Since we were accepted by Harvard, our favorite pastime has been beating systems--big systems, little systems, any old system. But we must admit that this pastime, which sometimes becomes a vocation, is an all-too-recent acquisition. This admission is made with some nostalgia for the good old days of youthful idealism, and with some regret for the many early years of stultifying diligence.

The pangs are particularly sharp at this time of year when we can wistfully watch young men climb tremulously up the cold concrete steps and into University Hall for their admission's interview. Ah, if we knew then what we think we know now. So many schemes come to mind on how to beat the interview system; that is, assuming we would really want to get into Harvard if we had another go-round.

There seem to be at least three basic techniques for beating the system--the social, the athletic, and the esthetic. The simplest version of the social is to change one's name to Saltonstall or Roosevelt (Teddy's side, of course) and let the interviewer worry about the rest. A simpler and more satisfying method is to sit placidly (i.e., quiet ostentation) throughout the interview and then ask at the session's close, "How much does Harvard need for that new house? Daddy was wondering." Can't miss.

The athletic approach requires a fair amount of colored truth, but if done with the proper finesse, most anything is excusable. For example, "I'd rather not discuss the offer I got from Yale's football coach."

The most challenging approach is the esthetic as it requires a deep understanding of admission's policy psychology. Harvard wants the young men of today who will be tomorrow's old literary lions. With a fiery and mildly turbercular look in the eye, a copy of Keats beneath the arm, sandals on the feet, and a beard, one cannot be denied. The musical approach is more subtle. After five minutes in the interview, whip out a tuning fork, smile delightedly, whip out a pad, and compose like mad for a few minutes. Then resume former composure, quite calmly.

If it is tempting to envision one's way in, it is delectable to imagine bluffing one's way out, if only because many of us have already faked our way in. And so, a few words on how not to get past an admission's interview.

For example, put on a pair of royal blue, pegged pants, rhythm your way into the office, extend hand, and say, "Dig ya cool cat." If this seeems degrading, dress quite conservatively and wear white gloves. When the interviewer extends his hand, shrink away, then walk around his arm and whisper furtively into his ear, "Germs you know, they're all over the place."

If you favor political failure and social commentary, walk swiftly into the room, quickly close the door, stride across the room and pull down the shade, then clasp the interviewer's hand in yours and say, "Comrade!" The frankest approach and perhaps the easiest way to fail is to smirk as you shake hands and say, "Is this really necessary?"