Today we circle Scollay Square, for the Old Howard no less than the New Lecture Hall is an integral part of Harvard life. Last year's Senior Album poll reported that the average scholar in the class of 1940 had attended three Boston burlesque performances (including one midnight show). The questionnaire also found some twenty-odd men who had been present for more than a dozen exposures. One member of the class was employed there as an usher for six months during his final term at Harvard. And a few years ago the Old Howard even appeared in a Geography 1 midyear exam question--the correct answer being to note the theatre's ideal location midway between Harvard Square and Charlestown Navy Yard. But that strategic site has not always been the convening place of sailors on leave and students on sprees.

In 1841 Father Miller built his Tabernacle there and won wide fame by convincing a large Boston congregation that:

"The end of the world will surely be in Eighteen Hundred and Forty-Three."

Unfortunately for the prophet, in 1844 he had to revise the calculation and his fickle flock deserted him. A group of prominent Bostonians bought the building and converted it into an opera house after changing the name to the "Howard Athenaeum." There, in 1846, genuine Italian opera had its New England premiere with a performance of Verdi's "Ernani," and Sheridan's "Rivals" played to toney audiences from Beacon Hill until a fire gutted the wooden auditorium.

The Athenaeum was soon extravagantly restored. Its new, heavily-gilded proscenium and cushioned seats (the first in any Boston theatre) led an inspired advertising agent to boast in bill-board posters:

"As Rome points proudly to her Coliseum So Boston treats her Howard Athenaeum."

But the aria and buskin yielded to the sock and tassel. In 1854 some one rented the stage for an exhibition of live Indians. Pentland's Circus and then a group of Chinese jugglers followed. During this transition period touring features such as Zavitowski's Juvenile Ballet still played the Athenaeum. By 1868, though, only cheap variety shows appeared; and the name of "Old Howard," already in common use, was officially adopted.

This month the entire theatre is being redone. The inroad of termites on the old seats in the second balcony is being checked, and the ornate walls are going to be repainted a clear cream color. But the Old Howard with its translucent stench rising to a few few above the sea level on the ground floor is changing its cosmetics, not its complexion. This week as every week the stage show deals a knock-out punch--a foul jab strictly below the belt. Rumor for years has claimed that the chorus of 30 beauties 30 is recruited from rheumatic jitterbugs on the list of retired University employees, but no one goes to see the chorus anyhow, It's the blue-lighted anatomical solos which bring the crowds past the box office.

Premiere striptease this week, Lois Dc Fee, is advertised as "a six foot glamorous giantess, and every inch a beauty and dazzling personality." Ann Singer ("Her face! Oh! Oh! And her torso more so.") is to be revealed in the near future. The Queen of Beantown Burlesque since your Dad's college days, Ann Corio, is doing war relief work. Her local agent quotes her as declaring, "I'd give the skirt off--" but let the bare facts speak for themselves.

Once in a while the long arm of the law has reached out to hold up a slipping brassiere strap and occasionally competition has threatened the leadership of the Old Howard, but never has its loyal following of beardless youth and balded age fallen away as did the Millerites. Here, with a bottle of Scotch and large cigars, fresh-from-prep-schools Yardlings match their manliness against each other. Crimson Crimson candidates push into backstage dressing rooms for exclusive interviews. Reverent Yale men drop in on their pilgrimages to the nearby Waldorf where a plaque marks the birthplace of Eli Yale--across the street from the current Crawford House. At the Old Howard the scum and the cream of society finds a common denominator. And, quite different from Boston's more pretentious musical revues, dress is informal even on opening nights at the friendly little theatre off Scollay Square.