It's time the men around here, if indeed they are men at all, stopped letting the girls over at Radcliffe push them around. Every Saturday night 1100 Cliffies in search of respectable entertainment herd a similar number of Harvardian sheep into Boston. Most of them attend movies, but the simple fact that the poor dolt had to trek into Boston with his date seems to compensate for the vulgarity of mere flicking out.

Occasionally a few brave souls, among them this writer, try for a local show. Then, if there is something really tweedy on, the little women swarm to the Brattle, where the debutantes rub elbows with the intellectuals, and respectability survives.

At this juncture even fewer courageous souls, still including me, respectfully suggest a double feature at the U.T., evoking either scalding hauteur or tears from our dates. "How," they hiss, "can you ignore the excellent movies, some in English, which are now spellbinding the Boston cognoscenti? Do you expect me to tell the girls in the dorm that I went to the U.T.? And saw a double feature?"

"But sweetie," we whimper, "most of the Boston stuff seems eventually to come to the U.T." In reply the ladies then go into a grim, tooth-grinding pout, and usually get their way.

A mere handful of undaunted lowbrows continue to drag their lady-friends to the U.T., and average 80 per cent fewer kisses on the Radcliffe doorsteps than their more tractable brethren.

Seth Field, manager of said theatre, recently received a visit from one of those dauntless diehards (me), and answered the ageless query, "Will it come to the U.T.?" with surprising clarity. Mr. Field, B.U. '37, said "yes." Pressed for details, he added:

(1) All pics become available for his use 21 days after they close their Boston run. The extra-price stuff (like "Psycho" or "Expresso Bongo") does not hit the Square until after a subsequent regular-price Boston run. Then, after the usual 21-day blackout, it slithers into the U.T., much to the distress of those who have seen it in Boston for more cash.

(2) He doesn't run the sizzling sexpots. When the U.T. was abuilding 30 years ago, its owners had to promise Harvard not to show anything that might give the kiddies lewd ideas. He also avoids the teen-age monster rubbish because it attracts too many little rough-rocks.

(3) Bosley Crowther of the Times is his guide. If Bosley says its trash, he may easily pass it up. Or if he has to use it (and he admits he has to use a lot of pure crocks), he'll play it in the Sunday to Tuesday slot.

(4) He makes sure to run college favorites. He's run all of the Guinesses, several times. The un-American stuff at the Exeter, Kenmore and Beacon Hill, all makes its way to the local popcorn emporium, as long as it's in our native tongue.

So the next time your little lady allows how attendance at the U.T. is non-U and not at all Ivy League, and she hopes you will falter her sensibilities by emptying your pockets for a single feature, just stuff her mouth full of popcorn and lead her to the first row of the downstairs reserve section. I'll be there.