Spoof: Why MIT’s Front Entrance Is "77" Mass. Ave.

Guest blogger: Debbie Levey, CEE technical writer

During a redecoration of the Bush Room (10-105) in the early 1990s, the MIT Museum lent seven portraits of MIT luminaries to decorate the walls. Diana Strange HM, former secretary of the MIT Alumni Association (MITAA), recalled in a letter how all but one of the portraits were men, accompanied by biographical details. The exception was a woman in a lacy dress with no name or background provided. Rather than hang this portrait with no label, Robert B. Dimmick of the MITAA invited staff members to create a name and biography for her.

David Libby ’85 won the contest with a charming story of how “Mrs. Smith’s” generosity to MIT also created the building numbering system. “Robert and I came up with the idea of inventing a bio for her that would be a nod to MIT history as well as a bit of a hack, and would be just plausible enough that some might believe it,” said Libby.

“I was a little appalled when Robert actually posted it and thought we would get in trouble, but I believe Warren Seamans HM, director of the MIT Museum, was in on it and most people seemed pretty amused. Although I left the MITAA in 1994, I believe that the picture and label stayed up until the Bush Room was renovated in the late '90s, and that it was occasionally pointed out on the tours given to potential students,” said Libby, now director of information technology for TERC, a not-for-profit in Cambridge involved in K-12 math and science education.

Reprinted here, the creative label provides a satisfying history replete with romance, sentiment, motivation, and a happy resolution for MIT and Mrs. Smith. (Note: the artist’s name is authentic.)

Margaret Norris Smith, Honorary Alumna

May 8, 1858‒March 5, 1935

Portrait by Carnig Eskergian, 1888

When MIT decided to move to Cambridge, the Corporation easily acquired all the land it needed on the bank of the Charles, with the exception of one parcel of land owned by a widow, Margaret Norris Smith. Richard C. Maclaurin, President of the Institute, went to visit her to learn the reasons for her hesitation.

She explained that in her youth, that area of Cambridge had once been water, but had subsequently been filled in. One day she had been walking out along the river when she spotted a young gentleman stranded a little ways out on an island—really not much more than a spot of mud. He was an MIT student, Macomber V. Smith (Class of 1877), a civil engineer who had gone out in a rowboat to test the soil in anticipation of the coming land fill, and his boat had drifted off. She sent for help, the young man was rescued, and he offered his profuse thanks. One thing led to another, and they were married on July 7, 1877. When her husband died tragically a few years later, she bought the mud island for sentimental reasons. This is why she could not sell the land to the Institute.

A week later, however, Maclaurin received a note from Mrs. Smith. She had been walking near the “spot of mud” and had seen a beaver. She regarded this as a sign that the land should belong to MIT. It was fitting, after all, since her husband had been an alumnus and an engineer pursuing his trade when he had been stranded. She imposed the condition that MIT’s address be 77 Massachusetts Avenue to commemorate their wedding day. Also, all buildings “west of island” had to be odd numbered, like 77.

The Alumni Association made Margaret Smith an honorary alumna shortly before her death in 1935. The two incidents are not believed to be related. The Bush Room is now located on the site of the mud island, and her portrait has been placed here as a reminder of her undying love and her generosity to MIT.

Dimmick pointed out that civil engineer "Macomber V. Smith" incorporated names of two prominent Boston-area construction companies at the time, Macomber and Vappi. The companies were headed by George Macomber ’48 and Vince Vappi ’48, both very active on alumni committees.

“Slowly a group of employees, alumni volunteers, and others joined an exclusive circle of cognoscenti of Mrs. Smith’s story,” recalled Dimmick. “The coup de grace came in the early 2000s, when Technology Review reported the story of Mrs. Smith as fact in the alumni section of the magazine. Her days were numbered after the embarrassment of the necessary retraction, and when the Bush Room underwent its gut rehab in 2002-2003, Mrs. Smith was packed off to the storerooms again.”

Thanks to Joan Parks Whitlow of the MIT Museum and Myles Crowley of the MIT Archives and Historical Collections for providing information.