The Vassar Chronicles | More than the curtains: A history of pranks

Jon Cruz Columnist

Mischief. Humor. Mirth. They have a long history on campus, dating back well before this year’s stunt that made April Fools out of all who attempted to take a shower last Friday morning. Such jokes and humor have become more wide-scale and greater in their impact as student outlets for such “creative energy” have become increasingly decentralized.

The perpetrators of the recent shower curtain gag left few amused (particularly those seniors, living in the dorms as a result of the housing shortage on campus, without showers on a day that for many was a major time for employment interviews), but other tricksters and humorists throughout the College’s history have generally limited potential fallout caused by their activities by limiting the scope or staging ground for their antics.

Thus, during earlier years, most evidence of campus humor comes from small gatherings of students or from organized events. Many organized events included outside guests. In the nineteenth century, given Poughkeepsie’s status as a cultural center for upstate New York and Vassar’s iconic status as the premiere institution of higher education for women, big-name guests were not too difficult to attract. Philaletheis, the first student organization on campus, was originally the sole source of speakers for the College. Generally, such speakers were professional lecturers, but humorists were welcomed to campus as well, much to the delight of the students. Mark Twain was one of many such presenters.

Philaletheis itself also served as a forum for humor on campus. The group organized itself into three chapters—Alpha, Beta, and Delta—“on the principle,” according to a contemporary Vassarion, “by which ‘small boys divide a diminutive apple—to make more of it;’ or possibly the division was made with the idea that by competition between the chapters the society could avail itself of ‘the grand uses of friction.’” Competition between chapters was seen as a productive way to further the organization’s goal of cultivating artistic and social creativity and (perhaps paradoxically) community among students.

In addition to presenting scholarly collections of papers, literary criticism for classical poetry, translations of ancient dramas, and original writings by students, the chapters were able to poke fun at one another in a manner of friendly rivalry. (As noted in an earlier column on the history of Philaletheis, “Juvenile Delta, whose joy it is to dance and feast” was an all-too-common chant directed by Alpha and Beta at their sisters in Delta.)

As the organization began to branch out, student productions of both published and self-written plays became increasingly common, making use of production space in what became known as Avery Hall, as well as the Alumnae Gymnasium (later Ely Hall), and, eventually, the performance areas in the Students’ Building. Some productions, including 1898’s “A Lesson in Hypnotism”—one can only imagine the Victorian-style “farce in two acts” that such a production must have been—were well-received and even competed for on- and off-campus prizes. As more campus organizations formed, including several devoted to live performances (and, increasingly, to live comedic performances), such a need for an umbrella organization to include all sorts of performances faded.

Now, instead of looking forward to a singular performance from Philaletheis each week, students can choose from a variety of other student humor organizations, featuring delightfully tasteful (and delightfully distasteful) material for all to enjoy.

A massive theft of shower curtains would have been impossible given the fact that students did not have in-building restrooms during the nineteenth century; however, even if such facilities did exist, such a theft would have been unlikely, given the intense monitoring of the students. In the College’s early years, a small staff of women—the forerunners to the desk attendants—worked under the scrutiny of Hannah Lyman, Vassar’s “lady principal.” Though she possessed a pleasant sense of humor, she would never have approved of such behavior, particularly given its wide-scale, overall effect on the students. Discipline was stern, and, as such, most campus mirth in its first years was limited to dorm room conversations and illegal parties, in which students climbed out of windows on Main Building late at night to make it into each other’s rooms. Letters and diaries from these earliest Vassar students fondly recall many a late-night rendezvous and demonstrate that, even a century ago, students couldn’t help but poke innocent fun at professors, classmates, and each other.

This type of humor, though, was rather confined. Students were certainly not in a position to advertise their mocking of their superiors at the young and strict institution; thus, the impact of the humor was not appreciated by faculty or staff until many years later, when such letters and memoirs were studied and collected together for use by those who study and appreciate college humor. The exploits of these earliest Vassarions has become the stuff of legend, but it’s hard to imagine that the early Vassar girl believed her manner of presenting humor or throwing a party might be studied in a variety of professional historical journals as well as in extensive collections relating to the specific history of the college.

Of course, practical jokes have been on campus from its inception, and have continued to this day. Two years ago, the campus found a wide-scale bathroom robbery had deprived nearly all dorm residents of their toothbrushes (though, unlike the current situation, the stolen property was not returned). In recent years, stolen trees from ACDC have found themselves replanted in Noyes Circle, and while ransom notes may not have been as creative as “The Sheetz you Seekz Iz underneath your Feetz!,” such (humorous) tactics have been used by other April Fool’s thieves in the past. Stuffed display animals used in the college’s defunct zoology department have found themselves placed upon the top of flagpoles, and even the skeleton of a giant mastodon (described elsewhere earlier this year in The Miscellany News) have been at the center of campus jokes. Some older humor—such as the tiny yellow puffball “chick” on display alongside more legitimate taxidermic models in Olmsted Hall—are still in existence on campus.

Surprises have always been an important part of campus history. Founder’s Day, after all, started as a surprise birthday party for Matthew Vassar presented by thankful students. Delighted, he was happy to see the celebration continue annually.

The shower curtain fiasco might leave something of a legacy on campus, but it is not a standalone occurrence, even if its scale or effect is perhaps without precedent, at least in very recent memory. Humor (and surprises) are nothing new. Hopefully, though, future well-intentioned pranksters will take into account the effect of the scale of their good-natured fun.