The Restic Saga

THE MAIL

To the Editors of The Crimson:

If [Football Coach] Joe Restic has to tuck in every member of the team each night, I'm switching to Yale. At least there they dreamed up "the fantastic tuck," remember? Two beautiful coeds plus champagne for each guy. What a way to go!

Confused is the word for the guys who sent the letter.

From the word go they just couldn't do any better!

The following punishment they deserve

For their astonishing colossal nerve:

To see the fair maiden of their dreams never

And be without feminine companions forever.

And drink the dregs of very sour beer

Until the Sahara arrives over here!

More seriously, when I read the Crimson story about the football players writing Joe Restic to tell him how to coach the team, almost literally you could have knocked me over with a feather. In my view, the Harvard community is one where academic freedom includes neither the right to burn the American flag, nor the right to burn in effigy any of Percy Haughton's Crew, regardless of occasional mistaken aloofness. (Percy himself must be doing a slow burn while turning over in his grave.)

After all, aloofness, as I recall, is very typically Harvardian in character. In any event, if we invite them all to leave, we embarrass the entire Admissions Office, and what is more important, face the unpleasant prospect of building a new team from scratch while suffering a series of humiliating defeats at the hands of every other Ivy League team. What kind of low-grade moron or morons started all this-at Harvard of all places? I suggest a complete review of our admissions procedures.

The greatest honor any graduating high school or prop school student can receive is admission to Harvard College! If this is what they do with such a dear privilege. Heaven help America and Americans. Indeed, it may be that not even Heaven can help us. I was always taught that the Good Lord helps those who help themselves.

Sorry to be so verbose, but I'm still boiling with rage, quite ready to take on one at a time, with eight ounce gloves, anyone who signed or wanted to sign that letter. Sam Green '49   Port Washington, N.Y.