THE OREGON O: Through vandals, explosions, and theft, Oregon’s O endures

THE OREGON O: Through vandals, explosions, and theft, Oregon’s O endures

Originally posted on CampusAttic.com on December 4th, 2013

The Oregon O atop Skinner’s Butte. (courtesy: 1911 Oregana yearbook – UO Library Special Collections)

    For over a century, a University of Oregon ‘O’ has sat atop Skinner’s Butte, overlooking Eugene like the eye of Sauron keeping a watchful gaze over Middle Earth. The symbol has endured a vast history of attacks, fires, explosions, and even theft; yet through multiple versions the symbol of the University of Oregon has survived — an odd and fascinating history of UO tradition and perseverance.

    In 1908, three years after the old University of Oregon astronomical observatory atop Skinner’s Butte had been blown up in the middle of the night one evening by a UO faculty member (the third oldest building in the university’s history, it had long outlived its usefulness), it was decided that a permanent structure symbolizing the university should be placed near the site of the old observatory. A giant concrete O, measuring over 50 feet in length, visible to the entire city of Eugene below, was to be constructed, financed by the Eugene Commercial Club.

THE O’S INCEPTION

    It began with the very first Junior Weekend at the UO, a spring tradition expanding on the University Day concept that had been established by the school administration a couple years earlier as a replacement for the often violent impromptu “king-of-the-mountain” student competitions on the Deady Hall roof and spires, which would have inevitably at some point led to tragic falling deaths had the practice continued. For University Day, students would be excused from class to instead help beautify campus, cleaning the landscape and constructing improvements such as sidewalks to replace the muddy wood planks along the path between Friendly Hall dormitories and Deady and Villard Hall. For Junior Weekend, the University Day festivities were combined with other events, such as the Canoe Fete, Junior Prom, a school-wide picnic, and Mom’s Weekend.

    Construction of the large 50-foot concrete Oregon “O” would only take a single day to complete, May 22nd, 1908, overlooking Willamette Street southward towards downtown Eugene. Trees had only recently been planted on Skinner’s Butte, barely saplings at the time, so the practically bald hill made for the perfect setting to proudly display the university’s symbol for all to see.

    Over the years the O would become a centerpiece of Oregon traditions, despite being a ways away from campus property. Freshmen would guard the O to prevent vandals from changing its color after adding their classes’ fresh coat of yellow paint to start each school year. Homecoming bonfires and celebrations would take place on the summit of the butte, with the O often set aflame the night before homecoming games while the noise parade wound its way throughout Eugene streets to raise school spirit before the big game.

THE FIRST ‘O’ COMES UNDER ATTACK

    Originally the O was left unpainted, but by 1910 the symbol of the university shimmered with a bright yellow overcoat. Shortly after, the first attempt to defile it occurred. Surprisingly it wasn’t Oregon State students, the usual suspects in the years to come when it came to assaults on the O. The Cal baseball team the night before a game at the University of Oregon in 1910 decided to alter the symbol, blocking out one side of the O to create a giant ‘C’ overlooking Eugene for the day of the game.

    It didn’t take long thereafter for the idea of defiling the O to spread to Corvallis, and the symbol quickly began receiving unplanned new orange paint jobs. Well over 200 times to date has the O been painted and repainted, switching back and forth from orange to yellow. It soon became the job of freshmen to guard the O all night from Oregon State vandals during homecoming and before the annual Civil War football game, but even that practice often failed to prevent the O from turning orange by daylight.

    Simply guarding it wasn’t the only tradition that evolved over time, “Painting the O” became one of the key rites of passage for all freshmen to endure. Starting in 1912 freshmen, clad in their required green beanies and green pants, were taken to Skinner’s Butte to give the O a fresh coat of yellow paint. Brushes were brought, but barely used, for the preferred upperclassmen torture method of painting for the frosh was to slide down the O by the seat of their pants.

    By 1929, with their repeated attempts to simply paint the O orange deemed insufficient to stick it to the Webfoots proper, Oregon State students got a bit more adventurous in their attempts, utilizing dynamite to try to permanently destroy the O. November 11th, 1929, a late-night blast shook the hillside so much that a 25 pound chunk of the O went flying through the roof of a building near the butte. Yet despite a few pieces missing, the O endured. It wouldn’t be the only time explosives were attempted.

    The 1937 Civil War game got particularly testy, with Oregon State students storming the Hayward Field turf (which they had vandalized by burning OSC into the brand new sod a day before the game), attempting to tear down the goalposts on the north end while the game’s final minute still ticked away near the south endzone. They were eventually successful in their efforts of bringing down Hayward’s north goalpost after an extensive brawl on the field, and paraded it down 13th Ave, all the while being pelted by water balloons and rotting food from angry Duck fans. Two days later, feeling the need to rub in the victory further, thousands of students from Corvallis drove back down to Eugene to parade around campus antagonizing UO students.

 

Oregon State vandals damaging the Hayward Field turf was just the start of the hi-jinx for the 1937 Civil War. (courtesy: 1938 Oregana yeabook – UO Library Special Collections)

   While most of the marauding instigators got a friendly police escort out of town, those that stayed through lunch soon found themselves barricaded inside a downtown diner surrounded by thousands of UO students seeking vengeance. Cars were overturned, property damaged, and eventually all rampaging Oregon State invaders were captured and tossed into the Millrace. After their dunk in the river, they were dragged to the top of Skinner’s Butte, where many had their heads shaved and were forced to paint the O in the freshmen tradition. Soaking wet, bald, clothing tattered, covered in yellow paint, and beaten blue, it was only then that police stepped in to kick the invaders out of town.

    Three years later it was UCLA attacking Oregon’s O. During homecoming it was first painted yellow on Thursday per tradition, then black on Friday by UCLA fans, and by Sunday had four bright colors: black, yellow, blue, and brown. Chipping away the rainbow paint scheme, a layer of tar was actually found on the old O, yet one more attempt to defile and destroy it.

Students paint the Oregon ‘O’ in 1937. (courtesy: 1938 Oregana Yearbook – UO Library Special Collections)

    In 1947 several Oregon State students found themselves in jail for vandalism, mistaking police aerials on top of Skinner’s Butte as wires setup by UO students that they chose to promptly cut. With the butte’s prominent location in the heart of Eugene it was the common choice for radio and TV antennas, and the police fully utilized its strategic location as well…much to the chagrin of a couple of dumb Beavers caught trying to prank Oregon.

    The dynamite route was attempted again on June 7th, 1952, when an explosion at 4 am rocked Eugene and campus, just moments after an airplane had loudly passed overhead. The combination of aircraft noises and an explosion led to police being inundated with emergency phone calls from frightened citizens thinking the city was being bombed by Russian aircraft, nuclear war inevitably just moments away (remember, this was in the early days of the Cold War).

    Police were delayed in their response to figuring out what had just happened, because the large amount of dynamite that OSU students had placed around Oregon’s O had done only partial damage to the concrete structure, but had once again ruined police radios. The Corvallis criminals had tapped into the wires on a meter of the police’s radio transmitter shack for power, overloading all transmitters upon detonation, making police scanners useless. An entire box of dynamite had been utilized for the explosion, with chunks of concrete sent flying as far away as 4th & Willamette, blowing away one side of the structure.

    It took nearly a year for repairs to be made to Oregon’s iconic hillside adornment, and nearly as soon as it had been fully restored did the malcontent Corvallis contingent blow it up once more. May 15th, 1953, one week after the finishing touches on the O’s overhaul had been completed, yet another early morning boom sent chunks skyward. This event was nearly twice the amount of explosives used in the previous year’s attempt, but only some of the dynamite went off as planned. Police discovered more than enough unexploded ordinance placed strategically around the O in the aftermath to have permanently turned it to dust and blown away half the Skinner’s Butte hillside, but once again despite being bloodied, the O survived.

    At this point the local community was sick and tired of late night explosions, and a petition started by a local citizen who had dealt with broken windows from the ‘52 blast and roof damage from the ‘53 attempt resulted in the Eugene Public Safety Committee taking up the issue of the ‘O’ continued status on Skinner’s Butte. Oren King, the Eugene City Manager, stated in the public record, “We don’t want the ‘O’ obliterated but we must face the realistic problem of pacifying the citizenry.”

A NEW O IS CREATED

    Something had to be done…citizens were tired of the late-night explosions from Beaver brethren, students were tired of guarding and repairing the O, and after nearly 50 years of paint and explosive assaults it was definitely showing its age. An alternative was implemented by students, when a 20×40 wooden O was created several feet from the original concrete one.

     Rather than keep two O’s on Skinner’s Butte,  the venerable old Oregon symbol that would not succumb to OSU explosives finally saw its unceremonious end at the hands of jackhammers wielded by UO students.

    The new wooden O created an all new problem, at least for the freshmen. While painting the O in the traditional manner continued, it came with all new hazards, as the practice of sliding usually resulted in painful splinters resulting in a look more akin to the after-effects of being attacked by an angry porcupine that had been painted yellow.

    While it was deemed the new wooden O to be explosive proof, OSU students still put that to the test, as Oregon’s “dynamite proof O” survived yet another rather feeble attempt attempt at its destruction. Fires were also set on several occasions, the constant barrage of Oregon State attacks continuing but proving futile on Oregon’s new Beaver-proof O.

    After decades of attempts to paint and/or blow up the O, the brash folks of Corvallis had finally had enough too. If they couldn’t destroy the symbol of the University of Oregon, they would simply steal it. On October 30th, 1957, the city of Eugene awoke to find that for the first time in nearly 50 years there was no O on the butte. The previous night it had simply been dismantled and carried away.

Oct. 30th, 1957 Register Guard headline warned the missing O could end up kindling for OSU’s homecoming bonfire.

    The following day Oregon State’s Dean of Men, Dan Poling, confirmed that the O had indeed taken up new residence in Corvallis, sending a formal proposal to the University of Oregon to instead turn the wooden O into a trophy-like revolving property. Whichever school won the annual Civil War game would retain ownership of the O for a year, with it being painted in the appropriate school’s color.

    In retaliation, the UO student body firmly denied the request, and instead took matters into their own hands, stooping to Oregon State levels. During Oregon State’s homecoming parade shortly thereafter, several members of UO’s Theta Xi fraternity traveled to Corvallis posing as reporters. They approached the homecoming queen and royal court asking for a photograph and interview, then promptly escorted the women to a vehicle, kidnapping them and holding them (unharmed of course) overnight at a nearby parent’s house.

    

A ransom note was received by OSU student body president Dick Seideman, demanding that he ride to the corner of 13th & University on the UO campus on a kid’s scooter and make a public appeal for the return of the homecoming queen after promising the return of Oregon’s O.

     The Homecoming Queen and royal court were returned unharmed the following day, without OSU’s student body president having to ride a child’s scooter to Eugene. The O would also be returned several days later. It had been chopped into four pieces, and was promptly burned by UO students, deemed as being permanently “contaminated” during its stay in Corvallis.

    The 1957 homecoming kidnapping wasn’t the only time Oregon exacted its revenge on the rivals to the north. In 1940, following Oregon’s victory in Corvallis in the Civil War, a postgame celebratory dance was being held inside Mac Court while awaiting arrival of the team to return. Shortly after the team arrived, so too did some Beta Theta Pi fraternity members, carrying with them one of the Oregon State goal posts, which they paraded around McArthur Court for all to see.

    The next day more UO students returned to Oregon State attempting to finish the job by removing OSU’s other goalpost, but were caught in the act. One unfortunate member of the captured Oregon students had their head shaved and was marched through the streets of Corvallis wearing a large sign that read “I’M A DUMB DUCK.”

NEW PERMANENT O STANDS THE TEST OF TIME

    Enough was enough. Enough of the explosions, the paint attacks, the fires, and outright theft of the Oregon O. For the remainder of 1957 and early 1958 there would be no ‘O’, the last one being burned by UO students following its unwelcome temporary capture. Working with the Eugene City Council, the University of Oregon had a new steel O constructed.

    Dedicated on May 17th, 1958, this O was placed further down the hill, below where a large lighted cross also stood atop Skinner’s Butte for over 50 years. With the trees growing higher on the hill, this O was far less visible to the community, and therefore it was hoped far less susceptible to Beaver attack.

   Weighing approximately one ton of solid sheeted steel, the new 20×30 ‘O’ was welded into place on top of reinforced concrete braces, elevating the O several feet above the ground waist-height to deter any further attempts at unplanned dynamite demolitions. Oddly enough, the primer coat for this O was a bright orange hue, which shined over Eugene for several days before a final yellow coat was added.

    The traditions continued, at least for a little while. The freshmen would paint the O, but the elevated steel O made it rather dangerous to slide and so the traditional manner of painting soon died out to brushes. The O would be guarded around homecoming and civil war week but with its far less prominent location this was soon abandoned, as the O was out of sight and out of mind of would-be rampaging Oregon State vandals.

    Over time the O was simply forgotten, now completely obscured from view to the city by trees. The traditions surrounding the O have also been lost to time. Students don’t protect or paint it aside from the occasional graffiti tag, most students probably don’t even know of the O’s existence.

     There are no late night explosions, and it has been years since it was painted orange by unruly OSU boosters, and dragging away the steel ton structure welded to embedded concrete anchors along a steep hillside is a nearly impossible feat.

   While other hillside symbols of universities remain under constant threat of attack from rivals (last year Oregon fans even painted Arizona State’s A the night before a game in Tempe), Oregon’s O enjoys a quiet retirement, still visible for those intrepid enough to dare the precarious hike from the top of Skinner’s Butte down to the elevated steel structure, but mostly forgotten by the community and university it continues to represent.

    For over 50 years the steel O has stood, and over 100 years and counting Skinner’s Butte remains a landmark in the center of Eugene adorned with the University of Oregon’s proud logo, despite the best efforts of rivals to strike at the heart of the Oregon Ducks.

COLUMBUS DAY STORM: Unprecedented Winds Ravaged the University of Oregon Campus in 1962

COLUMBUS DAY STORM: Unprecedented Winds Ravaged the University of Oregon Campus in 1962

Originally published on CampusAttic.com on November 27th, 2013

    A 2011 New York Times article declared the Pacific Northwest the safest place to live to avoid a natural disaster. Aside from a seemingly endless supply of rain, there rarely exists extremes on par with hurricane season or tornado alley reluctantly accepted by our brethren east of the Rockies. But one unforgettable day stands out as the exception, the measuring stick for all storms to come thereafter.

    On Columbus Day (October 12th) in 1962, a storm struck the west coast from San Francisco to Seattle, something the likes of which have never been seen before or since. Meteorologists referred to it as Typhoon Frieda, but those who lived it will forever remember it as the Columbus Day Storm.

    Equivalent to a category-4 hurricane, the strongest extratropical cyclone ever recorded, winds were recorded at one weather station as high as 180 mph. One weather station near Corvallis was completely abandoned, those who manned it fleeing for their lives after winds in excess of 127 mph were recorded.

     The damage was multiplied by the storm’s south-to-north track up the coast, heading straight up the valley bypassing the natural buffer zone the Cascade Mountains normally provide. By the time the storm subsided, over six billion in damages in today’s dollars had occurred throughout the northwest, 46 people lost their lives.

    At the University of Oregon, it was a typical fall day. Thoughts were with the football team, traveling to Houston to face Rice the next day, in what would prove to be Mel Renfro’s greatest game as an Oregon Duck. There was no cause for alarm, as weather reporting in the era was primitive at best. The first weather satellite had only been launched into space two years prior, reports were based on first-hand reports from ships and scattered weather stations, and the massive weather system stirring in the south Pacific had gone unnoticed.

    As afternoon classes let out, the skies began to darken and wind gusts picked up to noticeable levels, which brought only mild curiosity and grumbling for those who hadn’t dressed properly for another typical Oregon fall front. It didn’t take long for students to gather and gawk though, as winds accelerated by the minute, sending umbrella-wielding students and faculty flying out of control.

    What began as a scene of potential comedy and ridicule aimed at fellow students escalated to one of terror, as roof shingles and tree limbs began flying through the air from the gale force winds shattering windows of campus buildings. Ominous weather reports began to come in to TV stations in the northwest, but it wasn’t until they fell silent that the alarms were raised, as massive power outages occurred throughout northern California. Word spread over TV, radio, and around campus, seek shelter immediately.

    As students and faculty alike ran for the closest building, the full brunt of Frieda struck in the late afternoon into the evening, bringing winds in Eugene in excess of 85 miles per hour.

    Trees around campus came crashing down, while anything not strongly bolted down became flying projectiles. Windows shattered, wind howled, and all night folks in Eugene sat indoors agonizingly waiting for the storm to pass. Thankfully on campus power remained on, as the university’s Physical Plant’s wires ran underground, but the rest of Eugene was not so lucky.

    By the morning, the storm had passed, and damage could be assessed. Throughout the entire northwest, it was on a scale never seen before. The timber and farm industries were obliterated, the coastal fishing fleet was destroyed, and many buildings had been completely destroyed.

    Trees that had stood on campus for 70 years were reduced to mangled firewood, cars were crushed or thrown about, a line of scooters were toppled like dominoes, and power lines were down all over campus making walking dangerous. Only one radio station in the area was still operational, and with its separate power station the University of Oregon became an odd beacon, the lone area with light amidst a blacked out Willamette Valley.

    Worse still, five Eugene residents had died, one of them being a University of Oregon student.

    Larry Johnson, 21, lived in the married student housing units for UO students on Patterson Street. During the height of the storm Johnson was trying to put cardboard over the windows of his apartment, unaware that a large chunk of the roof of Roosevelt Junior High School had been torn off from the buildings and was flying straight towards him. A chunk of the Roosevelt roof flew through his window, piercing his chest. He was pronounced dead at Sacred Heart Hospital, where his pregnant wife was also being treated for shock.

    The damage was immense. and the toll on residents both physically and emotionally was even worse. Roy Johnson, 62, of Villard Street had suffered broken bones and kidney damage when he was struck by an airborne UO ticket booth. Much of the state was without power for weeks, and people worked tirelessly to clean up and restore services.

    Up in Portland, the Oregon State Beavers were slated to play the Washington Huskies at Multnomah Stadium. Despite a total lack of power and severe damage to the stadium, the game went on, the teams having to dress by candle light. The Beavers were led by 1962 Heisman Trophy winner Terry Baker, but lost to the Huskies 14-13. The Oregon Ducks fared much better, defeating Rice 31-12. It was quite a scene the team returned to upon their charter flight’s return to Eugene, they had missed the storm of the century.

    Amidst the clean up there was an even more ominous backdrop, as two days after the storm the Cuban Missile Crisis began, a two-week stretch where the world was at the brink of nuclear war. For those living in the northwest, their homes already resembled the aftermath of a bomb. With power outages lasting weeks and TV/radio towers toppled though, many never knew that while they emerged from the worst disaster to ever strike the northwest, a possibly larger disaster loomed along the opposite coastline.

Thankfully threats of nuclear war went into remission, and the damage was slowly cleaned up, the state’s electrical grid having to be almost completely rebuilt. But the scars of the storm remained, a measuring stick for all others to come since to be compared to, and for those who experienced it, their lives would be forever changed.

The Eugene Register Guard front page the day after the storm (courtesy: Eugene Register-Guard)

THE 1937 CIVIL WAR RIOT: Getting Revenge On Lil’ Brother

THE 1937 CIVIL WAR RIOT: Getting Revenge On Lil’ Brother

Originally posted on CampusAttic.com on October 2nd, 2013

Rivalries are special. Spawned from animosity, proximity, history and circumstance; an extra level of vitriol is reserved for those “others” that bring out the best (and worst) in people each year when a rivalry game comes about. When it comes to the annual Oregon-Oregon State Civil War matchup, the 7th oldest collegiate rivalry in the country, there’s a particularly lengthy history of incidents validating the bitterness.

Today youtube makes internet stars of Civil War off-field highlights and individuals, like “No Natty (Drunk Beaver Fan)” and “Oregon State fan flips out,” but the rivalry’s most colorful moments today are downright mild to what was once the norm when the Ducks and Beavers clashed.

The 1912 Oregon State-Oregon game was played in Albany. 

 

(©UO Special Collections)

There was a time (1911) where the Civil War football game was canceled outright for fear it was simply too dangerous for those who would be in attendance after fights and “general hooliganism,” instigated by Oregon State fans following their victory in Corvallis, had occurred the year before. Games have been played in Albany and Portland in the hopes that a neutral setting might stem the inevitable tide of nastiness, with expectedly poor results. Regardless of location the festive nature brought about when the Ducks and Beavers mingle remains decidedly hostile.

But perhaps no moment in time has personified all that encompasses the in-state rivalry and proper namesake of “Civil War” better than the 1937 game and subsequent riot; when Oregon State may have won the battle, but the Ducks won the war. It was in fact the moment that the name Civil War was earned for the rivalry, the now infamous moniker first being used by the Eugene Register Guard to describe the chaotic events that followed the 1937 Oregon State-Oregon football game.

PREPARING THE FIELD FOR BATTLE

1937 would prove a down year for both Oregon schools, the Oregon State College (O.S.C) Aggies as they were then officially known, though the nickname Beavers was commonly used, finished 2-2-3. The Oregon Webfoots fared worse, finishing a dismal 2-5. For both teams, no matchup was more important than the October 23rd, 1937 rivalry game to be played at Hayward Field in Eugene. It was homecoming for Oregon, and nothing would make the OSC faithful happier than to spoil Oregon’s party.

Students prepare the O on Skinner’s Butte for homecoming. (©UO Special Collections)

Great festivities were planned for the returning alumni, students, and fans. Fraternity row was adorned with inventive homecoming signs poking fun at the Beavers for the annual sign contest (Theta Chi won the award for best homecoming sign), a Friday night dance featuring the music of jazz artist Paul Whiteman was planned at Mac Court, finishing touches were being made by the freshmen class on the annual bonfire pyre for the noise parade and pep rally, the O on Skinner’s Butte was given a fresh paint job in keeping with homecoming tradition, the formal dedication of the new library building, and world-renowned Italian opera singer Amelita Galli-Curci was scheduled to give a concert at McArthur Court the day after the game.

Paul Whiteman performing at the Homecoming Dance 1937. (©UO Special Collections)

Record crowds were anticipated for the Hayward Field stands, with trains coming from Portland and other communities packed to the brim with eager alumni. Luncheons, dinners, dances, visiting old stomping grounds, seeing old friends, pep rallies, noise parades, and football; it had everything a homecoming weekend should be.

Hayward Field, a dusty dirt patch turned mud bog when the fall rains came with nary a blade of grass visible, was getting a much-needed facelift for the big day. Students and faculty had worked hard to raise funds necessary to purchase sod for the first time, with the new green grass field installed by grounds crew a couple days before kickoff. The field itself would prove to be the first shot fired, like Fort Sumter 75 years prior, in what would henceforth become known after the weekend’s unscheduled events as the Civil War.

OREGON STATE PROVOKES A CIVIL WAR

The new grass turf at Hayward got branded by Oregon State fans. 

(©UO Special Collections)

Oregon State fans, wanting to make their own mark on the upcoming events, did so quite literally, traveling to Eugene in the middle of the night and burning the letters O.S.C. onto Hayward’s brand new grass field. 

For added insult, they also painted the Oregon O on Skinner’s Butte an unsightly orange, a site which was traditionally protected at night during homecoming by freshmen tasked with preserving the O’s integrity in the lead-up to the game, but had been found conspicuously unguarded. OSC had stirred the hornet’s nest, it would not be the only provocation.

OSC’s unsightly graffiti aside, the mood remained festive for the weekend. The “Pep Patrol” and Order of the O vigilantly kept up homecoming traditions, treating violators of the unwritten rules to an unwelcomed dip in the senior fountain or public paddling on the steps of Fenton Hall.

Student gets paddled on the steps of Fenton Hall by the Order of the O. 

(©UO Special Collections)

“Criminal acts” such as not saying hello to every passer-by along Hello Walk (the path on the old campus between Villard Hall and Friendly Hall), freshmen getting caught wearing a tie or not in possession of their green beanie, and being deemed as failing to show proper school spirit all resulted in unplanned baths and sore buttocks for the rule-breakers.

Homecoming weekend began with the formal dedication of the new University Library. Dr. John Henry Nash of San Francisco provided the principal address, stating, “The library is the very soul of an institution of higher learning.[1]” Friday evening festivities began with the annual Noise Parade, a chaotic train of flatbed trucks overflowing with students causing as much of an audible cacophony as possible.

The parade was its usual affair, a tradition of rowdiness with fraternities and sororities set up on truck beds with the most annoying, aggravating, ear-splitting mechanisms and bells they could muster to drive through Eugene making the loudest racket possible, in theory rallying the crowd for the next day’s game while probably causing headaches more than anything.

The 1937 Homecoming Noise Parade Rally in downtown Eugene. (©UO Special Collections)

The parade followed its typical route from campus to downtown then down Willamette and back to campus by Hayward Field, where those that hadn’t been turned deaf throughout town from the 120+ decibel consistent drone of parading greeks with air horns awaited the start of the pep rally.

It was tradition for the freshmen class to build a large bonfire near Hayward Field, then guard it (along with the O on Skinner’s Butte) with their lives to prevent any eager Beavers from prematurely igniting the tower. This was a common practice, tried by both sides repeatedly, but only accomplished on a couple occasions.

While the frosh were unsuccessful in protecting the O, the bonfire went off without a hitch. Speeches were made by Oregon football coach Tex Oliver and others, and the rally squad with Puddles in tow (the live duck mascot, not the costumed one we know today) got the crowd into a fever pitch for the lighting of the wooden tower.

1937 Homecoming sign. (©UO Special Collections)

With the bonfire sending embers into the night sky, people made their way to McArthur Court for the big homecoming dance, featuring world-famous jazz musician Paul Whiteman and his orchestra. It was an almost flawless opening (OSC vandals aside) to another great homecoming weekend, which would quickly turn sour the next day when Beavers had to spoil the party.

RAMBUNCTIOUS BEAVERS WON’T LET SLEEPING DUCKS LIE

The 1937 Oregon State-Oregon football game proved to match the crowd expectations and more, with the stands overflowing maxing out near 20,000 spectators, the largest ever to witness a game at Hayward Field. The game however, would prove disappointing to the festive atmosphere created by the crowd and supporters.

The Oregon cheerleaders had a little antagonistic trick of their own up their sleeves for the Oregon State fans in attendance before kickoff, parading a cow on the back of a truck around the Hayward track mocking the OSC fans with shouts relating the cow to that of a lost sibling or parent. Oregon State would quickly get its revenge, several students kidnapping Puddles when its caretakers weren’t watching the beloved Oregon mascot, holding the duck hostage on the OSC sideline for much of the day.

Cheerleaders parading a cow around Hayward Field. (©UO Special Collections)

The game would prove rather fruitless for Oregon though, unable to find a way to stop Oregon State’s dynamic quarterback Joe “The Ghost” Gray. It was a 0-0 deadlocked campaign until the 4th quarter with some unlucky breaks leading to OSU carrying the momentum for much of the game, until Gray connected on a 17-yard touchdown pass to give the Beavers a 7-0 lead.

A couple minutes later a fumble by Oregon receiver Victor Reginato on Oregon’s own 23 yard line was recovered by OSC’s Jay Mercer, a Eugene High School graduate. It took only one play for the Ghost to capitalize, running around the left end and reaching paydirt. to extend the lead to 14-0. Oregon responded, returning the kickoff for a touchdown, but it was called back on a penalty, and a drive couldn’t be sustained against OSU’s defense.

It remained 14-0 in the final minute with the teams near the south endzone, but OSC fans decided it was time to celebrate, even with the game still ongoing. While the crowd focused on the action at the opposite end, a group of Beaver fans ran into the north endzone and began ripping down the goalpost. An at first shocked crowd soon turned into an angry rabble pleading for a response from the UO student section, which was quickly obliged with around 50 students pouring onto the field to protect it from the rampaging Beavers.

A brawl quickly broke out while the majority watched and shouted. One Beaver fan standing on top of the goalposts had his pants completely ripped off by the students yanking to bring him down from below, while projectiles and punches were thrown on both sides of the melee, lasting well after the final whistle to the now far less interesting football game compared to the bitter and ever-expanding brawl on the opposite end of the field.

View of the 1937 homecoming game from the Hayward Field grandstands. (©UO Special Collections)

Eventually, despite the best efforts of Oregon students, the goalposts did come crashing down, and were triumphantly carried through campus to 15th street by OSC students. Their march of victory was a battle in of itself, students and local townspeople crowding the street throwing ripe fruit and water balloons at the invaders. The football game was over, Oregon had lost both the game and the ensuing brawl, and eventually the triumphant OSC rooters triumphantly made their way back to Corvallis.

But the on-field fight Saturday would prove to only be the start of the conflict…

HOMECOMING CONTINUES

With Hayward Field in tatters and missing one goalpost, the nearby streets covered in rotting fruit, and fans exhausted; attention turned to the reunion dinners held by fraternities and sororities Saturday evening for the returning alumni. Homecoming weekend was rounded out with Amelita Galli-Curci’s concert at McArthur Court the following afternoon. 

She had arrived just in town just in time to be in attendance for the game the previous day, and praised the festive atmosphere at the school, despite the surprising and somewhat unsightly events after the football match had concluded.

Amelita Galli-Curci arrives in Eugene for 1937 homecoming. (©UO Special Collections)

With the concert over, Homecoming had come to a close. Fans maligned the 14-0 loss to the hated Aggies from Corvallis, but undeniably the other festivities surrounding the weekend had been an overwhelming success. Students prepared for classes Monday morning, with thoughts of revenge for next year’s rematch.

That should have been the end of it, but some Oregon State fans decided that they just weren’t satisfied enough and needed just a little bit more. The scene in Corvallis following the game and Sunday had been a jubilant celebration stretching late into the evening, and when Monday morning came around some 2,000 students decided that they wanted to extend the party, get one more chance to rub the win in Oregon’s face.

OSC ANTAGONIZING GOES TOO FAR

OSC students piled on to vehicles, some as many as 15 onto one car, and made the slow 40 mile trip down to Eugene, arriving around 11am. Their arrival had been tipped off to the UO and the local papers and police by an intrepid reporter in Junction City, who noticed the odd caravan of corn-wielding students headed towards Eugene.

Oregon State students parading through Oregon’s campus. (©UO Special Collections)

Waving corn stalks at students as they paraded around the campus streets to shouts of “DUCK SOUP!”, they were met with confused looks that turned instead to tacks being thrown on the street in front of their vehicles and tossed water balloons and tomatoes. Some Law students in class, noticing the racket being raised outside, managed to hook up a firehose and sprayed the invading passers-by from the second-story window.

Campus Police Officer Rhinesmith haplessly tried to preserve order of an escalating situation, while Dean of Men Virgil Earl tried to make it a friendly visit, inviting the university band to form and play a welcoming song to the visitors. City officials, recognizing a potential continuation of the riot on Saturday, asked police to provide an escort for the parading Beavers to avoid any further conflict and attempt to lead them back out of town…it only somewhat worked, as a few of the cars peeled off from the escort and made their way back to campus.

UO law students hook up a firehose to spray OSC cars passing by. (©UO Special Collections)

The scene turned ugly when classes got out around noon, with many of the OSC students, now on foot, gathered near the pioneer mother statue on campus smoking and looking to instigate trouble. Spotted by UO students, word spread quickly of the invaders on campus, and another fight quickly broke out on the lawn surrounding the statue. This fight did not escalate the way things had during the football game two days prior, and quickly died down after only a couple minutes of punches being thrown, but it would prove to be just the eye of the storm.

Most of the OSC fans had quietly headed back to Corvallis under the strong urging of the Eugene Police Dept., but some 200 that had participated in the pioneer mother brawl still remained roaming campus and Eugene. It was quite a list of accomplishments for the OSC students all things considered.

In a three-day stretch they had managed to:

1) Paint the O on Skinner’s Butte orange

2) Burn OSC onto the brand new grass turf of Hayward Field

3) Kidnapped Puddles – the Oregon live duck mascot

4) Won the annual football game

5) Torn down a Hayward Field goalpost and paraded it through Eugene

6) Started two fights on campus

7) Held a victory parade through the UO campus two days after the game

For any sane invader in enemy territory this should have been a wildly successful campaign, but even the most passive of webfoots could only be pushed so far before it was time to exact revenge.

OSC fan captured by UO students. (©UO Special Collections)

ALL OUT WAR IS DECLARED

The crowd starts to gather outside Seymour’s Cafe, where OSC fans had barricaded themselves inside. (©UO Special Collections)

The straggling OSC crew left campus to find some food, taking over Seymour’s Cafe in downtown Eugene for a victory meal. Little did they notice until it was too late the group of angry students looking for blood gathering outside, fresh out of class and hearing word of the recent fight on campus, still sour over the events of Saturday. Within minutes Seymour Cafe’s was completely surrounded by a rowdy mob of students, blocking all traffic and sending police scrambling back to downtown after escorting the rest of the OSC ramble back north. They could do little to quell the gathering storm.

As the Register Guard described the following events, “They asked for it, got it! The guerilla warfare soon made Eugene look like Shanghai.” While around 100 OSC fans barricaded themselves inside Seymour’s with the angry mob outside trying to get in, any straggling Beaver not inside the safety of the diner was captured and dragged to the Millrace, and tossed into the icy cold stream.

The barricades back at Seymour’s didn’t hold for long, with Seymour’s management aiding in the removal of the OSC invaders out of their business before the windows and walls suffered any more damage from the hundreds gathered in the street demanding Beaver hide. All Oregon State fans were quickly captured in the masses and either escorted or dragged to the Millrace for their well-deserved dip in the frigid waters along with their brethren.

The vehicles of the OSC students were overturned and vandalized, with the police only mildly attempting to preserve order, knowing that after the events of Saturday and returning to Eugene to instigate more trouble, those students probably deserved their come-uppin’s.

A captured Beaver is carried off to be Millrace’d. (©UO Special Collections)

But a dunk in the Millrace drink itself wasn’t proper humiliation after all the affronts done by the outnumbered OSC’ers. The crowd made their way to the top of Skinner’s Butte with all captured foes in tow. Hair clippers emerged and many of the Beavers got their heads shaved, then were forced to paint the O on the Butte back to yellow in the traditional manner…by sliding down it with paint on their pants until trousers were completely tattered, some stripped of most of their clothes before enduring the humiliating paint slide. This was a fate normally reserved for freshmen initiations, but for the instigators none would be allowed to escape until clothing and bodies were thoroughly ransacked, freshly shaved, and almost completely covered head to toe in yellow paint.

An Oregon State fan is forced to “Paint the O”. (©UO Special Collections)

With the O back to its pristine yellow and all Beavers cold, shivering, barely clothed and shoeless, and bright yellow; they were unceremoniously sent on their way back to their trashed overturned vehicles with a warning to get out of town. The war was officially over, Oregon had gotten its revenge.

The next day the frontpage of every Oregon paper ran with headlines similar to that of the Register Guard’s, “OSC INVADES EUGENE: WAR FOLLOWS.” The articles would for the first time describe the events of the clash between Duck and Beaver as a “Civil War.” The term would stick, as both sides planned their revenge for the 1938 rematch.

REPERCUSSIONS, AND THE ONGOING CIVIL WAR CONTINUES

The OSC invaders didn’t escape the riot without some war reparations. Many were called into court in Junction City to face the wrath of Carl Bilrup, Justice of the Peace. But recognizing the bad haircuts, yellow paint chips, and black eyes sported by those involved, Bilrup was surprisingly lenient on the gang, warning them not to “parade a main state highway with gangs of excited boys and girls clinging to radiators and running boards. Enthusiasm is beautiful, but as for rowdyism, it isn’t done.”

OSC students traveling to Eugene to start what became the 1937 Civil War riot. (©UO Special Collections)

Only light penalties deemed to be all in fun and boys will be boys were issued, but with the stern warning that it better not happen again. Despite the fun college spirit, it had been fortunate that only light property damage and no major injuries or deaths had occurred, if future events were to happen again the participants might not be so lucky next time.

Community members did display concern to temper “the old college spirit” of Joe College, citing how lucky it was for all involved to have escaped without serious injury or death; just a few bumps, damaged vehicles, and bruised egos.

Letters to the editor for the papers in both communities received pleas to end the annual affair citing public safety, but this was dismissed by most. It had been tried once before, in 1911 after fights broke out after the game, and a year off did little to prevent hostilities. As much as some loathed the riot scenes, the real tragedy would have been not having an opportunity to get even on the football field the next year and future battles.

The years would go by, and only in 1943 and 1944 would there be seasons that Oregon State and Oregon didn’t renew their rivalry, neither school able to field a team with most of the male student body oversees fighting in World War II. In 1945 the teams played twice in a shortened and rushed season where both schools could barely field rosters of athletes fresh from the front-lines at war’s end, but in the time since there has always been the annual Civil War game.

The antagonistic incidents between fans would continue as they do to this day, both big and small. That’s what makes rivalries great, and despite the occasional outcry when it is pushed a little too far, thankfully nothing has gone quite as over the top as the incidents of 1937. It is indeed a civil war.

Recap of the 1937 Civil War riot from the 1938 Oregana (UO yearbook). (©UO Special Collections)

Other notable incidents in the Civil War series:

• 1940 – Following Oregon’s Civil War victory in Corvallis, members of Beta Theta Pi fraternity tore down the goalpost at Bell Field and brought it all the way back to Eugene, parading the OSC goal post throughout Mac Court during a postgame celebration dance.
• 1946 – Oregon State students kidnap Oregon’s beloved duck mascot, Puddles.
• 1954 – A group of about 50 Oregon students made the trip up to Corvallis during OSU’s homecoming, and in the middle of the night prematurely ignited the Beaver bonfire. Some of the UO students were captured, had their heads shaved, and painted orange and black. One famously was forcefully paraded through OSU’s campus wearing a sign that read “I’m a Dumb Duck.”
• 1960 – Oregon students pose as reporters during OSU’s homecoming, approach the homecoming royal court for a photograph, and promptly kidnap the homecoming queen and the other members of the court. A ransom note was received by OSU student body president Dick Seideman shortly thereafter demanding that he ride to the corner of 13th & University at the UO campus on a kid’s scooter and make a public appeal for the return of the homecoming queen. The Homecoming Queen was returned unharmed after a stay at a parent’s house, without OSU’s student body president having to ride a child’s scooter to Eugene.
• 1972 – In a reverse of roles of the 1937 riot, in the final moments of the 1972 Civil War game in Corvallis game Oregon students stormed the field and attempted to tear down the south goal post. When the Duck crowd then tried to go after the north end goal posts they were met at midfield by a large contingent of OSU students, sparking a postgame brawl on the field.
• 2000 – The rivalry in the stands leads to bitterness among the mascots, as a fist fight breaks out between Benny Beaver and the Oregon Duck during the game. Both mascots are ejected.
• 2010 – Duck fans storm the field in Corvallis after Oregon’s victory, sending the UO to the BCS national championship for the first time in school history. During the celebration, a fan sets an OSU shirt on fire, damaging the field.

Students parade the Oregon State goalposts around Mac Court in 1940. (©UO Special Collections)