Look--down there, river-ward. See them? The vendors, the die-hard crew fans, the novice crew fans, the cops, the babies, the dogs on leashes, the high school kids, the varsity-jacketed crew folk. But someone's missing: us. The Harvard kids. That's because we're in hiding.

Normalcy returns on Sunday evening, but to tide you over until then, Fifteen Minutes has compiled a variety of stories, opinions and helpful advice pertaining to the upcoming sporting/drinking event. Together, we can wait this thing out. Good luck.

The Head Honcho Speaks

Each year Cambridge plays host to the frenzied masses of prep school students visiting for Head of the Charles weekend. "But," we wondered, "what about the folks back home? What about their schools' administrations? Are they clueless, or just looking the other way?"

Kendra S. O'Donnell, principal of Phillips Exeter Academy, told us that the Head is "a festive weekend," and added that "there are many tempatations for kids." She stresses that the administration "makes it clear that students are expected to act responsibly," but that the school's main concern is safety.

In the past, many students have left for the weekend without solidified plans, hoping to "crash" somewhere once they had arrived. This year, O'Donnell plans to recommend that students secure concrete invitations and have actual destinations to insure their safety.

O'Donnell added cryptically that others in the administration might have more "vivid" stories which they "may or may not wish to share..." SONNA MOON

The Prep School Kid's Guide to Big Fun in Cambridge

Saturday: As soon as the young Exonians are off the bus, they charge into a convenience store for a pack of cigarettes. As they puff on that first Marlboro, they feel the tobacco rush through their clean systems, leaving them light-headed and sweaty.

Next stop: Chef Chow's, high noon. After a luncheon of lo mein and liquor, the savvy prep school kid stumbles around the Square, seeking other rebels. They loudly congratulate each other for being so damn cool. The lucky few who have acquired bottles of hard alcohol usually don't last past 4:00 p.m.

"I remember getting into the cab, giving the driver my address, throwing up all over myself as the cab left the Square, and the driver telling me that there would be a cleaning charge. I woke up on the couch in my basement with my wallet empty, and naked from the waist down," recounts one proud Exonian who asks for anonymity.

Others aren't so fortunate. "This girl named Allie was stumbling between groups of students next to Out-of-Town News, holding a bottle of vodka. She would find some people she vaguely recognized, thrust out her bottle, and in a squeaky voice, shriek, `Who wants a sip of Allie's Vodka? You want a sip of Allie's vodka!' Until a large police officer grunted, `I want a sip of Allie's Vodka!' and confiscated the bottle." recalls Exonian Matt Johnson '97.

Saturday evening: The vomit comes faster, freer. Among those who attempt a pilgrimage to Boston, the number of stories about such-and-such blowing chunks on the subway is mindboggling. The rowdy party-goers who stick closer to Harvard, on the other hand, have one destination: any party that will let them in.

Others rent hotel rooms on their parents' credit cards, and sleep six or more to a room. Invariably someone stumbles into the room, pukes on one bed, and falls asleep in the other. Fifteen minutes later, he empties his stomach on that one, too.

Sunday evening: Everyone returns to school with a story or two, and the Academy locks away her rebellious children for the winter. By December, the Head stories have grown, both in number and notoriety.   ETHAN A. VOGT '97, Exeter '92