Grim Police, Gay Students Battling Since 163

The Harvard student is a downtrodden animal. Instinctively fun-loving and hell-raising in his search for excitement, he has at every turn been clubbed, flogged, gassed, rusticated, jailed, admonished, severed, and expunged.

In the painful process Cambridge society has come to take for granted the propensity to riot of their guests and with good reason; it happens every spring, not to mention fall and winter.

This is not to indicate, however, that all of the riots that have marked Harvard's history have been big. Most of them were mere bush league skirmishes, and none has been half so serious as its write-up in the nation's newspapers. If any groups have relished the disturbances more than the participants, they have been the tawny tabloids, the provincial press, or others of the hyperbole-monger ilk.

University and Cambridge authorities, viewing the proceedings less favorably, have reacted vociferously and violently. They tend to forget the advantages of rioting, however, for if the police weren't on student firing lines, they'd be out of work.

Such unemployment is unlikely to occur, however, as students and their superiors have always cooperated in a mutual harrassment program. "Boys will be boys," and have been since the year 1 or 1636.

Harvard's first head, the controversial Master Nathaniel Eaton, flogged disobedient undergraduates, and in 1639 he clobbered a faculty assistant with a "walnut tree cudgel," compared to which the modern billy club would be a toothpick.

Eaton was soon hailed into court to answer charges about his so-called "School of Tyrannus." Since then, the College's misbehaving students have taken to the courts more often than its tennis teams.

In those puritanical days there were no athletics. Radcliffe, or other amusements, and peace disturbance was the only outlet, window-breaking and petty larceny in Cambridge became major sports. The year 1658 saw the first town-gown fight, and from then on, students were obliged to obey local police.

A frequent punishment administered by the College in the 17th century was rustication, a short cooling off period with farm chores in the country for the offender.

In 1675, President Leonard Hoar set a precedent by calling in the local gaoler to settle a school problem. An undergraduate was "publickly whipped" by the outsider despite the stormy protest of a frightened student body and an indignant alumni.

Shortly thereafter, President Increase Mather reportedly ordered the boys to gather in the yard and burn a book attacking the witchcraft belief of his on Cotton. The College's first riot of a political nature went off with the usual rehearsed spontaneity.

Food was the most frequent cause of revolt in those days, however. Commons fare was austere, and the diners hardly got an egg in their beer. As a matter of fact, one morning they even had a tartar emetic in their coffee, thanks to the famous efforts of two chem students.

Commons disturbances included fights, walkouts, throwing of dubious edibles, and subjecting attending tutors to miscellaneous humiliations. Although the "Bread and Butter Rebellion of 1805" and the "Cabbage Rebellion of 1807" have gone down in history, none was so famous as the "Butter Rebellion of 1766."

The latter was a protest against the serving of rancid butter, which had been imported from Ireland. A Lampoon type of the time expressed his ire in a Biblical satire, which included the immortal line, "Behold our butter stinketh, and we cannot eat thereof."

Half the student body received suspension that year; Samuel Eliot Morison '08, Jonathan Trumbull Professor of American History and the University's authorized historian, commented on the incident as follows: "It is clear that the Governing Boards would stand for almost any individual misconduct, but that a concerted effort must be vigorously suppressed lest the students suppose that 'in union there is strength.'"

Matters reached a breaking point in 1773, and President Samuel Locke announced what he called "a heap of new laws such as to prevent any publick entertainment."

The regulations, however, failed to prevent a student committee in 1780 from sending President Samuel Langdon the following letter: "As a man of genius and knowledge we respect you; as a man of piety and virtue we venerate you; as a President we despise you." Grasping the subtlety, Langdon promptly resigned.

Other rioters in other days delighted in getting the President out of bed to quell their disturbances. Outbreaks usually began with the cry of "Heads Out"; when and why the original rallying call was replaced by "Rinehart", nobody seems to know.

The fracas followers usually gathered at the famous Rebellion Tree, an elm east of Hollis Hall. It was there that John Quincy Adams' son George heroically told the mobs, "Gentlemen, we have been commanded, at our peril, not to return to the Rebellion Tree: at our peril we do return."

Another son of the President, John, was one of the 43 (out of a class of 70) expelled just before Commencement for participation in the "Great Rebellion of 1823." Some 50 years later and 39 after John's death, the faculty backed down and granted the group their diplomas "in absentia." Primary prank of the notorious Class of 1823 was rolling cannon balls down the stairs of the tottering Yard dormitories.

Once again in 1825 the College saw fit to renovate its by-laws, this time coming up with 153 regulations. Among other things, vacations were re-scheduled, because it was felt that warm weather served to incite riotous students.

Nine years later, undergraduates broke $300 worth of windows, and President Josiah Quincy called in the Grand Jury of Middlesex County to nab the offenders. The students were outraged and followed by smashing furniture, setting off explosions, wearing crepe on their arms, hanging their President in effigy from the Rebellion Tree, and breaking more windows.

The Class Struggle

President Quincy then announced, "Numbers in a literary institution are by no means an unqualified blessing," and proceeded to suspend the entire sophomore class for a year.

Perhaps the next important development of the 19th century was the founding of Radcliffe in 1879. The Annex became an immediate favorite as a disturbance destination; from the ancient bustle to the modern strapless, female trappings have always been prized plunder, with the riotous robber getting as much uplift from the booty as the original owner.

And while the embryo women's college was coming to its own, foreign inventors were busily at work on the first automobiles. The step from Honry Ford's car to the paddy wagon was a short one, and riot-quellers were soon provided with a new weapon. The Black Maria, in turn, hastened the discovery of the Eezy Meeny Miny Moe Ringleader Detection Technique.

In April of 1907, students threw missiles and broke up a Majestic Theater performance of "Brown of Harvard." A newspaper of the day, yellow with age but not journalistic practice, described the play as "a composite picture of many of the worst features of American colleges under the name of Harvard." A revival of the drama during the thirties met with equally disastrous results.

After the first World War came the Boston Police Strike of 1919. At the suggestion of President A. Lawrence Lowell, John Harvard became John Law for a brief, traitorous period. Over 200 quasi-quislings from the College stepped into the breach.

Three of the student policemen handedly broke up a disturbance of 4000 townspeople in Central Square ingenious trio requisitioned a troll at Harvard Square, stretched them out along the floor, and sped down sachusetts Avenue, with bell furiously.

The first trip of the "phantom" car scared the mob, and the second scatered them, making a third dash unnecessary, much to the chagrin of the of law and order. Soon the strike and the students returned to their proper side of the fence. If the situation brought any change, it was the emergence into the limelight of formerly known state Governor Calvin Coolidge.

Public opinion against the Germans had begun to cool by this time, and the Bolsheviks became the new target, zealous patriots made accusations where, particularly in American colleges, with the University getting more its share of abuse. In those days students didn't stage riots--only an occasional "Revoit of the Proletariat."

February of 1927 saw the famous University Theater disturbance, an affair rather similar to the recent Pogo incident. It all started when a crowd of undergraduates left the U.T. after a "Mid-Night Smoker" and gathered around two townies who were fighting.

A policeman moved in to break up the trouble, only to stop back suddenly and hold the group at bay with his revolver. He was joined shortly by four paddy wagone, out of which emerged 40 cops. Use of night sticks aided in the arrest of 39 rioters; among those booked was a Somerville druggist, who happened to get off a bus at the wrong time.

Four students and two policemen came out of the melee badly hurt, and President Lowell requested resignation of four of the law enforcers. In his statement, Judge Arthur P. Stone said. "There can be no excuse for three officers beating one man of ordinary physique." The CRIMSON editorial of the day claimed. "The police created a riot before quelling it."

In the first trial of the case, 23 were acquitted, two were sentenced to 10 days in the House of Correction plus a $25 fine, and the rest were meted out various fines. The appeal was postponed four times, and when it finally took place two months later, the students pleaded nolo contendere and were put on a 9-month probation period by the East Cambridge Superior Court.

Although the remainder of the twenties and early thirties saw frequent anti-Prohibition mass meetings and even more frequent Volstead violations in private, the next full-scale riot did not occur until the spring of 1932.

At that time, about 2000 stormed about from 'Cliffe to the river, begining after dinner and not retiring until 1 a.m. in the longest-lasting outbreak in the history of the school. The business started over some stolen bell clappers but soon degenerated into a run-of-the-mill riot.

Students rocked buses from side to side and gave trolley cars a thorough going-over, until the police arrived with a new weapon, tear gas bombs. The crowd retaliated with eggs, while eight from their midst were being arrested.

In a subsequent action, the University put 16 on probation; District Attorney Warren L. Bishop's report called the evening affair a "direct assault upon society." The next serious assault took place five years later.

Ironically enough, Dean Hanford had just prepared a message warning of "severance of connection" for fracas participation: and the night before it was to be published, the disturbance took place.

A minor water-fight began in the Yard and spread to the Square despite the efforts of University police to quell it. Over 200 undergraduates soon joined in on the fun before the familiar sirens were heard screaming down Mass. Avenue.

As rioters began to pull trolley poles from the wires, the police trotted out their trusty tear gas guns. They fired the gas right into the face of the crowd, but to no avail except for the fainting of one woman.

With the familiar yell of "Up to Radcliffe", the mob headed north. One group built a monstrous bonfire, while another constructed a barricade across Concord Avenue. When the smoke and gas had cleared, only one student had been arrested, but 400 others went home minus their Bursar's cards.

The one unhappy individual paid a $10 fine, and this time, Judge Stone stated. "There seems to be some idea that there is something sacred about the person. "There seems to be some idea that there is something sacred about the person of a Tech or Harvard student and that the police should not touch them. That is not the fact."

In the years that followed, undergraduates favoring war with Germany an those against it split into rival camp Each of the groups held their mass meetings, while their opponents picketed an heckled from the sidelines. Hitler was hung in effigy at one, but none of these outbreaks was as violent or destructive as past non-ideological disturbances.

During the war, the University was troubled by enrollment instability, which had nothing to do with riot dismissal Following the cease-fire, the threat of war with Russia loomed large, and 1000 students staged a "Save the Peace" rally near Mem Hall in in spring of 1948. The affair went off with fitting calm despite the noisesome, noisy intrusion of a bellicose minority, who shouted "We Want War."

The first major post-war riot did not occur until November of 1949, when the Princeton football team came to tow About 150 Tiger partisans started Friday night rally; 200 Harvard men moved in to break it up, only to be followed by 50 University and Cambridge police.

Police Deflated

Three hours of hand-to-hand skirmishes and general disturbance ensued. A cop car suffered three deflated tires among other damage in the melee, but the authorities were able to scrounge up enough other vehicles to book 15, all of whom pleaded nolo the next day.

The following fall was enlivened by Boston power failure, which sent about students on a river to Radcliffe blackout blast. Leverett men rumored that the world was coming to an end, partly in jest and partly as consolation to friends who had lost Bursar's cards in the Sunday night affair.

Yale came to town the next weekend, and Dean Bender made an anticipatory admonition Friday morning. Nevertheless, that evening 3500 participated a disturbance that, according to University Police Chief Alvin R. Randall, made the "Princeton fracas look like peanuts."

The arrested included ten Harvard men and two Elis, and City Councillor Edward A. Sullivan commented, "They would be clubbed if they tried it in New Haven." When the Dean's Office had collected its wits and numerous Bursar's cards, it announced the dismissal of two6John Harvard's statue has replaced the Rebellion Tree as the rallying point of Yard disturbances. In the spring of 1950 distraught freshmen escaped from exam-period tension by pouring into Yard, dashing wildly back and forth to Radcliffe.