SEPT. :90, 194] TECHNOLOGY NED‘WE area. To the primeval stillness of pine and birch forests which smothers away the hit of civilzation called Camp Armour, seventeen civil en‘ gineering students of lllinois In stitute of Technology bade fare- well last week. Thus, an intensive six-weeks of what the school cata- logue (gills “Field Practice in Sur- veying, Civil Engineering 203" came to an abrupt end. Like their six hundred prede» CDSSOK‘S, the seventeen civils left the camp with the feeling that they had not only earned their credit hours, but, more impor. lam, they had absorbed a bit of the Wisconsin northwoods’ own brand of culture. l’cnn T’rcsidoo Presiding genius of the camp, which has always been regarded by undergraduates of Armour college of engineering as some- thing like the institute’s spiritual capitol, is tall, solid, serene John ”Hold that Tiger” Cornelius Penn, professor of civil engineering, a graduate of Arm» our’s class of 1905. A teacher at the institute since graduation, Professor Penn is a (idyeanold native Hollander, who came to America as a child, grew up in the middle west, and remem- bers when the civil engineering department of what is now the largest engineering school in the United States had two members other than himself, both of whom had been his teachers. Civil engineering, and partictb lnrly the surveyingr facet of it, make up the heart of John Cor- nelius Penn. Engineers are a none more so than civil engi- neers. They survey the earth, measuring its contours, deviations and scope, and of all their profes- sion they are most prone to feel they own it. After military engi» neering. which dates to ancient times. civil engineering is the old- est branch of the general field. Professor Penn, a patriarch with a schoolman’s patience and precision and none of his fustio mess, to a remarkable extent is Camp Armour. It was founded by the late. legendary Professor Al- fred E. Phillips, whose local career hogan with the school’s in 1894. lamp Armour Site The present site of Camp Arm- our, a triangle of land leased from the state conservation commis- sion. whose broadest side, about half-a-hlock long, faces west from a thirty-foot biuil‘ on the upper portion of Trout lake, occupies terrain belonging in the ’nineties to a lumber company. Its one- track railroad ran diagonally through where in now situated the dining room of Alfred E. Phil— lips Hall, largest of the camp’s eight buildings. The original boathouse, once the launch passed out of need and proud race, WAGE THREE service, was cut to half its size. No other important change has been made in the physical prop-v crt es of the place. Phillips Hall, a two~story structure with eaves open at the top for hot»weather ventilation, connected from the beginning to a large annex used for a kitchen. The Halls dining room, able to seat forty persons comfortably, is almost one-half of the large down- stairs floor, also given over to an oilice, bedrooms, the student sow cial room with fireplace, various nooks and crannies. (loml’orts of Home The upper floor, opening ofi broad stairs at the rear of the hall, is in ellect a large dormitory, though its eight wood partitions reaching half way up to the V” roof. form separate rooms, secur» ling, privacy to occupants. Slim dents ordinarily occupy four cal» ins grouped about the hall, each accommodating five or six per“ sons. Professor Penn and. his teaching assistant, student stew» ards and resident cooks, together with nonstudent guests, are housed in Phillips Hall. An ice house has a roof in coma man with a carpentry shop and lies close to a “kill” house, where student. butchers prepare whole sides of beef or lamb or sides of bacon and pork for attention of the kitchen. Freshly-caught pike, bass or muskellunge share space in the ice house. Like an excla- mation point to emphasize rustic- ity, the inevitable well lies across the diameter of the circle formed. by the buildings. Spirit Jilligh Student esprit, often thought to be an elusive quality in engine-en lng colleges where class programs minimize student recreation and social life, flowers at Camp Arm- our like the wild vines matted across and around the exterior of Phillips hall. Names of those who have belonged to the good fellow- ship of the camp since its first days stare down from the hall’s wood plaques, ornamented firc~ place lintels, the tops of hard~oak tables and, in fact, from every spot where wood can be carved to protest against Time. Courses No “Snap” The present summer’s genom- tion of Camp Armour residents observes a regimen identical to that of the earliest. Forty-five hours of school work a week, with several hours of note preparation a few nights of each week, is the rule for students. At present the field course in surveying is of- fered to those who have completed their sophomore year of engineer— ing studies. Years ago it was: tied to the end of the freshman year. The average age of an under- (commucd on page seven) cam in the (Shepard Mair: