Under Way

So I have finally started writing the actual book; I 've drafted about one page of the opening chapter, which is tentatively called "The Founder and Her Era."  I decided to open with the vignette about TPR stepping over the rattlesnake to hide it from her mother lest she decide not to move to Farmington.  I think it is a pretty cool story in its own right, and it illustrates an attribute - resolve, determination, whatever you want to call it - that is central to TPR's character and story. 
To get the school involved quickly, I turned to the notion that TPR said "I will build an indestructible school for boys" on her first night as a student at Miss Porter's.  Next up will be a summary of TPR's architectural studies and her early commissions, followed by the early preparations for building the school.
This plan begs at least two questions.  First, when and how do I work in the Lusitania?  That obviously is a pivotal moment in TPR's life and I need/want to debunk the whole she-woke-up-in-a-Cotswold-village thing.  It won't be hard, I think, but I can't see right now how it fits into the outline.  The second question is what to do with TPR's avid interest in Psychical Research (which is what prompted her to get on the Lusitania).  I cannot escape - and I have no interest in escaping - TPR's eccentricities (I'm opening with her hiding a poisonous snake under her skirts; clearly she was an unusual person), but I am not sure how far down that path to wander.  This is, after all, a history of the school, not a biography of its founder. 

Snake Found!

It turns out MacLeish's Texas Bull Snake - "Ozzie" - stayed out of sight for over a month but then turned up in the quad between classes on a Wednesday in late May.  Ozzie was shedding when he was found, and Pete reports that "it was carried off in Triumph to the lab, from which, it is hoped, it will never escape."

Update

In case you were wondering, The History Press did send a contract a while back, but the editor and I agreed to put off signing it for a while.  I was concerned that it has specific due dates and word count windows, and I suggested we wait until I had a draft of the Founder's Era chapter done - the theory being that writing that draft will give me a much better idea of how long the book might be and of how long it will take to write it. 
In the meantime, speculation has it that the four May, 1934 forest fires on the estate were caused by careless horseback riders throwing cigarettes into the dry grass by the sides of the trails.  Fortunately, there were boys on the tower (Dio tower? the water tower?) doing fire-guard duty; when they sounded the alarm, other boys raced to the scenes of the fires and put them out before they spread too far.

Censored!

The archives have two versions of the first page of April 29th, 1934's issue of The Avon Weekly News-letter.  On the first of them, Pete has written "Censored" across an article that does not appear on the second of them.  It seems Kenneth MacLeish's six foot Texas Bull Snake had suffered a fractured rib and so had been illegally smuggled into the dorm to recuperate.  The snake then got out, went behind the radiators, and disappeared into a gap in the wall.  As of the first writing, he had not yet been found.  It is easy to imagine how the notion that a six-foot snake was loose in the dorm might unnerve some students - indeed, the April 15th issue of the News-letter (which reported the snake's initial arrival at school) contains a cartoon depicting a terrified student who has awakened to find a snake on his lap.  The caption reads: We might wake up some time in the night and see.. A snake devour a branch of the family tree..  If censoring the newsletter was an attempt to keep the students in the dark, it failed; the boys who went to Hartford that week found a full report in the Hartford Times, and there was a subsequent notice in the New York Herald Tribune. 
Perhaps the whole thing was a spoof and that is why Pete was not allowed to run it; perhaps Avon, like Hogwarts, has a giant snake living within the walls...

Update

As predicted, it is extremely difficult to carve out time for this project during school, especially these last few weeks of exams, comment-writing, etc.  The approaching Long Weekend does not offer much solace, inasmuch as I have a conference in Boston and need to prep about five weeks of A.P. World.
Still, there is news.  At its winter meeting, the Board approved the project, which means it is now "official."  I believe The History Press will be offering a formal contract, which would make things really official, but I have no idea at present what the nature of that contract will be.  I will be moving ahead prior to Spring Break in March; I simply cannot wait that long to get back to the Weekly News-Letter, and it may be that I'll be able to conduct an interview or two in February.  I do hope so.

The Avon Weekly News-Letter

When Pete Seeger '36 found supplementing his allowance by shining shoes to be "slow going," he discovered that the school would let him use the mimeograph machine, and The Avon Weekly News-Letter was born.  Pete produced the News-Letter from January of '34 through his graduation in '36, and the school archives contains bound copies of every issue.  In a hand-written note at the start of the first volume, he explains that he has since heard the News-Letter was the reason TPR kept renewing his scholarship, "Mrs. Riddle liked my little paper, giving her informal news of the boys at school - whereas she probably only got formal reports from Dr. Kammerer."
There was a lot going on at school in the '30s, and none of it escaped Pete's attention.  The second paragraph of the first issue lists the five students, both Custer brothers among them, who came down with chicken pox during the Christmas holiday; he goes on to observe that Kunau is in the infirmary with a twisted knee.  The most striking aspect of the first few issues is the number of animals on campus; Pete reports on a hog the biology department is planning to slaughter, a bunch of pheasants, a flying squirrel, ten ducks and an unspecified number of rabbits.  A student who could not return - John Ferry - arranged for agents - Peters and Burns - to sell his goat, pheasants, guinea hens, tropical fishes, chickens, and ducks, "and at surprisingly low prices."
In three weeks, Pete mentions two trips into Hartford to hear speakers, the county farm bureau's annual field day, the school's maple sugaring operation, the presence of the Civilian Conservation Corps, the literary club, the music club, the Glee Club, a polo match against the Yale freshmen (an excellent team, they spotted Avon ten points and won anyway), and intra-mural sports such as fencing and jiu-jitsu.  There was even a student - Jack Downing - who supplemented his allowance by providing a later breakfast on Sunday mornings in the science lab.  "Coffee, waffles, and maple syrup or honey for .25 at ten-thirty in the morning.”
As the last of the January, 1934 issues ends, Pete reports a certain amount of trepidation about February 1st, when a new rule mandating hand-tied bow ties at dinner was to take effect.

Twilight Zone

Among my Christmas gifts was a beautiful, somewhat antique desk with lots of drawers and cubby holes and a tall cabinet.  So I decided the shelves in the cabinet would be an appropriate place for some of our elderly books, especially Dad's many volumes of the Yale Shakespeare.  As I was putting them on the shelves, I noticed that several of them were edited by Robert French of Yale's English department.  It struck me that this same Robert French was once offered the position of Provost at Avon Old Farms.  He was working at Yale, was offered and tentatively accepted the position at Avon, then changed his mind and accepted a promotion at Yale.  As so many had, he cited the existence of the Aide to the Provost/Master of Detail in explaining his reluctance to come to Avon.  It is hardly surprising that something in our house would be connected in some way to the history of the school, but now I wonder if there is anything here that isn't.