This is an Independent column and may not necessarily agree with the Crimson editorial policy.

Last week a Baltimore paper printed the story that Dick Harlow was going back to Western Maryland next year--that his coaching days at Harvard would end on this November 21, win or lose, at New Haven.

Mr. Harlow, Amateur

Last night an official of the H.A.A. said that he thought Dick Harlow would probably never leave Harvard. There must be a great many people right now who most devoutly hope that this is true.

If Harvard is to get such a happy contradiction in terms as a permanent football coach, Harlow is certainly the man for the job. He is uniformly liked by everyone with whom he comes in contact. He plays to win, but defeats--and the simon pures will always get their full share--do not upset him unduly. If the team has done its best, he can begin another week after a crushing loss with no regrets, enveloped in no cloud of gloom. And who is there now to say that he is not an able coach?

One of the most popular attempts to define the undefinable is the age-old effort to embalm the amateur spirit in codes of black and white, but anyone who saw Saturday's game, although the words may still not come, knows now and will never forget what that spirit is. Saturday's game saw the triumph of the amateur spirit over the milk diet, and sports writers will be busy all week comparing it to the battle of the Marne, to Thermopylae, to whatever overworked allusion they can conjure up to the triumph of bare courage in the face of overwhelming odds.

It takes a lot to make a Harvard man weep, drunk or sober, and there were some of each crying when the final whistle blew. We hope that Harlow never leaves Harvard.