College of the Holy Cross - Purple Patcher Yearbook (Worcester, MA)

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THE P RPLE PATCHER Volume LV 1963 Staff EDITORIAL STAFF KEVIN KEOGI-I, Editor A. Martin Keating, Managing Editor Christian K. Zacher, Class Historian James Vanecko, Campus Editor. Steven L. Bashwiner, Leland C. Fay. Francis R. Bidinger, Activities Editor. Joseph Delfino, Edward P. Doherty Paul O. LeClerc, Robert Martin, Daniel M. Murtaugh, Daniel B. Ryan. Gerard W. Moynihan, Sports Editor. John T. Andrews, Jr., Richard T. Angell, Charles Buchta, John W. Catterall, Richard Glasheen, Henry Hand, David Hart, Kevin Contents THE CAMPUS A. Lawler, John A. Matthews, III, James S. McCarthy, Aword and Picture Chf0niClC Of the Yeafis Joseph R. McGinniss, Edgar Michels, James R. Murphy, David F. Ryan, James Sheridan, Michael Toner. Robert F. Hueston, Faculty Editor. F. William Bernet, John R. Cervione, Philip F. Gallagher, William R. Hauer, events and the people who made them. THE ACTIVITIES Michael Hueston, Jr., Daniel Hussey, Stephen John- . S - R 1' ' son, William P. Kelly, John A. Matthews, Ill, E. Eugene Academic 'gl ervlce JA elgmus Miller, James G. Phillipp, Carl Sylvester. Media J Music Anthony G. Koerner, Seniors Editor. William Banfield Peter Carroll, Michael Cavanaugh, Gregory R. D'Ono- frio, Gerald Fogarty, Jr., Richard D. Gorman, Samuel C. Gowan, John B. Hedge, Michael T. Hogan, Charles E. Hoye, Thomas F. Ireton, John A. Lowe, Gregory S. Lukow- ski, Robert Martin, james S. McCarthy, Frederick P. McGehan, Michael E. Moynihan, David E. Pauley, John A. Primavera, George Schuetz, Gerald Sheehan, G. Clin- ton Sornberger, Richard L. Varco, Peter R. Walson. THE ARENA Fall Sports J Winter Sports Spring Sports THE FACULTY Kevin MacCarthy, Chief Photographer. Thomas F. Fratello, Administration -J Professors Robert E. Hoxie, Thomas H. Kieren, John M. Long, James E. McGregor, John T. Moran, John Pyne. W. Paul Maloney, Copy Editor. Thomas F. Harrison, Law- rence M. Kenney, Hugh B. McCormick, Robert E. McDon- Undergraduates J Class of 1963 ald, Edward Mullaney. Joseph D. Skokan, Layout Editor. Michael A. DelVecchio, John A. Zawacki. BUSINESS STAFF JEREMIAH W. O'CONNOR, JR., Business Manager William T. Collins, III, Circulation Manager. Peter M. Ac- ton, .lohn L. Belford, Edward Condon, Henry Hand David G. Mahaney, David H. McMahon, William R. Sheri: dan. William L. Waldert, Homecoming Committee Chairman. Charles Buchta, Daniel Forrestal, R. Jerrad King, Thomas W. Noering, Gerard Sheehan, Joseph H. Thi- bodeau. Paul W. Finnegan, Advertising Manager. John S. Carusone, Charles P. O'Connor, David E. Pauley. Julius F. Friese, Patrons Manager. PATRCNS i ADVERTISERS 7 Page 8 60 J' 102 136 182 280 282

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Highway l2, joe Petty, Purchase, N. Y., Pensacola, lVlaury's, Golliwog, and Stockholm overlooking the valley. Waiting at Logan or by a doorway in Northampton. Staring out from Cape Ann. Dozing down the Berlin strip. And among the inexpressibles that the soul knows best is the name of May. May of third year college is spring with extras. Emblematic of a certain maturity is the Ameri- can spectacle euphemistically called Junior Prom. Midway between the red of Easter and the green of june arrives this traditional rite of spring-a weekend of poetry, society and braggadocio which indicates by its fiscal budget, bu- reaucracy and excess that its promoters and patrons deserve the right of passage to their last year of protective interlude. lndeed, Promade is a yearned for liqueur, a potion pro- ferred annually to but one class, a fluid of dangerous delight which must be nourished the school year long and gulped in sybaritic frenzy come the weekend. Such a May was ours, such rite, such passage. May was again the annual pass or pass out examination month. May was nearly June. But May was also the silent punctuation to all the politicking, self-conscious caution and spiteful ascendancy that infected us-infects all-from the first day in Fenwick, O'Kane, or Wheeler. May, 1962 was this emphatic period. The prizes and offices were finally filled, concomitant angers and jealousies forgotten. With senior year would come an end to the fierce interest in rank-seeking, and a beginning for the customary apprehen- sion about the inevitabilities outside the commencement gate of our Pakachoag decompression chamber. Such realization wavered in the limbo of half-conscious things in that last-but-one undergraduate May. The honey of what father remembered forever as the good old college days was full sweet on our lips. But the salt of hammering winters, easy sins and scarring disappointments had by now crusted us with the familiar cynicism of growing boys. Maybe, the sad man whispered, happiness is only in the retrospect. The true taste of our awareness hovered there between the two extremes. Honey, saltg ideal, realg yes, but oh yes, no. And we retired toward August to confirm or adjust our one-summer-richer sense of being. vt ow it all comes back . . . Perhaps we shall mutter it a generation hence when some innocent child's eyes demand pictures of the four dark white years when we camped on lndian l-lill. Our mind will remember and forget, as it wishesg and, depending on the values we hook to these days of scho- larship and silliness, we will deliver up that child to truth or fiction. But the gray zone between is im- i iv mense. We drove up that Linden Lane in September before the Cuba fright to taste that neutral color. President Carton quietly assum.ed office, the staid old lady Crusader slowly drifted into a blue funk of monotony, and the Patcher soundlessly gathered research to chronicle the full tale of emergence. The story on these three pages that we are all reading and writing together is nothing more than one mind's eye reflections on our joint journeying, and its senior chapter-as a year's record-is far surpassed by the re- mainder of the Book 1963. ln one sense, this exactly docu- mented record of our last year is important. ln another, the record is less important than the four-hundred-odd personal judgments which come from dimensions outside pictures, captions and names. The dimensions are legion. We are buying her the skimpy hot dog under the stands between halves of the Syracuse game. No, girl, l don't know why they still insist on calling it Homecoming. Now, girl, that's rather silly small talk. l told you what l want to do next summer. See Istanbul, Port Said, Nairobi, Buda- pest. Write a book. Smoke too many cigarettes. Fall off a cliff, but get caught in a tree halfway down. Get shot at a few times in a dark alley on a Moroccan midnight. Love a beautiful woman. You want a Coke with that, honey? Yep, 94th percentile on the LSAT. Guess it'll be Michigan or Columbia. Well, naturally, l'll apply there too. What the hell. Dad, mom, sis, l'd like you to meet some of my friends: he advises Art Schlesinger, he denies evolution, he says Luther was intemperate .... Let me hear that once more: You say the Development Oflice thinks tiddlewinks presents a bad image of the College? And we skied off the Christmas slopes of Vermont and New York State into the same cold Worcester sunsets. Seven-eighths an alumnus. Fuzzy and unanswerable by now were those much earlier urgent questions of identity, place, and purpose. Rephrased to fit a frame of mind now older in outlook but younger in its sense of complexity-rephrased, the questions were now of immediate nature: which graduate school, when the wedding, how soon the draft. Rushed by the exigencies of more schooling or wage-earning, we gallopped through winter, skipped more Kimball meals and put aside the en- snarling, ultimate doubts about l, it and them. And the people who provide love and tuition met me in O'Kane the evening before His Excellency Governor Peabody would urge us to go now to give ourselves out- right to the land vaguely realizing westward. Which doesn't necessarily mean go hike up a mountain, but suggests that there is a freshness in the tired word frontier. The sign, tarnished brass letters on black, acknowledged our final going and the man in the campus cruiser secured the gates behind us, lest worms and thieves creep in. And the story ends. as at as as at On the contrary. Those thirty-six months present and nine' months absent, once lived out, take up distracting residence in the glue of memory. It is not easy to forget them at first. But that is a country for old men we are comme.ncing toward and the efforts of realizing westward will sap us. Almost certainly there will come that particular day in the next century when an innocent child's eyes will probe our memory for the story of our l-loly Cross. We will not at all be able to relate what happened, for names will escape, incidents fog, insights blur. ln suburban Boston, bayside California, or colonial Moon, yesterday in Wor- cester will distort itself in haze. The grace and passion that we wore four years in the colors of honey and salt-they will have been bled out beyond recall by age, motion and place. l-loly Cross was IZO years a college when we came away. A college may not well remember all it's boys and the boys gradually men have talents for sand-papering memory of its edges, its hurt, its salt. ln men gradually dust, place and motion and age will replace full recall with fiction. And so we will look into the child's eyes and say: l will tell you the story-perhaps not with the truth of facts-but it is my story and it begins this way: . . . l am talking now of thirty-six months present and nine months not present in Worcester, Massachusetts in the time that l lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a student .... Each man of us was a whole dimension.-Christian Zacher

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