The Mail Box
To the Editors of the CRIMSON:
This is to thank whom it may concern for the H-R Mixer. I enjoyed it immensely and love all Harvard men dearly--especially the drunken football player who thickly asks you "Ain't they got no rock and roll in this here town?"; the prep school boy who arrives with more money than manners and will no doubt leave with more of the former and even less of the latter; the Big Man from Texas who tells you how to remember his name by shortending it to A. Wolf, and then with a great little gleam in his eye, continues the impression by drawing, "Where I come from a guy's a guy and a girl's a girl--"; the typical ivy league character who came to Harvard to raise hell even as his grandfather Cabot before him; the intellectual who studies you as dance and looks as if he eats T.S. Eliot for breakfast and makes you feel some odd sensation akin to indigestion in your intellectual stomach simply because you've been eating lollipops all your life. The evening is made complete by a Junior from M.I.T. who climbed in the window and is--sad to say--NORMAL. I mean of course, IN COMPARISON.
I thank you for the Mixer. It was lovely. I regret to say, however, I felt like an olive in a cocktail shaker. I am, in fact, throughly "shock up" and will probably hate all men for the rest of my life and get a complex on top of it all. Thank you again. A Prospective Old Maid '60