Four Years of College In a T-Shirt Drawer

My Harvard career can be summed up by the contents of my T-shirt drawer. At some time, every student here of every fashion taste will wear a T-shirt. This most pedestrian of clothing plays a pivotal role in the healthy functioning of the University.

I remember the first shirt I acquired in college. The black ink on white fabric design that commemorated a week of sweating and cutting weeds in an overgrown lot in Roxbury gave an auspicious start to my collection.

The Freshman Urban Program T-shirt captured the wit and energy that characterized my first week at Harvard. In addition, it gave me membership in a group of service-minded individuals and a uniform with which to recognize them. I laundered the shirt following the instructions my mother had given me (cold water for white shirts and underwear), folded it and placed it in an empty drawer in my Mower room.

Soon it had company. Waiting in line for lunch at the Union during orientation, I heard about some store on some street near the river that was giving away free T-shirts. But supplies were limited, so after lunch a group of us steeled our courage and ventured outside the Yard.

The flocks of other first-years led us to the shop on JFK Street where the owner handed each of us a white shirt with an oversized "Class of '96" in crimson lettering. With my class year emblazoned on the front, this T-shirt contributed even more to my feeling of belonging at Harvard. That night, several hundred of my classmates and I added the '96 T-shirt to our wooden dressers.

By the end of that first year, my T-shirts barely fit in the drawer.

My dorm T-shirt was ready in time for the second semester season of intramural volleyball. A simple "Mower Tower of Power" adorned the front of the heather gray shirt. On the back, we drew a cartoon satirizing the cluelessness of people who did not know where Mower was. The inspirational shirt propelled our anonymous dorm to a first-place finish in intramural competition.

The most surprising and distressing shirt of my first year came with a shuttle bus schedule and facebook attached. This gray T-shirt sported a Currier House shield. I wore this one as a badge of my powerlessness in the housing lottery. No matter how we rationalized it, the T-shirt reminded us that the Tower of Power would be moving to the Quad.

During my sophomore year, the T-shirt collection grew even larger. ,

Luckily, the rooms and drawers in Currier were more spacious than those in Mower.

Before the school year started, I procured a shirt in a shocking new color: fire engine red. White letters on my chest proclaimed my membership in the Crimson Key Society, while the calendar on the back listed a week's worth of social events.

I greeted incoming students, extinguishing their apprehensions with superficial chit-chat and ice cream. For the first time in college, I felt that I had some wisdom to offer and the obligation to pass it on to younger students. Moreover, I finally felt comfortable enough at Harvard to lead visitors on tours of campus and regale them with anecdotes about the QRR and Primal Scream.

These shirts serve a purpose--they build community. As an undergraduate coming from thousands of miles away to attend Harvard, creating a sense of togetherness has been important to me.

The garish Crimson Key shirt not only helps me identify other members of the group, but also serves as a familiar beacon for first-years seeking help or advice. Similarly, the FUP T-shirt and the Currier and Mower shirts communicate to those both inside and outside the group. They provide a uniform dress so members of each group can feel bonded to each other while at the same time conveying a message about their interests to others who see and read the shirt.

By wearing T-shirts with recognizable symbols and sayings, we create a common vocabulary that all members of the Harvard community can understand.

I work with younger students for the same reason I have collected T-shirts, in order to foster community. In helping others acclimate to life at Harvard, I have realized that not every student here has the same diverse collection of shirts to wear.

Although some of us do not express our affinities so publicly on our bodies, all of us--whether we work with first-year students, Key-latch kids or volleyball teammates--are part of the Harvard and Radcliffe community. We know what HRO, IOP and PBHA stand for. What we wear is a legible emblem of our pride in our teams, our houses and our University.

Part of my advising prospective and new students has been to encourage their participation in campus activities. By staying informed and involved, we all have a stake in the community and will strive to make it a more cohesive, humane place to live.

Throughout sophomore and junior years, I devoted time to meeting and acclimating new students, and my T-shirt collection reflects that commitment.

As a prefect, I got a nice hunter green shirt so I could dispense advice and plan study breaks in style. As part of the Undergraduate Admissions Council, I hosted countless pre-frosh and telephoned dozens of high school students to answer their questions about college. The T-shirt from that organization displays a large Veritas shield and the cheery "Welcome to Harvard."

In total, I have three bright-red Crimson Key shirts, each worn for seven days straight before being consigned to the back of my drawer after washing.

This last year my drawer reached capacity with a T-shirt momento of the play "The Real Class of '96." In blue block letters on the front, the shirt reads simply, "COLLEGE." I am proud to be in college and in one that promotes both intellectual growth and the opportunity to make fun of it.

When I more out on Friday, packed in along with the anthropology books and thesis notes will be the multi-hued collection of T-shirts that represent my color-fast dedication to Harvard. Each time I were one of those shirts in the future, I will be both reasserting my pride in my almamater and continuing to build a community of Harvard students outside the confines of the Yard.

Peter S. Cahn '96 is Harvard First Class Marshal.

Luckily, the rooms and drawers in Currier were more spacious than those in Mower.

Before the school year started, I procured a shirt in a shocking new color: fire engine red. White letters on my chest proclaimed my membership in the Crimson Key Society, while the calendar on the back listed a week's worth of social events.

I greeted incoming students, extinguishing their apprehensions with superficial chit-chat and ice cream. For the first time in college, I felt that I had some wisdom to offer and the obligation to pass it on to younger students. Moreover, I finally felt comfortable enough at Harvard to lead visitors on tours of campus and regale them with anecdotes about the QRR and Primal Scream.

These shirts serve a purpose--they build community. As an undergraduate coming from thousands of miles away to attend Harvard, creating a sense of togetherness has been important to me.

The garish Crimson Key shirt not only helps me identify other members of the group, but also serves as a familiar beacon for first-years seeking help or advice. Similarly, the FUP T-shirt and the Currier and Mower shirts communicate to those both inside and outside the group. They provide a uniform dress so members of each group can feel bonded to each other while at the same time conveying a message about their interests to others who see and read the shirt.

By wearing T-shirts with recognizable symbols and sayings, we create a common vocabulary that all members of the Harvard community can understand.

I work with younger students for the same reason I have collected T-shirts, in order to foster community. In helping others acclimate to life at Harvard, I have realized that not every student here has the same diverse collection of shirts to wear.

Although some of us do not express our affinities so publicly on our bodies, all of us--whether we work with first-year students, Key-latch kids or volleyball teammates--are part of the Harvard and Radcliffe community. We know what HRO, IOP and PBHA stand for. What we wear is a legible emblem of our pride in our teams, our houses and our University.

Part of my advising prospective and new students has been to encourage their participation in campus activities. By staying informed and involved, we all have a stake in the community and will strive to make it a more cohesive, humane place to live.

Throughout sophomore and junior years, I devoted time to meeting and acclimating new students, and my T-shirt collection reflects that commitment.

As a prefect, I got a nice hunter green shirt so I could dispense advice and plan study breaks in style. As part of the Undergraduate Admissions Council, I hosted countless pre-frosh and telephoned dozens of high school students to answer their questions about college. The T-shirt from that organization displays a large Veritas shield and the cheery "Welcome to Harvard."

In total, I have three bright-red Crimson Key shirts, each worn for seven days straight before being consigned to the back of my drawer after washing.

This last year my drawer reached capacity with a T-shirt momento of the play "The Real Class of '96." In blue block letters on the front, the shirt reads simply, "COLLEGE." I am proud to be in college and in one that promotes both intellectual growth and the opportunity to make fun of it.

When I more out on Friday, packed in along with the anthropology books and thesis notes will be the multi-hued collection of T-shirts that represent my color-fast dedication to Harvard. Each time I were one of those shirts in the future, I will be both reasserting my pride in my almamater and continuing to build a community of Harvard students outside the confines of the Yard.

Peter S. Cahn '96 is Harvard First Class Marshal.