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As 1267 boys filed eagerly into Agassix Saturday night, their faces shiny clean, their shoelaces tied, a disturbing thought was flickering in the back of all of their little minds. But no one dared to mention it. Somehow it seemed to all of them that only seven girls were there.
But being Harvard men--dauntless, resourceful, courteous--they were unperturbed. Some left. Some gnashed their teeth and formed lines to dance with the few, hysterically cheerful Cliffies.
Yes, folks, this was the Radcliffe Riot.
Actually, though, the afternoon and evening festivities went off almost exactly as planned. The adventurous few who showed up with ice skates at 4 o'clock sharp stared for a while at the two inch layer of water, stared for a while at the closed door of Agassix, and finally began a snowball fight to the death.
The next item on the program was a cafeteria-style dinner of spaghetti, salad, and ice cream, at the end of which a pretty freshman rubber-stamped the back of your hand with indelible ink.
But in the real high-schoolly part of the evening from 8 to 12, the tender strains of Mathis, Presley, and the boys brought many a tear to many an eye.
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