The Union

If a freshman's attitude toward the Harvard Union could be generalized into one word, that word would probably be "indifference." The solid building on Quincy Street serves his meals on cartwheel trays, houses his dances, and corrects his Gen. Ed. papers; but between these events only the click of billiard balls, the slap of a pingpong paddle, and a kitchenbroom's swish break a sluggish silence in the building. He ignores its pictures of old athletes on the walls, hangs campaign posters from mounted buffalo heads, and ties bibs around John Harvard's bust in the dining room.

An attitude of indifference is not surprising, since the Union has met a kaleidoscope of opinions ranging from devotion to bitter controversy since its founding.

The beginning itself, however, promised to be the fulfillment of a crusade for democracy at Harvard. The turn of the century saw Harvard wrestling with a two-fold problem: High school graduates and scholarship students lived in the economical Yard while the rich moved off to "Gold Coast" quarters on Massachusetts Avenue, and final and "waiting" clubs were forming, with clubhouses erected on Mount Auburn Street. Harvard College, both socially and physically, was splitting into two camps.

Believing that Harvard could achieve unity in social life as well as in athletic endeavor, Major Henry L. Higginson, donor of Soldier's Field, granted a $150,000 financial bedrock for a building where "pride of wealth, pride of poverty, and pride of class would find no place." Choosing a site proved the initial trial to Harvard democracy; Gold Coasters pressured for a Massachusetts Avenue site, while Yard dwellers suggested a lot near Memorial Hall. In a gesture of compromise, the building was erected on Quincy Street, a four-minute walk for both rich and poor. The Harvard Union's dedication in 1902 was an impressive display of class and College spirit. Poet Charles Warren breathed:

"This is the House of Fellowship Binder of bonds that ne'er shall slip. Here but one word on every lip, Harvard--and Harvard alone.

Here, no bar of classes or creed Here, no lines of club or breed Here, one common cry, God-speed To every Harvard Son."

In the building itself, decorated with Teddy Roosevelt's African game trophies, oak paneling, and coat of arms, there was opportunity for a real Harvard club. Its basement held a large room with eighteen billiard tables where a member could obtain free instruction from a "well-known professional." A kitchen, a printing office, and rooms of The CRIMSON completed this floor. Above, in the hall now used as freshman dining room, was a living room. An athlete's training table occupied what is now the Union kitchen. Upstairs, a library of 25,000 volumes filled one room while on the third floor were clubrooms, guest bedrooms, staff bedrooms, and the offices of the Harvard Monthly and The Advocate.

Since Major Higginson intended the Union, like all democratic institutions, to be self-supporting, its overseers rapidly constructed a system of officer elections and dues to sustain the clubhouse. The Harvard Union offered speakers, pre-game rallies, post-game dances, debates, discussions--to its members. The restaurant and snack bar were open all week long, ladies were permitted on weekends, and professors--either guests or members--were welcome anytime. Since Cam- bridge was a no-license city, students had to go either to a final club or to Boston for beer and other "exhilating beverages." For returning alumni, the Union was to be a "Harvard Club of Cambridge," where undergraduates would meet with those "Who asked for the sunshine of their young fresh years." Dues, bringing privileges and voting power, ran from $5 Associate memberships for Cambridge residents to $50 Life privileges for alumni.

Physically, the Harvard Union did not change much in its first twenty years. Some of the few additions resulted from a 1908 display of Spanish-American War patriotism by the classes of '99, '00 and, '01 which added the bronze eagle memorial situated over the main hall entrance. Other Spanish-American War mementos include a rapid-firing cannon from the cruiser Harvard which now rests in the basement guarding General Education A offices. Carved panels on one wall of the dining room mark a project known as the Harvard Hall of Fame. Soon after Oliver Wendell Holmes and Charles Sumner had achieved their niches, alumni surrendered the project as being too expensive.

In absence of great physical change, however, the Union was losing its status in the social scene. As might have been expected, the Union's veneer of College unity cracked under the influence of more attractive and exclusive organizations--it was becoming a club for those who had no club. True, organizations meeting within its walls kept the building occupied and officers of "The House of Fellowship" maintained undergraduate prestige, but by 1908 dues-paying membership had declined to less than two thousand.

In 1912, University opinion was beginning to wonder if the Union wasn't a failure after all. A few voices advocated putting membership dues on the term bill, but this attempt to co-erce Harvard into saving "Harvard Democracy" lost. Even freshmen could no longer be persuaded that it was their duty to join the Union.

World War I almost ruined the Harvard Union financially and it remained for the firm hand of the University itself to bring order from chaos. A rejuvenation of dues-paying membership followed the move, since confident student officers now ran contests, sponsored concerts, and offered a number of exciting war heroes and stimulating politicians as speakers. Prizes were offered for the best billiard player, pool player, and "that freshman member who at midyears, has achieved highest standing in studies and activities." Democratic Presidential Candidate James M. Cox stopped by to speak on his "whirlwind tour of New England" in 1920. The Union's University overseers had to stamp down student requests for Socialists Debs and Nearing, when a similar group at Dartmouth had invited a pair to speak.

Harkness Causes Change

Edward Harkness was responsible for the Union's demise as an under-graduate building was no longer needed. In 1930, after a brief debate over the relative merits of Memorial Hall and the Union building, The University looked carefully into Major Higginson's will, discovered that the benefactor had made allowances for failure of his institution as a club, and promptly named its new freshman dining hall the Harvard Freshman Union. No one was terribly sorry about this development--except one or two recent alumni who grumbled something about their $50 Life Memberships appearing valid only for the life of the Union, not of its members. A memorial for Henry Pennypacker in the Harvard Union posed a few doubts, but officials asserted that Mr. Pennypacker had been "a freshman in spirit" and progress was unimpeded.

It is probably no reflection upon freshman spirit to note that the Union's history has been fairly dull since their occupancy, but only such flukes as last year's fire and the recent Jubilee hoax-candidates have drawn any large-scale undergraduate interest to the building. The fire last winter ruined its roof and caused damage to paintings inside.

Absence of any real controversy probably means only that The Harvard Union, both as an idea and as a building, has settled into a comfortable rut; Gen. Ed. A Offices replace the eighteen-table poolroom in the basement, and a broom-closet replaces The Harvard Monthly on the top floor. Harvard Utility has conquered "Harvard Democracy.