Features
Hamilton history: The Arbor
By Molly Geisinger ’19
April 7, 2016
Tags features
Many know Hamilton College for its regal beauty, as it sits atop what students have come to call affectionately the Hill. While a majority overlooks the unobtrusive landmark that sits beside a sharp bend in the road, those who have dared venture up the Hill by foot may have noticed a stone structure known formally as the Arbor.
Records show that this peculiar monument has been in existence for more than 150 years. In an entry of the Hamilton Literary Magazine from 1894, an author writes that the first structure, a “ramshackle affair,” fell during the time when Fort Sumter was seized by the confederate forces.
When students arrived back on campus in May 1870, they found their “old, shattered, led-smashing arbor swept away” and discovered it was slated to be rebuilt thanks to the beneficence of Dr. C.H. F. Peters. The designer, Charles Fuller, intended for it to be dedicated to the “respective goals of smoke, sociality, laughter and song.”
After its third reconstruction in 1894, the Arbor was lined with Georgia pine in a natural finish, had cedar shingles and oak seats. By the fourth time around, the Arbor underwent its final designs from Fred H. Gouge ’70, resembling the structure passersby see today.
The Arbor is also visible on a map of campus, created by Clarence Aldridge ’45, which depicts a 1933 rendition of the college expanse. Yet even earlier images capture the alcove from the beginning of the 20th century. Some early images portray a man and woman clad in 1920s garb standing at the entrance. Perhaps images such as these marked the beginnings of a myth that if someone walks beneath the Arbor with another person, the two are bound to marry each other in the future.
If vintage images were not responsible for the romance associated with the Arbor, then it might have been President Melancthon Woolsey Stryker’s prediction in the 1894-95 Hamilton Literary Magazine that to the Arbor’s “present tender association the years will add those of romance.”
Though there is no evidence to verify or reveal the beginnings of the longstanding myth, the bower remains a secluded and private location in which students may find solace.
A series of hand-painted postcards in the archives depict the arbor from various angles and in different seasons. Yet one feature that stays the same is the unpaved road running alongside it. At the beginning of what was then known as Junior Hill Road is a steep curve, which students in the late nineteenth century discovered was a perfect sledding route.
Sledding, or coasting, was a popular sport for students and faculty alike. On their route down the hill, students would pass by fraternity houses whose front lawns were speckled with sleds bearing their insignias. President Stryker, who served from 1892-1917, even had a sled, which he named Sybil after the Greek prophetess, noted Maurice Isserman in On the Hill: A Bicentennial History of Hamilton College.
Undergraduates would race down on high-runner sleds, screaming “road” at sharp turns. Students would wear heavy hunter’s boots, laced up to the knee. One student could sled down the dirt road at nearly 40 miles per hour and three students could reach 50 miles per hour or above. According to typical undergraduate hierarchy, freshmen were often responsible for carrying the sleds back up the Hill, even if they had not ridden down the Hill themselves.
These high speeds and adrenaline-rush activities did not come without consequences, however. Three fatalities occurred during a 60-year time frame. The first occurred November 26, 1855. Charles Merrill Ferrin from the Class of 1857 injured himself sledding down the hill and was carried into Anderson House before he died. Later, a first-year student, Winslow Clark Candee of the Class of 1886 was wounded on December 8, 1882 and brought to the president’s mansion before he died the next morning. The third fatality occurred December 17, 1916 to James Edwin Manion, Class of 1918, who died of septic poisoning December 24.
The College learned from its mistakes, paving the road in 1926, hoping to prevent students from sledding down the treacherous hill. The College’s efforts proved unnecessary, however, as the increase in automobile collisions became a more effective deterrent.
Regarding the fatalities that have occurred near the Arbor, many students believe that the structure was built to commemorate the death of a student. Factually, it was, though not for a coasting accident. The original structure was erected to serve as a memorial for generations of students. Now, however, its fourth reconstruction was designed by Fred H. Gouge ’70 for John N. Beach Jr. ’94, who died off campus during the summer of his junior year.
Today, the Arbor still sits inconspicuously at the bottom of the Hill, hidden among tree branches and overshadowed by a sharp bend in the road. Though it may not be an accurate omen for marital status, it does represent decades of history and the experiences of students from earlier decades. Next time, do not forget to take a look.