"A Real Sock It to 'Em"
Cabbages & Kings
In twos and threes the band straggled into Memorial Hall. Freshmen with their forlorn, shivering dates stood waiting under the feet of John Harvard, restless upperclassmen tried to study but strained to hear the stirring sounds of "Crimson in Triumph Flashing": the Princeton football rally was about to start.
Suddenly the tension broke as the partly red, partly trench coated band blared out of Memorial; across the street it marched, effectively blocking traffic. A widecyed neophyte questioned the second trombonist, "Where is the band going to march?" The musician answered evasively, "All over," then slyly queried, "You from Princeton?" Seeing the hastily produced Bursar's Card, he explained, "It's a good thing, otherwise you'd get killed tonight."
The groups in front of John Harvard thawed out with a cheer while the dates began to relax when they saw that Harvard was pretty much like Princeton after all. Surging on through the Yard, the robust individuals in the increasing mob shouted to the freshman halls, "HoorrrRah, Holworthy, get out and get behind the team!" Each time five or six joined the crowd.
Down Holyoke St. swarmed the band followers, chanting "Whad'we eat, whad'we eat? TIGAH meat, TIGAH meat!" The windows of the Advocate shut hastily as the brawling procession swung up Bow Street, and opened as it turned down DeWolfe, Past the Houses, it headed toward the Indoor Athletic Building.
The band ran through its athletic repetoire on the steps of the I.A.B., the cheerleaders jumped and gesticulated wildly, and almost five hundred supporters responded lustily. To cries of "We want Clasby!" Coach Lloyd Jordan slouched out of the building and said that "Dick may not go tomorrow, but it will be a real sock it to 'em ball game anyway."
Far from satisfied, the mob headed to the Square, the vision of Pogo driving them on. "These things just don't happen, ya gotta make them happen," some body said. One enterprising student climbed on top of the Subway Station and led the incensed crowd in "Tiger Meat." Three more men quickly followed his example and were quickly surrounded by a horde of University Policemen. On Massachusetts Avenue traffic stood still. One by one the self-appointed cheerleaders dropped into the waiting arms of the policemen, and surrendered their Bursar's Cards. These were the Martyrs and the crowd shouted its disapproval as one.
In a futile gesture of contempt, an enraged student threw dry leaves into an officer's face, then sprinted for the Yard. But the police ignored the bold agitator, and dragged a smirking youth without his Card toward the basement of Lehman. Now thinning, the ralliers stamped and shouted as the door closed on the unfortunate one. Yells of "The cop beats his wife," rose above the roar.
Seeing they could not save the hero, the still lessening ranks took up the cry of "On to Nate's." Switfly two proctors headed the leaders off. Their spirit broken, the would be rioters disbanded. A policeman shrugged his head and said, "These Harvard guys just can't start a riot anymore.