We forget sometimes that college is exhausting.
June 1967, I think this architecture student is in the Grand Hall of the RMC, which was full of furniture at this time:
March 2014, I know for sure that this medical student is in the basement of Reinert Alumni Library at Creighton:
Away from the archives, I find myself trawling through the images on my laptop this afternoon, looking for something interesting to show you. The biggest drawback to this is that I have so many pictures it’s easy to get distracted. The advantage, though, is that I can see things I miss in the day-to-day press of business. What I noticed this morning is that I’ve unintentionally scanned and saved the birth of the Chemistry Building in several really interesting and unusual images.
This first photo is a Cram and Ferguson drawing from 1922:
Here’s the 1923 groundbreaking. Check out the mules at work:
This next one is a really unusual view, probably taken sometime in late 1924 or early 1925. Lots of cars parked along the road through the quad:
And finally the finished product, also undated but very soon after completion, with Tony Martino’s rose garden in the foreground. Note that it isn’t exactly as drawn in the first picture but it’s pretty close:
I’m spending this week in the Pacific Northwest and the plant life looks very peculiar to a long-time Texan. Some of the odd shapes and colors remind me a bit of the illustrations in the Dr. Seuss books we used to read to our kids. What the heck, for example, is this?
It brings to mind one of my favorite images from Julian Huxley’s papers. This is Dutch botany professor Hugo de Vries of the University of Amsterdam, one of the most important figures in the modern study of genetics:
De Vries came to Texas, of course, to speak at the formal opening of the new Rice Institute. (His talk, entitled “Mutations in Heredity,” is here, in the first volume of the Rice Institute Pamphlet.) At some point in this long trip he and Huxley traveled around the state inspecting the native flora. This picture was taken in San Antonio in October, 1912, the same month as the opening. Huxley’s note on the back reveals a bit of puzzlement: they’re not sure what that thing is, but they want to call it a cylindrical arborescent opuntia. And who am I to say it’s not?
I ran across this while looking through some slides that I think must have come from the Association of Rice Alumni office:
It’s labeled on the back as an Elliott Addressing Machine and it’s not hard to understand why the staff would be excited enough to take a picture of it. (Not to mention play with it—I can make out “Edie” and “Carol.”) I have zero idea of how it worked.
Warning: I’m in Portland all week and I’m way behind on my email. Please forgive me–I’ll catch up sooner or later.
In the early hours of Friday, May 3, 1966 heavy rains caused a storm sewer to blow and water began emptying into a tunnel that served the new wing of the Fondren Library. By the time it was over the entire basement, including the Rare Book Room, was flooded. It’s a sickening sight even now and it’s hard to imagine what it must have felt like at the time. But in true stalwart librarian fashion, cleanup began before it was even fully light outside. It must have been a long day and probably a long weekend as well. There was a significant amount of damage.
It looks like lots of people pitched in. Here’s Professor Tsanoff drying out rare books by sliding pieces of paper in between the leaves:
Bonus: I just like the way this looks.
It’s a wonder to me that we don’t see more of this kind of thing:
In one of the very first posts I ever wrote here, I talked about finding the receipt for Dr. Lovett’s travel expenses to Houston that he sent back to the Rice Institute business manager, A.B. Cohn, after his interview trip:
Last week I ran across the letter to Mr. Cohn that accompanied the receipt—in a completely different collection, of course.
I believe they went out looking at possible sites for the Institute and I wonder very much what Mr. Lummis had to say.