THE CLASS OF '66

If you discount the upper windows of Wigglesworth--which is not such a good idea in the spring--the only building opening both into and out of the Yard is Wadsworth House. A yellow frame structure on Massachusetts Avenue, it serves as the University's architectural glad-hand and as the home of the Harvard College Fund.

And as befits its other functions, the snappy little building also houses the University's Geistgauge.

Perhaps you have never heard of the Geistgaugue?

Ahah. Vell, zit iss zee creation ov Professor Heinrich Zultz, late preceptor ov Kulturblat in Bonn.

Harvard's model is (naturally) the prototype. Due to Zultz's untimely death, the instrument is unique. It was acquired in the late 20's by a devoted alumnus and donated to the College. It is kept in a locked room on the third floor of Wadsworth House. Only three men are allowed access to it and their names are known only to the Corporation. It operates roughly on the principle of a seimograph. It measures class spirit.

It would be irresponsible for the CRIMSON to suggest that anyone but the three Keepers completely understands the operation of the Geistgauge. It is an instrument of tremendous delicacy and complexity. Nor has any reporter actually seen the machine.

Nevertheless, this newspaper has obtained a relatively complete transcript of the Class of 1966's freshman year. Extensive research has produced the following interpretation.

On the Path

The first noticible manifestation of class spirit occured on Saturday, October 22, 1962. The football team was at Columbia and word had just begun to spread that it had won.

Six freshmen, standing in a group outside Lamont, thinking about going to eat dinner, were joined by a seventh, who said, "Hey, ya hear, the football team won."

The four others who had heard said, "yeah, great, huh?"

The two who had not said, "Hey, great."

There was a pause. The freshmen did not actually know each other very well. By junior year they would probably avert their eyes when they passed on the path. But just at that moment Dr. Harold Martin, who was then the Director of Gen Ed A, walked past the group.

"You mean the head of Gen Ed A?" another asked. "That's the guy," said a third.

For a moment the group looked after the man, warm in the knowledge that all seven of them were supposed to read "Bartleby the Scrivener" that weekend. Then they turned and headed for the Union. And under a quiet eave in Wadsworth House the Geistgauge throbbed.

Subway Incident

It ought not to be assumed, according to reliable sources, that this was a trivial occurrence. The class feeling was strong -- registering a pittsburgh on the Zultz Scale. (For reasons that are necessarily obscure the late Dr. Zuitz calibrated his machine on a Boston to-Los Angeles scale.) And October 22 was very early in the class's career at Harvard. Few classes make it past the Hudson before Thanksgiving.

The only other incident during the first term that gave the Geistgauge more than a tremor was the sudden agreement of three classmates (on December 2) that '66 was a more esthetically pleasing number than '65 or '67. This was a cause of great rejoicing on their part, as two had turned down advance placement and the third had only decided against a year out at the last moment.

The boys were riding on the MTA at the time -- on their way to Washington Street to catch a skin flick. So enthralled were they with the beauty of their class's numerals that they rode all the way to Shawmut -- and scored a Hoboken on the Geistgauge.

12 PT HERE

In Sanders Theatre

But what, you are probably now asking -- what of the moments of class unity? Registration. The Freshman Registration Mixer in Mem Hall? That meeting in Sanders Theatre when they tell you it's the only time until Commencement when the class meets as a group--and about which no one ever remembers except being told that it is the only time until commencement when the class meets as a group?

Nothing. Not a quiver. Oh sure, maybe a Framingham or a Worcester during the course of Orientation Week. But that's it. Spontaneity is the key, and the more cooked-up the occasion, the lower the reading. Commencement, for example, hasn't crossed Route 128 since the Second World War.

Because Dr. Zultz chose to start his scale with Boston the Gelstgauge can, if necessary, register slight negative discharges of class spirit. This happens every year or so when the Class Committee sends out its first request for money. Back in the '50's once they tried a Senior Class Sing and logged a Bangor.

Blowgun

But to return to the Class of 1966 the spiritual high-point came in the spring of Freshman year. This reporter participated in the event, and can produce a fairly complete account.

About 8 p.m. on May 15, a group of students standing outside of Stoughton Hall found a long stout rope in the bushes -- apparently discarded by Building and Grounds. Being sturdy, stalwart lads, they decided to have a tug of war.

"Hey," said one of the sturdy, stalwart Stoughtonites, "lets challenge Holworthy."

"Yeh," said another, "there's traditional rivalry between Stoughton and Holworthy."

(It is interesting to note that at this juncture the stolid Geistgauge sounded a small ding of pleasure. There was, so as it knew -- and it is all wise--no vairy whatsoever, recorded or otherwise traditional or recent, between Stough and Holworthy. There was, in fact, rivalry between any two Freshman dorms, or any two upperclass House. The Freshman's comment was therefore at the highest pitch of spontaneity).

The Stoughtonites rallied their peers, and then, gathered beneath the elms, forty strong, they hurled their challenge the windows of Holworthy.

It being reading period, Holworthy gorged all 86 of its residents in 45 . seconds.

Stoughton lost.

Not surprisingly. After all, the Sons of Stoughton were outnumbered better than two to one. And sturdy and stalwart though they were, the sons of Holworthy were sturdier and more stalwart yet. Fact is, they were a bunch of jocks.

In any case, Holworthy won. Which wound to salt, they promptly createed a dummy, painted "Stoughton" on it, and hung it out a Holworthy upper window with a gigantic lightbulb rigged to illuminate it.

Such humiliation. Doors were storm Rocks were thrown. Insults were traded. To no avail.

At which point it occured to this porter that his roommate possesses ten-foot blowgun (for reasons best known to himself, natch), with which he could probably knock out the lightbulb sitting on the steps of Grays. From Stoughton it would be a snap.

It was. He did it on the first shot, producing a quick blue flash, darkness, and a chorus of "ooohs."

Now it just so happened that this technological triumph--brain over brawn, you might say (you probably couldn't do any better if, like many a son of a Stoughton by that juncture, you were nine beers gone) --stirred the minds and hearts of all the participants. Caught up as they were in the adolescent joy of it all, they nevertheless recognized in the incident a glimmer of the intellectual plunk Harvard was said to cherish.

Nor did they stand around only recognizing. Gestures of peace were made between Holworthy and Stoughton. Beers were shared, Arms were flung over alien shoulders. The rope was neatly coiled and placed beside Stoughton. The Geistgauge registered Ponca City, Oklahoma.

And then, o holy of holies, a senior walked by.

And said.

Contemptuously.

"Freshmen."

To which the young worthies of the Class of 1966 replied.

In chorus.

"Damn right and proud of it."

Phoenix