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Issue date: 12/10/09 Section: Opinion

Potter

Ah, what stories the walls of Carnegie Hall could tell. There was a floating bar, and "surfing" down the stairs on ironing boards, but what I remember most fondly were the water balloons battles that marked the return of spring.

Nobody was ever hurt; they just were soaked. Walking past Carnegie Hall in the late afternoon was particularly dangerous. Without warning seemingly dozens of missiles would appear from as many windows. Most of them missed their marks-but not always. There was one young woman who tempted fate on a regular basis by walking very close to the building and taunting the projectile crews. As they responded to her challenge she pushed the button on a large black umbrella. The balloons burst, but their target went her way dry and very self-satisfied. Then one day her flirting with disaster ended. Two enterprising "gunners" secured several plastic garment bags, sealed them at one end with a warm iron, and filled the giant "balloon" using a borrowed garden hose. When their tormentor appeared on schedule they pushed the "balloon" out of their third story window. Up when the umbrella and down fell the missile with a loud smack. The umbrella looked as if it had been struck by lightening. The young woman was drenched -she never tried that trick again.

There was one resident of Carnegie who was noted for his accuracy in hitting his intended victim with one, two, or even three of those harmless, but irritating missiles. Students would detour halfway to Hobbs just to avoid passing his room. One day he hit the wrong person and immediately a plan was put in motion that would quickly become a campus legend. Late one spring night while the Carnegie water balloon ace was happily taking a shower, three of his previous victims slipped in the back door and abducted him with only his towel to preserve his dignity. Fifteen minutes later they dropped him at the corner of Link and Boonsboro Roads with only the towel and a dime to call a friend to rescue him-if he could find a public phone booth. It was almost midnight when they left him. He lost the dime.

The Dean of Women, who had the instincts of a police bloodhound, had all the details by nightfall the next day, but not from the kidnap victim who would not reveal who his abductors were. By the next morning they were in President Orville Wake's office, waiting to be expelled. They were received cordially, and he asked them to share the details of the caper. Then he shook their hands and said good-by. The campus was jubilant, but the Dean of Women was not happy. Once the President had pardoned the miscreants there was nothing she could do to them, why had he done it?

A generation earlier an upperclassman named Orville Wake and several of his cronies had deposited a freshman fresh from the Carnegie shower room on the front lawn of the home of President J.T.T. Hundley. Wake was forgiven his transgression, so he passed on the favor. Although always smiling, he seemed so quiet and reserved. After the Carnegie shower prank we knew he was laughing with us, not at us. Alas, Carnegie Hall has been inhabited by a more sedate group since 1967, and the "good times" may never come again.

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