Big

FM scours Harvard and beyond for the people, places and things whose greatness derives from scale. This is a big story.

SUPER-FREEZE

"We bust our cubes for you!" (What more could a customer ask for?) "The Ice Man cometh seven days a week." (Does he?) "Is one really enough?" (One bag? Probably not!) These are just a few of the slogans that pepper the outer walls of Boston's largest self-serve ice receptacle which occupies a small lot on the border of the Cambridge and Somerville, 100 Kirkland St. According to local legend, a little man named George lives inside the landmark. It is he who 24/7 offers the five-pound bags of cubed ice for $1 and $2 blocks.

Kitty cornered between the trendy Tapas Restaurant Dali and the upscale Wine and Cheese Cask, the 40 foot by 12 foot ice chest pays homage to 1950s trailer aesthetic. The white washed walls of this oversized freezer are colorfully decorated with various little snowmen clad in black top hats, red scarves, corn cob pipes and overflowing bags of ice. Unable to resist the vast gleaming white sides of the ice cabin, crafty taggers continuously sully the innocent snowmen with black spray paint. Not only a last-minute resource for party melt-downs, the structure also acts as a billboard for the company's other products such as 40 pounders, Dry Ice, Cocktail Ice and the legendary Booze Luge, all of which can be delivered with the ease of a phone call.

OF HOOPES PRIZE WINNERS

In the world of Hoope's Prize winners, one thesis surpasses all others with 192 pages of pure writing. There are other texts in the 200 to 300 page range, but diagrams and pictures unfairly pad these theses. Jeremy Kleiner '98 wrote the epic, "Spectacles: Transparency, Representation, and Politics in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the French Revolution, Situationism, and Postmodern Thought." The 15-word title appropriately introduces the 70,000-word document.

Kleiner's advisor, Dr. Patrice Higonnet, Robert Walton Goelet Professor of French History, described Jeremy as being "one of the most gifted undergraduates I have seen in my thirty odd years as an instructor in our university."

The rewards of being the biggest thesis are many: Kleiner's opus will soon be published and he's on the rise in L.A.--on the way to becoming a big-shot.

QUITE A VIEW

Maybe entering a building inevitably filled with screaming elementary school students completely adverse to the idea of "seeing where history was made and a nation born" in a panoramic view of Boston isn't exactly appealing, but the John Hancock Building certainly is one of its kind. Not necessarily because it's that tall (nothing compared to New York City or Chicago), but because it has the most militant, bitter and angry security staff on earth. Of course, the Hancock Building's brochure trumpets praises for New England's tallest sky scraper: "come aboard the express elevator and feel the excitement build as you are whisked 60 floors straight up to the high point of your Boston visit." On a clear day, if it is possible to push through drooling third graders gluing there faces to the glass, the observatory has a fantastic view of the harbor and the Charles and a "picnic of contrasts." It is pretty easy to spot the River houses with Dunster's red tower as a beacon in the middle of the Square.

The architecture of the Hancock tower is definitely striking. Sure, it's big, but the impressive aspect of the building is that is completely made of reflective glass and aggressive angles. Although it is fairly shocking to catch sight of yourself in the wall, the Hancock also reflects beautiful images of Trinity Church and Copley Square along with the posse of skaters who flock around the fountain next store and perch with the pigeons on the statue of Phillips Brooks. But back to the security issues. The Hancock is not exactly the site of surreptitious government activity or important UN operations--it's just a big building filled with insurance salesmen, but Mr. Guard seems to think that every little kid traipsing around the lobby is carrying a self-detonator. His first comment was much to the effect of "I HATE THE MEDIA" but then he opened up enough to say that he wouldn't say a thing and couldn't compromise his commitment to the company. Discreetness is the name of his game. Apparently, the guards are wary of all questions concerning security because of past precident with the UN bombing and the Oaklahoma City bombing. "Portions of the building have been evacuated at certain points," mentioned one guard I-refuse-to-give-my-name-because-I-am-security-and-I-have-to-take-extra-special-precautions. Nevertheless, take a look at the Biggest building in Boston if you can just escape the evil glare of the guards the "top of the hub" in the evening is a pretty romantic spot to be.

MAIL FRAUD

For those who haven't jumped on a 10-10-whatever train or discovered the plethora of discount phone cards available at the Prem La Market on Mt. Auburn Street, the campus phone bill is a monthly test of a sufficiently endowed BankBoston account. But the thieves don't stop there: the true BIG rip-off regarding the on-campus phone bill is actually found not within--but stuck on the envelope.

The Office of Information and Technology (OIT) is located on 10 Ware St., a stone's throw from the Freshman Dean's Office and Union dorms. But despite this proximity, the office requires its bills to be sent through the U.S. Postal Service--not University mail. In the upper-right hand corner of the yellow envelope included in every phone bill is written, "Postage Required for Mailing." So, at the beginning of each month, nearly every Harvard student affixes an extra 33 cents to their already exorbitant phone bill to send it, in many cases, the length of a football field or two.

Nearly everyone, that is.

"I just drop my phone bill in university mail every month," says Alexis Riding-Rice '01. "I thought that adding a stamp was unnecessary because the office is so close by."

And with the Postal Service raising stamp rates another penny last month, what we're left with is Harvard's biggest rip-off.

VIDEO KILLED THE RADIO STAR

Joel G. Thomas `02 thinks that Rage Against the Machine's guitarist lurks somewhere in his subconscious. "[Tom] Morello went to Harvard and concentrated in [government]," said Thomas, who's a gov jock himself. "Morello calls himself a communist. I wouldn't call myself that, but I agree with almost all of his politics. I'm passionate about progressive issues."

Proudly displaying his nine RATM T-shirts, poster-encrusted Greenough suite and collected discography, Thomas stakes his claim as the group's "biggest fanatic." The obsession began during his sophomore year of high school. It grew when he wrote a 20-page research paper on the 1994 Zapatista rebellion, a Mexican peasant uprising that RATM has discussed in its lyrics. "[The group] is historically accurate," Thomas said. "That got me more into their politics."

Two weeks ago, Harvard's Number One Fan hopped over to East Rutherford, N.J., for a RATM and Beastie Boys concert. "We had second level seats, but people were still going nuts, running into each other and into a fence," Thomas said. "I got knocked backwards and hit my teeth on some cement stairs and had to get X-rays." Just another casualty of the revolution.

Following the path of his idols, Thomas does some raging against the Establishment himself. "In the lead singer Zack De La Rocha's words, 'Anger is a gift,' the music stops and he whispers just those words," he said. "I believe it. Focusing anger on social injustice gets you more passionate about issues."

Of course, in certain less-focused instances, rage can also earn you a bitchin' toothache, as Thomas has experienced. "It's all better now, though," he said. "I could brush yesterday morning without excrutiating pain."

BABY YOU CAN DRIVE MY CAR

Oversized luxury cars just don't mesh with the puritan values of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Car companies throughout Cambridge, Boston and even Cape Cod refuse to deal in extravagant vehicles. "Eight passenger limousines are as big as we go," explained one Cambridge Limo representative. One stodgy New England limo firm mentioned that they serve fruit juice to underage riders, instead of champagne. How considerate! When in doubt, import from New York.

New York City's Personal Touch Limousine advertises a range of "exotic and specialty vehicles." Michael, a Personal Touch representative, recommended the 1998 stretch Lincoln Navigator, an elongated version of Lincoln's renowned Sports Utility Vehicle. The company's pride and joy, it holds 22 people and measures roughly 43 feet long. According to Michael, the Navigator is particularly popular among New York's "Latin musicians." There's enough room to salsa in a automobile with car accomodation for an Ec10 section.

The vehicle arrives complete with two TVs, two VCRs, a stocked wet bar (no fruit juice), snacks, interior mood lighting and a chauffeur named Daniel. Upon request, the company also supplies balloons and a magical red carpet. Only available on weekends, the stretch Navigator is already booked for the upcoming prom season. Keep in mind: To bring this phenomenon of the automobile industry up to Boston for the night costs $300 an hour and the meter starts running when the white-gloved chauffeur leaves New York City and stops the moment he returns. To say its worth it, well, that would be a stretch.

READ ME A STORY

Imagine a book that's as tall as a munchkin from "The Wizard of Oz" and twice as wide. A book so heavy that it takes two librarians to move it. Just such a tome rests quietly in the bottom of Houghton Library, a warehouse for unusual and delicate writings that hides many a freakish volume behind its upright exterior. This ruskie book puts "War and Peace" to shame.

While the Harvard College Library system keeps no record of its books by size, librarian lore points to this Russian goliath. Thanks to Houghton librarian Susan Halpert, a woman well-acquainted with the anomalies of the literary world, FM presents the biggest book: an 1856 depiction of the coronation of Tsar Alexander II is, in fact, Houghton's biggest book.

This hernia-inducing monster measures in at 37 by 27 inches and resembles less a book than an ornate piece of antique furniture. "That doesn't sound very imposing," explains Halpert, "but it takes the strength of two to move it, an action we perform as seldom as possible." Though only two inches thick, the book's binding drips with metal ornamentation and decorative gilt. Houghton's two copies lie comfortably in custom-made cloth cases, so comfortably, in fact, that librarians hate to disturb them.

SHOP 'TIL YOU DROP

Sometimes life just gets to be too much. Too many cold French fries on your plate, no double chocolate cookies for dessert, no way to identify the ingredients of the goulash swimming through the egg noodles. Sometimes the cravings take over and there is no way to fight the nausea of the dining hall and there is no convenient kitchen cabinet to turn to. Sometimes you just want choice. "Discover the Difference." Welcome to Star Market, the biggest supermarket around.

International homeopathic remedies? Got it. The Cheshire cheese to crumble into a mesculine-green salad? Oh, it's there. Starbucks latte to sooth the post-exam/second semester nerves while perusing a mini-bookstore of cheesy bestsellers? Yup. When entering Star for the first time, all troubles simply evaporate amidst the wafting scents of the fresh baked bread in the open air bakery. The huge store is an oasis of happiness; it is a whole new world where everything is possible and anything is edible. Half the store is a gigantic freezer filled with Ben and Jerry's ice cream--what could be better?

For those with more acquired tastes, there are acres of aisles constituting a "World Market--Great Value in Any Language." Goya hanichuelas pintas abound amidst 25-pound bags of Gao Nang Thom imported Thailand jasmine white scented rice. Odd British "Wispa" and "Krunchie" chocolate treats are interspersed with ginger beer syrup and pepper sauce piquante. Star Market has even started its own line of accessories named Ser., complete with fleece neckwarmers and pillows shaped like the continental 48 states that scream, "hug America!"

To get there, take the green B-line from Park Street to the intersection of St. Paul's Street and Commonwealth Avenue.

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BENJAMINS

With practically every brick, room and building on campus named for a benefactor, it's hard to tell who really gave the big bucks. While Sir Matthew Holworthy had a prominent building named in his honor for a measly 1,000 English pounds in 1678, these days a mere self-titled professor chair takes a $3.5 million donation. Even that though, seems a trifle compared to the chunk of change John L. Loeb '24, LLD `71 (Hon.) and Frances "Peter" Lehman Loeb handed over in a lump sum in 1994: a whopping $70.5 million.

According to Andy K. Tiedemann at the Harvard Development Office, the Loeb gift stands as the single largest ever in Harvard history from a living donor and, at its time, ranked among the top ten gifts ever to higher education. The contribution made its mark on the Harvard community, granting funding for undergraduate financial aid as well as endowing six professorships. Both 17 Quincy St--formerly the residence of the University president--and the campus drama center on Brattle Street were renamed in the Loebs' honor. Where did all the Loebs' money come from? After graduation John Loeb co-founded the apparently successful New York banking and brokerage firm, Loeb, Rhoades and Company.

Gifts to Harvard can take on other forms as well. Most of the art museums lack large endowments of their own for new pieces, and rely heavily on donors for new acquisitions. Grenville L. Winthrop, Class of 1886, remains the most generous benefactor to the Harvard Art Museums. In 1953, he gave a donation of over 3,700 works. Here, inheritance was the name of the game: This descendant of John Winthrop gave up practicing law after a few years to devote himself to art collecting.

Public Relations Officer for the Harvard University Art Museums Kate M. Ewen maintains that though many people do donate for tax purposes, their choice of recipient is influenced by their fondness for Harvard, and, in the case of art, the knowledge that their donation will be used for education and be well cared for. But while the museums scrutinize each piece before accepting it, the fund always welcomes cold hard cash.

MEGABYTES

It may be winter in Cambridge, but the glass walls of the Science Center's Machine Room #1 sustain a jungle: mice hang from swinging cables, keyboards perch on walls and wires droop down from every crack and crevice like banyon sprouts. This is Harvard's biggest computer--a seemingly haphazard assemblage of mismatched computer parts that actually serves (well, most of the time) to facilitate Harvard networking. Mecca for computer geeks and e-mail junkies alike, here sit the guts and glory of our modern net-crazed campus.

Although components of dozens of smaller computers comprise this networking array, those in the know consider the monster an independent entity. Each individual element contributes to the system's working on a macro scale. The result: a quietly whirring marvel that routes every Harvard student onto the Internet and allows them access to e-mail.

Of course, anyone with a pocket protector will point out that labeling Harvard's "biggest" computer requires gross simplification. Are we talking biggest monitor? Biggest capacity? Computer which allows most number of simultaneous log-ons? Computer "size" is truly in the definition of the beholder, and Machine Room #1 can be considered to house the "biggest" only in the sense that its giant is currently devoted to the largest single task of any Harvard computer system.

(For the record, the biggest computer monitor at Harvard is 56 inches and utilizes the largest cathode-ray tube available to man. The monstrous screen has been used for presenting demos to groups and for some video editing, but according to Winthrop House User Assistant Jeffrey E. Zinsmeister `00, "like a lot of novelties, it just sits around a lot.")

STAND AND DELIVER

When he was 12, his feet were a size 12. When he turned 13, his feet grew to a size 13. Fourteen years old and his feet were size 14. This mysterious trend continued every year until Timothy Coleman `01 turned 18, and his feet remained an imposing size 17. But such a big personality would not be complete with anything smaller. Coleman, a big basketball player with a big laugh, would not be who he is today if it were not for the defining role of his feet. They made the sacrifice when all of Coleman could not fit under the shade of a beach umbrella. Even burnt and scorched, they continued to open doors for Coleman, type for him if necessary, and pick up annoying little pills from spilled aspirin bottles. But these well-manicured boats have other attributes that make Coleman's friends jealous. Not only are his toenails curved and nice, as he says, but in his own words, he "could have a sixth toe and it would not look weird." It is the accepted fact on campus that Coleman's feet are nicer than most people's and needless to say bigger. His big toe also attracts a lot of attention. Coleman says of it fondly, "My favorite toe is the big toe because it is so big--thick and long and big."

MASSIVE ANIMATION

A cloud of gloom looms over fair Cambridge. The town villains have captured thousands of students and trapped them in small rooms where they must read philosophical theory and science "texts." The future looks bleak for these captives. But there is one hope. Our hero, the biggest comic book collection in the land (okay, Harvard) can be found lying in wait among mere mortals in the Qube, a.k.a. Quincy House library.

Wham! Pow! Zap! Quincy House non-resident tutor and former librarian Julia S. Rubin '84 estimates the Qube's hulking collection to include at least 5,000 titles. Volumes range from old-school-classics like Batman to fresh-off-the press X-Men. Some are yellowed and faded, others shiny and prime for paper-cuttage; every character, from the Avengers to the X-Men, exercises powers even the most ambitious Harvard student can't access.

"The reason we focused on the collection is we could offer something different for students that they can't get at Widener," Rubin explains. She adds that the Qube has been compiling the collection for over 20 years with the help of various alumni donations. Five years ago, the set exploded when one man donated his personal acquisitions--worth $8000--because his wife forced him to rid their house of the volumes. To cope with the library's massive assets, Rubin appointed a series of comics czars. Unfortunately, the most recent officeholder, Timothy D. Foley `98 graduated last June, leaving the position empty. The library staff is searching for a suitable replacement.

Fear not, quaking readers. Wherever danger lurks, whenever evil rears its ugly head, the Qube's secret weapon will be there. To protect, defend, honor...until next time.

SERIOUS BEEF

"Supposedly I am hung like a rhinoceros" says Steffen Buschbacher `00. Buschbacher himself never realized the magnitude of his God-given anatomy until he first looked around in the group shower at the Newell Boathouse.

He says, "Now that I've started showing together [with other rowers], I look around and think, 'Sucks for you.'" Word travels fast and Buschbacher says everybody is in on his secret. When he went to New Haven last year for the Harvard-Yale Game, he met a woman who matched his name with the legend. She said to him "'A girl at Harvard told us about you!'" Buschbacher thinks, "That's pretty insane that word spreads to Yale. I'm not embarrassed by it, but I am shocked by the level to which people talk about it." While Buschbacher denies tooting his own horn, he will occasionally mention his rhino-like feature in conversation. "Sometimes when we joke around I say, 'Size matters,' to win an argument. It's a convenient joke." Buschbacher adds that at parties, "It's nice to use as an icebreaker."

Exactly how big are we talking? Busbacher says, "I've never measured it. I'm not going to." But when pushed on the issue he admits, "I have held it up to certain objects to see how big it is. I'll hold it up to my toothbrush to see." Longer than a toothbrush? "Yea." Bushbacher does not view his special feature as a personal accomplishment. He says humbly, "If I worked at it, if through hard work it got bigger--using The Pump everyday--then I'd be 'the Man.' But it's natural--just luck."

ALL ON TAP

"We just had a bunch of drunk Irish in here," explains Joe, the bartender of The Harp as he cheerfully snatches empty Bud Light and Bud Ice bottles off the tables while fending off the pawing hands of his sassed mid-afternoon clientele. The Harp, squished beneath the iron network of I-93, is a mecca for the post-game crowd trailing out of the Fleet Center to rehash the latest Celtics or Bruins loss.

The Harp--pronounced "Haahp" by Southie residents--is two floors of big beer drinking, raucous sports watching and crazy dancing fun, with a few brawls to boot. With "only" 10 beers on tap, this is not a bar for the elite micro snob; enjoyment of St. Louis conglomerate alcohol is a prerequisite for entrance. Packed before and after games and all weekend long, Boston's biggest haven of alcoholic consumption fits up to 800 people and still has a line outside.

The bar is in a group of all-Irish-owned establishments scattered in the not-so-nice areas of town. But according to Mike, the manager, the Harp can get like a "beach pahtay" on some nights with a wacky one-man band downstairs and a kickin' concert upstairs. Live shows at the Harp are a staple. Boston College, Boston University and Suffolk students have all gone wild cheering the likes of Eddie Money and the Jerry Garcia Band over the years.

Undergraduates, though, beware. This bar may be big, but it's not the place for juveniles. Smiling proudly, the management claims they "take four or five IDs per weekend, at the least."