Turner Hall, 9: 45 p.m., Thursday night. A pair of new boys — and in my memory they’re always small,squeaky-voiced ones — are sitting at theirdesks, diligently slogging through thenightly Algebra I homework.
Their door on Lower Turner is propped
open, and suddenly the frame is filled by
a sixth former — and in my memory he’s
always the hulking starting linebacker on
the football team or center on the basketball
team — clutching a clipboard.
“Hey,” the sixth former says to the room.
“Do you wanna buy my beach week T-shirt?”
A sample shirt is held up. The clipboard
is thrust forward. The new boys put
themselves down for larges, even though
they should probably order a small or, if
we’re generous enough to assume they’ll
grow a bit in the next few months, a medium.
And as the money is exchanged, another
entrepreneur is born on dorm.
Student-made T-shirts have been a
tradition for decades at Woodberry, and
they remain a prized possession for many
alumni long after graduation. Though I’ve
lost most of mine, I zealously protect my
modified “Mike Collins edition” Moubray
from 2005 — with “MEC” replacing “WFS”
and “See Me” splashed across the back.
And that’s the joy of Woodberry T-shirts.
Each captures a bit of the current student
body’s zeitgeist. What brands do they like
and want to mimic? As communications
director it’s my unpleasant duty to inform
BY JACOB GEIGER ’05
those sixth formers about copyright lawsand tell them that no, changing the color ofthe Gatorade logo slightly does not mean hecan use it on his shirt.
Taft Gantt ’ 20
Riley Cluff ’ 20