What I did over my thanksgiving break

The Yale-Harvard Game and the Gelband Family Business: Thriving Even From Boise

By J. Gelband, 11-30-07

To some, the Yale vs. Harvard Football Game is an historic 125-year-old academic and sport rivalry. To the Gelbands, the Game is a tradition of a different sort.

I traveled back to New Haven last week – in part for Thanksgiving but also, and conveniently, for the Game, which is held every other year at Yale. My grandmother’s house, an early 1900s home, is adjacent to the Yale Bowl, and Gelbands have been parking cars in her back yard on Game day for nearly fifty years. A family business for which Gelbands return to New Haven from as far away as Boise, Idaho. A family business almost as old as the game itself. 

The Game is a unique sight to behold, thoroughly unlike a college football game in Boise. Imagine 70,000 argyle scarves flowing in the wind – well, not everyone was wearing a scarf, but it was cold enough that they could have.

Yes, 70,000 fans in the residential neighborhood in New Haven, most of whom need a place to park because they drove in that morning from Virginia, Illinois, New Hampshire, Ohio, and, of course, Massachusetts.

You’re not likely to see thousands of mink coats at a BSU game, but that’s part of what makes the Yale-Harvard Game so fine. And the thousands of champagne corks popping from every ear shot. Not too many naked-painted torsos or beer cans against the forehead in New Haven, but a dandy spectacle in its own right.

The neighborhood was packed with people.

Helicopters circled in the sky because all kinds of famous political alumni were in town. I heard Hillary Clinton was there, but the only famous person I saw was a guy who won Jeopardy’s Tournament of Champions, which I had seen just two nights before (otherwise I probably wouldn’t have recognized him).

Though I wasn’t star hunting because I was busy practicing the Gelband Wave, which is a time-tested move to direct cars (only small cars because we don’t want to waste yard space on minivans or Hummers) into the driveway that leads to a deceptively large yard (max historical capacity is 43 vehicles). 

The cars on the road in front of the house were in a dead stop, which is perfectly frustrating for them to relent and pay $30 or $40 or more to park right there. I didn’t even have to yell; I just held a foam core sign with “PARK HERE” in big purple letters and waved cars in one after another. Those who haggled over the price were told to move on; our prices were firm and were only going to go up as time went on. Some thought they could find a better deal, but we saw all of those bargain hunters stuck in traffic long after kickoff.

While I was on the street, my father, my boyfriend, my sister’s boyfriend, and my grandmother were in the yard helping cars settle into their tight spaces and explaining the rules, which include leaving keys on the driver’s seat.

My sister was on the front stoop shilling hot apple cider, apples we picked the day before and freshly baked cashew cookies. “Hot ciderrrrrrr,” she shouted to the chilly masses wearing navy and white. To the Cambridge folk in maroon she offered “ci-dahhh!”

My mother was mostly inside heating the cidah but periodically popped out to greet neighbors and other passersby that she knew.

Adding hot cider to a flask of Wild Turkey was a popular move, probably accounted for 75 percent of the business.

We packed the cars in so tightly for anywhere from $15 to $50 apiece, that’s because the price increases as kickoff nears. Yes, some people paid $50, but the location couldn’t be better, and we generally don’t mess with people who have to relieve themselves in the corner of the yard once night falls, but only when night has fallen. 

And though there was a moment of panic about how we were going to get those first-comer cars out with 37 total that had started to spill out of the driveway one by one when Harvard was running away with the game from the onset, it turned out that many wanted to stay until the end. Game goers who stay until the end make a long day in the yard, but it also means we don’t suffer the frenzy of 30 people wanting to leave at the same time when none of those people are the last guy in the driveway (that’s where leaving the keys comes in).

We did have some early parkers want to leave the game early as well, but they waited patiently as the six adult drivers maneuvered other cars out of the way. In fact, I got to drive some of the fancy cars that parked with us – some of which were futuristic beyond my comprehension and, obviously, my pocketbook. Some cars didn’t even have keys, just jump-drive computer sticks. And various versions of computer-voice commentary about my driving and being too close to other cars.

It was dark when the last car left. It was a long day, but busy and fun – especially fun when we counted our earnings. The Game is all fun and games for some, but we were exhausted. Good thing they play at Harvard every other year, because we need two to get ready for the next time it takes over New Haven.

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