THE CRIME

For all the indifference which the undergraduate wears so proudly on his shoulder, we have always noted with keen delight how the fair name of Harvard is treasured "in partibus infidelium," and in the desolate, barren, exotic, tropical, and sandy wastes of the world. We have just heard of one of these noble sentiments which arose from a controversy in Alexandria, Virginia.

There is in Alexandria, as in Cambridge, a Harvard Street. For years this suburban street with all its New England connotations existed as a source of minor irritation to the mellow inhabitants of the Old South. Now Harry Burke, chairman of the Alexandria Park and Planning Commission, proposes to change the name to Monree Street, as he feels that "The teachings of Harvard University always have been alien to Virginia traditions," and he desires to honor the name of a famous Virginian. But Harvard is quickly defended by a surviving Barbara Frietchle, who in a letter of strong opposition to Mr. Burke signs herself "Damned Yankee and Proud Of It." A petition of 26 dwellers on the street has added reason to her cause, asking that the old name be retained in order to help the plodding postman.

University Hall awaits the outcome with the deepest suspense. This quarrel is regarded as the barometer of Harvard's fortunes outside of New England, and may result in crossing off much geographical cross-section if Harvard succumbs to oblivion in Virginia. But we feel that if Harvard's teachings are alien to Virginia traditions something should be done about it right away. It is an unnatural state of affairs.