The Crimson Bull and the Purdue Special

Humor has always been a popular approach when discussing collegiate life.  It has a way of fearlessly tackling the array of social and academic topics that confront college students like dating, partying, professors, Greek life, and sports.  Indiana University has a long history of student-published satire/humor magazines such as the Vagabond of the 1920s, The Bored Walk of the 1930s, and The Date from 1946-1947. Another was the Crimson Bull. 

In 1947, the IU chapter of the professional journalism society Sigma Delta Chi launched the Crimson Bull, adopting the name of a former IU student humor publication that was issued in the early 1920s. In post-WWII America, the editors of The Crimson Bull found it necessary to stir backlash against the mainstream propaganda distributed by University officials; they courted censorship, played with taboos, and encouraged criticism along with, of course, laughter, providing a unique yet undeniably relatable glance at IU student life.

c-bull-feb-1949003The IU Archives holds over 30 issues from the racy humor magazine dating from 1947-1956.  During its publication The Crimson Bull released 6 or 8 issues a year, many of which were special issues ranging from the eminent doom of graduation to “the birds and the bees.”  While many of these special issues targeted the typical collegiate themes, the November issues however were often reserved for a distinctly IU problem – Purdue.

Out of all of IU’s Big Ten competitors, our greatest rivalry is with our in-state neighbor, Purdue.  IU and Purdue have been in-state rivals for over a century, and although bitter opponents, the universities have tried to keep it in good spirits. The two universities have constantly fought over who holds the title of the state school, and the editors of The Crimson Bull were quick to inform readers on IU’s clear superiority. The publication dedicated at least three known issues to berating their northern neighbor university, be it through mock exposés, comic illustrations, or simply flaunting snapshots ofc-bull-1952002 IU’s impressively beautiful freshman women.

The magazine often refers to Purdue as COW College, stereotyped as the agriculture school that uses its engineering program as a front to disguised its crude, crumbling infrastructure.  Purdue is often framed as a true architectural horror with a dismal 6:1 male to female student ratio and embarrassingly subpar literacy standards. These magazine issues include articles set from the perspective of an “undercover” student journalist who bravely ventured to probe the Purdue campus along with interviews from phony “former” Purdue students who had supposedly escaped and transferred to IU, recounting many horrors.  The flagrantly false allegations made towards Purdue would have surely gotten a laugh out of any IU student – a scoff and maybe even a chuckle from a Purdue student.

c-bull-1949001“The Purdue Special” of November 1949 contains a particularly interesting article titled “Our Bucket” that investigates the origin and other historical moments from past Oaken Bucket Games (You can read more about the origins and history of the Old Oaken Bucket in this post from last week.)  The competition began in 1925 after the first Oaken Bucket Game ended in a deadlock tie, forcing the trophy to be shared between the two campuses – Purdue having the trophy for the first six months, IU for the latter.

As an IU alumnus myself, I especially enjoyed reading about the particularly rattling upset of 1930, where the IU underdogs defeated the Boilermakers at home.  It is rumored that the upset was so unexpected that the officials had only bothered to print a “P” link that year. After returning to Bloomington, accompanied by a band of celebration, the IU football team and fans were stunned to realize that the Old Oaken Bucket trophy had been stolen en route by a band of disgruntled Purdue students disguised in the IU cream and crimson.  An investigation pursued for the missing trophy and ten days later the Old Oaken Bucket was discovered unharmed on a loading platform in the middle of Lafayette.  The theft caused quite a scandal and further solidified a rivalry that to this day continues to divide Indiana homes.

What I enjoy most about The Crimson Bull is that although these magazines were written over sixty-five years ago, as an IU alum, one cannot help but appreciate the long standing tradition of the two universities’ love-hate relationship.

Contact the IU Archives to see the full collection.

 

Sincerely Yours: The Origins of the Old Oaken Bucket

This month’s Sincerely Yours post is brought to you by the Archives Photographs Curator, Brad Cook! 

One of the most popular Indiana University-Purdue University traditions began with this:

On October 23, 1925 IU Athletic Director Zora Clevenger replied to Frederick E. Bryan (IU Law, 1905),“Have scouts trying to land oaken bucket immediately.”

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In 1936, J. Frank Lindsay (IU 1913) recounted the origins behind the trophy in a letter to then IU President William Lowe Bryan. He noted that Wiley J. Huddle (IU 1901) had the idea that a group should undertake a “worthy joint enterprises on behalf of the two schools.” Thus, a joint committee of IU and Purdue alumni first met on August 31, 1925 and Dr. Clarence K. Jones (IU Medicine, 1914) “proposed the creation of a traditional football trophy…at a later meeting this committee recommended an old oaken bucket as the most typically Hoosier form of a trophy…”

It is said the bucket was found on the Bruner farm between the towns of Kent and Hanover, Indiana and that Confederate General John Morgan (of Morgan’s Raiders fame) drank from the bucket during his incursion into Indiana during the summer of 1863. Another story traces the origins of the bucket to Illinois, where it was first repaired at the American Steel Foundries of Granite City, Illinois and given an “antiquated” look by H. Raymond McCoy of the same company.

Presentation of Old Oaken Bucket, November 21, 1925. Archives Image no. p0023404
Presentation of Old Oaken Bucket, November 21, 1925. Archives Image no. p0023404

The bucket was unveiled at halftime on November 21, 1925 with writer and columnist George Ade (Purdue 1887) and Monon Railroad president Harrie Kurrie (IU Law, 1895) presenting. The symbol of supremacy for the friendly rivalry was cemented in place.“I” or “P” links made of brass were to be added to the bucket each year depending on which team won the tilt. The problem that first year was that the game ended in a 0-0 tie. Thus, Zora Clevenger announced that the bucket would be kept at IU until Purdue won a game. Soon after, a combined “IP” link was created to symbolize a tie. It is this very link that hangs from the handle of the bucket today and from which the remainder of the links are attached. Each is engraved with the date and score of the game.

Over the years the trophy has been: kidnapped on several occasions, escorted by the IU ROTC in 1945 from the IU p0054258Archives to the Auditorium for a football convocation, displayed on the third floor of L.S. Ayres in Indianapolis in 1950, and filled with beer after IU students “liberated” it from a Purdue trophy case in 1953. After speaking on the phone to former IU football coach Lee Corso, I was able to confirm that he and his wife did indeed take the bucket to bed when he first won the trophy in 1976. He was also able to confirm that he and his family placed flowers in the bucket and used it as a centerpiece on their Thanksgiving day table whenever it was in IU’s possession.

In a state built for basketball, there is no more prized possession between IU and Purdue than this football trophy and its ever-lengthening chain. Even during those seasons where one’s team has done poorly it is always felt the season can be salvaged if “we can just win the Old Oaken Bucket.”

As of the end of 2015, Purdue leads the overall series between the teams 72-40-6. Purdue also leads the trophy game series 58-30-3 – LET’S ADD ONE MORE WIN FOR IU HERE IN 2016!

Walter Q. Gresham: 19th Century Judge and General

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Letter from Gresham addressed to his wife

As you walk across campus, you may notice that most buildings have names. Some names may be familiar or well-known, but others may not particularly stand out. However, the people behind some of those names can have fascinating stories. One such person is Walter Q. Gresham. Gresham, an Indiana native, was born in 1833. He attended Indiana University Prep for a year and then became a student of law. By 1854, he had been admitted to the Bar and was on his way to an illustrious career. He briefly served his home state as a member of the Indiana General Assembly; Gresham then went on to serve his country during the Civil War, rising through the ranks to become a brigadier-general. He also organized the 53rd Indiana Infantry and was wounded at Atlanta during the war, ending his time of service.

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Handwritten copy of a letter from Gresham to his wife from Vicksburg. The handwritten copy was written by his son, Otto.

During this time, he sent letters to his wife, Matilda, which can be seen in the picture above and the picture to the left. The letter pictured above includes details of his recent experiences in the war, but it also includes a touching note to his wife and children:

“Don’t be uneasy if you don’t hear from me regularly for some time for I will have very few opportunities to write. Write often & continue to direct your letters as heretofore. I think of you often, yes every hour in the day I think of my dear wife & children. It is hard to be thus separated but a man must do his duty to his country in a time like this. God bless you & the children & take care of you is my purpose. I must lay down & take a nap for I will be up at 3 o’clock in the morning. Good night.

Your Officer Husband,

W. Q. Gresham”

In the copy of the letter transcribed by his son Otto, Gresham writes from Vicksburg in July of 1963 and describes how his regiment has marched over fifty miles over only a couple days. He takes great pride in the Indiana 53rd, saying, “Never did the 53d show its superiority over other regiments as it has on this March.”

After the war, Gresham’s career rose to a national level. From 1869 to 1883, Gresham served as a US District Judge. Indiana University then conferred an honorary LL.D. upon him in 1883. President Arthur then appointed Gresham as Postmaster-general, followed by appointment as Secretary of the Treasury; however, he was not in these positions very long. In 1884, he became a judge on the U.S. Circuit Court and served in this position until 1893. Gresham was a candidate for the Republican presidential ticket in 1888, although he did not receive the nomination. In 1893, he served as Secretary of State for President Cleveland. Gresham did not serve in this position for a lengthy time, as he died in 1895.

Gresham’s legacy lived on, however, as his family donated his sword from the war to Indiana University in 1911. Sadly, IU no longer has Gresham’s sword, but his legacy lives on through the dining hall with his name on the Bloomington campus. A large collection of Gresham’s papers can also be found at the Library of Congress.

Display card for General Gresham's sword
Display card for General Gresham’s sword

Charles DeBow: an Original Tuskegee Pilot

Lt. Charles H. DeBow, image appears in September 1942 edition of the Indiana Alumni Magazine
Lt. Charles H. DeBow, image appears in September 1942 edition of the Indiana Alumni Magazine

“…I’m flying for every one of the 12,000,000 Negroes in the United States. I want to prove that we can take a tough job and handle it just as well as a white man.”

So said Charles DeBow, one of the first African Americans to be commissioned in the United States Air Force. He was trained at the Tuskegee Army Flying School in Alabama, making him one of the first five African Americans to receive his wings. He was also an alumni of Indiana University.

The archives are home to the Indiana University War Service Register records that dates from 1920-1946. The collection, created by the Alumni Office, includes records and correspondences relating to the men and women of the university who served in World War II and was used to compile the original Golden Book. The records tell us how some students juggled their education, marriages, and careers with their promise to Uncle Sam, postponing everything for the sake of serving their country. Charles DeBow was not unique in that aspect; his father pushed for Charles to pursue a career in medicine. But the important milestone he set for African Americans all over the country is what makes his record a fascinating find.

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DeBow’s file includes his correspondence with the alumni office, a couple of newspaper clippings, and an article featured in the August 1942 edition of The American Magazine– a periodical that sometimes published articles about the lives of interesting American people–narrated by DeBow himself. In it, he explains his struggle with the race boundaries found both in life and the U.S. army. DeBow expressed that his dream of flying, although unrealistic, developed at a young age.

“…Negroes didn’t become aviators. They became elevator operators, and janitors, and porters like Dad. I knew all that with my head, but I kept my dreams in my heart.”

Putting those dreams aside, DeBow enrolled at IU after high school. As stated previously, his father insisted that he study medicine– a profession that could allow anyone, white or black, to make a good living. But DeBow was convinced that he would never be successful in the medical profession, and so he transferred to the Hampton Institute in Virginia to study business. That’s where he first learned to fly. The government selected twenty African Americans (out of around three hundred applicants) to learn the art of aviation. Afflicted by what DeBow referred to as “the flying bug,” he elected to drop out of college and eventually enlisted into the United States Army after months of working various jobs to save money. The glorious day had finally arrived when the War Department announced their acceptance of applications from African-Americans interested in the Air Force. It was finally a triumphant “yes” after years of hearing that same phrase “no Negroes” in the theater, in his career–in nearly every aspect of DeBow’s life.

The first five members of the graduating class at the Tuskegee air school. Charles DeBow is featured in the bottom right.

Charles DeBow became one of five members of the first graduating class of the Tuskegee army flying school in Alabama on March 6th, 1942. The other men in his class included: Ben Davis Jr., graduate of West Point and the son of Benjamin Davis, the first African-American to become a general in the U.S. Air Force; Lem Curtis, policeman from Hartford Connecticut; George Roberts of West Virginia, and Mac Ross of Dayton, Ohio. The commanding general of the South Eastern Air Force Center, General George E. Stratemeyer, delivered a speech for the ceremony. DeBow’s parents looked on proudly as winged pins were placed on each graduate’s chest. By the end of his narration in the American Magazine article, DeBow was still in training at Tuskegee. He had not yet seen the war front, but he was ready.

“Personally– just personally– I hope I get a chance to tangle with a Jap or a Nazi. Soon. I’d like to be the first Negro to bag one. I’ve waited a long time.”

That’s where the article leaves us. The Alumni Office at Indiana University sent DeBow’s father a congratulatory letter after the publication of this article and shared that they planned to release a feature story for him in the Alumni Magazine. But what happened after?

According to his obituary, which was published in the Indianapolis Star in 1986, DeBow commanded the 301st Fighter Squadron, flew 52 combat missions in the European Theater, and flew support missiodebow004ns for the Italian and D-Day invasions. His military career proved impressive and extensive, and his “wild, fantastic, impossible” dream had come true.

DeBow returned to Indiana University after serving in the Air Force and received a Master’s degree. Additionally, he
received a Master’s from Butler University, taught English for ten years at Thomas Carr Howe High School in Indianapolis, and became an associate lecturer in English at IUPUI throughout the remaining years before his death on April 4th, 1986.

If anything, the story of Charles DeBow and the other Tuskegee Airmen is one of true American patriotism: overcoming hardships and fighting boundaries in order to recognize and achieve one’s dreams. DeBow certainly broke the threshold the day they pinned on those golden wings– not just within the army, but for the entire basis of racial interactions in the United States.

Behind the Curtain: Dina Kellams, Director of the IU Archives

Behind the Curtain is a new series highlighting IU Archives staff, partners from various departments of the IU Libraries, and students who make all of our work possible. Follow over the coming months to read how and who make the magic happen! dsc_0428

Role: Director of the IU Archives

Educational Background: B.A. in English, B.A. in History from IU; MLS from IU

How she got here: Dina came to the Archives in 1999 as an intern and just never left.  She became interested in the field as an IU undergraduate while conducting research at the Lilly Library. She contacted the Archives to get some hands-on experience while earning her MLS and absolutely loved it. She says, “I would go home each day boring my poor husband with detailed descriptions of everything I did and saw that day.”

John C. Wilson's Diary,1857-1858
John C. Wilson’s Diary,1857-1858

Favorite item in the collection: A diary from a student in 1857. Dina loves materials that document student life. The diary includes great details about finding housing, classes, and interacting with the other students and faculty.

Current project: A major project that Dina has been working on for the past few years is a book about the IU Bloomington campus.  She has been working with colleague Carrie Schwier, Outreach and Public Services Archivist, and Terry Clapacs, Vice President Emeritus, on a book about the IU Bloomington campus. All of the writing has now been turned into the IU Press and they are in the final stage, photo selection.

Favorite experience in the IU Archives: While Dina was completing research for the book project, she stumbled across a 19th century headline about the first African American woman entering IU. Her name was Carrie Parker and her name had been forgotten here at the university. She started digging and found her family, including her son – now 100 years old! The University has since established a scholarship in her name, there are two commissioned portraits (one for the campus collection and one for the Neal Marshall Black Culture Center), and most importantly, her story is being shared. This is easily Dina’s favorite experience in the Archives.

What she’s learned from working here: In Dina’s time at the IU Archives, she’s learned that Indiana University has touched just about every corner of the world in one way or another.