It was Yale weekend madness Saturday, soundness that must have seemed more familiar to many of the alumni back in the end zones than it did to war-bred undergraduates on both sides of the field. From raccoon coats to built-in ther-mos jugs, Cambridge was a scene lifted out of the twenties.

Cars blocking streets half a mile up Massachusetts Avenue . . . . crowds jamming every restaurant, bar, cafeteria, and drugstore around the Square . . . . flags flapping in the breeze up Mount Auburn Street, winding themselves around the flagpoles . . . . masses of human beings seething over Larz Anderson Bridge before the game--eager, hopeful, warm, and equally happy; then afterwards--just a little tighter, a little colder, most of them a little less happy . . . . all of these added up to the first really big weekend of the year.

The battle of the bands sort of blew away in the Stadium gale . . . . the Yale tooters looked blue all the way through in the flimsy outfits as the wind whipped through the loose-fitting uniforms . . . the Harvard Band started out with the temporary advantage of a lull in the storm, but the Crimson stands burst into a consternated hum when their drum major, failed in two attempts to catch his baton after throwing it over the goal posts.

No one was quite sure how the battle of the bass drum began . . . . but it ended with a three-wheeled drum carriage and a bruised Blue . . . . quick action saved the day for the drum, and it rolled on the field again just in time to join the half-time serenade of the Elis . . . a slightly besotted tuba player performed on his instrument and around it . . . . and the Wintergreen medley once again brought down the house.

The Yale stands started out with some vigorous pre-game cheers, but five minutes later they had subsided to a morbid despondency . . . . after the first quarter the cheering volumes gradually switched, with the sound of Brekekekek attaining attaining eventual superiority . . . the goalposts went swiftly and cleanly--not with a whimper but with a bang . . . Richard Corcoran '46 was dangerous with his heels as he hung from the north bars.

The saga of Chip Gannon and Levi Jackson, due for three more years of exploration, started with a bang . . . . Levi looked very much like a frightened freshman in the opening quarter as he fumbled, stumbled, and then got off a kick on the bottom of his shoes . . . . Chip performed like a veteran, gaining the praise of both sides . . . . Jackson came back later in the game with a series of fine plays . . . . he almost went all the way once, but was stopped by a flying block by Gannon.