"I know that it is hard to stay at work here," Lowell wrote. "It is harder to lie down under fire than charge at a greater risk. But if it is one's duty it must be done, and the soldier does not select his duty. He does what is considered best for the contingeent as a whole."

By June 1, 80 Harvard men had laid down their lives to make the world safe for democracy. The CRIMSON ran a daily "Harvard Casualties" box, with deaths averaging more than one per day through June.

Typical of the Class of 1918 was Eliot Adams Chapin, who on June 27 flew his De Haviland two-seater on a bombing run against a railroad at Thionville, north of Metz. A swarm of German Fokker Scouts atacked the formation, raking Chapin's gas tank with bullets. Witnesses saw Chapin calmly shake hands with his navigator as the De Haviland burst into flames at 1,300 feet.

So few students were able to attend Class Day that year--though it was billed as the first "reunion" for the Class of '18--that ceremonies were moved from the Stadium to Sanders Theatre. They were again moved to the quadrangle behind Sever Hall so that the Class could stage a confetti battle.

The CRIMSON described the occasion in words that might again serve the Class of '18 on its fiftieth reunion: "Class Day, war or no war, is a time for rejoicing. It is the day of reunions, of confetti, of lantern lights, of beautiful girls,--it is, above all, the one day when eveerybody should be happy."

With war still raging in Vietnam, it also is a good day to visit Memorial Church, which was dedicated to those Harvard men who died in the first world war. Listen for the bell, which bears the inscription "In Memoray of Voices that are Hushed." Pause before the fallen knight of The Sacrifice, a grieving woman at his head. See engraved the names of Eliot Adams Chapin and 372 other Harvard men who died to make the world safe for democracy. Think of Vietnam and the Class of '68 and tomorrow.