Tourists, Toes and Teachings

Most warning signs appear in neon; John Harvard’s right foot is no exception. When you see the shiny, worn-down, urine-yellow shoe, your first instinct should not be to rub your hand all over it. Yet evidently, it is.

A gaggle of tourists, holding various devices, stops daily to pose in front of the statue. And almost always, someone extends a hand to the worn bronze. Whether they rub, circle, or tap, they all touch the shoe. And no one washes their hands.

But why? Most Harvard students would guess that it’s for good luck. But I suspect something deeper is at work for these unsuspecting guests. It is mysterious that, regardless of hometown or first language, thousands of adults flock to a seated statue and smile for a photo. What about that neon shoe calls to them? I cannot answer that personally, so I went to ask a few myself.

Daphne from Houston was joined by her husband, John, and her friend from Taiwan. Despite the distance, they had all been to Harvard before. But why the shoe? “If you touch the foot, you get more intelligence,” Daphne said, rather matter-of-factly. To her, the shoe symbolized good luck. We continued with some small talk until I paused and asked if she had heard the rumor about the shoe. She had not. Well … I readied myself to break the news to Daphne.

“The front or on the back?” John inquired, after hearing of the Harvard College tradition. The front, I answered.

“So, we touch the pee?” Daphne said. I nodded. And with that, the three of them burst into laughter.

The second group was less enthusiastic. I caught Fariba from Los Angeles as she walked away from the scene of the “crime.” “If you touch the shoe, you can get into Harvard,” she explained.

I did not get the chance to ask if she was a student before her male companion interjected.

“Did you touch it?” he asked me, worried.

“I have not touched it,” I responded. As they turned to walk away, I heard him giggle.

My third interview fell into my lap. George and his wife approached me and asked about the Spanish flag waving over University Hall—a spot usually reserved for the American Stars and Stripes. I did not have a good answer at the time, but for those reading this now, it was because the Spanish prime minister was speaking at the Harvard Kennedy School’s Institute of Politics. I did, however, have a question for George (and co.).

“Our tour guide told us it was a thing to do,” he answered, shrugging.

George was a Spanish national on a tour from New York to Boston and decided to fill a gap in their schedule with a campus tour. These first-timers traveled all the way from Europe to touch the shoe! Guilt settled in my stomach when I had to ask the fateful question: Did you know that students pee there? “Oh no!” George answered. He then pretended to wash his hands in an imaginary sink. We all laughed and said our goodbyes. As they walked away, I saw them holding hands.

And surely I couldn’t get away from my “tour” of Harvard’s tourists without running into a wannabe comedian. Nikki wanted to offer a fake name to the “Harvard Independent” and then laughed hysterically at the idea. There’s nothing like watching someone be thoroughly amused by their own thoughts. But do not worry, the Indy would not deceive our readers like that.

A friend from Chicago visiting with Nikki interrupted, admitting they hoped to get good luck from their visit to this ivy-covered institution—something the foot was supposed to provide.

Nikki took the path of least resistance and Googled “What to do in Harvard.” “Come here and rub his shoe for good luck,” Nikki recalled. Like any good skeptic, Nikki wanted to get a second opinion. “Is it true?” she asked me.

I answered honestly: I have never rubbed the foot myself.

“Uh-oh,” she responded. I was afraid the bad news would only get worse after she heard the next part of my sentence. Still, I was surprised by her response after telling her about the conspira-pee. “I would believe it.” Nikki chortled.

“It’s kind of gross,” her friend chimed in.

“Honestly,” Nikki responded. “It’s kind of impressive.”

The friend was less enthused. “Well, I’m gonna guess more males than females,” she said, eyebrows raised.

Ultimately, they didn’t regret rubbing the shoe, and when I asked Nikki for her name, she jokingly gave “Bob” as a pseudonym, which caused her to burst out laughing. The hysterics continued before she answered, “Nikki.” I bid them adieu, and as I walked away, I swear she was still laughing.

So, what did I gather from these interviews? Tourists aren’t as impressed with Harvard students as they are with John himself. And a little bit of pee doesn’t seem to rattle these determined visitors. Maybe we can learn something from them. Maybe their lack of disgust shows us that superstition outweighs hygiene. Or that tradition triumphs over bacteria. Whatever it is, I’m going to take their lessons to heart with some hand sanitizer in my pocket.

Naomi Beinart ’30 (naomibeinart@college.harvard.edu) loves boots-on-the-ground journalism.