God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Recently that jolly man Dean Leighton commented that he was concerned with the problem of students' leaving early before holidays. This statement seems mild enough, but considering the Student Council's researches into this problem of late, it may amount to a veiled threat. Just how much of a threat the good Dean's statement represents is revealed when one realizes what preventive measures are currently under consideration. One of the gruesome tortures being meditated is a system of signing out and in before and after holidays. If this rank regimentation fails to work, then the authorities have another asp in their basket--hour exams on the last day of classes before holidays.

Aside from the patent absurdity of considering classes the prime feature of a university, and the sheer impracticability of any preventative measure having to do with anyone in the true holiday spirit, there is another, more pertinent objection to these measures, whatever scandalous form they may take. One wonders what will become of the geographical distributee, the Southern or Western wanderer who must traverse great distances to reach his festive home. For, unless the University allows students more holiday time before Christmas than it has of late, the young gentleman from the hinterlands would be hard put to reach home before the department store Santa Claus closes up shop.

Consider the case of the young intellect from San Francisco--assuming some unearthly despotic system were in effect this year to detain early leavers, the San Fransciscan could not legally leave South Station by train until 2:30 p.m., Wednesday, December 21st. Accordingly, he would not come rolling in until Christman Eve, barely in time to hang up his stocking, and certainly too late to fill anyone else's. The foolhardy gent who chose to ride the bus could arrive no sooner than noon on Christmas Day assuming that the bus was on time, too late to give and worse, too late to receive, too late for carols and too late for church, in fact, too late for anything but a hasty swallow of eggnog before getting back on the bus for his return. The fate of the person residing in an obscure place like Palm Springs, California is too horrible to be considered in any detail. We will merely hope that he enjoys cleaning up broken toys.

Obviously, any preventive system, no matter what its nature, would lead to the development of a whole new set of institutions at Harvard. With hordes of National Scholars and other western wonders remaining in Cambridge throughout the holidays, the University would be obliged to provide them some sort of entertainment. President Pusey would have to throw a party in Widener, followed by a sleigh-ride through the Yard. The IAB pool would stand awash with hot-buttered rum, and Memorial Hall would become a Yule log. Arthur Darby Nock would stroll along Mass. Ave. in a red suit roaring boistrous laughter, while townies pelted him with snowballs. John Finley would be especially jolly, God blessing every Dunster man, and section-men would scamper about putting a blue-book in every stocking, while Dean Leighton would smile serenely down upon the holiday scene.