Kenneth Spencer Research Library

Watch the unboxing of our newest medieval manuscript to adorn the shelves of Kenneth Spencer Research Library below!

Every year at Kenneth Spencer Research Library, through classes, tours, and events, hundreds of undergraduates, graduate students, professors, and visitors from the public get to touch, handle, and engage with our single most popular book: the Vosper Book of Hours (Call Number: Pryce MS C1), a manuscript written painstakingly by hand in the last decades of the 15th century, gleaming with gold and vivid illustrations of medieval scenes from the Bible to accompany the hourly prayers contained within, each page crammed with flourishing decorations in the margins.

But the “verso” to those sparkling memories, if you will, is the stress that such high-touch handling can place on the single most-used book in the building. In 2025, we pulled the Vosper Hours from its cozy home in our vault thirty-four times, more than once every two weeks. In total, it was viewed by over 600 people, though directly handled by some fewer. Medieval manuscripts are often shockingly robust, made from parchment that has withstood the test of time, but even the halest of manuscripts will strain from so many hands upon its pages.

And so, with an eye to continuing to preserve the longevity of our most-beloved Vosper Hours, I set about finding it a mate, something that could lighten its burden and share the yolk of labor the way the best spouse might, meeting its standards but not exceeding them, lest it simply replace the Vosper Hours as the more popular manuscript and reintroduce the risk of over-use.

The process of threading such a needle involved meeting and corresponding with various booksellers, domestic and international, who specialize in medieval manuscripts in order to get a full sense of the current market and available options. I discussed with them our goals for such an acquisition, as well as our limitations, explaining how we expected and hoped the manuscript might be used, and why we sought particular qualities. These booksellers then sent us offers of the manuscripts in their catalogs that they felt best fit our goals, and I in turn analyzed and evaluated those offerings, including corresponding with various KU teaching faculty, to gather their thoughts on the potential opportunities for instruction and research use of the manuscript. From those conversations and analyses, one candidate rose to the top.

And so, without further ado, meet our newest manuscript:

The very first moment unboxing the manuscript upon its arrival here at Kenneth Spencer Research Library!

Behold, Pryce MS D1. We’ve given her the rather lengthy title Prima dies mensis et septima truncat vt ensis, using the incipit (or the first line of the text), since most medieval manuscripts lack a formal title. Her catchier nickname will likely be the pithy “Book of Hours, Use of Sarum” to reflect that her contents are structured around the pattern of prayers for the Office of the Virgin Mary in Salisbury (or “Sarum”), England. Despite her English nickname, she hails from Bruges, Belgium, a center of book production in the fifteenth century, where she was almost certainly illuminated in a professional workshop known as the “Masters of Otto van Moerdrecht.” They are best known for their work on a manuscript of theologian Nicolaus de Lyra’s Postilla in Prophetas now held at the University of Utrecht (Ms. 252), but only twenty-six manuscripts survive today that include their art.

She’s more than just a pretty face, too: every unique attribute of the manuscript can reveal different aspects of history, of how we’ve used books and information over time to express ideas and identities, control trade, and more.

For example: this is an unusually hefty volume, especially for a Book of Hours. These books were designed to be easy to keep at hand so that the owner could carry it with them and pray at set hours of the day (hence “Book of Hours”). Most are small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, or perhaps a little larger. Books of Hours flourished as a genre among the laity (non-clergy) in the later Middle Ages and often became a status symbol, flaunting opulent consumption and wealth. Nobles and members of the rising merchant classes could purchase luxury Books of Hours custom designed for their personal tastes, with pigments sourced from precious gems like ultramarine, metals such as lead white and copper verdigris, and above all gold leaf.

Books of Hours this large are uncommon, excessive in their opulence and sacrificing any pretense of practicality. In a visiting class, we might ask students why an owner would sacrifice ease of use for the grandiosity of its size, inviting them to reflect on how books are used not only as texts, but as physical objects.

Another example: The manuscript’s international birth and ownership. Dating a manuscript and identifying its place of origin can often present a challenge, and scholars will resort to complex analyses of handwriting and art styles to justify their conclusions. Not so for this manuscript: each miniature is marked by a faint red stamp of “B” that proclaim its origins courtesy of a law implemented in 1427 that required illuminators who sold their artwork to identify it as a local product, in an effort to control the import of luxury illuminations. Meanwhile, the Masters of Otto van Moerdrecht likely left Bruges in 1436, and so we can confidently date our new manuscript down to a single decade. Those stamps testify to the vibrant ongoing trade in luxury manuscripts – and the efforts to control the production of books and art not only as information but as economic and cultural products – in the 15th century.

And while the manuscript was made in Bruges, it didn’t remain there for long. Despite its Belgian origins, it was likely made with an English owner in mind, as many of the prayers included in the Book were particularly popular in England. We know that’s where it found its home: a note added in a later hand states it was gifted to John Pullan by his uncle Richard Belasyse in the 16th century, again harkening to how information and art were traded over borders for profit.

Indeed, quite a few owners took their hand to this manuscript, tweaking, correcting, fixing, and editing it to suit their tastes and preferences over the centuries. The earliest patron who originally commissioned the manuscript, most likely, went so far as to amend the miniature of Saint Mary Magdalene shown below, painting over her ointment pot and adding in a scroll that labels her instead as “Saint Anne,” hinting that the patron may have intended to give it as a gift to someone named Anne and decided to fit her patron saint into the prayers. This, in turn, reflects the popularity of Books of Hours among women in the later Middle Ages, revealing the reading habits, literacy and book ownership of women that is otherwise often hidden.

Someone, perhaps that same Anne or her own child, added a note of the birth of Thomas Bentham on October 24, 1477, reflecting how the calendars of Saints’ Days in Books of Hours were often used to track family births since the book would be passed from parent to child over generations.

And the mark of the English Protestant Reformation is revealed through another, later owner who crossed out the names of English Catholic Saint Thomas Becket and the Pope, adding the note “vacat” (“empty” or “blank”) next to feast days. The owner either converted (or wished to appear that they had converted), or the manuscript fell into Protestant hands.

More than one hand has tried to repair damage to its pages, suggesting that the manuscript had at least one rough owner. Some holes in the vellum have been sewn together carefully with thread, but another, likely later, owner seems to have fixed cuts to some pages with an adhesive, though why or how the pages were cut is unclear. At some point the book was rebound into a lush and ostentatious velvet binding, into which William Alfred Westropp Foyle (1885-1963) added his bookplate.

All those changes and adaptations demonstrate how books rarely remain static as they’re handed down from parent to child or bought and sold and shipped this way and that. People change their books the way they change their information, adapting it to their needs, aesthetic preferences, religious devotions, and even idle whims.

Now it makes another home here on the shelves of Kenneth Spencer Research Library, and we’ve already added a touch of our own: a custom-fit box built to the best standards of conservation care. Here, it will make another life for itself and touch the hearts and imaginations of hundreds of students, visitors, and researchers while giving our Vosper Hours much-needed relief for its own use. Like all the books on our shelves, it is available for any and all to come and see in tours and showcases, in classes and instruction, and above all in our Reading Room.

Eve Wolynes
Special Collections Curator

Good luck to all Kansas law school graduates who are taking the bar exam next week! In honor of the occasion, we’re sharing the first two parts of the first Kansas bar exam, which was administered in Topeka on October 13-14, 1903, and later published in the Summary of the First Year’s Work of the State Board of Law Examiners. The Board’s first three annual reports – which include the bar exams administered during those years – can be found in Spencer’s collections (Call Number: RH C5864), although they are housed at the Annex and must requested ahead of a Reading Room visit.

The general guidance to “follow instructions in the Bulletin of Information to Applicants” included in the first exam was replaced by more specific instructions in the second (February 1904) exam: “The Board calls special attention to the fact that answers ‘yes’ and “no” will not be considered. In every case give the principles involved and the reasons for the answer. ” This statement was repeated for the third exam in June 1904, and additional clarification was added: “Write your answers plainly, on one side of the paper only, and guard your spelling and punctuation. Accuracy, clearness, and conciseness will be given weight.”

More details about the first bar exam can be found in the paper “The State Board – A Landmark in Lawyer-making” by Lucius H. Perkins, D. C. L., secretary of the Kansas Board. Perkins presented the paper at the first national conference of the State Boards of Law Examiners, which was held at the St. Louis World’s Fair in 1904. It was reprinted – “by request” – in the Board’s Second Annual Report (1904-1905). Perkins noted that applicants who had been “admitted to the highest courts of another jurisdiction and actually practiced for more than three years immediately preceding their application” were tested via an oral examination. Beyond that,

“all other examinations are in writing. We proposed eighty questions, divided into four sessions of three hours each [across two days]. We require a few definitions and ask a few categorical questions; but by far the greater number are hypothetical, and are intended to raise the ordinary questions that might be put to a lawyer any day. We ask no catch [trick] questions, nor any of extraordinary difficulty. Our aim is to test the applicant’s mental caliber as well as his knowledge of the law, and we give good credit for a brainy answer even though the solution be wrong…

At the beginning of an examination the clerk of the supreme court [sic] gives each applicant a number, with which he signs all his papers. The board does not know one from another, and each performance is passed upon solely on [sic] its merits. This impersonal method relieves the board from every suspicion of partiality.”

Newspaper coverage of the first Kansas bar exam. Left: The Topeka Daily Capital, October 9, 1903. Middle: Capper’s Weekly: The Kansas Semi-Weekly Capital, October 13, 1903. Right: The Topeka Daily Herald, October 15, 1903. All articles accessed via Newspapers.com. Click images to enlarge.

Additionally in his paper, Perkins describes the process by which individuals applied to take the bar exam, commenting that “the methods adopted by the Kansas board are in accord with the most advanced thought and the most successful experience in this work.”

“We furnish each applicant a regular set of printed forms, consisting of an application, affidavit of the applicant, affidavit of his preceptor, and a certificate of the local district judge and three practicing attorneys that he is a person of good moral character, and, if qualified, a suitable person to be admitted to the bar. We also send a copy of the rules and a bulletin of information. The applicant is required to frame his petition to the supreme court [sic], and it must be in his own handwriting. He files his petition in the office of the clerk of the supreme court, and sends a copy of it with all his other papers to the secretary of the board. In the application he gives his history, and especially the character of his education, the studies pursued, and what he has been doing for the past five years.

One of the most important requirements is that he give a satisfactory account of himself, and no man will be received in the examination if there is any cloud upon his character. We cannot reach the rascals who are already in, but the State Board of Law Examiners stands between [unscrupulous attorneys] and the lawyers of the future. We cannot catch them all, but we shall stop those whose rascality is already known.

Our requirements of preliminary education are equal to a four-year course in a standard high school. No diploma, ipso facto, admits the applicant to the examination. We reserve the right to determine what schools shall be accredited, and a diploma from a law school does not excuse the applicant from the preliminary examination, unless the standard of admission is up to the standard of the board. All applicants are examined. Graduates from our own or any other university or law school are not exempt.”

Readers, do you have a favorite question from the first Kansas bar exam?

Caitlin Klepper
Public Engagement Librarian

Poetry is occasionally seen as a “sillier” form of writing due to its limited boundaries and subjective meanings. However, as a form of revolution and rebellion, it remains a constant in the zeitgeist of American literary movements. By highlighting a handful of Special Collections material published by Beat poets, a fellow Kansan, and a Slavic studies scholar, I hope to shine a bit more light on the impactful messaging that came from different, often subversive, poetry collections! 

The first work published in this list, Daisy Aldan’s A New Folder (1959) expresses the desire to reflect American poets’ complicated identity through their writing. The thematic subject for this collection is explained by Wallace Fowlie in his foreword. Fowlie writes that the book testifies to the “continuing vitality of American poetry” (1). With only the common thread of nationality, each poem in this collection provokes Fowlie’s quote: “The artists of a society are its only individuals, and society, by nature and definition, is opposed to individuals” (1). Complemented by American abstract artists like Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, and Franz Kline, A New Folder pinpoints an incredibly specific time in Western art and culture. A product of Beat Generation ideals, the volume concentrates anti-conformist beliefs in relation to human expression and creation through the use of art and poetry.  

Composed and published by David Rattray, Lami (1965) memorializes the life of Alden Van Buskirk through a compilation of his poetry, which explores life in fragments leading up to his death in 1961. In his introduction, Allen Ginsberg describes the collection as a “whole witty­ – somber – book” that “consists of 91 pages and makes a complete statement of Person” (1). The reader is given a collection that feels raw and intimate as the posthumous publication reflects a beloved figure in the Beatnik subculture of the ’60s. The title is accompanied by many definitions as “Lami” is cited to mean “tenement elf but above all guiding genie”; “American lama descended from golden age ‘lambish folke’”; and “also l’ami” (Rattray, Table of Contents). Marked as a collection of poetry that encapsulates one man’s being, Van Buskirk’s mortality and the thematic presence of grief for one’s own life finds a certain intimacy within Lami that holds through to the end.  

The front cover of (left) and the first page of the poem “Abomunist Manifesto” in (right) Solitudes Crowded with Loneliness by Bob Kaufman, 1965. Call Number: LE 1965 B16. Click images to enlarge.

A personal favorite of mine from Spencer’s collection, Bob Kaufman’s Solitudes Crowded with Loneliness (1965) is a tribute to social protest and, as the title suggests, the fight of the lonely subject amongst a crowd. Held at the back of Solitudes Crowded is a broadside of Kaufman’s “Abomunist Manifesto,” which appropriates the Communist Manifesto. Kaufman modifies the language of Marx and Engels with provocative, humorous statements designed to reflect his own radicalism within the counterculture of the 1960s. An “abomunist” is defined by Kaufman as a noun meaning “one who avows Abomunism, disavowing everything else, especially butterscotch” (81). Accompanying political rhetoric, the collection is rich with Kaufman’s “prophetic verse” in which he was known to have written with inspiration “from the improvisatory bebop jazz featured at the Beats’ favorite North Beach watering holes” [1]. The absurdity of Kaufman’s writing subverts expectation as he dedicates himself to the protest of a societal collective. 

The front cover (left) and section (right) of RADI OS by Ronald Johnson, 1977. Call Number: C23084. Click images to enlarge.

Comparatively a much less political piece than the previous examples, Ronald Johnson’s RADI OS (1977) uses abstract design for the art and structure of his poetry. Erasure poetry is made by taking an already written text and erasing the words to create new poetry. As one of the earliest poets to create erasure poetry – one with Kansas roots, no less – Johnson takes John Milton’s Paradise Lost and transforms its text to express his own thematic subject and purpose. The genius of Johnson’s originality and meaning are enforced by Guy Davenport’s afterword, with its notes on the complex and thoughtful use of negative space and the ordering of each page. A particularly favorite insight of mine that Davenport says in his afterword: “What the artist seems to create has, as the artist is the first to appreciate and acknowledge, already been created. Design and arrangement are the artist’s passion. Place is all” (96). Davenport’s words ring true throughout this list, finding creation as a backbone to what makes an artist, and how that creation translates into meaning whether that is political, personal, or both.  

Finally, at first glance McClelland’s 1978 collection dedicated wholly to the existence of a brooding, bloodsucking myth has a comedic air to it. The 21st-century vampire has become more of an angsty, sparkling romantic lead than the seductive, psychological, and aristocratic figure that erupted from authors like Polidori, Le Fanu, and Stoker. Published in 1978 and prefaced by Robert Kelly, The Dracula Poems conceptualize the identity of “poet” as a vampire/monster who is uniquely open to interpretation by language. McClelland’s background in Slavic studies with a concentration in anthropology as well as linguistics offers more to every poem as they attempt to convey metaphorical wonderings of a monster “preserved and isolated at once” in the literary canon [2]. Still remaining an enjoyable and creative collection of well-crafted poetry, McClelland’s book suffuses a popular figure with identity, making the vampire a much more personal beast.  

Theo McKay
Public Services student assistant

[1] Biography of Bob Kaufman by the Academy of American Poets  

[2] Bruce A. McClelland’s website 

This is the third post in a series highlighting various titles from Spencer Research Library’s vast children’s book collection.

Well-loved children’s books spark magic from the thrill of adventure to imagination of far-off, enchanted places. Beloved by generations, classic children’s stories remain with us throughout life, whether it is re-reading childhood favorites or sharing our most loved stories with young people in our lives. These classics ignite imaginations and impart timeless lessons. They become some of our most cherished friends that stay with us throughout our lives.

Most people first think of Peter Rabbit when they think about Beatrix Potter and her little, whimsical books. For me, the memories go somewhere else entirely. I think of my grandparents and those sleepover nights when I was small: the familiar rhythm of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, the soft glow of the Lawrence Welk Show, and then the quiet ritual of getting tucked into bed. Before I’d climb up onto the tall double bed, Grandma let me choose a story. She had a small collection of Beatrix Potter books lined up neatly on the shelf of the secretary. I always picked The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher. Something about that brave little frog in his tiny coat and galoshes captured my imagination every time.

Jeremy Fisher always stood out to me, and I think it began with something wonderfully simple: I liked his name and he wore galoshes. “Galoshes” is a funny word. Jeremy lived by a pond doing the kinds of things frogs like to do. There was an easy, everyday magic in that little world of lily pads, fishing lines, and soft water‑sounds. A place that simultaneously felt adventurous, comforting, and calming, thinking about the lily pads at Great Grandma and Great Pop’s house on Pleasant Lake. I could imagine him living out in the channel where the lily pads grew. There was something irresistible about this earnest little frog in his smart red coat, setting off across the water with more optimism than caution. He wasn’t the mischievous troublemaker like Peter or the tidy, bustling figure of Mrs. Tiggy‑Winkle. Jeremy was gentle, hopeful, and just a little bit unlucky, which made him feel wonderfully real. His world was quieter and calmer, full of reeds, shaded banks, and the small bravery of trying again after a mishap. That big water beetle was scary, but Jeremy persevered. Even then, I think I loved that he wasn’t perfect. He was brave and simply did his best, and somehow that made his story feel like a friend I’d return to every time I visited Grandma’s.

Beatrix Potter’s characters have a way of lasting, settling into memory long after childhood has passed. Part of their endurance comes from how Potter built them as small creatures with very human hearts. They’re mischievous or hopeful or a little unlucky, but always recognizable. Peter’s impulsiveness, Jemima’s earnestness, Jeremy’s gentle optimism: these aren’t just traits of animals in waistcoats (and galoshes), they’re reflections of us. And because Potter never talked down to children, her stories carry an honesty that still feels fresh. The stakes may be small like a lost handkerchief or a ruined fishing trip, but the emotions are real. Her characters inhabit tiny, complete worlds where courage is quiet, mistakes are forgivable, and trying again is its own kind of triumph. That’s why they stay with us. They grow as we grow, offering something new each time we return to them.

Left: An illustration of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle in The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, New York: Frederick Warne & Co., 1905. Call Number: Children 2972. Right: The front cover of The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck, New York: Frederick Warne & Co., Inc., 1936. Call Number: Children 2974. Click images to enlarge.

Potter was famously particular about the size of her books. She wanted them to be small enough for children to hold comfortably as intimate little volumes that fit into a pocket or a bedtime routine. Her publishers pushed for larger formats, but she held her ground. To her, the charm of these stories depended on scale: tiny creatures deserved tiny books. A child should feel as though they were peeking into a private world, one they could cup in their palms. That insistence on smallness created a kind of closeness between reader and story, a feeling that Peter Rabbit or Mr. Tod might jump right off the page. It’s part of why her tales endure, they were designed not just to be read, but to be held.

Left: The titular character of The Tale of Mr. Tod, New York: Frederick Warne & Co., Inc., 1912. Call Number: Children 2982. Right: An illustration from The Tailor of Gloucester, New York: Frederick Warne & Co., 1903. Call Number: Children 2981. Click images to enlarge.

Potter’s little books didn’t just fit small hands; they shaped how children read. Their size created a sense of ownership, as if each story were a secret meant just for you. A child could hold the whole world of Squirrel Nutkin or the Tailor of Gloucester in one palm, turning pages that felt perfectly scaled to their own sense of wonder. The intimacy of that design slowed the reading experience down: you leaned in closer, studied the illustrations more carefully, and felt as though you were peeking into a miniature universe. Those tiny volumes made reading feel personal, portable, and inviting a quiet invitation to step into a story and carry it with you wherever you went.

Potter’s tiny, whimsical books didn’t stay tucked away in English nurseries for long. Their charm crossed borders almost as quickly as they captured hearts. They were small, easy to hold, easy to carry, and almost like treasures. They translated beautifully into other languages. Soon children around the world were meeting Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddle‑Duck, and Jeremy Fisher in their own words, discovering the same quiet ponds, tidy burrows, and bustling little villages. Those pocket‑sized stories became tiny passports, carrying her small animal worlds from one country to the next, proving that gentle, kind wonder needs no translation.

French (left) and German (right) translations of The Tale of Peter Rabbit, London and New York: Frederick Warne & Co., LTD, undated. Call Numbers: Children 2973A and Children 2975A. Click images to enlarge.

In the end, that’s what Beatrix Potter’s work has always done; taken something small and made it feel expansive. Her tiny books, perfectly sized for little hands, carried whole worlds inside them. And somehow those miniature stories traveled far beyond the quiet corners of English nurseries, finding their way into new languages, new homes, and new childhoods. It’s amazing that the same Jeremy Fisher who kept me company at my grandparents’ house has hopped across continents, meeting children who see their own wonder reflected in his gentle courage. These stories endure because they invite us in close, offering a world we can hold and one that, if we’re lucky, holds us right back.

Even for those of us who come to Beatrix Potter simply as readers, not scholars, there’s something quietly powerful about knowing these tiny books and their many editions are preserved in places like Spencer Research Library. Holding a physical copy of The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher or The Tailor of Gloucester connects us to the way children first encountered these stories: small pages, careful illustrations, and a scale Potter insisted on because it shaped how young readers experienced wonder. Archives protect that experience. They safeguard the variations in printings, the translations that carried Peter Rabbit across borders, and the little design choices that made these books feel like treasures in a child’s hands. Preserving the books themselves ensures that future readers – whether curious visitors, devoted fans, or someone simply remembering a bedtime story at their grandparents’ house – can still encounter Potter’s world as she meant it to be held.

Spencer Research Library has twenty-one holdings of Beatrix Potter books. Frederick Warne & Co. (also Frederick Warne & Co., Inc. and Frederick Warne & Co., LTD) published Potter’s little books. The company had publishing houses in London and New York. The publication date and call number of each title are listed below:

• The Tale of Ginger and Pickles, 1909 (Children 2970)
• Histoire de Pierre Lapin [The Tale of Peter Rabbit, French], undated (Children 2973A)
• The Tale of the Pie and the Patty-Pan, 1905 (Children 2965)
• The Roly-Poly Pudding, 1908 (Children C606)
• The Tailor of Gloucester, 1903 (Children 2981)
• The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck, 1936 (Children 2974)
• The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher, 1906 (Children 2983) and 1934 (Children 2984)
• The Tale of Mr. Tod, 1912 (Children 2982)
• The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, 1905 (Children 2972)
• The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse, 1910 (Children 2979)
• The Tale of Peter Rabbit, undated (Children 2978)
• The Tale of the Pigling Bland, 1913 (Children 2980)
• The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin,1903 (Children 2971)
• The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies, 1909 (Children 2976A)
• Het verhall van Petertje het Konijntje [The Tale of Peter Rabbit, German], undated (Children 2975A)
• Wag-by-Wall, 1944 (Children B1119 and Children 2969)

Beatrix Potter titles by other publishers:

• The Fairy Caravan, Philadelphia: David McKay Company, 1929 (Children 3479)
• Peter Rabbit, Philadelphia: Henry Altemus Company, DATE (Children 5159A)

Meredith Phares
Operations Manager

In honor of the celebrations surrounding the 250th birthday of the United States this week, we’re taking a look back at how KU commemorated the bicentennial fifty years ago.

A year of intensive planning, special projects, and varied events at the university culminated in the Sunflower Spectacular fireworks show at Memorial Stadium on July 4, 1976. The show “featured the cooperation of the University Alumni Association with Vince Bilotta as coordinator, the Summer Band Camp under the direction of Robert Foster, and the Lawrence Jaycees with their annual sponsorship of the fireworks display.” Prior to the show were afternoon and evening performances of patriotic music at the Memorial Campanile and Carillon, part of a bicentennial summer concert series. Lawrencians also participated in a broad array of off-campus festivities that weekend, concluding the Douglas County Bicentennial Commission’s similarly busy and productive year.

Fireworks during the Sunflower Spectacular show, July 4, 1976. In the first two images, note the spectators on the hill near the Campanile. Photos by George Millener for the Lawrence Journal-World. Lawrence Journal-World Photograph Collection. Call Number: RH PH LJW (negatives). Click images to enlarge.

A questionnaire attached to the final report of KU’s seventeen-member Bicentennial Committee stated that 1,335 individuals had been “actually involved and participating” in its various commemorative efforts. The Committee also estimated that more than 70,500 people had attended KU’s bicentennial events (“based on estimates where numbers could be determined”). “The philosophy of the University Bicentennial Committee,” noted the document, “was reflected in the nature of the projects and events that were identified and sponsored. The emphasis was upon activities that coordinated closely with the major missions of the University in its academic programs, its research projects, and its responsibility of service to the people of the state of Kansas.”

Reflecting back on the academic year, the editors of the 1976 Jayhawker yearbook wrote (somewhat hyperbolically):

If nothing else, the student of ’76 always will remember this year for the pomp and sure-coin-stance of the American Revolution Bicentennial. Attending an official Bicentennial university, living in an official Bicentennial community, taking a course in the history of the American Revolution from W. Stitt Robinson, professor of history and chairman of the KU Bicentennial Committee, celebrating homecoming with the theme of Jayhawk Rebellion, going to one of the five Humanities Series lectures with a Bicentennial theme, taking in a Saturday afternoon of Bicentennial music at Off-the-Wall-Hall, watching the official Bicentennial flag flutter in the Bicentennial breeze, seeing musical presentations, theater productions and museum exhibits with a Bicentennial flavor, applauding a Bicentennial Rock Chalk Revue, seeing the KU Symphonic Band off for a Bicentennial tour and dancing to Bicentennial banjos in a Bicentennial street dance during a Bicentennial Festival of the Arts were some of the things the Bicentennial student did.

Caitlin Klepper
Public Engagement Librarian