The lady, the leaves, the legacy A brief history of the eucalyptus pin and the woman who created it By Sarah Stevenson, MFA ’04
he late 1940s :
Mills Hall
She thrived in the intellectual and social environment, despite
was a student residence,
missing the “beautiful stone walls and open country” of her
populated
lively,
native New England. Though she is modest about her own stu-
bright young women earn-
dent years, her longtime friend Michael May Lovgren Langner
ing an education at one of
’48 describes her as a divergent thinker with wonderful, imag-
the most prestigious colleges on
inative ideas, who could sew like a pro and knit almost any-
with
the West Coast. The living room was
thing—even, sometimes, knitting at the movies.
a hub of social activity. Kapiolani
“Being at Mills gave her a sense of freedom,” Michael says—
Road was lined with the eucalyptus
freedom that sometimes resulted in mischief. As an undergradu-
trees that gave Mills College one of
ate art major, Binkie’s creative streak occasionally landed her in
its most treasured visual symbols.
the middle of outlandish, often hilarious schemes. One evening,
And an indefatigable class of students
for instance, a group of friends completely emptied the dorm
was preparing to return to the wider
room of a popular classmate, Betty Legge, while she was out on
world—a world still emerging from the
a date. When Betty returned, to her consternation, the only thing
aftermath of World War II.
left in the room was a stripped bed!
One of those soon-to-be graduates was
The most memorable “incident” for the Class of 1948 involved
Nancy Butts. In those early days, before she
a cow. At the time, the College president was Lynn Townsend
became Nancy Whittemore ’48, the staunch East-Coaster
White, a medieval historian who, Michael recalls, could wax lyri-
alliteratively introduced herself as “Binkie Butts from Boston.”
cal about the humble horse stirrup. He was doing just that dur-
The first time she did so—at a freshman meet-and-greet—there
ing a campus gathering for seniors at Lake Aliso as the sun went
was a long silence. Then a few giggles erupted. Soon the room
down and the students got restless.
was full of laughter, a warm acceptance into the fold. Nobody, of course, ever forgot her name.
While Dr. White was orating, Michael says, she and Binkie, along with Redi Elliot Leake and Mary Alice Garms Ramsden,
Nor did they forget the tragedy that brought their class
decided to make their own adventure. “We went to get Mrs.
together. Later that year, the war claimed the life of Binkie’s
Moo from a couple that lived up the hill from campus. When
youngest brother, bringing harsh reality home to everyone in
we returned with the cow, we entered singing.” The lyric? I Never
Mills Hall.
Saw a Purple Cow, of course—most appropriate for the class
“We were a wartime class, an amazing and very active class,”
whose color was purple. The prank would later be immortal-
Binkie says. These classmates have remained close-knit over
ized in the form of a souvenir gift for the class’s 35th Reunion: a
the years, despite having gone their separate ways. Binkie her-
sweatshirt silkscreened with 48 purple-and-white cows.
self ultimately returned to New England. She attended business
As their innovative class secretary, Binkie was the one respon-
school at Harvard/Radcliffe, and later became an administra-
sible for the sweatshirts, and for numerous other Reunion gifts,
tive assistant and mother of two; a busy go-getter and an ener-
including one of Binkie’s personal favorites: small silver wine
getic volunteer who found a calling assisting the Red Cross and
tasters made using 1948 quarters. But the popularity of their
countless other organizations.
50th Reunion token would far surpass the gifts of previous
Before that, however, Binkie made a place for herself at Mills. 18
M i l l s Q u a r t e r ly
years, and the gifts of years to come.