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"Hey, Grandpop," said little George, age ten, as he put down the old man's Class Album, "didn't your classmates at Harvard have any sex life? Where were your hormones?"
"Watch your language," said his grandfather, who had graduated in 1940. "As you can see by the record of our class, we were busy listening to classical music, reading good books, and speculating on the value of a liberal education. We had no time for scrontching, as one of my classmates used to put it. We were a sober and thoughtful generation, interested only in vital issues of the day."
"Grandpop," said George, "Mr. Cottle told us in school yesterday that young men who have passed the age of fourteen either make a vital issue of sex or get neurotic. In my perusal of 'The Truth About '40' in this book I find cross-correlations between family backgrounds and the number of straight scotches per week you fellows used to put down the hatch, but no mention of sex. What's the story? Were you all neurotic?"
"Stop using big words," said his grandfather testily. "As a matter of fact, we did give it a thought now and then. But the men who published that book didn't think sex had any place in a dignified analysis of Harvard's three hundredth class. It wasn't of permanent interest, they said, how many members of my class were 99.44 pure, if you follow me. They said it was poor taste and didn't mean anything to talk about such things. Are you listening, George?
"No," said little George. "I've heard enough. I've decided to go to Dartmouth."
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