CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 



IN all my long experience as a college official, I but 

 once met with opposition from any considerable 

 body of students. This was in the winter of 1908, in 

 connection with beery conviviality. The evil of 

 aca demic drinking has its roots deep in tradition, and 

 through the mere force of "good fellowship" easily 

 runs to disgraceful extremes. College authorities have 

 then two alternatives, either to ignore or to suppress; 

 the latter is difficult, the former dangerous both to 

 student welfare and the good name of an institution, 

 although many American universities, following 

 European precedents, have kept hands off and then 

 tried to hush resultant scandals. At Stanford for 

 many years we were relatively free from difficulty in 

 this regard. But from the time of the earthquake 

 conditions gradually grew worse, and in the spring 

 of 1908 certain incidents brought matters to a crisis. 

 A dry The city of Palo Alto as already explained 



had been from the first a "dry town." It was built 

 on farm property formerly owned by Timothy Hop- 

 kins, who had included in each deed the provision 

 that if any alcoholic beverage should ever be sold on 

 the premises the land would revert to its original 

 owner. To the north and south of the University 

 grounds, however, lie (respectively) the villages of 

 Menlo Park and Mayfield, both then unincorporated 

 and oversupplied with drinking places. 



As time passed on, students resorted more and 

 more to a popular Mayfield beer hall, the pro- 



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