by Anne Goddard Charter ‘35

Thank you Patti (Wenzel Callahan) and the Awards Committee for overwhelming me with the honor of being chosen from among so many alumnae to be recognized this year. Could my unconventional life and accomplishments have been a factor in the decision? It could only have happened at Wells.

And I must thank Jane Marsh Dieckmann ‘55 for her book, Wells College, A History, which should be read by everyone with Wells connections. It has provided me with much of the material for this presentation. I learned from it of the fascinating beginnings and growth of the college and also of the religious backgrounds and high moral standards of those involved in its founding and development. We owe much to the presidents, faculty, students, alumnae, and financial backers who have helped preserve the integrity of the Wells concept: a small college for women with an emphasis on liberal arts and the highest academic standards. To all of you we owe a great deal.

Henry Wells’ dream of founding a college began one day in his youth when he attended a ceremony held while Rutgers College was still under construction. He determined that he too could and would found a college. As the dream matured, it became his wish that his college would always be conducted on truly Christian principles and that its pupils would always be surrounded by a Christian atmosphere.

The college of his dreams became a reality, thanks to an extraordinary friendship. The friendship between Henry Wells and E.B. Morgan formed at the Morgan store in Aurora when they were both 26. It was a relationship destined to span their lives.

The Morgan family had been part of Aurora even before the village was incorporated. Throughout their lives, E.B. Morgan and Wells worked together for the development of the college. Toward the end of his life, Henry Wells still gave generously to the college, in spite of dwindling financial resources. To his disappointment, he was unable to afford to establish an endowment fund. Morgan continued to pay college bills long after Henry Wells’ death. Morgan made his old friend’s mission his own, and so the college and its traditions lived on.

When the day came that I sought to be admitted, it could only have happened at Wells that I was generously given a second chance. Having flunked my college boards in French, I was told if I made up a year of French, I would be admitted the next fall. It was perhaps that I was brought up in the Wells tradition: my mother having graduated with the class of 1901. Or maybe it was that I had a creditable high school record - always having been faced with and met the challenge of keeping up with friends who were brighter than I was - a story that has re-occurred throughout my life.

I made up the year of French at a finishing school in Lausanne, Switzerland - thanks to my parents who were always supportive whether they agreed with me or not. My father warned me that men didn’t like women who were too smart. He didn’t have to worry about me, but how about him marrying my mother, a Wells graduate who was teaching Latin at a prestigious girls’ school at the time of their courtship? After their marriage, they became a team: helping to start two new private schools, which were destined to provide leadership in Missouri education into the 21st century. I attended both schools.

My parents continued to be supportive during the Great Depression when I became aware of the haves and the have-nots around me. Wishing to get out into the real world, I chose college as an escape route from a wonderful, privileged life in St. Louis high society of the 1920’s.

All through my life, I have been aware of a power that guided me from one decision to the next. Freshman year, I had to decide between taking French or German. I chose a new subject: German. Later, I chose German over English for my major. In spite of the fact that the renowned and much loved poet, Robert Tristram Coffin’s classes were the most coveted in the entire curriculum, I passed up this wonderful opportunity, fearing my English abilities were inadequate. I couldn’t spell or figure out a plot - I still can’t! On the other hand, Herr Fleissner’s classes were small; he was philosopher, poet, and teacher - a most inspiring teacher and friend. As a result of making these choices, I spent my post-graduate year as an exchange student in Germany. It could only have happened at Wells.

On returning to the U.S.A. instead of teaching German or going on to further studies, I joined the staff of the newly organized American Youth Hostels (AYH). I was drawn to them having toured Germany’s mountains, rivers, forests, and villages, staying in youth hostels and traveling by foot, bicycle, flatboat or ski. We of the AYH staff fended for ourselves in an old farmhouse, improvised on the office tasks ahead while we developed hostel chains and raised our own money. The AYH would accept no help or funds from the government - determined to maintain the integrity of the hostel concept as conceived by Richard Shirrmann in Germany. We received room and board and travel expenses -travel by bicycle that is! I helped establish a chain in Pennsylvania Dutch country and then back to home ground in Missouri where I started a chain headed for the Ozarks.

Once underway, I turned the Ozark effort over to capable hands so I could enroll in animal husbandry studies at the University of Missouri. My dreams were still to live in the country, and I thought I should learn a bit of what that would entail. My achievements that year were winning the hog judging and the hog calling contests. They were then teaching and hopefully still are teaching that land is kept fertile and productive by alternating crops.

At the end of the year, I wondered "now what?" By chance I went with my friends to a kegger at the Shack on the Mack - the Merrimac River near St. Louis. There I met a St. Louis man who was about to try running a small dude ranch for the first time. It was on the Gros Ventre River in Jackson Hole Country, Wyoming. Another girl and I told him he couldn’t do it without female help. I offered to supervise the kitchen; my friend took on the cabins. He said: You’re on for a free summer, and I will even throw in a cowboy.

Arriving in Wyoming, the first thing I did was to send home for the Joy of Cooking. Then I met Boyd Charter, the cowboy. After a summer romance and electing to stay over as cook during hunting season, I married that cowboy. I became a war bride instead of a ranch wife, as he already had enlisted in the navy. When I asked him why he hadn’t gotten a deferment, because of the ranch, and why the navy? his reply was: I don’t go in for deferments and "Anne, cowboys don’t walk!" A lifetime later, that western horseman’s unique excuse became the title of my book.

Four years later, the war was over and Boyd came to St. Louis to get me. We drove, mid-winter, over terrible roads, back to Jackson in his pickup, with 18-month-old baby Kit. Out of her element and her environment, she spent the whole time trying to pull off her daddy’s hat or having a tantrum. When, to my horror, we picked up a hitchhiking sailor, it happily turned out to be to baby Kit’s delight. As he entertained her, all was well until we arrived at Boyd’s sister’s house and Kit got her tongue frozen to the pickup. Her howls announced our arrival. Jobless, ranchless (the ranch had been sold), Boyd was grabbed up by the state Game Department and sent to Big Piney, Wyoming, population 100, and known as the coldest spot in the country (at minus 40 below) and also as the safest spot, for when the town jail burned down, only the bare cage was left. A sign was attached to it: Big Piney Jail.

Finding it impossible to cover his entire territory horseback, Boyd bought a single engine Cessna with wooden skis and learned to fly from a World War II ace pilot who accompanied him on most of his hazardous trips. They were the first to herd elk by plane. Having succeeded in getting the elk to trail to the desert in winter instead of hanging around ranchers’ haystacks, Boyd was transferred back to Jackson and that summer to a neat ranger station near Moran, Wyoming. One morning when going to fetch a pail of water, I encountered a full-grown moose drinking from the spring. Though a magnificent sight, I retreated slowly: after all, he had gotten there first.

Mid-summer, Boyd attended a big Game Department meeting. He had repeatedly reported dishonest misconduct in the sale of beaver hides and purchase of hay for the elk feeding grounds. No one seemed to care, so he brought it up again at the meeting and was told if he didn’t like it, they would transfer him anywhere he wanted to go. He threw his badge on the table and said: To hell with all of you, I quit.

Now we were faced with finding a ranch. Having heard the only land left worth the money was in Montana, we drove north armed with a few contacts from friends who knew ranchers there. The first contact welcomed us and introduced us to Keatz, the area’s top ranch real estate man. He showed us some fancy ranches with rivers running through them. My husband said, "Too rich for my blood," so Keatz told him of the best buy in Montana but one that no one with a family would want. By this time, we had a daughter and two sons. At the next stop, by chance the owner of that ranch dropped in to visit while we were there. He offered to show my husband the land. When they returned Boyd said, "That’s our ranch, Anne!" We made the earnest money payment with the last cent we had in our savings account. By some miracle, we came up with the rest the day before it was due. We did have to borrow $10,000 from my Dad to see us through the winter until our steers were ready to sell.

Now came Boyd’s job of turning me from dude to ranch hand. He finally had to buy me a trained cow horse who knew how to round up and trail cattle. My job was to stay on top -no problem because he was smooth-gaited, a love of a horse. By then we had four children - a full crew in the making. We started them helping out at six years old. We went through all the ups and downs, the fun and funny things that most ranch families experience. It was tough at times but the realization of our dreams - that is until the coal companies invaded our peace and privacy, threatening to strip-mine our ranch. There were no eminent domain law protections in Montana then; and the mineral and surface ownership had been split years ago, causing bitter conflicts. When threats didn’t work, they finally offered Boyd a blank check, figuring he was key to neighborhood resistance. Their dishonorable offer inspired Boyd to say, "You come just four dollars and 60 cents short of being able to buy me off," followed by, "There are two things not for sale, I am one of them, and my land is the other."

We banded together with a small group of like-minded ranchers to fight the coal giants, forming the Bull Mountain Landowners Association. The strip-mine land men had also hit many other eastern Montana ranch communities. The first coal symposium was soon to be held in Billings, supposedly representing both sides of the issue. When we found out that the panel was made up of all industry men, we offered to supply an environmentalist who shared our views. They refused to include him, but he came anyway a day early, so we could plan our fighting strategy. That evening, we ended up forming the Northern Plains Resource Council. The next day, the meeting went wild with everyone in the audience defiantly interrupting and panning the company panel. When it was over, a good share of eastern Montana joined Northern Plains.

This year, our association celebrated our 30th anniversary. We continue to carry on and be heard in spite of the fact the rules and regulations to keep Montana "the last best place" have been steadily weakened and undermined by mining interests and poorly enforced by the state. In spite of setbacks, we continue to make a difference and bring issues to public notice and to grow in numbers and integrity. We’ve stayed a completely grassroots organization where all decisions are made by the members from the bottom up rather than the top down, and we’ve stuck to our focus on land, air, water, and rural people. We have been able to expand our mission to include commitment to land stewardship, to the preservation of the family farm and ranch and small businesses, and to providing the information and tools necessary to give citizens an effective voice in decisions that affect their lives.

Just as the integrity of Northern Plains has been of the highest importance to me, it has been of great satisfaction to me that my college as well has held fast with integrity to the wishes and ideals of its founders. Although this century may be destined to be called the age of knowledge, what is knowledge without wisdom, and what is wisdom without soul? The founders of Wells clearly understood the college needed to be more than just a place of learning, because they spent a great deal of time and thought in choosing just the right site whose beauty is capable of restoring soul and spirit as well – mindful, I’m sure, of the 23rd Psalm: "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters, he restoreth my soul."

And so Henry Wells and E.B. Morgan: we thank you for your steadfast friendship, for your shared vision, for your dreams, and for this fine college.

- Delivered on Saturday, June 1, 2002, in Phipps Auditorium, Wells College, Aurora, New York.