Songs of Yale -- 1701

Speranza

"To the tables down at Mory’s,
To the place where Louis dwells,
To the dear old Temple Bar we love so wells".



The popular and widespread singing of the Yale “Baa baa baa” has made these lines familiar to thousands.

But few outside the family circle know the meaning of “Mory’s” or “Louis” or the “dear old Temple Bar.”

The whole thing goes back to the day when a bunch Yalies returning to campus from crew practice on the waters of the New Haven Harbour and seeking refreshment, stopped in at an obscure taproom at

103 Wooster Street

-- on the north side between Brewery and Franklin Streets.

The bunch was cordially welcomed by the proprietor, Frank Moriarty.

Moriarty received the bunch with the old-fashioned courtesy which for ever after wards possessed its charm for, and exercised its power over, the students of Yale.

The thirsty oars men found themselves in an unpretentious ale house whose hospitality and dignity belied its dingy surroundings of Wooster Street -- although one may suspect that 'dingy' is perhaps a rather strong epithet.


Subsequent visits confirmed the original impressions of the place, and word of its atmosphere spread rapidly on campus.

Moriarty soon had all the business he could comfortably handle.


Moving in the late ‘Sixties to more commodious quarters on Court Street, Moriarty established “The Quite House” and continued to grow in popularity with the Yalies.

Here there were none of the sad trappings and miserable pomp of the saloon.

Yalies sat about conversing, reading copies of "Punch", and drinking the brown ale from pewter mugs with glass bottoms.

Frequently, as the evening wore on, talk gave way to song, and harmonies filled the place.



After Moriarty’s death in 1876, the widow moved once again, this time to

"Temple Street"

-- nearer the Yale campus and in a more aristocratic neighbourhood.

Here for nine years, Moriarty's widow presided over what became known, informally as “The Temple [Street] Bar” with a benevolence and spirit which won her the affection and respect of all.

When she was not overseeing the preparation of the specialties of the house – Welsh rarebits, eggs on toast, grilled sardines, golden bucks – she sat in her rocking chair in the family sitting-room in back of the bar, knitting and keeping an ear on all that was going on.

As the closing hour arrived, Moriarty's widow  addressed the company with quiet authority: “Twelve o’clock, gentlemen.”

Among the waiters hired by the widow was a genial Irish man named Edward G. Oakley, who gradually took over the management of the place and became the sole proprietor after the widow's death in 1885.

The ensuing   years of Oakley’s stewardship were happy ones for the Temple Street Bar, even though he proved to be an inefficient manager.

His popularity with Yalies was legendary – and for good reason.

Every undergraduate listed in the college catalogue (except Freshmen) had an automatic $20 worth of credit.

When a student had reached that limit, Oakley would send him a gentle reminder, and cash trans-actions were in order until the bill had been paid.

No one ever asked to have his limit extended, and Oakley never dunned anyone for payment.

Oakley's losses over a ten-year period were less than $25.

It was Oakley’s felicitious custom, when a client paid his bill, to serve a full round of drinks on the house.

It used to be said that any Yalie who announced that he was on his way to “pay Eddie’s bill” immediately found himself surrounded by an eager company of thirty companions.

Oakley's midnight ritual for closing the bar was more elaborate than the Widow’s.

Moving about noiselessly as a shadow, Oakley turned the lights out one by one, adjusted the shades, locked the cupboards, and put away bottles.

Finally, with exaggerated solemnity, he would announce: “Gentlemen, it is twelve o’clock.”

Tradition says that this was always sufficient to empty the place in less than a minute.

After a few years, Oakley took to drinking more than was good for him, and the business began to show signs of neglect.

Sloppy book keeping added to his troubles, and the credit privilege was reduced to $10—and then suspended altogether.

The Moriarty estate still owned the establishment, and the trustee, his patience worn thin by tardy rent payments, in 1898 refused to renew Oakley’s lease.

Competition had become heavy, also.

A New York newspaper reported in that year that there were 66 saloons “near Yale Campus.”

Having lost his incentive as well as his business, Oakley went rapidly down hill.

Oakley was supported by the charity of the students and other friends until his untimely death in 1905 under the wheels of a New Haven street car.

Among Oakley's friends was a man named Louis Linder.

Born in Wurtenberg, Germany, in 1866, Linder had run away from an apprentice’s job and shipped to America as a cabin boy.

In New York, LOUIS LINDER worked in hotels, at the Casino, and ultimately at Luchow’s.

At Luchow's, LOUIS LINDER was discovered in 1891 by one of the owners of Heubleins’s Restaurant, who persuaded him to come to New Haven.

Always a popular, Louis LINDER soon became a member of "The Arion Singing Society" and the Connecticut Rock Lodge of Masons, and President of New Haven’s German-American Society.

Recognizing the potential of the enterprise which had come to be known as “Mory’s" -- a shortening of "Mori-arty".

Louis brought Oakley’s lease from the Moriarty trustee for three years at $900 per annum, putting his life savings into the venture.

Although it had been at a low ebb for some years, "Mory’s club" now enjoyed a rapid revival of its former popularity.

Louis LINDER, who loved music and knew that it would bring customers into his place, encouraged the patronage of Yale singing groups.

One of these, comprising the University Quartet -- with an auxiliary fifth voice -- began to meet there every week, to raise the foaming glass and to sing for sheer joy of it.

In February of 1909, they adopted the name “whiffs" (which they borrowed from the patter of a comedian in the musical show by Victor Herbert, “Little Nemo”, then running on Broadway), drew up a constitution, and declared themselves a corporate body dedicated to eating, drinking and good fellowship – preferably musical.

Their anthem, whose opening lines appear above, is still sung at Mory’s most Monday nights during term-time.

A self-perpetuating group, the Whiffenpoofs now number FOURTEEN each year -- all seniors, all male.

In 1912, "Mory’s club" found itself threatened by a number of pressures.

There was talk of a re-development project which might (and subsequently did) involve the removal of the home of the Temple Street Bar.

Increasing real estate values had brought regular raises in rent, and the Moriarty estate was reluctant to give Louis Linder a long-term lease.

Already in failing health, he was prepared to go out of business.

Yale students and alumni, however, deploring what appared to be the imminent demise of something which had been an honoured tradition for a half-century, were galvanized into action.

A group, under the leadership of Arnon A. Alling, 1896, was formed to purchase Linder’s interest in the business and convert "Mory’s" into a REAL club.

Articles of Association were drawn up, and on September 5, 1912, signed by 35 alumni, establishing

"The Mory’s Association, Inc."

-- a corporation without capital stock.

A fine old house at 306 York Street, built sometime before 1817, was bought and re-modeled to accommodate the installation of many of the parts of the Temple Street Bar structure — windows and door casings, wainscoting, fire place mantles, the entire front entrance, pictures, decorations, tables, and memorabilia.

Louis Linder was then engaged as steward, and "Mory’s" -- the club -- began another chapter of its history under new auspices.

Two of Linder’s aides, William Krueger and Charles King, were hired to assist with the management, and another of Luchow’s men, Henry Rosen Stock, was persuaded to desert New York in favour of Mory’s.

Louis LINDER lived up stairs in the new house, but the state of his health precluded his doing more than giving supervisory directions from his bed.

Linder died peacefully during the night of October 18, 1913.

Krueger, appointed to succeed Louis Linder as steward, was himself eventually followed in that office by Rosen Stock, King, Jerry Abbott, Haskell Blaisdell, William Daley, George Poole, Richard La Coursiere, Carl Bauer, James Shum Way and Ken Adams.

The ground floor at Mory’s club is divided into three dining rooms, a kitchen, and two offices, one of which doubles as a taproom.

The seating capacity is about 100.

The upstairs, converted after Louis Linder’s death has five private dining rooms of varying size accommodating another 100, plus an auxiliary bar and serving area.

There is also a Library, where books and memorabilia about Yale and Mory’s club fill the shelves.

The walls throughout the building area covered with pictures (teams, captains, class groups), documents, and other mementos of Yale life.

 Old tabletops, almost completely covered with carved initials and mysterious symbols, have been retired from service and mounted on the walls.

From the ceiling of one room hang oars once pulled by victorious crew men.

The original Moriarty menu, while honoured for its excellence, was limited to the Welsh rarebits, eggs on toast, and one or two other simple dishes.

The inititutions’s culinary scope has broadened over the years, and today’s patron at lunch or dinner faces the task of selecting among a number of appetizers, ten or a dozen main dishes, and a variety of desserts.

Moriarty and Oakley dispensed only ale (with an occaisional hot spiced rum of a winter’s night). Louis Linder added draft beer.

Today Mory’s club offers the whole spectrum of the beverage world, from cocktails thru choice of wines to liqueurs.

Favourites for generations have been special concoctions (Velvet Cup, Green Cup, Red Cup) with a champagne base, served in a deep silver pot with a large cake of ice floating in it and bumping the drinker’s nose when he tips the cup, which is passed from hand to hand and mouth to mouth, frequently with musical accompaniment, until nothing remains but the ice.

The management of Mory’s is vested in a "Board of Governors" of not less than six (6) nor more than nine (9) (four of whom serve as officers), elected by the membership for terms of three (3) years each.

In addition to superintending its operations, the Board preserves and protects those traditions, which have given the place its unique flavor.

Since 1927, one of these has been the custom of awarding the “Mory’s Cup” each year to an individual “for conspicuous service to Yale.”

For many years -- until September, 1972 -- it was possible for Yale undergraduates (after Freshman year) to join Mory’s, pay a single modest fee, and become Life Members, subject to no further dues.

Various other categories of membership have been established from time to time.

As a consequence of the popularity of Mory's Club and the ease with which it could be joined, the roster by the late 1960’s had totaled more than 18,000.

Circularizing a group of its size, to notify the members of annual meetings and the election of officers and governors, had become prohibitively expensive as the postal rates were repeatedly increased.

At the request of the Board, therefore, the General Assembly of the State of Connecticut passed in 1969 as Special Act amending the Articles of Association so as to make the Governors self-perpetuating and giving them full authority to manage the affairs of Mory’s without having to consult the members.

Today Mory’s is busier and more popular than ever.

In addition to the whiffs, other men’s groups sing regularly at dinner in mid week.

As they look down from wherever they are, Frank Moriarty, Eddie Oakley and Louis Linder must be pleased to see that what they created and nurtured through the years continues to flourish as a cherished and venerable amenity of Yale life.