1950s / 1960s / 1970s / 1980s / 1990s / 2000s
1950s
In spring quarter of 1950 (my junior year), there was water in Lag, and lots of it, so the annual Junior Water Carnival could be held. There hadn't been one for the previous two years, due to very low, or no, water, so this was a special occasion, indeed. Hurlburt House, where I lived, had just bought a new aluminum canoe, so we decided that we would enter in the two-person canoe race, with Pat Friend, '51, and myself as the paddlers. The race involved paddling from the Boat House out to the float and back. BUT, on the way back to the boathouse, the paddlers had to overturn their canoe, right it again and climb back into the canoe. No big deal, right? Wrong. It was harder than it looked for just about all of us. However, in HH's new aluminum canoe it wasn't too bad. Pat and I were able to right the canoe and climb back in, but to our momentary horror, the canoe was totally full of water, and we were sure we would either sink or wouldn't be able to paddle it back. Surprise, surprise, not only did we not sink, but thanks to the lightweight canoe, we were able to paddle back quite handily. The big handicap, however, was that Pat and I were laughing so hard at paddling a canoe that was barely above the water that we almost overturned again. We won the race and were given the first-place prize by the male co-chair of the Carnival, Joe Cusick, '51, MBA '73. Joe and I didn't know each other at this time, and it would be almost a year later (winter quarter of our senior year) that we would meet, officially, and begin to date. The rest, as they say, is history.
—Kathy Cusick, '51
Horseback riding was great to do around Lake Lag. Every Sunday I went riding, and on one of my trips around Lag Lag I fell off right in front of the boathouse and all of those who were sunbathing. I had intended to show the world that I could cantor by and look spiffy. This perhaps was one of the most embarrassing things to happen to me as an undergraduate and, as I remember, this episode ended my Sunday riding around Lake Lagunita.
—Bev Biondo, '52
During spring quarter of my senior year my date (who will remain nameless) and I donned bathing suits and under the darkness of night swam out to the float, just because we could!
—Paula Missy Tissot, '58
1960s
One Monday afternoon during spring quarter, I had a bio lab at Lake Lag and since I lived in Roble, it was a quick jaunt over to the lake to meet the students in my section. Upon arrival, we were assigned to teams with grad students. Professor Donald Kennedy, head of the department of biology and our weekly lecturer, was in charge. As I watched my fellow students join their TAs, the number of us left to assign was dwindling and I kept waiting to hear my name called to go off in a rowboat and find the critters that lived in the lake. Suddenly, I was the only one left when I heard the familiar Harvard accent say, "Marilyn, you will be on my team." I was petrified! Biology was NOT my best subject, and getting in and out of boats gracefully is not one of my strong points to this day. All I could do was follow him. He rowed out onto the Lake, and for what seemed like an eternity, I sat in the boat trying to do my best following the directions of the scientist: "Take that jar and get that water. No, no, you have too much! Can't you find some specimens? Don't lean over so far!" The Harvard rimmed glasses stared at me, and when I was afraid to look him in the face, all I could see was his knobby knees (he was wearing plaid Bermuda shorts). Needless to say, I was very relieved when our work was over and we rowed back to shore. I also avoided sciences classes when possible and majored in French! Later when Don became Stanford's president, [my husband] Russ, '66, suggested that from that time on, I just tell people that I went boating with Donald Kennedy—no one will know that I was in an old, wooden rowboat on Lake Lag!
—Marilyn van Loben Sels, '66
In the spring of 1967, the El Campo Eating Club, of which I was a member, had scheduled a group trip to the Avalon Ballroom to see the Jefferson Airplane and Country Joe and the Fish ("One, two, three what are we fightin' for…"). I had been unable to find a date for this event, so roommates Forrest Holly, '68 and Debby Lott, '68, arranged a blind date for me with Susan Packard, '68, MBA '70. But Susan and I thought that meeting each other before the trip to the city was a good idea. So the four of us gathered at Lake Lag one evening in the week before the event and made our way surreptitiously around to the side of the lake away from the fraternities and boathouse to go swimming. This was strictly forbidden, of course, because it was at night and there were no lifeguards, which made it all the more appealing. So, Lake Lag was the place where I met my spouse of now forty years.
—Lynn Orr, '69
When I was an RA at Storey House in 1970, I was awakened in the middle of the night by screams in the house. When I turned on my light, I saw a black puddle coming in under my door. Out in the hallway I stepped in another black puddle, which turned out to be thousands of tiny frogs. The Sigma Chis had come into the house and put handfuls of these tiny frogs from Lake Lag (I think these tadpoles with legs always appear in the spring) under every room's door, in the sinks and toilets in the bathroom, and in the telephone booth. There were tiny frogs spreading out all over the house. There was no way to step around all of them. We all went screaming out to front lawn where our neighbor Sigma Chis were waiting. The University had to bring in large vacuum cleaners to suck up all the frogs. Our kitchen was condemned for a day or two. And, we found little frog bodies in the house for the rest of the school year. It's a funny memory to think about, but not too much fun at the time!
—Karen Locklin, '69
1970s
Someone slipped an alligator into the lake in the spring and I felt very brave (but was probably stupid) to be swimming during the time that it was loose in the lake. It took officials quite a few days to catch him. As soon as someone would report that he was sunning himself on the bank of the lake and the officials came to catch him, the alligator would slip back into the murky part of the lake and disappear. They kept putting fish into the lake to make sure he was well fed.
I also enjoyed walking the perimeter and talking with friends and riding on the back of a motorcycle in the bottom of the lake after it was drained.
—Jennifer Bond, '70
It was spring quarter 1970. Nixon had expanded the [Vietnam] War by bombing Cambodia. Campus protests erupted; confrontations with the National Guard in front of Encino Hall and around White Plaza turned violent. Windows were broken in nearly every building; tear gas was in the air. Stanford students went on strike and classrooms were empty, so there was time for an electric Kool-Aid party at the on-campus Manzanita Trailer Park.
The boys of trailer 26x were having a fun time hosting the psychedelic festivities until we noticed that our dog, Gus, was lying on his back with all four of his paws extended straight up towards the molten clouds. Our lovable English sheepdog-Irish wolfhound mix had gotten into the electric Kool-Aid punchbowl, and one look at his bloodshot eyes told us that he was more than one step over the line. We all loved Gus and wanted to make his trip as good an experience as possible, so we took him to Lake Lagunita. Heavy winter rains had filled Lake Lag to the max. We stripped down to our shorts and led Gus into the water. For the next hour or so, Gus and the boys of 26x swam around Lake Lag until the sun began to set over the foothills. A frolicking good time was had by all, and it was all because of the positive vibrations of Lake Lag.
From that day forward, Gus's eyes were forever bloodshot and he became the cosmic campus dog. During a time when there was no leash law, Gus went to all our classes, all the football games and all the Sunday night flicks. His photo graced the front page of the Stanford Daily with the announcement of his birthday party, which was attended by hundreds of gift-giving admirers. When Professor [John] Kaplan was asked about the final exam for his criminal law class, he simply answered that if you had been to class as much as Gus, you would have nothing to worry about.
—Martin Fine, '72
There was nothing quite like the old tradition of the bonfire in the middle of the lake on the Friday night prior to Homecoming. Standing from a distance, like close to Roble Hall, it was an amazing sight ablaze, and it made for some great photographs. Aaahhh, the old days, prior to pollution concerns and being "PC"!
—H. Wayne Leiser, '72
Sunbathing on the boat dock, watching all the cute guys was great fun. I loved swimming across and back Lake Lag with my roommate, but I do remember being terrified of the lily pads that seem to have a long reach!
—Helena Lankton, '72
As undergraduates living lakeside at Lambda Nu, we had to watch our step crossing the patio to get to our bikes in order not to step on the carpet of tiny toads. Squish!
When I was a teacher at Bing Nursery School in 1973 we took the kids on a field trip to Lake Lag to catch tadpoles in small nets. Most were about a half-inch long, but someone caught a big one—close to two inches! We took the lot back to school for observation. The next morning, to our surprise, all the little ones were gone and only the big one was left! My husband Bob Heywood, '71, and I made regular trips back to the lake to collect tadpoles to feed the big guy. We expected a frog to emerge, but as it lost its tail and grew legs, the shape elongated and turned into a tiger salamander. We released it back into the lake, becoming among the first (we think) protectors of the now endangered tiger salamander.
—Carolyn Cox Heywood, '72
My boyfriend (now husband) Andy, '75, MS '79, and I were walking along the lake one evening when we heard a loud, echoing croak of a frog. Wanting to see this huge creature, we tromped three-quarters of the way around the lake looking in the reeds. In the growing darkness, we homed in on the amphibian, only to discover that the reverberant cry was coming from a green frog only about three-quarters of an inch long! We laughed at ourselves, our gullibility and the silly waste of time our adventure had turned out to be.
—Rev. Mary Holder Naegeli, '75
I cannot reveal the details, but the circumstances had to have been repeated over the years by others. Two buddies are standing behind Lagunita at the back entrance to Ujamaa, just jabbering, not noticing that it is yet another glorious 75-degree day. Before they know it, more guys (and it was all guys) are standing there, exchanging lies, laughing until guts are busting, without a formal care in the world. Next, a case of beer arrives and the crowd has grown to at least thirty. Any homework or other obligations are gone; beer keeps arriving, the lies are flowing. The day ends and our friendships were melded at an even higher level than we knew. We see each other thirty-plus years later and laugh and joke and smilingly reflect on that random day at the lake, behind the back entrance to Ujamaa. You're all welcome for my not revealing the specific lies (and truths) that were being broadcast, some of which were overheard by Lagunita residents hanging out of perfect day open windows.
—Kenneth L. Shropshire, '77
I learned to sail on Lagunita, and one time I got stuck in the weeds over by the Lambda Nudies house. I couldn't remember how to maneuver out of those blasted weeds! Other times, when it was really hot, we used to paddle the canoe to the middle of the lake and purposely tip it over. Life revolved around the lake in those days. I am sorry the kids don't have that same center of sun and fun now, like we did.
—Ellen Merrick Petrill, '77, MS '78
I was an RA at Roble my senior year and graduated a quarter early, allowing me to truly enjoy The Farm without the minor nuisance of homework and classes. I kept a two-man raft in my room for emergency days of floating, sunshine and beer consumption (chilled nicely in the water as it was pulled behind us). My friend Stefan Stein, '78, and I spent many hours celebrating Lake Lag, and I think both of us would enjoy an hour or two doing more of the same today.
—Scott E. Schwimer, '78
1980s
Since I lived in Lagunita my freshman year, I had daily access to its beauty. However, my fondest memories were of waterskiing in the Aqua Follies that were held each spring. Eric Lee, '77, and I would gather a team and perform tricks, slalom exhibitions and general tomfoolery. However, as some alums will be able to testify, the most memorable moment is when I decided to barefoot water ski naked around the lake. I started over by the Zet house by getting up on a single ski. When I reached the proper speed of about 42 mph, I kicked off the ski and barefooted naked in front of the Boathouse and then down by Lagunita before letting go and gingerly falling back into the warm, and covering, waters of Lake Lag. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
—Neil Beaton, '80
It's hardly profound, but my first and most memorable impression of Lake Lag was showing up at Stanford in September only to see that this grand body of water (at least on the maps) was a dry sinkhole. Only then did I realize that at Stanford the term "lake" had the same pliability as "river" does in Southern California. Then again, this does allow me to say that I've walked across a lake.
—Kurt Marko, '82, MS '83
My biggest memory is that they made it completely dry for at least one year we were at Stanford. I think it had to do with the water shortage.
—Karen Springen, '83
I took sailing on Lake Lag one of those wet and cold springs in the early 1980s. Not being very talented, my boat flipped a lot. I would right the boat, but as I moved to the back to climb in, invariably the boat would take off without me inside. I would be hanging on the back, acting as a very effective rudder as the boat sailed across the lake. You would think I would learn, but week after week I would make the same mistake. I am probably one of the few who sailed more in Lake Lag than on it!
—Meri McCoy-Thompson, '85
When we had heavy rains during spring break in 1983, Lake Lag took on so much water that it overflowed into the golf course. My mother had been visiting me during spring break, so when the sun finally emerged on the last day of her trip, I sent her out to look at the tulips in the Quad while I took my inflatable raft out on the lake and paddled up through the golf course. I also fondly remember the sound of frogs croaking that I could hear from my dorm room in Roble when I was a junior.
—Kathy Christie Hernandez, '85, MS '86
I road my bike in and around the lake almost daily as a 4- and 5-year-old, saw many bonfires, gawked at nudists in the 70s, swamped my bedroom with tadpoles from the lake (they turned into 15 frogs and got loose in my house in 1973—sorry mom), sailed in the lake, rowed boats in the lake, threw purloined golf balls into the lake, finished triathlons in the lake. And then I got to Stanford and barely ever went to see the place. Until fall of 1988, when I was drum major for the Band and we played at the last bonfire. The whole time I was out there with the Band I kept remembering how big an issue ending the bonfire in the '70s had been. It was a huge deal at my house. I thought, "Well, here I am at the bonfire, jumping around in the dark. Look, that's where people used to hang out naked, there's where I used to catch tadpoles."
—Dylan Johnson, '88
My freshman year in Lagunita: Cute boy asks if I want to go take a walk out by the lake-that-was-still-a-lake-in-those-days. I say "Sure!" Cute boy picks up a frog and says, "Isn't this cool?" Hmm. Maybe you should meet my best friend? Cute boy ends up marrying said best friend six years later.
My sophomore year in Roble: I was asked to be on the Axe Committee. My dad makes us cool earrings with glowing LEDs and a red block S. This was back in 1986 before LEDs were everywhere. We were very cool. I helped lead the Axe Cheer in the dry lakebed!
—Anne (Mallon) Holmdahl, '89
One of my best Lake Lag memories was taking sailing and windsurfing classes in the spring of my freshman year with my roommate Amy Rose, '89. It was so wonderful to enjoy the sunshine and celebrate such an exciting time in our lives—finishing our first year at an amazing school, having met so many special people. Our biggest challenge was tipping our sailboat so that we could practice righting it—we just couldn't seem to get it to flip!
—Lisa Wagner, '89
1990s
I took beginning windsurfing freshman year at Lake Lag, which somehow qualified me to co-teach the class the rest of my Stanford career. I also worked as a dockmaster, checking out equipment while relaxing in the sun. When there was wind, we'd have to "rescue" beginners from the opposite side of the lake. More often, there was barely a breeze, which made for lazy afternoons far removed from thoughts of studying.
Every spring my fraternity, Zeta Psi, hosted a relay race for the new Pi Phi pledges on the shores of Lake Lag. One year we ‘borrowed' someone else's golf cart for a party and careened around the lake with eight of us literally piled on. Our fun was brought to a quick end by several campus police cars, lights blazing. Stanford Daily headline: Eight Men Out. (Luckily, we got off with community service.)
—Cliff Brown, '95, MS '99
2000s
Having been on campus during a span that included the 1998 El Niño and 1999 football team's run to the Rose Bowl (which was a bookend of something like six straight Big Game wins), I could have experienced windsurfing on the "topped-off" lake and been present at any competition-lusty bonfires held at a dried lakebed. I missed the former because windsurfing seemed just a tad too adventurous for my bookish self at that time, especially since I lived all the way out at the east side of campus in Kimball Hall. Football was when I was a student, and remains, my favorite of Stanford's major sports. But my recollection is an on-again, off-again status for pre-Big Game bonfire on campus, let alone one in the bowl of Lagunita. If in the end a bonfire indeed was held, I had already stopped checking for updates and focused my pre-Big Game prep within another part of campus.
—Mike Liu, '00
In the summer of 2000 I was living on campus, working a handful of jobs and enjoying my first summer away from home, except for the feeling that I would die if I did not see the ocean soon. Home is Huntington Beach, California. The summer months are our high holy days; the beach our sandy, coconut-scented temple. I'd spent every summer before Stanford blending smoothies on Main Street for bikini-clad beachgoers and surfers between heats at the U.S. Open (of Surfing). I kept a boogie board in my trunk the way East Coasters keep ice scrapers.
I was jonesing for the beach—badly. It didn't help that the whole Peninsula was embroiled in a record-breaking heat wave of triple-digit temperatures. I didn't have a car; I didn't have an air conditioner. But in my withdrawal-induced delirium, I looked out over the overgrown swamp of Lake Lag and saw hope reflected in its puddle-sized surface. I pulled on my bathing suit and packed a straw bag with beach day essentials: sunglasses, sunscreen, glossy magazine. Flip-flopping over the hill from Roble, I skidded down a bank and spread my bath towel on Lag's gravelly outskirts. For the next hour, I was At The Beach. I read my magazine. I slathered on sunscreen and bathed in the sun like a beached whale. I willed myself to ignore the sound of car traffic on Campus Drive, the bicycles whizzing past my head and the oily stink of the "lake."
I saw a movie once where a starving man cut out pictures of food from a magazine and ate them with a knife and fork, mmm-ing all the way. I got that. On that sweaty summer afternoon, even smelly, wave-less Lake Lag was enough to tide me over. Nearly ten years later I brought my husband to Stanford for the first time. "But there's no water," he protested as we stood on the "shore." "How do you call this a lake?" I can't explain it to him. But I know that there's an ocean in that dried-up little puddle, if you want it bad enough.
—Corinne Purtill Barton, '02
Lake Lag was one of the main reasons I loved living in GovCo for two years, because whenever I was stressed, I could just step outside and be walking around a lake (or puddle) in a matter of minutes. At night, you could often hear frogs chirping in the distance, which was just so peaceful. It was like a whole other world out there, so much closer to nature—still part of campus, yet a peaceful escape from the hubbub of the bigger dorm areas. I think every Stanford student should spend at least one year living on West Campus; the serenity of living so much closer to nature really puts you in a completely different mindset. It's so serene and beautiful out there, thanks to Lake Lag—even when it's not even a lake at all.
—Alice Ann Spurgin, '08
