 
 intellectual development. . . . 
 
 211 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 Burba's column sparked a debate in the Letters column for several 
 days. One reply was from O. Hobart Mowrer, Research Professor 
 of Psychology, who wrote on April 16, 1964, 
 
 I don't presume to say what this University should impose on students 
 by way of personal conduct requirements or that the University should 
 necessarily impose any such requirements; but it does seem clear that 
 if, as an agent of taxpayers and parents, a university chooses to set 
 certain standards of acceptable student behavior, it has every reason 
 and right to do so. And it is not a very mature or thoughtful 20-year- 
 old who will blandly, not to say imprudently, insist otherwise. 
 
 What Mr. Burba and many other students seem to be arguing for 
 is complete self-determination in the area of personal conduct. . . . 
 
 The whole argument that morality is strictly a private affair is a 
 contradiction in terms — and, if pursued to its logical conclusion, has 
 only one end: anarchy. Not many students would hold that they are 
 totally without values, morality, ethics, conscience; but they would 
 commonly hold that this area is strictly their "own business." The 
 word "conscience" means "con-scientia," with joint, shared, com- 
 mon knowledge and feeling. And to insist upon complete indepen- 
 dence and individualism in this connection is to unravel the very fab- 
 ric of society and moral order. This distrust of and contempt for 
 moral principle is one of the most obvious and distressing symptoms 
 of a sick society. . . . 
 
 Agitation for relaxed women's hours, "key privileges" for senior 
 women, and other changes continued as the University's tenth 
 decade drew to a close and its second century beckoned. An early 
 sign, in the words of a song popular with students, that "the times 
 they are a-changing," was the announcement, on September 28. 
 1957, that the Senior Ball would not be held. An editorial in the 
 Daily Illini remarked, "We had contemplated bordering the article 
 in black, but reconsidered because we are convinced that there will 
 be few, if any, mourners." Noting the statement by Tom Stark, 
 senior class president, that there was insufficient campus interest to 
 support the dance, the newspaper cited the long tradition of Senior 
 Balls, especially during the glittering big-name band era of the 
 
 212 
 
THE TENTH DECADE 1957-66 
 
 1920's and 1930's, and then observed in passing that the demise of 
 the dance also brought an end to the class presidency, once so highly 
 prized. In recent years, the Senior Ball had been the only major 
 responsibility of the office. 
 
 There were other reminders of the passage of time. Two former 
 presidents of the University died during the decade: Arthur Cutts 
 Willard on September 12, 1960, and Lloyd B. Morey, longtime 
 comptroller who was president between the Stoddard and Henry 
 administrations, on September 29, 1965. On December 4, 1958, 
 A. A. Harding, the legendary director of Illinois bands, passed away. 
 
 Retirements also served notice of a passing era. On December 
 14, 1960, Professor of English Paul Landis read Dickens' "A Christ- 
 mas Carol" for the last time in Lincoln Hall Tjaeatre, ending a 
 memorable twenty-year tradition. And on December 16, 1965, Dean 
 of Students Fred H. Turner asked to be relieved of responsibilities 
 to act as chairman of the University Centennial Committee. Turner 
 would continue to act as All-University Dean of Students, but Stan- 
 ton A. Millet, Professor of English, was appointed in the fall of 
 1966 as Dean of Students for the Urbana campus. In announcing 
 his partial retirement, Turner noted that he began his undergrad- 
 uate work at the University in 1918 and had seen half the Univer- 
 sity's first century. He stepped into the shoes of Thomas Arkle 
 Clark, the nation's first Dean of Men, in 1931, after serving as an 
 assistant dean since 1922. In 1943, he was named Dean of Students, 
 the first in the United States with that title, and in recent years was 
 known as the "Dean of Deans" among American university deans. 
 
 At the end of a century, the prospect never appeared brighter for 
 the University of Illinois. The 29,000 students enrolled at the Ur- 
 bana campus for the Centennial year had behind them, in a tradi- 
 tion always present if not always realized, hosts of Illini — students, 
 teachers, administrators - — who had built John Milton Gregory's 
 dream into a reality. Before them was a challenge to match the pace 
 of a century, and quicken it. In September, 1963, Mark Van Doren, 
 a distinguished Illinois graduate who had received his degree before 
 the University was half a century old, came back to speak at the 
 All-University Convocation which opened the new school year. His 
 
 213 
 
AN ILLINI CENTURY 
 
 address was reprinted by the Daily Illini on September 17, 1963. He 
 told the students gathered in the Assembly Hall, 
 
 You are here, shall we agree, because you do not yet know who you 
 are. The purpose of education is to give you this knowledge, in what- 
 ever form and to whatever extent it may be available. Perhaps it has 
 never been fully available to any man. Perhaps? No, certainly it 
 has never been. . . . 
 
 It is life to which education introduces us, merely introduces us, 
 leaving us to become friends in the best way we can. You may be 
 here to help yourself make a living; but if that is your only expecta- 
 tion, some day you may regret that you did not insist on more. Liv- 
 ings can be lost as well as made. . . . 
 
 It is feared these days that men will destroy the world. But any 
 man has already destroyed it who has decided that it is not worthy 
 of his full and continuous attention. It is older than man, and doubt- 
 less will survive him. Certainly it will if in his arrogance he wants to 
 be the only creature on it. That will be the end of him, but not of the 
 world. It is a vast place, difficult to see into and nobody yet has 
 found its center. Nevertheless the good student — the serious one, 
 the humble one, the joyful one — will keep on trying. 
 
 804 o ^;14 J 214 
 
 34757 
 
$1.75 
 
 14s. net 
 
 Collected here are news articles, editorials, letters to the editor, and 
 even advertisements, drawn from the files of the Daily Illini — one 
 of the oldest student newspapers in the nation. They offer a lively, 
 informal history of campus life at the University of Illinois, recall 
 significant landmarks in its growth and progress, and endow with a 
 second life the achievements, disappointments, controversies, and 
 trivia that together made up the college days of thousands of stu- 
 dents 
 
 Sports grow from a pleasant Sunday afternoon pastime to the 
 days of big-time football, and Illinois can boast of Red Grange and 
 his famous exploits. Secret societies gain approval from the admin- 
 istration, making Illinois the "fraternity capital of the world." The 
 first fifty students welcomed by Regent John Milton Gregory into 
 the one building that served as classroom, laboratory, museum, and 
 dormitory for the Illinois Industrial University become, a century 
 later, 29,000 strong, swelling into a vast complex capped by the 
 construction boom of the 1960's. Generations of Illini release collec- 
 tive energies in pranks, fads, and frenzied class competition, and 
 register response to such important outside events as the world wars. 
 Prohibition, the Depression, political campaigns, and the civil rights 
 movement. 
 
 In his foreword to the book, Mark Van Doren notes that 
 "Nothing escaped the eyes of the editors." The result is entertaining, 
 enlightening reportage that still preserves its freshness, clarity, and 
 unique historical value. 
 
 Roger Ebert, former Illini editor, is film critic and feature writer 
 for the Chicago Sun-Times. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS PRESS URBANA • CHICAGO ■ LONDON