Remembering Cornell’s Elms, Once the ‘Mighty Monarchs’ of the Hill

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By Joe Wilensky

For nearly a century, the American elm reigned supreme on the Hill. Hundreds of specimens of the stately tree shaded quads and lined campus avenues—the shape of their verdant, blended canopies an integral part of the visual landscape.

“Beautiful vase-form elms, in unbroken, parallel rows, completely overarch the roadway,” Prof. O.D. von Engeln wrote in Concerning Cornell, a popular campus guidebook of the early 1900s, describing a particular stand of trees along Central Avenue.

“Their graceful boughs frame a leafy vista,” he continued in the era’s flowery prose, “that leads the eye inevitably to the crest of a gentle slope where the quadrangle begins … an allurement suggesting other enchantments beyond.”

Their graceful boughs frame a leafy vista that leads the eye inevitably to the crest of a gentle slope where the quadrangle begins.

Prof. O.D. von Engeln, in Concerning Cornell

But by the late 1960s, the elms were in serious decline and were being removed, dozens at a time—having succumbed to Dutch elm disease or another scourge, phloem necrosis, also known as “elm yellows.”

And by the mid-1970s, more than 1,000 mature elms on and around the Hill had been wiped out.

In the decades since, several varieties of hybrid elms resistant to the diseases, as well other tree species, have replaced the American elms on campus—but, admittedly, they don’t have quite the same grand presence.

Cornell’s loss mirrors the American elm’s larger story.

By the late 1960s, the elms were in serious decline and were being removed, dozens at a time—having succumbed to Dutch elm disease or another scourge, phloem necrosis, also known as “elm yellows.”

Native to the Northeast, the species typically reached nearly 100 feet tall and could live for more than 200 years.

It also tolerated urban conditions well and grew rapidly, its upper branches creating cathedral-like archways, making it the go-to choice for growing cities, towns, and campuses in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

On the Hill, the Class of 1872—the first full four-year cohort—presented a double row of 72 elms as a graduation gift to its alma mater.

They were planted along what was then called the President’s Walk, the pathway from the A.D. White House to the top of the Slope.

The Class of 1872—Cornell's first full four-year cohort—presented a double row of 72 elms as a graduation gift to its alma mater.

And in 1877, local farmer John Ostrander gifted dozens of young American elms to the University. Planted along the full length of East Avenue (now Feeney Way), the “Ostrander Elms” comprised perhaps the campus’ most notable tree canopy.

Elms also lined Central Avenue, parts of the Arts Quad, and the Balch walkway.

In the early 1900s, a dozen mature trees were even brought in by horse and wagon to be transplanted on the newly established Ag Quad.

Ironically, it was that desirable canopy effect that led to American elms’ extreme vulnerability to disease: typically overplanted, the closely spaced rows created a monoculture with low genetic diversity.

This made it nearly impossible to stop the advance of Dutch elm disease—a fungal pathogen, accidentally introduced in logs imported from Europe in the early 20th century and spread by bark beetles—to entire swaths of trees.

Through the ’60s and ’70s, Daily Sun headlines—like “Tree Trauma: Trees Stricken with Dutch Elm Disease Are Felled in Front of the Straight”—traced the sad fate of the elms, which the paper called the campus’s “mighty monarchs.”

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Ironically, the desirable canopy effect led to American elms’ extreme vulnerability to disease: typically overplanted, the closely spaced rows created a monoculture with low genetic diversity.

The Straight’s famed Stump was one of those elms.

Felled along with other afflicted trees along Central Avenue in the late 1960s, it was left as a six-foot tribute to its departed brethren—serving as a campus landmark, bulletin board, and soapbox for nearly a decade.

Nationwide, it’s estimated that 100 million elms were lost to the disease, reducing populations by up to 90% in some regions.

Those losses “gave rise to the urban forestry movement, where people really started thinking about diversity and different species,” says Nina Bassuk ’74, professor emerita of horticulture in CALS and director of Cornell’s Urban Horticulture Institute.

“Diversity is key,” she says. “When you have only one kind of planting, and some insect or disease comes in, it can wipe out the whole thing.”

For decades, Bassuk taught Creating the Urban Eden, a yearlong course on plant selection, soil modification, transplanting, and design. Her students planted diverse stands of trees and other flora across campus, including hybrid elms.

Today, small groups of slimmer, hybrid varieties sit near the Biotechnology Building, alongside Teagle, and in other campus spots; one disease-resistant cultivar related to the American elm still grows behind Morrison Hall.

Diversity is key. When you have only one kind of planting, and some insect or disease comes in, it can wipe out the whole thing.

Nina Bassuk ’74, professor emerita of horticulture

In 2025, the Class of ’80 funded a grove of disease-resistant elms on the Arts Quad as its 45th Reunion gift.

And many other species now populate campus; even the tree that the Class of ’77 gave to replace the legendary Stump is a gingko, known for its resilience and disease resistance. But Cornell’s American elms are still fondly remembered.

Two small stone markers—one near Stimson, another close to the Engineering Quad—commemorate the Ostrander Elms.

Though shaped like small tombstones, they were installed shortly after the gift was made, standing as tiny bookends to the stately trees.

And a traditional song titled “The Hill,” part of the University Chorus’s repertoire, includes these lines:

“I wake at night and think I hear remembered chimes, / And mem’ry brings in visions clear, enchanted times. / Beneath green elms with branches bowed, in springtime suns.”

Top: Young elms along Central Avenue, seen in a colorized postcard from 1907 (Wikimedia Commons). Vintage images by Rare and Manuscript Collections and current photos by Joe Wilensky / Cornell University, unless otherwise indicated.

Published September 30, 2026

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