Widener's Catacombs

Although the Archives Room in Widener V is the University's official Hall of Records, it doubles as a four-walled scrap book of Harvard's three centuries. Archivist Clifford K. Shipton '26 stores his collection of momentos on the same shelves as the most revered official documents. Next to a pedantic monograph may be an 1880 rugby football or the obscene Latin sign that once festooned the Yard privy behind University Hall.

But the collection includes records as well as trivia. The dining hall receipts for 1653 show a Harvard that took its case at table. In those golden days beer was the standard drink with meals, and no nonsense about voluntary privation. The large number of checks and circles against each student's name attest the hearty servings and frequent refills. Next to beer the favorite was potatoes. Well before the Irish immigration of 1715, Harvard men well knew the filling quality of the spud.

Of course, in those days students had more time for the gracious living these gastronomical souvenirs reveal. Other records show that examinations did not interfere with Harvard luxury until two centuries after the College started in business. A young man having passed the oral entrance examination and spent four leisurely years at bed, board, and desk became an A.B. in recognition of perseverance alone.

Then, in 1854, the bacchanalian boom ended and the academic bust began with the first finals. Perhaps to offset the pleasant nostalgia of other documents, Shipton keeps a complete series of all examinations in 641 volumes. They attract a yearly quota of students hoping to find a trend in some lazy professor's questioning technique.

Those tired of present publications can find solace in the Archives' collection of every paper and magazine published at the College. The Harvard Anarchist and the Harvard Grind tell of student unrest, while the Harvard Brewer's Gazette, published in the early 1900's, pines for the old days of bygone fermented grandeur.

But despite such a vast collection of meaningless and unrelated curia including one of President Dunster's undershirts filed under "small things," Shipton maintains that he does not run Harvard's junkheap. He has steadfastly refused a pair of shoes invented and offered by a student in 1936. THE ANGLER