A deeply-rooted relationship
By Harriet Clevenger Lockwood ’88

n 1953, my second grade class attended the opening of the new Campus School, the demonstration school in what is now known as Bozorth Hall. That was not my first time on campus—I lived three blocks away and walked and played there often but it was probably the year that I made a special, life-long friend. She was the beautiful, grand Oak Tree that stood proudly as a centurion looking over Bozorth Hall.

This spectacular tree stood by as Glassboro State Teacher’s College grew, adding dorms, libraries and science buildings. The campus was nestled among peach and apple orchards that spread from Route 322 to Carpenter Street, and it buzzed with bees pollinating the fruit trees. Now the campus is buzzing with traffic. Even as a child, I was sad to watch the bulldozers uprooting the orchards.

My friend the Oak Tree escaped destruction that time. She stood in left field on the baseball diamond, close to the railroad tracks. At the nearby Campus School, the Oak provided acorns for our science projects and shade for reading groups.

When I was in eighth grade, the Oak sheltered me when a gang of girls chased me into her arms. There I was comforted when I was sad and truly needed a friend. And in high school, I would often walk over to campus to sit and study under the tree’s branches, sometimes talking over life’s changes. I had my first, last and only taste of beer there, and a kiss or two.

My family posed for photos in her view, like many of the student clubs. The yearbook, The Oak, often featured groups of students under her broad limbs, spreading across two pages. And on my son’s first birthday, June 23, 1967, the Oak was honored to stand guard as President Lyndon Johnson arrived via helicopter on the baseball field to meet with Premier Alexei Kosygin at Hollybush.

There were trying times, too. When my mother died in 1976, I took my children over to play under my friend as I prayed and shed a few tears. We gathered her acorns and leaves in those autumn days. I felt renewed strength looking at the Oak who watched over me as an example of steadfastness.

One day in 1985, as I walked to campus I saw a morbid sight. My friend the Oak was in large chunks across the baseball diamond—it looked like a graveyard. The men who felled this magnificent tree were still busy cutting up the pieces to be removed. I pointed to her and jumped around saying, “Oh no! Oh no! That’s my friend they chopped down.” I needed to find out why.

The Oak, the largest tree the tree service had ever chopped down, was not diseased. The workmen told me that she was being removed so they could put a fence around the ball field. A visiting team had to be given an automatic homerun if a ball was hit into her branches. So a spectacular tree, who was probably the team’s best fan, was unearthed.

I told the workmen that she had been my friend forever. I asked if they could cut me a slice of the trunk so I could preserve her as a tabletop. At first they refused, saying they couldn’t cut a thin slice without it splintering. After I told them some more memories, I asked, “If you could cut a slice of the trunk, how thick would it have to be?” They looked at each other and said, “Come on.” With a two-man electric saw, they made one clean swipe, cutting a seven-inch slice about five feet across.

The piece, it turned out, weighed more than 300 pounds, and a professor advised me to store her flat for at least six months to help reduce cracking and splitting as she lost her life-sustaining moisture. With the help of friends, she was carried and placed in different people’s garages and barns over the course of ten years. In 1995, I convinced my husband it was time to bring my friend home.

With special treatment from craftsman Brian Smith, her surface became as smooth as silk. Pieces of bark that had dropped off during all the moves were replaced like puzzle pieces. He counted her rings—unofficially, the Oak Tree was 285 years old.

She now rests on an octagonal pedestal in my home and is still breathtaking. I’m thankful I was there that day they cut her down, for now I have a reminder of my deeply-rooted relationship with the old Oak Tree.

Inspired by her grandchildren’s pleasure in hearing her story about the Oak, Harriet plans to write a children’s book about her old friend.

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Harriet Clevenger Lockwood, a special education teacher, is coordinator of educational programs and library services at the Sen. Garrett W. Hagedorn Psychiatric Hospital in Glen Gardner. She lives in Califon with her husband and her friend, the Oak.