Rice History Corner

One of the pictures  I got from Tommy Lavergne last week shows a high jumper in mid-leap. There is another picture I’m pretty sure was taken at the same, of a pole vaulter. (I’ll talk more about that one later.) I think both these pictures were taken at a fairly large track meet. It’s clearly not a practice–the athletes seem to be in regular uniform and there are a lot of people standing around watching, some of whom look very official. One fellow in the pole vault photo even seems to have some sort of official’s ribbon pinned to his jacket.

Was this picture taken at Rice? Honestly, I’m not sure yet. There are some good clues here–an open view of some treeless space, a house in the background, a road, a fence and a line of electric poles. But where to look for comparison? Do you remember my post about Fred Manaker, Professor J.H. Pound and the aerial photos of Rice taken in 1917, just a year or two after this one was shot? (What?? You don’t??!) Let’s have another look at those then. (Click on them to enlarge, then click again to zoom in.) The first one was taken directly over the athletic field, although part of it is blocked by a wing. Drat.

 You can tell from this that a good part of the field had no bleachers and also that there was open space (that is, without trees) at least on the west and northwest of the track. It’s hard to tell what’s to the south and southwest because of the airplane wing. But so far, so good.

Now here’s another:

OK, right off the bat I see that towards the northwest there is a house here just as there is in the background of the high jump picture–but it’s obviously not the same house.  You can also clearly see that there is also open, relatively treeless space towards the southwest on the Main Street corner of the field. But there’s no house there at all, at least not one that’s visible in this photo. Might there be one out of camera range? Sure. But might it be the one on Main Street towards the southeast? I don’t know, there seem to be a lot of trees to the southeast of the field that would block the view.

But there’s one more picture in this series, taken at only 300 feet:

Well, the road looks right and the fence looks right also. It seems there might be a sight line to the house from some angles as well. I even happen to know that there was a line of electric poles down there along Fannin, because of this 1914 photo of some Rice guys waiting for a trolley car.

But I’m still skeptical. Please feel free to weigh in.

Tomorrow I’ll talk about who the high jumper might be.

Late last week I got an email from Tommy Lavergne, the campus photographer. It was a bit of a shaggy dog story–I laughed out loud several times as I read it, wondering what the heck he was getting at. When I finally got to the point, though, I hustled right over to his office. I reproduce the email here almost (but not quite) in its entirety. (I took out a couple of things to protect the guilty. They were almost the funniest parts, but I promised.)

Ok–here’s the story.

Back in 1987, shortly after I got here, someone called me from the library. I have no idea who it was and they are probably dead by now. They asked me if I wanted some stuff from the old thresher darkroom. I was in desperate need of an enlarger and they had one that was in working order. I still have it. I think it was about a WW II model. They also had several boxes of crap. Developing tanks, thermometers, just typical photography junk that was outdated and obsolete. I sort of went through it and just figured I would keep it. The enlarger was the only thing I had my eye on.

The next year or so, we built my darkroom in the attic (5th floor) of Allen Center. I got it all set up and so on and eventually decided that I should toss most of the junk I got from the library. In the bottom of one of the boxes was a tiny box of glass plates. It said “open in darkroom only.” For at least 2 years I never opened it because I figured they were unused plates. The box was taped shut and I thought it was factory sealed. I knew something like that was best left untouched. I displayed the box at my home with my antique camera collection. Eventually, my wife redecorated and told me to minimize my junk so I put some of these things away. Well–my curiosity got the best of me and I noticed that the box actually had been opened, so I took a look.

I guess I should have taken it to Woodson right then, but I wanted a chance to try to print some of these first and surprise them with the finished product. The plates are in such bad shape that I really gave up. There was no way to clean these prints due to all the dust and decay. At that point, I just put them away with the intent of giving them over to Woodson, but for whatever reason, I never got around to it.

About two years ago, I remembered that I had printed some and decided to scan the prints and see if I could clean them up with Photoshop. I was going to clean them up and give the whole thing over to Woodson. I had one small problem. I could not find the plates. I search everywhere I could think of. My house, the darkroom, everywhere. Now I was worried that I would cause more problems that it was worth because I had no way to present the original source of the images.

Well guess what? I found the plates. They were in the bottom of one of my desk drawers. This is a HUGE relief to me. COME GET THEM! 

There are about eight or nine pictures all together, all seem to have been taken in 1915 and 1916. I believe they record events from the 1915-16 school year, culminating in Rice’s first commencement, but it might be that they started at the 1916 commencement and went forward through the fall. I just can’t tell yet.

Tommy wasn’t sure how useful these images would be, but I find several of them extremely powerful, even haunting. Those two men working in the power plant in the picture above–I don’t know their names yet, but I will do everything I can to find them–were buried for nearly a hundred years and now suddenly they are back among us. Some of the other images connect up with things in student scrapbooks and have their own important stories to tell. I’ll go through them this week, one at a time. Bear in mind that I’ve never seen them before and I’m doing my research on the fly, making guesses and then refining them as I go. In other words, if I get something wrong, I might need a minute to figure it out.

I am extremely grateful, of course, to Tommy.

Bonus: Before she died earlier this year, Ray Watkin Strange (see this post) made arrangements for her large collection of family and personal papers and memorabilia to come to the Woodson Research Center. Lee Pecht, Fondren’s head of special collections, has been slowly bringing these materials in to the library. There really are a lot of them, and a lot more to come. This is what we have so far:

 I mention this because as I was poking around in one of these boxes I found this picture of Ray, taken in 1928:

She was thirteen.

This isn’t really a folly so much as a small reign of terror. Here’s what I saw in Founder’s Court on my way in to work this morning:That is a big, big hawk. It’s hard to tell from this, but he’s letting me get so close because he’s busy eating his breakfast, one of these fellows:

Sorry, buddy.

Finally he got tired of me and flew off with the squirrel in his talons. A bit boggled, I showed a picture of this to Susann Glenn from FE&P. She laughed and sent me another photo of the same guy keeping the rabbit population in check over at my favorite spot on campus, the drainage wasteland by the track stadium. This was taken by Neville Mann, Rice’s lead arborist:

Evan Mintz, this rabbit is for you.

I’m pretty tired from the effort I’m using to keep from making jokes about the Rice food chain, but here are a couple of quickies from this week in the archives. These are just a few of the things that found their way into our collection in the last few days: The 1935 Southwest Conference Basketball Championship trophy was in a storage closet in the gym. (I’m not saying where I got the cheerleader outfit and pompoms.)

This Cotton Bowl blanket also came to us from Athletics, along with a Rice Letterman’s blanket. Both had been carefully stored are are nearly perfectly preserved.

A couple of pretty major things also turned up this week, and I’ll fill you in on them on Monday.

I’ve been digging around recently in some very old football materials and one of the things I came across is something I’d noticed before but never bothered with. (I have no real idea why I’m bothering with it right now. Sometimes I’m a puzzle even to myself.) Here it is:

It’s the caption that’s kind of interesting, of course. Although one might take issue with the amount of fame these fellows actually garnered, that’s not what interested me. I should also say that the guy whose scrapbook is the source of the photo–the tall one in the middle, “Tiny” Kalb–seems to have been sort of a wit, and a self-deprecating one at that. So I think his tongue may have been at least partly in cheek with the claims to glory.

It’s the Waxahachie business that caught my eye. Why Waxahachie? The only game the Owls played that season outside of the Houston area was against Trinity.

Here's a ticket from the game--it was printed in Waxahachie, by a firm that still exists! It's for sale on ebay, by the way.

At first I thought that we might have simply played a game at a neutral site, which was very common in those days (mostly because of the difficulty of travel). Sadly, what I failed to realize is that Trinity was located in Waxahachie from 1902 to 1942! That’s just embarrassing. I’m supposed to know things like that.

Of course, I could have kept my mouth shut, but then I wouldn’t be me.

Bonus: Here’s the 1915 Trinity football lettermen.

 Rice beat Trinity 7-0 in 1913, part of an undefeated four-game season in Texas Intercollegiate Athletic Association play. (That was Rice’s first conference affiliation.) I don’t know if that crucial inch was on offense or defense. In 1915, we beat them even worse, 46-0.

Anyone who’s visited campus this summer will have been unavoidably aware of the road repaving project that has shut down most of the south part of the loop road. It’s been kind of a drag–remember this post?–but it’s hard to complain now that I know they’ve actually finished early and the road will reopen tomorrow.

Here’s a picture from this afternoon, which shows the jazzy new brick walkways that they probably think will tempt us to ignore the traditional shortcuts through the jasmine.

Just yesterday I ran across this picture from February, 1913, taken just a bit further west along this same road: Much better now, I think.

Bonus: What all this? Rice stadium astroturf, circa 1970s, 80s, 90s, 00s, brought to us by Larry Miggins, recently retired from many years of service in FE&P. Click a couple of times to zoom in–you can get a decent look at the various textures. We’ve been trying to locate samples like this for years, and we’re extremely grateful to Larry for his help.

Remember in the first picture I put up there was a guy standing alone, directly athwart a manhole cover:

He looks kind of serene, doesn't he, even amid all the hubub?

His name was Thomas Frank Gailor, and he was quite an interesting fellow. In 1912 he was both the Episcopal Bishop of Tennessee and the Chancellor of the University of the South in Sewanee, positions he held until his death in 1935. Here’s a brief bio that only hints at the deeply interesting life he must have led. I was especially intrigued that a Mississippi boy would have attended Racine College in Wisconsin in the 1870s. It was, of course, an Episcopalian school–here’s a fascinating short history, written by one of its early faculty members. Have a look at the course listings. On the one hand, the classical curriculum is exactly what an educated man would have been expected to know in this era, but the existence of a separate science curriculum alongside it is unusual at this early date. I have no idea how Lovett knew Gailor, but I will find out.

His talk at the Opening was on the topic of “The Church and Education,” and it was published as part of the first volume of the Rice Institute Pamphlet. (Link was broken before–it’s fixed now.) It’s well worth a read and it’s a good place to start thinking about what it actually meant in 1912 to say that the Rice Institute was secular. It sure didn’t mean then what it does now.

Bonus: Campus manhole construction in the spring of 1912!

And just for fun, think about going over and checking out my friend Patrick Kurp’s blog, Anecdotal Evidence.  I can’t recommend it enough–it’s the first place I go every morning and it’s where I have finally begun to learn the things about books that I was too callow to grasp when I was in school. Here’s a nice post  (I’m in it!) with a lovely poem about manhole covers.

While we’re on the subject of light poles, get a load of this pointless stunt, circa 1938. I wonder if they had the greased pole back then.

 I can’t stop myself from noting the protective glass around the bulb itself. That wasn’t there in the picture from the opening day procession–there were just small bare bulbs in the lamps (which were gas, by the way). Also, the wiring for the entire system that was strung between the poles is gone here. When did all this happen? It’s just crossed my mind that I have a plausible place to look for the answer. Hold your breath!

And here’s what they look like now. I’m pretty sure that’s plastic, but I’m totally unsure why you’d use something that seems like it would decrease the amount of available light.

Some of them have a clear protective covering, though. I’m certainly no expert, but this seems like a better idea:

Just for fun I went up to the office of a complete stranger in the Office of International Students and Scholars in Lovett Hall and asked if I could take a picture out her window. She was extremely gracious and allowed me to do so. Unfortunately I couldn’t actually get out on the roof, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The sight lines that existed when that picture of the opening procession was taken are completely gone now.

Bonus picture! I took this one this morning. Sorry for all the rambling–it’s Friday!

I went back today for a closer look at the other pictures of the academic procession. We have only three photos from this event, which is kind of tragic as you’ll soon see.

It’s clear that the procession began by Gate 3, by the dormitories, and headed north. Keep in mind that these pictures are a bit deceptive–the distances here are smaller than they appear from this angle. This was not a particularly long walk.

Click to enlarge, then click again to zoom in. These are pretty high resolution scans.

What you see in this picture is the beginning of the turn to the east–the band is out in front. But look to the right of the band–see that guy standing by himself with the camera?? We have zero photos from that angle. If you have them or know who does, please call me immediately. I guarantee I will take your call! (Actually, in all honesty, if you want to reach me email is pretty much the only way to do it.)

And then look at the guy in the car just in front of the band. He has a movie camera! Where did that come from?!

The other photo is a bit of an anti-climax after all that excitement. Still, it’s not totally without merit. Click on it to enlarge, zoom in, then see how many methods of transportation you can find. Very entertaining! (I get four. Five, I guess, if you count walking.) They’re just walking east, along today’s loop.

In conclusion, I’m more certain now that I was correct last night. The gate visible in yesterday’s picture must be Gate 2.  Just to be sure, I scanned a photo of the main gate taken on the same day. That’s definitely not the same gate. I do wonder who that fellow is.

In regard to the lamp post, I think the way to figure out which one it is, is to check out the manhole cover that guy is standing on. This gives me an excuse to revisit my favorite topic–drainage. (Also, I will tell you who that guy was.)

I just spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at this picture of the academic procession at the formal opening of the Institute in October, 1912.

I’ve seen it before (it’s in the William ward Watkin Family Papers), but I never thought hard about precisely where it was taken. Which gate is that in the background? There were only three, so how hard could it be to figure this out?

Well, I’m still not absolutely positive, but after looking at some other pictures of the procession my current guess is that it’s gate number two. (Unfortunately, I don’t have them on this computer. You can see a couple in Fredericka Meiners’ excellent History of Rice University. ) I think they started at the dormitories (inside gate three), then turned east on what would become the loop towards the administration building. It looks like they’re turning north in this picture, so the administration building would be just in front of them. That makes sense in terms of the camera angle too–the photographer was probably on top or near the top of that building.

So why was I looking at this picture in the first place? I’ve gotten interested in the lamp posts. First I got a hot tip about them from one of the electricians, then I stumbled across the original specs and contract for their installation. This model is called a German High Hat, for fairly obvious reasons.

The picture of the academic procession has one right smack dab in the middle.

Bonus: I can’t swear that this is exactly the same one, but it’s close.

Much more on the lamp posts later! I really mean that.

The Rice community, and Fondren Library in particular, lost a great friend last week. (Here is her obituary in the Chronicle.) Ferne Hyman spent thirty years here, beginning in 1968 when her beloved husband Harold came to teach in the Rice history department. She started with a half-time job in the Gifts and Exchanges department, but her talent and drive was immediately apparent and she went on to hold positions of increasing responsibility in reference and collection management. At her retirement she was assistant university librarian, director of special services and a member of the Fondren Executive Committee. The photo to the left was taken at Homecoming in 1997, when Ferne and Harold were honored by the Friends of Fondren Library for their long service to the intellectual life of the university.

That doesn’t even begin to cover it, though. Ferne just made an impact on people. Her devotion to students was second only to her devotion to her family. She was a woman with wide-ranging abilities, a formidable intelligence, a strong will and a very large heart. As a graduate student, I benefitted enormously from her kind generosity in matters both academic and personal. She had preposterously high standards, and a seemingly unshakeable faith that the student in front of her would somehow be able to meet those standards. Her guidance was an invaluable part of making that happen. Her service to the Brookwood Community after her and Harold’s retirement reflects exactly the same care for the needs of others that distinguished her years at Rice.

Ferne Hyman, RIP.