Deep in the recesses of University Hall, in the basement under the offices of the College Deans and their pretty secretaries, lies the nervecenter of Harvard's whole student employment organization. When an undergraduate wants a job for the summer to help tide him through another year, or when the pressure of current bills forces him to look elsewhere than to his monthly parental check for assistance, he drops down to University K for an appointment with Mr. Duhig.

Mr. Duhig is Charles Warner Duhig '29, acting director of student employment, and one of the top History tutors in the Bureau of Supervisors. As head of the T. S. E., administrator of the N. Y. A. funds at Harvard, and responsible for the dispensation of the 4,500 jobs that come through his office in a year, he claims he "hasn't the private life of a worm."

Duhig's two right hands are represented by the "contact" women who place 90 percent of the students. Mrs. Barnes and Miss Baldwin, each a specialist assigned to her own field, carry an equally heavy load and are charged with the engulfing job of placing all the camp councillors, chauffeurs, research chemists, tutor-companions, cooks, bellhops, waiters, and infinite number of others who apply at the office.

The variety of work that students can perform (and get well paid for) is astonishing. If a call should come through for a boy who speaks Arabic fluently, can tutor in Physics, and knows how to play excellent chess, chances are 100 to one that Mrs. Barnes could get him by running through her files and dialing the phone.

Want Baby Minders

People call up every day looking for students to work. They want baby-minders, lawn-mowers, typists; they want clerks, librarians, clowns for parties, lecturers for women's clubs, golf instructors, an urgent request has the whole office in an uproar. Last year the short-wave station WRUL called up and wanted a student who could translate English into Polish to dash in town, translate a 15-minute speech, and read it over the radio, all in the space of half an hour. "That kind of stuff drives us all crazy," says Duhig. "We got the man, but he was too late."

Duhig is amazed at the number of outsiders who think Harvard men will work for sweatshop wages just because they're students. "One fellow wanted an engineer-drafts-man with car, to design horse trailers, pull them around the country, and do odd carpentry too. All for $18 a week." Many companies call up for trained graduate scientists, offering under $20, when undergraduates are getting $25 doing the same thing.

$25 for Transfusion

Top pay goes to the blood donors, who register at the Employment Bureau then go on a list at. Massachusetts General Hospital. They move around in a sort of blood-cycle, going to the bottom each time they give blood, and moving up a name each time somebody else docs. They get $25 for each transfusion, generally losing about 500 cc at a time. "Some of the most delicate-looking boys go over to the hospital and it doesn't bother them a bit," says white-haired, little Miss Baldwin. Sometimes if a vein is a trifle stubborn the doctors have to "fuss around a bit more," but generally it's well worth the money and the donor's blood should be replaced in 24 hours. Some men, through various shennanigans, manage to put in a transfusion once a month for several months on end, but a student is lucky if he gets two calls a year.

Of the other special fields handled by the office, the most fascinating to the visitor is the entertainment bureau. Any member of the College or Graduate school who thinks he is in any way talented or has something to offer to "the public" is welcome to an audition. If the authorities think he's pretty good, he's made. If not, he has to peddle his wares some place else.

"This is a business like anything else," declares Chief Coordinator Duhig. "Only it's run for the profit of the students rather than for us, Harvard, or anybody else. We have to keep our clientele happy, though. If they're not satisfied with a magician we send them, that gives the Bureau a bad mark. So we make sure they're good. That goes for any other man we get to fill a job, too, and we rarely have any complaints."

Almost a tradition is "Jeeves," billed as "the jokester-butler" in the publicity pamphlet which Mrs. Barnes has issued to drum up trade for her entertainers. "With his thumb in the soup and his tongue in his cheek, Jeeves does indeed keep the evening on its feet and jumping." What Jeeves does is entirely up to him, and once the party has begun no one knows, least of all the hostess, what's in store. "All I have to do is raise hell in a subtle sort of way," he modestly explains.

Sioux Indian Dances

Other party artists are Marvin J. Shapiro '42, an expert cartoonist, who often teams up with his housemate Daniel M. Pearce '42 for a combination rapid-drawing and white-faced clown act. Paul Rail '45, regaled in colorful Sioux costumery, will demonstrate "the rhythmic dances of the red man, and explain their symbolism."

Other featured performers who pick up a frequent spot of extra cash include Chandu Shad, "Magician and shadow man," a Sophomore handwriting analyst, several musicians, and a twelve-piece jazz band. Thomas F. Bartlett '44, a traveller who has spanned over 100,000 miles as seaman and stevedore, is well-prepared to talk on "Sea Trail Blazing of War Zone Voyages," and many other equally able lecturers are on call for any kind of occasion.