From the frigid hills of Hamilton, New York, the men of Colgate descended to the balmy Massachusetts southland. And they nearly froze.
After generations of heartily helloing freshmen, and an open house atmosphere during party week-ends, the Colgates made a forlorn and lonely safari through the jungle of Harvard indifference. Their cheery hails of greeting were answered (when at all) by a hurried grunt or canted eyebrow.
Those without local connections searched in vain for the wide open parties they had known back at Colgate. There, a visitor to the school was, by definition, a welcome guest at the large fraternity parties where the door was never locked and people staggered in and out. If, before the game they had seen the commons rooms, it was there that they often expected a post-game house party. And after all, hadn't that fellow in the flannel suit said that you might call a House sort of a big fraternity. It made sense.
Then, coming across the Anderson bridge, still reeling from the disappointment of their boys' one point loss ("Just five minutes more . . . just one minute even, and we'd have . . .") they got another dose of Harvard. As the smiling couples went into the houses, the Colgate men saw individual room windows light up. Phonographs were hardly drowned out by the noise that a three or four couple party makes. They stood and watched, then went off to spend the evening in Boston.
Back in Hamilton they swapped experiences. Durgin-Park was just the finest place to eat this side of Krebs, and even New York would go pretty hard to beat Mahogany Hall and Storyville. But those Harvard guys, They're out of it.
They gave a couple of cheers that start: "H-A-R with a V" and sang some songs about telling a Harvard man a mile away. And soon they all agreed, WAIT TILL NEXT YEAR!