University of Michigan Timelines
How Michigan was Opened to Women
by Alice Boise Wood from The Inlander, April 1896
You have asked me for some account of life in the University of Michigan, as I saw it before women were admitted. Except for the life in the class-rooms I saw nothing more than I had always seen from my home in a university town.
During the college year beginning September, 1866, and until Christmas, 1867, I was a student in Michigan University; then during a number of years, I was pupil and instructor in the University of Chicago; yet I was never recognized in any catalogue, and never attended exercises in the Chapel.
After many years of meditation I am more fully than ever persuaded that the universities of Michigan and Chicago would not now be open to our sex if a wise Providence had not put into my heart the desire and into my hand the opportunity to lift from within the latches of their doors. Certainly not the University of Chicago. That institution is upon a private foundation. No question of justice is involved. The daughters of Michigan might have knocked at the doors of her university from without, as they had done in '54; she would probably have turned to them the same deaf ear which fails to hear their present demand for citizenship. Michigan University recognized formerly but two rivals, Yale and Harvard. These had no women; neither would she have them.
It was the far-seeing wisdom and strong sense of justice in the heart of my father, James Robinson Boise, which were instrumental in opening the universities of Michigan and Chicago to our sex. The friends of co-education in Chicago, long ago in a large gathering, publicly thanked my father, and presented him a beautiful watch as token.
The story which I have to tell you is a simple one; that of a young girl who loved Greek; who pursued her favorite study into forbidden domains; and about whose quiet path hurtled the throbbing questions of a restless age.
Space allows me to do no more than mention my early love for languages; my mother's assurance that Greek was the most beautiful language; the fortune which gave me excellent teachers in the High School at Ann Arbor; and the formation, through my father's suggestion, of severe methods of study, which rendered language almost an exact science.
Just when the thought formed itself in my father's mind of taking me into his class room, I do not know. I remember, however, vividly, an event which occurred at the close of our last public Greek examination in the High School, in June, 1866. Our teacher Prof. Lawton, stood near his desk; at his right stood Dr. Haven, president of the university; at his left my father; before him Dr. Haven's son, and my father's daughter. Suddenly my father laid one hand upon the shoulder of young Haven, and one upon me; and, gazing earnestly at Dr. Haven, said in impassioned tones, "And your son can go on; but my daughter cannot!"
If my father had not heard that the Greek was poor in the newly opened Vassar, he might have sent me there. That little "if"! It yielded to those great western universities their hundreds of fair alumnae.
When, in September, I went to the college, where no woman's foot was known, for my first Freshman recitation, I stole hurriedly from the back door of our home. Professor Demmon owns now that nest in the woods. I ran down path and hillside in trembling alarm. In a little room, beside my father's class room, I left my shawl and hat; then waited, with emotions never to be forgotten, for the roar of the advancing tread of my dreaded classmates. Would they howl and hiss, as men had howled and hissed at Jex Blake not long before in Edinburgh?
The door opened. They entered. Save for a little murmur they were silent. Some of them had been my classmates in the High School.
That recitation and many succeeding ones I managed somehow to live through. My lips did their work, even if my brain reeled; and the exact method did not fail me.
I think it was Mrs. John Lawrence, of Ann Arbor, who first called me "The Entering Wedge for Women." Some one told me of it. O strength-giving name, I have borne it upon my heart all my life since! Perhaps I had not quite realized until then that I was representing my sex. This thought gave me new vigor. Yes, I was not studying for myself alone. Surely I must not fail!
None of my father's colleagues in the faculty, except his assistant, Prof. Spence, approved of the admission of women. The question began to be earnestly discussed. Students, newspapers, and soon the State Legislature, took it up. Could women succeed in the difficult college studies? Had they the physical strength to endure them?
Professor C.K. Adams admitted me soon to his class in Livy; and, in the Sophmore year, for friendship's sake, Professor Frieze admitted me in Horace. And I studied! Grammar and dictionary yielded their secrets. The professor who doubted whether or not women could do it, turned day after day for the knotty points to the lone little woman. Or were those noble class-mates, for the love they bore our sex, inspired to feign ignorance that I might often win.
There was one; I remember him; he wore a shiny coat and a meek look, but had mischief in his eyes. He sought diligently for some mistake in my work; and one day, in the Greek room, upon the blackboard, he found it. I do not remember positively what it was; the omission of an iota subscript, I think. Dreadful blunder! My heart was lacerated. I crept homeward; locked myself in my room; and shed bitter tears. Most vividly do I remember them. I had failed! Women would now never be admitted to the University!
Did I fail, Professor Beman? Have you noticed any women there?
I can tell you now no more of my memories. Truly they are little things; only atoms-of dynamite.
In Chicago, whither my father went in December, 1867, I was admitted to all the classes; much work was given me as teacher and in 1872 they graduated me; although women were not officially allowed to enter until later.
In Michigan University all of the doors were flung wide open to our sex soon after my father's departure.