3. A Pre-Season Trip to Harvard

This chapter tells about a fabled episode that was originally documented in Nice Row, MIT, a great little book written by my colleague Jack Lynch ’63 about his undergraduate years at MIT.1

Jack tells the story-a totally unsubstantiated, and purely hearsay story-about the time when unidentified members of the MIT Lightweight Crew felt obliged to paint a large red MIT “T” on the dock of the Harvard boathouse.  Jack makes it clear that this episode probably never took place.  Nevertheless, since I am in possession of additional details concerning this alleged prank from those who may or may not have been directly involved, I have chosen this chapter of my story about the 1963 rowing season to reveal these details publicly for the first time.

This band of renegades must have been feeling pretty smug about the upcoming season because to paint the Harvard dock and then lose to Harvard in the upcoming Biglin Bowl race would have been humiliating, to say the least.  Clearly, this motley crew had no intention of losing.

This episode, so it is said, took place in the middle of the night on Saturday, March 30, 1963, the last day of spring training.  Harvard’s boathouse is located on the Boston side of the Charles River across from Harvard’s main campus, easily approachable from MIT.  In Paul Revere’s day the mantra was “One if by land; two if by sea.” However, for a bunch of inexperienced pranksters from MIT, this left far too much to chance.  It was determined that MIT would approach the Harvard dock by land and by sea; or, to be more accurate, by road and by river.

If this prank were to be attempted at all, it was essential that it be done in an authentic way. It was known that an ample supply of MIT red and gray paint was stored in the boathouse, the same that was used to paint the red T and gray background on the tips of MIT’s oars.  An accomplice was enlisted who would provide a key to the boathouse and storeroom, and most importantly, a key to one of MIT’s coaching launches.

It was well after midnight. Within minutes of entering the MIT boathouse, the River Team loaded their supplies into the launch and proceeded to head upstream on the Charles in the direction of Harvard, a distance of about two miles.  Meanwhile, the Road Team approached Harvard’s boathouse via Memorial Drive and stashed their car on the Cambridge side just one short bridge away from their destination.  Just as the motor launch reached Harvard’s dock via river, the other team threw a borrowed carpet over the barbed wire fence surrounding the boathouse, easily scaled the fence, and met their comrades on the dock.

Up to this point, the plan was being executed to perfection.  The idea was to paint a large red T on the dock, surrounded by a circle of gray. The project was progressing nicely (T completed; circle about 80% complete), when one of the renegades said in a loud whisper, “I think the cops are coming.”  And indeed they were.  Fortunately, or so it seemed at the time, the intruders were from the Harvard Campus Patrol rather than the Boston Metropolitan Police.  Just as fortunately, these cops were not much brighter than the average Harvard student.  By the time they located a boathouse key, made it through the front door and out to the dock, the guys from MIT had hastily posted a “Careful, Wet Paint” sign and had disappeared as quietly as they arrived.  After a short period of hiding under one of the bridges between Harvard and MIT, the River Team returned the borrowed motor launch and headed to their respective homes.  The Road Team departed in a similarly hurried fashion.

One of the alleged pranksters made a brief trip up to Harvard early Sunday morning to survey the evidence.  Other than that, this prank was history, so to speak.  Or so they thought.

Back on a regular schedule after a spring training of double workouts, the crew arrived at MIT’s boathouse late Monday afternoon.  We met in our usual place before putting our shells on the water, waiting as we always did to see if there were to be any changes to the seat assignments.  Uncharacteristically, Gary Zwart was not present.  There was the usual chatter, and there might even have been some ill-advised comments, something to do with Harvard’s dock.  Then Gary appeared from the coach’s office, his face flushed red. He proceeded to deliver a lecture the likes of which we had never heard from him before.  It appears that the Harvard Campus Patrol had contacted the Head Coach of Rowing at Harvard, reporting the willful defacement of Harvard property by a gang of students from MIT.  The Head Coach of Rowing called Harvard’s Athletic Director who called the President of Harvard who called the President of MIT who called MIT’s Director of Athletics who called MIT’s Head Coach, Jack Frailey.  By the time all of the other coaches, including Gary, were called in by Jack, the scope of the crime had been enhanced beyond the defacement of Harvard property to include the unauthorized use of MIT property and the breaking and entering of both Harvard and MIT facilities.

You could hear a pin drop as Gary delivered his lecture. He made it crystal clear that these crimes would surely result in those involved being expelled from MIT.  The entire rowing season and indeed graduation itself had been put at risk.  Gary made it clear that if he ever found out-directly or indirectly-who was involved in this alleged crime, he had made a solemn commitment to report the names to the administration.

The absolute silence continued.  It was probably only a minute, but it seemed like an hour.  Finally, Gary broke the silence to say, “OK, we’re late. Let’s get the boats on the water.”  We left the room in complete silence, no one daring to establish eye contact with anyone else. However, out of the corner of my eye, I am almost certain that I detected a faint grin on Gary’s face.

In a normal workout we would head downstream from the MIT boathouse into the Charles River basin.  Since the river narrows in the upstream direction toward Harvard, it was much too congested to get in a good workout.  However, Gary announced that on this particular Monday we would be rowing upstream, and that’s exactly what we did.  Two miles into the workout we stopped for a breather.  Was it a coincidence that Gary stopped us directly in front of the Harvard boathouse?  I can’t answer that, but there we were, and right there in front of us, the infamous Harvard dock.  No Red T; no Gray Circle-nothing unusual at all except what looked like a fresh coat of brown paint covering the center of the dock. By now there was an entire boatload of grins, but not a single word was even whispered. Soon thereafter we were on our way.

As I wrote at the outset, this entire episode is probably just a piece of fiction.  At best, the story has been grossly exaggerated; that is, if it ever took place at all.  You are now in possession of the facts. You will need to draw your own conclusion.

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

:
:

Oh, by the way.  The alleged prankster who made that short trip up to Harvard early Sunday morning to survey the evidence?  It appears that his camera made that trip as well.2

(Footnotes)

1 Nice Row, MIT, is a wonderfully amusing read for anyone who has an interest in MIT, or rowing, or both. It is available from Amazon.com.

2 I received a number of responses when Chapter Three was originally sent out in email format, including the following:

“It’s amazing how total fiction can seem so real in retrospect”….DB ‘63

“None of this probably ever happened”…..PS ‘64

And my favorite which appeared in Nice Row, MIT, just before Jack Lynch ’63 revealed this fable for the first time: “Here’s what didn’t happen…….”