“On a warm May day in 1700, Governor Davenport and Silas Pierpont of New Haven, sat smoking with their feet upon a railing of their wigwam piazza. ‘Big frogs in the little puddle,’ were these men, but no New Havener ever found it necessary to remind them of that point. They knew it and looked it.
As for the Governor, he was dark blue Puritan, and ruled New Haven with a rod of iron; what he said generally ‘went.’ But Silas or Ponty, as his friends familiarly styled him, was hardly a second fiddler. He held the entire stock of the Derby road soap factory, owned large tracts of East and West Rocks, to say nothing of acre or two in the Quinnipiac swamps, and as a pal of the guv’nor’s had free entree to the ‘bung tung’ of New Haven society.
‘Twas the Governor who at length broke the silence, by asking Silas for a fresh cheroot, which was reluctantly furnished. ‘I’ll tell you what, Ponty,’ said his companion, fingering his diamond shirt stud meditatively, ‘How would you like to found a college with me?’
Ponty vouchsafed no reply, but reaching carelessly for his flint-lock, blazed away at an object that was squirming along in the grass. The object bounded into the air, and with a wild yelp of Indian profanity, fell dead. ‘You were saying — ?’ said Ponty, replacing his musket with cool nonchalance, — ‘To be sure, found a college, well, old man, I’ll go with you.’
The next week, the Governor and Silas held a meeting at Branford, a flourishing swamp a few miles away, with Silas in the chair. ‘I hereby found a college,’ said Silas, impressively placing an imported beer stein upon the table. ‘Look-a-here young man, ain’t I in this, too?’ angrily interrupted the Governor, with a current expletive, ‘I founds this college, with these here books,’ and the enraged magnate slammed down a complete set of Bohn’s translations.
How closely we cling to tradition. In all these years that simple act has not been forgotten. We still go, at intervals, to Branford with our Bohn’s volumes to commemorate that sacred and solemn rite performed by our forefathers.
Such were the auspices under which our tree of knowledge was planted.
Satbook, a gay art center a few miles away, boasted the advantages of a central location, a steam laundry, and a soda fountain.
Freshmen couldn’t be trusted far away from home in those days, and to avoid the threatened boycot, the worthy founders were compelled to humor the populace, and accordingly shipped the college to Saybrook. But the splendor and renon of the days of a Thanksgiving foot-ball game was yet a long way off. So Ponty and the Governor thought, for, to use Ponty’s disgusted expression, ‘the durned college wouldn’t draw as well as a fake lottery ticket.’ The freshmen too, such as they were, were a bad lot. Totally lacking the subduing influence of sophomore discipline, they were tough and fresh. They rebelled against 5 A. M. chapel, against the bear’s meat diet of Saybrook boarding houses, and as the ground floors of the new wigwam dormitories were damp and unhealthy, Ponty, the Governor, and the faculty decided to pull up stakes and sour on Saybrook.
Saybrook people objected, particularly the creditors. Tick was a recognized and respected custom in the trade of those good old Puritan times, but a ‘quiet game’ with the Indians now and then, had made the students very bad pay, and Saybrook tailors were not for losing by such a deal. At this crisis a benefactor loomed up, and General Saltonstal was the man. The General’s real name has been lost in the obscurity of the past. ‘Saltonstal’ was an Indian sobriquet meaning ‘too much money,’ a justly applied title, for the General lived in a brown stone mansion, in one of New Haven’s most prosperous suburbs. He had a pond in front of his house, which he afterwards rented to the college boys, for their races.
It was the General who persuaded Eli Yale to emigrate, and to chip in with his pile to help the boys to get away from Saybrook. This Eli did and when finally established at New Haven, in touching gratitude to Eli, they named the college YALE. -Governeur Calhoun, ’91“
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, Yale University, The Yale record, V. 18, No. 6, December 14, 1889
“If this is a time of general transition, then surely, as the dexterous pickpocket observed, we are getting our share of the change. Shades of Eli! but the Owl is weary in the public service. How many times, in late days, he has patrolled the campuses, old and new, to see that the new arrangements were going smoothly, and how strenuously he has pondered, that he might advise the eager public wisely on some of these changes! He has watched with approval the filling in of the campus waterways, where so many generations have merrily splashed through the Freshman rains, but at the same time he has cogitated deeply over the best disposal of that superfluous section of the Fence which was formerly used to prop up the old Treasury building. What a friendless, wandering air it has, to be sure. It would certainly be a kindness to move it somewhere, and in default of a better place why not plant it over by Phelps and let the classical Freshmen fasten their horses there when they go into recitations? This would make it of some slight use at least.
Then there is the new post-office, lately moved to a situation more convenient to the Record office. The Owl has struggled long over the problem of inserting one thousand men into thirty square feet of post-office in five minutes, but now he is forced to throw down the cards and call for a new deal. Suggestions are invited, — there may be some solution; let us hope so at any rate.
These are but samples of the many questions with which the sacred Bird is wrestling. It’s a strenuous game, but he finds his reward in the respectful attention with which the public ever receive his advice and counsel.
Still there are two sides to everything — as they say in Chicago. It is a solemn thing for the old grad, to ‘revisit thus the glimpses of the moon’ in the City of Sidewalks; and yet — the sacred Bird has deep within him a soft sub-consciousness that there will be something doing. Surely there is no solemnity in those blue-and-yellow jack o’lanterns that grin so aesthetically from the walls of the buildings, and as a further omen: blue as some of the decorative clothes-horses which screen our old gray walls may look, they are soon to be covered with green; and as for the rest of the town, its chrome will be more simple, — red as the rosy youth in the cheek of a blushful tomato at night, and in the early dawn a rich dark brown. ‘It is to laugh’ and let the world laugh with us.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
With the Jaw Bone.
“Sunday School Teacher: What gave Sampson strength to do such execution among his enemies?
Tommy: Probably his good eating joint.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
A Bicentennial.
“‘Here’s where I lose a little ground,’ said the tramp as he stepped into the bath tub.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
Unappreciated.
“Miss Dolly smiles, — a sudden sheen
Of snowy white glows out between
Two arching lips of such a red,
That in good faith it could be said
They’d turn the rose with envy green.
This sight to other chaps I ween
Affords a pleasure of monstrous keen,
But woe to me, I deeply dread
Miss Dolly’s smiles.
The reason’s this: with humble mien,
I often woo this dainty queen,
Protesting she has turned my head,
But vainly seek response, — instead,
Behind her fan’s transparent screen,
Miss Dolly smiles.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
Comedy.
“SCENE — backyward. Hungry tramp and inquisitive lady.
LADY: So you were on the stage?
TRAMP: Yes.
LADY: What part did you take?
TRAMP: A little of the white meat, please.
LADY: I said did you take.
TRAMP: I took the part of the Ham in Hamlet in the title roll.
LADY: You must have been hungry.
TRAMP: If it were not for the supes, I don’t know what I should have done.
LADY: Why did you leave the stage?
TRAMP: I took the part of the leading lady in the quarrel scene with the manager and got fired.
LADY: And you never made up?
TRAMP: Not after I left the stage.
LADY: And then?
TRAMP: I’ve wandered about from place to place helpless. One day I fell in the river and I would have drowned had it not been for a friend. He had a fountain pen and dropped me a line. (Here the tramp espies a dog and vice versa. They’re off. Poli’s falling down stairs machine. Blue smoke. Curtain.)
Even actresses are not as bad as they are painted.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
Wouldn’t That Jar You?
“‘Your husband, ma’am, is well preserved.’
At this she was much tickled.
But then she did not know that I
Had seen him nicely pickled.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
Homerets.
“Of practice on th’ Olympian fields of fame,
Of pig-skin, nose-guard and the lusty game,
O goddess sing — and give it all a name!
For now from out the ‘special’ chariots bright
Spring husky heroes spoiling for a fight;
Their sweaters on the far-turfed ground they fling,
And rolling o’er and o’er to footballs cling:
As when some fat man, with unwary heel
Steps firmly on the smooth banana peel
And takes in sudden flight his whirling course,
So they — and through the air the ovals force.
While thus they sport, the coaches circling wide
Pick out the men of strongest fist and hide;
Eleven these, who soon for proud Olymp.
Will fight a team of Pluto’s — fiend and imp.
Arrayed the loudly-breathing heroes stand,
And up against them lines a second band,
The furious play begins: — Apollo’s ball!
He fumbles, — stumbles in unmanly sprawl!
To him the loudly-thund’ring coach: ‘Apoll!
Thou butter-fingered knave, — thou arrant gol-
Durned guy! If thou dost once more fail to gain,
A better half-back shall thy place retain!’
He spoke. The youthful twanger of the lyre
Said naught, but in his eyes there kindled fire.
Full soon again the leather globule lay
Within his clutching grasp. He does not stay,
But spurns the trembling ground with hasty toe,
Intent to win a touch-down from the foe.
Soon all are passed, the goal looms up apace, —
When swift he slides upon his royal face!
‘Now by the sacred shin-guard! Waddling peach,
Take thy fat carcass from within my reach,
Or else, by Jingo, thy weak bones shall feel
The blows an angry coach’s fist can deal!’
He spoke, the august man; then sternly stood.
To him Apollo answered: ‘For my good
‘Tis meet to tell thee what misfortune calls
The wonted strength from out my body’s walls.
Know then, in lowly dust I now did find
That gifts of Bacchus dull the noble mind.
One chance alone I crave to prove to all
That I can score, e’en pickled, and not fall.’
‘Tis granted, and Apollo in a trice
Has grasped the ball with fingers as a vice,
And lightly leaping from the wobbly ground,
Swift cleaves his course with footy pinions sound;
Below him wildly rush the frantic herd,
Nor come they near him when, like sprightly bird,
He darts between the goal-posts for the score!
The watchers from the field the hero bore;
His praises sung: — ‘By our Apollo’s might,
Thy finish now, O Orcus, is in sight.'”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
“Madge: Why did he leave the club?
Tom: Because he got engaged.
Madge: Then why did he join again?
Tom: Because he got married.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
Triolet.
“(Supposed confessions of a second-hand sensitive clothes-man.)
Sweet Rose has said yes!
(To some other fellow
‘Twere rapture no less.)
Sweet Rose has said yes, —
For me, I confess
I rage and I bellow! —
Sweet Rose has said yes
To some other fellow.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
Society Notes from the County Jail.
“Miss Tin Can Annie, of Duck Alley, who has been confined to her room for the past few days with delirium tremens is expected to be out shortly.
Mr. Rough House Ike, who was here some little time last summer, was so well pleased with the locality that he has decided to locate here permanently.
Stripes seem very popular here this summer.
All the guests have become very much attached to the balls which the management has so kindly furnished for their amusement.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
At Parting.
“The world seems large when lovers part,
But distance then, dear, counts the least;
For what is West and what is East,
If heart be bound to heart?
The world seems large? Well, let it be,
For distance, dear, is all in vain,
Since you, whom now my arms contain,
Are all the world to me.
When lovers part ’tis always so;
Of this their faith is always sound, —
That love, which makes the world go ’round,
Around the world will go.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
“There once was a megalosaurus,
Who sang in an opera chorus,
Said she, ‘If our feet
Were only more neat,
The bald-headed row would adore us.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
“The Sugar was a pretty Sandy old boy, and when the Ginger-bread man made some Spicy remarks about the Freshness of the Eggs, he called him a Dough-head. The Fly-paper agreed with the Sugar, and though his old friend the Cream Turned on him, he Stuck to his opinion. When the Boots peered over the counter to see the Rough-house the Crab Apples yelled Rubber, but as they always acted like Lobsters they were Soured on immediately. Then the Pickled Fish became Noisy, which made the Tabasco sauce Hot and he asked them to Dry Up. Now the Raisins were on a Bun, and though they were usually very Seedy, yet the Grape in them made them gay, so, seeing the Barrel was all Bunged up, they jollied him for having a Head on. The Peach was the Sweetest Thing in the store. The Potatoes made Eyes at her and the Butter, which was the Strong lad with the Auburn Hair, got Soft and Ran towards her. But she Froze him and cast her glances at the Dynamite on the far shelf. He was Hit so hard that thereafter there was Nothing Doing.”
-Excerpt courtesy of the HathiTrust Digital Library, The Yale record, V. 30, No. 2, October 22, 1901
Roger Sherman house 