To the Editors of the SERVICE NEWS:

We at Harvard have known for a long time that conditions here are bad and getting progressively worse. Up to now we have chosen to bite our lips and keep the tears back like "little soldiers." We have thought that if such outrages as the domestication of the Yard could be kept reasonably quiet and out of the press, we could somehow carry on. But now outraged patience can no longer be muzzled. Frankly, the case has been cracked wide open.

I refer to a recent article by Sgt. George Avagian (obviously a paid agent of the Yale News office) skulking behind the innocent heading of "Specialists' Corner." Is our dirty wash to be smirked at and pointed to by a Yale (or as he calls it, "a four-letter man.) "O Tempera, O mores...Immo vere etiam in senatum venit, fit publici consili particops..."And has he the temerity to beard us in our very den? A Yale man!

Nevertheless, barbarian that he is, he's right. Look at the state of Harvard today. Babies in the Yard can be born, or even clotheslines, after all, e'est laguerre. But ask a Freshman what "Reiu hardt" means, and he'll probably tell you (and after does) that it's a brand of ale. Ask him to sing "Harvardiana," or even "Fair Harvard," and he mumbles about "a physics lab" and his eyes dart around, for all the world like a cornered ferret's, as he tries to sneak past you. Does anyone know who John the Orangeman was, or Max Keezer? My God, there are people here now who think that Winthrop House is "one of them there Harvard Clubs."

Well, something's got to be done pretty damn quick or we'll be catching people calling the Yard, "the campus." Publish pamphlets, pound it into their ears at compulsory meetings, take om out on Friday nights and got om drunk, do anything, only do it quick! If you don't, they'll sink into the morass of integrals and compulsory exercise, and will be a total loss to civilization, not to say a pack of terrific bores at class reunions.

Fortunately, Mr. Acadian, despite his slack-lipped way of called the Yard, the "Yard," comes up with a solution, and a darn good one it it, too. A football game with Yale why not? I have the cutes raccoon coat, and a cunning little hip flash knocking around somewhere in the back of my closet, and I'm just itching for an excuse to use them. What are we waiting for, start those presses rolling, start those footballs floating through the crisp autumn air. "Get the boys out of the labs by Thanksgiving!" And what we'll do to these pale blue touch-football players is nobody's business.

"John Harvard was John Harvard when Eli was a pup.

"John Harvard will be John Harvard when Eli's busted up." Signed.   Indignant, nay, Apoplectic '45

P.S.--As for you, George, don't feel that we don't want you. Why, lord love you, child, we're glad to have you. You've only been here a few months, and you're making progress already.