18 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN
Rush Mights
AM commissioned to detail our Rush Nights because until I was a Junior I never took
part in one and so have a calm, judicial opinion of them. Freshman year, I remember
well, we had a wild class meeting when, among other things, we learned to sing with an
appearance of enthusiastically believing it, that “here we came.” The choice of people
to lead the line was another important thing accomplished at that class meeting. Some one
suggested Jeanette and some one else said: “Get up and let’s see you.”” Then Jeanette
arose, inflated her brawny chest, and rolled up her jumper sleeve to show us her muscle;
that was enough—and she and Agnes Wood successfully butted their way through all
obstacles.
Speaking of jumpers—I was ignorant in those days, and when Florence told us we were
to wear “jumpers and short skirts,” I had visions of us in some sort of baby clothes. The
appropriateness of it even made me mad. I was so relieved when Scottie told me a jumper
was a “middy blues.”
Well, that first Rush Night, I hear, was fearfully thrilling, and it accomplished the
purpose it was meant to. It introduced us to 1910 thoroughly, and to 1909 most pleasantly,
and we were not divided.
But the thrill of Sophomore year. It began when we decided to wear Pierrot costumes,
it rose when John Richardson discovered 1912’s tune and Amy and Scottie wrote derisive
words to it,—it reached a climax when behind Radnor we scattered the Freshmen, like so
much astonished chaff, thanks to Schmittie’s correct imitation of a Freshman. I did get
in on some of that Rush Night, for, coming out from town, and entering Denbigh, I heard
Kate Rotan Drinker shout, “No violence! Remember, no violence,” while she pushed
Hoby through the wall with one hand and propelled 1912 along with the other.
A little farther down Elsa was begging us to remember that we had given up violence,
while she deftly hung Delano over the electric light fixtures and helped the Freshman keep
on the key.
When we finally arrived under the Arch, Jeanette and Frances Hearne still locked in a
deadly struggle, Leila “ironing out” any one who came in her way, Virginia acting like a
snow plow through the masses of 1910, the Freshmen had been as it were discounted and
the contention was carried on by those most interested.
As Juniors we had arrived at the point of decrying violence ourselves, with fierceness
