As a freshman member of Columbia College's last class to be admitted as an all-men cohort (women transfers graduated with us), we who lived in Carman Hall were likely also the last to experience a certain sort of male nocturnal ritual. Most every weekday night, around 11 p.m., a growing, groaning whelp could be heard coming out of one of the windows on the north facade of the building. Slightly rising in pitch, and slowly growing in volume, one after another voice would join in until an enormous, sad howl echoed across the campus. The Carman wall of sound would last some three or four minutes--a seeming eternity of young, male angst--before dying into the night. Thus, I suspect, many of us first learned one of the salient differences (of that era) between Columbia and Barnard.