The Undergraduate Chair
THERE were some who called it a "reemphasis of de-emphasis," and there were others who said we really needed a "de-emphasis of re-emphasis," but most agreed afterwards that, no matter what they called it, it was an emphatic success.
Post-Carnival anecdotes have had a habit in the past of being mainly concerned with how many strange people slept on the floor in your dorm room, and how few of them you got to meet before the weekend ended. This year the prize story concerns the sophomore who gave away three guest cards to out-of-town friends, who enjoyed his room privileges to the full while the generous Dartmouth student was being kept out of the dorm by suspicious gendarmes.
Although one student complained that he "had to show an I.D. card three times before he was allowed to go to the bathroom," the tightened-up system seemed to work extraordinarily well. Lines for downtown restaurants stretched almost as long as usual, but there was no little satisfaction in knowing that most of those ahead were classmates and friends.
Parties were quieter than usual, and Campus Police Captain Theodore F. Gaudreau boasted that "this was the best Carnival in seven years." Town police had worked out an elaborate traffic-routing system before the weekend, but it was unnecessary and discontinued halfway through the festivities. No great chains of house-hopping Yalies appeared, and drinks seemed to last much longer than usual.
The success of the new restrictions was all the more surprising in light of the record influx of dates. A total of 1801 young ladies made the trek to the Plain, and preweekend forecasts envisioned the biggest Carnival in history.
The weather was more cooperative than ever before the weekend, but turned traitor Friday afternoon. "Skigo," the 28-foot center-of-campus snow possum, was finished Thursday morning, 24 hours ahead of time, and all fraternity and dorm statues made the quickest progress in recent memory. Skies were clear just long enough for the judges to make the rounds, declare Chi Phi fraternity winner for the second year in a row, and give plaudits to the ambitious young men from Lord H-all. Then, the mercury rose, the thunderclouds rumbled, and by the time the results were announced at Saturday's ski jump, the campus was a sea of mud and slush.
But even torrential rains failed to dampen spirits of celebrants. The Players, scheduled for four performances of Arsenicand Old Lace, found themselves sold out for all nights and forced to put on a matinee Thursday afternoon. The Glee Club introduced a new Kubik number, and gave the finest concert in years to two pleased packed houses. And inspired basketball and ski teams brought home impressive victories over favored Yale and strong Middlebury.
Harvard stole some of the spotlight from the Green. While Dick Button (Harvard Law School), Hugh Graham and Charles Forster (both Harvard undergraduates), were skating on the Outdoor Evening set, Miss Junie Dunham, a secretary in the Cantab English department, was being crowned forty-third Queen of the Snows. (Button considered celebrating by wearing his "H" sweater during the Outdoor Evening performance, but thought better of it.)
But meanwhile another Harvard undergraduate, whose name remains fortunately unavailable, was stealing more than spotlights. Seems he had obtained a Dartmouth Interfraternity I.D. card a week before Carnival, and was busily printing hundreds of counterfeit duplicates on a dormitory printing press Thursday night.
"De-emphasis" of Carnival brought to mind another "de-emphasis," with some confusion. Outdoor Evening Director John C. Heston Jr. '54 explained that the Friday show was moved from the football field to the golf course "because with reemphasis of Carnival the golf course would give us a more varied show." Coach Tuss McLaughry's story was that his football field had sunk a foot and a half because of the weight of all that snow and ice. Some wondered whether de-emphasis of Carnival had anything to do with de-emphasis of football, and if so, why? Perhaps the answer was that one was in spite of the other. But nobody was too sure.
Another sidelight was the chagrin of John Rand and Company when they discovered that this year's Carnival posters weren't dated 1953. Nobody could figure out how the figures were left out, but, they thought, if the D.O.C. ever ran out of money, the mistake could prove a Godsend.
But the biggest Godsend of the weekend was the gift of an extra day to the students. Ordinarily, second semester registration occurred on Sunday of Carnival, and classes began with bleary eyes on Monday. Both events were pushed back a day, and the rehabilitation was tempered only by the number of dates who stayed over an extra day and had parties that night, too.
But even an extra day of parties had no effect on the impression that the entire weekend made. President Dickey beamed Monday, and reviewed the new program: "It was a fine affair. It was especially nice to see at least our Carnival given back to the Indians."
The last push toward the big weekend was almost monomaniac in its intensity, unless one counts an almost equally singleminded concentration on the final exam period just before. With this gruelling experience in mind, and wise to the ways of college men, two Harvard professors issued warnings- to Ivy League students not to use "potential stimulants such as Benzadrine and Dexadrine when burning the mid- night oil." But, despite the warning, Hanover pharmacies reported a fast turnover as the semester drew to an end.
National League Umpire Frank Dascoli came to town, and exploded at a Dartmouth reporter who asked him about a certain Brooklyn-Boston decision. Hanover Police Chief Ferguson left to cover the Inauguration in Washington. The UGC refused to give up control of fraternity clause-elimination programs to the IFC, and a parliamentary battle raged into the wee hours. And Walt Kelly, Pogo creator, said he'd judge for Carnival, and never showed up.
The second semester began at 7:55 a.m., Tuesday, February 10. Next stop, Green Key.
DE-EMPHASIZED CARNIVAL: Fraternity guests show their I. D. cards at the door, in the new rules adopted to reduce "visiting firemen."
QUEEN OF THE SNOWS: Junie Dunham, Colby Junior College graduate and secertary of Harvard, receives her crown at Outdoor Evening from Dick Button, world champion skater, who was the star of the ice show on the golf course.
FRATERNITY WINNER: Pogo as a skater gave Chi Phi the prize for the second year in a row.
DORM WINNER: Lord Hall took first place with its snow statue of Carnival ingredients.
SCENE OF THE CARNIVAL SLALOM AT SUICIDE SIX IN NEARBY WOODSTOCK, VT.
SKIGO, skiing cousin of Pogo of the funnies, held popular sway in the middle of the campus during Carnival. He was designed by Charles W. Dingman '54 of Palmer, Mass.
THE QUEEN AND HER COURT AFTER THE JUDGING IN THE GYM TROPHY ROOM
