Category Archives: Rose Library

Mapping Emory history

“Whose maps are we trying to read?” asks Rebecca Solnit in Unfathomable City: A New Orleans Atlas. “And what are we trying to draw? It’s so common to live in a place without truly knowing its history, its systems, and the people who are different from you and who move through different versions of the city.”

I’ve been trying to read the different versions of Emory by viewing the maps stowed away in the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library. What do they tell me about the university’s history, systems, and people? Well, here is an example.

The map below bears the date 1950. Knowing what I do about the campus today, the first thing that strikes my eye is the vast vacancy to the right side of Clifton Road. Where now stand the law school and edifice upon edifice of clinics stretching from North Decatur Road up to the railroad tracks, there were, in 1950, a house, some apartments, a “grill & bookstore,” a “doctors’ bldg,” and a post office, which I happen to know also had a pharmacy next door.

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Campus map, 1950, courtesy of Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library

What I glean from this is that some Emory folks lived conveniently closer to work and study than nearly anyone does today. Faculty physicians occupied modest space. And commuters or visitors to the campus needed not a single concrete deck in which to park. President Goodrich White probably walked from his home at the corner of North Decatur and Clifton to his office, which was in Candler Library until the Administration Building was constructed five years later.

At the top of the map, I notice the words “federal dormitories” and “federal apartments.” How odd, that word “federal” on a private, church-affiliated campus.

The dormitories were built to accommodate the enrollment boom after World War II. Thomas English, in his 1965 history of Emory, describes them: “[T]hree Federal Public Housing dormitories were brought in and set up beyond the railroad, in which 384 men shivered in winter and baked in summer.” A generation reading “Li’l Abner” in the comic strips dubbed the place “Lower Slobbovia.” These “eyesores,” as English called them, remained until 1955. It’s hard to know what students born in the middle of the Depression and weaned on war rations thought of their accommodations, but most likely the humble dorms made graduation “a consummation devoutly to be wished for.”

The “federal apartments” were what English called “plywood and tar paper barracks . . . erected for married couples farther out Clifton Road, long to be remembered without affection as ‘Mudville.'”

Anyone out there reading this who may have dwelt in one or the other of these complexes, let me hear from you. I would love to hear about your experiences.

More maps anon.

Gary Hauk




The legend of the Wesley holly

A story passed down through the decades recounts the legacy of a visit by Bishop Warren Candler to St. Simons Island with his wife, Antoinette, sometime during his chancellorship of the university. (He was chancellor from 1915 until his retirement from the job in 1920.)

Both John and Charles Wesley, the founders of Methodism, had ministered to Native Americans and English colonists around Savannah and on St. Simons in 1736, shortly after the founding of the colony of Georgia. The Wesleys often preached outdoors, and tradition held that one particular large and impressive live oak tree on St. Simons had shaded the young Charles Wesley during a service of prayer and preaching. Some claim that John later preached there also. The tree came to be known as the Wesley Oak, and a photo of it appears in Lucian Lamar Knight’s Georgia Landmarks, Memorials, and Legends (1913–14, Vol. 1, p. 66).

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The Wesley Oak on St. Simons Island as it appeared in the first decade of the 20th century.

Knight described the tree as rising “to a height of some two hundred feet, while, over an area of several acres, its cool shade rests like a benediction.” Knight held out the suspicion that the tree may not have been the identical one that shaded the Wesleys, but he acknowledged that the tree’s size suggested that it no doubt harked back to the early colonial era.

A historical marker pointing to the former location of the tree can be seen on the web here. The tree suffered its demise sometime in the 1920s, and the historical marker reports that a cross made from its wood hangs near the pulpit in Christ Church Frederica on St. Simons (the cross is just visible behind the American flag in the photo below).

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The nave of Christ Church Frederica, St. Simons,

In a pilgrimage the Candlers made to that live oak, Nettie, as the bishop called her, spotted a small holly bush growing out of a crook of the tree—probably from a seed left by a bird in its droppings onto the shallow soil accumulated there. According to lore, Nettie uprooted the little holly and brought it back to Atlanta for transplanting on the Emory campus near the Old Theology Building.

Years later, that holly had grown huge, sinking deep roots, and it had to be removed to make way for new steam pipes under the Quadrangle. Groundskeepers took cuttings from it first, then rooted them and planted them around the campus. Here and there (in front of the Psychology and Interdisciplinary Sciences Building, for example, and at the corners of Bowden Hall and Candler Library, and around Glenn Memorial), descendants of that original East Palatka holly bush, the “Wesley Holly,” still flourish. They are offspring of the holly that grew from the bole of a live oak under which, according to tradition, the Wesleys once had preached.

Wesley Holly at Candler Library
A descendant of the original Wesley Holly, beside Candler Library.

Nettie herself was something of a landscape gardener, by all accounts—the first in a long line of stewards of the campus who have dedicated themselves to keeping it green and beautiful. Under her guidance the ravine behind the old law school building (now Michael C. Carlos Hall) was turned into a garden with an amphitheater spacious enough to serve as the site for Commencement in the 1920s. Called Antoinette Gardens to honor its chief overseer, the area reverted to wildness after the Commencement activities moved elsewhere in 1926. Now called Baker Woodlands, the ravine honors another early steward of the landscape, the late biology professor Woolford B. Baker.

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A view, circa 1925, of what is now Michael C. Carlos Hall from what was then Antoinette Gardens, now Baker Woodlands. Photo from Stuart A. Rose Library.

Gary S. Hauk

Emory’s other two-year college

Oxford College of Emory University has flourished over the past three decades and is now, more than ever, a sparkling jewel in the Emory crown. It is also unique in American higher education–a two-year college completely integrated into a major research university.

Many people are unaware, though, that Oxford College was not Emory’s first two-year division. That distinction belonged to a campus in Valdosta, Georgia, about ten miles from the Florida border and nearly 250 miles from Atlanta.

It’s not entirely clear why the citizens of Valdosta petitioned Emory in 1927 to create a two-year college in their town. The state had established a “normal college,” or teachers’ college, in 1906 but didn’t provide funds to open it until 1913. In 1922 the college was renamed Georgia State Woman’s College, so perhaps the dedication of the college to the education of women prompted the city’s leaders to look for gender balance from Emory, which at that time educated mostly men.

Whatever the reason, the request came at an opportune time. Emory College was revamping its curriculum to create a “lower division” and an “upper division,” essentially dividing the undergraduate student body into a two-year general-education college, after which students would specialize in their last two years. This concept translated easily to a campus almost in Florida. Students there could complete the same foundational courses as those on the Atlanta campus, then come to Atlanta for their last two years of baccalaureate work.

In 1928, with a gift of forty-three acres, a main building, and a $200,000 endowment from the city, Emory launched Emory-at-Valdosta. The building shown in the photo below served as the administration and classroom building.

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Emory-at-Valdosta, photo courtesy of Emory University Photograph Collection, Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives and Rare Book Library.

The photo below, from the estate of Gardner B. Allen and held in the Rose Library collections, shows students, faculty, and administrators gathered on the steps of the Assembly Hall (now the AMUC) during “Junior College Day,” May 1930. Kneeling in front are, left to right, President Harvey Cox holding the hand of a little girl; Comer Woodward, dean of Emory-at-Oxford; William B. Stubbs 19C, dean of Emory-at-Valdosta; Goodrich White, dean of Emory College; and Theodore Jack, dean of the Graduate School. The children are unidentified. Stubbs, a Rhodes Scholar, had practiced law in Savannah before becoming the founding dean of the new junior college in Valdosta.

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During World War II, Emory closed the Valdosta campus and transferred faculty and students to Atlanta. For a short period after the war, enrollment climbed to nearly 250, but when the state decided to enlarge the women’s college and make it coeducational in 1950, the death knell sounded for the Emory junior college. As Emory’s higher tuition made competition with the state university challenging, enrollment at Emory-at-Valdosta slipped to sixty-five students in the spring of 1953. That May, the trustees of Emory, facing continuing deficits at the junior college, voted to offer the campus and its endowment to the University System of Georgia. The regents quickly accepted and incorporated the land and buildings into Valdosta State.

The original Emory building still stands on Pendleton Drive in Valdosta, now surrounded by other, more imposing structures that are part of the state university and the South Georgia medical Center.

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Satellite view from Google Maps.

Nowadays Pound Hall, as it’s called, houses the Harley Langdale Jr. College of Business Administration.

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Gary Hauk


The man who built Emory in Druid Hills

Some say a ghost haunts the stucco-covered building behind the Winship Cancer Institute. Certainly history lingers there. Nestled under the trees along Uppergate Drive, this structure, now dwarfed by Winship and a parking deck, once was home to Arthur Tufts and his family.


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The Tufts House stands beside a parking deck (left) and the Winship Cancer Institute (rear) along Uppergate Drive.

The Atlanta-born Tufts, a graduate of Georgia Tech, was a contractor who supervised the construction of Camp Gordon near Atlanta. He made his fortune, however, by earning the gratitude and confidence of Asa Candler Sr. and the Coca-Cola Company in constructing the Candler Building in Atlanta, the Candler Building on 42nd Street in Manhattan, and other edifices commissioned by Candler for his business empire. Candler, who always wanted things done right, not only gave the first million dollars and seventy-five acres for the new university next to his Druid Hills suburb; he also enlisted this trusted builder to develop the new campus.

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Arthur Tufts, around 1918. Photo courtesy of the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library, Emory University.

To be close to the construction, Tufts bought a 25-acre tract along Clifton Road and built his house there in 1917. Henry Hornbostel, the architect who designed the university’s first marble-clad concrete buildings, also designed the Tufts house to be built of concrete, but covered with pink stucco. Tufts called the place Woodland.

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Woodland, the home of Arthur Tufts and his family, as it appeared around 1920. Courtesy of Stuart A. Rose Library, Emory University.

The driveway leading to the house had two gates—an “upper gate” (perhaps because it was farther north, or farther up the road from the campus) and a “lower gate”—hence, names that still survive in Uppergate Drive and the Lowergate Parking Deck.

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The Tufts family garden, part of the 25-acre tract known as Woodland, has long since given way to clinics and parking structures. Courtesy of the Rose Library, Emory University.

Described by the late George P. Cuttino in his Dooley’s Book: A Guide to the Emory Campus, the house “was entered through a porte-cochère, and it was built for gracious family living. Included on the first floor were a kitchen, servants’ rooms, a columned sun room, and a living room. Sleeping porches and bedrooms were on the other two floors.” Tufts and his wife, Jeannie Tufts, had four children, one of whom died in infancy.

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A rear view of Woodland suggests the rural character of the area at the time of the photo, around 1918. Courtesy of the Rose Library, Emory University.

From this proximity to the campus, Tufts supervised the construction of Emory until his death from pneumonia in 1920 at the age of forty. Jeannie Tufts continued living at Woodland until 1940, when she moved into a smaller house across Ridgewood Drive. Emory bought Woodland in 1943. (Jeannie Tufts died in 1975.)

Renamed Uppergate House, the Arthur Tufts home served for a time as a dormitory for nursing students. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, Uppergate House housed the Biomedical Data Processing and Analysis Center and the burgeoning university computing center. A former director of the computing center has told the story of working alone in the house late at night when a ghostly woman appeared out of nowhere in search of her son—and then disappeared. Now painted white, the Tufts House currently is home to the Emory University Psychoanalytic Institute.

Gary Hauk


The Bridges of Emory’s Campus

The death of Robert James Waller in March prompted a lot of retrospection toward his bestselling novel The Bridges of Madison County and the movie based on the book. Those bridges may have been featured in the title, but they definitely had merely supporting roles in the story.

Okay, yes–bridges are intended to be supporting.

Yet while pedestrians and drivers alike often pass over the bridges of Emory without much recognizing them, those spans have a history and presence worth celebrating.

When Henry Hornbostel laid out the Druid Hills campus, he traversed the ravines and streams with several single-arch bridges, whose elegance belies their concrete construction.

The original entrance to the campus from Emory Village must have given the impression of entering a country estate, as the drive passed through woods to the left and the right. The roadway then crossed the bridge shown below, over a gully that would later be filled into construct the driveway around Glenn Memorial. After turning left beyond this bridge, the road then crossed a second bridge, which still stands astride the ravine behind Carlos Museum.

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From the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library.

A campus map from 1940–41 (below) shows both the now-vanished bridge and the still-standing Mizell Bridge, named in memory of Robert Cotter Mizell, Class of 1911 and long-time administrator and trustee of the University..

campus map 1940-41

The view in the photo below, taken around 1946 and archived with these other photos at the Rose Library, looks toward the Quadrangle. Candler Library appears to the left and the Physics and Chemistry Buildings (now the Callaway Center) to the right. Fourteen years later the ravine on the near side of the bridge would be filled in with the construction of Cox Hall, and five decades after that, weekly farmers’ markets would line the bridge with locally grown and prepared foods, as the University brought greater awareness of locally grown products to its emphasis on sustainability.

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From the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library.

Meanwhile, the sense of walking across a bridge in front of Cox Hall has faded from the perception of all but the most observant pedestrians.

William Dillingham, the Charles Howard Candler Professor of English, Emeritus, and a 1955 graduate of Emory College (1956 from the graduate school), once remarked, “When I came to Emory, it was a small school in a forest.” The photo below may have been taken about the time Dillingham arrived at Emory in 1951.

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From the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library.

The view looks southeast from the  corner of the Quadrangle where  Candler Library almost meets Bowden Hall. The path led across a bridge and up the hill toward the now-vanished C. L. Fishburne Building. That building, which housed the Educational Studies Division, stood approximately where the Goizueta Business School now rises beside Clifton Road. In 1969 the ravine crossed by this bridge was filled in by the new Robert W. Woodruff Library, and the creek was channeled through a steel conduit under a ramp leading up to the library. (That ramp also has vanished, replaced by an addition to the Woodruff Library and an overhead bridge to the Candler Library.)

The photo below shows the same footbridge viewed from the stream that flows through the ravine.

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View of the bridge over the ravine where Woodruff Library would be built. From the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library.

In the early 2000s an effort to call attention to the streams on campus and make them the object of greater care led to the naming of four streams. This one, through Baker Woodlands, bears the name Antoinette Candler Creek, or Nettie’s Creek, to honor the wife of Chancellor Warren Candler for her stewardship of the ravine as a garden in the first decade of the campus.

Among the many sites now vanished from campus, the small wooden bridge shown below may have served streetcar passengers disembarking on Oxford Road near where the Mathematics and Science Center now stands.

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From the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library.

Other bridges on campus include the pedestrian bridge that spans the CSX railroad tracks between Longstreet-Means Hall and the Whitehead Research Building; the pedestrian bridge across Houston Mill Road connecting the Emory Conference Center Hotel to the Miller-Ward Alumni House; the Brumley Bridge connecting the Health Sciences Research Building with the Emory Pediatrics Center; the bridge that carries shuttle buses on Starvine Way to the Clairmont Campus;  and a suspension bridge in Lullwater Preserve crossing South Peachtree Creek near the president’s house.

Gary Hauk


Love in the time of malaria

With summer in full swing, mosquitoes are biting, and with every bite comes the possibility of disease. Nowadays our concerns focus on Zika and West Nile viruses, transmitted by different species of mosquito. As recently as the 1930s, however, the most ravaging mosquito-borne disease in the American South was malaria–still one of the most epidemic infectious diseases in the Southern Hemisphere.

For a region dependent on agriculture and a workforce necessarily exposed to flying pests outdoors, the costs of malaria were high in both human and economic terms. Children missed school, dragging down their academic achievement and future prospects. Farm workers missed days of labor, reducing their income and their families’ well-being. Large-scale employers often hired twice the number of necessary workers, anticipating significant absenteeism.

In Baker County, Georgia, Coca-Cola magnate and Emory philanthropist Robert Woodruff saw the devastating impact of the disease on the men and women who lived around his Ichauway Plantation. He offered to establish a research center to study the spread and potential containment of the disease, and with the help of Emory administrators and physicians, a field station was opened in 1939. This field station, which operated until 1957, arguably was the seed from which both the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the Rollins School of Public Health would spring. Sean Suarez has told the story in Southern Spaces with the help of archives from the Stuart A. Rose Library.

Photos in the Rose Library photograph collection add richness and humanity to the tale.

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A visiting nurse makes a call on a family near Ichauway Plantation, circa 1940s. Photos courtesy of Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library.
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The field station on Ichauway Plantation would later coordinate its efforts with the U.S Office of Malaria Control in War Areas, forerunner of the CDC.
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Field research included monitoring mosquito populations in the marshy areas of Baker County.
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The only good mosquito was a netted mosquito, usually trapped at towers like this one at Ichauway.

During World War II, as U.S. military personnel were deployed to North Africa and the South Pacific–regions where malaria posed a significant threat to military effectiveness–the federal government established the Office of Malaria in War Areas in Atlanta to intensify the kind of work going on at Ichauway. After the war, this office would become the Communicable Disease Center–now the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which moved next door to the Emory campus with the help of Robert Woodruff. In time, collaborations between the Emory School of Medicine and the CDC would lead to the founding of one of the top schools of public health in the United States, the Rollins School of Public Health, named for one of the great families of Emory philanthropists.

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Researchers proved their epidemiological chops by mapping the incidence of malaria in Baker County.

Ichauway plaque copy

Gary Hauk

Lone gal among Oxford guys

Flipping through a folder of archived photographs in the Rose Library, I was surprised to see a young woman in a group identified as the Oxford graduating class of 1950. This was three years before the board of trustees agreed to admit women to Emory College as residential students, and several years before the first female residential student showed up at Oxford.

The only woman among 25 men, she stands in the center of the front row looking demure under her sun hat but confident in the appropriateness of her place. She knows she belongs there. Who could she be?

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Emory-at-Oxford graduating class, June 3, 1950, standing in front of Old Church. (Emory-at-Oxford was renamed Oxford College of Emory University in 1964.) Photo courtesy of Rose Library, Emory University.

I turned to my 91-year-old friend Harold Wilson Mann to see whether he might remember her. After earning three degrees from Emory, he taught history and directed the glee club at Oxford in the 1950s. His stint there didn’t begin, though, until a couple of years after this photo, so he had not crossed paths with the mystery student.

University archivist John Bence told me that Oxford course catalogs at that time listed students in the two-year college curriculum. Digitized and available online, the catalog published in March 1950 includes a “register of students” with three women’s names: Dorothy MeGahee, a second-year student, and Virginia C. Davis and Dorothy J. Dodson, both first-year students. MeGahee was listed as hailing from Covington, Davis from Toccoa, and Dodson from Austell. So perhaps the graduating woman in 1950 was Dorothy MeGahee.

Not only the catalogs but also the old Oxford yearbooks are now digitized and online. Sure enough, in the 1950 Memory, I found her. “Dot,” she was called.

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Dorothy “Dot” MeGahee in the 1950 Memory yearbook of Oxford.

She had quite the full dance card: editor-in-chief of the yearbook, vice president of Phi Epsilon Upsilon literary society (the Few Society), officer of the International Relations Club, and president of the Coed Club–whose membership included all three of the female students.

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Officers (and the only available members) of the Coed Club at Oxford in 1950: Virginia Davis, left, Dorothy MeGahee, center, and Dorothy Dodson.

A further chapter in these women’s story turned up in the archives. As I looked through more photos, I happened on one of the three of them with Dean Virgil Eady.

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Dorothy Dodson (left), Virginia Davis, and Dorothy MeGahee meet with Oxford dean Virgil Y.C. Eady in 1950.

Turning it over, I found the women’s names and hometowns and this text:

Dodson and Davis will be sophomores [in] the coming term. MeGahee graduated in June, 1950, and is now enrolled in the Emory summer school. According to Dean Eady no more coeds will be enrolled at Oxford. The above will be allowed to graduate.

Little did Dean Eady suspect that many more women were on the way.

Dorothy MeGahee went on to graduate magna cum laude from Emory with a degree in nursing and later earned a master’s degree in nursing administration from the Medical College of Georgia. She married her classmate Hamlin Callahan Jr. just after graduating from Emory College and apparently remarried at some point, to a man named Davis. She was working as the supervisor of the Warm Springs Foundation Hospital in Warm Springs, Ga., when cancer claimed her. She died at the young age of 50, in 1982, and is buried next to her parents and brother in her hometown of Covington.

Gary S. Hauk

Thanks to University archivist John Bence for locating the digitized 1950 course catalog and 1950 Memory yearbook.

Emory doctors in World War I

Emory alumnus Ren Davis has a personal connection to one of the more remarkable stories of Emory University’s service to the nation. He is the grandson of Edward Campbell Davis, MD, who a century ago was serving as a professor in the school of medicine in the relatively new Emory University, when the United States entered World War I. Dr. Davis also was co-founder, with Dr. Luther Fischer, of the Davis-Fischer Sanatorium, which later became Crawford Long Hospital and later still Emory University Hospital Midtown.

Ren has published the compelling story of his grandfather’s response to the call to serve. You can read it here, in the Saporta Report, the excellent online journal created by longtime Atlanta business reporter Maria Saporta.

The Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library holds copies of the History of the Emory Unit: Base Hospital 43, U.S. Army, American Expeditionary Forces. Author Joel Chandler Harris, whose papers also are housed in the Rose Library, had a hand in editing and publishing the book.

My thanks to Ren for allowing me to point my blog readers to his story.

Gary Hauk

Emory from the Sky

Alumni returning to Emory often exclaim—sometimes lamenting, other times just flabbergasted—how the campus has changed since their student days.

No kidding!

In the past fourteen years alone, the University has built nine residence halls, two new theology buildings, three medical education or research buildings, one for public health, a new home for admissions and the bookstore, a new psychology building, new sorority lodges, and at Oxford a new science building, new library, and new dining hall. Not to overlook sundry smaller projects like the traffic circle and new entrance in Emory Village.

Nothing, however, gives a sense of the changing landscape like a view from the sky.

While we don’t have an aerial photo of Druid Hills before the Atlanta campus was built, we do have an architect’s vision of the campus as it nestled into what had been “the old Guess place.”

The original 75 acres given by Asa Candler straddled two hills divided by streams and covered with pine woods. To turn this rural landscape on the edge of Atlanta into a university campus, the trustees hired the inimitable Beaux Arts architect Henry Hornbostel. He found the hills and pines of the Emory terrain reminiscent of Tuscany and hit upon an Italian neo-Renaissance look, with marble façades, red-tile roofs, broad eaves, and Roman arches for doors and windows.

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Henry Hornbostel’s campus plan; photo from Stuart A. Rose Library

Using bridges to cross the streams and connect the hills, he laid out the academic heart of the campus on a hill that is now the Quadrangle, with a farther hill set off for living, dining, athletics, worship, and other social activities. While the design was too expensive to implement fully, the first buildings, opened in 1916, included the Theology Building and Law Building (lower center of the photo) and the Physics Building (now Callaway Center South), to the left of the tall tower, which was never attempted. The sole residence hall designed by Hornbostel and still standing is Dobbs Hall, shown in this design in the center of the semicircle of buildings to the left. Emory Village would grow up at the V shown at the lower edge of the photo.

The photo below, probably taken in 1922, shows why William Dillingham 55C 56G, professor emeritus of English, remarked about his student days, “When I came to Emory, it was a small school in a forest.” The campus had been even more remote three decades earlier, as the woods and fields of DeKalb County stretched north and east of Druid Hills.

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Emory University, circa 1922; photo from Stuart A. Rose Library


The two buildings swathed in construction scaffolding in the upper right corner are Wesley Memorial Hospital, later renamed Emory University Hospital. These buildings, completed in 1922, replaced the hospital’s original home in downtown Atlanta.

Two campus landmarks help to date precisely the photo below—one landmark by its presence, the other by its absence.

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Emory, 1932; photo from Stuart A. Rose Library

Glenn Memorial Church, shown in the lower center of the photo, was constructed on the Emory campus in 1931, the gift of board chair Charles Howard Candler Sr. 1898C 1902M and his wife, Flora Glenn Candler. What’s missing from the photo is the water tower that was installed in 1933 near where the tall boiler smokestack rises above the athletic fields. (See blog post of October 3, 2016.)

The end of World War II and the benefits of the GI Bill sparked an unprecedented growth in the student body and faculty at Emory. To accommodate all the new people, the University built in a frenzy while using trailers and wooden barracks for temporary space. The forest began to give way. The History Building (1951, now Bowden Hall) in the center of the photo below and the Woodruff Memorial Research Building (1952) to the left of the hospital help date this photo. Missing is the Administration Building (1955), which would close off the western end of the Quadrangle, still very wooded in the lower center of the photo. Note the water tower rising from the trees above the athletic fields.

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Emory campus, circa 1952-55; photo from Stuart A. Rose Library


As the Baby Boom hit Emory in the 1960s, the campus began to sprawl. Cox Hall (1960) appears in the photo below, above the hospital buildings; off to the right rise the new buildings of the Centers for Disease Control, which moved to Clifton Road in the 1950s. Missing from the photo is Robert W. Woodruff Library, which in 1969 would take another large bite out of the woods toward the lower-left corner of the photo.

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Emory campus, 1963; photo from Stuart A. Rose Library

Later aerial photos would show even more dramatic growth—as well as the loss of some of the buildings shown above. Thus—lament and astonishment!

Gary S. Hauk

Never-before-seen photos!

Pardon me for trying to grab your attention à la The National Inquirer or some click-bait headline. But when I came across these images in the Stuart A. Rose Library, I was stunned and wanted to share them.

Ever since I first laid eyes on the tower next to the dam in Lullwater Preserve, more than thirty years ago, I have wondered what it looked like in its glory days. Below is its current condition.


See here for a closer view. Note the vegetation on the far bank. Behind it and to the right of what you can see in the photo rises the Atlanta VA Hospital along with its parking decks.

Walter Candler, Emory College Class of 1907, was the second-youngest son of Coca-Cola founder and Emory benefactor Asa Griggs Candler. When Walter began developing his 183-acre estate in 1925, DeKalb County had not fully developed its electrical grid, and county power did not extend to the house, which Candler occupied in 1926. He thus had to generate his own power with the help of the dam that he built across the South Fork of Peachtree Creek, shown above.  Machinery within the tower cranked out electricity. The generating equipment has long since been removed, and the tower has fallen to rack and ruin.

Below is what it looked like when newly built.

Courtesy of Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library, Emory University

Note the bridge over the dam, which was removed in the early 1990s because it had become hazardous. In the distance, where the VA Hospital now stands, a horse pasture spreads toward Clairmont Road. And there are two of Candler’s horses!

Most magnificently, the pointed roof sports clock faces—in case you got to wondering what time it was while fishing the stream.

The photographer who took the old photo, possibly in about 1930, turned around and then took the photo below. The dam is now to the photographer’s back.

Courtesy of Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library, Emory University

The wooden bridge in the photo straddled a stream that flowed in from about where the road vanishes in the distance. That stream is now known as Earnest Richardson Creek, after the long-time caretaker of Candler’s estate. Beyond the stream lies a low pasture, and beyond it rises an embankment topped by a white fence. Farther still rises a hillside. Lullwater House, the English Tudor-style home that Candler built, now the home of Emory presidents since 1963, stands at the top of the high hill whose base rises up to the right of the photo.

At some point, Candler decided to dam Richardson Creek at about the lower left corner of the photo to create a lake that would fill in that far pasture. Below is the same view, taken in January 2017. The vehicles belong to an Emory Campus Services crew removing fallen trees near the dam.


The photo below shows the dam that created the lake.


Note that the far bank of the lake still is topped by the dirt road that was there in the earlier photo, but the distant hill is entirely wooded. Those woods are part of the “Emory Forest” whose preservation is part of the long-term sustainability plan for the campus.

Amazing what a difference 90 years can make.

Gary Hauk