THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN SUMMER 1999 VOLUME 3 1, NUMBER2
THE DIARY OF GEORGE PRAY
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Michigan Today
The University of Michigan
News 8c Information Services
412 Maynard Street
Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1399
JOURNAL
IRST CLAS
WASHINGTO
PRAY
A serious but romantic young intellectual
recorded the life and times
of Michigan's pioneer undergraduate class of 1845
By Linda Robinson Walker
5 copyright 1999 by Iirida Robinson Walker
The Farm on State Street
Pray was a 53-year-old state legislator
when this photo was taken. He ran for
the Michigan Legislature as a Republi-
can in 1870, as a Prohibitionist in 1872
and perhaps one other time before suc-
ceeding as a Republican in 1878.
hen 16-year-old George Washington Pray
jumped down from his father's farm wagon in Ann Arbor on
September 25, 1841, he wasn't the first student to arrive at the
newly opened University of Michigan. Lyman Norris from
Ypsilanti had beat him to the campus by a week. But Pray has
a greater distinction?he kept a diary in which he unashamedly
and unflinchingly wrote down everything. Through the next
four years, until earning his bachelor's degree in 1845, Pray?
the awkward farm boy?and the raw backcountry university
would grow up together.
George was able to go to school because his father, Esek, was
wealthy enough to dispense with his son's help on the farm at
what is now 8755 Plymouth Road. Esek Pray came to Michi-
gan in 1825 and bought land for a farm and tavern. After
George's birth on August 27,1825, in Angelica, New York, Sally
Pray joined her husband with their three older children. Four
more children were born in Michigan. In 1836, Esek was a
delegate in Ann Arbor to the Michigan Territory's second con-
stitutional convention, called to ratify the swap of the Upper
Peninsula for Toledo, Ohio, a requirement for Michigan's ad-
mission to the Union. Esek was active in educational and agri-
cultural organizations and the Democratic Party, and served at
least nine years as a justice of the peace.
On that September day, young George made his way up the stairs of Main Hall?lugging a port-
manteau containing more books than clothes?to an unadorned suite still smelling of wood and
whitewash. (A facsimile of his quarters, including his own trunk and coverlet, is on standing exhibit
in the Student Activities Building on Maynard St.) Five other students arrived that day and three
more would trickle in?and one would trickle out?by the end of the first academic year, leaving nine
freshmen. Perhaps as many as 20 young men were part of Pray's class at one time or another,
including transfers into upper classes, but only six of the original nine freshmen were among U-M's
11-member first graduating class in 1845.
These nine young men, with two professors and a part-time librarian?who made up the entire
student body, faculty and staff?embarked on an experiment in democratic, state-supported educa-
tion. They did so in a young country, in a state only four years old, on a campus that was short on
elegance and long on utility. Ann Arbor's True Democrat Weekly complained in 1846 that in summer,
"The hot suns and the bare ground" plagued the campus and that "the bleak winds and storms of
winter now sweep over this place as over a sandy desert, with not a tree or shrub scarcely to break
their force." Instead of being a "place of study and meditation," the paper editorialized, "the beauti-
ful enclosed grounds occupied by this
institution is [sic] now used as a farm."
It was a profitable farm, however.
Patrick Kelly, the University's care-
taker, once harvested 800 bushels of
wheat from its 31-acre field.
Four houses for faculty and their
families had been built by 1840 (only
the President's House remains), but
their solemnity was lost in a jumble of
sheds, shacks, wellheads, latrines and
improvised stables for horses, cattle,
chickens and hogs kept by the faculty
and Kelly. Pray did his writing when
other students gathered on evenings for
"a cheerful and pleasant chat" at the
Esek Pray's log cabin home burned down in 1839. He rebuilt the stjje on tne high picket fence-built as
present brickfederal-style house in 1840. It stands today at 8755 Ply- ? r
mouth Rd. George Pray often walked the 10 miles between his house
and his room on campus.
2 Summer 1999
much to keep out the hogs and mad dogs that roamed
Ann Arbor as to keep University livestock in.
For Pray, the entire University was contained in the fifth
building, Main. Here he slept, attended recitations and
lectures, studied, went to chapel, took part in literary so-
ciety meetings, examined the University's scientific col-
lections?including one of the largest stores of mineral
specimens in the world?and read books from the school's
4,000-volume library.
Pray's chum, or roommate, was George Parmelee. No
one so vexed Pray as this lazy, puffed-up and boisterous
townie. Pray's diffidence and his scholarly bent?he called
himself "an ambitious and ardent minded student"?made
it a trial to share quarters for four years with a study-
hating "shirk." He complained in his diary that Parmelee
"bored him almost to death" by constantly inveigling him
for help with his Greek lessons. "He asks, 'How do you
read this sentence?'?or 'What is this word from?'"
As unlike as they were, Pray and Parmelee formed that
bond that roommates often do. Of all the people he knew
at Michigan, it was Parmelee whom he most often wrote
after graduation separated them. Part of that was the ca-
maraderie of shared tasks. U-M had no gas, electricity,
running water or sewage system then. Night trips between
campus and the town meant weaving a path through
stumps and ditches in complete darkness. In their room,
light came from candles or from the fire in the iron stove.
In all weather they used the latrine behind the building.
Unless they heated it in a kettle on the stove, the water
for washing, shaving and scrubbing the floor was always
cold. They drew the water from the faculty's well, carried
their buckets across the muddy, unpaved campus and
lugged them up to their rooms. Nothing was cleaned or
done in their rooms unless Pray and Parmelee did it. They
"sawed and got a lot of wood in the room," Pray wrote.
"We had a great time in the afternoon scrubbing the floor
and putting up the stove pipe and blacking it, etc." The
price of sloth was bedbugs.
Country Mouse and City Cats
JL ray's diary begins in a burst of indignation and lust.
Before Sunday, June 2,1844, he'd kept a notebook about
birds and mathematics. But what he saw at the Presbyte-
rian church that morning made him rail against the "pert
misses" of Ann Arbor who were "possessed of as many
witching and enticing ways as usual," Pray wrote, "and
sought the graveyard only for making love, and I might
and will add, for making babies." A couple of Sundays
later, he returned to the subject: "I hate a fashionable
church. The young misses come to show their pretty faces?
their big busdes?their big breasts 8c bellies."
But these Sunday sirens?students at Mary Clark's Ifoung
Ladies' Seminary and daughters of the village's burghers-
were unavailable. Pray had many flirtations, chiefly among
the daughters of old family friends. He was pursuing two
of them at the time he began writing the diary. Sarah Doty
was engaged and would be married within four months
but seems to have been of a mind to experiment a bit
while her parents obligingly left them unchaperoned when
Pray called. As Pray recounted it, with "my arm around
her, she at full length on the settee," he undertook some
amorous maneuvers, which he described in detail, despite
being "surprised several times by the unexpected entrance
of some one of the family when we were in rather an
awkward position."
Later that summer, Pray paid calls on Caroline Bagley
from Superior Township who was spending the summer
in Lower Town (the part of Ann Arbor on the other side
of the Huron). Obligingly, the "old folks" took themselves
off, "leaving us alone to our glory." Pray laid siege, but
Bagley, too, resisted and sent him away at midnight. Later,
he regretted his advances. "I wronged her," he wrote of
Doty, and he blamed "my own baseness" for separating
him from Bagley.
Pray's move to town cost him his sense of ease. He'd
grown up around farmers and recognized that his educa-
tion among a tiny elite was separating him from the very
people whose company he most enjoyed. "Perhaps if I
had been educated differently, I might take pleasure in a
way that others do," he wrote. This conflict caused him
unending pain and self-doubt and is a poignant refrain
throughout his journal. In Ann Arbor, only 10 miles from
his home near Dixboro, he was "a strange being?an odd
and lonely one":
I take more pleasure in being alme in my room-my
books my only companions... I felt that I was a stranger
in a strange land. I have often looked upon society about
me with longmg eyes and wished that I too could mingle
with those about me?no longer companionless and un-
known. I have had the opportunity to mingle in the best
society of the village but I shrink from it.
Calling himself a "great despiser of pride," he longed to
be in the country, "where I am ever most happy, free
from the arbitrary restraints of society," free to "act as I
am prompted to." He wrote with pleasure of evening
drives from farm to farm collecting local girls and boys-
one night over 50?to frolic and sing and eat suppers like
the one that was so delicious his "eyes bunged out with
fatness just by looking at it." With these girls, childhood
friends, country manners prevailed; Jane looker once
gave him "a pressing embrace which threatened to break
every bone in my body."
But at college he avoided social functions. Time after
time he failed to attend a party to celebrate the end of a
term or graduation, reluctant to call on the "ladies of the
town." It was a self-defeating cycle that he understood
but could not break. "Maybe I make myself unhappy,"
he wrote, "forsaken by the whole world, I feel but per-
suaded that it's because I forsake the world."
A Foe of Drink
and Hubbub
JTray's Sodom and
Gomorrah, the village
of Ann Arbor, had
about 2,500 inhabit-
ants in 1844. As home
of the University and
the county seat it held
an importance be-
yond its size and at-
tracted a professional
class of teachers, pro-
fessors, lawyers,
booksellers and itiner-
ant dancing masters.
Pray enjoyed studying
human nature. "I
went all over town
twice today," he wrote
in January 1845, "and
saw almost every kind
of people. It is pleas-
ant to study man?to
study their disposi-
tions?the effects of
circumstances on
their characters."
But too often, these
"circumstances" were
"the degradation of
drink." Ann Arbor's
two breweries, five
taverns arid three dis-
tilleries fueled the l? -
public drunkenness
and brawling that appalled the abstemious son of a tav-
ern owner. Public events?political rallies, the circus ("real
humbug")-dismayed him. Even hubbub supported only
by spirits of another kind repelled him:
/ went to the courthouse to an Abolition Methodist
meeting. It was nearly out and such a yelling I never
heard. It was a disgrace to religion, to the community.
Imagine fifty cats together and all in a rage.
Sketch o/Tiepatica by Pray,
an avid botanist in his youth.
ON OUR COVER
THE FIRST ENTRY OF PRAY'S DIARY
Sunday, June 2, 1844: "I went
to the Presbyterian Church twice
today. Prof. Whiting preached.
Things at church as usual. The
girls possessed of as many witch-
ing and enticing ways as usual-
they hitched and twitched and
showed their huge bustles as
much as ever. The students rather
more attentive than usual because
Prof, preached; notwithstanding
their eyes often wandered in the
direction of some fair object. To-
day I noticed the difference of ef-
fects produced by an ex tempore
and written discourse. In the fore-
noon an offhand sermon was de-
livered which although not
elegant riveted the attention of all.
In the afternoon an original and
more finished did not so much
engage the attention as the other.
Some even slept. Toward evening
I went walking with Friend
[Edmund] Fish in the woods. The
woods are my places of devotion.
Separated from all the world and
in the solitary wood with trees and
birds and sweet wild flowers for
my companions...."
;..,. :. . 9s.;-v-yx"'3"J&>.. ?;,?'. .-~~:...~?~.?.
A drawing of the front of Main Hall from the late 1830s. In 1848 the building became Mason
Hall in honor of Stevens 1". Mason, one of U-M's first Regents and Michigan's first governor.
Later it was swallowed up into behemoth University Hall
For a book of recollections, Edmund
Andrews, Class of 1849, sketched this
map of the campus as it appeared
four years after Pray's graduation.
MICHIGAN TODAY
Although Pray supported the campaign to end slavery and
was absorbed by the course of the new American repub-
lic, he loathed politics. He cited the example of "one mis-
erable demagogue borrow[ing] twenty five cents to buy a
vote." He once attended the raising of a hickory pole in
honor of James K. "Old Hickory" Polk, his 1844 Demo-
cratic choice for president. This uncharacteristic enthusi-
asm also led him to cast his sentiments in poetic form, "A
renunciation?to the Whigs," published in The Ann Arbor
Argus Weekly. The poem refers to the "guilty blood" on the
hands of the slave-owning Henry Clay:
Tour Clay is deeply sunk in tnce,
And basely stained with guilty blood;
He is not such as could devise
Measures for our great country s good.
Later in Pray's life, civic responsibility won out over con-
tempt. He ran for state legislator as a Republican in 1870,
as a Prohibitionist in 1872 and perhaps one other time
before he was finally elected on the Republican ticket in 1878.
Through Pray's eyes we see the importance of the "cars,"
the new railway that sped the public's comings and go-
ings; of Samuel Morse's new "magnetic" telegraph; of the
new daguerreotype studio where he had his likeness done.
He hung out at the Argus? setting type in exchange for
getting the news early?and joined the crowds at the post
office to hear election results. All these new forms of com-
munication bound the young nation together; yet news
still arrived slowly. Pray heard of the death of Andrew
Jackson on June 17, 1845, nine days after it happened.
The Student's Daily Round
JL hhe student's life especially in the winter is a life
in a circle," Pray wrote. "He eats and studies and recites,
recites and studies and eats." Caretaker Patrick Kelly rang
the bell for chapel at sunrise (as early as 5 a.m. in the
spring and fall and 6 in the winter) early enough that oc-
casionally Pray "did not awake at the wringing [sic] of the
bell" and missed prayers. After prayers came two recita-
tions, one before breakfast?not until 8 a.m. or later?and
one after. Recitations were formal; the professor called on
a student to summarize, explicate or answer questions
about sections of the texts or a previous lecture.
In the afternoons there was still another recitation or a
class lecture, and perhaps another lecture on weekday eve-
nings as well. On Saturdays, Pray attended morning as-
sembly, a time when students and faculty came together
almost informally. Students used the Saturday assemblies
to read or recite humorous pieces, which may have
prompted Prof. Joseph Whiting?trying to make them into
gentlemen as well as scholars?to condemn "loud laugh-
ing" as "an indication of a vacant mind."
All classes were required and the texts were fixed and
approved by the Regents. There were no grades; rather,
at the end of each of the three terms, students were given
pass-fail oral examinations and perhaps an essay on an
assigned topic. Pray doesn't mention any student failing,
but there was a great turnover.
Two professors taught throughout Pray's four years at
the University. The Rev. Joseph Whiting taught Greek
and Latin and George P. Williams natural philosophy and
mathematics. The University had also appointed three
prominent professors to teach mental philosophy (includ-
4 Summer 1999
,:
George Palmer Williams in 1849. Williams taught
Pray all four years in the subjects of natural phi-
losophy and mathematics.
ing, for ex-
ample, logic),
political
economy
(outlines of
constitu-
tions), moral
sciences
(proofs of the
accuracy of
Christian
doctrine), and
chemistry, ge-
ology, zool-
ogy and
botany. But
none of the
three showed
up during
Pray's four
years on cam-
pus so U-M
made do with
younger, less experienced men. The Rev. Andrew "Ten
Brook, formerly a Baptist pastor in Detroit, joined the
faculty in fall 1844 and immediately delighted Pray with
his accessibility ("he wishes us at any time to ask ques-
tions of him on our lessons"). For chemistry, they turned
first to Silas Douglass, a physician who began teaching in
the fall of Pray's senior year. Abram Sager, another physi-
cian, arrived in spring 1845, three years after his appoint-
ment but just in time to put Pray to sleep with his botany
lectures.
Pray liked Greek "very well," but mental philosophy
had him complaining about the "muddy miry misty and
gloomy mazes of Metaphysics." His passion was botany.
The natural world in which Pray grew up was in a near
edenic state. Wolves, bears and wild cats were at home on
the land, and the rivers teemed with fish. On one hot
summer afternoon, Pray, his sister and her husband caught
more than 300 from the Huron. With typical Victorian
zeal he saw in the native flora an abundance that cried out
to be classified. In September 1844, Pray "arranged my
herbarium and found that I have 280 specimens." By early
1848, he had 600, and in June 1849, when he could claim,
"I know every plant there is," he considered studying birds
or reptiles next.
Savillon Shoff, from Portland, Michigan, a year behind
him, shared Pray's interest, and with this "great natural-
ist" and others Pray created a new club, The College of
Natural History of the University of Michigan, in 1845.
Every member specialized. Pray was to study and give
reports on entomology and Shoff on botany. The others
were to handle geology, mineralogy, ichthyology, osteol-
ogy, ornithology, crustaceology or conchology. The "Col-
lege" faded away in a matter of months.
Always pressed for funds the state was slow to turn over,
the University Regents and faculty depended on the stu-
dents to get elsewhere the training the University could
not yet provide. With no professor of modern languages,
the faculty allowed Pray and others to take (and pay for)
lessons with an itinerant professor of German, William
Mentzing. In the same way Pray also took classes in elo-
cution, which he practiced diligently enough to become
"quite sore in the chest." Students even undertook to plant
the needed trees. The juniors planted in bulk, but Pray's
senior class tried to form an artful XLV design "to mark
the year we graduate, though I think it will be hard work
to read it."
Two student organizations also served the University
well, the literary societies Phi Phi Alpha and Alpha Nu.
Pray was a founding member of both and a president of
the former. The two societies gave students experience in
writing constitutions, in debating and in writing for the
first student publications, Castalia and The Sybil. With a
library lacking not only a number of Greek and Roman
classical works but much modern American and Euro-
pean literature as well, the societies' student-funded librar-
ies were immensely valuable. As Alpha Nu's librarian, Pray
presided over a collection of 100 books.
Books were Pray's abiding delight. He attended auc-
tions and traded skillfully. His personal library contained
at least 100 books and was worth $100, 10 times the cost
of tuition; in his senior year he deemed it the "largest and
best private one in the building." Although George could
be prevailed upon to lend his books, he grumbled about
the "time it takes to hunt up books that are lent." He loved
his collection so much it worried him ("I am so proud of
my little library that I almost idolize it"), and the range of
his reading was prodigious. In the four school terms cov-
ered in his diary, in addition to his assigned texts, Pray
read about 60 other books in Latin and German as well
as English, ranging from poetry to science, religion to his-
torical novels. His favorites included Irving, Burns,
Chaucer ("many a laugh have I had over his fine descrip-
tions") and exotic romances.
A Chicken in the Pot, a Horse in the Hall
Xray and his fellow students were very young. Of his
20 or so classmates, the ages of only 12 are known; of
these, three were 13 or 14 years old; five, including Pray,
were 16, and three were 17 or 18 in 1841. One, Fletcher
Marsh, entered as a 23-year-old sophomore, probably be-
cause he was poor (Pray called him a "student by char-
ity"). Marsh had to borrow $40 despite working before
and during his years at Michigan.
Looking back three years after his graduation, George
felt that he had been extraordinarily young in college, de-
spite the fact that he seems to have been in the middle of
the age range. He wrote that some of his schoolmates "were
older than I am now, and superior to me." It helped that
he had been a student at Percival C. "Domine" Millett's
Ann Arbor Classical Institute with three of his fellow U-
M students. William Perry, his "first and always loved
friend," was the son of an Ann Arbor book dealer and a
year behind Pray, entering the University in 1842. At the
time the diary began in 1844, when Pray was obsessed
with the unapproachable women of town, it was Perry
who accompanied him on walks "among hills and val-
leys, engaged in friendly conversation." His other friends
from the Classical Institute included the pious Judson
Collins, who became one of the first Methodist Mission-
aries to China, and Thomas "Tom Thumb" Cumming,
"who derived some benefit from being small" when,
during the Mexican war in 1848, "a bullet passed
through his hat."
Although so many of the students in Pray's class were
16 or younger, their supervision was spotty. The Regents
and faculty agreed in November 1841: "Much in the early
stage of the Institution will depend on the wisdom and
fidelity, the prudence and zeal, the vigilance and energy,
the industry and discernment of the Faculty. It has there-
fore been judged best to define the general features of the
government, only as a guide to them till future experience
may qualify them ... die better to adapt to the state of
things." In the meantime, the University required and as-
sumed, as the Calendar put it, "good moral character."
The Regents and faculty didn't get around to writing up
rules of conduct until January 1848.
When the professors left Main Hall to return to their
homes, the man in charge was the current tutor. In 1844,
the tutor was Jonathan Beach. He had much to endure.
Pray reported that Beach was the butt of caricatures got
up by dissatisfied freshmen. In the same year, William
Garwood, two years behind Pray, "had a fight this evening
with the tutor and was going to cane him. But the Tutor
put him out of his room so that there was no damage
done."
Pray seems to have come and gone as he chose, return-
ing many nights far beyond midnight and showing worry
only once, when he feared he might be suspected of a late
night robbery that occurred while he was still out. It ap-
pears that students could live at home at least for a brief
period?Parmelee seems to have done so in the summer
of 1845. Two boys from the East, 'James from Connecti-
cut and Smith of Boston," Pray wrote, evaded supervi-
sion altogether by building a house in the woods for $150
to $200.
Tutor Beach's absences opened the door?literally?to
student pranks. One satisfying hullabaloo was stirred up
when "some waggish student" smuggled a horse into the
hall, "which thrashed and kicked and danced about and
made a great racket." Another night some students made
"a great row. They got together in a room with fiddles,
etc. and they jumped 8c danced 8c sung and hooted
and...kept us all awake till 12 o'clock. Tutor was away at
a party." Pray records a fad of flinging an artificial snake
at the "green uns [youngest students]-one was so fright-
ened that he jumped 4 feet high and broke both his sus-
penders."
But the most famous row involved George Parmelee,
Pray's roommate. One midnight, Parmelee, joined by
Saterlee Hoffman, raided a nearby chicken house. Mak-
ing his exit with as many squawking chickens as he could
hold, Parmelee was startled by pistol shots. He dropped
everything and ran back to Main. But it was Hoffman's
joke. He had stationed pistol-wielding friends on either
end of the barn to scare Parmelee off. Hoffman completed
the theft, and the students, minus Parmelee, dined on the
purloined chickens. But Parmelee was furious and told
all to the farmer, who stomped into Main demanding pay
from Hoffman.
Deidamia of the Red Cheeks and Lips
ith no cafeteria in Main Hall, Pray made his way
across the four- or five-block swath of undeveloped land
between the University and town for breakfast, lunch and
dinner. From the time he entered as a freshman, Pray
took his meals at the boarding house of Earl Gardiner,
an editor of the Argus, and his wife, Frances. There he
met Frances's younger sister, Deidamia H. Pope, who was
named after the wife of Achilles.
"I was a sophomore, the only boarder," Pray wrote of
his first meeting with her when he was 17, in 1842.
Deidamia was about 14, "tall, beautiful, red cheeked and
red lipped," a companion in his loneliness. "I was ardent,
she timid. I was vexed with her, still she influenced me."
He marveled at "how entirely did she gain my childish
and youthful affection."
Deidamia united the town sophisticate and the country
innocent. She was one of the minuscule number of women
receiving schooling then. The University housed a state-
supported preparatory school for a few years, but unlike
others?in Monroe, White Pigeon, Niles and Tecumseh,
for example?U-M's did not admit women. Deidamia
found her way to the well-regarded Ann Arbor school for
young women run by Mary Clark, who offered Latin,
French, German, botany and math as well as piano, draw-
ing, painting and fancy work. As one of the up-to-date
young women of the town, Deidamia dressed in the way
Pray despised, "disfigured by a diabolical big bustle." Shar-
ing meals, George and Deidamia spent hours in each
other's company, reading the same books (George lent
her Abercombrie's Intellectual Powers), sharing the same in-
terests (she lent him one of her rare plant specimens) and
growing closer as the years passed.
George found Deidamia a "singular girl." She once con-
fided "many thoughts" to him,
which could only belong to one who has deep poetical
fancies and feelings. She referred especially to the influence
of the moaning and whistling winds on the thoughts and
imagination?to stray thoughts which sometimes invade the
mind ... [from] another world?as messages from the re-
gion of fancy. She spoke of the ancient doctrine of transmi-
gration and that they might be thoughts of some event which
happened when our souls tenanted another's body.
But perhaps most important, Deidamia also fit into
George's country life. His sister Almira was a good friend
of Deidamia's at Miss Clark's and, to George's delight,
often brought her to the Pray's family's home. "The girls
came home; we had a great time playing singing frolick-
ing, etc."?such a good time that he even "dared to kiss
her," on New Year's Eve, 1844.
Edmund Andrews drew the layout of his suite in Main Hall, the same
building Pray lived in. Each suite had two bedrooms, a shared study
and wood closet. 'The building had no through hallway, but rather two
short, disconnected ones that opened at either end to the outdoors. With
the two halves of Main cut off from each other, supervision was difficult
for the resident tutor.
Deidamia was as capable of silliness as her niece Esther,
the 12-year-old daughter of Frances and Earl Gardiner.
Joining Deidamia and Esther one night when the
Gardiners were away, George stayed "till about 2 o'clock"
while they "played and sung together." The beautiful night
drew them out into the garden where Deidamia "yielded
up to me the rich treasure of first-pure and virgin love."
He, in turn, "dared to call her dearest" and stole a lock of
her hair. By March 1845, George confessed that he had
devoted himself to his now 17-year-old beloved, and
Deidamia answered, "And I to you."
Pray, struggling with intense emotions caused by leav-
ing what was probably his Methodist faith to become a
Baptist, and suffering through the most severe illness he
recorded in his diary, began to have "some most awful
thoughts" about Deidamia, thoughts he "could not re-
move from my mind." He convinced himself that she had
committed a "base crime" and abruptly broke off with
her. Deidamia had undertaken the same religious con-
version as George and seemed to have assumed that their
love was imperishable, their destinies entwined, for the
rejection took her by surprise and "grieved her almost to
death," George wrote.
They remained apart throughout that summer despite
the fact that her friendship with Almira Pray and George's
boarding with the Gardiners threw them together all the
time. The breach was short but they were apart during
the significant time of George's graduation in 1845.
Through the fall and on into 1846, Pray relied on her
"friendship and love" at a time when he was no longer
living among other boys in school, and he felt particu-
larly lonely; "how few friends I have," he wrote.
Then ensued a particularly loving time between them.
Living together in the same rooming house, they spent
long evenings reading to each other from adventure ro-
mances like John Richardson's Wacousta, or "The Prophecy:
A "Tale of Canada (1832) about Pontiac's Indian uprising,
and a similar tale titled Elkswatawa (1838) by James Strange
French. George confessed in the summer of 1846 that
the "usual fights, brawls, whores and whoremongers" he
saw at a camp meeting filled him with "so much of the
devil" that he unsuccessfully attempted "to feel of
Deidamia's 'Hills of Delight'.... She has got a noble and
sweet pair and takes good care of them."
At the end of 1846, Deidamia returned to her home-
probably near Pontiac?and her parents, Willard and Bar-
bara Pope. George, celebrating Christmas without
Deidamia, visited his sister Almira, now married to Pray's
closest friend from home, Freeman Galpin. There he
"heard something in confirmation of my worst fears"
about Deidamia, and immediately decided he must "sol-
emnly renounce her."
Deidamia, not knowing her fate, wrote him a letter that
"breathes forth such pure love and in so confidential and
kind a way," he knew she would be "grieved" by his deci-
sion. Nonetheless he remained firm. "Oh, how cruel I
am if she is innocent," he admitted, knowing that his ac-
tions might "wrong a true heart." But it was "an issue of
policy," and therefore, even if Deidamia were innocent,
he was completely "sincere and honorable."
Probably angry as well as disheartened, Deidamia wrote
him a cutting letter and began 1847 by setting off for
Constantine, Michigan, in St. Joseph County to teach
school, and not, as Frances Gardiner told George, ex-
pected "to return very soon."
MICHIGAN TODAY 5
'Moral Melancholy^
At was the fashion of the times?it was
the romantic period, after all?to suffer
exquisitely. A correspondent to the Argus
had complained in 1843 about the essays
written and recited by the girls who stud-
ied at Miss Clark's. The writing was hu-
morless, he said, and all had a sameness,
a "moral melancholy."
Two years later, when Deidamia pre-
sented a sketch at her exhibition in 1845
with George in the audience, things
hadn't changed. The program included
poems and reflections bearing such titles
as "Death-a Sketch," "The Battle of life,"
"The Heart Knoweth Its Own Bitterness"
and "When and Where I Would Die."
We don't know which was Deidamia's.
George's description of her performance reveals his ideal
of womanhood. She wore a "simple robe of white, the
emblem of virgin purity," and when she delivered her
sketch, she "breathed in every line innocency [sic] of
thought?and romantic feeling."
George always knew he had "poetical feelings." He
comforted himself when estranged from Deidamia with
a poem by Rogers, "... There's such a charm in melan-
choly,/ I would not, if I could, be gay." Was he striking a
Byronic posture? The two U-M literary societies had ad-
dressed die issue of whether Byron's works brought ben-
efit or evil to the world (one had voted benefit, the other
evil). Or were the recurring miseries of his days?his brutal
ruptures with Deidamia, his retreats to the woods or to
his books?caused by depression? A reading of every
word of Pray's 1,036-page diary raises the question, why
was he so often miserable?
Esek Pray may have been willing to spare his son's
labor on the farm, but he had required a very young
George to serve in his tavern, with telling consequences.
"For a long time I was barkeeper?sold the liquid
poured down the throats of miserable men, even sipped
it myself," he wrote, grateful that those bar room scenes
"left an impression of disgust instead of liking." "Oaths
and obscene songs," Pray remembered, and "smoking,
swearing, chewing tobacco, petty gambling?nearly ev-
ery vice was before me."
"How I longed to flee my prison," he wrote. That he
wasn't "worse than I am" he credited to his mother and
reading. Unlike his brother Joseph, for example, who
could only write a misspelled and ungrammatical letter,
George became a scholar:
It was suggested to me long long ago by my mother
thatiflwouldreadthrough the Mew Testament, I should
become the possessor of a new Bible. I went at it and
performed my task nights after returningfrom school and
doing up my "chores."...[I]n that way I acquired a taste
and habit of reading which were fostered by the fact that
every book I read through became my own. The taste
which I thus acquired, thanks to my mother, has never
left me.
Being sent to Millett's school in Ann Arbor freed Pray
from the saloon's atmosphere, yet, paradoxically, also
made him feel as if he had been brutally expelled from
home ("I left home when I was 13, and went among
strangers companionless and unknown"). His sudden
6 Summer 1999
Esek Pray, George's father, was born in
Connecticut on Nov. 29, 1790. He and
Sally Ann Hammond of Rhode Island
married July 21, 1811.
breaks with Deidamia and the persistent
motif, "I am alone in the world," hint at
a terror of being abandoned.
The circumstances of Pray's life were
indeed harsh. He was seriously ill sev-
eral times. In March 1845, at the time
of his baptism and his first break with
Deidamia, he was so ill his concerned
family enjoined him "not to study but
to run around and exercise at all spare
times." The next year he suffered so se-
verely from eye problems that he could
not read for almost three months and
had to rely on friends to read to him.
Pray also endured the deaths of many
young friends and family members. In
the course of his five-year diary, his sis-
ter Eliza and Eliza's husband's brother
died, as did his sister Catherine's hus-
band George and George's brother. Sister Almira's hus-
band, Freeman Galpin, lost his sister at 18 in childbed
(Almira herself would die at 24). One of George's best
friends from home, Oscar Starkweather, died at 21. And
Sarah Doty, the engaged friend who allowed him to join
her on the settee, died in 1846 at 20.
The one death Pray never recovered from in the course
of his journal took place in September 1843, nine months
before he began keeping it. The "departed and sainted"
Ann Tooker was the childhood friend he had "loved the
most." "Our lost Ann" was the "gayest of the gay," he wrote,
"she was so liked, she gave me access to young society,"
Tooker's death intensified the fear that always
hounded Pray:
// seemed tome a horrid, a dreadful thing, that I must die
and be no more for ever?that my little body must be laid
away and mingle into dust. At length I thought I might per-
haps die after a long long time?and that thought comforted
me?but even that thought was taken from me, for soon one of
my childish companions, one of nearly my own age and one
with whom I had played at school and out of school, was
snatched away by the ruthless hand of death. No one can
tell how sad I was, how many tears I shed in secret.
It's not hard to guess that the effects of these deaths lin-
gered in Pray's illnesses and anxieties. He found some
solace in the curative power of physical exercise. After a
break with Deidamia, he spent vacation at home as a "real
farmer," spreading manure, planting corn, plowing "with
the joyful independent life I lived as a careless country boy."
At the Bridge
JVel;ligion also comforted him. Pray was devout and
his faith in God was steadfast, buttressed by his interpre-
tation of the natural world. "There is enough in nature
and in the Bible," he wrote, "to convince anyone of the
Goodness of God." But he was a restless believer, attend-
ing at various times virtually every Protestant denomina-
tion, as well as Catholic and Jewish services. In his senior
year, under the influence of Deidamia, the Gardiners, Pro-
fessor Ten Brook and the Doty family, he embraced the
Baptist faith and tried unsuccessfully to persuade fellow
student William Perry "to go with me and serve the Lord"
through baptism.
The University expected students to attend a church,
but not all professed religion, and Pray found that many
of the "hardest cases" resisted it altogether. His baptism
by total immersion in the Huron near the Broadway Bridge
attracted "a lot of students," he wrote, "drawn by the curi-
osity of seeing me, one of their number, baptized." So many
people came on Sunday, March 9, 1845, to see him,
Deidamia, Frances Gardiner and four others baptized that
"just before baptism a part of the bridge which was the
most crowded fell and about 60 persons, nearly all women
and children, were precipitated together into the river,"
Pray wrote that evening.
As the bridge fell one yell arose from all the multitude-and
then there was a rush?all were saved?and none were much
hurt. All were wet and very much frightened. There was a
great loss of fine clothes. It is a wonder that all escaped alive
and uninjured. After the confusion had subsided seven of us
were baptized.
A couple of days later he added that "a variety of stories
were afloat, but the true one is that no one was severely
injured." He took solace in the fact that the incident
"will make known the fact that there is in Ann Arbor a
Baptist church."
'The First-Born of Their Alma Mater*
he first graduation at the University of Michigan,
on August 6, 1845, brought a "great crowd" to Ann Ar-
bor to see what the Michigan State Journal called "the first-
born of their Alma Mater" sent out into the world.
The approach of graduation was a painful time for Pray,
beginning with blows he could not have anticipated. Af-
ter the annual junior exhibition on April 16, the students
dispersed for a month's vacation before the final term.
Pray had gone home to Dixboro where he got the stun-
ning news that his best friend, William Perry, was "a wan-
derer and a fugitive from justice."
The day after the exhibition, "a beautiful young girl
who lived with [Perry's] family was delivered of a child of
which he is the father. He is about 18?the girl 16," Pray
wrote. In an "evil moment he yielded to temptation," with
the result that "the object of his love is made wretched for
life?and he is a wanderer."
There was worse. "Parmelee is taken up and bound
over to court?under a thousand dollar bond," Pray wrote,
for a "flogging which [he] gave to a girl which [sic] lives
with his mother." Pray forgave William Perry, who had
been "led away by temptation," but he took a different
view of "cruel" Parmelee, in whose "baseness," he judged,
"there is nothing to exculpate."
Despite his recent illness, Pray plunged into studying
for the three-day public examinations required of
bachelor's candidates. He reported with horror that they
would cover "all studies of our four years' course" and
reported anxiety and "much grumbling" among his class-
mates. Most of the last term, from June to graduation,
was set aside for review. With Parmelee gone?Pray does
not tell us what happened to his case-and Perry a fugi-
tive, Thomas Clark, "a good fellow full of talk," who had
come to Michigan as a sophomore in April 1843, became
Pray's "constant companion." They reviewed Greek to-
gether and took long refreshing rambles. With "Tom
Thumb" Cumming, George exchanged letters in German
as a way of boning up.
In addition there was the burden of his senior oration,
"The Claims of Agriculture on Science." On July 15, he
"read it to Prof. Whiting who said he had no suggestions
to make." George then sneaked out to the woods to prac-
tice declaiming it "with great effect on the trees and
bushes." i
Throughout this anxious summer, the heat bore down
and Pray was often "too tired to study." In this torpid
sultriness, two days after approving Pray's speech, Prof.
Joseph Whiting became ill. "Much anxiety is prevalent,
both here and in town," Pray wrote. On the 20th Whiting
died and "grief is depicted on every countenance." The
students formed a procession in order of class and marched
through the heat to the church for the funeral on the 21st,
and afterwards to the house and grave.
At last, on July 31, the University's first graduating class
was examined in math, and Prof. George P. Williams, "the
dear man," told them that "we never had put him to shame
at an examination and had not in our last." On August 1,
they were examined all day in language and mental phi-
losophy, and on the next day in moral philosophy, politi-
cal economy and on a philosophy textbook, Butler's Analog)!.
At age 19, Pray was ready to graduate.
The University allowed students to come and go in those
early days. Despite missing a term, the felon George
Parmelee was allowed to graduate with his class that Au-
gust. Thomas Cumming had missed a year of school and
Charles Clark about four months, yet both graduated with
Pray, as did John McKay, who had enrolled only that sum-
mer. The fugitive William Perry returned in late July, days
before his baby died, and graduated on schedule the next
year. Not only did their absences not result in delaying
graduation, but in Perry's and Parmelee's cases, neither
fathering an illegitimate child nor beating a woman was a
sufficient deviation from U-M's requisite "good moral char-
acter" to result in expulsion.
Among those in the "great crowd" gathered in Ann Ar-
bor for the first commencement, were the "chief men of
the state," the Argus proudly noted: Gov. John S. Barry,
the secretary of state, the auditor general and the attor-
ney general. Friends and family gathered as well at the
Presbyterian Church that Wednesday morning, August
6, at 10:00 to honor the 11 graduating seniors: Charles
Clark, Judson Collins, Thomas Cumming, Edmund Fish
(chosen salutatorian by the faculty), Merchant Goodrich,
Edwin Lawrence, John McKay, Fletcher Marsh (cho-
sen valedictorian), George Parmelee, George Pray and
Paul Rawls.
Each graduate recited an original poem, play, disserta-
tion or drama. The Argus bragged that the University's
commencement was "not inferior to older Institutions of
the East," but passed on the criticism in the Detroit Free
Press that the ceremony was too long and stuffed with "too
much philosophy."
Pray was satisfied with his speech ("I heard my perfor-
mance at commencement was highly puffed by several
papers"), and he quoted the assessment of the State Gazette:
The claims of agriculture on science were presented by
George W. Pray of Washtenaw in an address replete with
forcible argument and sound practical logic, and was highly
creditable to him both for its sentiments and the manner of Us
delivery. It exhibited the claims of agriculture to the attention
of scientific men and the benefits to the country of science so
directed in a masterly manner illustrated by much vigor of
thought and sound reasoning.
After graduation came the festivities. "Tomorrow evening
a party is to be given for the graduating class," Pray wrote.
But true to form, he skipped the party and slipped back to
Dixboro.
Farming or Medicine?
before graduation, Pray's only goal had been "to go
to that home from which I have been so long absent and
go to work and learn the profession of Agriculture?and
expend my life on some little farm-as happy and con-
tented as possible." He got more excited as the time grew
closer: "Ten weeks from today and hurrah for farming-
hurrah!" But his mother did "not seem to like the idea of
my being a farmer." In the end, it was wishful thinking:
"It can not be?No farm-No money."
After a few weeks at home, no doubt having talked over
his future with his parents and friends, the young gradu-
ate announced out of the blue, "I have fixed my mind on
the study of medicine and am now very eager to make a
beginning." To support himself during his studies, he
turned to the one thing he was immediately qualified to
do?schoolteaching. In the fall of 1845 he went off to teach
first in Birmingham and then in Royal Oak while study-
ing anatomy with a local doctor.
Pray hated teaching and was glad to be done with it in
the spring of 1846. Returning to Ann Arbor, he contin-
ued his medical studies with Drs. Silas Douglass, Moses
Gunn and Abram Sager until 1847. He'd studied chemis-
try and botany with Douglass and Sager, and together
with Gunn they made up the faculty of U-M's Medical
Department when it opened in 1850. Esek Pray was per-
suaded to pay for formal medical training, and in Novem-
ber 1847, George went off to Cleveland's Western Reserve
College, where he studied through March 1848. Back in
Michigan, he assisted in the practice of Dr. E. F. Olds of
South Lyon during a severe fever epidemic, using his ex-
perience to write a thesis on the subject. He returned to
Western Reserve in November 1848, and graduated in
February 1849 with an MD degree, elected valedictorian
by his classmates.
Pray 'sfarm near Grand Rapids circa 1880, where he and Deidamia
settled in 1857. In 1861 they returned to Ann Arbor, and he tried to
swap the farm for a house in town. His ad in the Ann Arbor Argus
can be read as a gibe at his childless first wife: 'Chance for a bargain
in the town of Ronald, Ionia Co., in the best wheat-growing region in
the state. 160 acres of choice land.... The owner having no help of his
own, and wishing to locate in the region of the University, would like
to exchange for property in or near the city.'
'I Am Somebody*
JL ray set up practice in Northfield, Michigan, after hav-
ing scouted out other "rides" in the area for how much
income they would produce. Patients came slowly, as did
money, but by midsummer 1849 he felt established in his
practice. After all he had been through?a lifetime of doubts
and insecurities, as well as the anxieties and setbacks of a
new practice?he found himself changing. Noting that he
had "gained a force of mind and confidence," he wrote, "I
am somebody."
In January 1847, George had cast Deidamia aside. She
had taken herself off to the far reaches of Michigan, but
returned to teach at the very log schoolhouse George had
himself attended in Superior Township. They had been
estranged for almost a year and a half when in the sum-
mer of 1848 they began to talk, breaking the ice. Not sur-
prisingly, he found her "somewhat changed from what I
knew her 5 years ago as a blushing and sweet girl of 15,"
but found that nothing had changed in the "powerful in-
fluence she's exerted on me ever since."
When he returned to Michigan from Western Reserve
in 1849, he was determined to marry "My Deidy." By
summer he felt confident enough to do so. On July 4, on
the way to his brother Joseph's wedding to Elizabeth
Finton, he and Deidamia ("my first and only love") de-
cided to marry. He was 23, she 21. Deidamia, with her
"mild blue eyes," was "beautifully dressed" in "white
gauze" and "made a fine appearance." He wrote that night
of their long courtship, saying that during their last es-
trangement, he had been "too proud" and "came near
dying." Still, a small bit of doubt hovered in his mind, as
he hoped that "I never repent" the marriage.
They did not set up housekeeping right away. Instead
Deidamia returned to Ann Arbor, and he to his practice
in Northfield. It wasn't until October 27, having spent only
about 20 nights together, that she went to Northfield and
squeezed her possessions into his 16-by-12-foot room.
George sighed for his "poor Deidy," now obliged to spend
"the long, dreary winter here." He worried that "she will
become disgusted with me and with her destiny and leave
for a more congenial home before spring."
Life With Deidy Ends the Diary
vJXeorge Pray continued his diary for less than a month
after Deidamia moved in with him. It ends November 24,
1849, and is replaced by lists of diseases and their various
botanical cures.
The conflict between country and town life seems to
have pursued Pray all his life. In 1849 he figured out that
all his years of study from age 13 to 23 had cost $2,150
and that if it had been invested, he would have had $2,500,
and "with that I could have been a farmer." Eight years
later he seems to have decided to finally give farming a
try. George and Deidamia left Washtenaw County in 1857
for Woodard Lake, seven miles north of Ionia, not far
from Grand Rapids. He steadily improved the farm and
still owned it when he and Deidamia returned to Ann
Arbor in 1861, to give town living another chance. With
no sale forthcoming they rented a home on the southeast
corner of what is now Division and High (then Detroit
and Fuller). In 1863, George took time off to work on a
thesis, apparently on "Instinct," and the Regent's meeting
MICHIGAN TODAY
Books George Pray read
In his senior year?
June 1844-August 1845
Pray's diary for the June
1844-August 1845 period
mentions his reading the
following works for assign-
ments and pleasure:
Edward Bulwer
Lytton's, Essays, Paul
Clifford, "The Student, Pelham,
Falkland, Eugene Aram,
Rienzi, ^anoni, Disowned and
The Last Days of Pompeii.
Also: James Mackintosh's
General View of the Progress
of Ethical Philosophy, poetry
of Robert Burns, poetry of
Thomas Moore,
Mcllvain's Evidences of
Christianity, Essays of
Montaignejosephus' Wars
of the Jews, poetry of
Schiller, Isaac Watts on the
mind, The Mew Testament'in
German, Thomas
Talfourd's The Athenian
Captive, Helen by Maria
Edgeworth, John
Trumbull's The Progress of
Dulness: or The Rare Adven-
tures of Tom Brainless, Ed-
ward Theller's Canada in
1837-38 about the failed
uprising, Washington
Irving's Bracebridge Hall
and other works, The Stu-
dent ofSalamancahyJose de
Espronceda, Major
Jones' Courtship by Jo-
seph Jones, a book
about Rosicrucianism
and alchemy, John
Abercrombie's Inquiry Con-
cerning the Intellectual Powers.
Also the works of Chaucer
and John Skelton, Tho-
mas Tusser; Spenser's
Faerie Queen, poetry of
Giles Fletcher, William
Habington, and Goethe;
Xenophon's Memorabilia,
plays of Addison,
Goldsmith's She Stoops to
Conquer and other works,
Edward Nares's Thinks I To
Myself, Pasley's 2nd Book of
History, The Prairie-Bird by
Charles Augustus Murray,
Walk about Zion about the
Episcopal Church, and
Lorenzo Dow's Thoughts on
Various Religious Opinions.
ofjune 1863 records that George Pray BA, MD, was awarded a Master
of Arts degree. That October he advertised his new practice in the Argus.
The Prays spent the years of the Civil War in Ann Arbor. He had
long been an abolitionist, supporting John P. Hale for president in
1848, bound to him by "his principles tending to liberate the slave."
In 1846 he had gone to an Ann Arbor gathering to hear "Mr. Henry
Bibb, a fugitive slave, [who] gave an eloquent and affecting narrative
of his eventful life in which he set forth in a masterly manner the
wrongs of his colored brethren." He also attended a talk that year by
Owen Lovejoy, whose brother Elijah "was mur-
dered by anti-abolition mob at Alton, 111."
In 1866, the Peninsular Courier listed the in-
comes of everybody in Ann Arbor. Pray had
earned $678, which put him among the top third
earners in town. The next year, perhaps because
no one had bought the farm, he and Deidamia
returned to Ionia, and George took up the role
of public servant, seeking office at the township,
county and state levels. Deidamia became ill
with pneumonia and died childless in March
1875 at the age of 46. The next year George
married 18-year-old Ellen Adele Cornstock
and became a father of a boy in June 1877
when he was 51.
George Pray served in the State Legislature
in Lansing in 1879-80, filing letters to "My dar-
ling litde girl" (Adele) with worried concern for
the baby's health. George and Adele had five
children, three of whom lived and attended the
University, and two of those obtained degrees.
After a day a calling on patients in the depths of winter, George
caught a chill, "took to his bed and did not get up again," a local
paper wrote. George Washington Pray died on January 27, 1890, at
the age of 64; like Deidamia, he died of pneumonia. Pray's two young-
est children died of whooping cough within four months. Five months
after that, in October, Adele died of consumption at 32, leaving be-
hind three orphaned children, ages 13, 7 and 5.
OTHER MEMBERS OF THE
CLASS OF 1845
Sketch of Pray's second
wife, Ellen Adele
Comstock Pray (called
Adele). Adele was 18
when she married
George, who was 50, in
1876, a year after
Deidamia's death at 46.
before graduation, George Pray wrote brief descriptions of the
10 other young men who graduated with him in 1845 in the Univer-
sity of Michigan's first commencement. Four of the 11?Clark, Collins,
Cumming and Rawls?died before their 32nd birthdays.
As he heard about his schoolmates after graduation, Pray noted
their doings in his diary. Other sources for the following sketches
include U-M surveys of its alumni/ae, other University records and
the writings of early matriculates.
? Charles Clark (1825-1854) of Monroe, Michigan, arrived in his
sophomore year. Pray described Clark as "abounding in a profusion
of words" and predicted that he would find "delight in study through
life." Clark was the head of the Monroe preparatory school and was
practicing law in Illinois when he died at about 31.
?Judson Collins (1823 or '24-1852) of Lyndon Township,
Washtenaw County, was "plain and methodical," Pray wrote, and
"sometimes obstinate." Collins taught at Albion College and went to
China as a Methodist missionary in 1847, a few years after the Opium
War. He became ill and was forced to return home where he died
soon afterward at about 28.
? Thomas Cumming (1827-1858) of Grand Rapids graduated de-
spite missing most of his junior year. "Good-hearted" and "preco-
8, Summgr; 199$
cious," according to Pray, Cumming fought in the Mexican-American
war, ran a telegraph in Illinois and edited a newspaper in Iowa. Presi-
dent James K. Polk appointed him secretary to the governor of Ne-
braska Territory, and he was acting governor of that territory when
he died at 31.
? Edmund Fish (1824-1904) from Bloomfield/Birmingham, Michi-
gan, entered as a sophomore from Western Reserve and was "loved
and respected by everyone," according to Pray. Fish wrote U-M that
he was present at the "Convention Under the Oaks" in Jackson, Michi-
gan, July 6, 1854, when the Republican Party was organized. He was
a foe of slavery and friend of John Brown in Kansas. He also at-
tended the Big Springs Convention in Topeka when the movement
for a free state was organized. US troops dispersed the citizens at the
anti-slavery meeting. He ended his days as a fruit grower in Illinois.
? Merchant Goodrich (1827-1892) of Ann Arbor was "vulgar, low
and immoral" in Pray's eyes. Goodrich got an MA at Harvard, the
first of his class to get an advanced degree, and practiced as an attor-
ney in Ann Arbor.
? Edwin Appleton Lawrence (1827-1886) of Monroe, Michigan, was
"perfectly careless" but also so "good-natured" that his schoolmates
called him "the granny," Pray reported. Lawrence practiced law in
Ann Arbor until 1855, when he went to San Francisco and grew rich
in real estate. Probably the wealthiest in the class, he donated $10,000
to a local YMCA.
?John McKay (18??-1874) was a transfer from Oberlin and the
only out-of-stater. He came to U-M for his last term, from May to
August. Other than his having become an attorney who got into
trouble as a secessionist in St. Louis, little is known of him.
? Fletcher Marsh (1819-1893) of Kalamazoo arrived in his sopho-
more year. The oldest and poorest of his classmates, he was in Pray's
words "a good and noble-minded man and what more can be asked?"
He earned a theology degree at Newton Theological Seminary and
was teaching science and philosophy at Denison University in Ohio
when money problems forced him to abandon teaching and run a
lumber mill for 10 years. He returned to academic life at
versity in New Orleans, teaching
mathematics and the Bible.
? George Parmelee (1822P-1896 or
'98) of Ann Arbor returned to his
hometown in 1847, much to his
former roommate's disgust. Pray
called him "portly, whiskered?the
dandy" who, having lived in New
York, "couldn't endure Ann Arbor."
He had an "exalted opinion of him-
self, while still hated and detested"
by others. Parmelee, having worked
in New York and New Orleans, as
well as Ann Arbor, wound up in San
Francisco. He wrote U-M in 1889
that "the degree of AM was con-
ferred upon me at the time that the
degree was first conferred by the
University."
? Paul Rawls (182?-1849) of
Kalamazoo came to U-M in June of
his sophomore year. "Something of
a poet," Pray reported, "and a favor-
ite among the ladies," Rawls joined
the fighting in the Mexican War. In 1848 he was either wounded or
became ill. He returned to Michigan and soon died. MT
Linda Robinson Walker '66 MSW is an Ann Arbor writer. She thanks the
"wonderful staff" of the Bentley Historical Library for their help in researching
and illustrating this story. With the encouragement of history professor Nicholas
H. Steneck, George Washington Pray s granddaughter, the late Jeanne Pray Ploger,
donated Pray's trunk, coverlet, diary and other papers to the University in 1993.
"This invitation to an 1848 'cotillon'
[sic] was addressed to a sister of
Pray's classmate Merchant Goodrich
of Ann Arbor, 'the Goodriches'fa-
ther, Chauncey, a hotel man and
houseware merchant, was worth
$30,000, according to the 1850 cen-
sus. Pray's father Esek was consid-
ered very well off with an estate
valued at $9,000. These were the so-
cial events at which George felt like
a country bumpkin.
stamp honors
Salk for vaccine
Life Sciences project vital to University
By Jane Elgass and Rebecca A. Doyle
News and Information Services
I he University took a key step May 21 in positioning
itself to be a national leader in research and education in
the life sciences when the Board of Regents approved the
creation of an Institute for the Study of Biological Com-
plexity and Human Values.
Creation of the Institute and an accompanying cross-dis-
ciplinary and collaborative Life Sciences Initiative follows
recommendations made in February by the Life Sciences
Commission. The 20-member group was charged in May
1998 with assessing the state of life sciences at the U-M
and recommending new directions and collaborations.
President Lee C. Bollinger noted that the Institute would
be "a distinct academic unit with reporting and governance
structures that ensure academic excellence and academic
integration with the University community."
In moving ahead with the project, estimated to cost $200
million over the next several years, the University joins a
number of other research universities and institutes nation-
wide that have recognized the importance of this emerging
area of research and scholarship. The funds are to be allo-
cated from non-tuition sources within the central adminis-
tration and the Health System.
President Bollinger plans within a year to recruit and
appoint an Institute director, define the organizational struc-
ture of the Institute, develop plans for new physical facili-
ties and launch some Institute-related activities.
Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown of Venturi Scott
Brown and Associates, the firm that is developing a master
plan for the University, presented to the Regents several
proposed building sites for the Institute (see accompany-
ing illustration). The plans include parking facilities, two
non-laboratory buildings?one for academics and one for a
cafeteria?and one laboratory building that would encom-
pass all equipment that would be necessary for state-of-
the-art research.
Four deans told the Regents what the Life Sciences Ini-
tiative would mean not only to students, but also to faculty
and staff in their areas.
LS&A Interim Dean Pat Gurin told the Regents that some
may wonder why a new institute is necessary if there al-
ready are pockets of research going on in the life sciences
all over the University. The new institute will offer a great
opportunity "for the integration and mutual enrichment of
applied and theoretical basic science," she said.
Stephen Director, the RobertJ.Vlasic Dean of Engineer-
ing, said that several areas in engineering, especially the
Biomedical Engineering Department, already can claim
close connections to life science research and have great
potential for contributing to and gaining from the Insti-
Shaded areas
represent proposed
buildings for the
Institute for the
Study of Biological
Complexity and
Human Values. The
plans include
parking facilities,
two non-laboratory
buildings-one for
academics and one
for a cafeteria-and
one laboratory
building. The
proposed sites border
Washtenaw Avenue,
East Huron Street
and ?ina Pitcher
Place. Plans include
walkways that would
enable pedestrian
traffic to travel over
Washtenaw Avenue
near Palmer Field
tute. He also cited the MicroElectroMechanical Systems projects
that have enabled scientists and technicians to reduce entire me-
chanical systems to miniscule sizes that can be implanted in the
body to replace defective human systems-such as the cochlear
implant that allows deaf patients to hear.
Engineers are also working with the School of Dentistry on
tissue generation that Director said would allow growth of a
patient's cells on an implantable and biodegradable matrix that
may replace damaged tissue or organs.
With the expected completion of the mapping of the human
genome fast approaching, Medical School Dean Allen lichter said,
the U-M faced a fateful decision: "We have the choice?and we
have said this as a faculty?to be a very good place with a lot of
money in the bank or a great place with a little bit less money.
And when we put it up to a vote, our faculty would rather be a
great place with a zero or two less on our bank book than a not-
so-great place with the world's largest reserve."
William Kotowicz, dean of the School of Dentistry, said that as
one of the campus's smaller schools, Dentistry looks forward to
the opportunities for greater collaboration across disciplines that
the new initiative facilitates.
For more information about the Institute, see the following Web
site: www.umich.edu/pres/LifeSciencesReport/
In a May
ceremony
in the U-M
Rackham
Building,
the US
Postal Ser-
vice com-
memorated
the devel-
opment of a polio vaccine by Dr.
Jonas Salk with the presentation of a
commemorative stamp, "Polio Vac-
cine Developed."
WTien the Postal Service asked the
American public to select what they
considered the most important sci-
ence and technology advancement of
the 1950s, responders chose the po-
lio vaccine, which was tested at the
U-M School of Public Health (SPH)
by Salk's mentor, Dr. Thomas
Francis. The vaccine was proven to
be 60 percent-90 percent effective in
preventing paralytic polio in clinical
trials. The success of the trials was
announced at Rackham Auditorium
on April 12, 1955.
Few scientific advances can be
compared to the impact the Salk vac-
cine had on the health of children in
the 1950s. After having been inocu-
lated, most children successfully
fought off the disease that killed and
paralyzed children throughout the
world. In 1961, Dr. Albert Sabin de-
veloped a live attenuated (weakened)
oral polio vaccine capable of stop-
ping person-to-person transmission
of polio.
Among the speakers at the cer-
emony was professor of epidemiol-
ogy H. F. Maassab, who received his
doctorate in public health from SPH
in 1955 and who, like Salk, worked
with Francis on developing an influ-
enza vaccine.
Maassab has developed a nasal
spray influenza vaccine using a live
attenuated (weakened) virus. The
vaccine, which will be marketed by
Aviron under the name FluMist, is
in the final stages of FDA approval.
It is expected to be available in 2000
or 2001.
MICHIGAN tfOEMY J i 9?
Diverse student body
is found to aid learning
U-M News and Information Services
College students who experience
the most racial and ethnic diversity
in classrooms and during interactions
on campus become better learners
and more effective citizens, accord-
ing to an analysis conducted at the
University.
The results of broad and extensive
empirical studies of college students
by psychology Prof. Patricia Gurin
indicate that all students, members
of minority groups and majority
alike, learn better in a student body
that includes students who are dif-
ferent from them.
"A racially and ethnically diverse
university student body has far-rang-
ing and significant benefits for all stu-
dents," said Gurin, who also is
interim dean of LS&A. "In fact, pat-
terns of racial segregation and sepa-
ration historically rooted in our
national life can be broken by diver-
sity experiences in higher education."
Gurin, who prepared the study as
part of her testimony as an expert
defense witness in the lawsuits
brought against the University's ad-
mission policies, examined national
information as well as data gathered
at U-M. She found that when young
people are placed in racially and eth-
nically diverse classrooms and are
exposed to classes that deal with cul-
tural differences, they blossom intel-
lectually when long-held beliefs and
ideas are challenged.
In addition, these students develop
the ability to understand the ideas
and feelings of others, which in later
life makes them more likely to live
in racially diverse communities,
maintain friendships with people of
different races and able to function
more effectively in an increasingly di-
verse workplace, Gurin concluded.
Until recently, the assumption
among many non-educators and edu-
cators alike had been that a racially
diverse class benefited only racial mi-
norities.
The full text of her study, includ-
ing references and tables, is on the
Web atwww.umich.edu/~newsinfo/
Admission/Expert/gurintoc.html.
10 'Summer V9991
receive honorary degrees
/%t Spring Commencement May 1 for
6,000 graduates, the University awarded hon-
orary degrees to Kofi Annan of Ghana, sec-
retary-general of the United Nations; Aharon
Barak, chief justice of the Supreme Court of
Israel; Shirley M. Malcom, director of edu-
cation and human resources at the American
Association for the Advancement of Science;
and Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Indonesian
author (see opposite page).
As ceremonies began before a throng of
35,000 in Michigan Stadium, President Lee
C. Bollinger told the audience that Annan
had just taken part in lengthy negotiations in
Moscow over the Yugoslavian crisis. Annan
could have canceled his appearance to catch
up on rest, Bollinger noted, but "chose oth-
erwise, and through a long and difficult flight,
chose to be with you."
As two planes circled the sta-
dium overhead carrying ban-
ners protesting NATO bombing
of Yugoslavia, Annan said that
the UN was "committed to the
maintenance of national sover-
eignty and territorial integrity
...[and] equally committed to
protecting universal rights, re-
gardless of frontiers."
Annan, who received the hon-
orary degree Doctor of Laws,
praised the University for being
committed "to tolerance and
dialogue, " the absence of
which, he said, was a key factor
in the political and humanitar-
ian crisis in the Balkans.
President Bollinger (far right) on dais with honorary degree
recipients (l-r) Pramoedya A. Toer, Shirley M. Malcom,
Aharon Barak and Kofi Annan.
Road Scholars deepen state ties
i,In the first week in May, fresh from grad-
ing for the winter term, 29 faculty members
boarded a bus and became the U-M's first
class of Road Scholars on a 1,200-mile
weeklongjoumey across the Great Lakes State.
For those who joined U-M only recently,
like Asst. Prof, of Nursing Deborah S.
Walker, it was a chance "to relate to my stu-
dents 'in context' by knowing more about
their communities." And for lifelong Michi-
ganders like Prof. Frank Ascione, an associ-
ate dean of the College of Pharmacy, "The
pace of the tour provided a good overview
of the complexity and diversity of our state."
Pharmacy Dean George Kenyon, the new-
est Michigan resident on the tour at eight and
a half months, said he had arrived with
the feeling that the state was highly indus-
trialized. The tour corrected that notion
but confirmed his impression that the state
"is very uneven in economic development."
Lincoln B. Faller, professor of English,
"looked forward to meeting people outside
the University who weren't academics, so
I'd have a better idea of what my students
might become." The trip confirmed to him
that the state is "very divided" along lines
of class, race and the urban-rural split,
Faller added. "We didn't see much in the
way of bridges being built across class lines
and the urban-rural divide," he said,
"though the smoked fish entrepreneur (Jill
W. Bentgen of
Mackinac Straits
Fish Co.] in St.
Ignace was a notable
and fascinating ex-
ception."
Ex-astronaut An-
thony England, pro-
fessor of electrical
engineering and
computer science
and of atmospheric,
oceanic and space
science, frankly re-
ported one impor-
tant reason for the
program: "No mat-
ter how much we
think of ourselves as a 'national' univer-
sity, we must function successfully within
the context of Michigan. To do that, we
must understand Michigan's problems and
be aware of significant efforts to address
those problems."
Indeed, the purpose of this traveling
seminar, funded by U-M Provost Nancy
Cantor for two years, is to enable faculty
to explore the state's economy, educational
systems, government and politics, culture,
geography, history, and health and social
issues. It also is meant to increase under-
standing between the University and the
people it serves, introduce faculty to the
places most of their students call home,
and suggest ways faculty can help address
state issues through research and service.
"There were some truly wonderful mo-
ments," said Susan Froelich, associate di-
rector of State Outreach who coordinated
the planning for the tour. "Community
people were genuinely pleased to have the
faculty visit and learn about their respec-
tive areas. The faculty themselves were
impressive, fun, sometimes irreverent and
sometimes slightly demanding, but they
clearly demonstrated that they are people
who care a lot about the world around
them and want to do whatever they can
to help make it a better place."
For more detailed coverage of the tour,
visit the Web at www.umich.edu/~urel/
facultytours .html.
The Road Scholars in Flint's GM Truck and Bus Assembly Plant
hat if the British had maintained a steadily
oppressive rule over a liberty-minded North American popu-
lation from the 1600s to after WW II? How would the
colonists, living on plantations or forced to work at sub-
sistence wages in factories, go about building an indepen-
dence movement over those centuries, with the levers of
power?economic, political, military, legal, cultural?in the
hands of the British government?
In his exciting series of novels known as the Buru Quar-
tet (This Earth of Mankind, Child of All Nations, Footsteps
and House of Glass), the Indonesian author Pramoedya
Ananta Toer dramatizes the development of intellect, will
and courage required to organize a freedom movement un-
der such conditions. For his power as a story teller,
Pramoedya, as he's known (pronounced Prah-MOU-dia),
has suffered tremendously. He has seen his wntings banned
and notes and drafts of novels destroyed. He's spent 14
years in prison, most of them in a forced labor camp on
the island of Buru, forced to eat grubs, lizards and mice or
starve, and all the while watching fellow uncharged pris-
oners die by the hundreds. He lost much of his hearing in a
beating by soldiers. And he was separated from and de-
nied contact even by mail with his wife and young children
during most of his years on Buru.
Pramoedya was on campus in May to receive an honor-
ary doctorate in humane letters at Spring Commencement.
Despite his ill treatment, the wiry 74-year-old has the cheer-
ful and self-composed aura of the similarly fated and minded
Nelson Mandela. Pramoedya delivered lectures and read-
ings, signed books (including his recently published prison
memoir A Mute's Silent Song, titled The Mute's Soliloquy
in the English edition) and granted an interview to Michi-
gan Today with a trio of questioners, Southeast Asian spe-
cialists Profs. Nancy K. Florida (Indonesian Languages and
Literature, who translated) and Ann L. Stoler (anthropol-
ogy and history), and MT's John Woodford. Also present
were Pramoedya'swife, MaimoenahThamrin, and his friend
and editor Joesoef Isak of Hasta Mitra publishing company
in Jakarta.
MT: Did you get the background for Minke. your
hero who helps lead the Indonesian awakening
beginning in 1898, from your father, who was a
nationalist leader and educator? Pramoedya A. Toer:
When I was creating Minke's adventures, I had stu-
dents pore over newspaper stories from the period and
wove episodes into the plot. But to learn about the
internal politics of the Indonesian nationalist groups
from our many islands and regions, I didn't rely on my
father but on the Dutch scholar Willem Wertheim. He
brought out the characters who had been erased from
our history.
0: Who are vour favorite American authors? A: John
Steinbeck and William Saroyan. Steinbeck's Of Mice and
Men was the primer I used to teach myself to read En-
glish. I was so touched and impressed by those two writ-
ers that I'm afraid I have not been as open as I'd like to be
to others.
4AT WITH-mute's song resounds, fulfilling a mother's hopes
Pramoedya in the Osterman Common Room, U-M Institute for the
Humanities.
Q: Who are other favorites? A: I read a lot of Zola as a
youth, and before my prison exile I translated Tolstoy into
Indonesian. I was impressed by his liberation of his serfs
but he didn't serve as a model for my writing. Gorky in-
fluenced me much more. He was a writer who portrayed
the social fabric of his country and gives readers an in-
sight into the distinctive character of the Russian people.
The Philippine novelist Jose Rizal [executed by the Span-
ish in 1896 after three years of imprisonment and torture
for championing freedom from colonial rule?Ed.] was also
an inspiration for me.
0: Are you working on a book now? A: Yes, on one
called The Originator, a nonfiction work on the crusading
journalist on whom Minke was modeled, Tirto Adhisurjo.
The Dutch exiled him to the island of Molucca. His
widow's family sent me many important documents that
shed light on his life, but government security forces stole
them from me and I've never seen them again.
Q: General Suharto's predecessor Sukarno.
Indonesia's first leader, also imprisoned you, though
briefly. Why was that? A: That government didn't like
the way I championed the rights of our Chinese minority.
I admired and studied the awakening of the Chinese na-
tionalist movement in the early 1900s. Indonesians were
inspired by the Chinese movement's principles of social
justice and internationalism as expressed in the writings
of Sun Yat-sen. The Chinese characters who arise in my
stories are symbolic of that influence. I try to show his-
tory being played out by what my characters say and do.
I first learned of what the young Chinese who came to
Indonesia were like from my mother.
Q: Now that Suharto is out of office, what are your
hopes for Indonesian-US relations? A: I have expressed
my opinion everywhere that the United States should stop
sending arms to Indonesia, that the armed forces are not
a stabilizing factor. Your country?the West as a whole?is
very influential throughout the world today. It was thanks
to some pressure from the Carter administration that I
was released in 1979.1 ask everyone to help the youth of
Indonesia complete the reformation of the nation. If we
don't reform our society there will be social revolution,
with people attacking, looting, killing. Only effective na-
tional leadership can prevent this hopeless outcome. A
social revolution without national leadership would re-
sult in Indonesia's vanishing from the face of the Earth.
Each faction would establish its own autonomous unit,
and since, as Sukarno taught us, this century is the cen-
tury of intervention, our resources would be up for grabs.
Q: The hero's guardian angel in the Quartet is Nvai
Ontosoroh. the former concubine who wins her free-
dom and amasses a fortune. How did you happen to
invent such a strong female character? A: When I
would tell my fellow prisoners the stories that became the
novels, I would say to them, "Look at her. Look at what
she is doing?and she is only a woman! Certainly we men
should be able to do more." I wanted her to inspire them.
In real life, my mother was an incredibly strong character,
although physically she was weakened by tuberculosis and
died at 34 when I was 17. When people ask me to say how
my mother influenced me, I say that what is in my books?
everything-is what I got from my mother. She used to
urge me to continue my schooling after I dropped out in
junior high. "\bu must master Dutch," she'd say, "so you
can widen your knowledge. Then you must go to Europe
and other countries to learn even more. Do not stop until
you have a doctoral degree." And now, thanks to my honor
from the University of
Michigan, I have finally % Jjj
fulfilled everything she
wanted. MT
Pramoedya's series of
four historical novels
known as the Buru Quar-
tet began as tales he
made up to entertain and
encourage his fellow pris-
oners. They liked them so
much that they took over
his grueling prison labor
chores for six years so he
could concentrate on in-
venting the stories he told
them on work details and
at night. Pramoedya Ananta Toer and Prof.Nancy Florida who led efforts to
honor him at Commencement.
MICHIGAN; JpDAY^ . 11,
arenaJim Abbott returns toI n 1996, former Wolverine pitcherJim Abbott '89 had die worst year ofhis life as an athlete. Whatever he'd
used to get big league hitters out since
his first start as a rookie with the Ana-
heim Angels in 1989 had deserted him.
He ended the year with a record of 2
wins and 18 losses, including an II-
game losing streak. This was the low
point in what had been until then an
extraordinary life on and off the field
Abbott's story is inspiring.This Flint,
Michigan, native, born without a right
hand, had a phenomenal amateur ca-
reer from his football quarterbacking
and baseball stardom in high school,
on to his three years at Michigan from
1986-88, when he led the team to
regular season Big Ten champion-
ships each year.
In 1987 he fed Team USA to the sil-
ver medal in the Pan American games
after carrying the US flag for the open-
ing ceremonies in Indianapolis. At the
1988 Seoul Olympics, he pitched the
gold medal-winning game against japan,
Abbott's accomplishments won him
the 1988 Golden Spikes Award as the
nation's top amateur baseball player
and the Sullivan Award,given each year
to the nation's top amateur athlete?
the first baseball player ever so hon-
ored?and many other awards.
In 1989 he became a professional.
As a starting pitcher who could throw
a fastball 90 mph, spin a sharp-break-
ing curve ball and a brutal sliderAbbott
spent four solid seasons with the Ana-
heim Angels, two with the New "fork
Yankees?where he threw his first no-
hitter?and part of the 1995 season with
the Chicago White Sox.
The Sox traded Abbott back to the
Angels during the '95 season. He
pitched well and looked forward to
the approaching season, but in '96 his
confidence and strong left arm failed
him. He was sent to the buffpen as a
reliever late in the season and then,
briefly, to a minor league team?each
a first for Abbott as a pro. Although
he returned for spring training with
the Angels in 1997, the team released
him before opening day.
Following a year out of baseball, dur-
ing which his wife, Dana, had a baby
girl, Jim contacted the White Sox, who
would give him a chance to come back
in '98 only if he proved himself in the
minors first He agreed and was even-
tually called up to "the show" last Sep-
tember, when he proceeded to win all
five of his starts for the Sox.
W,as he really back? He needed the test of a full
season in the majors, and the Milwaukee Brewers have given
him a chance to prove himself in the 1999 season. Joel Seguine
of U-M News and Information Services interviewed Jim
Abbott for Michigan Today in the locker room of the Brewers'
spring training facility in Phoenix. Since the start of the sea-
son, it's been rocky going for Abbott. Through June 14 his
record was 1-5, giving up 7.2 earned runs per nine innings
(ERA), while both starting and relieving for the last-place Brew-
ers. For his career Abbott is now 86-105 with a 4.2 ERA.
Q: Michigan Today. You had such a wonderful amateur
career. What are some of the memories you hold onto
from those years?Jim Abbott: That I had a lot of great friend-
ships is mostly what I remember from baseball. It's part of the
reason why I'm playing again; it expands the world you're
exposed to and the people you come across. I started seeing
some of the world because of baseball, different parts of the
country traveling with the University of Michigan, playing with
the USA team and moving around. I got exposed to so much.
Q: I remember seeing a picture of you carrying the flag in
the opening ceremonies of the Pan Am games. That must
have been a thrill. A:Yeah, that was a spine-tingling type of
thing, walking into the Indianapolis Speedway. I remember
i|l|i|i
Abbott as a Wolverine.
we had to wait a long time before we walked onto the Speedway, and
it was packed with thousands and thousands of people. Because we
were the host country, the United States was the last to be intro-
duced, so we had to wait for all that as the procession went through.
Finally, underneath the grandstand where we were, all the workers
and all the volunteers-and there hundreds of them-just erupted in
this enclosure we were in. It was just deafening. Everybody started
chanting, "U..S..A, U..S..A." And then we walked from there and I
had the Flag and I was out front. And we walked up the stairs and the
whole Speedway just blew up when they announced, "Los Estados
Unidas," and everybody stood up. I still get goose bumps thinking
about it.
Q: Your mother and father gave you a lot of support in allowing
you to find your own way in athletics as you were growing up in
Flint as a boy born without a right hand. A:Yes, they were very
supportive. I'd put it this way: they allowed me to do whatever I
wanted, yet they weren't always extremely involved. And I don't mean
that in a bad way?I think it was beneficial.
Abbott in the batting cage during spring training in Phoenix.
12 Summer 1999
Q: Did anyone teach you how to throw without a right
hand?A: My Dad and I did what was necessary to play
catch. We didn't form the basis for a major league career.
We just played catch.
Q: Are you limited in any way from throwing certain
pitches because you can't hide the ball? Have you
had to ask for any special ruling about that? A: No, I
didn't ask, but there was an interpretation of a rule. I never
knew anything about it. All of a sudden the Commissioner
of the American League was there one day during spring
training in my rookie year. I do something where I kind
of twirl the ball. You can't really see it. The rule is you
can't move the ball to deceive the runner at first base. It's
nothing more than guys do inside their glove. Anyway,
they cleared it and nobody ever said a word about it.
Q: Do you have any doubts that you should have gone
right to the majors, that you might have benefited
from some minor league experience? A: I don't look
back on things. You know, you turn different corners and
who knows what'll happen. I wouldn't change a thing of
what's happened. I had a real bad year in 1996 and that
took its toll, but other than that I'm very proud of the
things I've done.
Q: You've said that you're aware of the effect you
have on other people whether they be disabled or
not, and you seem to carry that well. Is that some-
thing that's a weight or is it something you carry
with pride? A: Well, my answer to that seems selfish. I
really feel that to have an effect, to be someone that can
be pointed to as an example, at least on those terms, is to
be good [at what I do]. I understand the larger issue, I
really do. But the type of example I want to show is not
only that you can survive?make it?but that you can flour-
ish. That's what I want to do, and I work hard towards
those ends. And if I can answer some letters, if I can meet
kids, if I can be involved in a charity, attend events here
and there, I'm very happy to do that. But beyond that,
I'm no different from anybody else in this room.
Q: Take us back to Yankee Stadium, September 4,
1993, when you pitched your no-hitter against the
Cleveland Indians. A: It was a time when I wasn't pitch-
ing particularly well. I actually faced Cleveland the time
out before that in their park and was knocked out maybe
in the third inning. I was given five days rest and I was
facing the Indians again back at home. You know that
happens quite a bit. You face a team, then you face them
again because of the pitching rotation. It's a mental chal-
lenge because if you did well [in the prior outing], there's
no guarantee. But if you didn't do well, you're really
screwed. So the irony that they'd hit me so hard before,
to throw a no-hitter the next time against them, I remem-
ber that as being strange. I remember it was a cloudy day.
A day game, the kind of game I like to throw.
Q: Was there any point where other players stopped
talking to you so they wouldn't jinx you? A: I don't
remember much of that. Scott Kamieniecki ['86], a former
Michigan teammate, was with the Yankees then. He and I
were joking around a little bit, but I don't usually talk a
lot during the games anyway. Sometimes if I feel like I
have to relieve the pressure or whatever I will. I think
there was a little bit of banter but not much. My wife, Dana,
was there, and it was a real thrill giving her a hug afterwards,
down in the depths of the stadium. We have very good memo-
ries of being in New York that we'll always cherish.
Q: Any lingering thoughts about the very difficult year
you had in '96, when you were 2-18 with the Angels?
A: It was tough. Really, there's no other way to put it. On
the grand scale-obviously, we're playing major league
baseball, making a lot of money?it certainly doesn't com-
pare with some of the other things that people go through
in life. But for me?I took it too hard. Maybe that was my
personality. Maybe I didn't like being so vulnerable. You
come out of it hopefully stronger.
Q: Do you think you did? A: I'm different. I
don't get as caught up as I did. I know what's
important to me now. I know that what hap-
pens on the baseball field from this point on
can never affect that. I worry that it will, I'll
be honest. I'm worried that I will get caught
up in baseball, like if I'm doing well, project-
ing this thought of having to be good. I
struggled a little bit in the minor leagues last
year, but I felt that I was improving, and then
last fall I won every time I pitched, and this
spring I've pitched pretty well, so it's been
good times and you need those. It's fortify-
ing. But I didn't have any good times in '96,
so I didn't have any fortification against the bad.
Q: Your minor league experience last year
was your first since you became a pro ex-
cept for a short stint in Vancouver. Play-
ing with 18-year-olds, riding the bus, what
was that like for you? A: It's something I
can't believe that I did, because if you asked
me now would you do that, the answer would
be no. It was kind of a plan to get to the big
leagues [after] a five-week training period. And
I thought, I can do it. I can schedule family
and I can be here and do this. What it turned
into was a long term, a real odyssey. I came
across great people, saw a lot of different
things, and it wasn't all bad. I don't know why
to this day that I did it. I'm glad to be back,
and I think my family is, too, but it was a
really weird thing.
Q: Wherever you've played It seems your teammates
have enjoyed playing with you. Last year, when you
came back with the White Sox, you passed the Yan-
kees third base coach, Willie Randolph, as you were
heading back to the dugout, and he said, "Welcome
back." That kind of thing must feel really good.A: It
does, and I can get, frankly, very emotional about it. This
is an arena that I feel comfortable in, you know, sitting
here in the clubhouse. The banter and the humor. It's
different than it is outside. I enjoy it. I really do. I feel
comfortable in the surroundings, and I enjoy the guys from
the South and the West and the East and different parts of
the world. I'm not always so great at the neighborhood
get-togethers, although I like those people, too. But this is
where I feel most comfortable. And when I'm not here, I
like to be around guys who have played major league base-
ball. It's the camaraderie. MT
Abbott tossing a no-hitter for the New York Yankees in 1993.
MICHIGAN TODAY 13
9HHH
By Joanne Nesbit
U-M News and Information Services
There are some so presumptuous as
to think that in the spring a young man's
fancy turns to thoughts of love. But there
was one U-M administrator who knew bet-
ter; that there was another, perhaps stron-
ger, thought engendered in a young man
or maybe a not?so young man by the com-
ing of spring?baseball.
The Sprightly Adventure of Instructor
Simpson, a Merry Tale of Baseball, a Not-
Too-Young Instructor, and the Laboratory
Sink is how then-Secretary of the Univer-
sity Shirley Wheeler Smith, Glass of 1897,
'00 AM, '45 LLD (hon.), subtitled his story
for a 1923 University Club festivity.
Twenty-five years later, another U-M
grad, Valentine Davies '25, adapted
Smith's skit into the screenplay of the 1949
baseball movie classic, It Happens Every
Spring. The film starred Ray Milland as,
in Hollywood movie poster-ese, "The guy
who invented the ball nobody could hit,"
and Jean Peters as, "The girl with the
curves nobody could miss."
In the movie version, an accident in the
lab of a Missouri university leads to a com-
pound that makes a baseball dodge a bat
and encourages a bashful chemistry pro-
fessor to take to the baseball diamond,
where he becomes a great strike-out pitcher
for the pennant-bound St. Louis team. And,
of course, he eventually wins the hand of
Peters, who was not only his student but also
the college president's daughter.
The movie's plot elaborates on the broad
outlines of Smith's earlier skit and subse-
quent short story in the Michigan Quarterly
Review, especially adding the Hollywood
staple?"romantic interest." Smith's hero
was a 32-year-old married instructor with
two children, and his family remained well
offstage in the original.
Davies and Smith shared a writing credit
for the screenplay and won an Oscar nomi-
nation for their efforts.
It Happens Every Spring was the hit of the
World's First Author's Premiere at Ann
Arbor's Michigan Theater. Reserve seats
went on sale at the theater's box office for
55 cents each. Davies, who won two Os-
cars for 1947's Miracle on 34th Street, wrote
to the theater's manager, Gerald Hoag, that
"I am coining only to pay tribute to Mr.
Smith. I think this definitely should be his
night and that whatever arrangements you
make because of my presence will not de-
tract from it."
The whole city turned out to pay trib-
ute to Smith, who was 74 at the time of
the premiere and enjoying emeritus status
after his retirement in 1945. The city de-
clared it Shirley Smith Day, and some of
his professor friends arranged for Smith
to emulate Hollywood notables by putting
his footprint in a cement slab for poster-
ity. But Smith would have none of that,
saying he "was will-
ing to go along with
the ballyhoo in the
abstract but not in
the concrete."
He added that he
used to walk in wet
cement as a boy, "but
I'm too old for that
now. I won't leave
footprints on the
sands of time, much
less in a cement slab
in a theater lobby."
This quip appeared
in local papers,
prompting one
reader to send the
following to Smith:
Dear Mr. Smith,
Hooray!! I thought
everyone except myself
had gone goofy. Now
I find another. Per-
haps if we knew it,
there are many others
if only all could get to-
gether. Anyway, my
compliments to one
Shirley Smith
with the courage to oppose
Hollywood publicists. Or was
it the fear that corns and
bunions would show up in
the soft cement?
The ballyhoo over, Smith
sent a letter to Sid
Blumenstock of 20th Cen-
tury-Fox May 22, 1949,
that read, "The shouting
and the tumult have died
and I am now just another
Smith in our town. How-
ever, the memory will lin-
ger a long time. There was
an embarrassing moment
now and then, but nothing
that even flyspecks the rec-
ollection as a whole. The
movie itself, as Val [Davies] wrote it and
as 20th Century-Fox put it on, seems to
have pleased everybody.
"Plumbers are not ordinarily given to
humor, but when I thanked one of them
for coming so promptly and efficiently
opening up a blocked sewer, he grinned
and said, 'It wasn't anything. It happens
every spring.'"
It would appear from an earlier letter
from Davies that the Ann Arbor crowd was
not the only one pleased with the movie.
After a first sneak
preview at Riverside,
California, Davies
wrote to Smith, "The
audience response
was everything that
we had expected and
then some. There
was so much laugh-
ter that... some of the
funniest lines were
completely drowned
out. The preview
cards were also most
enthusiastic, and
what pleased us most
was that the women
and girls seemed to
be no less enthusias-
tic about the picture
than the men."
Smith became
even more of a celeb-
rity in Ann Arbor
than he had been,
constantly recog-
nized, stopped and
complimented when
he walked down-
town. "The thing
that makes me feel it is
going to be more than
usually popular," he
wrote his younger co-
writer, "is the wide
range of people who
enjoyed it. I have had
echoes from all over,
seeming from sneak
previews. But the best
result of all, I feel, is our
friendship of which I am
very proud." MT
Michigan Today thanks
the staff of the U-M
Bentley Historical Library
for assisting in researching
the Shirley Smith collection\for
source materials.
The Story That Inspired the Movie
From The Sprightly Adventure of Instruc-
tor Simpson, the 1923 short story by Shirley
Smith, Class of 1897, U-M Vice President and
Secretary of the University:
I he sporting public loves to worship
unreasonably if only it can worship unre-
servedly."
"Mr.Simpson,gentlemen," said the Presi-
dent/'is one of those rare young men who,
with the opportunities of the world open
to him to make money almost without
end and to win and retain fame of a splen-
did but still baser sort, yet prefers the
more enduring satisfaction found only by
those who give their lives to the humani-
ties or sciences. Of course we cannot ex-
pect him to return as instructor, and I
heartily recommend his appointment as
associate professor. He plainly has the spirit
of self-sacrifice and research which we de-
sire to encourage."
...Simpson "never discovered the pro-
cess of manufacturing helium bromide, and
he has never discovered, though he has
sought an answer over many an evening's
pipeful, why the world, in that summer of
his sprightly adventure, should have paid
him 57 times as much for throwing a little
five-and-quarter-ounce ball past a wooden
stick as it had been willing to pay him for
developing its most valued possession, the
youth of the land, in one of the world's
most cherished institutions, an ancient and
honorable university."
L%
ETTERS
Keep Your Reference Letter File Active
The Career Planning 8c Placement
(CP&P) office is conducting its annual re-
view of reference letter files that have been
inactive for the last 10 years. In keeping
with guidelines outlined by the Family
Educational Rights and Privacy Act
(FERPA) and Career Planning 8c Place-
ment, files inactive since December 31,
1989 will be deactivated. Transcripts and
other academic material will not be affected
by the deactivation of inactive files.
To maintain an active file, a student or
alumna/us must have conducted one or
more of the following transactions since De-
cember 31, 1989: transmitted (mailed) ref-
erence letters as part of an admission or
employment process; added new letters ot
the file; submitted updated persona data;
or indicated in writing to keep the file active.
To reactivate a file that has not been used
since 1989, contact the Reference Letter
Center by August 31, 1999. You will be
asked to supply updated information for
inclusion in your file. There is no charge
to reactivate a file.
To start a new file, any University of
Michigan graduate or current student with
at least 12 credits may log onto our website
at www.cpp.umich.edu or contact CP8cP.
Send information or direct questions re-
garding your file to: Reference Letter Cen-
ter, 3200 Student Activities Building, 515
East Jefferson Street, Ann Arbor, MI
48109-1316. Phone (734) 764-7459; email
cp8cp@umich.edu.
The Smiths' Tally
THE SMITH family of Grosse lie hopes
that the Gordon family of Detroit will share
the record for having the greatest number
of siblings who graduated from U-M. You
had six and we had six:
Dr. S. Gregory '74-Economics
Dr. Patrick A. '76-Anthropology; '80 MD
PaulD. '80BBA, '84 MBA
Alison V. '81BBA
Alisa (Lyons) '83-Organizational Com-
munications
Glenn L. '85-Economics, '89 JD
Our children may have been influenced
by their U-M parents: Veronica Latta '48
AB-Sociology, and Stewart G. '49 AB-Po-
litical Science; '52 JD. We were ecstatic
when everyone had graduated, as through
the years we had paid over 45 years of tu-
ition to the University of Michigan.
Gordons and Smiths probably crossed
paths in Pasadena many times. We hope
that someday we will meet in Ann Arbor!
Veronica Latta Smith
UM Regent, 1985-93
Grosse He, Michigan
As our alumni/ae correspondents reported last is-
sue on their families' remarkable achievements at
Michigan, the Gordons, Eders, Monticello ands?
with this letter?the Smiths all hold third place with
six U-M sibling graduates. The Velmettis and
Rays, with seven, have second place, and the
Hqffmans claim first with nine?Ed.
AFTER reading and admiring the letters
from other families with outstanding
records of many siblings graduating from
Michigan, we would like to submit the
record of the Ellis family: 10 children with
a widowed mother and with grandparents
who were born slaves, growing up in a dust
bowl Oklahoma town during die Great De-
pression. Five of these children earned a
total of seven degrees from U-M, working
part-time jobs to pay for their education.
Francis'42 MA Ed.
Wade '44 PhD Math
Roberta '45 MA Ed.
Herbert '48 MA Ed., '50 MPH
George'52 BBA, '66 MBA
Wade later became a professor at
Oberlin College and U-M, serving as as-
sociate dean of the Horace Rackham
Graduate School. The Ellis family owes a
great deal to the University and also to
parents who placed the highest value on
education, and to grandparents who
learned to read and write at a time when
slaves were severely punished for even at-
tempting to do such a thing.
Herbert Ellis '48, '50
Ann Arbor
North Dakotans
FREQUENTLY you have an article of
special interest to me. The fall 1998 issue
contained such a one?"A Man for all Ho-
rizons"?about Prof. Tom Fricke's new
project of studying North Dakota. My par-
ents were part of the migration from east-
ern US and Canada in the early 1900s.
Unlike the terrain in the pictured "bad-
lands" my father's homestead in Bottineau
County near the Canadian border was flat.
The bank at Driscoll is in the style of one
in Maxbass (named after a railroad land
agent) near my father's homestead. I taught
school at a town nearby (Baldwin) my first
year out of college.
Georgia Haugh
Ann Arbor
Dean Ihla of the Bottineau Chamber of Commerce
offers this from a Bottineau County history: In
1905, the Great Northern Railroad Company
established a townsite that became the village of
Maxbass, named after Mr. Max Bass, immigra-
tion agent for the Great Northern Railway. After
only four months, Maxbass had two banks, four
general stores,four lumber yards, six grain eleva-
tors, three restaurants, three pool and billiard halls,
two hardware stores, two meat markets, two
doctors, a barber shop, drug store and weekly
newspaper.
By 1910, Maxbass had a population of240-
which showed little change by 1950 when there
were 259 residents. By 1990, the population
had dropped to 123. The town's school closed in
1997, and the only businesses remaining are ser-
vices relating to agriculture or oil production.
Maxbass is 45 miles north qfMvnot.?Ed.
Raoul Wallenberg
WE APPRECIATED reading excerpts of
Raoul Wallenberg's letters from Ann Ar-
bor. The introduction incorrectly stated
that he was 5 years old when his father
died. The sad fact is that his father died
three months before Wallenberg was born.
But most important to the University is
its association with the hero of the 20th
century. And even more important to the
world are Wallenberg's deeds and his hu-
manitarian example. Dear Mr. Woodford:
To confirm the information, see Letters And
Dispatches, 1924-1944 (Arcade Publishing,
Inc.,1995), which contains Wallenberg's
Ann Arbor letters. The Introduction, writ-
ten by relatives, states on page 3: "His
father, a second lieutenant in the Swedish
navy, had died of cancer before he was
born." See also Wallenberg, The Man In
The Iron Web, by Elenore Lester (Prentice-
Hall, Inc., 1982), on page 26: "Raoul's
father had died of cancer at age 23, three
months before Raoul was born." The spe-
cific dates of those two events in 1912?
May 10 and August 4?are provided on
page 30 of Lester's book. Please let me
know if you'd like hard copies of these
sources.
Thomas E. Schick 70 LS8cA
Susan L. Schick '72 Nursing
Rockville, Maryland
THE PEOPLE of the United States have
learned nothing from the sacrifices and
death of Raoul Wallenberg. The mean-
ing of his actions and life were wasted on
us. The spirit of the United States used to
be achievement, pride, love of country and
respect for life. That spirit has changed to
power, arrogance and control.
I'm middle-aged. I've never known
peace in my lifetime. The last time I con-
tacted the United Nations statistics, there
were 135 wars simultaneously throughout
the world. Undoubtedly, that number has
increased by now; at least by five, since
Clinton has added more destruction in his
wake during this administration. Add
those wars to those created by recent presi-
dents who also lusted for war. What
politicians speak or work for peace? Do
any? Certainly not Levin or Bonior from
Michigan!
Hopefully, the Wallenberg Endowment
will provide grants for students to learn
the arts of diplomacy and compromise plus
respect for human rights, sovereignty, sen-
sitivity, peace and justice. I would be able
to die happy with the knowledge that my
grandchildren will be able to live in a peace-
ful world. Enough war!!
Beatrice Scalise 76 MA Ed
Wesdand, Michigan
I WAS very much moved by the excerpts
from Raoul Wallenberg's correspondence
in the spring issue. I hadn't realized that
his time at Michigan matched my years
(1931-1935) at Albion College, where I re-
ceived my AB. I came to Michigan in the
fall of 1935; Wallenberg and left in Febru-
ary. I wish I had known him!
Wallace A. Bacon
Taos, New Mexico
Affirmative Action
YOUR COLUMN column "Admission
Suits Delayed" in the Spring 1999 issue
reports on two "lawsuits challenging the
University use of race in admissions." The
lawsuits are described as follows: "brought
by two white applicants," and "on behalf
MICHIGAN TODAYl l 21
of one white applicant." Had the challeng-
ers been minorities (as was the case in Cali-
fornia) would the writer have identified
them as such?
One must wonder if your bias is not
showing through. Perhaps Michigan Today
will comment, in the letters column, on this
in the next issue.
Ted Kidd '50
Traverse City, Michigan
I AM writing in response to two letters on
affirmative action published in the Fall
1998 issue. I tire of listening to the rheto-
ric of people like Donald Reeves and A.
L. Hodge, especially when they ignore his-
torical facts that have taken place in this
country. I suggest that Mr. Reeves go to
the library and look up empirical studies
on bilingual education. Bilingual educa-
tion is beneficial for language-minority stu-
dents; there is empirical evidence to
support this. One of the reasons why stu-
dents of color are not achieving in school
is they are denied a basic human right to
be treated with respect. In addition,
these students are treated as inferior and
their language and their culture are
equally degraded.
Mr. Hodge's determination to put him-
self through school is commendable. How-
ever, he is not the only one. I, too, have
put myself through school. I am in school
now to obtain a PhD in education. Mr.
Hodge claims that affirmative action is ab-
solutely wrong, unfair, discriminatory and
purely racist. But affirmative action was
put in place to combat the continual on-
slaught of racism on people of color.
This country has never been a color-
blind society, and as long as the Ku Klux
Klan is in existence it never will be.
Whether Mr. Hodge or Mr. Reeves wants
to admit it?perhaps they're too blinded by
their anger?racism continues to be a ma-
jor problem in this country today. For any-
one to stand up and state that the
elimination of affirmative action will make
the US a color-blind society and everyone
will be treated equally is a person living in
a fantasy world or in just plain denial.
What policies are in place to protect
people who are discriminated against be-
cause of their race, color or religion? What
happens when affirmative action is abol-
ished and discrimination still persists?
These questions can be answered only by
empirical research and by laying the cards
out on the table. That is to say that people
must begin to discuss openly the problem
of discrimination and racism that is preva-
lent in this country. Just closing one's eyes
and pretending that the US is a wonderful
and color-blind society is not enough.
Vicki R. Ellison '81
Columbus, Ohio
Martha Cook Alumnae
I WAS delighted to read the article about
Colleen London in the spring issue
("Bosnia, An Adopted Motherland"). I met
her while I was the director of the Martha
Cook Building (1973-79). Colleen was very
active in the Martha Cook Alumnae Club
of Ann Arbor.
Olive Chemow
Saginaw, Michigan
Alumni Reunions
I WOULD like you to pass this letter on
to the agency for alumni matters, in as
much as I do not have their address but
have yours. Next year will be the 50th
anniversary of my graduation from U-M,
and I would like to begin receiving infor-
mation about alumni reunions that will be
held in conjunction with such a signature
event. You will glean correctly from this
that I am not a member of the Alumni As-
sociation. Your help will be most appreci-
ated.
Alexander T. Morris '50 Eng
New Bern, North Carolina
Tour letter has been forwarded to the Alumni
Association (AA). Director Steve Grqfton says the
Association will provide you and other interested
readers with information about the Emeritus Re-
union Weekend in June 2000. The A A address
is Alumni Center, 200 Fletcher St., Ann Arbor,
MI 48109-1007. Phone (800) 847-4764. E-
mail m.alumni@umich.edu. Website: http://
www. umich. edu/~ umalumni/.
Arthur Miller Award
I WISH to make a correction to your ar-
ticle "In Honor of Arthur Miller '38" in
the fall 1998 issue. The Arthur Miller
Award was established and is funded by
the U-M Club of New York. It is officially
called the University of Michigan Club of
New York Arthur Miller Award. The
award is presented to a member of the Jun-
ior Class selected by the English Depart-
ment for outstanding creative writing. The
$1,000 award is a tuition credit for the
recipient's senior year at Michigan. In
addition, winners are also presented with
a copy of Death of a Salesman signed by Mr.
Miller.
The Award was the brainchild of Doris
Rubinstein '71 who was the Club Scholar-
ship Fund Chairman at the time. She felt
that one of our most illustrious New York
alumni should be honored by the New
Ifork Club. Mr. Miller was contacted and
agreed to the establishment of the award.
His ongoing support is greatly appreciated
by the New York Alumni Club as part of
the Michigan tradition.
Herbert N. Appel
Treasurer, Scholarship Fund
U-M Club of New York
Not Cricket
READER Kathleen Chojonowski, an Aussie
transplanted to Topeka, Kansas, called to point
out that the photo we identified (Spring 1999
issue) as showing U-M cricketeers of the 1870s
were holding baseball rather than cricket bats and
that the team was made up of nine players rather
than 11. She was right. We misidentifiedaphoto
from the U-MBentley Historical Library collec-
tion of the U-M 1874-5 baseball team. We have
been unable to find a photo of early Wolverine
cricketeers?Ed.
Homage to Hazel Avery
WITH GREAT interest I read Ann
Woodward's letter [Spring 1999 issue]
about the U-M Obstetric Hospital in the
'40s. My two-month stint in obstetrics was
memorable. Our head nurse was Hazel
Avery, a tough taskmaster. She had to be,
to hold that hospital together while teach-
ing us rookies who were the primary work
force. There was a wrought-iron circular
staircase with loose marble slabs for stairs.
You had to place your foot just right. We
carried food trays up and down them three
times a day, and if we spilled a drop of
anything on our uniforms, it was back to
Couzens Hall to change?on our time.
Babies were transported to their moth-
ers on the 2d and 3rd floors every four
hours on the freight elevator?the only one
in the building?in a cart with four parti-
tions. The large tube Ann mentioned was
indeed the fire escape. We were instructed
to pass the bundled babies relay style and
roll them down the tube to the nurse wait-
ing outside on the ground in case of fire.
Then the mothers were to go down, and
the lowly student nurses last.
After I saw my first delivery, Miss Avery
instructed me to go down to the first floor
waiting room and tell the husband he had
a nice baby girl. I did, and he promptly
fainted. Just like the movies. However,
that was the only time it happened. I al-
ways had the men sit down before I gave
them the good news?just in case.
Our babies and mothers got wonderful
care. We never propped a bottle to feed a
baby. We rocked diem as we fed them,
sometimes humming a song, and learned
how to bathe them and talk to them so
they didn't cry. They spent 10 days with
us in those days, and we had happy,
healthy patients mostly due to Hazel
Avery's constant supervision.
We had one orderly and his name was
Earl. Earl was disabled and not very
young. He did mostly garbage detail and
light maintenance. When state inspectors
came to see if we really needed a hospital,
Miss Avery instructed Earl to stop the el-
evator between floors with them in it if he
wanted to keep his job, and leave it there
for a while as he pounded on something,
faking repairs. They stayed stuck quite a
while. We were all privy to the ruse. Ha-
zel was no shrinking violet.
In 1947, a new hospital was on the draw-
ing board. Miss Avery used every ward
class to get our input on the new hospital
plans. It was her baby. When we visited
the new hospital during a reunion, Hazel
was overjoyed. While showing us around,
the nurses' bathroom was first on the list.
The old hospital had a little stall with a
leaky water closet on the ceiling. She made
sure nurses were taken care of better in
the new building. Without her, the old
hospital would have fallen down. I think
it was afraid to!
Elizabeth Lee Payant '47N
Sun City West, Arizona
Solar Car Team Plate
"Ten Years Under the Sun," a
$50 limited edtion, 10.5-inch blue
on white com-
memorative
plate to ben-
efit the U-M
College of
Engineering's
Solar Car
Team, has
been produced
by the Ann Arbor firm Classic Col-
legiate China. All proceeds will got
to the present MaizeBlaze team.
Plates may be ordered from the
team at (734) 764-2257.
16 Smnmt^ 1999-
THAT OLD BLUE-EYED MAGIC
By John Woodford
It's highly unusual for a PhD dissertationto fill most of die 1,700 seats in die Michi-
gan Theater. But it happened in April when
Andy Kirshner packed diem in for die de-
but of his roundly applauded experimental
musical-theater piece Relive the Magic: An
Evening With Tony Amove.
Relive the Magic is based quite obviously
on die life of Frank Sinatra. The dialogue,
lyrics, tunes and arrangements Kirshner
wrote and composed fuse into a work diat is
bodi homage and parody, a refined evoca-
tion of Tin Pan Alley and a satire of Ameri-
can celebrity.
"The closest diing we have to mydiologi-
cal figures today is pop culture," Kirshner
says in an interview after his stage triumph.
"I realized diat when I watched and listened
to Sinatra, I felt a complex of emotions. Take
'My Way.' I'd diink, diese lyrics are really
stupid. The M.C. would tell die audience,
please rise for die national
andiem, and dien comes a
song of unfettered egoism
widi an overblown orches-
tration. Yet, I'd find myself
N)'gen!uii<riely moved and
diinking, diis is really good.
I don't diink anyone can
Andy Kirshner explain how some tilings in
Kirshner as Tony Amore.
die popular culture?say a Spielberg movie
like E. T? can sweep us away."
In his interpretation of these and other
facets of pop-icon culture, Kirshner wrote
and orchestrated seven songs?all recogniz-
able counterparts of Sinatra hits but which
offer their own authentic pleasures. The
songs span the generations and musical styles
of Amore/Sinatra's seven-decade career from
die 1930s into die '90s.
?! The music is set widiin a minimalist flash-
back drama dirough which, especially in die
later numbers, Amore and Tony Jr., his feck-
less son, manservant and wanna-be singer,
try to cope widi die star's decline in old age.
An adroit singer, backed by a 35-piece or-
chestra diat gave his Nelson Riddle-style ar-
rangements die precise and driving sound
of a big band, Kirshner danced, quipped and
gestured his way dirough bobby sox, bebop,
swing and ballad styles.
The song "Back in die Saddle Again" is
"an andiem to bachelorhood and being a
swinger," Kirshner says. Chock full of cow-
boy lingo, die corny lyrics ("Well, I'm back
in die saddle again. Gonna take my favorite
mare out for a spin. Where the jimson
blooms, and I'm far from home, where die
coyote croons and a man is his own") evoke
hits of the past like "Don't Fence Me In."
The saloon song "At the End of die Day,"
tips its hat to "Make It One for My Baby":
"I know it's closin' time, but I gotta say what's
on my mind, and I hope you understand me
all right, 'cause it's die end of die day and
I'm drinkin' alone."
No piece better expresses the complex
Sinatra phenomenon than "I Could Always
Count on Me." Paul Anka adapted a French
song, turned it into "My Way" and gave it
to "die Chairman of die Board," Kirshner
said. "Sinatra didn't like it at first, and came
to detest it. But widi his power and voice
fading, he had to keep singing it because die
audience clamored for it. He often expressed
contempt for its popularity before singing it."
Kirshner's version, "I Could Always
Count on Me" is as mawkish and moving a
pop andiem as die original. He finds such
songs are "sonic metaphors for die Ameri-
can sensibility diat Walt Whitman expresses
in the observation, 'I am multitudes.'" The
lyrics widiout music are exquisitely bathetic:
I've had my share oflosin'
I've had my share of pain.
But through it all, I just stood tall.
For my mistakes, I took the blame.
I call 'em as I seem em.
I call a spade a spade.
To cut through all illusion
Has been my life's crusade.
With nothing to believe in
I could always count on me.
The word is spreading about Kirshner's
captivating compositions and performance.
Whedier anyone else can perform the role
remains to be seen. Meanwhile summer fes-
tivals and concert houses as far away as
Budapest are discussing staging die work.
"I want to make works that challenge
people, but diat diey like, too," Kirshner says,
"not works diat they respect but don't like.
Musical theater is stuck in this country.
Around die world?from Japan to Indonesia
to Africa to India?people combine music,
dieater and dance. I diink Americans can
enjoy diat, too."
Kirshner was assisted in his completion of
Relive the Magic by a fellowship from U-M's
Institute for the Humanities. MT
Arthur Miller returns to LSA:11 wouldn't have bet a dime on The Crucible's chances'
By John Woodford
LSA alumnus Ardiur Miller '37 returned
to campus in June to present die College's
first Ardiur Miller Award for Dramatic Writ-
ing in die inaugural season of die U-M's Fes-
tival of New Works. The first recipient of
die $3,000 award was Willy Holtzman for
his play Hearts, a World War II drama diat
debuted at die Trueblood'Theater.
At a press conference before the ceremo-
nies, Miller said he could never predict how
one of his plays would be received and
"wouldn't have bet a dime" on die fate of
his most-produced play, The Crucible.
"I started it in die middle of the McCardiy
era," Miller recalled, who said diat he is cur-
rendy working on an essay " The Crucible in
History." "People were scared of it or hated
it," he continued, "All you can do is make
something as good as you can.make it. Af-
ter that, the world decides."
Miller said he was attracted to die U-M in
die 1930s because tuition "was cheap?about
$60, I think?and I'd heard they gave
Hopwood awards to student writers. For a
19-year-old who knew he wanted to write
even diough I didn't know what I'd write, die
fact diat die University gave a dollar prize meant
diey took writing seriously here."
The varying interpretations of his plays and
characters by directors and actors have always
interested him, Miller said. The current
Broadway production of Death of a Salesman?
diis year's top Tony Award winner widi four?
"is more modern than die original, which was
romantic," Miller said. "This one is like a
black-and-white movie, more strident, right
from the shoulder. Actors aren't monkeys.
They are interpreters. Some find a tone you
hadn't heard before."
Elizabeth Franz plays Linda Loman,
Willy's wife, "180 degrees differendy from
die original production," Miller noted. "Linda
Miller meets with graduate students in the Film
and Video Program during his visit.
is usually very passive, but she [Franz] plays
her angrily and aggressively, because die wife
knows Willy's suicidal yet their sons and the
world are not helping him. It's brand new
and yet seems truer to die part."
Miller said he was troubled about die eco-
nomic direats to die American dieater "as
far as new writing is concerned." He said that
die difficulty of getting a straight play?diat
is, one diat is not a musical or an import
from England or Ireland?produced on
Broadway today was spreading to Off-Broad-
way as well.
"Does our society want traditional dieater
to continue?" he asked. If so, he said, it must
face the fact diat "the question of subsidies
for the arts will be more important as time
proceeds. Our theater could be crippled if
diere are none," while dramas from coun-
tries diat subsidize theater fill die vacuum.
Of America's current delight in entertain-
ment widi high-tech features, noise and vio-
lence, Miller observed diat history indicates
diat "where diere is spectacle, you can be
pretty sure die drama is dying. It never could
compete widi a brace of horses galloping
across the stage."
Aldiough he feels diat "none of my plays
would be produced as a new play today," he
is nevertheless optimistic "because people still
want to write plays, odiers want to act, and
people want to see diem. We just need to
confront and cure the economic problem."
The U-M's current quest to establish an
Ardiur Miller Theater pleases him, he said,
and he'd love to write an inaugural play for
such a facility. Whedier he could succeed is
anodier matter, he added, because "it's easier
to build a theater diat will stand up dian to
write a play diat will." MT
MICHIGAN (TODAYS
By Cara J. Spindler
mericans' vicarious involvement with violent
crime is a focus of social research as well as
jnedia profits. And that accounts for the
gritty, salacious pamphlets on child-sacrifice and horrific
murders, augmented by religious sermons and political
tracts and "true life" detective stories that make up the
James V. Medler Crime Collection in U-M's William L.
Clements Library.
Medler amassed crime literature for 50 years before the
Clements, which specializes in original resources for the
study of American history and culture from the 16th
through the 20th centuries, acquired the collection from
him in 1992.
What attracts people to this sort of literature? Clements
Library Director John Dann believes it is our fascina-
tion with human failings, a fascination reflected today
in the lurid headlines of supermarket tabloids and the
many pseudo-documentary "news programs" that fo-
cus on crime.
The Clements acquired the Medler Collection not to
exploit morbid curiosity, however, but to serve as a valu-
able historical tool for faculty and students. The transcripts
of court proceedings show the legal history of the New
World colonies. In 1770, six years before the Revolution-
ary War, the City of Boston's account of "the horrid mas-
sacre at Boston" was published a week after the event.
"The government at an end?this has been the cry ever
since the Stamp Act existed. The province in a state of
rebellion ... but nothing can be more false than such a
representation." The document ends hoping that the King
will not "think unfavorably of his faithful subjects of the
province." Similarly, an 1812 report on the trial of Arthur
Hodge, convicted of killing his Black slave, sheds light on
"The Life and Confession of Ann Walters, a pamphlet published in
New Hampshire in 1849, purports to be a factual account (now
discredited) of a murderous tavern-owning gang leader who stabbed
patrons to death and cooked babies in her oven. l7ie 'history' closes
urith Puritan Justifications for publishing the gory details: 'Her
death was truly heart-rending and awful, and should serve as a
warning to all those who read this account to be prepared to meet
their Eternal Judge.'
IS THE ROAD TO HEAVEN PAVED WITH BAD EXAMPLES?CRIMINALS?
BOOKTHEM!
THE CLEMENTS LIBRARY'S MEDLER COLLECTION
the racialization of justice.
The collection as a whole
is a barometer of social, le-
gal and political history,
with the reading taken at the
level of day-to-day life. It in-
cludes criminals' accounts
of their own stories and also
others' perceptions of crimi-
nals. There are confessions
written with the "guidance"
of a priest, which were made
into broadsides to be posted
about town. There are pulp
pamphlets by Barclay and
Co. that highlight "horrific
crimes" with graphic
woodblock prints. This
matrix of legal, social and
cultural history is the trea-
sure trove of the Medler
Collection.
Interspersed throughout
its varied resources we
glimpse religious ideals,
theories of the criminal
mind, how the community
regards and punishes its
criminals, penology, and the
race and gender roles of our
past and present culture. In
1786, for example, a 12-year
old girl, Hannah Ocuish,
murdered a 6-year old girl.
Hannah's mother was an al-
coholic, and it was well
known that Hannah's home
life was unstable. However,
the Puritan New England
community's "eye-for-an-
eye" mentality was strong,
and Hannah was executed
on die gallows.
Execution was a rarely questioned norm of social pun-
ishment and cultural regulation in Colonial days and in
the young republic. Awaiting execution for thievery in
1773, Levi Ames was paraded through Boston streets ev-
ery Sabbath with chains about his ankles, reading his "Last
Words" to large crowds. Often, a criminal's penitent story
was posted as a broadside with the headline, "A Warning
To All Young People."
An 1868 pulp, Was It a Ghost? The Murders in Bussey's
Wood, by the New York Times Boston correspondent. Two
children, Isabella, 15, and John, 8, left home for a nearby park
but were found stabbed to death an hour's trolley ride away,
"the crime shook the public and crowds reaching 1,200 visited
the murder site daily. Unfortunately, they destroyed any
evidence at the scene and the crime was unsolved.
Take the story of Jason
Fairbanks. In 1801, he mur-
dered Eliza Fales and at-
tempted to kill himself. Both
were still young, and each of
their families forbade them to
see each other. The sad end-
ing to their affair, which
they'd continued despite
their parents' objections,
yielded this cautionary
broadside in verse: "The
bloody knife, O then he
seiz'd,/ And cut his throat like
the ceas'd,/ And mangl'd all
his body o'er,/ Hot stream-
ing with her purple gore!"
William de Beck's 1867
book Murder WilliOufccthefirst
step in crime leads to the gallows,
was printed with a wrapper
that reads, "For the family."
Scholars note that such
crime literature reveals an im-
plicit assumption that chil-
dren and adults are
inherently sinful and must be
trained and reminded to live
moral lives.
Of particular note is the
collection's number of
"Beautiful Victims," admon-
ishing tales of young women
deceived by slick con-artists.
In these stories, illegal abor-
tions, false names and secret
marriages were the downfall
of many a bright, pretty and
virtuous girl. Carlyle W.
Harris, convicted and ex-
ecuted for murdering his
young wife with an overdose
of morphine in 1892, report-
edly divulged his method to a friend: "[He said he] could
overcome any woman's scruples ... one method was to
take a bottle of ginger ale and put in it a very large por-
tion of whisky, the other was to marry her, but under an
assumed name."
"The Devil made me do it" was, apparently, a reason-
able defense at the beginning of our nation's history How-
ever, these early communities were not above using the
18 Summer 1999
presumably devil-filled individuals for the edification of
the flock or solidification of social mores. The Medler Col-
lection contains many early sermons, with long windy titles
like "The Danger of Living without the fear of God: A
Discourse on Robbery, Piracy and Murder in which Du-
eling and Suicide are particularly considered: delivered in
Boston, February 21, 1819. The Lord's Day Following
the Execution of the Pirates."
The intentions behind such sermons seem honorable,
however, because despite the racy titles, the texts do not
describe violent acts. But by 1850 "pulp novels"?some-
times called "penny thrillers" or "penny terrors"?show a
less clear sense of purpose than the sermons. By 1870, the
familiar excuse of preparing the criminal and readers to
meet their maker takes up only a line or two amid pages
of sensationalized descriptions of violence.
As publishing became cheaper, crime magazines became
popular. The Iblice Gazette was one of the longest-running
and most popular ones; a yearly subscription was $2 in
1848. Its headlines promise graphic accounts and depic-
tions of violence with titles like "Suitor Shot in Mouth."
It didn't take long before social critics like Junius Henri
Browne, in his 1869 "Mirror of New York" social condi-
tions, The Great Metropolis, condemned the effect of such
literature: "They reprint all the sensational facts and gossip they
can find in the country press, or exhume fiom the licentious haunts of
[Mew York] City. The better class of the community do not read
them, unless they happen to contain something extraordinarily racy
and wanton, when curiosity overcomes the scruples of conscience and
of decorum"
Anticipating many critics of today's mass-media violence,
Browne argued that representations incited the criminal's
burgeoning young mind: "No marvel he [the metropolitan
thug] gloats over these inspiring accounts and cuts of the Police
Gazette."
the title of an 1867 Philadelphia pamphlet tells the story: The
Life and Confession of Bridget Dergan: Who Murdered
Mrs. Ellen Coriell, the Lovely Wife of Dr. Coriell of New
Market, JVJ: to Which Is Added Her Full Confession and
an Account of Her Execution at New Brunswick. Dergan's
motive was said to have been jealousy resulting from her
failure to convince the doctor to return her affections and her
firing by Mrs. Coriell.
The Medler Collection also contains accounts of crimes
that are seemingly the antithesis of bloody pulp maga-
zines. Usually written by a police reporter or detective,
these are hardcover and maintain a factual rather than
shocking tone. Such books often contain transcripts of
the court proceedings and, in works published after 1890,
photographs. Their informative tone recreates an objec-
tive scene of the crime, or at least the semblance of one.
Edwin Porter's 1893 The Fall River Tragedy: a History of
the Borden Murder includes photographs of the house and
everyone involved in the trial?the servant girl, the jury,
the medical examiner?except for the recently acquitted
Lizzie Borden or her sister Emma. A sense of decorum
pervades the account, and nowhere is the famous chant
written: "Lizzie Borden took an axe, killed her mother
with forty whacks. When she saw what she had done, she
gave her father forty-one." On the other hand Porter does
use models to pose as the prone corpses of Mr. and Mrs.
Borden, rather like contemporary re-enactments of vio-
lent crimes on TV fare like "America's Most Wanted."
The Medler Collection gives us pause to wonder what
we will look like when scholars and students look back
art at our mass media 100 years from now. It also makes
us question human nature?not only the failings that lead
to violent crime but the obviously widespread delight in
hearing about, reading about, visualizing and re-enacting
such crimes. For more information on the Clements Li-
brary, visit its Web site at http://www.clements.umich.edu
Although the images of violence in pulp magazines were,
and still are, shocking, Prof. Leonard Eron argues that
the images of today are more violent. Eron, an adjunct
research scientist at U-M's Research Center for Group
Dynamics and adjunct professor of psychology, has re-
searched the causes of violent behavior in children and
young people since 1960. He notes that in contemporary
video games the viewer becomes an actual participant.
Instead of just looking on as a voyeur, the participant sees,
hears and is physically involved in inflicting the violence.
The attraction, he believes, "is in the ?Btivity, and the ac-
tivity desensitizes the participant."
CaraJ. Spindler '99 was Michigan Today's 1998-99 stu-
dent intern.
U-M'sMost Murderous Alumnus
Mr. Herman Mudgett, aka H. H. Holmes
long the items in the Medler Crime Col-
lection in the Clements Library is Holmes, the Arch-Fiend,
or A Carnival of Crime, the story of a Michigan alumnus
who has the dubious distinction of being die first iden-
tified serial killer in the United States.
Herman Webster Mudgett (1861-1896) graduated
from U-M Medical School in 1884 and moved to Chi-
cago to practice pharmacy. He also began to engage
in a number of shady business, real estate and promo-
tional deals under the name "H. H. Holmes."
One of Holmes's partners, Ben Pitezel, took out a
life-insurance policy on himself for $10,000 with
Holmes as beneficiary. The plan was that Pitezel would
"disappear" to Philadelphia and Holmes would pro-
duce a false corpse, identify it as Pkezel's and share
the payoff with Pkezel's family.
Pitezel disappeared on schedule and Holmes col-
lected the money. But someone
tipped off the police about the
scheme, and Holmes fled with the
Pkezel's eldest daughter.
Telling Mrs. Pitezel that her
husband was hiding in a nearby
city, Holmes convinced her to
follow him, and for months the
trio moved separately and to-
gether around the United States
and Canada, taking the four
other Pitezel children with them.
During the group's wander-
ings Ben Pitezel's body was dis-
covered in Chicago and Holmes
was charged with murder. The
police then searched a Holmes
property in South Chicago, a
'Holmes held the boy between his knees and
zvrapped his fingers about his throat, slowly
closing them upon it like a vise,' reads this
caption from Holmes, the Arch-Fiend, or A
Carnival of Crime, a book about the 'monstrous
ogre's insatiable appetite, 'published shortly after
the U-M alumnus's execution in 1896.
three-story building he'd ostensibly built as a hotel
for visitors to the Chicago World's Fair of 1893. The
ground floor of the Holmes Castle, as it was dubbed,
contained shops, offices, a hodge-podge of turrets and
bay windows, and Holmes's living quarters. It also
held, police discovered, concealed staircases, false walls
and ceilings, airtight and soundproof rooms, and
chutes leading to the basement. And in that basement
were two sheet-iron tanks containing human bones
and a large furnace, believed to be a crematory.
Meanwhile, still on the run, Holmes dispatched three
of the five Pitezel children and hid their bodies.
Aided by Mrs. Pitezel, the police finally captured
Holmes/Mudgett. He was tried, convicted and ex-
ecuted for the murders of Ben Pitezel and the three
children. While awaiting execution, he received an
offer from the Hearst newspaper syndicate to write a
confession, in which he
claimed to have killed 27
people. Investigators could nei-
ther confirm nor disprove
Holmes's assertion because the
contents of the iron tanks and
crematory, although recogniz-
ably human remains, could not
be differentiated.
The Holmes "crime of the
century" was also the subject
of another work in the Medler
Collection, The Holmes-Pitezel
Case, a "true detective" story,
published in 1896 in Philadel-
phia "by permission of the dis-
trict attorney and the mayor."
-CJS.
MICHIGAN TODAY 19
Suggested reading: Books by U-M faculty
and graduates, and works published by
the University of Michigan Press. BOOK
THE BAND PLAYED DIXIE: RACE AND
LIBERAL CONSCIENCE AT OLE MISS
By Nadine Cohodas '71, The Free Press, NY,
1997, $26.
Although James Meredith became in
1962 the first African-American known to
have enrolled at the University of Missis-
sippi, he was not the first to be part of the
institution. Ole Miss's first Blacks came as
slaves of the students and later as dining
room staff, janitors and groundskeepers.
The institution continues to wrestle with
its heritage. It is the site of disputes over
singing the school's unofficial song,
"Dixie," at football games and controver-
sies over "Colonel Rebel," the school mas-
cot. Sketching the University's history,
Cohodas uses the school as a barometer
of race relations and shows how desegre-
gation came not just as a result of
Meredith's courage, but also of pressure
by faculty and staff, by white students who
opposed segregation with their editorials,
and by African-American communities
who staunchly supported the rights of their
young people to attend the schools their
taxes supported. -CaraJ. Spindler '99.
THE FALL OF A SPARROW
By Robert Hellenga '63, Scribner, Mew York,
1998. $25.00
The main character of Hellenga's sec-
ond novel is Woody, professor of classics
at a small Midwestern college. A daughter
was killed in a bombing in Italy; his two
remaining daughters have recently left
home for work or college; his wife is join-
ing a convent. The novel is not simply
about grief or healing, it is about life and
ail its trappings: guitars, nuns, infidelity,
higher-education politics, fatherhood, phi-
losophy, courtroom proceedings, Italy.
Each canvas is intimate: the bats in the
family's farmhouse attic, making salad in
Italy, the classroom discussions of The Od-
yssey. ?CJS.
PARADISE, NEW YORK
By Eileen JFbllack, Temple University Press, 1998,
$27.95.
This novel by the director of the Un-
dergraduate Creative Writing Program
at U-M is set in the Catskill resorts. Nar-
rator Lucy Appelbaum, is determined to
save her family's hotel from the fate of
many of its brethren?decaying rubble
burnt for insurance money. This humor-
ous, honest, animated novel pops with the
sharp, almost-acrid voices of its characters:
crazy, grumpy Nana; Nat and Shirely Fi-
del with their blue-inked wrists; the Yid-
dish Literature Society (Communists in
disguise); and Mr. Jefferson, the Black
handyman. Their multilayered stories all
wind through the eyes of Lucy, who pulls
readers into the events of one summer.at
hand.-CJS.
THE MICHIGAN GARDENING GUIDE
By Jerry Minnich, U-M Press, 1998, $18.95.
Ever wondered about "loamy" soil or
"clay" or "ph"? Ever bought seeds for early
April planting, then looked out your win-
dow and saw snowPJerry Minnich's guide
will sort such things out for you. Articu-
late and clear, Michigan Gardening starts with
soil and finishes with indoor gardening,
running the spectrum of green-thumbing,
including composting, intercropping, com-
panion planting, organic fertilizing and
boosting nitrogen levels; choosing the best
flowers for Michigan soils; how to make a
root cellar and how to choose an ornamen-
tal tree.-CJS.
URBAN RENEWAL AND THE END OF
BLACK CULTURE IN CHARLOTTESVILLE,
VIRGINIA
By James Robert Saunders '86 DA and Renae
N. Shackelford, McFarland & Co., Jefferson, MC,
and London, 1998, $29.95.
The public's attention has been turned
recently to the complexity of Thomas
Jefferson's legacy in the area of race rela-
tions. This powerful oral history of
Charlottesville's African-American neigh-
borhood, Vinegar Hill, tells a story far
more worthy of the limelight. Denied
meaningful participation in the decision-
making process and having no legal de-
fense (chiefly because Blacks were still
barred from the University of Virginia
Jefferson founded), an ethnic community
saw its residents, homes, businesses,
churches and other social institutions up-
rooted and dispersed in the 1960s.
"They tell you, 'We're trying to reno-
vate,'" former resident Raymond Bell told
the authors. "It came along with urban
redevelopment. And, of course, we refer
to it as urban removal of Black people.
And I may be paranoid about the subject,
but I've always thought that that Vinegar
Hill thing was by design to get rid of Black
businesses along that street, along Main
Street." This is a story that goes far to-
ward explaining the blighted conditions
and hopes in our nation's so-called inner*
cities.-John Woodford.
HOT COAL, COLD STEEL
By Stephen Crowley '97 PhD, U-M Press,
1998, $42.50.
Internal developments in the former So-
viet Union have a profound impact on our
world's political ecology. That makes this
study in contrasts
between the orga-
nized, active and
militant coal min-
ers in Russia and
Ukraine and the
same regions'
passive and vacil-
lating steelwork-
ers of more than
academic interest.
Full of the voices
and writings of
various trade
unionists, the
book conveys the
bewildering and chaotic course of
grassroots politics, which roil around the
issues of social justice, democracy and the
market.-JW.
BETWEEN THE ICEBERG AND THE SHIP
By Anne Stevenson, '54, U-M Press, paper,
1998, $15.95.
The deep sympathy and the tough-
mindedness that illuminate Stevenson's
poetry shine throughout these 17 essays.
Winner of a Major Hopwood writing
award at U-M in 1954, Stevenson ad-
dresses topics ranging from writing as a
woman to her misgivings about post-mod-
ern literary theorizing. Poets she discusses
include Sylvia Plath, Elizabeth Bishop,
Seamus Heaney, Louis MacNeice and
Dana Gioia. In speaking of the latter's
poetry she said she "came up with the ad-
jective beautiful-an epithet 20th-century
criticism has smeared with suspicion. To
speak of 'beautiful' poetry without sneer-
ing calls for an explanation." And she de-
livers a good one in a quick, sharp loakratf'
the "civil wars" among American poets
from the 1960s to the '80s. For now, she
says, the dust has "settled down finally in
the halls of academe?where most Ameri-
can poets of all camps now find employ-
ment."-JW
A CREATION OF HIS OWN: TAPPAN'S
DETROIT OBSERVATORY
By PatriciaS. Whitesell '80 MA, '94 PhD, U-
M Press, 1998, cloth, $48.
Biography, history, architecture, science
and art combine in this splendidly told and
copiously illustrated account of U-M Presi-
dent Henry Philip Tappan's efforts to build
the Detroit Observatory at the University
in 1854. Tappan's achievement helped es-
tablish the tradition at the University of
maintaining state-of-the-art capabilities in
all scientific and intellectual endeavors?an
abstract goal that required then, as it does
now, many a con-
crete foundation.
Whitesell has di-
rected all proceeds
from sales to the
Observatory's en-
dowment.-JW.
66 GALAXIE
By m loncar '95 MFA, U. Press of New En-
gland, Hanover and London, 1998, paper,
$11.95.
There are so many
way stations in the
American vastness
that this travelin'-
man poet seems
barely to have time
to relay the blips of
sights and sounds he
takes in as he cruises
wildly in his mythi-
cal Ford. He's too
hurried to let periods
and upper-case keys
on his typewriter
slow him down. Winner of the Breadloaf
Writers' Conference prize for first books,
poet-film maker m loncar is a master of
surreal comedy and of wipe-that-smile-off-
your-face very dark humor. The poem "re-
peating the word girl" resolves the life vs.
art question in with not a word to spare:
writing a poem about the girl should never
be better/than the girl/ than being with
the girl/don't write the poem about the girl/
unless you'd really rather be with the girl.
U-M English professor and poet Rich-
ard Tillinghast says that "as 66 galaxie
glides past, its chrome flashing discon-
certingly, one instantly recognizes it as a
classic."-JW
TRUE BLUE: MUSIC PERFORMED ON U-M
CARILLONS
With U-M Carillonist Margo Hoisted and oth-
ers, CD, $10 + postage
The chiming carillons, especially the al-
most-daily lunchtime recitals, give the Uni-
versity and Ann Arbor a thrilling aural
signature. Burton Memorial Tower's 55-
bell carillon has
rung out since
1936. In 1996, the
Ann and Robert
H. Lurie Tower
on North Campus added a second U-M
carillon, this one with 60 bells. From the
first notes, this CD will transport those
who've left back to Ann Arbor. The 16
pieces include U-M alum Chip Davis's title
piece and five others written for the instru-
ment. Other works include folk songs, a
Bach chorale and transcriptions of works
by Purcell, Albeniz, Sousa and Elbel ("The
Victors"). Halsted and colleagues demon-
strate the often-delicate beauty and wide
emotional range of the world's most mas-
sive instrument. Make checks out to "Uni-
versity of Michigan ($10 and $3 for postage
and handling) and send to: University
Carillonist, 900 Burton lower, Ann Arbor,
MI48109-1270.-JW.
PLEASANT WALKS AND DRIVES ABOUT
ANN ARBOR
By Judge Noah Cheever, Class of 1863, Bentley
Historical Library, 1999, $5.95.
Originally published in 1899 and now
reissued as a handsomely illustrated 32-
page bulle-
tin, the 10
walks and ? '''
carriage |
drives %
Cheever \
described r
100 years j
ago are re- '
printed
here. But this version, edited by English
Prof. John Knott with undergraduate re-
search assistant Alicia Lavalle '00 of Ann
Arbor, also includes an updated section for
each excursion to orient today's walkers,
cyclists and drivers to changes in street and
village names, topography and sight-lines.
Just as Cheever's original was a century
ago, this publication is a spur for local folks
and visitors to get out and enjoy the scen-
ery.-JW.
The booklet may be ordered from the Shaman
Drum bookstore at (734)662-7407, or email:
books@shamanDrum.com
GEOMANCY
By Cara J. Spindler
Eleven thousand years ago, the glaciers striated rocks,
ground trees and dirt from cliffs. Sea cows
swam off the coast of New Jersey, crocodiles journeyed
from the Indian Ocean up the Nile. On the Devonian shield,
mastodons watched the ice. Each summer, the onslaught slowed
and melted to create a river of muddy orange,
a moraine valley, dust litter of pebbles, rocks, boulders?
if these rocks had been granite the river would be gray
like cold asphalt. The sabertooths would taste dental fillings,
disintegrated orthodontist offices. Smells drifting down the valley
would whisper the future of expressways, steel-statues-bearing-cities.
If these rocks had been granite, the mastodons could have divined
infinity,
or at least believed in it like us?
Instead, the sabertooths drank water flavored by sandstone,
imagined only beaches, the teas and summer poplins
of Chicago people. Lucid under their claws was Singapore,
the town now buried under dunes
where the Kalamazoo River feeds into Lake Michigan.
Their images of the future were sepia-flavored
and when the ice dam burst
the flood swept past Chicago and gored out the tar pits.
A boulder rests in southern Illinois,
runaway carried by an iceberg, a sand spray
like a careless woman throwing packages to the ground;
to decipher its starting point, it was an age.
Spindler '99 of Holland, Michigan, is Michigan Today's
1998-99 intern. She won a total of $5,000 in Hopwood
awards during her undergraduate career.
An earlier version of "Geomancy" (the practice of
divination by interpreting geographic features) was part
of a manuscript that received a Winter '99
Hopwood Minor Award in Poetry.
MICHIGAN TODAY 21
By John Woodford
When Patricia Ruiz-Bayon came to Michigan two years
ago to work on her master's degree in fine arts, she already had
one artistic objective in focus: to come to grips somehow with
the small, mostly headless and female clay figurines found by the
thousands on and just below ground in Central Mexico.
"I'd seen them since I was a little girl and always felt a great
affinity to them, yet they were still so mysterious," says Ruiz-
Bayon, who is, as she puts it, "from Brownsville, Texas, and
Matamoros, Mexico. (I always say both because I am a bor-
der person, geographically, culturally, aesthetically and in all
other senses.)
"I always wondered why so many of the figurines are female,"
Ruiz-Bayon continues, "where they have been found, who made
them and why. I still can't answer the last two questions, although
one of my theories is that they were portraits. No one knows if
they were made mainly by women or by men or what purpose
they served, such as for toys, for worship, for decorating dwell-
ings and so on."
I o guide her in her
search for answers she
found, quite by luck ("my
antennae led me to him"),
that U-M's faculty has
one of the top experts in
Latin American anthro-
pology and archaeology,
Jeffrey R. Parsons, profes-
sor of anthropology and
curator of Meso-Ameri-
can archaeology, Museum
of Anthropology. Parsons
agreed to accept Ruiz-
Bayon as his first Art
School student in a read-
ing course he usually of-
fers only to graduate
students in his field. Ruiz-
Bayon plunged in.
"I tried to make sense
of the huge amount of information about the figurines," Ruiz-
Bayon says. 'Jeffrey allowed me to work at the Museum where
they keep the figurines in drawers. They have hundreds of them
Ruiz-Bayon (left): "the highlight of my
project was working with Jeffrey Parsons.
He hadn't worked with an artist before, so
the novelty went both ways for us. I didn't
know about him when I came to the MFA
program. My antennae led me to him.'
Parsons: 'Patricia has an ability to
synthesize a wealth of information and
extract the portions most valuable for her.'
The head is from the Valley of Mexico, circa
400-500 AD.
from all over Latin America. I focused on the Mexican specimens and did draw-
ings from the collection."
How to make sense of a huge amount of information: Here Ruiz-Bayon found
herself confronting a seemingly paradoxical challenge, one presented not just by
the figurines that intrigued her, but by much of our information about the series
of great civilizations that rose and fell in Meso-America from perhaps 3500 BC to
the Spanish Conquest in the 1500s.
Ruiz-Bayon traces the source of the historiographic difficulties to the Conquest.
"The Spanish Conquest?or Contact, as Professor Parsons calls it, which is the
scholarly term?was like an alien invasion," she says. "What would bad people
from space do to us? They'd force a change in our culture, language, religious
practices and way of living. That's what the Spanish did. They took our gold,
raped the country, and took our valuable treasures. They completely destroyed
something very valid; They did their best to destroy all remnants of our culture."
Central Mexico is the home of the Olmec, Toltec, Aztec and Mayan civiliza-
tions, among others, although the Aztecs dominated it from 0-1500 AD. Major
cities like Teotihuacan and Tenochtitlan arose there. Teotihuacan (Tay-oh-tee-
whah-KAHN) stood from 600 BC to 650 AD, when it was destroyed by uniden-
tified invaders. Some scholars call it the first major urban center in the Western
Hemisphere. From at least 300 AD on, Teotihuacan featured huge pyramids,
broad avenues laid out in grids and a huge plaza where 100,000 people, half the
population, could attend civic events. Tenochtitlan (Ten-otch-teet-LAN), the Az-
tec capital, was 200 years old and in a golden age when the Spaniards under
Ruiz-Bayon in her studio in the Art and Architecture Building. She plans to teach in her home state of
Texas after she leaves U-M this summer.
22 Summer 1999
r
'/ conquered my fear of
electricity,' Ruiz-Bayon says of
her installation of a computerized
bubbling machine into her hand-
made glass figurine.
Cortez destroyed it in 1521. Mexico City sits on its ruins.
Figurines spanning 2,600 years-1000 BC-1600 AD-turn up
in the landfills at these and other ancient sites. What were they
for? "When archaeologists don't know the answer to that ques-
tion," Professor Parsons replies with a laugh, "they call it a 'ritual
item.' That's a way of saying we don't know, but it was prob-
ably for an activity at the household level. They are found in
trash dumps, casual places and in all contexts. Some are in of-
fering caches in temples, however. They are ubiquitous. If they
were connected with rituals, we don't know what those rituals
were.
"People made things like these all over the world in ancient
times, yet nowhere are they nearly so abundant as in Mexico.
There are other artifacts that are also found more abundantly
in Mexico than elsewhere. The little clay flywheel, called a whirl,
that makes a spindle go fast during spinning is incredibly com-
mon in Mexican digs. They were used elsewhere, too, but ap-
parently nowhere near as much as in Mexico."
From about 1000 BC to 100 AD the figurines were made by
hand. After that, they were made in a mold, although some-
times the heads continued to be handmade, perhaps as por-
traits. This was a major shift, Parson notes, perhaps suggesting
a change in the purposes they served.
Anthropologists and archaeologists study artifacts like the
figurines as a way to understand ancient social organization, Parsons says, "while art histori-
ans look at them in another way and artists in a still different way. I'm quantitatively oriented.
I look at the patterns in style, form, where they were found, and try to make broad generali-
zations. Recently, borrowing techniques from physics, I've been looking more closely at their
chemical composition. Patricia looks at them through a different filter."
In more than two years of reading, sketching and sculpting, Ruiz-Bayon's "filter" extracted
those qualities of the figurines that she wished to reawaken in her own art. The result was a
sculptural series she calls The Figurine Project, which won her one of eight yearly fellow-
ships from the U-M Institute for Research on Women and Gender. She made seven female
figures in three media for the project.
"I portrayed a lot of things in a woman's body
that are shamed in American culture," she says. "I
did not want to portray idealized beauty of hips,
breasts, height, weight and proportion. To see some-
one adopt that ideal like Cher, with all of those sur-
geries and dieting, makes me weep. She is a plastic
person, denying her natural body. We have hips that
are quite big, but instead of rejoicing in that, women
diet and go through sur-;
geries seeking an unat-
tainable ideal in a
painful attempt to alter
themselves. My figu-
rines say, 'This is what
lam.'
"I did my first group
in bronze based on my
drawings of the original
terra cotta figurines,"
she says. "I wanted to
work in the Art School's
foundry and discovered
it to be very male-ori-
ented, I'm sorry to say. Most i^i^
' ' around 500 BC,
1300 AD.
A torso from Tlatico, circa 800
BC, may show a female in the
early stages of pregnancy.
Not just here but around the world, there
is a feeling that metal is a man's substance
to control, so you undergo a sort of haz-
ing because you're trying to use heavy
machinery and heavy materials. Kent
Brown and others wound up helping me
very much. Casting, itself, is wonderful.
Dealing with fire, such a primitive and
powerful force, you have to be precise. I
created my own Bronze Age and became
'the maker' as a Mexican-American
woman living at the end of this century
and millennium."
Her project's second phase was to make
seven terra-cotta versions covered in gold
leaf. "The Spanish taught our people how
to gild the Spaniards' baroque churches,
using us as slaves to do it," Ruiz-Bayon
says. "Gilding is now in our culture. I
gilded the figurines to give the treasure
of the gold back to our people, back to
women, back to me, and to make a pro-
gression of the figures into the new century."
The third figurine phase, recently be-
gun by Ruiz-Bayon, involves hand-made
glass versions containing a bubbling red
liquid. "I thought of myself as Dr.
Ruizenstein," she quips. "I was almost
electrocuted as a child, so I'd been very
frightened of electricity. Now I can work
with it, but I am still careful. I wanted to
do something that marked the end of the
20th century. I didn't know how to turn
on a computer when I came to Michigan;
now I'm working with a little computer-
controlled electric motor that makes them
bubble as if they're alive."
Ruiz-Bayon cradles her bubbling,
broad-hipped and buxom figurine and
says, "I have recreated myself in the three
stages of this project. They tell a story.
My story." MT
Molded heads circa
100-300 AD from
the great city of
Teotihuacan, which
was mysteriously
destroyed in 650
AD.
MICHIGAN TODAY 23
Ni'
hat makes something beau-
tiful? Sure, the eye of any beholder is im-
portant in the determination, but what about
the qualities of the object beheld? This is a
question that Carol Bier, curator of the Tex-
tile Museum in Washington, DC, has gone
a long way toward answering as it applies
to one source of visual pleasure-so-called
Oriental carpets.
"So-called," because, as Bier emphasizes,
"No carpet weaver ever sets out to weave
an 'Oriental' carpet. In every region where
pile carpets are produced by hand (roughly,
the sheep-rearing areas of the pre-Colonial
world) a young girl, or an old woman, or
less often a boy, would set about weaving
something called, simply, a carpet in his or
her local language. The term Oriental car-
pet is a Western construct."
Bier, who was the 1999 Norman Freehling
Visiting Professor in U-M's Institute for the
Humanities, lectured and taught a class
at U-M this year about the "humble prod-
ucts" of sheepherders that are so prized in
museums, galleries and homes throughout
the world.
Bier delved into fractal geometry and the
mathematics of dynamic systems to help us
understand the glory of traditional Orien-
tal carpets?the patterns that "tease the mind
as they please the eye." What follows is a
greatly abbreviated version of her discus-
sion of the mathematics of woven beauty.
For a grander delight to the eye and mind,
see the Textile Museum/Swarthmore Col-
lege-Math Forum Website at http://
forum.swarthmore.edu/geometry/rugs/
index.html.
All patterns, whether in nature or in art,
exhibit a systematic organization. We may think
of symmetry as a means of systematic organi-
zation. Symmetry offers several possibilities for
the organization of a pattern, each of which
results in a correspondence of points. In rug
weaving, this is effected by the construction
and placement of individual knots.
Possibilities for the composition of a design
are limitless, and may rely upon choices. But
possibilities for the repetition of that design,
whether symmetrical or asymmetrical, are lim-
ited by the laws of pattern formation and are
subject to the constraints of symmetry.
In all patterns there are four basic
symmetry operations that may be
performed upon a fundamental re-
gion, design or motif. Mathematicians
call these rigid motions because they
suggest movements without distor-
tion of size or shape around a point,
along or across a line, or to cover
a plane.
Four Basic Patterns: Here, the letter F (and the blank space around it) is
taken as our fundamental region to demonstrate the four basic symmetry
operations or rigid motions:
FiF Translation: rigidmotion withrepetition along a line
Reflection: rigid
motion with
repetition across a
line (axis)
Fit_
In aw? ?. ma -k
Fid!
Glide reflection: rigid
motion with reflected
repetition along a line
Rotation: rigid motion
with repetition around
a point
FF
In rug weaving, the repetition of a design to
form a pattern is accomplished by counting and
repeating sequences of knots. The basic sym-
metries in carpets are thus effected knot by knot.
Border Patterns: In carpets, border patterns re-
sult when any or several of the basic symme-
tries are repeated in one direction. The
constraints of symmetry are such that there are
seven possible combinations.These are two of
them: ? ^
Field Patterns: Result when symmetrical rep-
etition takes place in two directions, thus form-
ing a two-dimensional pattern that covers the plane.There
are 17 systems which mathematicians classify as symme-
try groups. Here are two of them: p?
Symmetry in nature is always approximate. In the man-
made world, patterns that rely on strict symmetry are
boring?just think of all the hotel carpets you have seen
with symmetrical patterns. In my study of classical Ori-
ental carpets, through the analysis of symmetry and sym-
metry-breaking, I feel that I have gotten closer to the
minds of the makers?and they were never bored!
Mathematicians treat symmetry as an ideal state. But
it is in symmetry-breaking that truth is transformed to
beauty.The study of Oriental carpets may lead one to
suppose that in art, as in nature, it is in the approxima-
tion of symmetry, rather than in its achievement, that
beauty is to be found.?Carol Bier.
F, Fd
Glide reflection Rotation
14. MIX. M
Rotations
Reflections plus
rotations
Michigan Today
JOHN WOODFOBB- ExecutiveEditor
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JOY MYERS- Correspondence BB
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