First-Years: Don't Ruin Our House

TO BE BLUNT, the Class of '94 absolutely and unequivocably sucks.

Sure, the first-years seem like a normal bunch of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed youngsters. They take normal classes, do normal activities and have normal parties (sans alcohol, of course). And they're just as diverse as any other Harvard class.

So why did 5 percent of them, according to last week's unscientific Crimson poll, list Currier House as one of their four choices in the housing lottery? And even if they did, why would they admit it?

Everybody knows about Currier. Far, far, far away from the Yard and the Square, Currier is the Mower of the House system. Ugly as sin, it's the Mather of the Quad. Chock full of psycho-singles, it's the mental ward of the College.

Nevertheless, 5 percent of first-years--which would work out to roughly 80 individuals--boldly wrote down Currier on their housing forms. These 80 are the blemishes on an otherwise decent Class of '94. They're confused. They're crazy. They're stupid.

And worst of all, they're going to ruin my house.

THERE IS only one respectable way to get to Currier House. Get so screwed by the lottery that there's nowhere else for the College to put you.

Get Curriered.

It happened to 118 first-years last year--all but two of Currier's sophomore class. Currierites pined for the river houses. Some may have wanted North. A handful would have liked Cabot. Virtually none of us wanted to be here.

That makes Currier the one truly diverse house on campus. We have everyone from preppies to hippie wannabes, from rowers to thespians, from Crimson writers to Indy posers. Maybe they wouldn't even know each other if the housing computer had not sentenced them all to Harvard's version of Siberia. But being Curriered is a bonding experience that can transcend the most parochial interests of Harvard students. It makes Currier by far the most spirited house on campus.

Imagine, then, what it means when 80 first-years choose Currier over the rest of Harvard's houses. While Currier will still be out of the way and aesthetically revolting, the cornerstone of the Currier experience--randomization--will be lost. Thanks to the Class of '94, Currier will become just another ho-hum house.

NOT THAT the Class of '94 is entirely to blame. The first-years have just discovered what we Currierites have always known: living in Currier is the best decision we never made.

For the uninformed, here's a brief listing of the advantages of Currier life:

* The 10-man. How often do big Lowell parties (paradox?) rage well into the morning hours? Currier's architect had no respect for fashion, but the deepest respect for kegs. So we have a suite designed to allow the masses to party well after the College's absurd 1 a.m. limit.

* The Q-RAC. How long do Quincy residents have to wait to play hoops at the crowded MAC? Our gym is big, friendly, well-equipped and built for playing sports, not for waiting around for court time.

* Hilles. How much schmoozing--and how little studying--do Eliot types do at Lamont? With the College's best and most comfortable library right next door, Currierites can get their work done efficiently, freeing up time for extracurricular activities.

* Singles. How many times per week do Kirkanders beg their roommates to spend the night on the common room couch? You may think we Currierites are crazy, all alone in our singles. But we manage to keep ourselves occupied.

* The bell's desk. How few of their housemates do Winthrop residents meet in a year? With only one entry, Currierites are constantly bumping into each other. There's nothing better for house unity. And at 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning, there's nothing better than a friendly face to welcome you back home as you take your "walk of shame" past the BD.

* The shuttle bus. How many minutes does it take Leverett residents to walk from the Towers to the Yard during a blizzard? Far longer than it takes Currierites to get there, thanks to the shuttle's door-to-door daily service.

* The people. How many Adams residents passed out house T-shirts to rising sophomores at the Union on the day housing assignments came out? Enough said.

I TAKE some solace in the fact that no first-years polled by The Crimson reported Currier as their first choice. But it's bad enough that 5 percent even picked Currier as one of four.

I very much respect the judgment of those 80 first-years who recognized the bliss of Currier life. And I very much pray that they will be assigned to one of the other three houses that they listed. In my eyes, that's the only way to save the Class of '94--and, for that matter, Currier House.

Kenneth A. Katz '93 is no longer a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed youngster.