A quiet, bloodless, but uniformly effective revolution is fomenting on the corner of Linden and Mt. Auburn Sts. At its start, a few students lost their heads; after almost a year, all are able to hold them up again.

For Claverly Hall, once the vault of Gold Coast opulence, and later the dungeon of scholastic indolence, has now achieved a new and satisfying role; an integral part of the House system.

Last year, when the seven House masters decided to slice out "entries" in the original of the plush Mt. Auburn street apartments, there were cries of "stigma, stigma." But now, the revolution seems complete. National Scholars open their mail where probationary students once trod; football players use the elevator that hauled the scions of the Gold Coast; average students joke about the resplendence that was, and the stigma that is gone.

So far gone, in fact, that one of the masters, Elliott Perkins of Lowell House can say: "To me, it is something of a mark of distinction and vote of confidence from the master for a man to be sent to Claverly. After all, the place must keep its desirable character."

Some of the present residents will disagree. "It's so far to walk, for meals," they say. "And it's ugly from the outside." But to most of its residents, the advantages of living in Claverly offset any handicaps. Indeed, to many, who have chosen to remain there next year, "Clav" must offer something extra.

'Advantage All its Own'

Milton I. Vanger, a Dunster history tutor who is resident in Claverly, summarizes this latter view: "The place has advantages all its own. The rooms are bigger; it is convenient to the Yard, and it is relatively informal. But the physical advantages are only part of the attraction. For you get the best of both worlds--full participation in House activities, as well as academic seclusion."

That Vanger's remarks are not intended as shallow consolation to freshmen who may be assigned there, is clear, for like several suites of sophomores, he has asked to remain there.

The rooms are generally bigger than in House suites. Living rooms retain some of their original Victorian splendor, with ornate, carved mantlepieces, curving windows, and high ceilings. Some bathrooms still feature marble wash basins, and most have bathtubs.

This grandeur is also obvious in the impressive foyer--bulwarked by a four-inch thick mahogany door. A carved, domed ceiling overlooks the entrance, which leads a marbled path to the massive grand staircase. An erratic elevator, however, bears most of the traffic to upper floors.

There isn't much fraternization between the floors--or "entries," but because of this lack of cohesion, Claverly can achieve the "academic seclusion," Vanger describes. As for social activities, House parietal rules extend completely to Claverly, and are benevolently administered by a fire-and-theft watchman.

All Within A Block

The advantages of closeness are obvious--restaurants, groceries, a laundry are all within a block. The Yard is one long block distant, and the Square two.

Miscellaneous advantages: the dormitory has gotten a high percentage of new furniture--which has blended surprisingly well with the occasional paneled walls and tiled fireplaces. It is believed that the common room will be renovated next year, and students and tutors are waging a good-natured campaign for the opening of the hall's swimming pool.

The conservative may still raise doubts. "I don't care about big doors--what about walking four or five blocks for meals?" Some sort of breakfast adjustment plan, however, now seems likely, and as far as lunch is concerned, Vanger points out that all House members have to walk back from class anyway. This leaves dinner, and few of this year's residents object to evening hikes.

Tower-struck freshmen will still complain about the building's squat, bulging appearance. But Latin-chalked facades do not an outhouse make, while big rooms and closeness seem to insure a satisfied full house. With a system of assignment to Claverly as indiscriminate as assignment to an A or F entry, the Hall should continue to serve its useful, respected purpose. There is nothing radical in a revolution that can achieve such ends.