IN SPITE of local tradition, it is not strictly true that every student who has a job got it through Charlie Duhig. But there is nevertheless plenty of reason why the Acting Director of Student Employment and Graduate Secretary of the Commuters' Center has become a popular hero. His service with the Scholarship Committee and the Employment Office has sharpened an understanding of the man who works for his keep, and four undergraduate years of walking from his Somerville home to the Yard and back have endowed him with an insight into the problems of the commuter. The product is a truly sympathetic interviewer behind the desk in University M, rather than a mere affable smile. Frequent usage has made almost trite the comment that "When you tell Mr. Duhig" (emphasis on "Duhig") "that you need help, he knows what you're talking about."

Entering at Harvard after two years at Exeter, Charlie usually made the trek from home on foot, often twice daily. He gave most of his evenings to singing, which was a lucrative profession in those days. Solos at Symphony Hall and the Vice-Presidency of the Glee Club were the high-spots, and the nearest he came to performing before the crowned heads of Europe was a concert in the home of Governor-General Viscount Wellington of Canada. Apparently either no one minded his twang, or else it is a recent development.

With his appointment as Graduate Secretary of Dudley, his interest in the contemporary commuter's situation developed. He feels that the importance of the small but populous Center is that it gives the local boy a chance to run his own show without resident competition. "You can't be a recluse in Dudley." Charlie, admits, however, that most commuters overestimate the difficulty of their collegiate lot, and that they usually have time for more activities than they participate in.

The long, smoke-filled nights spent with Dean Kennedy, trying to make the scholarships go around have been, he feels, his most valuable experience hereabouts. They have convinced him that, in spite of occasional rumors to the contrary, a superior crop of men come to Harvard, and have taught him a great admiration for the man who carries a scholarship, a job, and an activity.

Auxiliary-policeman Duhig has, in fact, become almost the official spokesman of a type of student which has become very important in a University noted for luxury. He lacks only rolled-up sleeves.