Once upon a time, a student could pay his tuition at Mission House (now Lakeland College) for only $50 per semester, and pay for his room and board with a single $100 bill. This was what the Mission House Mirror reported back in March of 1941. Times may have changed drastically since then, but the spirit of Lakeland College is still just as vibrant as it was way-back-when.
For instance, Muskies have always been both creative and fun-loving. These days, you can see this is true by strolling through the student-decorated hallways of Verhulst or pushing your way into the crowded Pub while a Funny February comedian is causing uproarious laughter.
Reverand Paul Olm-Stoelting (class of 1943) remembers the Mission House Muskie football team’s own brand of fun and creative ingenuity from a big game in the Fall of 1941. Two football players, whom he called Matt and Jeremy, were roughhousing the night before the game in their dorm room. All in good fun, Jeremy smashed a beer bottle over Matt’s head. Olm-Stoelting remembers this event well because “at that time, you just didn’t ever see two star football players quarreling.”
Olm-Stoelting recalls that the coach, a man with the last name Kregel, had to quickly come up with a way for Matt’s head to fit comfortably in his helmet now that he had a growing lump there. “He wanted both those players to play that day,” Olm-Stoelting said, affirming Coach Kregel’s determination not to lose his athletes’ participation. Kregel found a piece of sponge rubber and cut it so that it would cushion the injury inside Matt’s helmet.
Joan Grosshuesch (class of 1946) recalls other mischief that she and her fellow Mission House Muskies got into. At the time, the old President’s house was being used as a co-ed dorm. Grosshuesch was living on the upper floor with her husband, who coached the men’s basketball team. According to Grosshuesch, there was a certain chair in the lounge area that was not glued together. She fondly recalls the many times when the residents put the chair together, lured a guest to sit on it, and laughed as it fell apart. Grosshuesch said that her husband, who was well aware of the popular prank, said, “Under no conditions are you ever to let one of my basketball players sit on that chair!”
Indeed, Muskies seemed to have a lot more pranks up their sleeves in the past than they do now. Reverand Harvey Kandler (class of 1955) could name quite a list of pranks that the men in Jubilee (the men’s dormitory) would put together when they weren’t studying.
In particular, Kandler remembers the complex rigs the men would make up so that a bucket of water would tip its contents onto whomever opened a particular door. According to Kandler, this prank was put together frequently but became dangerous once when the rig malfunctioned and brought the heavy bucket down on the unsuspecting victim’s head, in addition to the water.
Rick Goshgarian (class of 1966) and three of his pals had a bit of their own fun. After hearing rumors of swamp monsters in the area, they decided to create their own version using some secondhand items and a two-way radio. They set up their creation by Old Main and got some interesting reactions out of passersby as they made the “swamp monster” talk by using the other walky-talky from the belfry of Old Main.
But the Muskies of old weren’t just crazy pranksters. Like today’s Lakeland Muskies, they bonded with a strong sense of community that can only come from a group of people who have spent an enormous amount of time nestled between the cornfields.
Today, anyone can see that Muskies easily come together through the uniting qualities of music. When the stress of schoolwork is low or begs for relief, students can often be found swaying to the sound of a musically-talented peer playing the old upright piano in the corner of the cafeteria in Bossard.
As it turns out, this isn’t a new scene for Lakeland College. Pat Selberg (class of 1956) attended Mission House when Bossard Hall was quite different from how we know it today – it was a women’s dorm. But even then, Selberg says that she and the other women made sort of a tradition of singing together around the piano in Bossard Hall after dinner.
Grosshuesch remembers a strong sense of community from her days at Mission House, too. She described her interactions with the people here as “just like a big family.” Even today, she is still very close with many of her classmates, and describes them as her “foster brothers and sisters” because of how close they are, despite their differences.
But Muskies don’t just play together, they work together. Mark Schowalter (class of 1979) was one such hardworking Muskie. In the Spring of 1978, the college experienced far too much rain for the ground to absorb, and flooding began. Schowalter was among the many fraternity and sorority members that helped fill sandbags to protect the sanitary facilities that were behind the Campus Center at the time.
Though Lakeland College Muskies these days haven’t had to deal with flooding conditions, they still work hard. Whether it’s Habitat for Humanity or the Accounting Club’s programs to help low-income families, Muskies—by definition—seem to have the hearts to help. Of course, they don’t mind a little mischief now and then, either.
All these stories from alumni and more can be found by going here, where a long list of Lakeland’s past students have shared their memories of their alma mater.