Some schools thrive on tradition. For instance, the University of Virginia has an honor code that dates back to its beginnings and is therefore an integral part of that community. Other schools have time-honored traditions that pass from upperclassmen to freshman. There was a time I can just barely recall when our own dear Johns Hopkins had such a tradition that has come in danger of falling by the wayside. I speak, my friends, of the rubbing of the breasts.
I know many of you are wondering what this "rubbing of the breasts" refers to and it is this wonder that makes me sad. It's true that Hopkins has attempted to force some traditions - like convocation and Playfair - unto its undergraduate population, but what has happened to those traditions that hold meaning? What has happened to that time-honored tradition of having troubled students rub the breasts of the seated woman?
On the N. Charles St. side of the Mattin Arts Center, there is a water fountain with two figures seated above it. On the left is a man with nothing but a scant drape over his nether regions, while the woman on the right proudly bears her breasts to the nip of the cold Baltimore wind. It is here that we must focus our attentions, for the woman's breasts tell of a sad story. They betray a mournful tale of neglect and loss of tradition at good 'ol Johnny Hop.
I can recall that humid fall day when as a freshman I was told about the woman's breasts. I remember walking past with friends and commenting on how bright and shiny her breasts were, while the rest of her had dulled with age. At that time, it was only the man and woman sans water accessory. Anyway, among those friends was one who had been through his freshman days, so he told us of the tradition.
It was widely considered by students that during times of Hopkins-related stress - think midterms, finals, graduation - straddling the woman and rubbing both breasts at the same time would impart luck unto the one who rubbed.
In many ways, the woman's breasts could be considered the genie's lamp of Hopkins; the only difference would be that she gives luck, not wishes; though, to be fair, luck on Hopkins examinations is high on the list of wishes at this school.
I recall the time I sought the woman's luck by following the old tradition. Perhaps it was coincidence, but I like to think it was this old tradition that gave me the luck I needed to ace a final that had me concerned for days. Thereafter, I would walk past and smile knowingly at the woman who had given me the luck I needed to survive my first onslaught of final exams that would affect my GPA.
Imagine my surprise when one day I walked past and noticed the man and woman were hidden from public access by tall plastic fencing. When I realized this Hopkins icon was being hidden from the school community as a result of the Master Plan, I wondered what would happen to that tried-and-true tradition of rubbing the woman's breasts for luck.
Years passed and the opening of the Mattin Arts Center revealed both man and woman tarnished with age. Sadly, the woman's breasts had also tarnished.
However, I recall passing by and seeing men working on her breasts through the plastic fencing. I would hope the dulling of her majestic beacons of hope was not a part of the Master Plan. But if it was, I say fie! fie! fie! We must revisit this tradition and re-incorporate it into our daily lives as Hopkins students. We must seek the luck and wisdom of the brass woman, who sits waiting for us to visit her. She seeks to offer solace and reassure us that Johns Hopkins is not impossible and that we can live through our college years and tell of them.
Just as I began to feel this tradition go quietly into the night, I was able to witness a small act of faith that made me hopeful for future generations of Johns Hopkins students. On Sunday night, I watched as junior Aidan Jeffrey Smith boldly climbed onto the lap of the woman and took strong hold of her breasts, one in each hand. That moment reassured me that a once-strong Hopkins tradition will not die.
Someday, the brass woman's breasts will shine true and bright, as points in the night, to guide Hopkins students everywhere.
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