Strange as it may sound, there is a profound sense of solitude that pervades the archives. At first I thought it was due to the fact that being surrounded by old newspapers and books is quite peaceful for a bibliophile like me. I realized, however, that this solitude also stems from the fact that I'm often the lone Jumbo in the archives.
Your aversion to the archives is understandable but unfounded. The first time I descended into the depths of Tisch Library, I expected to find archaic newspaper articles, a few photos of old buildings and a generally yawn−worthy student population. In reality, I was entertained by the many ways our Jumbo ancestors were neither prim nor proper, and I truly believe that the class of 2011 very easily could have chilled with the class of 1857.
Although slang and styles of dress change over the years, there are certain things about Tufts students that seem to transcend the ages. I think my favorite example of this connection comes from the 1890 "Brown and Blue" yearbook. In a drawing of a typical dorm room, an unmade bed sits beneath a window covered in cobwebs while a potted plant sadly droops on the windowsill. The floor disappears beneath an assortment of mismatched shoes and every dresser drawer is flung wide open, allowing a cascade of clothing to spill forth. A lone banana peel lies on the floor, surrounded by a scattered deck of playing cards. And of course, the piece de resistance: a mirror for the vainglorious resident, cracked beyond repair.
Why, you may ask, do I get so nostalgic over a century−old sketch? Well, until I took pity on my roommates and decided to do a little spring cleaning, this is exactly what my portion of the room looked like last week. Actually, that's not entirely true; I at least have the decency to keep banana peels on my desk. But banana peels notwithstanding, I am always amazed at how I feel so connected to the Jumbos of yesteryear after a trip to the archives.
There is certainly something to be said, however, about the physical changes that have occurred on campus over the years. The Hill has changed immensely since its inception: Eaton Library became Eaton Hall, the observatory on top of Pearson is no more and the saplings dotting the quad in the 1860s grew into the wonderful climbing trees of the 2000s. Despite this changing landscape, Jumbos have remained a consistently hardworking, friendly and quirky bunch, which certainly makes researching in the archives entertaining to say the least.
This isn't to say that researching in the archives is always easy. In fact, I think I spent the majority of my research sessions distracted by century−old inside jokes or smirking at the witty prose of my column−writing predecessors. But the great thing about the archives is that you never need to go in with a specific purpose or a clear topic in mind. Whether you simply inspect an old copy of the Weekly or request to see Jumbo's tail, I guarantee that you will learn something new and fascinating to share with your friends at dinner that night. Trust me, I've been babbling on about Charles Tufts and the Flying Machine Club all semester and my friends consistently respond to these nuggets of history with expressions of (mock) fascination.
In all seriousness, I really would encourage everyone to stop by the archives at least once before the semester is over. Whether you're heading home for the summer, going abroad in the fall or a senior spending his or her last few weeks on campus, we should all have a little piece of Tufts history to sustain us until we return to the Hill.
Not to mention I'd love some company while researching for the commencement issue.
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