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Issue date: 9/3/09 Section: Opinion

Potter [Click to enlarge]

In a recent gathering of old Lynchburg College grads, the subject of our greatest collegiate caper of the last century-the placement of Mr. Sheldon Vanauken's car in the reading room of the Knight Memorial Library was recounted. Everyone had a detail to add to the story that has grown over the years like the proverbial fish. This is particularly appropriate because of the memorial service that will be held in October to remember "Van" who died in 1995. For over 40 years, this almost legendary display of undergraduate ingenuity has been celebrated. However, there is another aspect to the story that is rarely recounted, and it involves The Critograph.

When all the excitement was done, and the pictures of the senior Crit photographer had made their way into the Associated Press, the real work began. Several reporters were assigned the task of discovering the how and why, never realizing that the editor was involved up to his horn-rimmed glasses! We started to quietly investigate the story, and slowly, but surely we began to bring together the various strands of the adventure. It is amazing how much information a reporter is able to obtain by buying someone a couple of beers at Flo's. Literally some of the best student minds on campus had been involved in planning and executing this caper. However, as hard as we tried, we were unable to keep our investigation a secret, and the Dean of Women demanded the details of our work, especially the names of the Pranksters. She intended to make "an example" of them. What she supposedly recommended to Dean Turner and Dr. Wake was possible expulsion of the leaders. Mr. Vanauken thought that the placement of his car in the library was wonderful, but he was appalled that an administrator was bent on punishing students who should have been rewarded for their creativity. He related that he had a stormy session with her, and afterwards she became even more determined than ever to track down the malefactors.

Our editor refused to supply the information she requested. In fact, it was destroyed so nobody would ever know the full truth, except the Pranksters. It was not shredded, it was burned. The reporters also agreed to "play dumb." The Dean of Women called us into her office, one by one, but we betrayed not one single shred of information. I was the third reporter to be grilled, and she was so angry by then that I was not offered a seat; I stood during the entire fifteen minute interview. She was not happy when both the Dean of the College and the President supported the decision of the editor and his staff to remain silent, citing freedom of the press and confidentiality. I took great pride in being part of The Critograph staff, and I still do.

The members of the Pranksters have had distinguished careers in a dozen different areas of service, and I could not begin to count the number of doctorates earned by the membership-because then I should be betraying a confidence; something a good reporter must never do!

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