ugene McCarthy may have learned something last week: You can't re-create a unique experience. The factors that produced it might be reassembled, but the combination won't click the same way a second time.

On Wednesday afternoon, before his speech to the Law School Forum, McCarthy met with about 100 students for an informal rap session at the Signet Society.

He had returned to Harvard, an unannounced but obvious Presidential candidate, ready to claim his bright young idealists and embark upon another "impossible quest." But when he ran his new candidacy up the flagpole, nobody saluted.

II.

The setting of the meeting was perfect. After all, his views have always been more literary than literal, more poetic than political, and what better place to present them than the book-lined sitting room of Harvard's literary club?

Framed citations on the walls honored not politicians but fellow men of letters. There was one for Thomas Stearns Eliot '10, and another for John Updike '54 ("Eulogist of the farm, mythologist of the locker room, erotologist of suburbia, alchemist of the word," read the award).

For a man who gave up a Senate seat to teach poetry at the University of Maryland, this was the only place to have the meeting.

But there was a deeper appropriateness. McCarthy may have passed for a politician in 1968, but no longer. Though a candidate, he is without a political base, in the throes of divorce (which blows any previous claim to the Catholic vote), and scorned by even reform Democrats for his petulance. His 1968 campaign at least operated on the outskirts of political reality. Now, in terms of any tangible success, his chances are nil.

Yes sir, the professor was at home at the Signet Society.

III.

The students that came were there out of curiosity, not allegiance. This was no 1968 Gene McCarthy the-impossible-dream crowd. In even this early in the campaign, were lapel buttons worn for Candidate and other correct and animated, light-hearted as the faithful awaited arrival.

But the special shared high purpose that characterized McCarthy's 1968 campaign is gone. His arrival is now awaited almost silently, buttonless students standing with a wedge of jack cheese in one hand and a can of Red Cap beer in the other, hoping that the meeting won't last long because there is that paper to write that didn't seem so important in 1968.

The Candidate arrives. "He's here!" says one girl, almost alone in her enthusiasm. And so he is, looking as distinguished as ever in a blue pinstripe suit, gray sweater and red tie. His hair is pure silver now; a liability for a Humphrey or a Nixon, but essential to McCarthy's professorial image.

Assistant professor of Social Studies Martin Peretz, a striking contrast to McCarthy with his long brown beard, brown plaid suit, red polka-dot shirt and white tie, parades the Candidate around. A few hands are shaken, then McCarthy is ready to begin. He sits on the arm of a big red easy chair and the meeting starts.

Many in the room worked for Clean Gene in 1968. For some, this is the first glimpse of the Candidate since they were thanked for their support in the ballroom of some hotel on primary night and bid "On to Chicago."

Well, they went on to Chicago, and now they're back. They've changed. And they wonder, has he changed, too?

IV.