Pundits: funny, naked, smell like fish

JAMES SUMNER/YH

It's the day before finals, and cramming has reached a fevered pitch. CCL is full, and the constant hum of the fluorescent lights is only disturbed by the occasional flipping of pages. But then, from the distance, you hear the clarion call of the bagpipes and that mysterious cry: "TBI!," answered by its sister, "YTB!" In their greatest display of exhibitionism, the Pundits trek naked through the library, stealing precious studying time from the rich and distributing candy to the poor.

While few are clear on who the Pundits are or what they do, the group—founded in 1884—is the fifth oldest secret society on campus. According to Head Pundit Adam de Havenon, PC '01, "All of the Bones' taps were barred from their tomb when they were discovered to have genital warts. We've kept that tradition alive." Eschewing traditional society "bios," the Pundits meetings are wrapped in mystery. "Sometimes, not even the members know what's going on," de Havenon said. "They're just that secret."

De Havenon plays the role of dynamic father figure to the '01 Pundits, who are intent on reviving a tradition of tomfoolery that goes back centuries. "Without Adam," Pundit Stephen Fishbach, BK '01, explained, "our leadership just wouldn't be the same. Specifically, if Adam was not there, somebody else would be." If de Havenon acts the father, Fishbach is the nurturing mother. "Fish is the minutiae guy," one Pundit identified only as "The Lizard" explained. "Without Fish, the scissors would be missing, dogs would be crying—total pandemonium." And that makes Felix Bennett, PC '01, who animates the group with sarcasm and twisted humor, the psychotic uncle. "I wouldn't introduce my children to him," de Havenon said. "They might start smoking cigarettes or running with the bad crowd."

The year started with small pranks for the Pundits. Dressed as the First Family, they invaded a YPU meeting, where Gore and Clinton shared their first public kiss. On Halloween, they distributed "candy from strangers" jam-packed with poorly concealed razor blades and knives. During Yale-Harvard weekend, they plastered Harvard with signs commanding "Hullfuck Skarvard," "Hitchslap Barvard," and "Hiss on Parvard." They sold strings of twine tied together as the "Yale Twine Y" to gullible parents. And during Tercentennial Weekend, female Pundits set up a booth, proclaiming, "We are selling our eggs!" They subsequently sold 300 store-bought eggs, each marked with the year that the hatchlings would graduate from Yale.

This past semester, the Pundits have exploded with the awesome force of a 30-year-old losing his virginity to a skilled prostitute. Posters for the play Meet Curtains popped up everywhere. An article in the Yale Daily News reviewed what any unsuspecting reader would believe was a theatrical tour de force. Sixty people filed into opposite sides of the Stiles Little Theater, two audiences separated by curtains. A Pundit stationed between the curtains pulled them back and exited, leaving the two audiences facing each other to stare, or talk, or play with their popcorn—every member three bucks the poorer, although the Pundits invited all out for drinks afterwards. "We try to show we're men and women of the people," Fishbach said.

The Pundits followed Meet Curtains with a meeting promoting a courier service called Vorstig Velotrain. Posters promised $10,000 for a summer of European travel. When a crowd packed LC 317, students soon learned they'd be running drugs. Eager for a buck no matter what the moral consequences, nobody left the room. The moderators ran through a series of possible situations. "What do you do if you're stopped at a border and asked what's in your package?" one student was asked. "I tell the police that I work for a courier service," he replied. The counter-response? "No. You run."

Hot on the heels of the Velotrain jape, the Pundits staged Fish Week, which featured, well, dead fish: tacked to poster boards, taped to lampposts, inside dining hall table tents, in large piles on Cross Campus, smoking a cigarette on the Women's Table. Fish Week climaxed with a madcap "fish hunt" through CCL and Commons, where one member dressed in a fish suit eluded other Pundits in fishermen costumes.

Is this the beginning of a new golden age for one of Yale's oldest, most illustrious, most naked societies? Voyeurs sure hope so.

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