They came from Rosary, Barat, Mundelein, Saint Mary-of-the-Woods and a dozen other
"satellite" women's colleges scattered throughout the country. In the 1940s, '50s and '60s, they
were the daughters, sisters, cousins, childhood friends and high school sweethearts of Notre
Dame men. For many of them, family tradition made them yearn to be students there in their
own right. I was one of those girls. In the days before co-education, our loafers and saddle shoes
trod dutifully on our own campuses, but our hearts belonged to Notre Dame. The Irish had an
expression that explained our situation beautifully. We had to "take it out in wantin'."
Sometimes on prom weekends, our dates were allowed to take us to class with them. I
was fortunate to be able to attend the well-known writer Frank O'Malley's class on the "Modern
American Novel" (or something like that). Because literature was my passion, I remember being
absolutely mesmerized by his lecture and thinking as I sat there, "This is what college should be
like."
Unlike our "sisters" at Saint Mary's just across the Dixie Highway, distance dictated that
we travel to get to this special place. And travel we did. To the football games and victory
dances, to the Freshman Frolic, the Sophomore Cotillion, the Junior Prom and the Senior Ball. In
between we fitted in the Mardi Gras and the Military Ball. Notre Damers (the term "Domers"
had yet to be coined) returned the favor, coming to our colleges for dances and special
weekends. Blind dates were the norm. Lots of them fizzled but many blossomed into
engagements and marriages.
A 1959 graduate of Rosary recalled that although she knew little about Notre Dame
before she arrived in River Forest, Illinois, it didn't take long to realize that South Bend was the
place to be on football weekends. Thanks to one of her classmates, who had a friend at Notre
Dame willing to fix the Rosary girls up with blind dates, her social life was launched. "We
usually took the train up from Chicago and stayed at the Morris Inn. The weekends were always
exciting. The nuns never went with us, but we were ladies all the time. Just being on the campus
was a thrill. We all swooned over Paul Hornung and all wanted to have a date with him, but he
was always taken." She remembered especially the Senior Ball in 1959. "I had an absolutely
gorgeous yellow embroidered organza evening gown. When I walked over the bridge that led
into the ballroom on my date's arm and the band played 'Man with a Golden Arm,' I thought
'My God, I'm in heaven!'"
My own experiences as a student at Saint Mary-of-the-Woods from 1953 to '57 were
similar to my Rosary friend's. In those days of innocence, as we both remembered, singing was
an integral part of every weekend. "Man, Man, Is for the Woman Made" and "A Man Without a
Woman Is Like a Ship Without a Sail" were great favorites. The group of ND students that my
friends and I knew best, thanks to the high school sweetheart of one of our classmates, were in
the class of 1955 and lived in Sorin Hall and later in Walsh. The pre-game jazz concerts on
Sorin's porch were terrific. I particulary loved seeing those halls with their high-ceilinged rooms
because they were my father's halls, back in the 1920s. Before one weekend, my dad told me to
look up one of the "bachelor dons," Paul Fenlon, who still lived in one of the Sorin towers. I
went up to his room, and he entertained me for an hour, going through old yearbooks and
reminiscing about my dad's college days.
The 200-mile taxi ride
Since there were no trains in Indiana running directly from Terre Haute to South Bend (a 200-mile trip), we had to be more creative than the Rosary students. Once in a while our college
would charter a bus, but as a rule my group of six hired a taxi. Yup, a taxi. After our freshman
year, we had our own driver, a Mr. Winthrop, whom we called "Windy." Windy had been
bequeathed to us by a group of graduating seniors, and for three years he was our man on the
spot. On Friday afternoons (we would cut as many classes as we could in order to get to South
Bend in time for the pep rally), we would load up the trunk of the car and head out. By the time
we got to South Bend, we'd be nearly asphyxiated because something was wrong with the
exhaust and we had to keep the windows open to keep from perishing. Windy would drop us off
and then hang around South Bend with some pals until it was time to make the return drive on
Sunday afternoon. All for $11 each, round trip. Our usual ports of call were the Oliver and
LaSalle hotels or Mrs. O'Neill's boarding house on Notre Dame Avenue.
Only once was I lucky enough to stay at the Morris Inn. That was Senior Ball weekend in
1955, and I had a date who apparently had some pull in the accommodations arena. If we had a
special date for the weekend, he usually paid for our room. If it was to be a blind date (and that
was more common) we paid for our own. Because the hotels doubled their rates on football
weekends, from $8 a night to $16, we would sleep eight girls to a room -- four on the mattress
on the floor and four on the box springs. For a grand total of $4 apiece.
The program for the football weekends rarely varied. On Friday night there would be a
pep rally in the old fieldhouse. One unforgettable evening my freshman year -- Frank Leahy's
last season as coach -- a sustained roar went up from the crowd that lasted for more than 30
minutes. Pretty heady stuff for a 17-year-old small town Iowa girl. Afterward our dates would
take us out for pizza or to some dive -- I remember one really crummy place called "The Rio"
up in Michigan. I didn't drink back then, but that night we were with a bunch of boys from
Chicago who were light years ahead of us in sophistication and liked their nips. It was a long
evening!
On game day we dressed up -- suits and heels and, sometimes, hats. How on earth we
managed to walk all over the campus in three-inch heels is a mystery to me today. Heel spurs
were not uncommon. Then it was off to the stadium. If our dates didn't have extra tickets for us,
one of the dads usually came through. The color and excitement of the crowd, the band and the
game itself remains as vivid to me now as it was back then. Afterward at the Victory Dance we
danced the night away -- or at least part of the night, because the boys had to be in at 12:30. If
we happened to be staying at the Oliver, there was a "Touchdown Bar" after the game that went
on until the wee hours, and at 12:30 the students who lived off-campus began roaming the halls
looking for "late dates." We were usually too tired to go out again but hope always burned
eternal.
Sunday mornings meant the beautiful Mass at Sacred Heart and, if we'd not gotten there
before, a trip to the Grotto. Then it was time to head back to school. If the date had been a good
one, letters would fly back and forth between our campuses. We loved it when we found a letter
in our mailbox with the ND monogram on the envelope. Probably the most anticipated pieces of
mail were the thick, creamy envelopes that signaled an invitation to one of the big class dances.
A night at the prom
Those prom weekends were magical. Everything was planned to perfection. We still wore long
ball gowns with hoop skirts, often elbow-length white kid gloves. Our dates were resplendent in
their tuxedos. Big bands played at the dances -- I particularly remember Ralph Flanagan and
Ralph Marterie. Senior Ball meant a trip to the Michigan dunes on Sunday for a picnic after the
Communion Breakfast. Father Hesburgh spoke at those breakfasts, and his talks were
memorable.
One of the funniest times I ever had was during a Military Ball weekend with a fellow
from Florida that I'd been dating. He invited me up for the dance, but there was one hitch. He
and the Navy ROTC had parted company some time before. However, his identical twin brother
was still a member in good standing. So my date went as his brother, resplendent in his borrowed
Naval braid. Unfortunately, he was terrified that the "Brass" would find him out, so we spent
most of the evening cowering in corners and dodging behind potted palms in the new Stepan
Center.
That particular weekend was just after Thanksgiving (if memory serves me right) and I
had spent the holiday in Chicago with cousins. I had purchased my train ticket to South Bend a
couple of days before and spent a bit of time window shopping in the Loop before catching the
South Shore. I took a taxi from the train station to Mrs. O'Neill's, where my date was waiting for
me. When I reached into my shoulder bag to pay the driver, I found that my wallet had been
picked clean and I hadn't a cent to my name. The weekend turned out to be a little more
expensive for my friend than he had planned.
The ND students also loved coming down to "The Woods" for prom weekends because
the nuns rolled out the red carpet for them. Boys came from many college campuses and the nuns
were lovely to all of them, but the Notre Dame students were their (and our) favorites. The group
I mentioned before from the class of 1955 (the Sorin and Walsh gang ) had an old 1940 Nash
called the "Grey Ghost" that they kept hidden off campus. I hate to think how many of us piled
into that wreck to go on the picnics that preceded our proms and balls. Some of my friends and I
were so impressed with the idea of "wheels" (we weren't allowed to have cars either) that we
surreptitiously tried to buy a hearse to transport us in style. However one of our conversations
was overheard by the powers that be and the idea died aborning. On Sunday mornings after high
Mass, buses would take us to a benefactor's beautiful estate for a tea dance, and then the boys
would head back to school. If things had gone well, the letters would begin again.
Dad's weekends at The Woods were mini Notre Dame reunions. The classes of the mid-1920s were represented by my dad, Wade Sullivan; Judge Howard from Indianapolis; and Don
Miller of Four Horseman fame. I think they spent more time at the Woodland Inn rehashing the
glory days under Rockne than at any planned events.
For those of us who were steeped in the traditions of Notre Dame in the years before girls
could enroll, memories of those long ago proms and autumn weekends in South Bend are the
loveliest of our college days. As it sometimes does, life often came full circle in succeeding
generations. Mine happened on a beautiful afternoon in May of 1996, when I saw my daughter
receive her degree from the university that I had loved from afar -- exactly 70 years to the day
after her grandfather graduated.
The photo here, from Notre Dame Archives, depicts an unidentified couple at a Notre Dame-sponsored dance in the late 1950s or early '60s.
(April 2007)
