“We—the social queens of Radcliffe, in order to form a pure perfect union of congenial spirits, to establish freedom of
By Elizabeth M. Doherty
Nov 9, 2005
“We—the social queens of Radcliffe, in order to form a pure perfect union of congenial spirits, to establish freedom of intercourse between those who like each other, to provide for the common defense against gruids, freaks, and such encumbrances, to secure the blessings of society, to ourselves and our successors, do ordain and establish THE~CLUB.
I do solemnly swear or affirm that I will faithfully keep the existence of this club secret to the best of my ability and will preserve, protect, and defend its constitution and may I be hauled up before the dean if I do not remain forever true to this my solemn oath. Any I herewith, sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, pass or flunk, give my hand and heart…”
Amidst forced whispers, 10 young women watched as these words were penned in ink on the first page of a leather-bound record book. Pledging fidelity, they signed their names. On May 28, 1898, Radcliffe’s first and only secret society was born.
Thanks to the donated papers of Fanny H. Phillips ’11, The Club’s record book, collected letters, and the diary of Phillips herself are open to the public at the Schlesinger Library. Though few in number, the papers tell the tale of an elite society in an elite college, of dinners, day trips, balls, and late-night parties.
But The Club was an anachronistic institution even then. Born during the suffrage movement, The Club clung to its Victorian roots, and eventually suffered for it.
‘THE GREAT ONES’
Mary “the Lion” Howland Linus and Grace “the Deer” Lowell Forbes Kennedy, both class of 1899, founded the society in 1898 along the lines of final clubs and fraternities.
The Club was always small, secretive, and exclusive, with only 25 members at its peak. In The Club’s early days, most of the members had a nickname, few of which exuded the grace of the founders’ choices: “Pussy,” “Bossy Calf,” “Goat!,” and “The Lady Dodo.” There was no “punch” process; girls were informed of their “in” status and were expected to join immediately. New members were elected biannually, by a unanimous vote of current members. (As far as we know, they did not keep a book with notes about the potential Clubbers.)
For new initiates, signing the official Club book was the apex of social achievement. Phillips (no nickname attributed) put pen to venerated paper on Nov. 20, 1908. In her diary, she details her sensations upon completing the act: “Imagine it! To be written down with those ‘great ones’! I felt that at last I had accomplished something, I had gained a recognized place at college, it was the visible sign that meant success…it means everything to me.”
She had somehow made it through life without ever being “in.” Prior to that night she had never even heard of The Club. The Schlesinger papers indicate that no girls knew about it until they joined.
That didn’t stop the secret alliance of Radcliffe’s social queens from flourishing in its early years.
COMMUNITY VIA EXCLUSIVITY
In the early 1900s, Radcliffe enrolled around 500 students total, the vast majority of whom were of considerable social standing. Like all good final clubs, sororities, and secret societies, The Club existed for and because of its exclusive status in an already exclusive institution.
A Friday, May 28, 1909 diary entry from Phillips details her first election meeting: “The voting was awfully exciting, and rather terrifying…I put in my first blackball when it came to Winnie, and I must say I felt blacker than it, but rather important all the same. I wasn’t a bit crazy about having Winnie in; she gets on my nerves outrageously!”
Later, however, Phillips reluctantly withdrew her blackball veto due to pressure from older members, and Winnie earned a coveted spot in The Club.
Alma also succeeded, albeit questionably, in climbing the social ladder. “Then last of all Alma was put in, in spite of the fact that a few people were skeptical. I know she will be perfectly great—a Freshman must not be judged too harshly for all her chance acquaintances.”
The few members kept the society completely secret, and election nights were particularly perilous for the clandestine meetings. When two non-members suddenly burst into a meeting, Phillips describes, the members scrambled to hide the record book. To rid themselves of one intruder’s presence, the Clubbers encouraged the girl to take a nap. Luckily for them, it worked.
Heart-racing moments of potential exposure and consequent ruin weren’t rare, and from time to time the members of the club questioned its clandestine status. After a debate at a 1911 reunion meeting, the members decided to re-confirm their privacy through a unanimous—and successful—vote.
Most often, Clubbers took great delight in glorifying and protecting their secrecy. After Phillips learned that she was “in,” she encountered her roommate Louise, who did not know about The Club. To protect the secrecy, she lied about where she had just been.
“I privately gloried in my first little white lie pronounced for ‘the cause,’” she wrote. “I cut a little caper just to relieve my feelings!”
Members also composed much poetry and song dedicated to their secrecy. The following poem, dated 1909, was written in their record book:
All jolly Clubbers off on a spree
Out from Cambridge, in Wellesley
Not at all where we said we would be
Sssh – ssssh – sssssh!...
Our steps fly to the Worcester
Cars that we have grown so used to
Our blackballed friends are always on the car
Yet cheerfully we meet them and
With pleasant lies we greet them
And we go, and none shall
Tell them where we are!
“Off on a spree” in Wellesley refers to their “party house,” that year the Longfellow House in Wellesley Hills. As described in The Club’s by-laws, each year the members rented a home in an upscale suburb, like Wellesley, Gloucester, or Lincoln. There, they’d host “house parties” every few weeks. These parties were no mere daytrip; they usually lasted from Friday evening to Sunday morning. In addition, members also often congregated in the homes of other members.
Phillips’ diary details the scandalous Club festivities. At a hotel party at the Wayside Inn in Wayland, the girls made a “mild up-roar” in the dance-hall, and “next came a moonlight orgie [sic]. It was a wonderful night—full moon. Shadow tag and cross tag were followed by a grand walk-run-hop-skip-and jump expedition up the road to the accompaniment of our lustiest lung power.”
At the “blissful” Green Harbor House Party in Duxbury (June 24-29, 1909), they (almost) got naked together: “We actually spent the morning in the house because it was unbearable outside…We lay flat on the floor with as few clothes on as possible (Emilie took off her jumper tie, even!).” Sometimes they dared to stay up past 9 p.m.
Most of The Club’s “parties” were like third-grade single-sex sleepovers (chaperone included). In a time before drinking and mingling with men were acceptable behaviors for women, the chief forms of amusement included charades, bicycle rides, impromptu dancing, long walks, and writing short plays.
THE PRINCIPLES OF THE CLUB
One such performance illustrates the rather conservative politics of The Club. After a “most welcome and delicious” supper in 1911, the girls wrote a short play about the suffrage movement. In it, the protagonist, Mr. Frothingham—played by a member wearing a man’s suit—tries to write a speech. Four uppity Suffragettes disturb him, but his “sweet secretary”—who is totally crushing on him—pities the guy. He tries to give his speech in Radcliffe Yard, but is rudely interrupted by a group of bothersome feminists yelling “Votes for Women!” Thankfully, and to a round of applause by the Clubbers, the secretary arrives by “airship” to save him.
That very year, The Crimson detailed the visit of Emmeline Pankhurst, Britain’s foremost militant suffragette, for a lecture series with other suffragists and Ivy League professors. Three years later, Harvard welcomed Jane Addams of Hull House; in 1918, Congress passed the Susan B. Anthony Bill, the first step towards enfranchisement. While ginger ale, moonlit walks, and secret sleepovers might have been fulfilling enough for the 1905 woman, The Club risked falling victim to its own conceit.
Although the record book reports little internal drama, one instance near the end of The Club’s existence indicates the changing attitudes of some of its members. During the Nov. 24, 1913 election meeting, The Club was faced with an unprecedented dilemma: several of its members wanted to resign.
“Heated” discussions ensued, and they voted to “accept the resignations of those who resign because of their objections to the principle of The Club.”
The papers do not detail what the three drop-outs, Martha Eliot, Abby Eliot, and Mary Burrage, specifically objected to. “On June 21, 1915 a committee was elected to plan the reorganization of the club,” writes Radcliffe Archivist Jane Knowles in an e-mail. “Unfortunately the records peter out at that point except for the reunion suppers that continue until June 18, 1923. We can’t prove when the club folded or why because we have no documents; we can only surmise that it dwindled into a reunion of alumnae of the club.”
What is clear, however, is that they were the first members ever to voice opposition to the direction of The Club. And that academic year was the last that The Club initiated new members; the final five were inducted on June 10, 1914.
Did this internal uproar spark the downfall of the Club? Did Martha, Abby, and Mary threaten to reveal The Club’s secrets? Or perhaps The Club’s death was inevitable—a species that could not survive due to its failure to adapt? The answer remains a mystery.
