only forty-eight when he died—and it was a poignant moment when his likeness joined the older faces in the frames that already covered the chapel walls. Senator Hoar spoke for everyone’s affection in his reminiscence of Professor Thompson’s enthusiasms, his “beaming face and clear frank eyes.” Professor Alden ac cepted the portrait for the school with the best compliment he knew how to say: “He was what he seemed.” Dr. Fuller, a graduate of Dartmouth and a clergyman, had been appointed to succeed Professor Thompson not only as principal but also as professor of chemistry. In addition he taught geology, his pet subject, and required it of every student. School life was not new to him, for he had been principal for many years of an academy in Vermont. “Good morning, are you well?” was a question that was asked, answered, and ignored more times than the students wished to count during the twelve years of Dr. Fuller’s presidency. He seemed to be everywhere. There was no place where the students could avoid the soft-soled approach of what they called his “sneakers,” more for their function than for their style. His strictest rule was “No whistling.” One boy’s graduation was postponed a year because of erring in this respect. There was no one then to know that one of the saddest commentaries of following generations would be that boys no longer often whistled. The boys’ pranks during the regime of Dr. Fuller were designed to outwit the good Doctor, and when he resigned to go to a “milder climate,” there were a few boys who suspected they knew what he really meant. These were the years when the Goat’s Head story and the Buckskin episode became legends at the Tech. The story of Mr. Higgins’ Buckskin has been told by everyone except the horse himself, who might probably ask for some credit for surviving the experience. It took a smart horse to negotiate a two-flight spiral staircase up to the chapel, and a mighty good-natured one to submit to an exit upside-down by block and tackle. The final indignity came when the poor old horse was sold to avoid the notoriety of being seen on the streets of Worcester. This was the only escapade which brought to a full stop every function at the Institute. Everyone was suspended, but thanks to the intercedence of Johnny Sinclair, no one was punished. Afterwards, the record reads, “The faculty discouraged for some time all forms of student activity not connected with the regular work of the Institute.” For several years school spirit was kept alive only by surreptitious feedings by the students at their Half-Way-Thru banquets, dramatic shows, junior promenades, noisy serenades, and athletic programs. The basement of Boynton Hall became a scramble of scheduling for such groups as the Tech Fencing Club, the Wres tling Club, and the Rifle Club. Skating, tennis, bicycling, football, baseball, and basketball (with many an excellent team) all had
Library label, Thompson memorial gift
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