MacMurray College - Tartan / Illiwoco Yearbook (Jacksonville, IL)

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X s CONTENTS BOOK I Our Administration ff BOOK II We Students BOOK III ' Our Organizations BOOK IV Our Honored BOOK V Our Fun EDITOR: Carey Shands BUSINESS MANAGER: Jerrie Wood 545G3 Henry Pfeiffer Li ' rary Mac Murrey CoUe

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FOREWORD EMORIES are precious things. From our babyhood we store them away. At first it was a favorite doll; what did we care if her nose was chipped and her hair was pulled out? We had dragged her by one leg until she had become a part of us. Then we came to an autograph book. Looking at the childish scrawl of Roses are red, violets are blue, we wonder who Tommy Jones was. The big events that took place concerned circuses and new puppies, not boys. Gradually under the watchful eyes of our parents we entered high school. We pull out a dusty scrap book. Here we find a very dried-up gardenia that was crushed and sniffed so many times that we thought we would always remem- ber its fragrance. Out fall clippings of that special football hero. He looks a little too tall and a little too thin now. We wonder what ever became of him. A folder of graduation memories full of calling cards tumbles to the floor and college life begins. Our fresh- man badge looks a little tattered, not to mention that cherished bit of snipped off green ribbon. Carefully scotch-taped down is THAT dance program. All week- end we seemed to glow at the mere hint of his name. Our society bid that took so long to come to us is taped next to it. Memories of that wait in our room come rushing back. With them come many more. Our class project . . . stage fright seemed to hold us in its grip. How on earth could actresses stand it! Last of all our eye is caught by an ILLIWOCO. We leaf through its pages . . . faces of our classmates appear and we are in our senior drapes. So we are out of college and we look at a page that reads Keep Our Memories Green. They will always be green. We want to remember them all for someday when a daughter asks us to tell her about college we will relive them for her. She may not think they are very important and they aren ' t really. It is just that we are sentimental about our struggle to grow up. It seems so painful at times, but we wouldn ' t trade a second of those wonderful years we spent collecting spare memories.

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UR CAMPUS The deep green leaves that flutter over our heads seem to say hello! The elm trees stand, still clothed in the verdant color of late summer, and look down on the chattering, laugh- ing girls. Then slowly without any warning except for maybe a slight nip in the air, the leaves turn to pure gold. We awaken one morning to find our campus looking like an illustration for an autumn issue of NATURE MAGAZINE. When hurrying from class to class, from dinner to date, or ever, to a movie with the girls, crackling leaves are under foot. When grey skies look through the jet black arms of our guardians we find instead of the crunch of fallen leaves, the soft hush of snow. The red brick buildings stand out in con- trast to the whiteness. We find ourselves humming Christmas carols as we study. The months pass. We are told to keep off the grass. The grass looks like a sea of mud, but we stay off. A haze seems to be hanging in the air turning even the smallest branch into a pattern of lacy chartreuse. As we walk to and fro we look at the returned robin and the tiny straight shoots of the crocus. A roof of emerald reveals itself now and seems to protect us. The buildings we have for nine months called home seem a little sad to bid us God-speed as we all leave our campus.