I am confident enough to make the argument that the Digital Collections and Archives in Tisch Library is one of the most fun places on campus. Don't get me wrong — sweaty, beer−soaked frat basements always guarantee a good time, but if you're looking for somewhere a little more refined to spend your free time, I suggest you stop by the archives.
After trekking through Tisch and finding a staircase that leads to the ground floor, you'll find the archives at the end of a hallway lined with posters and photographs of Jumbo. This pachyderm paraphernalia is misleading, however, because there is so much interesting Tufts history beyond the whole ashes−in−a−peanut−butter−jar saga. (But I do feel obliged to make one Jumbo plug: If you get the chance to go, make sure you ask to see Jumbo's tail. It's pretty sweet.)
And so my research began. I started with the archives' collection of the Tufts Weekly (the predecessor to the Tufts Observer) in the hopes of becoming familiar with the Tufts of old. Yet the only conclusion I reached from my cursory research was that the deeper I dug, the more unfamiliar and downright strange Tufts began to appear.
If you've ever been to a Tufts activity fair, you know the overwhelming number of clubs we have on campus. But after looking at the 1890 Tufts yearbook, it has come to my attention that we are seriously lacking some important extracurricular activities. Whatever happened to the Banjo Club, the Checker Club or the Evening Party Association? And personally, I think a restoration of the Flying Machine Club is seriously overdue.
An October 1954 edition of the Weekly contained a section with student opinions about the recent buzz to do away with Saturday classes. That's right: Saturday classes. Strangely, one student said he wanted Saturday classes eliminated because he "would prefer to spend Saturday morning reviewing the work of the week." Another student complained that Saturday classes cut into the time when she normally attended football games or other sporting events. (Tufts students attending games other than Homecoming? The archives were officially blowing my mind.)
After the initial shock of banjo aficionados and one−day weekends, I began to breathe easier when I came across a few news articles that made me realize that some things about Tufts will never change. In September 1981, the Observer did a little historical sleuthing of its own and uncovered this headline: "Competition for enrollment in the Class of 1960 was the keenest in the history of the University." To this, the Observer staff asked: "Heard that line before?"
Three decades later I believe I can still say yes, I have most definitely heard that line before.
And apparently, the standards of on−campus housing have always been a bit of an issue, to say the least. A 1981 report of the 10 worst rooms at Tufts included one in Lewis (shocking), a few "closet singles" in Haskell and, oddly enough, one in West. It appears that in the 1980s West saw an infestation of mice, birds and a fourth−floor room with "a resident squirrel who can be found, variously, in one's living room, one's bed and one's peanut butter."
There's a lot of weird Tufts history out there, and I'm not going to bore you with the same tired stories about painting the cannon or Jumbo saving Tom Thumb. I promise to dig deep and find the juiciest, craziest stories the archives have to offer.
And if that fails, I'm sure I can bring you more stories about our resident squirrels.
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