Q-riosities

While myths associated with Widener, Memorial Hall and the Union run rampant, very few of us are aware that the deepest darkest, most fearsome secrets here at Harvard lurk in--The Quad. In order to penetrate the compendium of riddles, the pandora's box of mystery, the den of debauchery we know and love to be the Quad, I decide to investigate one of the truly remarkable institutions here at Harvard: the Q-RAC.

Not being the exercise type myself though, I ask around. Perhaps Matt Boyle '94, seasoned veteran of the Quad, knows. "Well, that's an interesting question," says Boyle. "What most people don't know is that the Q-RAC used to be called the QRALC: Quality Recreation at Low cost. It's kind of like ZEBCO, the fishing pole maker, you know, the Zero Error Bomb Corporation. The Q-RAC used to make bombs in World War II." Edified, I probe deeper.

"Yes, it's true." says Chris Kagay, '94, another knowledgeble Quadling. "In fact, the Manhattan Project used the squash courts to build the first fission reactor. Of course, at that time it was at the University of Chicago."

Rumor has it many tutors have been seen in the vicinity. Are there strange doings afoot?

"Well there is a problem with punkism at the Q-RAC." says kagay. "A lot of these twelfth-year graduate-student types start realizing that they're not going to make the NBA, or the Ph.D. for that matter, and they take it out on you. Mostly handchecking."

Continues Kagay, "The chief punks are these two little guys from North House. I would just like to say to them: Dear two short tutors. I am taller than you. I am better than you. The only reason you win our basketball games is because you keep going through my legs."

Does the Q-RAC turn mild-man-nered tutors into vicious hand-checking punks?

Hitesh Hathi, Cabot House tutor in Sanskrit and Classics, declines to speculate on this issue but notes that in his first interview for the position, the Cabot Tutor Selection Committee asked him whether he could play hockey. He responded no. He almost didn't get the job.

Perhaps it is glory-hungry house administrators who turn our tutors into IM-animals. "No way," says the checker at the Q-RAC desk. "There is absolutely no connection. If anything the tutors who come here are either underfed or overweight."

This view was corroborated by a student playing basketball on the court. "When I see tutors who approach me to play I think 'Cool. Old, unathletic men.'" Adds another North House student, "Whenever I see people here at the Q-RAC who look old, flabby and decrepit, I immediately assume they must be tutors."

But looks can be deceiving. Two Quad students have this story to share:

"One day at the Q-RAC, there were these three short old people who asked us to play basketball. We thought, `Hey. Maybe if we play them, we'll win.' However...we didn't realize that basketball was played very differently in the old world."

These same two students offer a word of advice before walking off: If you see two short tutors--both around five feet tall--with a little guy friend, stay away. They can shoot.

My attempt[t to uncover the latest Whitewater scandal appears fruitless. And yet, a reporter of my caliber--one who discovered nothing less than the trend of jester hats at Harvard--cannot rest there. Indeed, I had another lead.

The Q-RAC: Spiritual Mecca.

Apparently it's not only tutors who come to the Q-RAC.

"They're these guys who come down from the observatory to do Tai Chi in the Q-RAC during their lunch hours." says one Q-RAC frequenter. "They grunt and they spit and they're all bearded. It's just weird. You don't see that happening at the MAC."

I ask Kagay about this. "Well first of all, that's because at the MAC they have special rooms for that stuff." he explains. "That kind of stuff only happens behind closed doors down there."

Hmmm, interesting. But more importantly why do they do this? Perhaps Matt Boyle knows.

"You know a lot of people think that the Q-RAC is something merely physical," Matt says. "But I've always said that not only is the Q-RAC a temple to the human body, it is also a monument to the human spirit. Religions around the world agree that there is something more to the human being, something that cannot be captured by the laws of physics. Call it synergy, call it chi, call it a zinchilla hat.

"Now what is a gymnasium? It's place where we cultivate the body, But what is body? The body is the spirit's companion: the mass of flesh that walks hand in hand with the spirit.

When I'm in the Q-RAC, I feel as if I am communing with something higher. Each step on the stairmaster is a step towards my higher self.

"Philosphies throughout history have recognized opposing forces in nature, basic dualities in the world. Call it an inescapable antinomy, call it the yin versus the yang, call it the salty snack versus the sugary snack. Well, basketball versus volleyball is just one of these elemental oppositions. Should you wind the net up in a circle and throw things in it, or stretch it out and throw things over it?"

Perhaps I was not viewing the situation with sufficient abstraction. Perhaps the trend I sought was occurring on a symbolic, not a physical or spiritual level. I turn back to Hitesh Hathi for further enlightenment.

"America is this very weird place where we claim there's no hierarchy," explains Hitesh. "But in fact we are a very hierarchical society. However, the Q-RAC is a wonderful place because sports are really very non-hierarchical." Hitesh, however, admits that he's "never been there." (Undoubtedly allowing him to maintain the abstraction necessary for this kind of analysis.)

Having exercised all the various possibilities and explanations, I realize I need to find some other explanation for this daily pilgrimage of all types. This religiously democratic fervor must have some deeper basis. It must be some larger subterranean fad at work. In this spirit, I turn to a tried and tested trend. Alas, this too provides so saving grace:

"I read last week that people are wearing jester hats. But I really don't see it at the Q-RAC." says Boyle.