Students always say Duke was better in the

Yearly alterations of the alcohol policy, the shift in the residential community two years ago, the alcohol-related deaths of students across the country and the recent Interfraternity Council's ban on open alcohol distribution have dismantled the previous social landscape of campus social life and left many to speculate on its future.

But students also ponder the past. Amid complaints of what they feel to be an unsatisfactory set of social options, students blindly reminisce about "what campus used to be like." It used to be better, they claim. It used to be fun.

During the last weekend in September, students from the very subject of those fond references poured onto campus to reacquaint themselves with old friends and to show their spouses and children where they spent four important years of their lives.

By Monday morning they were gone for another year. But remaining on the Bryan Center walkway was a sign strangely symbolic of their short stay-the words "Let Duke be Duke" scrawled in blue.

For many alumni, the expected sentiments-surprise at a new eatery, excitement at the success of their old fraternity, disappointment that an old friend couldn't make it-gave way to comments about a campus that has a social scene perceptibly different from the one they remember.

"We've noticed that people are carrying their backpacks on both shoulders now. We wouldn't have been caught dead doing that," jokes Shep McKinley, Trinity '87, while standing with a gaggle of other alumni after the Duke victory against Army as people pour in thick streams from the stadium.

"Yeah," chimes in Gordy Collins, also an '87 graduate. "That was geeky back in '83."

Humorous references to such trivialities as changes in fashion are not all that alumni have to say about campus. The social life has changed too, they say.

"There's not enough alcohol readily available on campus," says Kevin Hoffman, Trinity '93. "We used to be able to drink in the C.I.; we used to drink in the Rathskellar." While walking around campus Friday night, they say, they were surprised at the lack of parties. "There used to be more of a community feeling, people drinking on campus," says Mike Furst, Trinity '95, while trying to be heard over the sounds of his friends, who have broken into a chanting song they remember from their undergraduate days. "They're pushing everything off campus, to bars and to off campus parties. There's not enough activities on campus anymore."

According to the descriptions of alumni, students today would be surprised at the social options available to past students. A few quads away, undergraduates listen attentively on the House P bench as some '92 graduates reminisce in front of an abnormally quiet main quad. "Out here?" one sophomore asks astoundedly as the alumni rattle off from memory the fraternities that routinely sponsored keg parties each night of the week. Wednesday and Thursday and Friday were the big nights, they recall, but Saturday was a little slower.

There were few regulations on alcohol distribution until the early 90's, when a series of modifications began to be enacted in the existing policies, including curtailing distribution to only Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. In 1994, only Friday and Saturday night distribution became permissible. A number of changes in the policy have followed each year, the most recent being the Interfraternity Council's self-imposed ban on all distribution.

But while the greatly curtailed distribution bore the brunt of the blame for the curtailed social options during the weekend, it was the state of the campus itself that caught the attention of returning graduates. "We were shocked at how quiet the campus was," says Daren Alexander, Trinity ''92.

"I feel a little sorry for the people going to school here now," says an '87 graduate outside of his Saturday night alumni party in the Great Hall. "This used to be the smallest party going on on campus," he says, gesturing to a tent under which a band is playing for about 30 people milling about outside. "Now it's the biggest."

The difference in the campus, he said, is disappointing. "Would I come here now? Probably not," he says with a little bitterness. "If I came down to visit and saw this, I probably would not want to come here. We worked hard but we partied hard, and we balanced it."

Bill Brunt, Trinity '87, agrees social options don't seem to be what they once were, but he is not surprised. Two of Brunt's brothers have graduated from Duke since he attended-one in '92 and one in '94. Brunt says that when they went here, they would tell him how much campus social life was changing. "It's nothing like it was back then,'" Brunt described his brothers telling him. "It's not nearly as fun.'"

"You always hear people coming back and saying, 'It's not the way it used to be when I was here,'-you know, blowing off a lot of steam, but I think it's really true," he says. He described Friday nights when the quad would be packed with hundreds of students outside the dorms. "Now you can't do that, and I think that's a shame."

Others recall numerous kegs being rolled down the sidewalks from a beer delivery truck to dormitories. It wasn't necessary to hide or be ashamed of kegs, they say.

Alumni are scattered around campus Saturday night, especially former members of selective houses and greek organizations. Sitting on the raised patio that encircles the relatively quiet quad in front of the ATO section in Kilgo Quad are a few alumni of the fraternity, Matt Williams and Scott Lennon, both Trinity '94.

Academics, they say, has become the sole focus of the student body, a change they say is disappointing.

"I think Duke was unique in a lot of ways because it was a strong academic school where you could go and have the classic undergraduate experience with fraternity parties and meeting a lot of different people," Williams says. "I think now it's moving more toward an Ivy League experience."

As the two talk about what they consider a loss of spontaneity on campus, a huge garbage bag of melting ice crashes to the patio and explodes a few feet from where they are sitting. They chuckle and use that as an example of campus days of yore.

Unknown falling objects-probably initiated by alcohol consumers-make up a substantial quantity of alumni memories. Earlier that afternoon, Michael had vividly described stunts he and his friends used to pull like breaking bottles off the dorm roofs-"It made a cool tinkling sound," he remembers-and tossing fireworks across the quad at each other.

More random experiences stick in the minds of graduates. Jack Berlin, Trinity '77 and an ATO, stands on the sidewalk of the main quad in front of House D as his 7-year-old daughter, Lindsey, climbs on the dorm's bench.

"You'd be sitting there after the game and a T.V. or something would come flying out of one of the windows," he laughs. Although several alumni of the eighties claim that football attendance was never high, Berlin maintains that the crowds when he attended were "rowdier and more crowded."

According to the words of these alumni, students today face more dangers by going to off-campus parties than they did with the occasional firecracker thrown by an alcohol-impaired student. People will drink and drive, they predict-something they were never tempted to do, although they did recount instances of stumbling back to their dorms and intoxicated rides on the East-West bus.

Many alumni held those beliefs despite a recent rash of alcohol-related accidents across the country that seem to insinuate that alcohol is not dangerous only to drivers.

Though these types of accidents are part of the reasoning for the heightened restrictions on drinking on campuses across the country, alumni hinted that the restrictions could be an indirect cause of the problems.

"Like anything illegal or taboo, restrictions make alcohol more attractive," explains Bill Brown, Trinity '74. "When we were here, the drinking age was 18, so everybody sort of handled it in their own way. We sort of kid around among us old folks and talk about it and say it's amazing, but the time we were here nobody really had a problem with it. Nobody got caught DWI, or had a wreck or anything like that."

Similarly, Berlin says he believes students have to learn to deal with alcohol on their own, without the intervention or prevention of campus officials. Looking fondly at his daughter, he explains that he believes that it is best to allow students to make their own decisions about alcohol instead of facing heavy enforcement by officials.

"There comes a point in time where you consider people adults-if they're going to screw up they're going to screw up," he says. "How many years did they have alcohol here and how many accidents were there? Zippo. Maybe a few fist fights though," he laughs.

Students will have to deal with