A sacred place of solemn reflection
Hatch himself was a veteran of World War II, serving as a topographer in the Army Air Corps, where he used his artistic skills to document potential amphibious landing sites in the Pacific theater. As a young and eager professor, he quickly agreed to create the stained-glass window to honor his fallen comrades. While his murals grace several walls in buildings around campus, this is the only window Hatch ever made and is one of the most revered pieces of public art at the university.
The artistic roots of the room are just one part of its storied history, which began four years before the MUB opened to students and the public. It was in 1953 that then-Gov. Hugh Gregg proclaimed that the state’s war memorial should be located in Durham rather than at the state capital. As he wrote at the time, “As many of the youth of the state as possible should know and revere … the courage and sacrifice” made by men and women who died in defense of freedom.
It’s a room for reflection and remembrance, and it exists in solemn contrast to the rest of the MUB, which was touted as “the living room of the campus” when it opened in 1957. Over its nearly 70 years, the building has continued to be a bustling centralized hub of student activity, home to events, study spaces, student organization offices, movie theaters, the university bookstore, a games room and a food court.
But the Memorial Room has kept its quiet purpose.
J. Bonnie Newman, who served as assistant dean and dean of students during the Vietnam War, says that in those tumultuous times, the Memorial Room was always a sacred space. “There was certainly a lot of unrest on campus,” she says, recalling that the New Hampshire National Guard was staged in nearby Lee in case war protests got out of hand. “But the Memorial Room was always a solemn and respectful space. Especially with the stained-glass window, it had and continues to have the reverence of a chapel.”
The room lives up to its state-wide role: The names of more than 2,200 fallen men and women from New Hampshire who lost their lives in World Wars I and II and in the Korean War were initially inscribed on the plaques. Since then, nearly 500 names have been added to include the Vietnam War and modern conflicts. Names of alumni killed or missing are listed with their class years.
The room itself is inclusive; its guestbook shows hundreds of visitors over the years: parents, grandparents, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, even someone who wrote “Your actions live on” and signed it “Housekeeping, 3rd shift.” Many others have left notes, including the mother of a fallen son who wrote, “I have no words to express my feelings in this room, and I write them through the tears. Wish there would never be another Gold Star mother.” A grandfather wrote, in memory of his grandson, “Think of you a lot, love and miss you.” A daughter simply wrote, “Thanks, Dad.”
Notable are the veterans who visit, including one from 2011 who identified himself as a prisoner of war during World War II; many veterans have left the simple notation “Semper fidelis,” the motto of the U.S. Marine Corps.
For other visitors, in the midst of modern conflicts, the recent notes are more poignant: “I sit in this room moments after discovering my fiancé will be deploying in May. All I can do is pray.” Another: “All of my friends are serving, half are overseas, may their sacrifice be held forever in glory.”