A Boy at Radcliffe

that there comes a time when the carnival atmosphere has got to stop. Mixers can be tolerated for only so long.

It's partly my fault. I have been respouding in a rather asinine way to the little games which are played around here. No more. From now on the girls are people: if they act like asses, so be it.

Walking back through the Common from the CRIMSON at about 4 this morning I suddenly realized that I had forgotten my dorm key. This is an unforgivable sin. Discovering that Briggs Hall is not only impregnable, but also uninhabited at this hour of the morning. I gave up in despair and began to head back to the CRIMSON couches. As I left the quad I saw a couple returning to Briggs. In jubilation I asked them if they would let me in. "No." said the girl. "But I live here." I answered. "Let's see your bursar's card." she demanded. "But you know me." I said. "Let's see your bursars card." she repeated. Fumbling through my crowded wallet I discovered my CRIMSON press pass. "Is this good enough?" I asked. A shake of the head was the only reply. I was finally able to find my bursar's card and after she checked the name against the dorm list I was admitted into my own dorm. Laugh it off, if you will: I tried without much success.

Friday: Tonight at dinner they served turkey and fish. Johnnev, who lives next door to me, had fish on the first go around. On the second he asked for turkey. "You had fish so you must stick to fish." was the answer of the unmerciful and unsmiling serving ladies. Sharman, sitting at the table with us. fetched a plate of turkey for poor John. Ever watchful. one of the serving ladies swooped down on him, grabbed the plate and headed for the kitchen, leaving a table full of astounded diners.

The food may be better here, but I miss Mary and the other serving ladies of Adams.

I went out tonight with Mary Littlefield. She is a tall, striking blond with spaced-out blue eyes. She yearns for escape from Briggs. I am beginning to feel that the girls I get along with best are those who have already moved out or would like to.

Saturday: "Saturday afternoons are the loneliest." one of the girls informed me shortly after we had moved in. So today I invited her and anyone else within hearing range to go to the Aquarium. The trip was enough of an up to give me the strength to face what I had been warned would be the worst experience-Saturday night at the Cliffe. Up till now I had made a practice to be out of the dorm as much as possible on Saturdays, especially at night. But curiosity won out.

Upstairs was a zoo. Bob Ashe was sitting in the john puking his guts out. It seems that one of the girls had stood him up for what would have been his first real "date" since coming to the Cliffe. Three girls and two guys were in his room finishing off the remains of a quart of Cutty Sark in between halves of a hallway hockey game.

Downstairs was no better. The slaphappy laughter and pink fuzzy slippers couldn't hide the real sorrow of the tiny group of girls huddled around their milk and cookies. Saturday night at Harvard is really very little different from any other night. It does not carry the onus of "date night." But at Radcliffe on Saturday night the dorm is depopulated and only a few remain. It may not be in fact, terribly sad, but it sure seems that way.

Sunday: Today I escaped back to Adams and my old room. Next year I shall be back here to stay. In a sense, what I have gone through thus far has been a fantastically rewarding experience. It has taught me to appreciate just how vital Women's Lib really is if women are to take their rightful places in society as people, not as girls. But there seems little I can do about it. The struggle for liberation is one which women must wage for themselves, and men can only urge them on.

I feel that the coed experiment is a definite step forward for women on the path to liberation and for men towards understanding the special problems of women in this society. In Briggs Hall the experiment has been only a partial success. Other dorms have had brighter results. In Moors, for instance, boys are spread out through the dorm, and much of the paranoia of males as a minority has been eliminated. A ratio closer to one-to-one would also help. The Kagan Committee and others in power should consider these problems in future coed plans. The boys still at Harvard should realize that there is another world just around the corner. They should come see it if they can.

Many of the girls are liberated; those I have come to appreciate as people certainly are. I have learned what it is like to live in the Quad and what a Cliffie means by the loneliness and what she means when she says she will do anything to get out of Radcliffe. I'm lucky; next year I will.

I think I've become a Cliffie.