8244: Schooling, Rebellion, Discipline

Ed's scrapbook, a bulky collection of papers, cards, and clippings, all reminders of his school days, displays at the beginning a page of the printed entrance examination to Phillips Academy, Andover, Massachusetts, dated September 1891. The page contains problems in mathematics, covering "Algebra to Simple Equations" and "Simple Equations to Quadratics." Written in ink at the bottom is the notation "Passed, Mark 20."

While the Phillips catalog advised that "No age is prescribed for admission," it offered more specific information in its statement that "boys fourteen years of age usually possess sufficient maturity for the responsibilities of school-life here." Ed, just sixteen, and probably overage for a new student, was required to fill out the school's entrance form containing eighteen questions. At the top he listed himself as a candidate for the "Junior Middle E class" (English), adding the projected date of graduation — class of 1894.

He answered the questions in a clear, firm handwriting. Under question six, Father's business or Profession, he wrote, "Vice Pres. Anglo American Battery Co." The reason for his own version of the company name is not clear. Under Father's Titles he wrote "Major in late war." His mother's birthplace was listed only as ^"State of Indiana." After Church Denomination Ed drew a long line, indicating "none." He of course gave his last school as ^"Harvard School, Chicago," and the "Chief Instructor" as "Prof. J. J. Schobinger." Other answers revealed that he took room and board with Mrs. C. A. Morrill, presumably in Andover, and that his brother Frank Coleman Burroughs had attended the school in 1890 and 1891. To be exact, Frank was in the English Department for two years, 1890-92, as a Junior Middler and Senior Middler.

Phillips Academy, already 113 years old, had first opened for instruction on April 30, 1778. It had been founded by Samuel Phillips, his brother John, and Samuel Phillips, Jr., in that year, although not incorporated until October 4, 1780. As part of the Academy's remarkable history, a most distinguished visitor and speaker, George Washington, on November 5, 1789, addressed the students assembled on the Old Training Field. The fourth principal was John Adams, and during his term the second schoolhouse was burned in 1818, and a new brick Academy was built. This was the "classic hall" described in Oliver Wendell Holmes' centennial poem, "The School-Boy."

The principal at the time of Ed's enrollment was Dr. Cecil F. P. Bancroft, in charge from 1873 until his death in 1901. He is described as "a man of foresight and clear vision, patience and shrewd discrimination." During his administration, attendance increased from 262 to more than 400 pupils. When Ed attended, 1891-92, the exact number was 440, with 184 in the English department and 256 in the Classical department. The pupils came from thirty-eight states and from Hawaii, Japan, Canada, and even Turkey. The tuition for the fall term was $30, winter term, $25, and spring term, $20.

As a Junior Middler in the English department Ed would be required to follow the course of study emphasizing mathematics and the "Natural Sciences, with History, Latin, Modern Languages, and Literature." The catalog states that "The Course of Study is designed to furnish a broad and thorough preparation for the Sheffield Scientific School of Yale University, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and other scientific schools and colleges."

All Junior Middle Year students were required to study Latin, but in the Middle Year, French or German was substituted, with Latin becoming elective. The course of study for the Junior Middlers in the Latin department included both Latin (notably Caesar's Gallic Wars) and Greek, plus mathematics and English, in the first term. The second term maintained a Latin sequence with selections from Ovid and part of the Aeneid of Virgil. Additional Greek, mathematics, and English were required.

The serious scholastic atmosphere of Phillips Academy must have been disconcerting to young Ed Burroughs. But as always he was quick to make friends and was eagerly accepted by the other students. The popularity he quickly achieved with his classmates may be explained, at least partially, by the colorful anecdotes he probably told them about his Idaho days. Since for some unexplained reason he arrived with a guitar in his luggage, he was urged to join the Mandolin Club and given a further invitation to the Glee Club.

In regard to the Mandolin Club, he recalled that "I agreed with alacrity, although I cannot conceive that I could have done so without misgivings, inasmuch as I had never played a guitar, am totally devoid of any sense of music and did not know one note from another."He further comments, "They must have been embarrassed when they discovered that I could not play guitar. Anyhow my engagement with the glee club was brief.''

<>While there appeared to be no doubt about his musical limitations, he soon began to express his natural creativity in the familiar directions. Ed turned to the Mirror, a publication sponsored by the Philomathean Society, the literary organization of the school. The Mirror, printed once a term, was designed as an outlet for Philomathean members, providing "an opportunity for writing stories, poems and grinds, and for making cuts. Grinds seemed to be quotes by well-known authors, usually witty or humorous, submitted by students who either signed their names or used fictitious names. The grind might apply aptly to the student himself, in a joking way, or to other students.

Ed submitted material for the Mirror of Fall 1891 and Winter 1892. There are no grinds printed with his name beneath, but some may have appeared under a pseudonym, for in the issue of 1891 the editorial review contains an acknowledgment stating, "We are also indebted for grinds and cuts to E. R. Birroughs." A number of cuts or cartoons, mainly humorous in nature, are Ed's work (they are initialed E.R.B. in his copy of the 1891 Mirror). The first illustration, on the table of contents page, consists of eight human figures spaced about the perimeter of the box that encloses the magazine's contents. These figures perch there or are engaged in various climbing actions. A typical humorous example is a drawing of an odd little machine titled The Mirror Grinding Machine, described beneath as a "Head Reducer." Sketches of a boy are shown, the head at first large and then reduced in size. A caption reads, "Before and After Using."

Another page in the Mirror of fall 1891 displays cuts of horses, Ed's favorite subject for drawing. The horses, although small, are skillfully and realistically done.

In the Mirror of Winter 1892, the editorial comment refers to a poetry contest and explains, "1st prize for Poem to S. A. Dickerson and in connection with this we are obliged to state that the judges, on account of the lack of competition in poems, deemed it best to award no second prize. . . ." But whether considered worthy of a prize or not, the poem printed in this issue (author unnamed) bears the stamp of Ed's particular humor and style. Titled "Possum et Coona," it stresses a clever distortion of Latin.

The poem tells the story of two boys who go hunting with their dog. When they proudly bring a possum home, displaying him to their parents, comparisons of their glory are made with David, Samson, Caesar, and others. But when they wake in the morning they find that the possum was not really dead, he was playing possum — "the possum est ressurectum." He has fled and they are quite crestfallen. The poem ends: "Pueri think non plus of Caesar, Coad urcum, Shalmeneser;/Take your laurels, cum the honor, Since ista possum is a goner."

The Mirror of 1892, in its list of contributors, expresses indebtedness to E. R. Burroughs for cuts only. None of these has been identified. Ed is listed as a member of the Athletic Association and as president of his class. This award of the highest honor by his fellow classmates, presumably stemming from Ed's personal popularity, was also announced on January 20, 1892, in The Phillipian, the school newspaper. The brief note contains a misspelling of the new president's name:

Elections. A class meeting of P.S. '94 was held Wednesday noon and the following officers were elected: President, Burrows; vice-president, Clark; secretary and treasurer, Finch.

Commenting on both his selection as class president and the class colors of P.S. '94 — pale blue and orange — Ed wrote, "when one considers their choice of a presiding officer the selection of blue seems nothing short of an inspiration, but the fruit should have been lemon.^"

In the passing days he devoted much of his time to extracurricular activities. A side interest in sports, but neither as a participant nor spectator, is revealed in a letter pasted in his scrapbook. Dated November 23, 1891, the letter, concerned with the placing of a bet, was addressed to him at Andover and came from the office of Stoddard & Kendall in Boston. The firm, according to the items printed on its letterhead, handled a large variety of sports equipment. On the list are fishing tackle, skates, baseball supplies, lawn tennis, and gymnasium goods. The miscellaneous merchandise includes cutlery and hair clippers. The letter to Ed advises:

<>Dear Sir:
< style="font-weight: bold;"> I enclose you a check for stake on the Amherst Williams game as it resulted in a tie.
<>Respty yours J. L. Crafts

<>Unfortunately, from the moment of his arrival at Phillips, Ed showed little inclination to concentrate on his studies. His reaction to the formal curriculum at the Academy, with its familiar emphasis upon Latin and Greek, was hardly enthusiastic. He had been equally unimpressed by the same subject requirements at Harvard School. His lack of effort and achievement came to the attention of Principal Bancroft. "Banty," as the students called him, believed that a semester's trial was enough; he reached the limit of his patience. Once the holidays were over, and shortly after school reconvened for the new term on January 15, 1892, Banty made his decision known. George Burroughs received a firm request for the withdrawal of his son. Ed's stay at Phillips terminated as abruptly as it began. It appears that his election as president and his dismissal from the school occurred close enough in date to almost coincide. Obviously, at the class graduation in 1894 President Burroughs would not officiate.

Though his annoyance and disappointment were great, George Burroughs still exhibited unusual control and managed to accept his son's return with an attitude of tolerance and understanding. But he had no intention of abandoning Ed's schooling. Perhaps a more disciplined environment was the answer. Retired Major Burroughs turned to a popular solution, often adopted by parents of problem sons: Ed would be sent to a military school.

The chosen institution was Michigan Military Academy, situated at Orchard Lake, twenty-six miles northwest of Detroit. It had been in existence for fifteen years. Ed later wrote with wry amusement that the academy had a "sub rosa reputation as a polite reform school."

Whether the academy's requirements were really stricter than those of similar schools is doubtful. Certainly, as expected in a military school, the cadets' activities were severely regimented. Emphasis was upon army routine, drilling, and above all discipline and obedience. Physical development was an important goal, and to achieve it the cadets led a hard, rough-and-tumble life.

At the time Ed enrolled, Colonel J. Sumner Rogers was the superintendent and Adelbert Cronkhite, the commandant. Cronkhite's tenure was brief, as was that of Captain Charles King who succeeded him; and in the Michigan Military Academy catalog of 1893 Lieutenant Frederick S. Strong, 4th U.S. Artillery, is listed as commandant. The catalog's register of cadets for 1892-93 displays the name Edgar Rice Burroughs, with the course identified as Sc. (scientific). Preparatory studies required in the scientific course include English grammar, civil government, arithmetic, and English composition. The curriculum for the first year, divided under first and second terms, contains rhetoric and composition as requirements in both terms. It appears, as far as the catalog is concerned, that the academy did stress the study of grammar and composition.

Among the cadets who entered the academy at the same time as Ed were two who became close and long-lasting friends, Robert D. Lay and Herbert (Bert) T. Weston. Lay's course was listed in the catalog as Ac. (academy).

The beginning of Ed's life in a military environment brought no change in his rebellious nature. He was obviously not ready to settle down, and not ready to adapt himself to the academy's strict discipline and regulation. His first semester at the school (second term, 1892) found him in numerous difficulties. A natural nonconformist, he seemed unable to follow school rules or to suppress impulsive actions that usually led him into trouble.

One of Ed's early experiences at the academy during his plebe year had to do with the popular pastime of hazing, carried on by the "old boys" or upper classmen. In Ed's Autobiography, where the practice is described as the "refined and unrefined torture of hazing," various details are offered. For what occurred in one particular case, Ed can hardly be blamed. The commandant at the start of the term, Adelbert Cronkhite, who was far from being one of Ed's favorites, appeared to have a pet aversion to plebes:

I think that he looked upon us with absolute contempt and loathing. At noon one day, during the winter, he made a speech in the mess-hall. It was to the effect that the plebes were too fresh and that it was up to the old boys to put them in their place. This, coming from the high authority of the commandant of cadets, brought immediate effects, one of which was that immediately after the meal the entire plebe class scattered in all directions, taking to the woods, not only figuratively, but literally. Several of us, I recall, just beat it — whither, we did not know.

"Any place would have been better than the Michigan Military Academy on that bleak Saturday afternoon," Ed remarked. Although he was "as usual" under arrest for "various and diverse infractions of discipline," under these emergency circumstances the arrest became unimportant as did the regulations against going off-limits and, more serious, going off off-limits.

After the panicky escape, Ed and his friends walked twelve miles through the snow to a nearby town. There, although he was wearing rubber boots, he attended a village dance that evening. At a late hour, after the dancing was over, the boys reluctantly decided that they must return to the barracks. This posed a problem:

<>We also discovered simultaneously that we did not want to walk back and that we had no money. I managed, however, to pawn my watch for three dollars with which we rented a horse and rig, thus coming back to school and sneaking into our quarters while the old boys were asleep.

"I do not recall how much additional punishment I got for this escapade," Ed wrote, "but it could not have meant anything to me as I already was undergoing a life sentence."

Approximately two months after his arrival at the Academy, the Easter vacation began, and all the cadets were excused to return home. From Chicago, where Ed was spending the vacation with his family, his father wrote to Colonel Rogers on March 23, 1892, requesting an extension of Ed's leave. Two days later Rogers replied,

". . . Of course we shall extend cadet Burroughs' permit, as you request, although it is to his disadvantage to be absent from work at this time. School is moving along very pleasantly under our new commandant."

The new commandant, replacing Adelbert Cronkhite, was Captain Charles King, a well-known author of novels centered about army life in the West. Although he remained at the academy for only a brief period, his firm attitude tempered with justice and consideration and his numerous accomplishments created in Ed an intense admiration which was close to worship.

Ed continued to find the discipline and restrictions of a military life impossible to cope with; as described in his Autobiography, the penalties seemed endless:

<>The first year was the hardest. I accumulated so many hours of unwalked punishment that if I had remained there the rest of my life I could never have walked it all, as we had only forty-five minutes a day for recreation, except Saturdays and Sundays and as I recall it we were not compelled to walk punishment on Sunday.

<>Desperate, and "burdened by a harrowing contemplation of the future," he fled from the academy:

<>"I sneaked out of barracks at dusk and walked four and a half miles to Pontiac. I crept fearfully through the woods, for all the time I heard the cavalry pursuing me, my budding imagination being strong even then. In Pontiac I hung around the railroad yards waiting for the Chicago train. Every man I saw was a detective searching for me and when the train pulled in and the inspectors passed along it with their flares, I knew they were looking for me, but I hid out between two freight cars until the train started. Those were the good old days before anyone had thought of solid vestibule trains, so I had no difficulty Flipping it and eluding the regiment of detectives that loitered about."

Edgar Rice Burroughs (Circa 1892)
Burroughs found it difficult to conform to the strict discipline of military life. He acted out and had acquired – as he put it
“...so many hours of unwalked punishment that if I had remained there the rest of my life I could never have walked it all…

Young ERB's Desertion Telegram from Commendant King