​Reclaiming a Legacy: Christopher King and the Fight for Wheelock’s Story. 
              Born and raised on Massachusetts’ North Shore, Christopher King’s path toward Wheelock College began long before he ever stepped onto campus. A 1998 graduate of Essex Agricultural and Technical High School, Christopher knew early on that he wanted to become a school teacher.
During a meeting with his guidance counselor senior year, he was asked the defining question: “What do you want to do for college?”
His answer was simple — “I want to be a school teacher.”
Without hesitation, she handed him the now-infamous teal folder from Wheelock College and said, “This is where you want to go.”
She told him about the college’s reputation in education, its mission, and its strong classroom preparation. What she did not mention was the gender ratio — approximately 900 women to just 22 men — something Christopher would only fully realize on move-in day.
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1999–2003: A Defining Experience
From 1999 to 2003, Christopher’s time at Wheelock was immersive and transformative. As an Elementary Education major, he quickly became involved in student life and leadership. He served as President of Riverway House for two consecutive years, fostering connection, pride, and advocacy within campus housing.
Wheelock was more than lectures and lesson plans. It was a community built on early childhood education, social justice, and service — values that would shape Christopher’s life long after graduation.
After earning his degree in 2003, he began teaching art, channeling creativity into the classroom. But his journey soon expanded beyond traditional education.
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From Classroom to Cultural Icon
Reinventing himself as Queen Dilly Dally, a child-directed and themed drag persona rooted in imagination, storytelling, and positive youth engagement, Christopher moved to San Francisco. For 12 years, he built a vibrant career in performance and community leadership.
Hosting a weekly show and participating in Drag Queen Storytime events, Queen Dilly Dally created inclusive, affirming spaces for families and children. The persona blended theatrical flair with educational themes — reinforcing literacy, confidence, and self-expression.
Her impact extended beyond performance venues; Queen Dilly Dally became a recognized pillar of the San Francisco community and was ceremonially honored by the State of California for civic and cultural contributions.
When the pandemic reshaped communities nationwide, Christopher returned home to Massachusetts. What awaited him was not simply reintegration — but an institutional mystery.
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The Merger That Changed Everything
In 2018, Wheelock College merged with Boston University, forming what is now known as the Wheelock College of Education & Human Development at Boston University.
For many alumni, the merger raised pressing questions:
    •    What happened to the historic Wheelock library and its contents?
    •    Where are the archives, photographs, and student records?
    •    What became of the alumni association?
    •    Where is the final remaining time capsule?
    •    How were traditions and yearbooks preserved
For several years, those questions lingered quietly.
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A 20-Year Reunion That Opened a Box
In 2023, approaching what should have been his 20-year reunion, Christopher reached out to Boston University seeking clarity. What began as a simple reunion inquiry uncovered something much larger — confusion, fragmented communication, and unresolved details from the 2018 merger.
Over the past two years, he has committed himself to uncovering answers and rebuilding connections.
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Rebuilding What Was Lost
Since 2023, Christopher King (Class of 2003) has:
    •    Located and preserved numerous Wheelock yearbooks
    •    Fully funded and maintained an alumni website — at $350 per year — to sustain alumni communications
    •    Begun organizing a yearly alumni newsletter
    •    Developed plans for alumni awards
    •    Administered a Facebook group connecting 2,500 alumni
    •    Built an Instagram presence to reach lost graduates
    •    Continued investigating the location and status of historic archives
    •    Sought clarity regarding the remaining time capsule
This effort has been entirely volunteer-driven. No institutional funding. No administrative staff. Just determination to ensure Wheelock’s history is preserved with integrity.
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Why This Matters
Founded in 1888, Wheelock College shaped generations of educators, counselors, and advocates. When institutions merge, histories can fragment. Alumni can lose connection. Traditions can fade without intentional stewardship.
Christopher believes legacy requires action.
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The Work Ahead
The mission is far from complete:
    •    Confirming the full status of archives and library materials
    •    Formalizing alumni governance
    •    Strengthening collaboration with Boston University
    •    Reestablishing a structured alumni association
    •    Planning reunions and recognition ceremonies
    •    Preserving both physical and digital historical materials
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A Call to Action
Wheelock alumni — this is your story.
What began as a reunion inquiry has become a movement to reclaim history, restore alumni connection, and rebuild institutional memory.
But one person cannot carry this forward alone.
An alumni committee must be formed. Leaders must step forward. Archivists, organizers, writers, historians, event planners — all are needed.
The teal folder once handed to a North Shore high school senior opened the door to a lifelong journey in education and community.
Now, more than two decades later, Christopher King is asking fellow alumni to help protect what that folder promised — legacy, purpose, and connection for generations to come.

A Promise Kept: Why One Alumnus Won’t Let Wheelock Be Forgotten
By Christopher “Topher” King
There is a question that comes up often—sometimes asked sincerely, sometimes with a hint of teasing skepticism.
“Why are you so obsessed with Wheelock College?”
The assumption behind the question is simple: that the countless hours spent researching, organizing, restoring, and sharing the history of Wheelock must come from some kind of fixation. That perhaps the work is driven by nostalgia or an inability to move on.
But the truth is something different entirely.
This story isn’t about obsession.
It’s about a promise.
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A Pilgrimage
The moment that set everything in motion did not happen in Boston, inside a library, or in a classroom archive. It happened hundreds of miles away, in the quiet landscape of Vermont.
There lies the homestead and grave of Lucy Wheelock, the educator and visionary who founded Wheelock College in 1888.
For many alumni, Lucy Wheelock’s name appears on plaques, buildings, and historical summaries. But standing at her gravesite is something different entirely. It is a reminder that institutions begin with people—people who believe deeply enough in an idea to devote their lives to it.
On that visit to Vermont, a small act of restoration took place. A cement vase bearing the Wheelock crest was placed at the gravesite. On the back was a brief history of the college she founded. The stone itself was cleaned, the area cared for, the moment treated not simply as a visit but as a kind of pilgrimage.
Before leaving, a hand rested on the stone.
And a promise was made.
The promise was simple: that the story of Wheelock—its founder, its mission, its legacy—would be properly organized, preserved, and restored.
At the time, the weight of that promise was not fully understood.
But it would become the reason the work never stopped.
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The Work No One Asked For
Since that day, the hours have added up quietly. Researching archives. Organizing alumni materials. Restoring photographs. Collecting yearbooks. Documenting names, stories, and pieces of institutional memory that might otherwise disappear.
It is work that rarely has a clear endpoint.
And it is work done without financial gain.
Which leads to another question that often follows:
“What do you want to get out of it?”
The question is understandable. In a world where effort is often measured by profit, time devoted without compensation can seem puzzling.
But the answer is surprisingly simple.
The choice to dedicate this work to Wheelock was not random. It was personal.
Because the college represented something real.
The values of the school, the purpose behind its founding, and the community it created mattered. For many alumni, Wheelock College was not simply a place where degrees were earned. It was where identities were shaped and careers devoted to education, child development, and service were formed.
When that history becomes fragmented—or feels as if it is being erased—it can feel strangely personal.
Like watching someone tear pages out of a book that helped write your own story.
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Love, But Not Blind Love
There is another misconception about this work—that it comes from loving everything about the institution without question.
But that isn’t the case.
Love for an institution does not mean ignoring its complexities, changes, or even its painful moments. In fact, preserving history often requires confronting them directly.
The work being done is not about romanticizing the past.
It is about making the record clear.
Because institutions evolve. They merge, restructure, and sometimes lose pieces of themselves along the way. What matters is whether the history of those institutions—and the people who built them—remains visible.
That is what the promise was about.
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The Power of a Promise
If that hand had never touched the stone in Vermont, the story might have ended long ago.
There have been moments when the work felt overwhelming. When progress was slow. When criticism appeared. When the effort seemed larger than any one person could carry.
Without that moment at the grave, it would have been easy to stop.
But promises have a way of creating endurance.
They turn effort into obligation—not to an institution, but to a principle.
And in this case, the promise was made both to Lucy Wheelock and to oneself.
To ensure that the history she began would not fade into scattered fragments.
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Not Obsession—Commitment
So when someone asks again—“Why are you so obsessed with Wheelock?”—the answer remains the same.
It isn’t obsession.
It is the fulfillment of a promise.
A promise made in a quiet cemetery in Vermont, at the resting place of the woman who began something remarkable.
A promise that the story of Wheelock College would be organized, preserved, and told clearly.
Not for recognition.
Not for profit.
But because some promises, once made, are meant to be kept.

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