For those who knew him (and many who have learned of his work since his death) Benjamin Rogge was a legendary Wabash professor. An Economics professor, Rogge’s influence was felt far beyond the borders of campus. On numerous occassions both as a student and now as an alumnus, I have been drawn in to a discussion of Professor Rogge after mentioning that I went to Wabash.

Whether you agree with his conclusions about economics or not, the video provides a great opportunity to see his signature humor and brilliance on display.

Did you have Professor Rogge as a professor when you were a student? What are some of the stories you remember or have heard from others about him?

Wabash Pioneer Chapel

Chapel has long been a tradition at Wabash College. According to longtime Wabash historian Robert S. Harvey (author of These Fleeting Years), in 1840 religious Chapel attendance was required fourteen times a week. The first Chapel was located in South Hall where it remained until it was moved to Center Hall in November 1870. As the student enrollment grew, the Chapel in Center Hall was outgrown so that Chapel was removed to the upper floor of the gymnasium.

Beginning in 1920, students were required to attend Chapel every morning except Saturday and Sunday. A number of these Chapel meetings were devoted to music and secular speakers. In 1929 there was a new addition to the Wabash campus, the now familiar, beautiful brick and wood trim Pioneer Chapel that greets every freshman on Freshman Sunday. During World War II, Chapel attendance was required only once a week and the Chapel sessions were seldom religious.

Beginning in 1946 compulsory Chapel occurred on Monday and Thursday mornings. That was the way it was when I attended Wabash. However, beginning in 1970 and extending into 1971 the faculty and students entered into a prolonged heated debate about compulsory Chapel and finally abandoned the practice.

During my tenure at Wabash, we had to attend compulsory Chapel twice weekly. We were allowed ten “cuts” a semester. Chapel attendance was strictly enforced by monitors who dutifully registered the attendance of all Wabash students who were required to sit in assigned seats. And woe to the student who exceeded his ten cuts. He was usually asked to stay out of Wabash for at least a semester. I knew of nobody, however, who was kicked out of Wabash for exceeding his ten Chapel cuts. I did have a few Beta brothers who came close to their quota and there was lots of gnashing of teeth until the end of the semester.

Two photos are attached. The first (above) shows the Wabash Chapel in its entire splendor. The second (below) is from the 1965 Wabash College Annual. In this picture, Dick Shelain, Wabash ’65, has been bricked in to his dorm room by several of his dorm mates. It was time for Chapel and he already had his quota of ten cuts. I don’t know what action Dean Moore took against the hapless senior but he must have taken pity on Dick because he graduated with his class.

Dick Shelain Wabash 1965 Annual

This post was submitted by Phil Coons, '67.

Dr. Haenisch loved to shout phrases that sounded good. I remember that “piffil whiffle” and “milli-pufftenth” stood for things were for things small, for example. He had a turn of phrase to help you remember things.

I remember a hot spring morning when the windows were open to keep down the heat — this was before air conditioning. Big Ed was doing a demonstration where two glass cups separated parts of a liquid. One was pink and included an indicator. He was about to remove the cups and let the fluid mix (thus causing the color to disappear). He reached in and as he pulled the glass cups out, there was a large clap of thunder very nearby. Most turned to look at the windows. Un-phased, Dr. Haenisch said “and that, gentlemen, shows you the power of chemistry.”

This post was submitted by Jim Clynch '67.

1. Find mentors or teachers who’ll be your principal educators.
2. Find some specific educational experiences outside your major and minor.
3. Make some of the greatest friends of your life.
4. Have good times – that you remember.
5. Keep connected to the world beyond Wabash.
6. Don’t take summers off – do something interesting.
7. Learn how to sing.

Interspersed between these points, Cook offered anecdotes and lessons from his own experiences. Remarking on an interaction he had with legendary Classics professor John Fisher, Cook said,

“John Fisher gave me two things no one ever gave me before or since – an artichoke and an F-plus. He made me eat the artichoke before another bite of food. And he told me the F-plus wasn’t just failure, it was an insult.”

What is the number one piece of advice you would give to current Wabash men on finding bliss? Let us know in the comments.

No, not what you are thinking.

It is what I like to call the reaction story. They change across time and space and some are overwhelmingly positive and others are lukewarm at best. I thought it was time to share some of mine from the different periods of my life.

As an eighteen year old making a college decision a lot crosses your mind. For the typical eighteen year old guy the most important thing is young women. Following closely behind would be: the food, how good are the sports teams, and how many years can I go before I have to graduate. Which is why when I told my friends I would be attending Wabash they just looked at me like they didn’t get it.

“You are aware there aren’t any ladies there, right? And you’re going to major in Latin? Have you thought about this? Wait, are you gay?”

That was an actual conversation I had with my girlfriend at the time. Just getting to Wabash often means doing something different than everyone else. Choosing Wabash is our own little piece of educational disobedience, and it may be the road less taken, but it has made all the difference in the world.

As if proof is needed, try explaining how the Gentlemen’s rule works to anyone who doesn’t go to Wabash.

“Wait, you mean you only have 1 rule? How does that work? I don’t get it. Explain it again.”

For guy friends of mine visiting Wabash they just couldn’t understand keeping order without a specific set of rules. For women friends who visited Wabash they thought it was great.

“Wow everyone here is so nice! Guys get the door, they let us go first, and they talk to me instead of staring at me. I wish I could go here!”

After I got to Wabash the reactions changed drastically. The summer between my junior and senior year I was looking for a summer job. I was not having much luck when a friend’s mother called me up and asked me if I had ever driven a forklift. Later that afternoon I had an interview to be a warehouse management intern. I didn’t have very high hopes as they were looking for someone with supply chain management experience. But about an hour after the interview I received a call from my friend’s mother.

“David was super impressed with you. He said you really understood what they wanted you to do, and that you had some really great ideas. He was even more surprised when I told him you were a Latin major at Wabash College. But he just chuckled and told me to call you right away and offer you the job.”

When I got to graduate school it was the first time in my life I really got to be the face of Wabash College. I went to school in the south, in a program where very few people had heard or knew of Wabash. However it wasn’t long before people started to understand what being a Wabash man was about. Many of my classmates had attended large public universities with classes often reaching into triple figures, and they had no real concept of how to “talk out” issues and come to collective conclusions. Many had never had to write a large research based paper, and even fewer were used to reading as much as we did.

All of which leads me to my favorite reaction from graduate school. A young woman in my program was a major in folklore (my program) at her college, and she seemed to think she would do better because of this. When we got our first tests back and mine had an A and hers a B she was furious. She asked to see my notebook and when she looked over the 2 pages of notes I had taken and compared it with the 18 she had taken she couldn’t understand how she had gotten the B and I had gotten the A. When I explained that you don’t have to write down everything the professor says — just the main ideas — she responded:

“Oh sure, that may work for you because you read everything and understand it. The rest of us come to class to learn the material and you come to class to discuss it. Was that what they taught you at that college of yours?!”

Wabash Diploma by Indiana Jonsmo on Flickr

As I continue my job search I always wonder what the people who read my resume think. Do they understand what being a graduate of Wabash College means? Do they even know that A.B. is a bachelor of arts conferred in Latin? Whenever you tell someone you went to Wabash you’re sure to get a reaction.

I want to thank all those Wabash men before me who have made it a positive reaction.

This post was submitted by Matthew Ripley.

JD Salinger, author of The Catcher in the Rye, 1951. Photograph: AP

J. D. Salinger died this week at the age of 91. That news item brought back a vivid memory from my freshman English class in the fall of 1961. It is one of the stronger of many lasting memories from my days at Wabash.

Robert Harvey read to the class one of Salinger’s short stories, “For Esmé with Love and Squalor.” He narrated the complete story over the course of two class periods–unhurriedly, with a clear, sonorous voice, with just the right amount of inflection to make the narrative interesting without being over-dramatic. He did not interrupt the story to add emphasis or critique. The only interruptions were occasional puffs from his cigarette.

I remember thinking initially that I would rather just read the story myself. But, after a few minutes I relaxed and recognized that this was great theater, that I was witnessing something remarkable and memorable.

I don’t remember much about the short story but I can clearly picture Robert Harvey’s narration of it. In the 1980s I bought Salinger’s “Nine Stories” and read “For Esmé with Love and Squalor.” The story was not better when I read it myself.

In a recent issue of Wabash Magazine, I saw a picture of Robert Harvey’s daughter. I regret that I never told Mr. Harvey how much I enjoyed his class and his reading of that Salinger story. It would please me if his daughter would see this memory and read what a lasting impression her father made on one 18-year old kid. Mr. Harvey’s love of literature, his teaching style, his authoritative bearing, his voice–all contributed to an enjoyable and entertaining semester of English and a lifelong love of books.

This post was submitted by Don Schmidt, Class of '65.

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Jim Carter '67 attempts 1,000 situps

Since my original conversation with Amanda, I have reviewed pictures from the Beta Theta Pi archives. Looking at these pictures enabled me to come up with some other “fun” things that we did at Wabash.

I found a picture of Jim Carter, ’67, who collected bets on whether he could do a thousand sit-ups. I was uncertain of the number at first, but pledge brothers, Clark Dickerson and Haines Lockhart are in agreement that is was probably 1000. Clark also recalled that once Jim took bets on how many hard-boiled eggs that he could eat in one sitting.

Movies at the Beta House

I also dug up a photo of Beta brothers in the basement watching “movies.” The gentle reader should note that these weren’t ordinary movies. It seems that an entrepreneurial student from another Indiana college would make the rounds of Wabash fraternities and living units, collect a small fee from each individual, and then show these 20’s era movies which were without sound. We provided our own sound with plenty of whoops and yells. I can even remember the plot of one of the movies….but, that is another story.

Lest anyone consider the Betas typical “Wabash Cavemen,” I submit this final picture, which features Jim Roper, ’68, at the piano before a “typical” Beta evening dinner. “Ropes” was an accomplished pianist in those days … in contrast to his later image as a “hoorah” USAF F-111 attack pilot. Steve Goldsmith, ’68, future mayor of Indianapolis, is pictured in the back row, second from the left.

Jim Roper '68 on the piano

I also recall that we watched a little TV. Football was always popular and we, of course, were glued to the TV screen during the first Super Bowl championship in 1967. The Beatles were extremely popular at the time; at least three of my pledge-brothers brought their record players when they moved into the Beta house. Most of the brothers were present to watch the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show in 1964 and 1965. And who can forget John Kennedy’s assassination in November 1963. The mood was quite somber that day in the Beta TV room. This was not fun.

These were a few of the fun things that we did at Wabash in the 1960s. Perhaps other 60’s graduates can add more in the comments.

This post was submitted by Phil Coons, '67.

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Group poses after the race

At the beginning of our senior year, Bobby Ritz ‘10, Justin Froedge ‘10, and I were looking to make the semester one to remember. Living with each other at Beta Theta Pi, we knew we would have the great stories from Homecoming or Bell weekend, but we wanted something that would keep us busy and make us feel like we had accomplished something. We decided to run a mini-marathon.

There are several issues for a couple of fraternity guys that have never run much in their lives to decide to do a mini. First, we had to find a race. Dallas, Outer Banks, Atlanta, Houston, and Burlington, VT were all on this list, but all a little far away. Then we found the Philadelphia Mini-Marathon that was the first weekend of Thanksgiving break. Perfect! We could take a long weekend and make a trip out there to run the race. Second, we had to find a training program.

How intimidating!

Some programs called for running seven days a week while others said run two days and swim or bike for four others. After some debate, we settled on one that said run four days a week and rest the other three.

Finish Line

We started training and it felt like we never stopped. Initially, we started running 3 miles four days a week. We maxed at about 30 miles a week and started to taper two weeks before the rest to rest our legs. Before we knew it, we were running ten and twelve miles and thinking nothing of it. It was hard to find routes for these long runs around Crawfordsville. Needless to say, we could show you every pothole on Ladoga Road for about five miles south of town. Without my two pledge brothers, there would have been no way I could have done so well in the training. Each day we had to run, one of them would come into my room and make sure I was ready to go and sure enough, out the door we went.

The training was great. Running four days a week with two of my best friends really made the semester fly by. Nic Schrader ‘11 also joined the program, although he did much of the training on his own because of time constraints with classes. His brother Nate ‘10 joined us on the journey but ran an 8k (now affectionately known as a “NateK”) due to conditioning for baseball. Before we knew it, the five of us were standing at the start line waiting to hear the gun go off.

We drove all the way from Indianapolis for the race

As the race began, I reflected on how far we’d come and how we all owed our success to each other. Just a soon as the race began, it ended. Before I knew it, I was struggling through the last mile and crossing the finish line under my goal of 2 hours. Bobby finished at 1:48, Nic at 1:45, Justin at 2:07, and I finished at 1:58. We had done it! We had set a goal and all accomplished what we had set out to do. I’d be lying if I said the phrase “Wabash Always Fights” didn’t go through my mind about one hundred times before the finish line.

Enjoying cheesesteaks at Genos

Brandon Stewart ‘08, a fellow Beta Theta Pi brother, was living in Philadelphia at the time and joined us at the finish line. After the race, he indulged our interest in Philly cheese steaks by taking us to Geno’s. He explained the rivalry between neighbors Geno’s and Pat’s and with one dissenter (Nate), we ended the meal by joining him in his Geno’s partisanship.

This journey helped me strengthen my relationship with my fraternity brothers. In fact, we have all already signed up for the Mini-Marathon in Indy on May 8th. Needless to say, Bobby has also signed up to run a triathlon and I have signed up to run two other mini-marathons, one in April in South Bend, and the other at the end of May around Geist Lake just north of Indianapolis. With a lighter class load this semester, we all look forward to accomplishing more goals and really pushing ourselves to do our best. With the end of our senior year just around the corner, it will be interesting to see where we all end up and how running will affect our lives after Wabash.

This post was submitted by Will Hoffman '10.

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First, then, what was it like to be a student in general in the late 1960s? Let me begin with my freshman year. In particular, let me begin with that aspect of the freshman year which had very little to do with academics and the classroom, and a lot to do with what was then called “Freshman Indoctrination.” As some of you may know, back in the late 1960s, the College had in place a program called Freshman Orientation or Freshman Indoctrination. This program applied to all freshmen—independents as well as to students in fraternities.

What did this mean in practice? Well, a whole bunch of things. Let me just go down the list, in no particular order. All freshmen wore hats called “pots.” These were green beanies with red brims and red buttons on the top, much like what the Phi Delts wear now. All freshmen were supposed to tip their pots to four groups of people: all faculty members, all members of the Senior Council, all women, and all visitors on campus. (Of course, when you came out of class, and had to cross campus, you had no idea of who was who, so you had troops of freshmen wigging their pots up and down, from one end of the Mall to the other, like caps flipping off beer bottles.) While freshmen were wearing their pots, upperclassmen played a version of “capture the flag.” Upperclassmen were at liberty to chase you, tackle you, seize your pot, and rip it up and hand it back to you. Freshmen were not allowed to sit at the round tables in the Scarlet Inn, lest they pollute the College seal which, in those days, was embossed on the backs of the chairs. Freshmen were not allowed to walk on the College seal, which was laid in linoleum the floor of the front entrance of Lilly library. Actually, nobody was supposed to walk on it, not just freshmen. (There’s carpet there now, a little past where the security gates now are. I wonder if the seal is still there.) Freshmen could enter or leave the Chapel only by the side doors—there used to be a door into the Chapel on the east side too. This was important because, in those days, we had required Chapel twice a week—once on Monday, and once on Thursday. You had an assigned seat. All freshmen sat up in the balcony, just as all sophomores sat at the back of the main floor, all juniors sat in the middle, and all seniors sat up front. All faculty sat in the part of the balcony that’s above the Chapel entrance. Attendance was required, and attendance was taken. You were allowed 10 cuts. If you missed more than 10, you were expelled from the College, no questions asked.

It goes without saying, of course, that all freshmen had to learn “Old Wabash” and the “Alma Mater.” There were two Chapel Sings, as we termed them then. They were much like what we have now, except that the Alma Mater sing took place outside, not inside. And, of course, as I suppose everybody knows, if you messed up in the end, you received, not a red “W” on a T-shirt, but a W-haircut on your head. As for other infractions—if (for instance) you accidentally walked on the College seal, or failed to tip your pot—you were summoned before the Senior Council. For the first offense, if I remember correctly, you were given a warning. For the second, you had to wear green long johns over your clothes for about a week. And for a third infraction, you also received the W-haircut.

Finally, I ought to mention the legendary event known as the pole fight. This took place just before Thanksgiving. There was a tall pole that used to stand just west of the plant, near the east end of the football field. In this event, a pot was placed on top of the pole, and the pole was slathered with grease. The sophomores gathered around the foot of the pole to defend it. The freshmen gathered some distance away in an attempt to conquer it. They were allowed three charges. That is, they could charge three times, attempt to clamber over the writhing mass of sophomores (whose arms reached up, Scylla-like, to drag you down into the well-churned mud), climb up the pole, and seize the pot. If they did—and if certain other conditions were met—the entire freshman indoctrination program ended, then and there. If the freshmen failed—which was usually the case—the program remained in effect until the end of the semester.

Such, then, were some of the common experiences that all students at Wabash underwent in the late 1960s. But what personal experiences, specific to this or that individual student? Well, there’s really only one person whose personal experiences I know about, and that’s me. So, if you will kindly indulge me, I’d like to say something about how I personally experienced Wabash in the late 1960s. By this I mean two things, sort of mixed together—my personal experience of the common experiences I just described, and then personal experiences which, as far as I know, were, well, specifically Blixonian.

But first a word of caution. Obviously, all this was a good many years ago now. And if I were to compose this talk in a month’s time, I might well remember other things. These are the things I remember this week. I also think it’s important to resist two extremes in recalling experiences like these. One extreme is to romanticize these experiences—to recall them through scarlet-colored glasses, to say how great they were, and to sigh nostalgically at the very telling of them over many a mug of beer. The other extreme is to intellectualize these experiences—to analyze them intellectually, to explain them through some theory or another (you can possibly conceive of a Freudian, psychoanalytic theory of the pole fight), and thus to distance yourself from the experiences themselves. I wish to do neither. I don’t find either of these extremes very helpful. The romanticizing extreme is uncritical. If you go that route, you run the risk of being self-indulgent. And the intellectual extreme is superficial. If you go that route, you run the risk of stifling the power of your imagination. Better, I think, simply to recall these experiences as best one can, and try to say, more or less, what they were like.

To begin with freshman indoctrination, I actually found it to be kind of fun. It was like a great game. True, I was never actually chased and tackled to the ground for my pot. But I do remember walking once past what is now the Dean’s house on Wabash Avenue, or at least somewhere near it. At least I remember that there was an iron-wrought fence. On the one side was a group of upperclassmen playing a vigorous game of touch football. On the other side was me, wearing my pot and walking humbly on the sidewalk, hoping not to be seen. As I walked past, an upperclassman suddenly reached over the fence seized my pot. Instinctively, and without thinking about it, I reached back across the fence, and seized the pot out of his hand, and slapped it back on my head and kept walking. I then glanced back, thinking he might be chasing me. But he wasn’t. He looked stunned and then broke into a smile. “Hot damn,” I thought. Well, not really, since at the time I didn’t use words like “damn.” But that was the feeling.

What about the pole fight? You will remember that I said I was a nerd. This meant, among other things, that I was very skinny, and had no athletic ability whatsoever. The good thing about being a nerd is that you learn to make your nerdiness work for you. Not only could I not imagine taking part in it, I couldn’t even imagine what good I could do. So during the pole fight, I stood up on the railroad tracks, safely out of harm’s way, and watched it from a safe distance.

And what about Chapel Sing? Not a problem. I learned the songs cold. I still remember where I stood in front of the Chapel, both times, staring at the top of the flagpole. Some upperclassmen did haze me, shouting and yelling. But I was unshakable. No W-haircut for me. But I should add—as an antidote to romanticizing—that there were a couple of fellows in our year who did get the W-haircut. They found the experience to be humiliating, and they subsequently left the College. Not good.

Let me finish with one last story. This too is about my freshman year. In the late 1960s, the College had instituted a new honors course called “Freshman Humanities.” In retrospect, it turned out to be a precursor to what later became freshman tutorials. Anyway, we were assigned a book to read before we came to the first class. If I remember correctly, it was a book by the French philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre, called Existentialism and Human Emotions. From my vantage point now, I probably would not recommend it as a first book for a College freshman to read. Anyway, I recall sitting in the Lilly library reading it, just before classes started. I was struggling with it. I glanced up, and there, across the way, sitting in another chair, was another student reading the same book. “Aha!” I thought, “a fellow sufferer.” At about the same moment, he saw me. He got up out of his chair and came over. He smiled and said, “Isn’t this the dumbest thing you’ve ever read in your life?!” I laughed and nodded. Then he stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “Hi,” he said, “my name is Bill Placher.” From that day forward, we became friends. And that friendship has lasted for—oh my goodness—for 40 years. For that, too, I am grateful.

So there’s the deluge of stories. I might tell others on some other occasion. But let me now stop. That was then. That was life, for me and my classmates. But this—this is now. This is your time. Please feel free to learn from the past. Feel free. Please be free, and feel it. You have the freedom to have your own experiences, in your own way, in this great, good place which we call Wabash College.

This article originally appeared in The Phoenix, a conservative news and opinion magazine at Wabash. Homepage photo courtesy of the Council of Independent Colleges

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As a young freshman at Wabash College living in the Lambda Chi Alpha house I had the unfortunate experience of getting a really terrible bout of the flu. Friday night I went to see “Anger Management” with some of the guys from the house. After the movie we got back and I realized I wasn’t feeling well.

I spent the next three or four hours oscillating between the bathroom and my couch. I was running a fever, I couldn’t sit up, I felt like I had just been hit by a train. After a while, the guys that were still around started to come in and check on me to make sure I wasn’t dying. Well, Dave Pitcher and Sean Gallagher were convinced I wasn’t dying, but they also thought I was in need of some medical attention. They convinced me to go the hospital and drove me there, my head in a garbage bag the entire way. After we arrived I was given several IVs and a few wonder drugs before I would be released in the morning. Dave and Sean stayed with me all night watching reruns of Saved by the Bell and Matlock until the doctors said I could go in the morning. After I got out the guys from the house talked to my parents and explained what had happened, that I was ok now, and that I was recovering nicely. They let me watch TV, brought me lots of juice, and generally took care of me. It was amazing how good a handful of 18-22 year old guys were at “playing mom”.

I will never forget that night. Especially because that is the night I really realized what it means to be a brother. It’s not just about sharing the good times, it’s about helping out in the rough times. Neither Dave nor Sean had to stay with me but they both did. They put their lives on hold to make sure I wasn’t going to be alone when I felt worst, and that small gesture made all the difference in the world.

This post was submitted by Matthew Ripley '06.

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