 . . . Fall 1998
CAMPUS LIFE 70 YEARS AGO Viewed From a Women's Dormitory MY EXPERIENCES AT ALUMNAE HOUSE, 1926-28 The decade of the 1920s, as everyone knows, was a period of reckless living and defiance of authority unprecedented in the history of the United States. It began in late 1918 with the signing of the armistice that brought World War I to an end. I was in New York at the time, where the outpouring of joy and relief was overwhelming. I have never, before nor since, experienced anything like it.
We could scarcely wait for our troop ships to bring home what we pictured as an exuberant army, heroes elated by victory and conscious of a job well done. What those ships brought was nothing more than weary and disillusioned men, many of whom , had been boys when they left, who wanted nothing but to rest and forget. If this was victory, what was left? At least the economy was in high gear. We had money in our pockets. You only live once.
The pattern of rebellion had already been established. The Prohibition Amendment of 1917 had been ignored from the first day it went into effect. American citizens were not about to be told what they might or might not drink. It was a flouting of authority, a gesture of self-assertion that struck a responsive chord in a disappointed and disoriented generation.
Naturally the universities were affected. Young people not only disregarded the admonitions of their elders, they were often rude and disdainful. Traditional rules were unenforceable. In the dormitories, old-style directors were ineffective. Perhaps women more nearly the students' age might be more effective.
That is how I came to be the director of Alumnae House in 1926. Until then the position, known as "house mother," had been the preserve of genteel widows and spinsters of a certain age and indisputable virtue. Knowledge of the new order came to me principally from two sources. One was the director of another small dormitory, the widow of a minister. She had volunteered to monitor the parlors of the new Women's League building one evening a week, and she was in a state of shock. Behavior that would not have been tolerated in public places a few years earlier was not uncommon, and reprimands sometimes evoked insolent responses. She frequently came to me to let off steam. My other informant was Robert Hicks, a medical student who was happily married to a friend of mine and viewed the goings-on as a spectator. To him, there was nothing revolutionary in the state of affairs. It was simply the way things were. Sex was an unruly instinct; youth was short-sighted and often reckless. Time would take care of that soon enough. He saw no need to get excited. One day, when we had been talking about the latest escapade of a mutual acquaintance, I exclaimed, "What happens to such women when they leave college?" He replied, "They get married and are very strict with their daughters."
A number of deterrent factors were more formidable than they are now. Complications from pregnancy or childbirth that are easily handled today were not infrequent then. Ostracism was inevitable unless marriage followed quickly. And probably most important of all, for both men and women, was the training from an early age in self-control, and it was drilled in incessantly that this was the first commandment, that good behavior was our own responsibility. Boys knew early on that they were expected to be "gentlemen" and there were things that gentlemen didn't do. They did not put "nice girls" at risk. And this appeal to chivalry was reinforced by the never-to-be-discounted risk of an irate father who demanded marriage at once, ready or not. The girls' viewpoint was neatly summed up in a limerick that circulated in the dormitories: I don't doubt that many young people today might find such self-imposed restraints implausible, but early and persistent training can be strong enough to combat instinct. How else can cultural patterns be accounted for! At Alumnae House I had just one sex-related incident that might have had serious consequences. One of my freshmen had not been in town a week when she began going out with a man 10 or 12 years her senior who had a reputation for being rather too-much interested in college girls--nothing factual, just a lot of speculation and raised eyebrows. It was not long before I received a call from Alice Lloyd, the new dean of women, to come to her office and talk about the situation. "Is there anything you can do about it?" she asked. That question in itself was evidence of the new order. Former deans would have known what to do and seen to it that proper action was taken. "Nothing," I told her. "Whatever we may say or do, she will make her own decision. I am keeping an eye on it." She left it in my hands. What happened was that the relationship continued throughout the young woman's college years. Then they got married and lived happily for 20 years, until the husband died. So much for intervention! The biggest problem of anyone in charge of a random assortment of young people is to keep the peace. Sooner or later, he will encounter every form of human contrariness: persons with so little self-esteem that they are able to survive only by continually criticizing others; persons so unhappy that they begrudge the happiness of anyone else; little darlings who ignore rules and consider it their birthright to monopolize the showers and the telephones. They are a source of continual disturbance. I could only try to placate such students for the time being and to soothe the feelings of the wounded. The most one can do, with sufficient tact, is to maintain a kind of truce. If the overall feeling is good, and peace reigns most of the time, one has done all that is possible. One of the girls of Polish background was continually teased about her English. For her it was a second language, learned in school, and it was rather formal. She needed reassurance from time to time. I could only tell her that the teasing would pass and her English would be an asset when she got out into the world. Another girl, Elaine, who had been the exclusive object of her mother's affection, felt rejected when her mother married again. She wanted attention continually. When she decided to take to her bed for a few days, demanding service right and left, the whole house would be thrown into confusion. Consultations with her mother and Dean Lloyd didn't solve the problem. Fortunately, another student, a little older than the others and even-tempered, offered to live with Elaine. She was pleased to do so, and there was no more roommate trouble. In my opinion, this is a director's most important business, It is never-ending, occasionally time-consuming, and success is limited, but if it can be viewed as a challenge, it is worth the trouble. A few young people will have learned some invaluable lessons. One of the cleaning women the second year was apparently unable to resist perfume. She must have brought a bottle in which to deposit a bit from a number of bottles. Surely such a small theft could not be a sin! Every time she came, I had the same complaint. I sometimes wondered what she smelled like in church on Sunday! Most of these things took little time, maybe an hour now and then, but we had two crises that demanded first place in my attention: a fire and a case of chicken-pox that had to be cared for in the house. The fire, caused by the explosion of a coal-fired hot-water heater in the basement, was put out quickly by firemen. The aftermath kept me busy for a month, however. Every garment in the house had to be dry cleaned; and since the cleaners could take just so many a day, it required the wisdom of Solomon to adjudicate the claims of 17 young women for priority service. My own clothes went last. For several weeks, everywhere I went, someone said, "I smell smoke!" Such things, when they occur, have priority over studies. I lost three hours of credit toward my master's degree the first year and never caught up. Leone Prochnow, a teacher of domestic science, served as both dietician and teacher of the girls who cooked our meals. She was amiable and attractive, a role model, I think, for many of the girls. The food was first rate. The only complaint I ever heard was too much whipped cream. It cannot be called a serious criticism.
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In the large dormitories the new-style, younger directors were enjoying considerable success. Miss Grace Greenwood at Martha Cook and Miss Helen C. Bishop at the Helen Newberry Residence were both attractive young women with easy good manners; they were well liked; they had the gift of inducing in their charges a desire to please, and they understood that the old rules could be effective with a less submissive generation only if applied with a generous admixture of common sense.
She was right. Almost always, the rules were not enforceable in all situations. A favorite pastime in warm weather was canoeing up the river, where one quickly passed, on a summer evening, into an empty, shadowy world that lent itself to intimacy. Beyond a doubt, even in my undergraduate days, there was plenty of petting going on, but pregnancy was rare. Perhaps once a year, some girl might disappear from campus, never to be seen again. Her departure was often attributed to "acute appendicitis," if an explanation was required.