The Undergraduate Chair

KRANG-TOR, the Snow God, smiled on Winter Carnival this year. For the first year in ages, February storms left the campus deep in fresh, heavy snow; the skiing was excellent, and the slush-packed statues froze to ice and stayed ice. For weeks beforehand the campus had been alive with Aegis photographers, who snapped the high snowbanks, the snowy pines, and the gleaming icicles from the eaves in what was really a Winter Wonderland (trademark). And Carnival itself was romantic.

Hanover during Carnival was one of the last outposts of Romanticism in its ceaseless struggle against the forces of Reality. During late January a thundering herd rolled into Hinman Post Office for that fatal glance into the mailbox. Roadtrip cars zoomed out of sleeping Hanover with more than the usual urgency. There were shootdowns ("Dear John, Thanks awfully for inviting me to your Carnival, but..."), but not many; this was no ordinary February 10-11, after all, and the girls knew it.

The last two weeks saw Little Hall taken for girls' rooms (with much protest) and the endless line form at the College Hostess office. Mo at the Village Store began packing kegs up to the rafters, and was reported very worried that he was still understocked. The usual hardy gang of freshmen camped out for the night on the bone-chilling steps of Webster Hall to be first in line for tickets, and if that wasn't Romanticism, nothing is.

All that remained before the dates arrived were hour exams (another sacrifice to the good life), and a quick trip to the bank. Then from Tuesday on, the girls began to appear, Having themselves made heroic sacrifices to get to Hanover, they also were filled with romantic Carnival spirit - sparkling eyes and apple cheeks - and were dressed to kill.

By Friday Hanover had been taken over by couples, save for a few madmen still working on ice statues. "A Midwinter Night's Dream" was the theme, conjuring up images of Shakespeare, Salvador Dali, and hangovers. "Greeneviere," a tall Medieval Lady of buxom proportions, stood in her pointed hat at the center of campus, and, unlike her slushy predecessors, lasted into the next week without losing an iota of composure.

The Bard got his due over the weekend. Besides the fine Carnival poster, in which he was a downhill racer, and a whole tragedy in the Jack-o-Lantern, the Hop staged a remarkable production of Henry V, one of the most romantic and rousing of plays, directed with gusto by Prof. Stephan Coy. For those dates still left unsnowed by the charms of Dartmouth, there was still the mesmeric effect of the Glee Club, and for those still unsnowed there was The Boston Globe. In a surprise move, the Hub newspaper came out with a Carnival supplement which was delivered gratis by little elves late Friday evening, and waxed effusive on the history and traditions of the famous winter weekend, which had by that time become oblivious to everything but itself.

Peggy Crawford, a long-tressed brunette from Northwestern University, became the 57th Queen of the Snows. She received her crown, cup, and buss from Dean Seymour in the Davis Hockey Rink, where the Winter Carnival Council reinstituted the old Ice Show, to the delight of all. Featured were a special figure skating show, speed skating events, and a momentous "Broomball" match on the ice between the Administration team, coached by Dean Whitehair, and Palaeopitus. Symbolically, the Parkhurst Panthers crashed the student government, 3-0.

Saturday was gorgeous. Forty degrees, with a warm blue sky and dazzling sun, it was a perfect day to watch the ski-jumping at the golf course, tour the ice statues, or make angels in the snow, for that matter.

Folksingers lan and Sylvia performed in Spaulding Auditorium, while the indefatigable fraternities, eye of the weekend hurricane, recharged their batteries with barrels of orange blossoms, fog-cutters, and other electrolytic punches, marking time until Saturday night.

Saturday Walpurgisnacht marked the end, but what a fine finale it was. Dancing was the order of the evening, and the bands boomed out across Fraternity Row for the literally thousands of milling couples on the dance floors, who frugged the night away; or went downstairs to share in one of the several hundred kegs which died over Carnival; or simply went outside into the night cold for a few minutes, to catch their breath and get their bearings.

At 2 o'clock dorm hours ended; at 4 o'clock the dates at fraternities were out in the cold, or off to breakfast. Still unwilling to let Carnival slip away so fast, Dawn Patrols across campus sat together playing records and drinking the last glass too many, keeping a vigil, and letting off whatever steam they had. The Top of the Hop was the last place to fold. There students and their dates sat and dozed in the modern furniture watching the silent blue campus under the stars; too tired to go to sleep, but just fine, anyway.

Sunday was bitter cold, and completely unromantic. The hardy attended Gamma Delta Chi's traditional open house; others found that they had very little ambition left, and many dates had to make hour restrictions somewhere on the East Coast.

So many romantic farewells were said, with many clinches, and the girls, still dressed to kill, boarded their plane/bus/car, and, waving, left Hanover wrapped in a 6-foot scarf with a Carnival poster under one arm. Sic transit.

Was it romantic? It was romantic, for Carnival is larger than life, and it was for most a pretty mind-boggling 48 hours, and Monday everyone slept through classes.

LAST year the Class of '69 set a prece dent of sorts by going several thousand dollars in debt. They accomplished this improbable feat through a series of ill-starred financial adventures, climaxed by a dance at the Statler-Hilton over Harvard weekend aptly named "The Boston Massacre," which very few students attended. This was a financial bomb of the first water. The UGC had to float a loan of $3000 while the sophomores figured what to do about their predicament.

The obvious solution would have been to put part of it on each sophomore's College bill, but it was felt that this would be a tacit admission of gearlessness. Instead, the '69 Emergency Committee for Eradicating Red Ink was set up to figure new ways of making money.

At this writing the sophomore class is almost in the black, for the Committee has turned out to be a gang of master promoters. Eyeing the College man's loose change they organized a raffle and a poker party, and, with telegraphed consent from the NFL, charged admission for the telescreening of the Super Bowl in Spaulding Auditorium. Finally, in a masterstroke late in January, they organized the '69 Mothers' Bake Sale.

"Our Mothers number among the best bakers in the world," confided a class letter to these same mothers. "Would you please heat up your oven and bake a batch of something that we could sell during the week of January 23-28?"

The response was unbelievable. Through the mail, from some 70 per cent of '69 Mothers across the country came packages of baked goods - brownies, cookies, fruitcakes, and pumpkin bread. Checks too, from mothers afraid that their souffles might collapse in transit. With the slogan "Break the Thayer Habit," the Committee proceeded to sell their goods in Thayer Hall itself, and wipe out a good third of the debt.

"I must say," commented Donald Elitzer '69, one of the Committee's chief promoters, "that most of them were real good cooks too," which by the student body's response, they were indeed.

After Carnival the sophomores imported an attraction named "Joselle" to perform in Webster Hall. At this writing, they were confident that she would just about eradicate the debt.

"Joselle," who says she is Turkish, happens to be one of America's best belly dancers, and has performed at Trinity College, Princeton, and Columbia, as well as on the Johnny Carson Show.

For a while it seemed that the town of Hanover would have nothing to do with such as "Joselle." However, the Class of '69 made a gallant plea in the name of Culture, the Town Fathers deliberated, and eventually a special entertainment permit was granted.

Thus students were able to enjoy a fine evening's entertainment, the Class of '69 was able to wipe out its debt in three months, and an ancient and honorable art came to the Upper Valley.

Carnival Queen Peggy Crawford (center), a Northwestern sophomore, with her court(l to r) Sharon McPherson, Mimi Krieger, Linda Spaeth, and Sonja Paulson.

Greeneviere, "a tall medieval lady of bux-om proportions," was most photographed.

KKK's winning Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, "A Midwinter Knight's Mare."