As the carrier lumbered to a stop nearly at the door of the Harvard Square Theatre, students, Indians and television crews were pushing and wrestling with each other to get inside. A phalanx of policemen and soldiers rushed John Wayne into the theater, flattening two ticket‐takers. A man from a distinguished New York periodical kicked open a door and went through the police line with a forearm thrust. A Boston Globe columnist threw one of the soldiers into the theatre seats. It was plenty rough.

Backstage, the Duke, wearing a tweed jacket cut Western‐style with a yoke in the back, was handing out slips of paper with his autograph and saying into a microphone that his reception was “like being invited to lunch with the Borgias.” Asked if he had been hit during the procession, Mr. Wayne, who appeared not to have been touched, growled that it “didn't hurt.”

The Award

Then the Lampoon presented him with an award for his nerve in appearing, which consisted of two spheres manufactured from brass. In accepting, Mr. Wayne, noting that the Lampoon's last guest was Linda Lovelace, an actress of unusual talents, said the challenge had come “in a plain brown envelope.” It was, he said, “like being invited to lunch with the Borgias.”

Then, with a ‘notation that the actor had become a spokesman for the Right “not out of cheap, flimsy conviction, but rather because he never had the benefits of a private school education,” The Lampoon opened the debate with the actor (“a foothill of a man”).

With an easy grin, but a hard, warning squint, like when he manned the last machine‐gun nest in “Back in Bataan,” the Duke faced questions from the audience from a chair on the stage. There was little antagonism, the questions often whimsical and the actor frequently drew loud applause.

While the students poked fun, in the wings, the policemen and soldiers nudged each other and smiled when John Wayne shot a comeback to a question and said “he's got the answers.” Capt. George Skypeck, who gave Mr. Wayne an honorary colonel's commission in his reserve unit, the 187th Infantry, looked admiringly at the actor, 6 foot 4 inches tall and 225 pounds of bone, sinew and some, paunch, topped with a wig.

“Boy, he's some blocker. wish I had him with me when I was playing football,” he said. A large, husky man, the captain also presented the actor with a drawing he had done of a soldier, confessing that he had “some of the pseudo‐intellectual in me.” ‘Dinner When We Want It’