Once upon a time, more than a hundred years ago, a small group of Harvard men decided that they hated going to church. Not only did the University require them to rest on the seventh day, but it also made attendance at regular morning chapel compulsory. In protest, they started a magazine, called The Collegian, in which they vented their frustrations in verse and satire. Here they wrote imaginary dialogues condemning compulsory religion; here they lampooned a pompous Latin professor in dactylic hexameter; here they managed to offend the Harvard faculty so thoroughly that then-president Thomas Hill called the group into his office and threatened it with expulsion after just three issues.

But Harvard men were as famed then for their courage and ingenuity as they are now. Undaunted by this presidential setback, one particularly dedicated Collegian editor proposed that the group simply cease publication of that paper and start up a new one. Everyone loved the plan; amidst great secrecy, the group produced the first issue of the Advocate. The year was 1866, and a Harvard tradition was born.

Since then, the Advocate has undergone great changes, both in content and direction. What began as a politically oriented in-house journal of football scores and sophomoric anecdotes became, within the space of 30 years, a serious literary magazine. In 1869, "Harvard" was added to its official title, perhaps in recognition of the place it was to take in university life During the first years of the new century. Wallace Stevens '01 joined the staff. A young poet named Thomas Stearns Eliot '10 published poems in its pages a few years later. He was followed, in turn, by such literary luminaries as Conrad Aiken 'H. E. E. Cummings '15 (still writing in capital letters), Malcolm Cowley '19, and Archibald MacLeish.

Today's Advocate differs from its predecessors in many respects, although its members and building remain steeped in the magazine's lore. Behind the red door of 21 South Street lie walls of framed memorabilia--special issue covers, photographs, announcements of a poetry reading by John Ashbery, a yellowing newspaper article about five editors forced to resign in 1937 after publishing two "crudely maudlin" articles. ("It is about time that college authorities maintained rigid supervision over the childish literary efforts of these embryonic authors who seem to think it a mark of distinction to dish up dirt for the edification of other immature minds," sputtered the prosecuting lawyer). In a place of honor near the door hangs a specially engraved poem by Richard Eberhart. Half way up the stair we find the cover of an Advocate parody of the Atlantic Monthly which sports poems by "O.O. Goings" and "T.S. Tellalot."

Inside the office to the left of the red door, however, lurk less pleasant reminders of current Advocate worries. A number of notes beseech members to pay their dues, which have escalated to $40 per year. Another announces. "The Advocate phone has been reconnected" over which someone has scrawled "Phone is dead." A hole in a carpet, a lamp without a shade, a curious emptiness to the threadbare offices all evoke a feeling that good times have come and gone. On a rainy Thursday afternoon, hours before the upcoming issue must be sent to production, only three editors find their way to 21 South Street. "Actually, the fact that we're here at all is incredible," says one of them. "To have people in the building hanging out after an issue has gone out would never have happened last year."

Both financial and social woes have plagued the Advocate for many years now. Like most student literary magazines, it has always operated on a shoe-string. But recently, a number of debts have become critical, and the magazine's trustees have had to bail it out on several occasions. Last April, an audit by the I. R. S. led to repeated (and unfounded) rumors that the Advocate would fold. Although the audit was actually prompted by a technical mix-up of the magazine's tax-exempt status, the prevalence of these rumors illustrate another equally acute problem that the Advocate staff has had to deal with recently: a general loss of readership and respect in the Harvard undergraduate community.

There are those who defend the magazine, pointing to its importance as a forum for gifted poets and authors and its historical link with the professional literary world. "It's a very important training ground for young writers, and it's very important for us as a college to develop good writers," says Dean of Students Archie C. Epps III, who has taken a special interest in the Advocate over the years. "It has a national reputation as a professional journal of poetry and art, which is quite an achievement," he adds.

Yet for most students on campus, the Advocate is "that place where they have great parties," "Obnoxious." "A bastion of phonyism and non-literature," and "All affect and no substance," are less prevalent but equally persistent student comments.

The Advocate's current executive board, while tipping its hat to tradition, is trying to spruce up the magazine in many ways. By experimenting with its format, board members say they hope to appeal to a somewhat broader readership. With certain changes in administrative organization, they believe the Advocate may surmount the financial troubles that have proved so debilitating in the past. And by attempting to draw more people into the building itself, they hope to help it become more of a focal point for the Harvard literary community.

"We're trying to give the magazine greater currency--trying to push it back towards being a center for Harvard undergraduate literature and arts community, for young critics and writers at Harvard," says Advocate President Lynne Murphy '83. Lighting cigarette after cigarette, she speaks in a soft, punctuated staccato, occasionally tripping over words in her rush to get them out. "We hope the place itself can become more of a center for literary discussion and debate," she repeats. "For the past ten years everyone's talked about it but somehow it's never happened."

One upcoming change which Murphy feels may infuse the magazine with more day-to-day relevance is a renewed emphasis on non-fiction. Although it began as a forum for student opinion and debate, the Advocate has over the years moved increasingly towards a "pure art for art's sake" approach. In "First Flowering. The Best of the Harvard Advocate," editor Edward Smoley describes the gradual withdrawal from issues of university-wide relevance that post-World War II board members effected. "The Advocate editors were becoming a literary clique, the magazine their house organ. They showed little interest in student affairs," he writes. During the 60s and 70s, the emphasis shifted towards more artwork and a slicker presentation. James Atlas '72, an ex-Advocate president and a current editor of the Atlantic, remembers trying to improve circulation by putting a young woman with bare breasts and a whip on the cover. "It didn't work," he notes wistfully.

Now, Murphy hopes that the section of short critical reviews and commentary in the upcoming November issue will do the trick. "Fiction and poetry are timeless, detached, marginal," she explains. "The more the magazine focuses only on that, the more it risks becoming marginal itself." Additional interviews, longer criticism, and perhaps a community calendar listing arts events might also give what another editor calls "a sense of the editorial board as having a personality beyond just our art."

Yet Murphy and other members of the staff stress that it is undesirable and unrealistic for the Advocate to attempt to attract too broad a readership. "It wouldn't be necessarily elitist to say that not everyone can understand poetry," says David Longobardi '84, whose position as "Pegasus" on the magazine entails scheduling poetry readings and other literary visits. "It's the nature of art to be esoteric," he insists. "Criticizing the Advocate for being esoteric because it deals with art is like saying that the Journal of American Medicine is esoteric because it deals with medicine."

"We generally accept, although we wish we could help it, that there's a large part of the undergraduate community that doesn't read us," admits Murphy. "But there are also those who do," she adds, singling out Adams and Dunster Houses as dedicated sources of readership.

"There's a place for being esoteric and high brow," she continues. "The Advocate serves as an outlet for that element."

One unfortunate side-effect of this limited appeal which editors stress is intrinsic to any literature or arts journal is a difficulty in generating revenue for the magazine. "People don't believe in it much as an advertising medium," says Murphy. This perception and a relative drop in alumni support during recent years have often left the Advocate's staff struggling to fund its $10,000-$12,000 annual budget. With three expensive issues a year to put out, editors have sometimes found themselves freezing through winters in the Advocate building because they couldn't afford to heat it.

Although board members are cheerful about these difficult periods, Murphy also believes that something can be done to put the magazine back on its feet. She dates the current financial hardship to the middle '60s when an issue ran with an inordinately expensive glossy cover. So, for the first time in many years, the Advocate will not have a photographic cover this November.

Murphy also hopes to build up a core of business-minded editors by reforming the business comp. "Most people who come to the Advocate are shy about selling ads or dealing with money," she says. "Now this is changing--people are becoming more sensitive to the fact that since we don't attract business types, everyone has to take a share in keeping the apparatus of the organization functioning properly."

More important than financial reform, however, is a new direction the Advocate seems to be taking in the character and goals of its membership During the past ten years or so, the clubby spirit of the 40s or 50s has changed to what many perceive as jet-set elitism. Although they have always solicited work from any member of the Harvard community. Advocate editors have sometimes seemed like what editor Chris Caldwell '83 calls a "collection of cocaine snorting, cavalier, callous glitterati." As an arts magazine, the Advocate has appelned to the avant garde in some people, and thus scared others away.

But Caldwell, Murphy, and other editors stress that this super-sophisticated outlook has dissipated this year mostly because much of that element of the magazine graduated last June. "We're getting a broader group of people now," says Longobardi, noting that a large and diverse group of freshmen is in the current comp. Since all freshmen received a copy of the Advocate in their registration mailing, many came to the comp without any preconceived notions of what an Advocate per on should be like, he explains.

"The Advocate is really changing," says Prose Board Chairman Barbara Eppler '83 The rising seniors make up a "more sincere group, mere of a group devoted to the magazine than a social one," she elaborates "We're trying to mediate some of the traditional terror of elections--It's become a more truly open society, in which people earn laurels based on how acute they are about literature," and not on "how clever they can be at the expense of someone else's piece.

Editors hope this sense of openess will draw more people into the building itself. Murphy plans to install new furniture, carpets and a refrigerator to give a cozier feeling. Longobardi hopes that with beer and a neater appearance, they can make it "more of a place for people to hang out." And Caldwell is reorganizing the magazine's library.

With these changes, the Advocate may well become much more than a place for great parties "The more people who read the magazine, the more people will want to submit things," says Longobardi it can become a tool of education that's the pinnacle-- a forum for thought, something that people will read and say 'that's what people are thinking about art and literature!'" After pauses for breath he continues. "Then, the faculty will read it avidly," he says. "And then suddenly it will be the place where if you're writing something, that's where you'll want it to be."