THE TAILORS, promising impeccable taste and creative flair, would have us die first. But His Highness finally arrives, preceded by a chorus of minstrels who will officially record the event in verse and song. The eager public, by now accustomed to royal secrecy, suddenly roars its approval. And there naked amid the applause, a regal smile stitched to his blue lips, stands the Emperor, shivering.

As two concerned members of the Harvard community, we must raise our objections to the proposed Pusey Library, for the project, like the Emperor's new clothes, is a sham.

For the next several years, Harvard students will no longer have to listen for the bells in Memorial Church. Blasting will occur, with horrendous accuracy, on the hour. Security problems here will again make news when Harvard police--unable to use their two-way wrist radios because the devices tend to detonate explosives--will be reduced to using public phones or, even better, two #10 cans and a piece of string.

The atmosphere of the Houses will be altered since Lamont and Widener will no longer provide an escape from noise and distraction. Despite guarantees of continuous "access" to Lamont, students will hardly be able to make use of the library for classes or study with all the dynamite vibrations emanating from the canyon next door. (As if Lamont were ever a desirable place to study with its "early abandoned airport" interior.)

President Bok has stated, "What I really want to do is give the Yard the aura of a great grassy mall." What the architect has contrived is an appalling combination of a suburban shopping plaza, every golfer's nightmare of an eighteenth hole, and a mausoleum (perhaps designed for the 60 most active members of the GSTFU). When one consider the utopian promises of Stubbins and Associates, Disney World pales by comparison.

Consider the precedents this building sets for the Yard: Jordan Marsh has long wanted a Cambridge site. The Golden Arches of one-all-too-familiar franchise would certainly brighten the Dexter Gate. And HoJo's orange roof would assuredly rise only nine feet above the ground. Picture the parades of electric golf carts commuting daily across the river through Harvard Square and replacing the Buildings and Grounds trucks that will no longer have access to the Yard, once the new library narrows passage between Houghton and Widener.

Perhaps the President has reversed his priorities. He has placed his chamber of auras ahead of the quality of undergraduate education and architectural excellence. At the north end of the Yard he has slated Hunt Hall, once home of the Fogg and now relieving the congestion of an overcrowded department, for demolition. In its place will go a dormitory made necessary by budgetary problems and expanded enrollment, further reducing the availability of faculty and its interaction with students. (All done in the name of a hypocritically unbalanced sex admissions policy.)

The President's hasty and ambivalent "solution" to the shortage of library space reflects his disregard for educational quality at the College. (No longer a starry-eyed freshman, Bok must face the real crisis of the declining faculty-to-student ratio.)

We find the Administration's decision-making process objectionable. The President's Green Committee, specifically mandated by him for improving the environmental quality of the Yard, was totally ignored in every phase of planning the new library. In fact, the Committee's master plan of the Yard, prepared by the Graduate School of Design, did not even provide for library expansion. If such a presidential committee had absolutely no input in a decision vital to its purpose, what hope can the scores of committees appointed by Bok have in justifying their existence?

Furthermore, in what position does his attitude put faculty-student committees, such as CHUL and CUE, which are generally weaker in specific mandate? Finally, where does this leave the individual in the Harvard community? Neither the faculty nor the student body has any significant influence in the decision-making process.

AS TO THE DECISIONS already made, we feel that the shortage of space in the University's library system should be dealt with in long-range master plan, rather than in a series of self-defeating and expensive forays into planned obsolescence. The desirability of further expansion underground or demolition of the President's home at 17 Quincy Street, as suggested by the architect, is highly questionable. A well-integrated high-rise structure, utilizing Lamont's existing below-ground foundation (eliminating the need for blasting) might be a more practical solution. (The new library at UMass-Amherst is a fine example of a university planning for its future needs.) In the meantime, Memorial Hall could serve as a temporary library and study area well removed from the noise that construction unfortunately entails.

The Pusey Library's design does not account for the tremendous flow of pedestrian traffic between the Union and the Yard. The single stairway is grossly inadequate for this purpose. Stuvvins's final proposal is at best mediocre and is in fact analagous to draining the IAB pool and installing study carrels there. (Who is to say that a student shouldn't plunge into his work anyway?) The moat surrounding the library clearly characterizes the plan as a last-ditch attempt to artificially improve upon an area best preserved in its natural state. Once the library is completed, how many will never see the grassy knoll that rises past Houghton to a stand of lilac trees, soon to be mere statistics in the University archives?

In distilling our criticism, we sought the professional opinion of an architectural firm familiar with the work of Stubbins and Associates. After reviewing the plans, the architects shared our disgust, adding that more conscientious planning now would ultimately reduce the cost of the library project.

Over 80 per cent of the University will be sorely inconvenienced by the construction, while an elite group of less than 20 per cent will ever be granted access to the facility, which even University officials concede will be obsolete by 1985. Only masterplanning can prevent such disparities in serving the Harvard community.

Until Harvard decides to grant equal admissions and limit its enrollment to a maximum 1500 students per year, the University's architectural heritage will continue to be ravaged by an insensitive few who show little concern for the preservation of a natural environment within an urban campus.

Travis P. Dungan II '74 and Richard W. Douglas '75 are residents of Mather House.