The Cole Bin: Dating in the ’50s

By Duane Carlson ’55

Dating on the Hilltop in the ’50s centered on the ramshackle, shedlike building known as the Cole Bin, with its aptly named Furnace Room (aka The Passion Pit). It masqueraded as Cornell’s “student union.”

At decade’s start the “in” spot was George Brown’s Quonset hut establishment, on an alley across the street from Brackett House. But when it closed in 1952, the only hangout for a game of bridge, dancing, and smoking was the white frame Cole Bin (successor to the original off-campus Cole Bin), located in the valley between Armstrong and Pfeiffer halls.

It was purchased as a World War II nurses’ barracks, and its name was a play on the name of then-President Russell D. Cole, Cornell Class of 1922, and the term coal bin (yes, in the ’50s there still were houses with furnaces fueled by coal stored in bins).

The room at the far end of the Cole Bin, housing one of the very few TV sets on campus, was named the Furnace Room. Darkened by drapes, equipped with sofas, and closed off from the rest of the building, you can imagine why it was rumored that when the TV was broken for more than a week, no one complained.

Students who staffed the short-order snack bar were charged with retrieving dishes and glasses as well as doing some cursory cleaning of the Furnace Room. To avoid curses from the couples occupying the room, various strategies were employed. One was to try to keep your eyes on the ceiling while cleaning up (no easy feat), but during my time as a counter person, I used the noisy approach—knocking chairs against the tables in the main room, loudly singing or whistling, and then pretending that I was having trouble turning the doorknob. That usually sufficed.

With only a handful of student cars on campus, it was not easy to find the privacy needed for serious dating encounters. Abbe Creek was wonderfully remote but had a short—nonetheless glorious—season. The also aptly-named Practice Houses (two former residences whose rooms were equipped with pianos)—checked on occasionally by a night watchman who was afraid of the dark—also gave shelter to young couples.

By today’s standards, perhaps the most shocking aspect of the Cole Bin was its unrestricted welcome of student smokers. One senior, a veteran of counter work, said he had considered bringing a canary to work to warn him when the carbon monoxide levels got too high. In the ’50s, with two out of three doctors supposedly endorsing a popular brand of cigarette, student hands also were busy holding cards (bridge was the “in” game), cups of coffee, and Chesterfields for hours at a time.

Business at the Cole Bin had its own rhythm, picking up when the daily (yes, daily) Chapel sessions were held, after a sports event, and on Friday evenings when the smell of fish cooking drove Cornellians away from the Pfeiffer and Bowman dining rooms. Students were allowed 15 Chapel cuts a semester, after which you had to pay the then significant sum of $1 a cut. Some daily Cole Bin regulars at Chapel time had connections with certain Chapel roll takers.

Other features of the Cole Bin, in addition to the food service area with booths against the walls, included a large, hall-like room complete with tables, chairs, jukebox, and Ping-Pong set. Dances were held there.

The offices of the Royal Purple yearbook were in the Cole Bin. And overall operation of the place usually was supervised by a local woman who kept the larder stocked and up-to-date.

Ah, but it was the way a relationship would progress— from playing bridge in the snack bar area, to dancing in the main hall, to an afternoon or evening in the Furnace Room— that comes to the minds of many alumni when the late, unlamented Cole Bin is mentioned.

The late Duane Carlson ’55 dated his wife-to-be, Ann Holcomb Carlson ’55, at the Cole Bin. He was vice president of communications for Blue Cross and Blue Shield for over 20 years. This story originally ran in 2000.

CERENA WONG ’72

Pioneering judge

When California’s governor appointed Cerena Wong ’72 to the bench in 1985, she felt pressure to perform, though not because she was the state’s first woman of color to serve as a judge.

“I did not feel pressure because I was a woman or minority. I felt pressure because the job was hard and challenging,” she said.

Wong had worked as a deputy district attorney for nearly a decade— becoming the first woman to prosecute a death penalty case in Sonoma County—when she was encouraged to apply for a judgeship and was appointed. And that is when Wong faced one of the biggest challenges of her life.

Her term was short, after which she was up for election. A local lawyer looked at the slate of judges up for election and told the media Wong was the most vulnerable for defeat.

“I had to hit the ground running, literally running. I had to be introduced to politicians and get their endorsement. I had to raise money. I had to brag about myself. I walked neighborhoods. It was a humbling, challenging thing to do,” she said. “I thought being female and Asian would be seen as a bad thing. Instead, it was my age—35! They thought I was too young to do the tough things a judge has to do.”

She won with 82% of the vote and never had to campaign again. Wong served as a municipal court judge for 10 years and as a superior court judge for 20 years. Since retiring in 2011 she continues to help the court by filling in when needed.

Wong lives in Santa Rosa, California, with Gordon Burns, her high school sweetheart and husband of 50 years. She’s involved in her neighborhood and church, and helps care for two of their four grandchildren.

She arrived on the Hilltop from Los Angeles during the tumultuous fall of 1968. She said she was shaped by late-night debates in Bowman Hall over the war, racial justice, and the Old Sem Takeover. Until then she had not experienced racism, having grown up in Chinatown.

“But in little Mount Vernon, Iowa, this lady at the grocery store said, ‘Your English is so good!’ and it startled me,” she recalled. “For the first time in my young life, I really felt I was a minority person, different.”

Someone else noticed her speaking ability—in a much different way.

Her orientation group met at Professor of Philosophy Bill Debbins’ house, where he told Wong that she was a good speaker and should think about being a lawyer. “I thought, really? Not me! But that was like a little seed in the brain.”

After her second year on campus she decided to stay home with her family. She finished college at UCLA. Still, Cornell continued to shape her.

Wong was pursuing a master’s degree in English when she noticed a poster that read, “Are you thinking about law school? Take the LSAT.”

Remembering Professor Debbins, she decided to take the test, which changed her life.

Looking back, she said, “Cornell formed me and changed my life in so many ways. I am so grateful.”