Herbie - A comment on life at Notre Dame

‍ I think back to the dog days of February at Notre Dame in 1960 when football was over, basketball was effete, the sky was leaden and trying to decide between rain or snow, the sun was vacationing in Naples and life had lost all meaning. I remember so well an event that nailed life and entertainment at ND in those days and in those years.

It was lunch time, a gray day in February, and the food was institutional. What was missing that day from the chow hall bulletin board was a fork stuck into a piece of animal flesh and then into the bulletin board with the attached title "Mystery Meat". It was a boring day in a boring time and even the faint hope of a chow hall food fight was absent. As I exited from the chow hall, otherwise known as the west campus student cafeteria serving many hundreds of students who had learned through bitter experience that in this food palace volume trumps taste, I spied a hand lettered sign saying "Come and see Herbie". There was an arrow at the bottom of the sign pointing east toward the freshman quadrangle. I looked at my friend and we agreed that this invitation was probably the best we were going to receive today, and for the rest of the month. We made a right turn and walked east.

As we walked, the number of excitement seekers increased as did the frequency of signage, all repeating "Come and see Herbie". There had to be substance to this Herbie viewing. This was clearly not a spur of the moment happening. As we walked along the south side of the main quadrangle, heading toward the freshman dorms, the crowds increased, the chatter increased, the anticipation and questioning of what we were about to see increased: this February dog day began to brighten with the prospect of "seeing Herbie!" As we drew closer, the signage had now added "Admission: 25 cents". Twenty-five cents? - a small price to pay for an as yet mysterious relief from a dark, damp ND February school day.

The line led to a freshman residence hall. I forget which one. At the door were a group of students, freshmen I assumed, collecting 25 cents per person for admission to the building. I assumed they were either business or engineering prospects  - the only groups capable of organizing such a campus wide event. The liberal arts devotees were too busy arguing about how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. Nobody objected to the admission fee. Quarters were jumping out of pockets into the doorkeeper’s cash box, my quarter included.

We entered the residence hall, by this time part of a long single file line. The excitement was high. What was this "Herbie"? Was it a malformed freshman with too many or too few fingers? Was it a roadkill with two heads? Was it a rare student specimen who was maintaining a 4 point average? How about a student who had successfully lured a girl into his room for a brief encounter - and could prove it? The line moved on and soon we were climbing the stairs to the second floor.

The spirit was happy, jovial, people who didn't know each other were talking to each other, everything was upbeat. Engineering majors were finding common ground with the Liberal Arts examiners of what is not  - and the Herbie answer was approaching. We were in sight of a door out of which were exiting people who had seen Herbie! They were joyous, they were laughing, they were satisfied. It was clear that their 25 cents had been well spent. We inched closer. The door that everyone was entering was to the lavatory - the John on the second floor! What was in this room? What could demand all this organization, this attention, this following and my personal 25 cent subsidized desire to see "Herbie"?

I entered the lavatory. Guides moved me toward a stall. As the last observer left the stall, I was helped to the stall. What was it? What in this God forsaken corner of Northwest Indiana in the dead of a miserable and forlorn winter, with football season over, could possibly demand my truly focused attention and that of hundreds of other excitement starved ND students?

I entered the stall. There, with the toilet seat raised, was Herbie. It was truly the biggest, the longest, the brownest turd I had ever seen. Herbie was magnificent, truly Best in Class. I was pleased. This was a quarter well spent. My February at ND was a bit more bearable.

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