"Memories of Oberlin College," continued ...
Even after the war, the smaller houses often attracted students with similar interests. Embassy and White House seemed full of large male athletes, while Pyle Out, a small house for women near Pyle Inn, seemed to be a nest of politically aware (that is, left-leaning) young women who played records like Six Songs for Democracy, a collection of anthems from the Spanish Civil War. Someone gave me the album and I still have it.
There were, of course, no student cars allowed on campus. Virtually everyone had a bicycle. And there were no alcoholic beverages, since Oberlin was a dry town. It was possible to get 3.2 beer at the pool hall on Main Street and regular beer at Presti’s, a small roadhouse just over the town line, but these were frequented mainly by upperclass sophisticates. After a few beers at Presti’s, the crowd would begin singing a ribald ditty called “The Persian Kitten,” to demonstrate their sophistication.
Much of this began to change in 1946 as those who had left the campus at the beginning of the war as boys returned as young men who had been all over the world and seen and done things that would not have won the approval of Dean of Men Ned Bosworth or Dean of Women Marguerite Woodworth.
Perhaps, to cover the bases for modern readers, we need a word about sex. Essentially, there wasn’t any at all before the war, and none of the unmarried sort after the war ended and the Navy V-12 unit had departed. The scandal story of 1942, as I recall, was that a young woman Review columnist had been summarily dismissed from the college for writing a column advocating what was then quaintly called “free love.” After the war, the trailer colony off Lorain Street accommodated newly married veterans, so there was some sex, but for the mass of unmarried students, there was none, at least none to speak of. And no one did speak of it. Before the war, marriage without the rarely granted permission of the Dean was sufficient reason for separation from the College. After the war it was tolerated.
Apart from chaste goodnight kisses on the dorm porch, relations between men and women were largely restricted to dances given by the various dormitories or classes, to “libe dates,” meaning joint study in the big room of Carnegie Library with an occasional trip to the stacks, and to strolls downtown for coffee at a funky little hangout called the “Vars,” meaning the Varsity Restaurant, or to the Campus Restaurant after an afternoon of study.
The more important campus dances were given in Hales Gymnasium, and these were governed by dance cards in which were inscribed the names of the woman’s partner for each dance. Faculty chaperones were always present and were listed on the back along with the house or class officers. Corsages were usual for the women. Dancing was usually slow and decorous, with an occasional round of jitterbugging, and always ended with the sentimental signature tune, “I’ll Be With You Where You Are.” Less-formal dancing to records was held after supper in Rec Hall, the basement of Wilder. There the formidable Miss Katharine Von Wenck, a kind of social doyenne, patrolled the floor cautioning couples who were found too closely entwined.
Dress was casual for both men and women, except for Sundays, when women were expected to appear at noon dinner in nylons and heels and men in coats and ties. There was a limited assortment of other social events, mainly teas, held in the dining halls that were the chief social settings of the College both before and right after the war. These teas also required Sunday dress, and the housemother usually poured.
Of course we went to class, from 8 a.m. until noon, Monday through Saturday. In the afternoon there were two-hour labs, or work in the library or at the Review, the Hi-O-Hi, or Picolymp (a magazine), or any one of numerous other activities. Some people went to the football games on Saturdays, but most simply studied and took a perverse pride in all they had to do.