Turning to the social aspects of life in New Haven, let us touch first on a matter of some interest these days -- the weekend football games. Princetonians slip quietly across their backyard to Palmer Stadium, Cantabrigians cross a river on a picturesque bridge to reach Soldiers Field, but the Elimen on the way out to the Bowl have a system all their own.

A brief digression on the nature of the New Haven trolley is first necessary. Open on both sides, the cars have seats extending across their full width from one side to the other. There being no center aisle, each passenger steps from the street into his seat, as in a European railroad coach.

Battle of the Trolleys

Here, then, is the picture on Saturday afternoon, when huge crowds are besieging the New Haven Street Railway. Travelling in large groups, the Elis attack the waiting streetcar in flying wedge formation and contrive to place their dates in some available seat. They then retire to the outer extremities of the car and seize upon some handy appendage from which they hang for the rest of the ride. As this handy appendage is frequently the collar of another Eli who in turn is hanging over the side of the car, it is possible to make the mile and a half trip to the Bowl without ever actually touching the trolley.

Adding to the general fun is the conductor, who swings Tarzan-style from Yale to Yale in an effort to collect his fares. The girls meekly surrender their dime, as a rule, but the male element jumps off and runs for a while (if he hasn't already been swept off by a passing car), regaining the trolley after the conductor has passed or has given the whole thing up as hopeless.

Numerous small boys on the street contribute to the confusion by calling "scramble," a cry calculated to bring a hail of currency from the passing trolley to be "scrambled" for by the eager bystanders, the resulting fracas being about as mild and gentle as a Boston College-Georgia Tech football game.

Actually, it is much quicker to walk to and from the Bowl, but any individual reckless enough to try it might get caught in a "scramble" or run down by a fast-charging trolley.

Bang-Up Times Are Rare

Although the nearest source of female talent is the Connecticut College for Women in New London, most Elis prefer the offerings of Smith, Vassar, or the vast and varied resources of New York City. New Haven is a poor town for entertainment, night life being limited to beer drinking at Mory's for members and at the Old Heidelberg for non-members, chow at George and Harry's, and indoor athletics at the Hotel Grade. On weekday nights the students must content themselves with a movie, an occasional play, or a racy meeting of the Political Union.

This account must necessarily be incomplete without a word on post-war conditions. Classes are crowded naturally, some unfortunate creatures are still bunking on the floor of the basketball court, and the average Yale man living at one of the Colleges finds himself much more crowded than his Crimson counterpart, with four men frequently inhabiting an ordinary double.

Married veterans, if they were fortunate, got themselves a room or several rooms in nearby homes, such as those of the Faculty. Others are living in the inevitable Quenset Huts several blocks from the center of the University. How rough this life is or isn't varies undoubtedly with the individuals concerned, but a definite ray of light was east by a New Yorker correspondent recently, who on passing a Quenset Huf and "glaneing through a window, saw a maid in apron and lace-cap briskly shaking up cockfails."