History

Penn State and Title IX: A Legacy of Leadership

March 10, 2026

This article first appeared in the September 2014 issue of Town&Gown magazine, which was dedicated to women’s athletics at Penn State. It was also complemented by an online companion piece. Both are a product of their time, anticipating the as-yet unrealized transformation that would reshape college sports over the decade that followed.

When Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972 became law, prohibiting gender discrimination within “any education program or activity receiving federal financial assistance,” university athletic departments across the country suddenly faced important decisions. The defining choices made at Penn State form one of the school’s great, yet largely unappreciated, success stories.

Some 40 years earlier, State’s librarian and first historian, Erwin Runkle, noted that though “always in the general stream of college life, Penn State has nevertheless had a ‘way of her own.’” Amidst national confusion and backlash in the wake of Title IX’s passage, PSU held true to his words.

In the minds of many sports fans, “Title IX” conjures vague notions of a law designed to promote women’s sports that also forced a bunch of schools to close down their wrestling programs. Closer examination reveals a much more complex web of good intentions, misguided interpretations, and a lot of political maneuvering in the ample space between them. Just one aspect of a broader educational reform package characterizing the equality movement of the time, Title IX, which makes no explicit mention of athletics, aimed to codify the expectation of equal access for women in education. The extent to which compliance eventually resulted in reduced opportunities for male athletes at many institutions speaks more to their own priorities, and lack of foresight perhaps, than the merits of the law itself.

When it became clear the new law would have massive implications for the burgeoning big business of college sports, the nation’s universities had arrived at a crossroads: Adapt, or resist; embrace the spirit, or do legal battle over the letter, of the law. For its part, the NCAA chose the latter, filing a 1976 court challenge on behalf of its member institutions, many of which chose to slow walk the implementation process while the case played out. Although this suit was dismissed, it marked the first of several, mostly fruitless, legal and legislative fights over Title IX’s enforcement. When neither Congress nor the courts delivered lasting relief, those schools that had long resisted the tides of change were all but forced to eliminate men’s sports as a matter of last resort. Penn State did things differently.

By the late 1960’s, the leaders at many colleges realized that the long-recognized potential of big-time sports to energize alumni donors and promote a brand image could be supercharged through mass media, compounding their substantial marketing value several times over. This sparked a steady migration of responsibility for athletics oversight within collegiate administration, away from academic deans and toward business-minded athletic departments. The trend came late to Happy Valley, and in 1972, athletics fell under the supervision of Bob Scannell, dean of the College of Health, Physical Education, and Recreation, hearkening back to a time when intercollegiate student competition, though far from immune to excess, was viewed as complementary to the educational mission of a university. This increasingly antiquated academic approach may help explain the University’s openness to offering opportunities for female athletes.

The accommodating attitude bore immediate fruit. Over the course of the decade, national media, including Sports Illustrated and ABC, would hold up Penn State as the face of a new era in women’s sports. TIME’s June 26, 1978 issue, which examined the impact of Title IX, featured a cover image of Lions lacrosse player Karen Pesto and quoted PSU’s Dr. Dorothy Harris, a pioneer in women’s sport psychology. Penn State produced three field hockey players who were selected for the 1980 and 1984 Olympic teams, among them Char Morett, who would go on to a decorated coaching career at PSU and enshrinement in the U.S. Field Hockey Hall of Fame. Barbara Doran, another varsity athlete and Title IX activist of the era, played on both the U.S. field hockey and lacrosse teams and would be elected to the University’s Board of Trustees in 2013.

None of this should suggest that the path forward was always smooth. In today’s climate, where coach of the Big Ten champion Lady Lions Coquese Washington appears alongside other pillars of the community on the Hiester Street Inspiration Mural, and where we honor Russ Rose’s six national titles in women’s volleyball alongside Joe Paterno’s legendary career in football at the Berkey Creamery, it becomes easy to forget that, even here at Penn State, the struggle for equality in women’s athletics was often exactly that.

“We Are a Strong, Articulate Voice: A History of Women at Penn State,” by Carol Sonenklar, records the tireless efforts required of field hockey and lacrosse coach Gillian Rattray and Sports Information director Mary Jo Haverbeck to achieve such elementary concessions as uniform logos and numbers. Their persistence, joined with the visionary leadership of many other women like Marty Adams, Della Durant, and Sue Scheetz, tells an uplifting tale. When faced with obstacles at critical junctures, Penn Staters consistently found the wisdom and initiative to surmount them.

That we today celebrate Penn State’s 14 women’s varsity sports reflects an inclusionary posture that is evident throughout the University’s history. Indeed, the first president, Evan Pugh, founded the school on what, at the time, was the audacious notion that serious study of agriculture and the mechanical arts belonged on equal footing with literature and the arts within the academy. In 1871, six years after Pugh’s untimely death, Penn State became the first institution of higher education in Pennsylvania to admit female students. A century later, the humble beginnings of The Farmers’ High School had yielded a thriving university where Pugh’s successors welcomed the promise of Title IX. Consciously or no, they inherited a legacy of the egalitarian impulse that animated the land-grant movement, and to their lasting credit, they rose to the occasion of upholding its values and expanding its scope.

If we are to embrace the notion of the Nittany Valley as a place apart, these connections are integral to that understanding. If there is, in fact, a certain spirit or magic to the place, it may be in its enduring capacity for attracting a special brand of people, its power to captivate the hearts and imaginations of those who will enrich and sustain it.

To discern a thread connecting 19th century educational pioneers like Pugh with the likes of Durant, Scannell, Scheetz and Haverbeck – understanding them as interrelated characters in one still-unfolding narrative – is to appreciate the slow, but steady taking root of a distinct “Penn State Way.” It has been discovered and proudly carried forward, and often reinvented along the way, by one generation after another. At a time of profound cultural change, one such group helped make Penn State a national standard bearer for an emerging social consciousness.

This history should spark pride in any heart that loves the name of Dear Old State. The story, however, continues.

Even as we now laud the landmark hiring of the institution’s first female athletic director, new challenges loom just over the horizon. Several high-profile court cases and greater autonomy for the so-called “Power Five” conferences could dramatically reshape the funding model of college sports. Such changes could very well align with the fast-approaching time when a prohibition against reduced support for PSU’s existing sports, part of the NCAA consent decree, will expire.

Penn State will inevitably face another moment for choosing. Remembering its story and reflecting on a proud tradition of making the choices that elevate opportunity and reinforce the very best of the student-athlete ideal can help us find the resolve to carry forward and renew a legacy of leadership.

Special thanks to Dr. Scott Kretchmar and Dr. Mark Dyreson for their time and input.
‘Do you know the origin of that word, saunter?’

March 13, 2019

John Muir, as quoted in The Mountain Trail and Its Message in 1911:

“Hiking—I don’t like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains—not hike! Do you know the origin of that word, ‘saunter’? It’s a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, “A la sainte terre,” ‘To the Holy Land.’ And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not ‘hike’ through them.”
Dr. & Mrs. Joab Thomas’s Square Inch

December 3, 2017

I’ve been spending some time recently on scanning a few boxes worth of early Mount Nittany Conservancy archives that Ben Novak provided to me. As the Mount Nittany Conservancy’s founder and first president, Ben was instrumental not only in the organization’s major land preservation and fundraising efforts throughout the 1980s and early 1990s, but also in creating and promoting the distinctive “Square Inch” Life Estate Deeds, which provide a true, legal square inch of Mount Nittany for the life of the donor—recorded with the Centre County Recorder of Deeds—in exchange for a beautiful, framed deed certificate.

Over the course of these scanning and archival efforts, a number of prominent Penn Staters and State College names appear, including Dr. Joab Thomas and his wife. Dr. Thomas was Penn State’s president from 1990-1995, and he and his wife ordered their Square Inch in the early 1990s:
Looking Back to Move Forward

March 10, 2016

Why should we care about the past?

The potential answers to this question are many and varied, but certainly, in looking back to understand what came before, we can see something of ourselves reflected back at us, extracting value from the experience. It is not without peril. Genuine self-examination risks exposure to the truth about our flaws. Likewise, we must resist the allure of romance; if infatuation with a fictional ideal commands our full attention, we miss the view of all that is around us and ahead.

And yet a part of us cannot help but yearn to know. As human beings, we are natural storytellers, creatures of narrative. We seek knowledge of our past to better orient ourselves within our own stories—personal and communal. These journeys of exploration can yield many benefits, but ultimately, we undertake them because to do so is fundamental to our nature.

Tom Shakely has written about “why place matters” and the importance of Mount Nittany and conserving both “human and environmental ecologies.” As challenging as it is fulfilling, this sort of work evolves.

In college towns like ours, the relationship between past and present is closer to the surface in everyday life than most other places.

Today, the clarion of Old Main’s bell tower, an immediately recognizable sound seared into the memory of generations, no longer requires an actual bell. Powerful speakers, however, do blast a digital recreation of the real bell, long since permanently silenced, whose tolling across campus once marked each day’s passage. Here, the technology of the present resurrects the sounds of the past. The stately central administration building itself, among the most recognizable and “collegiate” of our symbols, sits just a couple blocks from the Millennium Science Complex, which looks more like the stuff of modern sci-fi than an image from the bucolic campus ideal.

Similarly, the Hotel State College, home of the Corner Room, retains all the charm of the simpler age in which it was built. As a symbol, it exemplifies the town as surely as Old Main does the college. The local skyline behind it, unchanged for decades, is now dominated by the construction of two new high-rise complexes, especially significant in their breaking a long-held resistance against the encroachment of “tall buildings.” This distinctive landmark will soon be literally overshadowed by towering monuments to emerging trends and changing attitudes.

But many established communities mingle old architecture with new. What distinguishes the Nittany Valley—and most similar college towns, I imagine—is its unique population, an ever-churning mixture of locals and alumni, with their long-held affection for the area, and students, who are only just falling in love with it. In a place whose very existence derives from thousands of young people undergoing one of our society’s most cherished rites of passage, there is a natural fascination with how those who preceded us experienced those same rituals in these same locations. The past lingers here, fraught with potential.

In his book “Is Penn State A Real University?”—the first publication released under the Mount Nittany Conservancy’s Nittany Valley Press publishing imprint—Dr. Ben Novak, a former Penn State trustee, muses:

The past, because it was lived, cannot really be destroyed. It can only be covered over, like a lush jungle that gets condensed into a pool of oil or a vein of coal, just waiting to be drilled or mined to have its energy released. But you have to dig for it, and you have to know how to use it. When we don’t know what is in the past, we cannot use it, and we cannot release its power.

Recently, when Kevin Horne addressed the Board of Trustees about shared governance at Penn State, he noted, “Memory of our past can improve the present and change the future.”

So there is power buried in the past, a positive energy that, once unleashed, can be harnessed to animate and inspire our best thinkers and doers. It can teach lessons, but also engender a sense of shared identity and foster stronger, more cohesive community relationships. Those who seek to preserve memory for future generations do so with the goal of improving lives; no small task.

The challenge is twofold. To start off, the work of historical preservation and reclamation is difficult and requires hours of effort, attention to detail, and not a small degree of luck to be successful. And yet, despite the obstacles, this first stage in the process is still the less daunting. Because once all of the information has been collected, the knowledge harvested, then the real work, the most valuable aspect of what we do, comes in bringing it to people in a way that affects their lives in a meaningful way. This is the challenge of making what no longer exists, and is therefore unknown and often unfamiliar, accessible and relevant.

We all long for a sense of our own story, and we draw strength from understanding the ways in which others share a common background. We care about the past because of its power to enrich our spirit.

The magic of the Nittany Valley, that is, the spirit of this culture we aim to conserve, is potent and inspires important work by many groups that often share compatible motivation and goals—the Centre County Historical Society, Lion Ambassadors, and the Mount Nittany Conservancy, just to name a few.

We constantly need to work together to retell the stories of our past so that the knowledge and experiences of those who came before us can make a tangible impact on the present.
If ‘the World is Flat,’ Then Mount Nittany and the Nittany Valley Matter More Than Ever

April 20, 2014

In The World is Flat: A Brief History of the Twenty-First Century, Thomas Friedman’s central insight is that globalization and Information Age technology work in tandem to diminish the distinctiveness and importance of location—of physical place. Nearly a decade after his book’s 2005 release, this “world is flat” thinking has seeped into almost every pore of the face of our culture. We’re all too familiar with the negative effects of our flatter, globalized world in the form of outsourcing and offshoring, but we’ve also seen the positive ways that innovations such as Amazon’s impressive supply chain, Penn State’s World Campus, and social platforms have enabled people to shop, learn, and communicate.

Yet, a remarkable new book edited by Wilfred M. McClay and Ted V. McAllister functions as a sort of rebuttal to Friedman’s vision of a world where location is irrelevant. In Why Place Matters: Geography, Identity, and Civic Life in Modern America, McClay and McAllister write:

“Whether we like it or not, we are corporeal beings, grounded in the particular, in the finite conditions of our embodiment, our creatureliness. … In losing ‘place’ entirely, and succumbing to the idea that a website can be a place and that digital relationships can substitute for friends and family, we risk forgetting this reality of our embodiment, risk losing the basis for healthy and resilient individual identity, and risk forfeiting the needed preconditions for the cultivation of public virtues. For one cannot be a citizen without being a citizen of some place in particular; one cannot be a citizen of a website, or a motel.”

Those who live in the shadow of Mount Nittany tend to know that physical place still matters, and that McClay and McAllister are right to defend special places as powerfully as they do—as spaces where “public virtues” are cultivated and American character is molded and shaped for the future. The specialness of places such as the Nittany Valley work like a magnet, drawing new people to them and creating new communities in time.

Literary critic Henry Seidel Canby (and father of folklorist Edward T. Canby) observed as long ago as 1936 that “it is amazing that neither history, nor sociology, nor fiction, has given more than passing attention to the American college town, for surely it has had a character and personality unlike other towns.” There are many reasons that the Nittany Valley is America’s “Happy Valley,” just as there are an almost infinite number of reasons “I ♥ NY” resonates with so many who experience the Big Apple, and elicits so many personal stories and perspectives on the basis for this affection.

As a folklorist, Canby’s son, Edward, understood that learning the stories of specific places and peoples could unlock the secret of their character. By learning about people and sharing their stories with newcomers, the specialness of a place could be conserved and perpetuated through time, and new generations could experience a bit of the past in a meaningful way.

In other words, the past could be learned about and experienced not as something dead but as a living part of the cultural environment. Mount Nittany, as one example, isn’t simply another Pennsylvania hill to those who love it, and have hiked it, and have spent a lifetime looking upon her gentle slope. Mount Nittany becomes, rather, a place where romance is kindled, or nights are spent with college friends, or, for those who know the lore of Princess Nittany, perhaps a place where the spirit of the American Indians and mountain lions still lingers. Indeed, Erwin Runkle’s The Pennsylvania State College: 1853-1932 records that founding president Evan Pugh would take students hiking on Mount Nittany and spend nights there. No, for those who learn the stories, the Mountain and the Valley could never be merely two more unremarkable or interchangeable points on the map.

And just as the Mount Nittany Conservancy exists to protect Mount Nittany as a physical symbol of our area, it likewise exists to conserve the stories, memory, and spirit of the Nittany Valley so that new generations of students, townspeople, professors, alumni, and friends can better understand why so many people call this place Happy Valley.

If we didn’t preserve the stories and spirit of Mount Nittany, there wouldn’t be a way for us to understand why we conserved the Mountain in the first place. After all, without learning the stories and experiencing the Mountain ourselves, we would have to frankly admit to any visiting or skeptical friend that maybe it isn’t so distinctive—because without our culture, the landscape loses its spirit. But because we appreciate Mount Nittany not only as part of our physical landscape but also as part of our cultural heritage, it helps define our Nittany Valley as truly remarkable.

Conservancies exists to proclaim that place matters—perhaps now more than ever. And the Mount Nittany Conservancy exists in a particular way to conserve what the Romans called a genius loci, “a pervading spirit of a place.” The Mount Nittany Conservancy aspires to conserve the story and stories of the Nittany Valley as surely as it aspires to conserve the Mountain itself. In this way, we strengthen and lift up both our human and environmental ecologies as more than the sum of their constituent parts—as more than simply such a great number of passionate people or an abundance of wooded acres. We seek the conservation of a living spirit and lively acres, rather than the administrator’s impulse to reduce people and places to subjects or artifacts to be controlled and preserved, like museum-piece curiosities.

In seeking to perpetuate a love for Mount Nittany and a conservation of her acres in their natural state, the Mount Nittany Conservancy exists just as surely to share the story of the community by better connecting her people to their shared history.

Why is the Nittany Valley such a genuinely remarkable place? Where and how might we encounter that Nittany Valley’s specialness? And together how can we experience and pass along our stories to new generations and avoid the “flattening” that has hollowed out so many other communities? Mount Nittany, as a touchstone for so many generations of Penn Staters, Central Pennsylvanians, and friendly visitors, is also a natural place for these spirited questions and evergreen challenges to be engaged and to transform our experience of Happy Valley as a community of intangible goodness.

As America gets “flatter” in the years to come, special places like ours will be challenged to better articulate “why place matters.” Mount Nittany, along with the Nittany Valley’s communities, perpetually in conversation about their heritage, will be prepared for a future where culture counts and place matters more than ever.
Marking 30 Years of the Mount Nittany Conservancy

September 1, 2011
The ability to look back and reflect on where we’ve been should always temper the path forward. In 1945, the Lion’s Paw Alumni Association (LPAA) saved 525 acres from lumbering through a fund-raising campaign among its few hundred members. In 1981, LPAA formed the Mount Nittany Conservancy (MNC) to acquire additional land. With community and alumni support, the Conservancy has obtained through purchase or donation another additional 300 acres.

In 2011, the Mount Nittany Conservancy marked 30 years of keeping the Mountain green and growing.

Other groups might use the word ‘celebrate’ when they reach an anniversary year. The term ‘celebrate’ though gives the appearance that we’ve done our job, completed our task, and can move on. For the MNC board, our community volunteers, friends, and supporters of Mount Nittany, this will never be. Our mission will continue to be the preservation of Mount Nittany for future generations of Centre Countians, Penn Staters and other lovers of the outdoors. We know for example that the gypsy moth will be back to threaten the Mountain someday. We plan to be here when they do return.

Not-any Mountain

“It’s not really much of a Mountain. It measures only 2,077 feet above sea level, or 1,050 feet above the valley floor – hardly a Himalaya, by any standards. Irreverent visitors and tourists at one point dubbed it ‘Not-any Mountain’. But Mount Nittany looms regally over Penn State by making up in tradition and familiarity what it lacks in geological fact. And to every true Penn Stater, it’s as much a part of the University as the school song which mentions it.”

So begins an article from a 1982 publication called Faces of Penn State. The piece starts out exploring one of the legends surrounding the Indian maid Nitta-nee. The article then goes on to tell how “in the fall of 1945. William Ulerich, then editor at the Centre Daily Times (later to become president of the University’s Board of Trustees), and Russell Clark got wind of the rumor that the Mountain would be sold to a lumber company and stripped of its tress. With only hours left to save the Mountain, the men bought the upper two-thirds of Mt. Nittany in the name of Lion’s Paw.” The story of how Lion’s Paw protected Mt. Nittany from the first gypsy moth infestation in 1980, along with a $900 donation from the Delta Chi fraternity is included as well. This view from the early 1980’s is a wonderful look back at the early history of Mt. Nittany and its place in all our hearts.

Nita-nee: A Tradition of a Juniata Maiden

Of all his stories. by odds his favorite one. dealt with the Indian maiden. Nita-nee. for whom the fruitful Nittany Valley and the towering Nittany Mountain are named. This Indian girl was born on the banks of the lovely Juniata. not far from the present town of Newton Hamilton. the daughter of a powerful chief. It was in the early days of the world. when the physical aspect of Nature could be changed over night by a fiat from the Gitchie-Manitto or Great Spirit. It was therefore in the age of great and wonderful things. before a rigid world produced beings whose lives followed grooves as tight and permanent as the gullies and ridges.

During the early life of Nita-nee a great war was waged for the possession of the Juniata Valley. The aggressors were Indians from the South. who longed for the scope and fertility of this earthly Paradise. Though Nita-nee’s father and his brave cohorts defended their beloved land to the last extremity. they were driven northward into the Seven Mountains and beyond. Though they found themselves in beautiful valleys. filled with bubbling springs and teeming with game. they missed the Blue Juniata. and were never wholly content. The father of Nita-nee. who was named Chun-Eh-Hoe. felt so humiliated that he only went about after night in his new home. He took up his residence on a broad plain, not far from where State College now stands, and should be the Indian patron of that growing institution, instead of Chief Bald Eagle, who never lived near there and whose good deeds are far outweighed by his crimes.

The Legend of the Valley

Long, bright, ribbon of gold, blending, graying, into the deep blue of a twilight sky, set atop of a mountain line, rugged irregular ; the breath of a night wind, soft, uncertain, rustling faintly across the broad expanse of tree tops ; a thread of shining white in the valley just below her, all this Nittany saw and was thankful. Many were the moons and long, since her warrior went out to battle. Many were the flocks of wild geese that had flown northward and southward above her, and still, he had not returned. Manitou, Manitou the Mighty, was cruel, and yet-the south wind grew bolder and kissed her brown cheek, withered now and old ; the dying light in the west lingered on her face, kindled answering lights in her eyes,- another day was gone.

Mount Nittany with Thompson Pond

This very famous picture of Mount Nittany with Thompson Pond in the foreground from Photographer Robert Beese was taken in the 1940s. It shows “a panoramic view of Mount Nittany taken from spot where College Avenue now goes under University Drive.”

MNC Past Presidents

Isaac Newton remarked, “If I have seen a little further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants.” The Conservancy would like to honor all its past Presidents for their vision and leadershiip on behalf of the MNC.
- John Hook (2010-present)
- Vince Verbeke (2008-10)
- Ron Woodhead (2006-08)
- Pat Farrell (2001-06) +
- Ben Bronstein (1999-01)
- Bill Jaffe (1996-99)
- Ken Reeves (1994-96)
- Rich Pirrotta (1990-94)
- Ben Novak (1981-90)
Around the County with John Hook

John Hook, MNC President, was interviewed by the Centre County’s Government & Educational Access Network (C-NET) as part of their “Around the County” series.

In the opening segment, John discusses how Lion’s Paw first purchased its Mount Nittany land and how the Conservancy was started.

Adding Land in 1989

From The Daily Collegian Nov 6, 1989:

The Mount Nittany Conservancy — a local non-profit group — says it will purchase 61 additional acres of Centre County’s famous landmark to protect the land from any future development.
The conservancy, which made its last purchase of 209 acres in 1985, announced Friday its plan to raise $61,000 in donations to buy the land on the south side of Mount Nittany.

Falling Short

From Jan 1985, we know that the story has a happy ending:

The Mount Nittany Conservancy is $20,000 short of the $120,000 needed to purchase 209 acres on the mountain, the Conservancy director said.
Ben Novak said yesterday at a press conference held in Old Main that the Conservancy recently received a $40,000 grant from the Richard King Mellon Foundation in Pittsburgh to help complete the purchase. The foundation occasionally contributes to conservation projects which help preserve land in its natural state, he added.
Novak said individual contributions exceeding $60,000 have been made by University alumni, local residents, businesses, and members of the University community. The Lion’s Paw Alumni contributed $33,000 of that amount, Novak said.

Mount Nittany Through the Years

Penn Pilot, a project sponsored by the Pennsylvania Geological Survey, is an online library of digital historical aerial photography for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Using the interactive map provided on this website, you can browse, view, and download thousands of photos covering the Commonwealth from 1937 to 1942 and 1967 to 1972.
The Changing Forest on Mt. Nittany

November 20, 2008

By Tom Smyth, MNC Board member, November 2008

On a recent sunny Sunday afternoon cars were parked down around the bend on ML Nittany Road and the trails were filled with hikers. As I headed up the Hal White Trail the folks coming down seemed happy and several remarked on what a beautiful hike it is and how good the trails are. And, they were right. That got me to thinking about how different the hike was when I first went up in 1955 as a young faculty member, an advisor to the Penn State Outing Club (PSOC). Then, the only trails were apparently old logging chutes that came steeply down the fall line. The mountain had been clear cut early in the 20th century so the forest consisted of saplings and small pole timber, mostly sprouts from old stumps, and some seedlings that had been released by the lumbering. There was a very small view at what has since been named the Mike Lynch Overlook. The hike provided a good physical workout; we climbed Mt. Nittany “because it is there”, not for the beauty of the forest or excellent views.

Over the next several years, with help from some PSOC members we added a loop trail on top (now blazed white) partly following old logging tracks, and cleared several more outlooks. In the late 1970s Tom Thwaites and Steve McGuire made the diagonal Hal White Trail, since modified by additional switchbacks. The blue trails and outlooks have been added since the early 1990s. Diagonal trails have made the ascent less arduous and reduced trail erosion. The additional viewpoints have made the hike more rewarding.

Meanwhile, the forest itself has been maturing and changing. Sprouts from decaying stumps following lumbering often become trees with rotten cores and a reduced life span. Many have died, providing an opportunity for the survivors to grow larger. Helpful thinning has also been provided by several other agents. In 1955 one of my first assignments was to attend a conference in Carlisle on oak wilt, a fungus disease mainly spread by leaf hoppers, possibly by woodpeckers, and through root grafts. Affected trees may die within a month or survive up to a year. Oak wilt killed some trees. The next plague was extensive defoliation by oak leaf roller caterpillars. There was some tree mortality directly due to recurring extensive defoliation and more due to “oak decline”, a loss of vitality abetted by air pollution, leaving the trees more susceptible to secondary attack by other insects and pathogens. Over the recent decades gypsy moth populations have increased to damaging levels twice and have been controlled by aerial spraying, once with a chemical (Dimilin) and recently with a bacterial spray. Again there was some tree mortality.

More thinning has been caused by other agents. Lightning strikes are common on or near the ridge. Heavy snow or ice burdens and freak winds have brought down a few trees. Trail compaction by hikers weakens nearby trees. Campfires scorch the surrounding forest. A few trees have been cut to block eroding older trails or provide logs for water bars and benches. I can recall five surface fires that cleared out underbrush but harmed few of the larger trees. Where trees die, surrounding trees are able to grow more vigorously. There is also an opportunity for new trees to have a chance. What these new trees are depends on what seeds are present and on environmental conditions, especially the soil and water.

Most of the mountains of the ridge-and-valley province, including most of Mt. Nittany, are capped with white Tuscarora sandstone (or quartzite). This breaks down to a white sand which easily washes away. It is quite acid, drains rapidly and is unable to bind more than a minimal amount of plant nutrients. Most of the useful nutrients on the ridges are contained within the vegetation, especially the bark of trees. Thus, harvesting the trees impoverishes the soil. The trees best able to survive on these ridges are chestnut oaks which an tolerate poor acid soil, dry summers and exposure to the winds. Their thick bark resists surface fires. Another tree that withstands these conditions is pitch pine, but there is very little pitch pine on the southwest end of Mt. Nittany. However, there are numerous table mountain pines, a southern species found here at the extreme northern limit of its range. Just below the ridge there are black and paper birches and red maples. The ground is covered with lowbush blueberries and teaberry. The fragrant pink flowers of trailing arbutus are a bonus in late April.

At the southwest end of the mountain the ridge is a little lower and is topped by the older Bald Eagle sandstone. This brown sandstone is softer and apparently contains more plant nutrients because the forest is more diverse. It must have supported a forest of American chestnut before the lumbering. The chestnuts were killed to the ground by chestnut blight early in the 20th century but the roots survive and continue to send up shoots There are many young chestnuts even today, but they don’t grow to a trunk diameter of more than three or four inches before the blight attacks and kills them back to the ground. The forest on this end of the ridge today contains many pignut hickories, red oaks, black cherries, service berries and small sassafras trees. Pink azaleas provide a fragrant display in mid-May. Teaberry is very abundant

Lower on the slopes where the soil is deeper and moister there are many more red and black oaks which eventually overtop the chestnut oaks and they grow larger where the bedrock is mainly shale. Still lower, near the parking area and lower boundary of Lion’s Paw land the soil is deeper, richer and moister. White oak, white ash, shagbark hickory and black maple are common trees; witch hazel and viburnums are common shrubs; anemones, violets and saxifrages and some of the woodland goldenrods are among the ground cover plants. Wild grape and Virginia creeper, formerly rare, are becoming more common and can be expected to provide food for wildlife in the future.

The broad top of the mountain is level to somewhat dish shaped. Secondary soils have developed in places. White oak, white pine, black birch, black cherry and hickory are growing to larger size and are increasing in numbers. Where there is enough light blackberry, huckleberry, lowbush blueberry, and deerberry are more likely to bear fruit here than elsewhere on the mountain. This is where one is most likely to see wild turkey and grouse.

The forest today is becoming mature, with some large trees providing a canopy above smaller species or younger trees, large shrubs, small shrubs and ground cover plants. Some vines are present Chestnut oak will continue to dominate the crest of the ridge, but is being replaced mainly by other oaks farther down. From the progression of sizes of seedling to sapling trees, it appears that white ash and shagbark hickory are spreading up the mountain and pignut hickory out and down from the southwest top. White pine has increased on the flat top. The forest is still not old enough to provide many den trees for wildlife, but should soon reach that stage Without fire, pitch and table mountain pine should continue to die out without much replacement.

In summary, the forest on the mountain has become more interesting and attractive over the years and the trails are more hiker friendly. Visitors to the mountain are appreciative.
The Story behind the Mike Lynch Overlook

June 15, 2007

Have you ever considered why there is a Mike Lynch Overlook on Mt Nittany? This article, published in the June 2007 Mt Nittany News, contains the answer.

Mike Lynch: Linchpin of Mount Nittany’s First Stewardship
By Erich May, MNC Lion’s Paw Representative

New to the board, I have been inquiring about the history of the Mount Nittany Conservancy. This much is clear: before there was a conservancy, another body was steward of the mountain, and his name was Mike Lynch. “He loved that mountain,” recalled John Black, a 1962 graduate of Penn State. “He was synonymous with the mountain.”

A native of Somerset County, Mike was a student body president at Penn State. He earned a B.S. in poultry husbandry in 1945 and an M.S. in rural sociology in 1957.

He worked for the Cooperative Extension Service for nearly 35 years, first as a county agent and ultimately as an associate professor and coordinator of staff development at University Park.

Mike was a frequent climber of Mount Nittany, even before Lion’s Paw bought its tract in 1946. Later, Mike would serve as chair of Lion’s Paw’s Mountain Committee. In that capacity—and he held the post for decades—Mike would organize mountain cleanups.

“He would gather a group of people every year, because he absolutely hated that shale pit,” remembered Ken Reeves, a 1983 graduate of Penn State. “He would take people up there with literally hundreds of saplings, and they would descend on that shale pit and plant those saplings in the hopes that one or two would actually grow.”

In this and other ways, Ken said, “He made it a habit to pass on his passion to alumni, young and old.” That passion extended beyond the mountain to all things Penn State. His famous slide shows included shots from campus and seasonal sequences of Mount Nittany. At one time, his slide show was the second most popular program offered to alumni chapters, surpassed only by Coach Paterno, related Tom Kidd, a 1955 graduate of Penn State: “People would stand up and cheer after seeing the slide show, ‘For the Glory of Old State.’ He was an extraordinary fellow,” said Tom, and that sentiment is shared by all who knew Mike.

Ken remembers Mike as a sincere and caring man, and a devoted husband and father. Mike was awarded the prestigious Lion’s Paw Medal in 1980, for, among other things, “his constant glorification of Dear Old State,” and “his reverent watch over Mt. Nittany.” In the pamphlet written for the occasion, Mike described his work on Lion’s Paw’s Mountain Committee: “Our main objective there is to keep Mount Nittany free from construction and ruin, so that old grads can see the symbol of Penn State like it was when they were in school.”

Mike died in 1983 while walking into Giants Stadium to attend the first Kickoff Classic against Nebraska. “If it had to happen, it was nice that it happened on the way in, so he didn’t have to endure our loss against Nebraska,” noted John. The previous year, Penn State had beaten Nebraska in Beaver Stadium and gone on to win the National Title. But in that Kickoff Classic, the Lions lost to Nebraska 44-6, so “when Mike died, we were still number one.”

Our Mountain
by Mike Lynch

Across the silent valley stands our Mountain old and strong,
Part of our college heritage in story and in song.

Through all the natural seasons, we watch her change her face,
Shedding the white of winter to green with gentle grace.

In the heat of the summer, she grows new leaves and wood,
In the golden glow of autumn, her beauty is understood.

What is it about this Mountain, with rugged rocks and rills,
That gives we Penn Staters a thousand prideful thrills.

It’s a sense of belonging to a school that’s part of us,
In the annals of our lives, we mark it as a plus.

Today, we pledge our loyalty to our Mountain and Old State,
By doing this, we join our founders, strong and great.
A Mountain’s Tale: Lion’s Paw, Mount Nittany, and its ‘Green and Growing’ Acres

June 1, 2007

This article is from the publication Faces of Penn State, Vol 8 No. 1 Winter 1982. The piece describes Mountain legends and history. Things have changed since it was published. The Outing Club no longer maintains the trails (the Mount Nittany Conservancy does it now) or hosts a climb up Mt. Nittany to start the school year. The Halloween “Idiot Overnight” event has also fallen by the wayside. What remains the same is the “special place in the hearts of Penn Staters” that the Mountain still holds. At the end, we also are given a glimpse into the formation of the Mount Nittany Conservancy.

“Not-any Mountain”

It’s not really much of a Mountain. It measures only 2,077 feet above sea level, or 1,050 feet above the valley floor – hardly a Himalaya, by any standards. Irreverent visitors and tourists at one point dubbed it “Not-any Mountain.”

But Mount Nittany looms regally over Penn State by making up in tradition and familiarity what it lacks in geological fact. And to every true Penn Stater, it’s as much a part of the University as the school song which mentions it.

Mt. Nittany is at the fore of the Nittany Mountains, an 80-mile ridge that stretches from the Centre Region to the Susquehanna River near Lewisburg. It’s visible from anywhere in the Nittany Valley, and is, for alumni, the first verification that they are indeed “home” at their beloved alma mater.

Mt. Nittany seems always to have owned a special place in the hearts of Penn Staters, inspiring romantic and mystic legends as to its origin. As long ago as 1916, when the mountainous surrounds of the then Pennsylvania State College were serious obstacles instead of picturesque scenery, students waxed poetic about the Indian princess, Nitta-nee.

Legends, as quoted in the 1916 La Vie yearbook, holds that an old warrior and his squaw, living in the valley, planted crops that were wrested from them by a cantankerous North Wind at harvest time. After several hungry winters, they were rescued by a mysterious Indian maid from the hills who taught them to build shields against the wind. The appreciative Indians called her Nitta-nee, which meant “wind-breaker.”

When she was stricken by a mysterious illness and died, the warrior and his wife built her a burial mound which, during a cataclysmic night storm, was transformed by the Great Spirit into Mt. Nittany. This version of the legend is joined by many other slightly varying versions in a clamor for preeminence. But that has never been a problem, because the Mountain has always inspired a reverent mysticism that rises above mere fact.

It was with this reverence that sprang to life in the fall of 1945. William Ulerich, then editor at the Centre Daily Times (later to become president of the University’s Board of Trustees), and Russell Clark got wind of the rumor that the Mountain would be sold to a lumber company and stripped of its tress. With only hours left to save the Mountain, the men bought the upper two-thirds of Mt. Nittany in the name of Lion’s Paw, an honorary society which uses the Mountain for its “secret” solemn night induction ceremonies.

The society, which has annually inducted the outstanding senior students leaders since 1908, paid $2,000 for 517 acres – a good deal, even though it’s rumored that the “lumber company” was actually a ruse to speed the sale of the land.

Lion’s Paw, which has long promoted the best traditions of Penn State, has sent many honorees on to fame in various fields, and many have served as University trustees. The society and its Alumni Association were apt choices as stewards of the Mountain. They dedicated themselves to the preservation of the Mountain in its present, unspoiled, “green and growing” state, and designated it “a shrine to all Penn State alumni who were killed fighting all the United States’ wars.”

Since then, the society and association have increased their holdings to 537 acres and weathered several attempts to make “improvements” of all kinds to the Mountain.

Once close call came in 1921, when there was great popular support for the erection of a gigantic “S” on the Mountain’s face. It would either have been made of concrete (and painted white) or of light and dark-leafed trees. The idea was catching on and gaining monetary support until its deflation by famous writer and professor of English Frederick L. Pattee, who called the addition “a hideous scar” that would turn the Mountain into a “sensational object” and “a mere billboard.” Enthusiasm waned immediately thereafter.

Since that threat, there have assuredly been other, lesser attempts. But the society’s stance has been to quietly ward off all challenges with minimal fanfare, letting Mountain defend itself as much as possible. And the Mountain has done remarkably well; in many cases, the best action for Lion’s Paw to take has been no action.

The “hands-off” policy has worked especially well in the case of recreational use of Mt. Nittany, according to Michael “Mr. Mountain” Lynch, chairman of the Lion’s Paw’s Mt. Nittany Committee.

“For many, many years, the Mountain has been a favorite area for students who want to hike and camp,” Mr. Lynch says. “It’s in use every season of the year. And, since it has never been abused, we’ll continue to rely on the good sense of the Penn State students, who’ve always protected the landmark.”

A burst of interest in hiking and camping, the proximity of the Mountain, and the relative ease of the climb to the top have made Mt. Nittany more popular than ever with Penn Staters, according to Larry C. Brody, president of the Penn State Outing Club. One of the most popular of the Penn State traditions is an annual climb up Mt. Nittany to kick off each school year. The climb is especially “de rigueur” for freshmen.

“We tell freshmen that it’s required for graduation,” Mr. Brody confesses. “After the climb, some even ask us to sign their cards saying they’ve made the climb. We had about 125 people climb it this year, though the crowd varies with the weather; it has been as high as 300. After the climb, we provide a free dinner of ‘tube steaks’ (hot dogs) and lemonade for everyone at the base of the Mountain.”

The Outing Club’s Hiking Division builds and maintains trails on Mt. Nittany, and sells a hiking map of the area that includes hiking trails up the Mountain. The Hal White Trail, named after the retired associate professor of recreation and parks who helped start the Outing Club, is the most popular: it’s the best-marked (and easiest) way to the top.

“There are really only one or two official trails up, but so many people hike up from Penn State that there’s a network of ‘unofficial’ trails,” Mr. Brody says.

“Lots of people are hiking up every day, with more on weekends. If they don’t have classes the next day, they’ll go climb and spend the night. I hear we’ve even gotten calls on the easiest way to roll a keg of beer up.”

Probably the newest Mt. Nittany tradition is the “Idiot Overnight,” inspired by Charles Schultz’ “Peanuts” cartoon. On or near Halloween, groups of students climb to the summit to await the arrival of “The Great Pumpkin.” Though there have been no verified sightings, many students keep the vigil.

But not everyone is as fond and protective of the Mountain as true Penn Staters. Mr. Lynch has all sorts of stories that he could tell of encroachments of all kinds; they include the construction of an unauthorized cable television antenna, a shale pit, ramshackle huts and shacks, and dirtbike riders.

It may be the mystique of the Mountain, but Mr. Lynch says that none of these incidents have ever managed to disturb it for long. All have ceased through little or no action of the society, usually even before they’re discovered.

Probably the only lasting “intrusion” on nature is noteworthy because it occurred more than 6,000 years ago. University archaeological researchers have uncovered the remains of an Indian hunting camp that dates back to 8,000 B.C. The Derry Site, as it’s called, was first located in 1978, and is being researched by Penn State doctoral candidate Christopher Stevenson, with Penn State regional archaeologist Dr. Conran Hay.

Because of its location on the Mountain, the site was undisturbed by farming or building in later eras, and offers valuable relics and information on native American life centuries before Columbus arrived.

A more recent, but less successful, invasion attempt came in the spring and summer of 1981, when the scourge of gypsy moth descended on most of the northeastern Unites States. Centre County suffered the most damage of any county in Pennsylvania, and the defoliation of Mt. Nittany would have been particularly devastating: one portion of the bowl shaped Beaver Stadium had been left incomplete precisely so that Penn Staters could enjoy the Mountain’s flaming fall foliage while the Nittany Lion football team trounced its victims. But the ever vigilant Lion’s Paw was equal to the task.

Lion’s Paw Alumni Association members, who had been following gypsy moth infestation patterns over preceding years, were prepared for the onslaught that caught so many others by surprise. Insecticide sprayings of most of the Mountain had been arranged with the county and state in October 1980. The bill for the sprayings – almost $1,800 – was met through a fund raising drive within its 625 members and a $900 donation from the Delta Chi fraternity.

“We were concerned about it three years ago, and we consulted with entomologists then,” Mr. Lynch explains. “I’d talked to the alumni and members of Delta Chi about it, and the president of the fraternity came to me three years ago to ask if they could run their annual marathon for the Mountain.”

Mt. Nittany’s future can literally be described as “green and growing,” as a motto for the Mountain says. The growing part reflects Lion’s Paw’s continuing efforts to acquire more of the Mountain. It is moving to buy two more parcels of land which will put its total holdings over 580 acres.

The green is appropriate because money is needed to complete the purchases, land surveys, and other costs. And, according to J. Arthur Stober, president of the Lion’s Paw board of directors, the way is being made for all Penn Staters to contribute to the growth and care of their shrine.

“In the past, Lion’s Paw members have contributed money for land purchases, taxes, gypsy moth spraying, and everything else,” he says. “But now, we’re forming the Mount Nittany Conservancy, Inc., a non-profit corporation dedicated to the upkeep of the Mountain.

“Anyone will be able to make tax-deductible donations to the Conservancy, and be assured that the money will go only for the Mountain,” he says. Contributions can be made to the Conservancy in care of Lion’s Paw Alumni Association in 104 Old Main, University Park, PA 16802.