In general, if you need a T-shirt, one can be bought at smaller expense (if you like BVD or Fruit of the Loom) at nearby Woolworths.

Decals are absolutely taboo, although your parents will probably sneak into the Coop before they leave to pick one up for the family car. They probably think going back to the neighborhood without one would be like going back naked.

You may have noticed that everyone, depending on where they're living or where their surnames fit into the alphabet, has been scheduled to take a swimming test. Although there is no physical education requirement at Harvard, you have to prove that you can swim a couple of laps in the Harvard of Radcliffe pool to get your piece of paper four years later.

It's one of Harvard's little idiosyncracies that stems from one of Harvard's eccentric donors. Harry Elkins Widner, a non-swimmer, was killed when the Titanic went down during its maiden voyage in 1912. In his memory, his mother erected a library--the major architectural monstrocity that stands in the Yard and the worst place in which to study in the University. But a stipulation in her contract with Harvard required that every Harvard undergraduate degree recipient know how to swim. ('Cliffe women, of course receive Harvard degrees.) And if you don't know how to swim when you get here, they'll try to make you learn. If you do know how when you reach Cambridge, take the test Freshman Week. If you don't, you'll be receiving little notes from 60 Boylston St. (the Athletic Office) throughout your tenure at Harvard.

The most awsome thing you'll have to face Freshman Week has got to be the registration line. As usual that debacle will occur at Memorial Hall, once the mess hail in which all Harvard men ate when they weren't dining in their chosen club. The line--even if you get there an hour before registration is slated to begin--will stretch for what seems like miles, and once inside, you'll be treated to your first real look at the Harvard bureaucracy.

Registration itself is a breeze: you get a personalized packet with lots of forms and pamphlets, fill out a couple of these and move on to what could be the crux of your "orientation" to Harvard.

Chances are better than excellent (and mind you, this is not the National Weather Bureau forecast) that SDS will try to sell you a Challenge, that someone from PBH will attempt to enlist your support for any of its several programs, that you'll be asked to fill out a form for a sports events ticket book, and that The Crimson will be on hand to push both its daily and the Confi Guide.

A word about the last two items. We like The Crimson. We think it's a worthwhile thing to wake up to in the morning (you'll find it at your doorstep if you get a subscription). A group of roommates will probably find that the investment is a good one.

Somewhere on the long registration line you'll get your first look at this year's catalogue. It will tell you who teaches the course. when it meets a synopsis of the subject matter covered, what day the final exam will be given, and that's about it. It doesn't tell you what the reading list is like, how good the lecturer is, which sectionmen to avoid, and how much work the course will require. The Confi Guide does. It is not to be taken completely at face value, but it provides pretty good information about approximately 150 of the courses you'll find in the catalogue. One of these for a team of roommates will also suffice (we're not greedy).