Offspring of 1933, Counselors Begin Reunion Combat

The numerous progeny of the Class of 1933 are rapidly adjusting to life at Harvard, to the discomfort of their counselors.

The nine-year-old son of one of '33's large number of financiers told the CRIMSON last night that his rooms were "real cool," and thought it was "fine" that he was separated from his parents during the day.

When asked to comment upon the quality of the food served, the young man, who asked to remain anonymous, replied, "Well, they serve milk all the time." After a moment's thought, he added, "And mostly serve potato chips."

The CRIMSON asked his opinion of the sexual segregation encouraged by the counselors. The young man answered simply, "That's good." His counselor the young man reported, is "nice," but, upon the admonition of the CRIMSON reporter, he reported that he had already murdered him.

The Other Side

A night counselor reported that the juniors had been getting along quite well with their counselors. "But," she added, "the counselors came in just exhausted!"

The offspring of '33 were evidently still in very high spirits. "We've been keeping them in their rooms pretty well," the night counselor sighed. "Only one or two have gotten out, and we caught them when they were trying to get back in."

"But," she added, after a moment's gloomy thought, "just wait until Wednesday night, when they really get used to the place." She groaned.