One night in September 1946, I climbed out of the subway at Mass.

Ave. and Holyoke Street carrying on my shoulder my thick, white Navy sea bag.

In the other hand, I carried a scuffed, family grip that opened at the top like a big doctor's satchel, as well as--and I can't remember how--an upright Underwood typewriter.

I put everything down in front of a gate that said something such as: "Enter To Grow in Wisdom." A fellow approached and smiled. He wore dark-gray trousers, a tweed jacket, a button-down shirt and a striped tie.

"You a freshman?" he asked, and when I nodded, he said, "You look like you need help. Where are you going?"

He picked up the typewriter and the grip and started through the gate. I had expected Harvard kids to be unfriendly, or, let's say, not entirely egalitarian. In fact, I was there that night, because my high school English teacher kept me after classes so that I would write away for the application to Harvard, and kept me again until I filled it out.

"Holworthy," I said, hoisting the sea bag. "Thanks a lot."

Pointing with his head as we walked, he said: "This is Wigglesworth and Boylston and Grays and Weld. This is John Harvard. Can't see him very well at night."

He opened the unlocked ground-floor door to Holworthy, and we carried everything to the top landing. A brass plaque on my door listed former residents. I recognized only Robert Benchley.

"Well, thanks a lot," I said. "Thanks." I was panting, and so was he.

Should I offer a tip to a Harvard Man?

"As a matter of fact," he said, pulling some papers out of his pocket, "I work for the Gold Coast Valeteria. Across from The Lampoon. We do laundry, dry cleaning. Very good on rep ties. Would you like to sign up right now? Get it out of the way?" He offered a contract for nine months' service.

"Gee, I'm sorry. Let me look at it. Tomorrow, okay? Thanks a lot." In fact, I planned to mail my laundry home to my mother.

Trial By Fire

He left, and I knocked on the door with the plaque. I turned out to be the youngest roommate, and the one who had spent only 13 months in the service. Two roommates had served long tours in Europe and another in the Pacific. Last to arrive, I drew a top bunk.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to a coil of black, braided rope with a harness that was hanging from a big brass hook near the bedroom window.