As the nation's oldest university, Harvard naturally has the longest record of squirrel encounters. Squirrels have been scurrying around Harvard Yard since 1636!
This portrait by Boston's great eighteenth century painter, John Singleton Copley, depicts a colonial era squirrel.
Harvard is noted as the originator of the urban sport of squirrel fishing.
Until fairly recently, squirrels werre emblematic of industry and thrift, as suggested by this now-defunct Harvard-Radcliffe organization:
Speculating Squirrels (Club). Records, 1958-2001
Arthur and Elizabeth Schlesinger Library on the History of Women in America
Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study, Harvard University
The Speculating Squirrels was founded on November 10, 1958. The original fifteen members were Sally Baldwin, Julia Bigelow, Dorothy Bridges, Betty Caredis, Jean Dane, Lois Davis, Betsy Flory, Ruth Gerrity, Charlotte Harding, Anita Hovey, Peg Mabley, Kay Littlefield, Florence Rapalyea, Didi Seybolt, and Sally Wakeman.
Membership in the club was limited to fifteen, but early members agreed to reconsider if "a worthy person came up." There were three elected officers, president, secretary, and treasurer, each serving one year terms. Officers were elected from a pool of three candidates selected by a nominating committee consisting of three members appointed by the president. An investment committee of three members was also established to investigate suggested stocks and report to the group at the following meeting. Members of the investment committee rotated alphabetically every month, with the chairman serving two months. Meetings were held once a month over lunch. Each member made an initial investment of $100 and paid a monthly fee of $25, $20 to invest and $5 for lunch. Any leftover funds were put into a savings account to be used for entertainment.
The Harvard Historical Calendar, compiled by Harvard's Office of News & Public Affairs, includes the following squirrel items:
The Chronicle begins with a bizarre note: a1995 article on the tragic murder-suicide of two Dunster House students. The article features a photograph of one of the victims, Sinedu Tadesse, "sitting on the steps of Thayer Hall as a squirrel crawls up a leg of her pants during spring term of her freshman year."
Week of October 24, 1977. Just outside their dorm, denizens of Wigglesworth Hall construct a bridge to help squirrels traverse the wide-spanning arms of an oak. "[. . .] The miniature engineering marvel includes a squirrel crossing near the base of the trunk, but signs fail to indicate the maximum permissible load of acorns the bridge will bear. Squirrels could not be reached for comment on whether they prefer the bridge to jumping*." *Quoted from hug:10/28/77:12. Photograph (Rick Stafford) of the fine-slatted bridge, with two pendant signs reading "SQUIRREL BRIDGE," ibid.
The February 1977 issue of Harvard University Gazette features a photograph captioned "A squirrel pays a surprise visit to an owl napping on a branch behind the Busch-Reisinger Museum*. Photographer Behrooz Alashti captures the amusing results on film**.
The May 17, 1977 Harvard University Gazette offers this item:
A Xerox machine in the Biological Laboratories becomes the setting for one of Harvard's strangest and most subversive "occupations." The Harvard University Gazette reports in pic and cap:
"In a Xerox machine, whatever goes in must come out, right? There's just one problem with that maxim: it doesn't tell you how to get a squirrel out of the works-the very problem that confronted Equipment Manager Alfons Jozwicki (Biological Laboratories) on Monday morning [May 17], when half-printed pages began to issue from the Xerox 2400 in the basement. Armed with a flashlight, an astonished Xerox technician subsequently spotted two eyes gleaming from the depths and upon opening the exposure chamber discovered the gnawing little nemesis (who partially devoured the foam rubber seen above [in the accompanying photograph]). By the time News Office Photographer Rick Stafford arrived to take this picture, the occupation had been going on for at least seven hours-and probably all weekend, Mr. Jozwicki suspects (for this was clearly a covert operation). Nothing could dislodge the rambunctious rodent. Finally, reaching into his camera bag, Mr. Stafford pulled out a can of compressed air. Two bursts about the ear provided all the persuasion necessary. Mr. Stafford then escorted the delinquent to the nearest window (and thereby hangs a tail). A new Xerox machine is on its way, Mr. Jozwicki reports. But the Xerox technician is still pondering: 'How do I report this on my form?*' "
In the February 1976 issue of Harvard Magazine, undergraduate columnist John Sedgwick made these observations on the room decor of a fellow student:
"In Leverett House, junior Jenifer Nields's room is another example of new tastefulness in décor. All Nields has on her walls are a small Japanese watercolor and a few photographs of the Adirondack Mountains near her home. A candle sits on the windowsill, and a little collection of Colorado's prettier rocks on the top of her bookshelf. A mobile of string, metal, and bright-colored yarn, which Nields constructed when she was nine, hangs from the ceiling and twirls in the breeze. The room is quiet and homelike-so quiet and homelike that some squirrels have wanted to make it their home too. Nields was awakened one night by a pair of furry creatures with sharp claws crawling up and down her bed. 'It was an experience very much out of the ordinary,' says Nields. 'They looked at me and I looked at them, then after casual deliberation they left by the window.' They have not returned. *Quoted from and as quoted at hug:5/21/76:6; photograph (Rick Stafford) of the squirrel ensconced in the machine.
Other Harvard Squirrels
This turned up in cyberspace:
Harvard Squirrel!, originally uploaded by kharied.
From Gilmore Girls:
"Emily: What is that?
Lorelai: That is a Harvard squirrel.
Emily: Oh good grief.
Rory: Sitting on a Harvard rock.
Lorelai: Doesn't he look smart?
Emily: He looks dirty."
This item from the popular turn-of-the-nineteenth century periodical, Country Life in America (June 1912), seems vaguely perverse.
Here's an archive of squirrel articles from the Harvard Crimson!
"No Time for This"
The real world is a nasty place
Published On 2/6/2007 10:26:46 PM
By DANIEL E. HERZ-ROIPHE
A few weeks ago, I witnessed a bizarre scene. As I crossed the Yard on my way to Lamont Library, I saw a dog stalking a squirrel while its owner stood close by. The dog crept forward stealthily, guided by an instinct that years of leashes and dog food could never completely suppress. Meanwhile, a crowd of bystanders gathered, titillated, perhaps, by the prospect of bloodshed, but at the same time confident that the dog would not succeed. Minutes passed. And then, with a rapidity and ferocity that shocked the onlookers, the dog pounced, caught the squirrel by its bushy tail, and proceeded to tear the helpless rodent to pieces. We gasped, not as much from horror as from disbelief. This was not supposed to happen.
Neither were the two armed robberies that recently took place on Harvard's premises.
Much like dead squirrels, the idea of Harvard students being threatened with knives and umbrellas in the shadow of Widener Library is quite unsettling. I assume that crime could never happen here. At home in New York, I am always on the lookout for sketchy characters, but here, like many, I walk down empty streets at 4 a.m. without batting an eyelash and leave my computer unattended in the library for hours at a time-it's a white Macbook; please don't take it. Among the plethora of resources here designed to keep students safe, I get more comfort from the idea of a Harvard haven than from campus escorts or self-defense classes.
This university is its own, insular community full of people who have been taught from nursery school not to hit and to use their words. We made it to Harvard, in part, because we internalized this lesson particularly well-we use our words a lot, and we are confident that others will do the same. When one of the victims of last month's thefts was approached by his assailants, he told them, "I don't have time for this."
Except for the few unlucky enough to have experienced it, most Harvard students are culturally unprepared to understand violence. The campus attempts to squelch aggression by intellectualizing it: there are entire departments effectively devoted to the study of people killing each other. But there is something fundamental about violence that Historical Study A-12, "Conflict and Cooperation in the Modern World," doesn't quite capture. Academia is inherently ill-equipped to deal with the realities of conflict, since it is based on the premise that disputes can be resolved through rational exchange of ideas. Yet violence, whether it happens to squirrels or Harvard undergraduates, is a strange animal. It is sudden, profound, and oblivious to logic and theory.
We emerge from our classes confident that we thoroughly understand the world. But every now and then, something happens that pops the Harvard bubble, and reminds us that book-learning is not the same as experience. It is a chilling realization-no one likes to see the ivory tower stained crimson.
Daniel E. Herz-Roiphe '10, a Crimson editorial editor, lives in Straus Hall.
The Mo(u)rning of Housing
Published On 3/23/2000 12:00:00 AM
By THE CRIMSON STAFF
The squirrels weren't the first to rise this morning. For our bushy-tailed friends, what might have been a peaceful scamper along the dew-covered Yard transformed into a horrific scramble through a cacophony of cheers, moans and wails. To the urban wildlife so accustomed to the sunrise serenade of songbirds, these staccato bursts of screaming would have sent the even the most stalwart of squirrels scurrying.
True, these unenlightened rodents know little of our ways and customs. How could they? One imagines that these beady-eyed beasts might spend several years in one gnarled oak, living comfortably with nine, perhaps ten, acquaintances. Should one resident grow weary of its vista, it might venture north toward the more spacious beeches or south toward the scenic riverside elms. With such freedom, it is no wonder that these acorn mongers live cheerful little lives.
Until, of course, their blissful morning scamper is cut short by the fearsome roar of first-year blocking results.
To some first-years, the news will be welcomed with open arms. For them, life is good, the world is just and today's tomato tofu sizzle is just scrumptious.
But to the other half of the Class of 2003--the half who might, upon hearing the news, reach for this fine paper to wipe away a tear or blow a nose--keep your chin up. The best advice for these tumultuous times: Give your new home a chance. Our Houses may not be perfect, but they are far from hopeless.
Just think: No matter how badly you think of your House, it will sure beat living in a tree.
The Lesson of the Squirrel
Published On 3/18/1998 12:00:00 AM
By ELISHA N. YAGHMAI
In light of all the discussion of campus divisions on racial, ethnic and various other lines, I would like to propose the following solution: Stock the Yard with more squirrels. Yes, not dialogue, not another panel with Cornel West, but squirrels are the key.
Several months ago, a squirrel created a moment of campus unity outside Widener Library, that bastion of cold impersonality. As I walked by, I noticed a large, and perhaps more noticeable, extremely diverse group of people all standing completely still, their attention fixed on something I could not see. As I drew closer, the situation became clear. A dog and a squirrel were locked in a mortal struggle.
There we all stood, hypnotized by what we had found. The wind blew, but no one shivered. A woman who, in retrospect, sounded quite zombified, quietly said, "We have to save the squirrel." Yet no one moved. I was going to be late for an Expos conference, but it didn't matter. Slowly the dog advanced. The squirrel stopped nibbling, cast a disdainful glance over his shoulder and went right back to munching. The dog took another step, and the squirrel, who didn't appear to be looking, took off like a shot, arriving safely at a nearby tree just before the dog.
The crowd, which had been growing throughout the incident, let out a collective sigh of relief. Then a funny thing happened. Everyone started smiling. Have you noticed how few people smile as they walk through the Yard? Maybe it's the midterms or the hundreds of pages of overdue reading on their minds, but whatever the case, I just don't see a lot of smiling faces. Another Harvard taboo was violated that day--people who didn't even know each other started talking. Weird, eh? (Sorry, Canadians.)
These squirrel incidents (attention psychology concentrators) are perfect for making observations about the Harvard community. To name a few: 1) Harvard students are really, really bored, and they desperately need amusement. 2) Harvard students, much like the Romans, enjoy blood sports. Since we can't have a gladiator match with the Yalies, we settle for the next best thing, namely dogs vs. squirrels.
These ideas work, but I think there is a deeper principle here. When we look out of ourselves, when something more than petty concerns is on our minds, cooperation and even unity, to some degree, is possible. The crowds of people I saw squirrel-watching probably had reasons different from mine for their interest, but that doesn't change the fact that all of us, young and grad student, for a split second were united by a common concern. Our divisions come from our self-centeredness. As long as I worry about me and mine, and you worry about you and yours, the split between us will always be large. What the squirrels show is that if you and I can get together--our attention not on our concerns of the moment but on the concerns of an entity other than ourselves--it is possible to close the rift, to end the reign of impersonality, to lessen the alienation.
Look out, and look away from self. That is the lesson of the squirrel. I accept the criticism that what I say might work on paper but not in the real world. Still, I ask, does that lessen its truth?
The next time you are walking through the Yard and see a tourist taking a picture of a small furry creature, stop for a moment, enjoy the commonality that comes from being a curious human being, and let your fancy be captured by something other than your run for president.
Squirrel Set Free
Published On 1/14/1994 12:00:00 AM
By RACHEL I. WILSON
In a battle between tree-huggers and animal-lovers, an anonymous squirrel that was held hostage in a live trap near Paine Hall was released yesterday from its cage.
Dr. Gary D. Alpert, a scientist at the Department of Environmental Health and Safety for Harvard University, said the squirrel was trapped to prevent it from eating the bark of a tree.
"The squirrels were killing the tree, so [building managers] attempted to trap the squirrel that was killing it," he said.
An unnamed caller from the Eda Kuhn Loeb Music Library yesterday alerted the department of the trap's existence, Alpert said. The cage was then immediately removed and replaced with an alternative barrier.
"We want to achieve this goal [of protecting the trees] by banding the trees with barriers and not using live traps," said Alpert.
Jim C. Yang, a student at New York University who was feeding squirrels in Harvard Yard this afternoon, defended the rights of the squirrel and supported the removal of the traps.
"They don't harm anybody," he said.
But Meredith F. Alexander '96, a self-proclaimed squirrel-hater, said the controversy was "nutty."
The squirrel was not available for comment yesterday afternoon.
Are Squirrels a First-Year's Friend? Or Are They Only Glorified
Published On 12/12/1992 12:00:00 AM
By GEOFFREY C. HSU
There's a war being waged in Harvard Yard.
It's students against nature from Lamont to Canaday, and the enemy--16 to 20 inches long and weighing between 1-1/4 and 1-3/4 pounds--has been known to attack tourists and raid dorms through chimneys.
Sciurus carolinensis (Harvardiensis), the Eastern gray squirrels of Harvard Yard, have developed a reputation for being aggressive, daring and less than hospitable.
"We need to get rid of the vicious ones," says Nick Debnath '96. Debnath says he has seen squirrels bite tourists' legs.
"They don't look like the cute squirrels that you have to entice to come to you," says Ana Markovic '96. "They just jump on you."
Edward S. Ahn '96 says the squirrels throw acorns at him and his friends from trees as he walks through the Yard.
"I think they're very bold," Ahn says. "They want to hurt us."
And first-years forced to share the Yard with the long-tailed rodents are fighting back.
One frustrated first-year student, who asked not to be identified, said he and his roommate try to spit at the Yard's squirrels. The students, who claimed he could spit at pigeons without any problem, said he hasn't been able to hit a squirrel yet, since they are amazingly elusive.
Other students confessed secret desires to see the squirrels chased--or even eaten--by household pets. "The best part about the squirrels is when the dogs chase them," said Amy E. Forker '96.
One sophomore says the squirrels are entertaining, but remembers a particular furry friend as too aggressive.
"I always thought it was rabid," said Barbara J. Brescia '95. "It was really funny, because everyone ran away from it."
Of course, there are those who live dangerously--they actually get close enough to feed these close relatives of the rat.
"I love them," says Hayn Park '96. "I feed them all the time."
Park says the squirrels occasionally eat from his hand, feeding on fruit, bits of bread or "things you stuff in your pocket from the Union." Park hopes the Yard will attract more squirrels, citing feeding's therapeutic effects.
"[Feeding the squirrels] is one of the reasons I'm sane now," says Park. "They're really helpful."
Straus Hall resident Crystal R. Burke '96 says that once a week she sits on the steps of Straus and feeds her furry friends peanuts and cantaloupe.
"It's fun," she says. "It's a good way to meet people. Different people come up to you and ask what you're doing."
But experts caution that squirrels can get accustomed to their feedings--with deleterious side effects. Judy M. Chupasko, a curatorial assistant at the Museum of Comparative Zoology, blames constant human contact, especially feeding, for the squirrels' aggressive behavior.
"[The squirrels] lose their natural fear," Chupasko says. "They know they're not going to be hurt, and there are no natural predators, so they don't have normal behavior patterns."
Gary D. Alpert, an entomologist and entomology officer at the Environmental Health and Safety Office, agrees. "In general, we want a squirrel to be wary and wild, and not aggressive," he says. "Once we feed them, they become emboldened."
Alpert says he tries to discourage feeding and suggests that students just watch the squirrels from a safe distance, although he says he hasn't heard of any incidents of squirrel bites in the past 12 years.
Chupasko says that another reason students should not feed the squirrels is the potential for rabies.
"It's dangerous," she says. "There's a rabies epidemic spreading around now. Mostly it's in raccoons right now, but it will spread to squirrels sooner or later. You shouldn't feed them unless you've had a rabies vaccine."
But if students won't feed the squirrels, the rodents will usually come and try to the steal their next meal.
According to Alpert, squirrels have been caught climbing down chimneys in search of nesting sites.
"We had a squirrel fall into a chimney of Mass. Hall once when [Derek C.] Bok was president," says Alpert.
To remedy the situation, Alpert's office installed screen mesh chimney caps. Alpert also suggests that students keep the flues of their chimneys closed.
The entomologist says that aggressive squirrels have been known to chew through window screens and to eat apples on students' desks.
But it's a give and take relationship--three weeks ago, a squirrel climbed down someone's chimney, became disoriented and left an apple in the room, Alpert says.
Desperate squirrels have even broken into trash bags and bins. Alpert's office fought back with double-flapped trash bins, but the supposedly squirrel-proof bins weren't much use against the ravenous rodents.
"We found out two weeks ago that a few [bins] have had their flaps ripped off," Alpert says.
And even after they've passed on to squirrels heaven, the rodents can still be pests. Anne Guiney '95 says she was taking pictures in the Yard last year for a photography class when a dead squirrel suddenly fell from a tree nearby and landed with a "big thump."
Guiney says she began laughing hysterically. "It was kind of ridiculous," she says. But later, when three women came across the dead squirrel, they were visibly upset by the tragedy.
Guiney says that the girls gave her dirty looks. "They shouted, `Call the cops! Call security! We've got to let it die in peace.'"
Guiney, who could not stop laughing, says she simply returned to her dorm.
Alpert says that his office has not attempted to control the squirrel population in any way. But if many students succeed in their persecution of the Yard's second-most common species, the Harvard squirrel may go the way of the dinosaur.
"I think the squirrels are fat and lazy," says John E. Stafford '96. "If I brought my cat up here he would gobble them up in a weekend."
Squirrel Attacks Alarm Officials
Two Yard Incidents Spur Investigations Of Rabies Scare
Published On 5/25/1962 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
Two separate incidents of squirrel attacks on persons in the Yard yesterday afternoon have forced University Health officials to consider the disturbing possibility of a rabies epidemic among Yard fauna.
At 10 a.m. James H. Frantz '63 was bitten by a squirrel that jumped at him from the path in front of Sever Hall. Less than two hours later, Mrs. William D. Sciurus, wife of an instructor in Chemistry, successfully fought off with her umbrella another squirrel that sprang at her from a tree in front of Memorial Church. Frantz has been started on Pasteur treatments in case the animal was rabid.
A spokesman for the Health Services said that even tame squirrels never approach humans unless food is offered them, and an unprovoked attack is so unusual "that we must take all precautions against further bitings until we are sure one way or the other." He urged people to avoid going through the Yard unless absolutely necessary, commenting "A few extra minutes of walking is not so terrible; rabies is not something to take chances with."
Only One Cure
Dr. Paul R. Chernoff, visiting lecturer on animal immunology at the Medical School, explained that rabies is a viruscaused disease of the nervous system that can be transmitted among numerous species including humans. The only known cure is the one Pasteur devised: a long series of injections that must be begun immediately following a suspicious bite.
The only way to determine the presence of rabies among Yard squirrels, Chernoff said, is "to capture as many of them as possible and run serological tests." He warned that "even if as few as one per cent of the squirrels are infected in all likelihood the entire squirrel population in the Yard will have to be exterminated with poisoned bait." State public health officials have already been notified of the danger.
Persons who must enter the Yard should carry a short stick or umbrella with them to ward off lunging squirrels. "Even a rabid squirrel can be routed by a sharp blow on the nose," Chernoff said.
Nets, Shotguns, Police
Public Health squads will enter the Yard this morning to round up about fifty squirrels for blood tests. They will be armed with nets and shotguns. University police will be present to keep students from interfering with the expedition.
"It is too early to give any more specific advice," Chernoff told the CRIMSON. "The moment we can confirm the presence of rabies, action will be taken. In the meantime let all remain calm but wary. And above all do not think of our Yard squirrels as cute little pets: they are potential murderers."
Cabbages and Kings
Published On 3/11/1955 12:00:00 AM
By THE WALRUS
There were, but a few short weeks ago, four squirrels living in the Yard. Now there are three. The passing on of number four, a foot-and-a-half from nose to tail, marks the decline of animal life on compus. Three squirrels and 47 pigeons remain.
Various theories may explain the squirrel's mysterious death. A possible underlying cause was the severe winter which limited the peanut-throwing tourist trade. A variation of the nut theory insists that freshmen were feeding salted peanuts to number four, who then became overweight and fell victim to heart disease.
The cruel chopper and rain theories are other possibilities. The former blames tree "trimmings" for leaving the squirrel without home and food caches. Possibly number four had to climb to such heights before reaching a branch that he died of over-exertion. Equally fatal is the rain theory, which visualizes the creature scampering innocently across the Yard, then sinking into the mud with only a brown bubble for a headstone.
Regardless of its cause, this untimely death is noted and mourned. Yet a new and graver problem confronts these gray sprites. Unless there is soon a fourth squirrel to pair off the trio, only two will survive the spring.
Again the Owl
Published On 12/14/1948 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
To the Editors of the CRIMSON:
Is it not a shame to chase an owl around on Harvard Yard not to speak of the sacrilege to kill it? The owl has been the incarnation of wisdom since ages and the saying: "to carry owls to Athens" is one of the classical phrases for anything in the line of teaching Americans democracy . . .
Personally I am concerned with the squirrels though. There are lots of pigeons, more famous ones, in lots of places, e.g. Venice. But the real Harvard squirrel is something entirely different, even from the Boston Common variety: the genius loci had the same effect as Orpheus' lyre . . .
The philosopher would say: let the Board of Overseers provide a golden cage. But the sage would ask: how are the police going to catch it? Kurt Strasser, GSAS.
Yard Squirrels Pick Puritans To Reduce Rattle Resources
Published On 4/24/1947 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
Wise old Yard squirrels mindful of the crazy antics of prewar initiatees went right on sunning themselves yesterday noon when four Puritans, one Indian and a mannequin trooped through their precincts trumpeting sour renditions of College songs.
It was only the men from Winthrop House. Latest attempt by the Puritan Prom sponsors to help relax those undergraduates afflicted with that dread disease "the reading rattle," the impromptu bleating succeeded in waking up half a dozen Widener nappers.
Pink-cheeked and apparently free from all bourgeois academic worries, the Puritans preached a Thoreauesque "take to the woods and fields" sermon in between numbers. The squirrels agreed.
Butts to the Squirrels
Published On 10/24/1946 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
Next to John Harvard, nature's greatest heritage to the Yard is the squirrel. Everyone loves the healthy, frolicking animals except a callous few who wantonly litter the steps of Widener, Sever, and Emerson with countless cigarette butts where uneducated squirrels are liable to find and sample the "filthy weed." Already small, Harvard squirrels are becoming alarmingly stunted as a result of this carelessness, and grey-haired mothers are frantic over the sudden shrinkage in squirrel stature. In response to a Crimson survey, one mother waspishly noted that the Yard was beginning to look like a trash heap and that she and other families were thinking seriously of finding more suitable homes.
Although a large force of men are employed each night to sweep up the cigarettes, the Yard presents a tempting nicotine dump for the greater part of the day. To squelch ugly rumors that elder squirrels are about to report this condition to the A.S.P.C.A. and the Sanitation Department, we must begin a campaign to eliminate the cigarette from squirrel culture. Several plainly marked, strategically placed butt cans and a conscientious effort on the part of the student body to keep their cigarettes off the ground would save the squirrel from the fate of the buffalo.
Chivalrous Squirrel Protects Maidens, Routs Salesman
Published On 9/22/1941 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
A Yard squirrel came to the aid of three damsels in distress yesterday morning, when he ran up a laundry salesman's pant leg.
In their first stroll across Harvard Yard, a small group of Radcliffe freshmen were accosted in front of Holworthy Hall by Charles N. Foster '42, super-salesman for a local firm. Resisting his initial offer, they were beginning to back away from a second barrage of high-pressure salesmanship when the indignant squirred shot up the left half of Foster's trousers.
As the angry rodent sealed his vertebrae, the frightened laundryman stripped off his coat and was starting on his shirt when the squirrel shot out of his slcove. When he had recovered his composure, the Radcliffe prospects were far in the distance.
WOMAN vs. DOG IN STATIONARY SQUIRREL HUNT BY WIDENER
Published On 1/20/1939 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
An objective lesson in concentration was provided for study-worn students by a hunting dog yesterday afternoon in front of the steps of Widener Library. Sighting his prey in the form of a lonely squirrel sitting at the base of one of the Yard elms, the dog immediately froze into a perfect point and remained without moving a muscle for the better part of a half-hour.
Meanwhile a crowd was gathering to watch the spectacle, which was enhanced by the addition of an anonymous woman who seemed to be even better trained than the dog. Assuming a stand with her hands on her hips she equally matched the pointer immobility. The tension became intense as the two vied for honors to determine who could last the longest. Finally a humane student, probably a Student Union member, fearing both would drop from exhaustion, let out a high pitched shriek which called the squirrel's attention to the matter. The rodent scampered up the nearest tree, the hypnotic attraction was gone, and dog, woman, and students disappeared about their respective business.
SQUIRREL, BITES YARDLING ON FIFTH FLOOR OF THAYER
Published On 1/11/1938 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
"Help, help," yelled Bernard D. Shea '41 as he danced around his room on the fifth floor of Thayer yesterday, trying desperately to shake off a tenacious squirrel which held his index finger firmly in its teeth.
It all started when Shea took pity on the squirrel which appeared on his window sill, standing cutely on its hind legs. Opening the window he allowed the animal to enter and then offered it some unpopped popped corn. Refusing to eat the pop corn, the squirrel started to climb the Yardling's curtain. When he attempted to pull it down, it turned and grabbed his finger.
First to answer Shea's frantic cries for help was David "Kentucky" Mitchell '41. Already famous as the ice cream champion of the University, Mitchell sprang to the rescue with a yell and a pair of gloves. A few minutes later he retired with his gloves torn to shreds and his hands lacerated in a dozen places, leaving the squirrel in complete triumph.
UNIVERSITY HALL'S GEYSER HITS SQUIRREL AT 37 FEET
Published On 12/16/1937 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
'Duplicating Yellowstone's famous landmark, University Hall's own geyser shot skyward at precisely 11 o'clock yesterday morning. A fire alarm bell rang, and, from a hitherto unnoticed well, a huge brown spout of water rose until it showered a squirrel 37 feet distant.
A crowd which gathered at 12 o'clock and hoped that Harvard might have an "Old Faithful," was disappointed when only a minor trickle appeared.
Buckshot Replaces Birth-Control In Yard Squirrel-Defense Tactics
ANIMALS ELECT TO TURN A COLD SHOULDER TO '38
Published On 9/25/1934 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
This is a forbidden subject in English A, as is that of "Sunsets from the Weeks Bridge", but in accordance with the CRIMSON's age old policy of printing ALL the news, we hereby present the latest reliable data on the Yard squirrels.
As all but the most ignorant of Freshmen know, the squirrels that have inhabited the Yard from time immemorial belong to the species known as Sciurus Carolinensis, variety Aptedii. They are large grey beasts, gentle as kittens except when roused, when they display the fury of the tigress defending her lair, and each year they form fast friends among the Freshman class whom they will remember for years, running to them in childish glee.
This year, however, with the progress of Roosevelt recovery and the coincident rise in the birth rate, the squirrels have repeatedly threatened to overrun the Yard. Stringent measures have indeed been necessary to keep down the slate colored hordes, and to prevent the steady demolition of the foundations of such derelict edifices as Brooks House by the eroding action of countless razor-sharp molars.
A high officer in the Yard police who declined to let his name be brought into the discussion remarked that late in August, birth control proving totally impractical, XX high power buckshot was resorted to by his henchmen in their valiant fight. As a result of this drastic action the Yard has remained an habitable region, although the former amicable attitude of the squirrels has given way to one of hauteur and strained reserve--rarely talented indeed will be the member of the Class of 1938 who makes any lasting friends among the four footed denizens of the Yard.
Published On 11/7/1882 12:00:00 AM
NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED
At Yale College the other morning, while Professor Barbour was writing in his room in North College, a pistol ball entered the window, whizzed by the doctor's head, and struck a Hebrew Bible on the shelves opposite him. The ball was carelessly fired by some students who were pursuing an escaped squirrel across the college campus.