Next time you go into University Hall, notice the large, round wooden frameworks that look like portholes in the sides of the main floor halls. Imagine yourself looking through these portholes, not into a cozy dean's office, but into a good-sized dining hall. Instead of dining hall, call it Commons, think of freshly cooked food being brought up from the kitchens in the cellar and passed into the Commons through the portholes, and visualize the room full of a much noisier group of students than the sort that eats in the Houses these days. You will be picturing a daily scene in University Hall from the time it was built in 1815 up to the half-way mark of the century, when Commons ended and the building started evolving from a center of undergraduate life into the administrative monopoly it is today.

Although the growth of the college would have scaled the doom of the small University Hall Commons sooner or later, the immediate cause of its end was a growing tendency on the part of students to eat elsewhere as often as possible, and when they did chance to dine in Commons, to treat it as a sort of unofficial playground and circus area. The whole early history of the building's first floor features rebellion and riot, which started on a major scale in 1818, when food war broke out between classes. Each class ate in a different room, but communication was possible through the portholes, and on this particular Sunday night, all kinds of edibles flew through the air with the greatest of case from one room to the next. A poem commemorated the event, which brought aging John Adams to propose the revival of the practise of flogging students and a few meaty lines should convey the spirit of the evening's fun:

"The wrathful Freshman, in a trice,

Sent back another bigger slice,

Which, being buttered pretty well,

Made greasy work where'er it fell."

Another riot occurred later, when somebody referred, in the course of saying grace, to this "fresh instance of bounty" in the midst of what was described as the "ancient and fish like smell" of University Hall. The discontinuation of grace allegedly can be traced to the resulting disturbance. And, beyond doubt, it was just this attitude on the part of the student body that precipitated the final exit of overcooked ducks from University Hall, and the entrance of deans.

University Hall was more than dining room and undergraduate rioting headquarters. It also contained the President's office, the rooms of the Corporation, the chapel, and a number of class rooms. Classes in those days were called recitations, and the building was full of small, intimate courses featuring professional commands such as "Smith, won't you be so good as to read that passage?" Despite the great opportunity for close contact between faculty and students afforded by these small groups, all efforts to that end failed. For a time some professors gave "socials" in the Corporation rooms but, as one graduate summed it up, "to be received socially as students by professors as professors is inconsistent, embarrassing, and compromises the independence of both parties." After one season, the "socials" were discontinued, and faculty and students confined themselves to their respective parts of the building, except for the daily mass gathering in the chapel.

Located in the middle part of the building and occupying the space of both second and third floors, the chapel was the most famous part of University Hall. The whole building was designed by Charles Bulfinch, class of 1781 and the greatest American architect of the times, but utility and the budget limited him through most of the job. In the chapel he had a free hand and the result was one of his finest creations, according to the word of contemporary experts. At any rate, it was the chief meeting place of the college, and was always much in use during big celebrations such as Class Day and Exhibition Day. Dignitaries from the outside world, including La Fayette, James Monroe, and Andrew Jackson, frequently were received in the chapel. When Jackson came, there was much pomp and celebration, probably more to the pleasure of the students than of the President, for "an oration in Latin" by an undergraduate was followed immediately by an address in Latin by President Kirkland, and Andrew must have had a time of it following the gist of things.

In 1858, with the construction of the old Appleton Chapel, the chapel in University Hall was started on a series of transformations which once had it split horizontally and vertically into many small rooms, but which ended in 1896 with the formation of the current Faculty Room and the final elimination of undergraduates from all but occasional and official visits to University Hall. Exactly the same size as the original chapel, this room is where the monthly meetings of the faculty take place. President Conant sits directly beneath the portrait of President Eliot at the head of the round table shown in the picture, Dean Buck to his right, and Dean Hanford to his left. The rest of the faculty faces them, and despite the austere portraits of men such as Longfellow, Agassiz, Henry James, and the famous professor of Greek, Evangeliuns Apostolides Sophocles, the dignity of tradition occasionally gets thrown to the winds, and Charles Bulfinch's chapel becomes the scene of a good, lively debate.

In 1881 the Lampoon published a line-drawing of University Hall with a captain reading "the above cut represents the University," in 1883 the statue of John Harvard made it official. And today, perhaps because of its tradition, perhaps because it is the center of administrative power, but probably because it has so consistently and successfully been adapted to the shifting needs of a growing Harvard, University Hall stands more than ever as a symbol of the University itself.