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How IVY his 0N lV'S By DON WINNEY When I was a young and somewhat virginal freshman, its mother solemnly warned me never to mix women and beds unless‘ I was shopping — tor iurniture, that is. (My rather, thank God, was understandingly silent.) And remembering my Calvinist heri. tags and the warmth of the womb, l religiously ioliowed that creed — at least my freshman year — and so have never been plagued with that phenomenon of modern college sociology .- lllegal visitation. To my mural consternation, however, I once witnessed that obscenity and discovered what the “real world” can be like at a small liberal arts college west of the Monongahela. , One day l innocently walked into a friend‘s room in borrow Augustine’s Confessions. There, on his bed, was a form almost une known to a men’s hall — a higher-educated virgin, And there, just ten feet away at a Sllnlit window, was a form much admired in a men’s hall — a higher-educated animal. They were somewhat awkwardly holding hands. - Well, at course i was shocked — morally, intellectually, and physically. (After all, she was quite pretty.) Why, soon they’ll be copulating, I thought. Next they’ll be smoking pot. Today, an iv, tomorrow VD. The implications were just too horrible to contem- plate. 1 closed the door, shuddering. Now, there was only one man In see. When I reached the stairs, I saw him coming up. He looked like u short-haired Samson, supporting two pillars oi grocery sacks, “Dean,” I cried ecstatically, flinging my arms outward. l-le tipped his head upward and tumbled backward down the stairs along with cascading beer cans. “My God,” i yelled, running down to him, “Dean, l’m so sorry.” “Forget it,” he said. “I was just shocked, that’s all,” He braced himself on a squashed six-pack. “Somebody loves me,“ he whimpered. I started to divulge the oiiense, but he pushed me aside "Alumni party," he said, grabbing some cans, “Gotta go. Gotta 89 " I must coniess at this point I didn’t know Whether he meant to the party or to use our modern plumbing tacilities down the hall. But whichever the Case I let the good Dean go. Alter all, he's a very nice gentleman Why, when he was a student he said what the college needs is more humor, more satire, he said. The Dean’s a Very understanding man. But alas, no help. So I decided to try Dean Alice and hurried to her office. Now I don’t know Dean Alice too well. She has such a lovely smile, like the girl in all those denture commercials. But the good Dean was too busy writing thank you notes to all the housemcthers. Maybe next time, she smiled warmly. Now what was I to do? I had to inform some niiieial about an immorality or such enormity. But it had to be in confidence I simply couldn't let my friend know the iniormer. He might not understand the moral principle involved. Should I try then that handsome, young. dashing administrative assistant with the tine name and high-minded purpose? Uniortunately, he was running an errand. But the esteemed President was in, or rather, he was in between alumni parties. “Sir,” I pleaded, telling him the awful truth. “Do something. DD something now.” “Well,” intoned the President, “I just don't knuw ii I should at. this point in time.” He scratched his head profoundly “AL though, of course, that doesn’t mean I won't take action at the ap- propriate time in the future. Unless, of course, I deem such action expediently unwise. Therefore, generally speaking, the important thing to remember, I think, is ID be earnest. But, We should always ask ourselves, in the final analysis, is that enough?" Talking to the President protoundly cpniused me. More than that, i was just plain exhausted trom running around the otiices. But, not having another way or going on, i decided there was only one thing to do: Leg it out. I ran back to the hall bewildered but determined to act. it no one else was willing to light crime then regrettably I must do my duty. I had sworn to uphold the Student Handbook. I now must make a student arrest. The only other moral alternative was to be an accessory to the crime, exile myself oil-campus, and live like a monk reading Augustine. 0h, fornication against thee, 0 Presi- dent. l halted beiore the door, marshaling my nervous system. I poised my iist, Then, slowly but deliberately, I scratched my head, Well, maybe it isn’t such a great crime alter all, i thought. Nobody cares about it Except the alumni. Maybe the rllles are lor them. But their visitatioits are imbibing, not illegal. And besides, why make rules when you’re more loco than parentls? But sudden. ly my Victorian principles vanquished that seditious thought, Think of the sex, i cried, think how awful! I iluiig open lhe door resolved In eradicate this malignant crime. “Pooh,” my friend Called, raising hls tencup. “Cume an int We’re discussmg Lear in the context oi liaise-Existentialism " l scratched my head. ”EXCUSE me,” I asked, “may i borrow your Coniessions'l’”