Features - February 9, 2000

• To Princeton with...

To Princeton with...

If, as the old adage goes, it's not the gift that counts, but the thought, a quick perusal of some of the gifts made to Princeton through the years raises a question: What were they thinking?

Granted, it's hard to know just what to get a university that has, well, everything. You can always give your weird Uncle Dave another tie, and Grandma really doesn't care what you get her as long as it's wrapped nicely, but for many Princeton alumni it seems Old Nassau retains a special spot on the annual gift list. Sure, there's always the old fallback: Money. Anybody can open the wallet-from George Washington in 1783, who coughed up a then-quite-generous 50 guineas; to Gordon Wu '58, who two years ago ponied up an impressive-even-when-adjusted-for-inflation $100 million; to the legions of more modest annual givers-and, sure, the university is always willing to sock away another chunk of cash and dash off the perfunctory press release and thank-you note. But where's the imagination in that?

No, far more interesting and, one imagines, far more dear to a grateful school's heart, are those cheerful givers who see fit to put a little more consideration into their presents-even if those presents are not always the most lavish or practical. Or, indeed, even if those presents are not always accepted. (A university, after all, has its standards.) George F. (Bud) Schmucki '41 has been the recording secretary at Princeton since 1988. Through his office (often literally) come all of what are known as special gifts to the university. These "gifts-in-kind" (everything that isn't money), Schmucki explains, "must be what we call 'consistent with our educational purpose.' That is, we have to be able to put them to use in teaching or in research. At least we have to have a place to put them."

When asked whether Princeton often turns down gifts, Schmucki answers, "Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes." A model of discretion, he declines to give names, for either successful or unsuccessful donors, but mentions a recent attempt to give a bone-dry oil well as one gift "inconsistent with Princeton's-or anyone's-educational purpose." Other less academic oriented bequests, however, have been accommodated.

"I came into my office one morning last year to find a brand-new set of left-handed golf clubs. The man who had left them said he very much wanted Princeton to have them." The golf team, alas, had no left-handed members, and the clubs were eventually bought by a university staff member. The proceeds, Schmucki notes, went into the general fund.

Here's a look at a few of the more unusual gifts that have been made to Princeton University through the years, as well as a couple of thanks-but-no-thanks offerings:

Let Them Eat Lake!

In 1906, Andrew Carnegie gave $350,000 to buy and clear some 300 acres of land and dam the Millstone River to create the "loch" that would bear his name and provide a site for Princeton crews to practice and race. University President Woodrow Wilson 1879, who had been hoping for a contribution to the preceptorial system, reportedly remarked on Carnegie's extravagant gift, "I asked for bread and you gave us cake." At the lake's dedication ceremony, however, delighted students greeted Carnegie with a cheer of "Andy, Andy, you're a dandy!"

Over the Moon

The late Pete Conrad '53 was, of course, the only Princetonian to walk on the moon (with the possible exception of David Duchovny '82). On that November 1969 voyage, Conrad carried with him five Princeton flags. Back on Earth, he presented one flag to his eating club, Colonial, one to the university (it was destroyed in a fire at the framing shop), and one to former chairman of the alumni council Bud Redpath '39. That flag, framed and inscribed "to Bud," now sits on a shelf in the university archives in Seeley G. Mudd Library.

With Strings Attached

In 1963, through the courtesy of one Arthur Knapp, Jr. '28, Princeton received a violin dating from 1764. The instrument, which was the work of the celebrated Swiss violin maker Johann Öhberg, had once belonged to Karl Langlotz, a teacher of German at Princeton (then the College of New Jersey) and the composer, in 1859, of "Old Nassau."

Villa-fied

Taking the my-house-is-your-house concept literally, in 1984 Pompeo Maresi '34 presented the university with the Villa Ronconi, his house on the western shore of Lake Como in Italy. To help win over the locals who soon would be faced with a stream of Princeton professors ostensibly engaged in scholarly pursuits, Maresi also donated an ambulance, bearing the Princeton name, to the nearby town of Catenabbia. When, a few years later, Maresi stopped subsidizing la dolce vita, Princeton sold the villa to ketchup heiress Drew Heinz.

A Real Mickey Mouse Gift

Bill Jones '57 wrote his senior thesis at Princeton on comic books and public policy. Last December, Jones, now a law professor at Seton Hall, donated his collection of 458 Walt Disney comic books (dating from 1940 to 1966) to the Firestone Library collection.

Raising Canes

By formal proclamation in 1869, no freshman was permitted to carry a cane, ordinarily an essential part of a young gentleman's ensemble. Sophomores' efforts to enforce the ban gave rise to violent nighttime free-for-alls known as Cane Sprees. Those melees have given way to the far tamer contests of today, but the objects of all that long-ago passion and mayhem can still be seen in the university archives. Dozens of the beautiful, elaborately carved canes have been donated by alumni and family.

Fuss Over Fus

With a campus full of tigers, Princeton officials are considering where to place the two nearly five-feet-tall carved granite Fu lions donated in 1997 by a friend of the university.

This Rocks!

In 1995, a local New Jersey landscaping firm gave Princeton a load of boulder-sized decorative stones. After scouting the campus for possible sites, the university installed the stones alongside Lake Carnegie, to prevent crew spectators from parking too close to the lake and eroding the shoreline.

A Gift With a Peal

In June of 1924, the Class of 1870 made a presentation to the university of a small piece of stone that clearly carried great sentimental value. Today it resides in the archives bearing the cryptic label, "Fragment of the door of the Old Chapel, broken in an attempt to silence the bell."

Loose Change

The parent of a student from the Class of 1988 recently scraped together a few coins to give to Princeton, specifically four extremely rare and valuable copper coins from the American Colonial period. The coins are a 1725 Perpignan Mint Louis XV Sol, a 1788 Richardson Ryder 40 (the only other known such copper is in the U.S. Mint's collection in the Smithsonian), a 1770 George III halfpenny, and a 1785 Type II cast Vermont Ryder 5, described as "legendary" by the expert who appraised it for the university.

Which Platter? Does It Matter?

Robert Garrett 1897, a trustee for 40 years, provided the university with the collection of Near Eastern manuscripts that bears his name. More glamorous, however, is another gift he made to Princeton: that of the discus he threw 95 feet, 71/2 inches to win the gold medal in that event at the first modern Olympic Games, held in Athens in 1896. Unfortunately, no one is sure which of the two discuses housed in the university archives-both labeled as having come from Garrett-is the actual winner.

Chauffeur Included?

A member of the Class of 1941 donated a 1937 Rolls-Royce. Despite the obvious tailgating potential, the car was sold and the proceeds went into the general fund.

You Want Fries With That?

When he was just setting out to make his fast-food fortune, Ray Kroc received a loan from the university. As a result, throughout the early 1950s, Princeton pocketed a share of the proceeds from every one of the millions and millions of burgers McDonald's served.

Where Will We Keep It?

Tiger motifs crop up in many of the gifts-in-kind the university receives-in artwork particularly-but seldom as dramatically as in the surprise package unleashed by one Princeton parent in 1923. The father of Tiger gridiron star Albert (Red) Howard '25 returned from an expedition to India with a live (four-legged) tiger, which he gave to Princeton for a mascot. As noted in this year's Gifts to Princeton compilation, "After several weeks of mounting anxiety in the crowds at football games," the tiger was donated to a New Jersey zoo.

Never Look a Gift Horse . . .

Thanks to the generosity of two friends of the Princeton equestrian team in 1998, Barfleet Skip, a seven-year-old roan standing 15 hands, and Another Mark, a 16-year-old dapple-gray thoroughbred standing 16 hands, three inches, are now horsing around with the Tigers.

Posture, Posture

The infamous Princeton posture photos-nude photographs of male members of the Class of 1970 taken for dubious scientific purposes-were housed at the Smithsonian until 1995, when, as a result of alumni outcry, they were destroyed. Princeton archivist Ben Primer went to Washington to witness the photos being "macerated in a machine" and returned bearing the Smithsonian's gift of a small plastic bag filled with confetti-like shreddings. Wrote Primer on a small card attached to the bag (which is stored in the university archives), "Perhaps the class can take some comfort in the fact that these photos went through the shredder with those of Vassar women."

Arch Supporters

In October 1896, in celebration of the 150th anniversary of the College of New Jersey, the Borough of Princeton presented the school with two triumphal arches erected on Nassau Street. The arches didn't last long, but the new name that the school took that year, Princeton, seems to have stuck.

Thanks, but no thanks . . .

We'd Rather Have Some Wooden Teeth

Plenty of folks have endowed chairs at Princeton, but two years ago an alumnus called offering an antique (or at least old) chair that, he said, George Washington had used before the Battle of Princeton. When an exhaustive search of historical archives at the university and in the town of Princeton yielded no evidence that Washington had ever, well, sat there, Princeton declined to take the seat.

Safe? Sorry

In 1994, a major New York bank offered a 50-ton safe. With nowhere to put it, nothing to put in it (the bell clapper?), and not enough money in its own vault to pay for transporting such a behemoth, Princeton graciously declined. "I asked the treasurer's office if they wanted it," recalls Recording Secretary Bud Schmucki. "I got a lot of laughs."

Richard O'Brien is a senior editor at Sports Illustrated.

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