Arsenal and Back in 30 Minutes

On sunny days, when Bermuda shorts and lecture notes reappear along the Charles' banks, the river is dotted with clumsy wherries, maneuvered by PT credit-conscious freshmen, laboriously tugging their ears, nervously trying to stay on a straight course.

But there is an obvious foil for these novices sculling for the first or second time. It is the little band of men who glide smoothly up and down the river in sleek, narrow shells with red and silver trim.

There are only nine of these men in the University now. They come from the College, from the grad schools, even from the faculty. Some are athletes, some scholars, but all have a common bond behind the oars of a shell. They are the elite of Weld Boat House: they are the members of the Thirty-Minute club.

Membership in this club, perhaps the most exclusive in the University, is open only to single scullers enrolled in the University who can churn their way to Arsenal bridge and back to Weld, a four mile course, in 30 minutes.

42 So Far

Few have accomplished the feat. Only 42 scullers' names have been placed on the Thirty-Minute club board at Weld since the club was begun in 1940 by Blake Dennison, Boat House sculling coach. Only three scullers have made the club this season. And along with the numerous attempts to skim the four-mile distance in the required time, there have been many near misses.

Dennison tells of one sculler who practiced almost daily for an entire spring, rowing the four-mile course over and over, perfecting his stroke, extending his endurance. Finally, he thought himself ready for a time trial.

The little red pennant announcing "get out of the way" to other scullers was fastened to the bow of his shell. He sped away, and soon returned, racing madly to the dock, only to find his time was thirty minutes and one second.

Blake denies the rumor that the student threw both his oars into the river in anger, for two days later, he finally made the club.

Then there is the tale of Charlie Rheault, who, after long practice, streaked to Arsenal and back in 29 minutes 59.9 seconds on June 1, 1950. After the test, Rheault wrote in the Club log:

". . . Interviewed as he was being hauled out of his craft by three burly dockmen, Rheault gasped, 'Nothing to it. Knew I could never make the top of the ladder--precarious position anyway. Always somebody fighting for the top. Nobody fighting for the bottom. That's where I wanted to be.

"Dawdled all the way back from bridge, talked to sunbathers, caught crabs, trailed one foot in the water--all to make sure that I cinched the bottom rung. I figure no one can shave 30 minutes any closer than that.'"

Rheault tried to hit last place by an even tighter margin the next day, but evidently stopped to sun himself too long, for he recorded a 30:08 time.

The fastest time ever recorded by a club member was 26:05, by John H. Hart '52, now at Yale Medical School. Hart entered the club with a time of 26:06 last May, shortly before he won his second Wellesley bike race.

Even thirty minutes for four miles is lightning time in anybody's boat. No standard course records are kept, Dennison believes, but he noted that anything near six minutes for one mile is excellent time. Thirty-Minute club members have flashed over the mile distance in 6:22. Derrick M. Wilde '53, who won the Senior Scullers' one-mile race in the University regatta earlier this month, posted a time of 6:35.

None of the three scullers whose names were added to the list on the Thirty-Minute club board at Weld this month registered sensational times; it has been a bad spring Dennison pointed out. But nevertheless, they are well up on the list.

Arthur Smithies, professor of Economics, gained admission with a time of 29:30. Donald R. Jomo 1G and John S. Carnes 3L posted times of 29:29 and 29:45 respectively.

Membership in the organization is not an empty honor. Thirty-Minute club members are entitled to the exclusive use of the new single shells and oars. They are the only scullers allowed to race in the senior singles event of the annual University Sculling Regatta.

The winner of the senior race is awarded the Darcey Memorial trophy, and is given an 18-inch scale model of a shell, in perfect detail.

The care displayed in the models typifies the preciseness displayed in the full size shells--which, surprisingly enough, are built at the boathouse. Weld has 22 wherries, 13 comps (compromise, broad-bottomed shells), and 24 singles. Except for a Hagerty senior shell, all were built during winters at Weld.

In addition to the usual locker, storage, and office facilities, Weld boasts a large Thirty-Minute clubroom on the second floor, appropriately overlooking the river. Plaques, old crew pictures, and a trophy case line the walls, and massive fireplaces dominate the ends of the room.

Members are entitled to the use of the room and its sun porch. And then, of course, each senior sculler's name is added to the list of Thirty-Minute club members on the club board, designed by Joseph Eldredge, an ex-sculler.

Despite the small number of current members whose names are now on the board, Dennison foresees an upswing in the cyclical rise and fall of membership. "We've had as many as 355 row on a single day," he said, "and we have about 160 freshmen rowing."

Few Mishaps Occur

Frequent accidents would be expected with such a large number of men rowing. But generally, a soaking in the river is the worst punishment novices got for "catching crabs."

The most serious accident occured about ten years ago, when two single scullers, ignoring the "keep to your right" rule on the river, smacked straight into each other. One oarsman required 14 stitches, and since then, the shells have been equipped with knob-like rubber bumpers on the bows.

No drownings have ever occured, since all rowers must pass a swimming test. But Thirty-Minute club members have been known to tip-over, also; the wash from large fast launches can easily flip over a single shell, 18 inches wide at the widest.

But there are few upsets now, when the river is smooth and the sun is warm on the bare-backed senior scullers. They are taking full advantage of the privilege of guiding their sleek new sculls, with red tipped oars dipping almost noiselessly, for quiet miles up and down the river, past the ivied Houses, past sunbathers, and through bridgees -- almost as much of the spring scene as the river itself.The boat house, which builds its own shells, also maintains facilities for repairing them. Boat-builder "ANDY" ANDERSON is shown inspecting a damaged wherry.