The Mating Call of the Wide-Eyed Freshman

"Okay, listen, you bring the wall-length mirror and I'll bring the porta-bar and we can turn our room into a dance studio. You do dance, don't you?"

"My parents are letting me take one of the Van Goghs and the two Monets. I hope you're not into Realism, or anything so tacky as Peter Max prints or Linda Ronstadt posters."

"What do you mean you don't have a stereo? I don't have a stereo either. How are we going to live at college without a stereo? Everybody at college has a stereo."

Unless you've been in Nepal or Bali all summer, you've probably already had this conversation. If you're anal, you've compared record collections and weeded out the doubles so no one catches you with two copies of "Mel Torme's Greatest Hits." And you've probably heard this part of the conversation, too:

"I'm six feet, dark hair, broad shoulders, tan complexion, blue eyes, strong as a bull. Let's put it this way: I look like that guy in the shirt ads, but without the eye patch."

Or:

"I'm kind of hard to describe. I guess you could say I'm non-descript. Sort of gray all over. My eyes and teeth, too. I don't have much personality either. You probably won't want to spend much time with me, but that's okay. I'm used to it."

Things are never as bad as they seem, however. Sometimes they are worse. But, come rain or shine, coke or gin, Marlboros or Lucky Strikes, guys or girls, you're pretty much stuck with that name on the computer print-out with the long-distance phone number and the address in Summit, New Jersey 07901.

And you're probably wondering how you got that name, or that set of names in the mail: roommates from New Orleans, Anchorage and Foxborough, Mass. Or from Denver, Seattle and Newton, Mass. Or from New York, New York and New York.

Susan W. Lewis, the associate dean of Freshmen, says the whole process of pairing roommates began last June when the six senior advisers (see box) sat down to read your rooming application, your admission application, and anything else you might have sent them (postcards, tapes, money).

They assemble in the second floor conference room of the Freshman Dean's Office--that red house on Prescott St.--and begin to slog through the thousands of documents. They take batches of 25, and armed with a notepad, pencil and lots of coffee, scribble notes on nearly every incoming freshman. First they divide the rooming applications into two piles--smokers and non-smokers--which is often the only rooming preference students have. They then divide the piles again according to the room size each student requested (single, double, triple, etc.). The reading process take about three and a half weeks.

Then they begin to mix and match without being "utterly provocative." They link most students by interests, though they're careful not to overdo it. "We don't want Bach societies," Lewis says, although inevitably a roommate group's interests will sometimes be remarkably similar. Several years ago, the advisers put three fledgling ornithologists in a suite that was fondly known as the "bird room."

The matching process in the Freshman Dean's Office looks andsoundslike a miniature stock market floor. "I have a musician who likes to sleep with the window open," someone will call out, hoping to hear, "I have a composer who likes to sleep with the window open and eat Doritos." Slam. Those two folders get clipped together and the advisers move on.

Aside from tubercular pleas--"Please don't put me with a smoker"--students are rarely idiosyncratic. A few know whom they want to room with, some request a new or old building, but most are not familiar enough with the Yard to ask for a particular dorm. Race is rarely a problem either. While the senior advisers can hardly be color-blind--you put a photograph on the rooming application, remember? --they only occasionally consider race as a determining factor. They never get demands to keep any particular race out of a room, though a Black applicant who hopes to live in a quad may write, "It would be nice if one other person in the room were Black."

The photographs play little role in the matching process. Appearance is not important to the advisers; they simply want to have an idea of what their future proctees will look like.

Celebrity status is ignored largely as well. The only student to receive special treatment in recent years was Caroline B. Kennedy '80; security precautions were taken on her account. The children of celebrities almost never get treated differently than anyone else. Often, the senior advisers will not realize the connection between a student and a famous personality until well into the first term.

When nearly all the students have been matched, a process that runs till late July, the advisers erect a chart on a blackboard that lists all the rooms by size. When all the rooms have been filled, the advisers gear for another round of dealing as they try to fill their share of the Yard's rooms with a well-rounded group. Only at this last level can roommate groups be "handpicked by the senior adviser."

Three years ago, the adviser for the Union dorms--Greenough, 8 Prescott St. and Pennypacker--thought it might make the foreign students more comfortable at Harvard to have a "critical mass" in one dorm. But by assembling a huge group of foreigners in Pennypacker, she limited the foreigners flavor of many of the other dorms. The failure of her experiment was not repeated.

Even last year, several dorms--Holworthy, the middle entry of Thayer--were all male. But the Freshman Dean's Office proudly announces that this year, for the first time, the entire Yard is "coedded," to nearly everyone's pleasure. It has been many years since the advisers received a request for a single-sex dorm.

Most people have no complaints when they arrive, throw their bags on the bed and discover that their roommates are loveable rogues. Inevitably, they complain about denied expectations. Warning: there are very few single bedrooms in the Yard and even fewer single rooms.

But if you are the exception, and find you have insoluable difficulties with your new roommate, the Dean's office may (repeat: may) make changes. More likely, they'll have one word for you: "Sorry."

Senior Advisers

Your senior adviser will not be your closest confidante but he or she can become an invaluable friend if you take the time. While your dorm proctor will give you specific advice on courses, exams, and sex, your senior adviser will handle many of the bureaucratic hassles you encounter. And if you get hauled before the Administrative ("Ad") Board, the senior adviser can save your ass.

It's a good idea, therefore, to attend the cider and cookie shindig at your senior adviser's pad. And don't be careless with your fancy invitation to Dean Hank Moses' tea party. You'll get hot cider, good coffee and some of the best pastries in Cambridge. And you'll get a chance to meet the Dean, who's truly a great guy. Ask him to go rock climbing and he'll love you. But be careful about dragging him onto a handball court. He's a terror.

Your Senior Advisers:

West Yard: Burriss Young

South Yard: Michael Palm

East Yard: Shelley Kramer-Dover

North Yard: Joanne Aitken

Canaday: Will Marques

Union Dorms: Missy Holland