To the Editors of the CRIMSON:

To some extent, my friend, you are wrong. I have read your letter(s) and tried to agree with what you say but Billy DeBord keeps cropping up.

In the summertime I work for a cabinet maker who builds handmade furniture-- I work sanding and finishing--and working with me is Billy DeBord. Billy is a Negro, but for the life of me, as much as I try, I can not remember thinking of him as a Negro. He was just Billy to me, and he worked with me sanding and finishing. We ate lunch together, hacked around, met in off-hours to discuss design over coffee, and--though we weren't intimate friends, we were close friends. Billy and I write each other. The thing is that he is Billy and not a white man or a black man or anything of the sort.

Billy stuttered--but you know how you can get used to someone who stutters? After a while, it is just a part of Billy--as is his mannerisms, his sense of humor, the way he moves--yes, his color.

And I don't mean to make a case for Billy as an Oxford-bred Harry Belafonte narrow-nosed Negro either. Billy has the drawl, the kinky hair, the broad nose and lips and I haven't the vaguest idea of what his education is, though I'd guess it's about high school level.

But enough about Billy. God knows I don't want to be protesting too much. I hardly claim that very many people think this way, but if I am right in what I say then the seed is there and the concepts you've suggested are already in practice here and there.

Why did I write you here? I'm down in Stillman Infirmary with a cold and I forgot to bring toothpaste. I went to the main desk and asked the nurse if I could get some and she said "No, you'll have to get someone to bring you some." There was a workman in khakis standing at the desk, one of these people who changes light bulbs and sets thermostats and without being asked he turned to me and said:

"Let me check in the lost and found for you. If there's toothpaste there I can bring it up if you don't mind it being from lost and found, can't guarantee anything but I'll try."

I told him my room number, thanked him in advance for whatever he could do and sat down in the lobby and read the CRIMSON with your letter in it. When I got back there was a tube of toothpaste here, and I wished I could thank the guy for his thoughtfulness.

Unable to do so, I guess you might say I am transferring everything to you and doing you a thoughtfulnes by taking time to write; and I hope it has meaning for you.

You see to me, the fellow who went and got the toothpaste was just that. He was a guy who was making a living by being a workman. Not that he was in essence a workman--his station in life. And therefore his thoughtfulness was not his "job" but his humanity.

I've worked for student newspapers and at one time had an opportunity to interview Cornelia Skinner, a distinguished actress. At the time I was 16 years old and I was with two other young people who were both totally awed by the woman. But I was not. To me, she was merely a likeable woman blessed with fortune and a good deal of talent. She was nothing more or less than a human being as much as the workman or Billy DeBord--or you and I.

I suppose when President Kennedy can speak at Lowell House at Harvard without the awed pandemonium that today would accompany such an occurrence, then perhaps the world will have achieved what you suggest.

But look for the signs. They're there. The world is moving in this direction and if you look you'll see. But man is imperfect and impatience can lead to unhappiness if uncontrolled. Daniel S. Rattiner

The above was addressed in care of the CRIMSON to the author of a letter entitled "A Man at Harvard" which appeared in the CRIMSON. Feb. 8. It is printed here with the permission of the author.--Ed. Note.)