It all started with a name.
In the fall of 1857, a name split the Ciceronian Society in half. One side wanted to continue using their original title, while the other advocated for a new title: Alpha Kappa Phi.
The argument flared up when the Hillsdale College faculty declared that men and women could no longer join the same societies. The new regulations caused upheaval among the existing literary and debate groups. A women’s debate society arose and the men consolidated their groups into the Ciceronian Society. But not everyone was satisfied.
“These circumstances, it was contended, furnished sufficient reasons why the name should be changed from purely oratorical to a name more suggestive of literature,” wrote John McDermid, a student who would become Alpha’s first president. “The old name, however, had many friends and so great was the feeling between the parties on the subject that the society became divided into two factions, each party seeking to carry measures for its own particular interests.”
The Alpha advocates finally had enough. On the night of October 6, 1857, a group of the disgruntled Ciceronians met at a friend’s house just off campus. There, they signed a pledge to join together in a new brotherhood with the aim of securing “a higher degree of mental, moral, and social improvement.” The Alphas were born.
The Alpha Kappa Phi Society would go on to become one of the most influential groups ever to meet on Hillsdale’s campus. Yet, on that night in 1857, not one man knew of the triumphs and tragedies to come. The fires of war would test the infant society and forge from it a brotherhood that would last for decades.
By April 1861, when Confederate guns fired on Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina, 136 men had signed the membership rolls of the Alphas. Together, they marched to war, leaving behind a skeleton crew to manage their society. By 1862, Alphas served in every branch of military service.
“Some of our members have distinguished themselves in several of the most important battles, Winchester, Pittsburgh Landing, and others,” Alpha President A.E. Hastings wrote in June 1862. “As yet, we have been spared the sad duty of noting the death of a single member.”
But death did not spare grief from the young men of the society for long.
By war’s end, 78 Alphas had fought. Thirteen of them would never return home. Others, like Alpha President Asher LaFleur, returned with horrific wounds that would impact them for the rest of their lives.
The end of the war did not bring a respite for the men, however. In 1866, they were one of the principal groups involved in what became known as the “Great Rebellion.”
After the close of the Civil War, the college campus was bustling again, with many veterans joining the ranks of the student body. Women began visiting the men’s debating societies. After discovering this, the college administration declared that any woman wishing to visit the men’s societies would have to have a pass signed by the president. The campus exploded with anger.
“There was an all-out rebellion,” College Librarian Linda Moore said. “These students had just come back from four years of war. They weren’t kids anymore, but the college wanted to treat them like kids.”
Hordes of men were expelled, as many as 25 in a single day. In protest, the Alphas gathered their papers and burned them. The society would not meet again for a year.
When they met again in 1867, they found themselves facing new competition. Delta Tau Delta chartered their Hillsdale chapter in 1867, becoming the first Greek house on campus. By 1874, Delts had taken over leadership of all campus literary and debate societies, which sparked violent debates.
In a desperate bid to maintain control, the Alphas tried to implement anti-fraternity legislation, preventing any Delt from gaining membership in the society, but the measure failed.
The dawn of the 20th century marked the twilight of the Alpha Kappa Phi society. As fraternities and sororities grew in popularity, society membership dwindled.
“They coexisted for about 20 or 30 years, but the literary societies were a lot more work,” Linda Moore said. “The college tried to keep them going, but they were defunct by the 1930s.”
What remains of the society is a testament to the goal they set forth, outlined in their last magazine, published in June 1862:
“If we shall succeed in imparting strength and courage to some trembling spirit or aid in giving a higher tone to the principles of science and our common Christianity, we shall have erected a monument that shall stand when ‘the last sound of crumbling magnificence shall have died away on the shores of time.’”
