It started when I joined the donutmen freshman year. After selling donuts I would improvise, a little faux Shakespearean tale for those gathered in the Vanderbilt entryway up the staircase. And by our departure, it had moved to the Silliman courtyard, where on one extraordinary spring day in ‘70 Craig Slutzker and I, and the first flash mob in recorded history, presented a fractured Bard history of dramatic comedy, swords in the hands of Clowns. There was great merriment. Those were the days.
– Rich Levin
First arrival, never been east of Denver, off the red-eye from San Francisco, the first Brooklyn accent I’d ever heard, Kennedy, and the weirdly pale color of green of the foliage from the window of the Connecticut Limousine. Find the Old Campus, strangely fortress-like. Find Vanderbilt. Enter entryway for #12. Put foot on first step, pull foot back, startled. The step is worn into a gently curving basin from thousands of students’ steps. Oh my God, this place is old. There’s nothing this old in California.
– Conrad Cummings
The old iron gates were open from the street to the courtyard of Vanderbilt Hall. Three other young men and I had been assigned to suite number one, first entryway, first floor. The green Connecticut Limousine car discharged me by the gate. I was awed by the magnificent old building. The three-room suite, paneled in rich woodwork and featuring a large wood-burning fireplace, left me wondering how this Midwestern boy could have moved to the edge of joining the elite.
THE MOOSE -My roommates salvaged the mounted moose head from the attic of Peabody Museum and brought it to our suite in a taxi. I convinced the custodian to drive a spike into the mortar between the stone blocks of the wall so we could hang the heavy prize at an appropriate height.
– Dan Bottoms