Birt Babcock: Sauerkraut King

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Legacies sweet and sour

By the time he died in 1941, Babcock's sauerkraut fortune had purchased Scot band uniforms, built a dormitory, provided scholarships, and purchased a Steinway grand piano for Memorial Chapel.Trouble plagued Babcock's generosity, however. During World War II, the first band kilts ended up at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean in 1939, after a German submarine sank the British ship that was carrying them from Scotland. The new uniforms finally debuted the next year (see "Family History," page 64).

Babcock also ran into problems with the building. He pledged $200,000 in the 1920s to finance a student center. But the stock market crashed, and investments turned sour, delaying the construction. By 1934 the College needed a women's dorm more than a student center. Dedicated in 1936, Babcock Hall first housed first-year, then senior women before becoming a residence for international students in the 1970s. Although it cost him a bit more than planned, Babcock was delighted with the building, and he and his guests stayed at "his" dorm when they returned to campus.

One of Babcock Hall's early residents, Margaret Stockdale McCoy '39, remembers that the dorm often smelled of sauerkraut—which was served, it seemed, weekly. After all, Birt Babcock provided all of the kraut the College could use. At the Class of 1939's 60th reunion, McCoy made sure that the lunch menu included the pickled treat.

Another, sweeter legacy lies in Babcock's support of students. He recommended the College to church members, friends, and acquaintances. He personally hosted students on campus, mentioned them to College of Wooster President Charles Wishart, and helped them with tuition, if necessary. He also responded to Wishart's occasional request to aid a needy student. In 1921, Babcock wrote that he was "sending seven or eight through Wooster."

Phelps native Barbara Crothers Cope '42 came to the College on Babcock's advice. Cope wrote in her 2005 autobiography,To Xanadu, "Mr. Babcock was…the leading man in our church and urged young people in our congregation to consider Wooster." Cope recalled traveling to the College with a neighbor of the Babcocks, Helen Dayton Cross '42, another Babcock referral.

Babcock also volunteered his business acumen for the College. In the summer of 1923, according to his correspondence, another Presbyterian school asked him to serve as a trustee. None too subtly, Babcock told President Wishart that he was considering the offer, but that his loyalty lay with Wooster. In the fall of that year, Birton E. Babcock was elected as a College trustee. He served until his death 18 years later.

Some little kindness

Charles Wishart recalled his first contact with "the Sauerkraut King." In 1920 someone reported to Wishart that the Babcocks were visiting Wooster for commencement and were unhappy with their hotel.Wishart promptly invited the couple to stay at the president's home on campus. The two families grew close, and the men became fast friends. The Babcocks hosted Wishart's daughter and niece, while Wishart welcomed his friend in Wooster, telling him, "the latchstring is always out." Babcock supplied the Wisharts with dozens of eggs and cans of cherries from his farm—as well as sauerkraut.Wishart invited Babcock to speak on campus, and Babcock asked his friend to preach in Phelps.

In one poignant letter, Babcock assured Wishart that if anything should happen to the College president, Babcock would take care of his family. "I shall deem it a great privilege to make things very comfortable for your good wife and educate your children...Just remember when you are awake nights worrying about the future of your family that I stand ready to step into the breach at any time, not as a duty but as a pleasant privilege."

Babcock often mentioned how much he treasured this friendship. He wrote, "About the only thing worth while in life is doing some little kindness for our friends…."

Health food

After graduating from Wooster, Babcock had intended to enter the ministry, but illness cut short his time at seminary. He was advised that he only had a few months to live. Although he outlived the dire prediction (dying at his desk at age 71), Babcock fretted over his health, trying various diets and remedies.

In their correspondence,Wishart and Babcock shared physical woes. Each suffered from "digestive troubles" and what they called "the living hell" of insomnia. In the 1920s Babcock wrote that he was using sauerkraut juice as a cure. "We're getting a wonderful trade on kraut juice," Babcock told Wishart, "and all kinds of letters extolling its virtue." Babcock advised his friend to take "eight or 10 swallows before breakfast."

Wishart responded, months later, "Thank you for the kraut and the kraut juice. I have imbibed of the latter at different intervals, I believe to my physical welfare and," he added sardonically, "I trust to the benefit of my growth in grace."

Exaggerated claims about the healthful properties of certain foods raged in the early 20th century. But a recent experiment suggests that Babcock might have had a point. In December 2005 Korean scientists reported that they fed 13 chickens infected with avian flu an extract of kimchi, a spicy pickled cabbage popular in Korea. Eleven birds began to recover.

This tiny study made international news. Could it be— sauerkraut is a health food? The Sauerkraut King would not be surprised.

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