Peace, Progress, Prosperity

Except for the unceasing and largely unnoticed efforts of the Veritas Committee, this has been an exceptionally quiet spring. No one ached to burn crosses in front of Memorial Church, no one wanted to throw eggs at visiting speakers. In fact, the most opportune moment to throw things--a sympathy snowball riot for Yale--was passed up with a collective condescending smile. The Student Council was well-behaved and even productive, while the Lampoon--minus Fool's Week--turned its energies to physical endeavor with the CRIMSON. No one even tried to steal the Ibis.

It would seem that the last vestige of capriciousness and malpractice in Cambridge has slipped away without anyone noticing. The City Council could threaten students with no more than the loss of pinball machines. In the Administration, every gear seems well-oiled, every cog in place: from course reduction to the Program for Harvard College, the flaws are harder to detect, harder to remove. Even the commuters seem to be happy with their lot. There is, as yet, no definite program for next year's non-honors juniors, the Social Sciences have been handing out their usual paucity of Summas, and there are scattered courses in various departments one would like to see appear. But the most pressing question seems to be not, "What is wrong?," but "How can we have more of it?"

But perhaps the era of good feeling is only temporary--new issues will appear before the faculty, administration, and students. Quincy House, for all its stolid efficiency, is only a building--not a symbol of a new IBM-dominated Harvard. Decisions as to who is to be admitted, how much he will pay, and how he can get the most from the College will always plague the community. The role of freshmen in the College has already been re-examined; next year admissions and possibly athletics will be studied. And no one has yet figured out a way to make the lecture-examination system appealing to the average student.

None of these matters will bring rioters to the streets, or cause signs to be pasted on the doors of Mem Church--they are too subtle for that. Besides, it takes a charitable figure such as Pogo or Lamont Dupont to unite the loyalties of undergraduates. But perhaps this spring has been merely a trouble-free idyll before the clash of forces and decisions--it's been too perfect.