It was a slow conversion. A semester after Secretary of State George C. Marshall presented his historic European Recovery Plan in Tercentenary Theater, Harvard had only begun to acclimate to the post-war era.

A Crimson headline in September heralded a "311-Year Peak" in enrollment as veterans continued to flow into Cambridge from overseas occupation.

Women were affected by the changes as well, as The Radcliffe News told the tale of Mrs. Daniel Cheever, a typical "Radcliffe wife," who balanced motherhood and economics homework--having married a Harvard soldier-turned-professor of government her sophomore year.

"When asked if she has difficulty studying at home Mrs. Cheever replied that she spent most of her time at the library because at home two small problems can prove disconcerting," the article reads. "She remarked that it was unfortunate she isn't a government major for then she could take advantage of a little private instruction with breakfast and dinner."

The war jolted traditional college life, as housing shortages--caused by an influx of students returning from Europe--forced about 200 to take temporary shelter in the Indoor Athletic Building.

Yet while the class remained marked by the War--it was not only the largest but the oldest in history--seniors in the class of 1948 could give up their war-torn fatigues and opt for what author Sloan Wilson would later call "the gray flannel suit" (on sale at the Coop for $45 to $60 by April 1948).

The Mutual Life Insurance Company, for instance, tried to lure Harvard graduates with the prospect of "$4,000 to $9,000 a year, and more!" in advertisements in campus publications.

And according to a Harvard Album poll, seniors predicted they would "be making quite a bit more by the time [their] Twenty-fifth Reunion rolled around--$12,751.32, in fact."

By February and the spring semester, The Crimson declared that "the post-war bulge is flattening" when 5,200 students--down 200 from the fall--enrolled, and no one was forced to commute to school.

For many students, with the worries of the War behind them, campus life and extracurricular endeavors consumed their energies.

Facing a shift from supplying a war to demanding consumer goods and services, the College reaffirmed its commitment to normalcy.

But at the same time, the War--in which 87 percent of the graduating class had served--had profoundly shaped those who would soon be walking through Johnston Gate for the last time.

A Piece of War

While Harvard Yard was no longer filled with thousands of soldiers engaged in military exercises, the constant influx of veterans funded by the G.I. Bill--some married with children--ruffled the old-school naivete that had colored the College in years past.

"[We] did not have the orderly pattern of first-years in Harvard Yard," says Richard M. Hays '49. "People in their '20s and '30s were coming back. It was a time of colorful, absorbing disorganization."