Boston University - HUB Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 19 text:

Boston has many eyes, all flickering bright orange like flames, all at dusk or dawn an ash-blue, all watching, with tenderness, our achievements, our laughs, our failures, our tears. And so when we first accompanied our curiosity onto Beacon Hill, the Gardens, the Common, the docks, we began to realize that our education was so much more than we had been led to believe. Rowdy imperfection (the tattered soul of Boston), a home the University wistfully dared us to join, had become a way of life. I keep singing this sad, sad song ... All my life I've been singing this sad, sad song, Trying to get my message to you (Otis Redding) A year when the University reaches out for us to help guide and nurture. A year of change for Presidents Case and Christ-Janer and the Class of '68. A year when we chose to defend our school by reshaping its character. A year when we are called upon to aid and redesign not only a student micron, but a united world—a united, youthful world. We find—and we believe—that we must be the answer, the dynamo, to our schools, to our University, to our leaders, to our country, and ... to ourselves. It is no wonder that—with such responsibilities—we are the most conceited, persevering, dynamic, and able class ever to graduate Boston University. We are—as Dr. Pinard and the others would have us—tenacious, reliable and, hopefully, understanding. Somethin's happenin' here, What it is ain't exactly clear ... (Buffalo Springfield) 13

Page 18 text:

Our second year and still malleable. In May we weren't as young as we would liked to have been. Now Boston was our town . . . You have stood by me in my darkest hour And oh how happy you have made me Oh how happy you have made me (Shades of Blue) Renewing friendships, but real independence begins to grow. A look around Boston, the University community, the people, the activity. Our discoveries and our pride: down by the river, down by the banks of the River Charles (ah that's what's happening Baby). (Standells) And we gloated as if Boston had never before been on the map. Hayden packed for Murray Levin: fascinating and we could always find a date there for the weekend. And, if things got slow, we could table-hop around the Union to find something that might catch our fancy. Late retreats to the dorm, or to a friend's apartment, with a crisp sheen of saffron spilled upon Commonwealth and a sweet, sentimental gust of midnight-blue inspiration darting around in a sorcerer's ballet.

Page 20 text:

A painful transition is, once again, upon us. And again, like shedding skin, we accept the transformation (as we can only do when there is no choice). The erratic and the pulsating are commonplace. We forget. We are conditioned to forget. We sublimate in new ways, as we learn and love in new ways. New ways. New ways. New . . . Perhaps we do not want to show our awe, respect, to the concrete and the thousands of others. Respect. We are not at all like any of our classmates. We are, however, in reflection, all exactly same, current. We are very much impressed with ourselves —as only our generation should and can be—for we are discoveries. We leave with our University and our Boston, a personality so vibrant and so optimistic, a seed of what we will accomplish, that our class, 1968, scratches Boston with a virus, a disease, a malignancy, so strong and so good, that before our last member has been resigned, the world will glow with its beauty.