By Carroll Ladt
Placed before the casket is a
spray of black magnolias in the
shape of a seven. Around the seven
in white flowers is the infinity sign
and the Greek letters, Alpha
and Omega-the beginning and the
end. On the Grounds the first
dissonant note floats out as students
and faculty hesitate, glancing
toward the chapel. Seven notes are
tolled over the carillon marking
the passing of a member of the
"Seven Society."
The society's aim expounded
in its speculative statement is "generally
believed...to work for the
benefit of the University."-the
mark is a proliferation of 7's.
Because of its work for the University,
the Seven's enjoy an air
of mystery that no one desires to
destroy, it reveals its members only
after their death and the instructions
and communications are followed
to the letter. From the early
twenties when it became the custom
to avoid walking on the 7 signs
in front of buildings, the Seven's
have been accorded an attitude of
respect and admiration from all
those who have any contact with
them.
This desire to help keep the
Seven's secret is exemplified by a
professor who walked into a room
without warning to see seven
masked men holding a meeting.
He quickly left with closed eyes
and said nothing. Upon his retirement
he found in his inside coat
pocket a beautiful silver knife
inscribed with the mystic 7 figure.
The number seven from its inception
has had an elegance, an
air of mystery, and a certain ring
to it. To quote Don Marquis,
"There are Seven Pleiads and
Seven Sutherland Sisters, Seven
Hells and Seven Candles; it is
strangely and inherently impressive.
The heavens declare its
glory and the external and material
world falls naturally into heptagonal
patterns....naturally or
magically! For it is a magic number.
Verse written on a rhythmic
scheme which regards the occult
properties of seven is better than
any other verse; and queer things
happen in a seven handed poker
game that we have never seen
happen anywhere else." It is only
fitting that some secret societies
revolve around the number seven
and there are several at the University.
The origin of the Seven Society
can be traced to their first known
announcement when they presented
$500 to the University to
celebrate their 10th anniversary.
The "7's" are unwilling to even
acknowledge this small fact,
though, for in their statement in
the Jeffersonian, they say "the
founding date of the Seven Society
cannot be known because of the
secret nature of the society."
The most popular story of their
founding attributes it to the first
president of the University, Edwin
Anderson Alderman. In 1905, he
became extremely disgruntled with
the Hot feet, whose annual crowning
of their king had become a
mass drunken orgy on the steps
of the Rotunda. The Z's seemed
bound and determined to outdo
the Hot feet and their list of
pranks also disrupted many
of University life. Mr. Alderman
called both groups in and in no
uncertain terms suggested a more
"beneficial organization." It was
at this time that the Seven sign
first appeared in Corks and Curls
(p. 157, 1905 edition), and the
Seven's supposedly was the result
of Mr. Alderman's reprimand.
Several other incidents point to
this date. In 1887 a society known
as O.W.L. was formed, not surprisingly
with the owl as its symbol.
It had eight members its first year,
but thereafter was limited to seven.
Around 1915 O.W.L. changed its
heading in Corks and Curls from
a secret society to a club. This
was the date that the "7" made
its first public announcement. A
conjecture is that O.W.L., taking
Mr. Alderman's speech to heart,
started doing beneficial deeds
under the name of its limit of
members, seven. By 1915 the new
society had shown so much promise
that O.W.L. was discontinued.
Another incident pointing to the
founding date was the disappearance
of a fraternity called the
Mystic Seven. The Virginia
and Torch chapter slipped out of
existence around 1905 and it is
possible that these men formed a
new Seven Society. This common
opinion that the Sevens were
founded in 1905 is the only fact
that be depended upon reliably.
The contributions of the Sevens
are the most concrete facet of their
existence. Between 1915 and 1958
it was estimated that they had given
more than $50,000 to the University
and its students. Perhaps
their most unusual gift was a ball
after World War I. Several college
students were instructed by
an anonymous person to carry
out the details of arranging the
dance and sending out invitations.
The dance was complete with
orchestra, caterer, and vintner and
was a huge success though the
guests' curiosity over the givers
of the ball was unceasing. At midnight
the answer came when hundreds
of "7" showered down from
the rafters and at seven the next
morning, the guests left to the tune
of "Good Night Ladies" played
with seven beats to the bar.
The largest gift of the Sevens
came during commencement exercises
in 1958; an explosion was
heard over the head of the speaker
and a piece of paper floated down.
The paper was a check for
$17,777.77 to establish a loan
fund for faculty and students in
honor of John Lloyd Newcomb,
the second president of the University.
At his death his membership
in the Seven Society became
known.
A local stonemason was instructed
to construct the huge
"7" sign on the slope of Scott
Stadium by a letter from the
Sevens. He found his payment in
his lunchbox on the last day of
the job. After it was completed,
Colgate W. Darden, Jr., University
president during the mid fifties,
received an announcement
at half-time of a football game to
remove the bottom rock of "7."
Under it was $77.77 for a drinking
fountain. It was around this time
that the custom of showering football
games at half-time with leaflets
with the seven sign began. The
groundkeepers, incidentally, are
payed $1.77 an hour by the Sevens
to clean them up.
In 1958 the rector of St. Paul's
was sitting in his study wondering
how to pay for chapel repairs,
when a stone crashed through his
window with a note plus $2.77
payment for the broken window.
The note told him at seven minutes
past seven to take 77 steps east
from the Rotunda, alter his course
by 77 degrees and walk another
77 paces and 7 inches. Following
his instructions the rector found
$177 for chapel repairs.
The Sevens dedicated the University
Chapel's electronic carillon
with its 25 Flemish bells in 1957.
The ceremony marked the end of
two years of secret correspondence
with the administration and company
that did the work for
$9,777.77. The Sevens revealed
the names of all the deceased members
since the founding. The total
was ironically 77.
More recent gifts have been given
in the usual forms. The payment
for the furnishings of the Honor
Committee Room was given to
President Shannon during half-time
of Homecoming '63. An
award in honor of Henry Noble
Taylor, former Cavalier Daily
Editor and Seven who was killed
in the Congo, was initiated. "This
award is presented annually to the
member of The Cavalier Daily
staff, who, through his work, has
best exemplified the traditions and
ideas of the University of Virginia."
The annual Founder's Day
gift of Sevens always continues.
It either goes to a scholarship
fund of some description or to
be used "in any way the President
or Rector and Board of Visitors
deem best for the promotion
of the best interest of the University."
The mace of the University
which symbolized the "University's
power and authority" was
presented by the Sevens in 1961.
The roommate of a boy expelled
for cheating was convinced
of his innocence and appealed to
the Seven Society. After an intense
investigation, it was found that the
whole thing was a frame-up. The
accuser found on his desk a dossier
containing evidence of his guilt,
weighted down by a small brass
seven. An accompanying note gave
the alternatives of signing the
dossier and hand it over to the
Honor Committee or request to
be tried. He signed and left school
immediately.
Even the tremendous sum of
known gifts and aid may not equal
the unknown ones. From the very
inception of the society, whispering
of great quantities of money
and aid have circulated. The student
whose gambling loses were
returned, the scholar who was
given enough to subsidize his education,
the emergency loan for a
family crisis, the check to pay for
badly needed books-all these
may well run over the public
account of the benefits of the
Sevens.
The actual number of the society
and its organization is mere speculation.
The most reasonable answer
is that the society is kept at a
multiple of 7. It is generally thought
that members are chosen only at
the end of their last year or
sometime later. Only those with
self-sufficient means could contribute
the large sums of the sevens.
Letters from the society are
never personally signed; communications
to it are addressed to "Mr.
Jefferson's Statue, The Rotunda."
They are promptly picked up, but
by whom no one knows. The signature
is the imprint of six astronomical
signs and a seventh unidentifiable
symbol. The only time
they conduct business by phone
is when a member dies. First
notified is Page Florist who prepares
the wreath. At the time of
burial, the seven tones of the
carillon are sounded simultaneously
in a sequence of 7 second
intervals, 7 times a minute for 7
minutes. This is followed by the
"Good Old Song."
During the past ten years, three
supposed facts about the Seven
Society have been disrepudiated.
Not all members are males. At
the death of Miss Mary B. Proffitt
in 1958, her membership was
disclosed. She was secretary to
Dean Ivey F. Lewis, also a 7.
With the death of Walter H. Page
in 1939, the idea that only members
of the University are sevens was
ended. Mr. Page, a florist, although
closely associated with the
University did not attend it. He
personally prepared the wreaths
that appeared at the deceased. The
belief that the society has only
seven is more myth than fact.
A list of persons believed to be a
partial accounting of members has
turned up in the unpublished files
of a former seven showing twenty-to
thirty names. The large sums of
money presented by the society also
indicated the membership is larger
than the legendary seven.