To the Editors of the CRIMSON:

Last summer "some clever entrepreneur," as your newspaper persists in calling me, had some buttons made which read "I Go Here in the Winter." What began as a small, private affair was quickly magnified when the Crime chose to publicize it, and I found myself the living symbol of Harvard snobbery. Mother was so proud; Mr. Crooks, unfortunately, was not.

I was as first amused by the reaction to the buttons. The statement that they were merely a joke was given all the credence given to Nasser's generals. The Summer News adopted the phrase to embody all the ills of the school; once an editorial even imputed that the Administration, through its parietal rules, was in sympathy with what the Summer News had made of the phrase. Sales of the buttons rose, but the buttons themselves disappeared; if they were ever worn by the people who bought them in droves, they were worn only in bed. It became almost fashionable to have a guilty conscience about the matter.

The summies, by contrast, were quite apathetic towards the buttons. Aside from the inevitable cranks, only one bothered to pick up the gauntlet, a delightful girl from Smith whose counter-button read "I'm unimpressed." Miss Greenhouse to the contrary, the buttons were sold without regard to race, creed, or collegiate origin, but only about a dozen summies asked for them. Under the circumstances, such apathy was refreshing.

I do hope that the spectacle of two groups of Harvard snobs berating each other for their snobbery has repaid the summies for any slight blow to their egos. But I also hope that it gave them, as the stared in awe at Widener, a moment's pause. If this community cannot take a reasonably harmless joke on itself, then the "I Go Here in the Winter" buttons have even less value than their creator would like to believe. Stephen Nightingale '67