Class of '34: First To Live in Houses Under Lowell's Plan

In the dreary Fall of 1930, midway between Wall Street's Great Crash and Roosevelt's Presidential campaign, 897 young men arrived in Cambridge for Freshman Registration--Harvard's Class of '34. On that day, September 19, bootleggers shot and killed a Federal revenue agent in a New Jersey brewery, Einstein submitted a paper on "Theory of Space Conceptions with Riemanian Metrics and Extended Parallelism," and U.S. Steel closed the market with 150 bid.

The weekend before, off Block Island, the Enterprise had won the American Cup Series. In the exciting new world of talking pictures, the front runner, ironically enough, was "All Quiet on the Western Front," and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. starred in "The Way of All Men." In the Times' Sunday book review section, Al Capone--The Biography of a Self-made Man was offered for sale.

While the Class of '34 lived around the Square, the Old Order's crisis deepened, and Roosevelt's New Deal burst dramatically into almost everyone's life. Politically and economically, it was an exciting era--but in Cambridge, undergraduate attention seemed to focus more on the football field than on the stock market.

The House System

Even for the many whose consciousness centered almost exclusively on Harvard, however, there was excitement. In addition to his ambitious plans for Tutorial and General Examinations, President Lowell sparked a vast building drive that centered around the Houses but extended all over the growing campus. Just as the College is entering a period of growth today--with its new theatre, visual arts center, Houses, health center, Non-Resident House, and science facilities--the early Thirties saw a flurry of dramatic construction.

The new school of Geology, the Institute of Biology, an addition to Jefferson, Wigglesworth Hall (completing the "cloistering" of the Yard), the Faculty Club, and the mammoth Indoor Athletic Building--all were under way, and some ready to be opened. But the center of attraction remained a cluster of neo-Georgian structures along the river--Lowell's new Houses. In late September, the President conducted a press tour of the newly opened Dunster and Lowell. The latter's first High Table was held soon after, and things went up from there.

But the Houses met a mixed reaction--far from the nearly unanimous approval they enjoy today. The CRIMSON wondered editorially whether the new social system might not infringe on student individuality, and the undergraduates themselves were not uniformly anxious to commit their College life to the House idea. As the months rolled on, however, one House after another was completed, and the Class of '34 became the first (in history) to spend all three of its upperclass years as members of a House system that quickly gained student respect.

Religious Distribution

Just as today, there were eager pollsters, and in their freshman year, the Class of '34 was asked to designate not only their religious faith, but also their choice of career. In striking contrast to today, a fifth were Episcopal, a sixth "Hebrew," a sixth Roman Catholic, a tenth Congregational, a tenth Presbyterian, a twelfth Methodist, and another twelfth Unitarian.

As usual, law, medicine, and business were the top trio of intended careers, with a sixth, an eighth, and an eleventh in these categories, respectively. Education followed with a seventeenth, a twenty-seventh picked engineering, and the same number chose journalism.

The biggest news of the year, to some, was the resumption of athletic relations with Princeton, except for football--after a lapse of four and a half years. And in late February, a Boston morning paper ran a story claiming that President Lowell was planning to resign--a story branded as "unsubstantiated" but before long proved correct.

Memorial Church

In a far-reaching decision that aroused considerable College controversy (and ultimately led to last year's religious squabble), the University decided to replace the old Appleton Chapel with a "War Memorial Chapel," in memory of Harvard's sons who died in the war to end all wars. Complaints fell into three main groups: first of all, the University planned to exclude the names of three Harvard sons whose loyalty was to the Central Powers and who died fighting against this country; secondly, many feared that the proposed chapel might turn out an architectural monstrosity in a Yard already cluttered with buildings; and most important, a large and vocal group, while in favor of a war memorial, stood strongly opposed to making it a chapel, especially a chapel confined to one religious tradition. Protests aside, however, Appleton came down and Memorial Church went up, its slender steeple rising 200 feet.

The only other subjects of concern in a relatively quiet year also sound vaguely familiar to more modern ears--the rising cost of attending Harvard, and the lack of adequate medical facilities. Faced with high tuition and service charges under depression conditions, many concluded that, while its President spoke about an "aristocracy of brains," Harvard was rapidly developing into an aristocracy of wealth.

In University Hall, Delmar Leighton, now Master of Dudley House, completed his first year in the newly created position of Freshman Dean, and a young man named Wilbur J. Bender was appointed Assistant Dean of the College.

At baccalaureate services that year, Lowell drew a distinction between the growth of knowledge and the growth of wisdom, urging the seniors to develop conscious patterns for their lives. The freshman year of the Class of '34 had drawn to a close.

Sophomore Year

The second year opened with a Student Council blast at the working of Lowell's tutorial system. Critical only of the system's application, the report praised it in theory and called for its extension into new areas. But football fever, not tutor-student relations filled the Fall air.

When eight major Eastern teams agreed to compete in benefit games for unemployment relief, Harvard, following its President's firm policy, refused to go along. Later, however, voluntary collections were allowed at some home games. After a tight 7-6 victory over Dartmouth, the unbeaten Crimson eleven, led by All-American Barry Wood, confidently faced their New Haven rivals in the season's traditional final game--and lost, by a heartbreaking 3-0 score at the hands of Albie Booth.

Outside the sports world, Dean Hanford called for course reduction and fewer hour exams, the College held its first transoceanic radio debate with Oxford, and President Lowell celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday. Soon to resign, Lowell could look back with pride on his record of educational innovation and reconstruction. Tutorials began to slowly increase contact of faculty member with student; the General Exams emphasized a carefully planned academic program of distribution and concentration; the House system helped to mold the "Old Harvard" into new patterns more suitable for the times; and the extensive building drive provided the room for growth.

The Presidential Year

Junior year was the most eventful and exciting year of all, both on the national and local scene. The fall started off with President Lowell's house under police protection after Judge Thayer's home was bombed (Lowell had headed a review commission for the Sacco-Vanzetti case.) The year was dominated by Lowell, first with his retirement, and later by the creation of the Society of Fellows from his anonymous gift.

The big news of the autumn was of course the Presidential election. The country did not go along with Harvard, whose mock election saw Hoover swamp Roosevelt 1,741-620 in the University and 1,211-395 in the College. Roosevelt narrowly missed being beaten in the College election by Norman Thomas, who received only nine fewer votes. The CRIMSON, torn by dissension within the ranks, took no stand on the election, but predicted that the outcome would make very little difference in the long run.

Football came in like a lion, with 200 Freshmen going out in a feverishly excited season. But the last few games saw humiliating, lop-sided upsets for a mediocre season, enlivened by a now-familiar discussion of the merits of collegiate football in general. Barry Wood's What Price Football? came out to answer, among other arguments, the suggestion of Henry Pritchett, President of the Carnegie Foundation that football be abandoned in favor of horseracing.

Lowell Retires

On the Monday after the Yale game, President Lowell tendered his resignation to the Corporation. One of the most influential and respected of Harvard's presidents, Lowell had revolutionized the College, introducing the House and Concentration systems that were still being debated during '34,s years at college. The appointment of President Conant was announced later in the year, and the following June, at the commencement of the Class of '34, Lowell was honored by Harvard for his years of service.

In the latter part of the year, Lowell's plan of the Society of Fellows was brought into being through his gift. Three of the first five Junior Fellows appointed that Spring are now distinguished members of the Harvard Faculty: Professors Birkhoff, Quine, and Skinner. President Church received its more recently position the next year, calling for more fellowships for distinguished scholars. The College-wide concern for scholarship could be seen in the long discussion of "snap" courses, the demand for longer library hours, and more attention to the tutorial system.

The spring of 1933 saw the completion of Memorial Church, and the near-demise of the Lampoon. In a ceremony led by Dean Sperry and Bishop William Lawrence, the Church received its more recently controversial consecration, while the plaque for the three Harvard sons who had fought on the other side was moved about from relative obscurity to prominence and back again throughout the year.

Elsewhere on the spiritual and cultural scene, T.S. Eliot delivered the Norton lectures, and plans were made for a new set of Russian bells for the Lowell House tower. The Lampoon, tottering on the financial brink, opened up a cafe, and the next year was reported (in the CRIMSON) to have been "bought out" by the more solvent, although nearly ad-less newspaper.

Effects of the Depression

The depression continued to affect the life and the practical concerns of the students. Room rents went down and scholarships went up, but the general economic precariousness could not be winked at. The great question was whether the University's "emergency jobs" would be kept going in the face of unemployment; but as more students relied on these jobs, they were extended and kept available.

The end of the Junior year saw David Weld hand over the presidency of the CRIMSON to J.J. Thorndike, Jr. Other important class posts were held by R. G. Ames, president of the Student Council; Robert Breckenridge, president of the Harvard Dramatic Club; and Gordon C. Streeter, head of Phillips Brooks House. John H. Dean, who had been president of the Junior Class, was the football captain, and subsequently was elected First Marshal of the class, the Second Marshal being Ames.

Battle of the Beer

The Class of 1934 weathered the depression during college; faced the Second World War shortly afterward; came home to mold their lives during the cold war; and finally, survived the ravages of the Program for Harvard College. But their most crucial battle of all, one whose experience undoubtedly drew them nearer to one another and enabled them to face these later crises, was the fight for beer in the dining halls, a campaign which exercised the College throughout their last two yeasr. Polls were taken to whether a glass of 3.2 beer would "put you under the table" at dinner time, and so forth. With the administration prudently handling this potentially explosive situation gingerly, the College voted over-whelmingly to allow "non-intoxicating" alcoholic beverages with meals, and a one hundred year dry spell at Harvard was jubilantly broken.

The fall of Senior year was, as usual, more concerned publicly with the gridiron than with anything else. Another only-average football season was transformed into something rich and strange, as only a Yale game victory can do it. The frighteningly large role of football in the athletic budget began to be ominous as the H.A.A. funds were slashed again, leaving all but two minor sports out in the cold. The undergraduates, with their peculiarly myopic sense of justice, protested the withdrawal of support simultaneously with their-continued annoyance at the high prices of football tickets.

University Problems

Even the University found trouble balancing the books, and debated asking for federal aid, a problem which has come up again more recently. The tutorial system was re-examined and intensified, and the House were fruitful topics for sustained interest in trivial problems, notably the subject of inter-House dining. House sports grew in organization, participation, and earnestness, and began to suggest an alternative to the looming professionalism of big-time football. Meanwhile, football relations with Princeton were renewed.

Several famed Harvard personalities shared the limelight of '34,s last year. "Copey" moved out of the Yard (for reasons of health, not noise, as originally suspected). The beloved Dean Briggs died toward the end of the year, and President Eliot was eulogized in a Centenary observance in his honor. Guest personalities in Cambridge included Walter Lippmann '10, who delivered the Godkin lectures, and Alistaire Cooke, imported to direct the Hasty Pudding show, entitled "Hades! The Ladies!"

The Fascist Threat

Behind the frivolity of abortive riots and half-hearted football rallies, the final year in college revealed a growing tension between fear of war and growing suspicion of the fascist regimes. On the one hand, the National Student's League tried to organize a general walkout on classes by students and professors to protest against the trend toward war. On the other hand, the dictatorships were watched, discussed, and often dismissed lightly as misguided, at worst. Professors, one by one, discounted the importance or durability of Hitler's regime. Articles by Mussolini, appearing in the CRIMSON, received little controversial attention. Only near the end of the year, with the incident of returning reunioner Ernst F.S. Hanfstaengl, did the issue begin to assume immediate importance in the College.

The Ivy Orator, John B. White, could still joke on Class Day about problems which were all too soon to pass well beyond the laughing stage. Depression or no, the college years were, for the Class of 1934, truly the halcyon days compared with what lay before. As White put it, "So sails the Ship of 1934 into the Sea of Life. We have spent many happy hours smashing bottles over thy prow, proud ship, even going so far as to remove the figurehead and install a bottle-opener." The bottle-smashing was over, and as President Conant handed out the 655 first diplomas of his career, the Class could well ponder the uncertain seas ahead.DEAN LEIGHTON