A Christmas Phantasm

AVERT YOUR EYES, just briefly, from the tinsel and the lights, And on fair Harvard's president one moment turn your sight. Ensconced in deepest labor within Massachusetts Hall He stares at open letters, then stares long at the wall. The radicals are in Law School, divestiture is dead, Christmas is approaching, and Bok should be abed. He struggles against sleepiness, he fumbles for a pen He picks his head up off the desk and down it falls again.

AND AS HE LIES in peaceful quiet sleep, A vision came unbidden to his head: He saw the birds that fly, the beasts that creep, He saw the teeming living and the dead. Surveying all, he looked first to the north And at the pole, he caught sight of a gleam; A Cadillac in chrome was riding forth, Pulled by a twelve-man transition team. "What can this mean?" asks Bok of his stern guide, Who answers thus in Slavic-sounding voice: "This year a new man takes the Yuletide ride, Delivering gifts to rich and poor--rejoice!" Bok looks puzzled, turns and asks, "Who are you--Don't tell me you're a share-the-wealth type!" The guide turns east, stares into the blue, He sees red, then says, "I am Richard Pipes. That man riding forth with car instead of sleigh Believes that conservation is a must But cars--they're part of the American way; He finds his cheer in a handful of rust. His new job he won in a landslide, So now he, not Nick, prepares to ride. He fired all the reindeer--they demanded the minimum wage. He banned all Christmas spirits for elves who were underage. 'The Workshop has to get moving again,' He told toymakers, craftsmen and elves; But the ones that he blessed with his friendship Were the ones who made guns for themselves. Now he sets off on lengthy Christmas rounds--Let's follow him--but try to make no sounds."

THE TWO ACADEMICS mount a tall hill And trace the car's path, holding still. His first stop is New York City, Home of the guaranteed loan. He makes a brief stop on Charlotte St. Delivers one "free enterprise zone." Then off to the schools of Kentucky, With a gift they lost decades ago--A teachable theory of creation, For Darwin was wrong, as we know. A side-trip to Detroit, just briefly--long enough to leave two gifts: A loosening of emission standards And for K-Car sales a lift. Then on to the national forests--The real environmental dangers--He sets all of the trees ablaze And laughs to the forest rangers. His resting place is Washington, A home for the tired and the sore; The transition team removes its gear And liquor begins to pour. "I come bearing gifts," says St. Ronald, "A bagful of Christmas mirth: Toy planes, toy soldiers, toy tanks, toy bombs--Billions of dollars in worth. I'll put on a mammoth Christmas show, With lights and flashes and caroling loud And as the thrilling finale I'm planning a mushroom-shaped cloud..."

A SHUDDER PASSES through the form of sleeping Derek Bok; The floor creaks in the hallway, a key turns in the lock. He wakens; it is morning; his dreams have filled the night, And President Bok's secretary switches on his light. "There's thirty, forty students outside banging on the door, Demanding that they see you." He asks, "What're they here for? Is it the Third World Center? Is it a tenure dispute? Is it about those kiosks? Or maybe the shuttle bus route? Could it be the latest divestiture demand? Is it the Radcliffe Forum? our cap-and-gown stand? Whatever it is they're asking, whatever it is they want You tell them that I'll grant it--unless, that is, I can't. I've had the strangest dream last night, a dream of dire import; Ronald Reagan had become Santa Claus--or so it was, I thought. If the world can turn that topsy-turvy, then I can alter too. I've learned my Christmas lesson--my amoral days are through. Besides, the way things are looking, a promise won't have much effect: There won't be enough of us left next year for anyone to collect..."

NOW LEAVE THE HALLS of power, and follow through the streets, Join us in a Yuletide round and see the souls we meet. Down the block there's Daniel Steiner--Of prudent lawyers there could be no finer. Across the Yard, Our Dean, Hank Rosovsky, Stares at the emptying coffers of his Faculty While armies of administrators trudge from dorm to dorm Studying conservation--and "calendar reform." For Dean Epps, may the New Year finally end the pain Of late-delivered newspapers, and students who deal cocaine. The Yard is filled with our friends and their faces--But of Arnold C. Harberger there are very few traces. Where is Glen Bowersock? Where Frank Freidel? Where is Michael Walzer?--Princeton, north of hell. To Robert S. Brustein we pass the champagne New Haven's loss has been our dramatic gain. For Al Carnesale, alas! appointment came too late And nuclear power will march on to its fate. The year's been, well, preliminary for Robert Klitgaard--If he could get things finished, maybe next won't be as hard. Across the world, leaders lift their glasses and then drain--Abolhassan Bani-Sadr, toast Saddam Hussein. Let Giscard D'Estaing drink with Yassir Arafat Deng Hsiao-ping, have one on Anwar Sadat. Solidarity will flow through the streets of Warszawa When Brezhnev sips vodka with Lech Walesa. Benigno Aquino and Ferdinand Marcos, share a beer, Ideally, when His Holiness the XVI Karmapa is near.

OUR PARTY IS GROWING by leaps and bounds--Joe Restic has arrived, With Martin Kilson, Laurence Tribe, Yen-Tsai Feng and John Clive. A wave of the pen towards Douglas Marlette, Victor Kohutka and John Jenrette. A garland of holly for Stanislaw Baranczak, For William F. Buckley and also Burt Bachrach. In Cambridge we drink to the Sullivans' city--David's, Walter's, James's, and Al Vellucci's. Bottle upon bottle, we'll uncork the Veuve Clicquot And raise our glasses in the air for everyone we know. For A. Simone Reagor, Eugene Genovese, Lyndon Larouche and Aglaia Senese, Ned Coll, Larry Bird, Meryl Streep and Abbie Hoffman, Ben Schatz, Richard Frye, Cyrus Vance and Stanley Hoffmann, Baruj Benacerraf, Muhammad Ali, Simon Schama and Selwyn Cudjoe, Zbigniew Brzezinski, Ann Ramsay, Nathan Huggins and Pat Sorrento, Al Dershowitz and The Quincy House Two, Shirley Hufstedler and Pere Ubu, Charlie Beckwith, Walter Cronkite, Alex Bok and Alex Haig, Francis Duehay, John Travolta, Sid Vicious and Jim Craig. Theda Skocpol, Lewis Brooks, Felix Rohatyn and Jorge Hankamer, Andy Warhol, Jerry Falwell, James Q. Wilson, Barry Commoner.

CHRISTMAS IS FOR MERRIMENT, a time for honest cheer, No time for gloomy prescience--a time for drinking beer. So gather with your colleagues, celebrate with friends, Keep the noise and music going till the party ends. And when those visions haunt you, of dangers and of doom. Close your eyes and think of things that might dispel the gloom. Think about the future, however it may fall, Think about the past--or, better, just don't think at all.