Harlan Stone later recalled that he had been “impressed by the humor, quiet dignity and penetrating philosophy.” His grade point average was scarcely stellar at 78.71 but was ten points above where he had started freshman year. His graduation was noted in The Caledonian , the newspaper of St. Johnsbury, along with that of another St. Johnsbury alum, William Boardman. Coolidge also caught the attention of the alumni who were present for the graduation days, including John Hammond, the Northampton lawyer.
Students ran an annual survey to profile the seniors, asking them about religion, marriage plans, career plans, and so on. There was also a poll as to who was the brightest in the class; Dwight Morrow won hands down, but “Cooley,” as the others sometimes called him, also received some votes. He was a long way from the oblivion of freshman year. Their responses to such questions were another chance for the seniors to try to demonstrate their wit. Coolidge did not forgo the opportunity. Under the question, “Are you engaged?” he wrote, “Severally.” But he also delivered more serious responses. Under “politics,” he listed himself as Republican. Asked their denominational preference, most other young men identified themselves as Congregational or Presbyterian. There was one Catholic in the class list and there were two Unitarians. “Presbyterian,” Morrow wrote.
For denominational preference, however, Coolidge wrote “None,” as did several others, including Ernest Hardy, his Northampton friend. As primitive as that response may sound, it did not mean that Coolidge was atheist or agnostic; it meant that he was unwilling to cede the independence, however slight that ceding, that affiliating with any denomination would entail. Others, when asked their work plans, listed “Law,” “Business,” “Travel,” or “Undecided.” Morrow wrote “Law”; Coolidge wrote “Undecided.” When it came to the question of his plans for the following year, Coolidge simply replied “Nothing.” This was the puerile dare to the world: don’t ask me too early, or I shan’t tell. It was also a play on “ouden,” his own reminder to his peers of how far the rejected freshman had come. As the days of packing up approached, Coolidge made it clear to his father that the advantages lay with law school: “As a matter of fact the best law offices will not take in a man to do office work, such as the ordinary student does in the country office, unless he has been to a law school.”
But the preference for the academic study of law at Columbia or Harvard was not the main point of the letter. That main point came in the quirky syntax of the final line: “P.s. I have not decided to study law.” This time the ambiguity in a piece of Coolidge correspondence reflected maturity, not weakness. What this line said was that Garman was right: the decision itself mattered most, more than, say, the merits of either reading the law at a firm, attending law school, or working at the counter at the Notch. The quiet Vermonter who had seemed so unlikely to succeed now had good prospect of doing so. Suddenly Coolidge knew that he could undertake, even master, tasks that were unbearably difficult as long as the choice to undertake them was his own.
Three : Determination
Northampton
THE NEW FORBES LIBRARY sat up on a hill, more fortress than book house. Its exterior was daunting pink granite taken from the Milford area of New Hampshire, alternating with pieces of red Longmeadow sandstone that had been hauled to Northampton. Each piece of slate on the roof was specially tied to girders that had just been laid a few months before by the Berlin Iron Bridge Company of Berlin, Connecticut; the roof was already renowned for its fireproof aspects. Inside, surrounded by the rock and thousands of books, amid the hissing of the new steam pipes, sat a twenty-three-year-old, Calvin Coolidge. He was reading the law after all.
The decision had been
Students ran an annual survey to profile the seniors, asking them about religion, marriage plans, career plans, and so on. There was also a poll as to who was the brightest in the class; Dwight Morrow won hands down, but “Cooley,” as the others sometimes called him, also received some votes. He was a long way from the oblivion of freshman year. Their responses to such questions were another chance for the seniors to try to demonstrate their wit. Coolidge did not forgo the opportunity. Under the question, “Are you engaged?” he wrote, “Severally.” But he also delivered more serious responses. Under “politics,” he listed himself as Republican. Asked their denominational preference, most other young men identified themselves as Congregational or Presbyterian. There was one Catholic in the class list and there were two Unitarians. “Presbyterian,” Morrow wrote.
For denominational preference, however, Coolidge wrote “None,” as did several others, including Ernest Hardy, his Northampton friend. As primitive as that response may sound, it did not mean that Coolidge was atheist or agnostic; it meant that he was unwilling to cede the independence, however slight that ceding, that affiliating with any denomination would entail. Others, when asked their work plans, listed “Law,” “Business,” “Travel,” or “Undecided.” Morrow wrote “Law”; Coolidge wrote “Undecided.” When it came to the question of his plans for the following year, Coolidge simply replied “Nothing.” This was the puerile dare to the world: don’t ask me too early, or I shan’t tell. It was also a play on “ouden,” his own reminder to his peers of how far the rejected freshman had come. As the days of packing up approached, Coolidge made it clear to his father that the advantages lay with law school: “As a matter of fact the best law offices will not take in a man to do office work, such as the ordinary student does in the country office, unless he has been to a law school.”
But the preference for the academic study of law at Columbia or Harvard was not the main point of the letter. That main point came in the quirky syntax of the final line: “P.s. I have not decided to study law.” This time the ambiguity in a piece of Coolidge correspondence reflected maturity, not weakness. What this line said was that Garman was right: the decision itself mattered most, more than, say, the merits of either reading the law at a firm, attending law school, or working at the counter at the Notch. The quiet Vermonter who had seemed so unlikely to succeed now had good prospect of doing so. Suddenly Coolidge knew that he could undertake, even master, tasks that were unbearably difficult as long as the choice to undertake them was his own.
Three : Determination
Northampton
THE NEW FORBES LIBRARY sat up on a hill, more fortress than book house. Its exterior was daunting pink granite taken from the Milford area of New Hampshire, alternating with pieces of red Longmeadow sandstone that had been hauled to Northampton. Each piece of slate on the roof was specially tied to girders that had just been laid a few months before by the Berlin Iron Bridge Company of Berlin, Connecticut; the roof was already renowned for its fireproof aspects. Inside, surrounded by the rock and thousands of books, amid the hissing of the new steam pipes, sat a twenty-three-year-old, Calvin Coolidge. He was reading the law after all.
The decision had been
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