A beginner's guide to Yale's many myths

By Hugh Hunter

As an institution about to embark on its fourth century of existence, Yale has its share of cherished legends and rumors. While some of the tall tales surrounding Yale develop over time by word of mouth, many are expertly constructed piles of what a non-Yale-educated layperson might refer to as bullshit.

This said, we here at the Herald feel it is our duty to shamelessly pass these rumors along to the incoming freshman class and try to pass them off as facts.

Yale libraries tend to have a particularly heavy share of mysterious lore associated with them, probably because students need to convince themselves that there is actually something "cool" about studying. Sterling Memorial Library, for example, is rumored to have a miniature medieval city built on the roof, due to a combination of excess building materials and some inventive workers. The Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library is said to have an elaborate mechanism to protect its priceless contents, which entails lowering the books into a vault, pumping all oxygen out to suffocate fire and allowing the rest of the building to collapse on the vault, in the case of a nuclear attack.

The Beinecke apparatus isn't the only ingenious Yale measure designed to protect hordes of Yalies from the threats of the Cold War. In a crafty and well-conceived effort that rivaled "Star Wars" in its brilliance, the US Air Force wanted to house Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles (ICBMs, for those not aptly versed in nuclear weaponry) in Harkness tower. Who would have thought that a 216-foot tower could house anything but bells and a clock?

Other rumor-infested buildings include Vanderbilt Hall, which was built with its courtyard facing the street instead of Old Campus because the designer left his inept assistant to direct construction. Morse College is reported to have a right angle contained within--no doubt the source of a chuckle or two for its geometrically-challenged architect, Eero Saarinen.

Now, if you're concerned about enduring your four years at Yale and actually leaving with a coveted Yale degree, then you had better pay special attention. In Branford College, stepping on a certain grindstone at the intersection of two walkways can doom you to flunk out of school. Walking through Branford's Memorial Gate before graduating has similar consequences, though these ailments can be remedied by touching every statue on Old Campus.

The statue of Theodore Woolsey in front of Dwight Hall on Old Campus serves as a source of good luck to those who rub his foot. A good idea if you've been recently rattled by the ghosts of John Trumbull and his wife, who are said to menacingly haunt High Street.

If earning 36 credits and writing a senior essay seem a bit daunting to you, then try a rumored alternative course towards a Yale degree: become sufficiently fluent in Latin, Greek and Hebrew, and that diploma is yours.

And finally, to see where you might fit into the Yale rumor mill, the Herald has, through intense hours of heated investigative journalism, discovered the inner workings of Yale's admissions process, answering the question, "Why am I in this residential college?"

Timothy Dwight--Alternative

Morse--Beer Pong any night

Pierson--You dolt!

Saybrook--Tower envy

Branford--Nerds with a nice tower

Jonathan Edwards--Artsy fartsy

Silliman--United we stand!

Berkeley--Divided we fall...

Ezra Stiles--Jocks

Trumbull--Musicians

Davenport--Legacies

Calhoun--Incestuous elitists Back to the Freshman Issue...