(Ed. Note--The Crimson does not necessarily endorse opinions expressed in printed communications. No attention will be paid to anonymous letters and only under special conditions, at the request of the writer, will names be withheld.)

To the Editor of the CRIMSON:

So much mud has been thrown at the blue coated protectors of the peace that I feel obligated to cast this ray of sunshine upon their erstwhile black countenances.

An evening at Boston's palaces of refreshment left its marks upon my equilibrium when, driving away from one of the houses in search of a final noggin, my progress down Memorial Drive was interrupted by an M. D. C. squad car, equipped complete with two officers and radio. An unaccountable glow of happiness had compelled me to dash with elan through a yellow light, which happiness the officers did not seem to share. In reply to their greeting inquiry as to whether I wanted to pay a hundred dollar fine, I parried that I had but two dollars and was not over anxious to part with them.

Realizing my state of elation, one of the officers seized the helm of my car, inquired as to my domicile, whither he drove me, followed by the squad car, and with maternal solicitude did not abandon me to the sleep of Bacchus and Morpheus until he tucked in the blankets and turned out the light.


I still have my two dollars, my driving license, and my reputation for sobriety. Greater love hath no cop. (Name withheld by request.)