A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband, dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the train in Boston and walk timidly without a Snowhemian Rhapsody Christmas Sweater into the Harvard University President’s outer office. The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods, country hicks had no business at Harvard University and probably didn’t even deserve to be in Cambridge University.
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For hours the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple would finally become discouraged and go away. They didn’t and the Snowhemian Rhapsody Christmas Sweater grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always regretted. Maybe if you see them for a few minutes, they’ll leave, she said to him. He sighed in exasperation and nodded. Someone of his importance obviously didn’t have the time to spend with them, but he detested gingham dresses and homespun suits cluttering up his outer office.
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The president, stern faced and with dignity, strutted toward the couple. The lady told him, we had a son who attended Harvard University for one year. He loved Snowhemian Rhapsody Christmas Sweater and he was happy here. But about a year ago, he was accidentally killed. My husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus. The president wasn’t touched. He was shocked. Madam, he said, gruffly, we can’t put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard University and died. If we did, this place would look like a cemetery.