Sewage, Sirens, and Swear Words

Floreat Domus de Eliot!” Let flourish the great house of Eliot!

At least that’s the idea.

Two weekends ago, in the late, late hours of Saturday night, the air still fresh with the stench of botched plumbing, Eliot House residents were greeted by yet another surprise. When the problem first became apparent, some were still losing themselves in the sweeping rhythms of “Since U Been Gone.” Others were, apparently, engaging in late night “study” sessions. Most were either sleeping or in bed.

But for everyone involved, the news was not welcome. It was a fire alarm.

In dazed, disorganized columns, hundreds of students made their way down the stairs, across the courtyard, and out through the main breezeway. With the vast majority dressed either for sleep or the overzealous Eliot heating system, the cold, frustrated evacuees began huddling together for warmth. In pods of three or four, they began to ponder their situation. “If this is a drill, where are the firemen?” “What is she doing at Eliot House this late?” “Oh my god, it’s my CS 50 TF!”

While the crowd was beginning to focus on the embarrassed, pajama-clad visitors in its midst, the sound of sirens announced the arrival of a fire truck. Out poured the firemen, who, making clear that it was not a drill, ran into the building to assess the situation. By the time they came back out, word had already spread: false alarm.

The anger was immediate. Who would be drunk enough, reckless enough, generally despicable enough to force hundreds of people out into the cold for no reason at all on a Saturday night? And as many people in the crowd pointed out, the false alarm wasn’t just inconvenient; it was downright dangerous. With each false alarm—a persistent problem for Eliot in recent years—the attitude of students toward fire safety grows more and more flippant.

As the chorus of irritated voices grew louder and louder, the crowd began to notice a single, particularly upset voice penetrating the din. It was a fireman. And he had a megaphone.

In an obscenity-laced rant that lasted longer than a wait in the Annenberg waffle line, the fireman let the students know that, no, in fact, this false alarm was not funny, it was not some kind of joke, and it was not to be repeated. And if it was? He assured the assembled students that he would be back in Eliot House during the week of final exams, pulling fire alarms in retaliation. How could anyone think of doing such a thing when people are dying in Iraq, asked the fireman. Really, how could they? The students, with yet another layer of shame heaped upon them, finally began to file back into the House. (Cambridge Fire Department Chief of Operations John J. Gelina, told The Crimson that he had not heard of the tirade and that he was unable to comment further.)

While we certainly share the legitimate concern over what would have happened in the event of a real fire, given the worrying number of Eliot residents who remained inside despite the alarm, there is a far more pertinent question as the Eliot community reflects on the house’s 75th birthday, celebrated this past Thursday. In the face of silly toilet handles, toxic flooding, false alarms, and one very unhinged fireman, what can Eliot do to restore itself to glory? For what it’s worth, we think we have the answer. Bring Ben Folds to the Fête.