From VOICES: Upstate by Varick A. Chittenden

Volume 32
Spring-Summer
2006

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There were rush and pledging, Hell Week, pinning ceremonies, and Purple Jesus parties ...A sociologist or psychologist would have a heyday studying such behavior. There were issues of status, control, authority, survival, resourcefulness, and especially group identity— to name a few.

Photo: Martha Cooper

Varick A. Chittenden is professor emeritus of English, SUNY Canton College of Technology, and executive director of Traditional Arts in Upstate New York (TAUNY). Photo: Martha Cooper

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The Chapel Bells by Varick A. Chittenden

When clear skies prevail over late afternoons during the academic year, from my front yard I can often hear the muted sounds of the bells of Gunnison Memorial Chapel at St. Lawrence University. Up in the tower, the carilloneur— always a student trained in the ancient art of ringing these bells—plays a few tunes each day, including some college songs and ending with the alma mater. It’s a St. Lawrence tradition, as old as almost anyone in Canton can remember.

St. Lawrence is celebrating its sesquicentennial in 2006: 150 years as one of the nation’s oldest coeducational small liberal arts colleges. That observance means a lot to me, since not too many years after the college’s centenary, I entered the school as a green, impressionable freshman, unschooled in the ways of college life. That would change immediately. On registration day, I was directed to a small room in my single-sex dorm, where I was given a pile of goods that I was told to value with my life: a scarlet and brown beanie about three sizes too small for my head, a bright red bow tie, and a large white placard with a loop of string attached, on which was written in large letters with Magic Marker my name and hometown. Like every other freshman, from that minute forward I was to wear all of the assigned items in public until notified otherwise. No questions asked.

That was the first of many traditions I encountered in my college life, most of which I still remember rather fondly to this day. Freshman hazing—now called “first year student orientation” and unrecognizable to me!—was not much fun at the time. The L Club—all varsity sports letter winners and all male— were the enforcers of “the rules,” none of which was written in the college’s student handbook. Freshman men were to walk only on sidewalks, not on the grass; tip our beanies to upper class women; wear sport jackets to dinner; and carry all our books to all our classes! Women had strict night curfews, with “minutes” for late arrival tabulated by the equally strict deans—all intended to keep the men under control, as well.

From ten to eleven every night, we were to be in our rooms. L Club men would come to roust us out, down to the Commons Room or the outdoor Quad, where as a group, we would sing St. Lawrence songs, recite silly verse, do pushups or duck walks in large circles, or find our shoes in the pile we had created when we started out. This went on indefinitely, we thought, or until the football team won the homecoming game.

If any one failed to do what was asked, or showed any resistance, he was ordered to appear the next morning at the Snack Bar Wall— the favorite outdoor gathering place on campus for upper class men and women—and perform the alma mater solo for all to hear or some other equally humiliating task. After several weeks of such shenanigans, a few adventurous freshmen mutinied, ending in the search for a particularly obnoxious tormentor who had won his varsity letter as the manager of the tennis team. He was ultimately captured, and the letter “L” was shaved into his brush cut for all to see. And no one ever knew who did it!

For the rest of my undergraduate days, there were dozens of traditions, almost too numerous to remember today. There were delightful stories about absentminded professors, ghosts in dormitories, “mystery meat” in the cafeteria, gut courses one could easily pass, and cheating on blue book exams if one couldn’t. There was Dean of Women Doris Stout—widely reputed to require “girls” to avoid wearing red since it provoked passionate behavior, and patent leather shoes since they could act as mirrors—“Rock Doc” Bloomer, a widely respected geologist who we were told drank milk before his bourbon to placate his ulcers, and a host of other such colorful characters. There were “boonie parties,” with blankets and beer in spots remote from campus like the Flat Rocks in the Grasse River, and favorite hangouts in town like Connie Barr’s, Moose’s, and the Tick Tock.

Even though St. Lawrence was and is a small college, there were different groups with their own traditions to maintain. Greek life was not exactly like Animal House, but there were many drinking games and songs that emanated from the several houses on campus. There were rush and pledging, Hell Week, pinning ceremonies, and Purple Jesus parties (vodka and grape juice in milk cans!). Athletes had their legendary coaches, “dumb jock” reputations, and superstitious rituals like eating the same meals or wearing the same unwashed game underwear while on a winning streak.

A sociologist or psychologist would have a heyday studying such behavior. There were issues of status, control, authority, survival, resourcefulness, and especially group identity— to name a few. I still say that my once detested period of freshman hazing was an amazing exercise in community building, since (for one) most of my classmates knew the names and hometowns—remember the placards?— of every one of our 450-plus fellow travelers when Homecoming Weekend came . . . and I still recall them and lots more at class reunions.

Many of these traditions ended two or more decades ago, when diversity and individuality became the norm on campuses, and the conformity and group loyalty of our day was out. I don’t disagree with that trend, since it’s most likely a far more healthy learning environment for today’s students. But when I hear the chapel bells, I can’t help but think fondly about those times in my life when silly behavior was serious and becoming part of something much bigger than each of us for life was very important.

Alma Mater, Old St. Lawrence,
We are singing now of thee,
May thy fair name dwell forever
In our fondest memory.

Varick Chittenden’s Upstate column was published in Voices Vol. 32, Spring Summer 2006. Voices is the membership magazine of the New York Folklore Society. To become a subscriber, join the New York Folklore Society now.