At the risk of inviting Dean Winbigler's ghost to seize my sheepskin, I shall reveal the truth about the red pigeons at the 1958 Big Game.
It started when a group of veteran panty raiders decided to saw down the goalposts at the Berkeley stadium. Some other students beat us to it, forcing us to devise an alternate plan. On TV a few days earlier, we had seen a peace demonstration in Europe in which hundreds of doves were spectacularly released in unison. So we bought two dozen pigeons (at 25 cents each), some red food coloring and enough beer to throw a pigeon-dyeing party the night before the Big Game. The pigeons didn't seem to mind the warm baths, although students worried about getting caught red-handed.
The next day, each of us infiltrated the stadium separately, armed with a grocery sack containing two pigeons. As I approached the gate, the ticket taker asked, "What's in the grocery bag?" "Pigeons," I responded. "Gimme a look," he said incredulously. I opened the sack, and the gatekeeper looked in. "Okay, just so you don't have any booze."
We worked our way to a row of seats at the top of the Cardinal student section and placed our bags by our feet. Near the end of the first half, Stanford scored a touchdown. Each of us reached down and tossed a pigeon into the air, followed by its sackmate.
Startled, the birds pooped on the Stanford fans below. They fluttered down to the field, perched on the goalposts and flew over the Cal card section. Berkeley fans threw their cards at the red birds, ruining the halftime card show.
The next day, newspapers accused the "animal houses" -- the Zetes and Dekes -- of the highly disruptive stunt. Dean of Students H. Donald Winbigler launched an investigation of the two fraternities but found both innocent for once. The real perpetrators never felt the heat.
As for the pigeons, they roosted happily in the Campanile. And in January, when the rains washed them clean, the Berkeley tower was stained with streaks of red.
-- James F. Lyons, '60
