Before the blueprints were drawn, the gray matter of a great mind housed the university. Thomas Jefferson would found the new institution on Greek principles, most visible in its physical architecture; but he probably never predicted that such a civilization would lay ground to rather uncivilized practices.

The Greeks were the first to streak. Back before the Olympics could be bribed away to other cities, athletes would display their manliness by racing naked in front of Athenian crowds.

Things have changed a little in the past few millenia. Today, geeks streak the lawn as often as Greeks, and girls joined the game when streaking became popular in the 70s. The goals vary -- relief from tension, initiation into a fraternity, continuance of tradition, shock value -- but the potential results can be as serious as a misdemeanor charge, or even the loss of various bodily appendages to a chain fence. Nevertheless, when there's a nip in the air, such naked naughtiness can be quite titillating. Until the frostbite gets your nipples.

Streaking first became popular at Florida State University in 1974, and was a nationwide craze in time for winter. Time magazine noted "Streakers generally race nude between two unpredictable points, and the idea is catching on among college students and other groups." The fad signaled a return of peace to the campuses of the nation, but also a decline of student concern for the social problems that had elicited their protests in recent years. After such popularization and attention, various university groups and individuals laid claim to streaking-related titles. A letter to the Cavalier Daily stated that "The Beard" had held the university streaking distance record since 1969, having run the entire distance from Maupin House to the Howard Johnson, via Jefferson Park Avenue. The Naked Marauders were an alleged unique secret society of 25 men with the intent "to act loony and have fun," according to President Grand T. But Grand T. knew that streaking had "been going on for years." The daring streak that ran through student nudists had its roots as far back as the 1800s, and might have been a fad as early as the 1930s.

"Some of the most prominent citizens in this and other communities were naked runners in the 30s," a letter to the Daily Progress claimed. "They used to streak from the Zeta Psi house ... to our home, where my mother regularly robed them and sent them back." Washington and Lee University officials said the practice began as early as 1804, citing records that student William Crimp was charged with "running naked through the streets." He later went on to serve as a House Representative and a U.S. ambassador to Chile.

The first streaking reported to University Police involved an incident that occurred in Alderman Library. The Richmond Times-Dispatch reported that on February 18, 1974, a "library employee told police that he heard an 'ah-ooh-gah' type horn blow and looked up to see a 'rear view' of a streaker emerging from a men's rest room." The man, wearing only a helmet, ran for the exit as students laughed and applauded. A sudden rash of appearances in that same month was instigated by a classified ad in the Cavalier Daily, proposed by a Mr. Bullock of Dicky's Darkroom. The offer of $25 for a picture of the first streaker on grounds resulted in six separate streaking incidents in one day -- possibly a United States record for individual streaks in one day, Mr. Bullock suggested. Of the three submitted photos, the prize went to the streaker with the "most class." At 11 a.m., he ran from the Rotunda, across the Lawn to Cabell Hall and then down to Jefferson Park Avenue. The anonymous man "ran from east to west to make sure that the Rotunda would be in the background of the photo."

U.Va. students took to the task of streaking with all the creativity of a nationally-recognized higher-learning institute. One bare biker rode his unicycle through a crowd of people. Another eccentric ecdysiast ran through girls' dorm rooms waving an American flag while hallmates tape-recorded reactions. He was wearing an open jacket, and a false mustache-and-nose. Two others cruised Alderman Road in their convertible. One guy stood on Emmet Street in front of Memorial Gym, shading himself from the sun with his umbrella.

The first female streak occurred during a mass event at Webb and Maupin dorms, two days after the first police-reported occurrence. "This place has always been a guy's university," said one gender-conscious gymnosophist. "We were more or less trying to say 'Look, we're here, accept us for what we are.'" The men were surprised, she said, and stood aside to let her pass. But after making such a statement, she also gave a warning: "The novelty is going to wear off and people will start doing more perverted things to get attention."

Female participation added a new dimension to the growing debate between streakers and law enforcement -- whether students were dangerously flaunting the law or engaging in a harmless fad. Within a week of the first police-reported incident, four students were arrested and charged with disorderly conduct. Police warned against encouraging undesirable outsiders, citing a recent incident involving a student threatened with a gun by non-students driving in the McCormick Road area. The court showed discretion in not bringing a charge of indecent exposure, a misdemeanor that would have been more harmful to their record.

Many predicted that the far-out fad would fade. The Student Council president at the time, Larry Sabato, was quoted as saying, "Streaking is just the latest fad here at the university, and it would have gone away with or without the arrests." The Daily Progress advised that "the best way to deal with the streaking epidemic is to regard it for what it is: a passing campus frolic that will disappear in due course. That is, of course, unless the authorities, by over-reaction, create about it the aura that it is the daring and therefore 'cool' thing to be 'into.'" Contrary to such predictions, streaking has yet to disappear, and the decline in incidents is probably due to a variety of factors: police arrests, the new J. Crew winter catalogue, and the fact that everyone who wanted to streak already had.

But the recent surge in Lawn applications is one sign that streaking has hardly disappeared. Nothing could better reward a student's contributions to the university than a full view of the frolicking festivities. However, as our society is becoming increasingly voyeuristic, more people are willing to watch than to participate. One thousand students attended the first mass streak in 1994, but only one hundred actually participated. The event, organized in response to the threat of a police crackdown, has dwindled in numbers more recently.

But the buff-bare still brave the Lawn, running to follow in the footsteps of the unknown sycophant who first kissed Homer's bronzed buns. Streaking has proven to be more than a passing fad, and is now even an unofficial requisite for graduation. Once a statement of liberation, it has become a tradition.