Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts - Mohawk Yearbook (North Adams, MA)

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To us, then, the word Vale does not mean an irrevocable farewell, for in the coming year there will begin again the cycle of Are, Salre, Vale. It will mean that again we shall meet new experiences. We shall discard them, or absorb and incorporate them, and go on living more fully, saying in our own way what Tennyson has so beautifully expressed: I am a part of all that I have met Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. Doris Chormrrl '37 IVY ADDRESS Let me tell you about John. He is a garage man, a mechanic. An ordinary man who fixes cars? Oh, no, not John. He is a genial German, generous in size and generous of heart, with a special gift for making friends. A few weeks ago I was grumbling to John about all the work we had to do up here, about the late hours we had to keep in preparing lessons for the training school, about the heartlessness of the teachers and about exams coming on. But you always go back, said John. If it's as bad as you say, why do you like it so well? If that question were put to anyone of the students here, each heart would hold the same answer to the question of why we are content here. That which was said to be the secret of Charles Kingsley's life is the secret of our happiness. When asked by Mrs. Browning what it was that made his life beautiful, Kingsley replied, I had a friend. There is noth- ing in life like friendship. It makes us strive for the best. It makes life beautiful and really worth living. At no time can a girl afford to be without a friend, especially when she is away at school. Each year she will have laughter and loveliness to share, and each year she will have tears to be dried, and so through cloud and sunshine she will be glad of someone to go hand in hand with during those four brief years. Several years ago a prize was offered for the best definition of a friend. The one which received the award was A friend is the person who comes in when every other person has gone out . It is only a friend who can penetrate the inmost feelings of a heart with her silent sympathy. The heartbreaks of youth can be understood only by a mother or by youth, and if mother is not there, it is all-important to have a friend near sy. Sometimes it's academic troubles, grades, deficiencies, perhaps a carefully planned lesson that is a failure in the training school. Again it may be personal relationships, when we have been hurt by, or hurt those with whom we work and play. These are the times when we are glad of that friend to whom we can open the locked doors of our hearts and re- ceive comfort for that soul aching and lonely. page flzfwfy-mir'

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Ave Salve Vale! Hail, salutations, farewell! What a world of meaning can be read into this brief phrase. In these three short Latin words a whole lifetime could be summed up. Ave, Srzlve, Vale! If a person who was nearing the close of life should utter them, the emotion expressed in his voice might tell us the story of his life, of its heights and depths, its possible growth out of a fruitless, drab existence into a vital life, a life more rich, more abundant because of those heights and depths. We are still young, but surely in this same way the three years of college student's life might be elucidated by an interpretation of the words ''Hail-salutations-farewell1 For the junior class these words have a special significance. They have not merely been said by us, they have been lived vitally by us, in the sense that they express how we have felt during these past three years. We entered this college, and in so doing entered upon a new type of life. This was our Are! At first, perhaps, the answer to our bright Hail seemed just an echo, a reflection of our own thoughtlessly hopeful youth. We expected a cheery Salve in response. Perhaps some of us heard just the neutral echo, a sound devoid of significance, merely to be heard and forgotten, but most of us heard a sober note hinting of the struggles and difficulties to come. In it were undertones of disappointment as well as over-tones of hope and promise. We sensed a challenge and were unwill- ing to be happy on a minor note, to avoid the struggle, to miss the possible triumph of the full diapason of success. As we progressed in knowledge and education we knew the meaning of that Salve. It was the greeting of the present--the echo of the past-- a greeting to the joys and sorrows, the mistakes and achievements of our school life. We are all individuals. Our pasts have been different, our futures undoubtedly will be divergent ones, yet our presents are comparably sim- ilar. We came together from widely dissimilar communities and families, with varying educational background, but we all came for a common pur- pose, the securing of an education so that we in turn might transmit that education to others. In obtaining that goal we have shared for three years a wide variety of experiences which, although we have kept through them all the mould of our own individualities, have served as a mortar cementing us together. As graduation time draws near, that murmur of Saline seems to have risen to a peal of joy, joy in attaining a portion of our goal, joy because it is good to be young and to be the center of attention, joy in the praise of our parents and friends who are concerned with our progress. And mixed with that emotion is another one, harder to define, yet deeply felt. It seems to be an intermingling of curiosity and expectancy, of doubt and hope as to what the future holds. Indeed we hear another salutation, Vale, which is not merely a fare- well to the past, but hail to the future, for most of us to another year of college, to real attainment, to another year of life which will bring work and play, laughter and sorrow. Today is not a day for unhappiness. We graduate tomorrow-yes-but it is not the end of college. It is a spur rather to greater effort in the future. pugw llzirfy

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Not all people come to friendships in the same way. My earliest recollection of a friend, outside of my family, is of Marj. I think I was in the third grade in a new school. Marj had on a green dress. She sat in the middle row in about the fifth seat. I was alone. I had forgotten my lunch, and Marj shared hers with me. Today with a little child's prayer on lips I say, Thank you, God, for making me forget my lunch, and giving me Marjf' If you search into the past, memories of your friends-in-need will surge into your hearts. As we think back through these four years we can bring to mind the first acquaintances made here. Each will recall the Freshman Reception, when half timid advances were made to gain new acquaintances, the old study hall and its occupants, the dorm and its girls, the lunch room and those with whom we shared meals, Greylock hikes and the intimacies made then, basket ball games, plays and fellow-Thespians, picnic days and the pals we went swimming with. Each time we came together was an event because it meant a chance for deepened friendship. Samuel Johnson once said, If a man does not make acquaintances as he advances through life, he will soon find himself alone. A man should keep his friendships in constant repair. John, my friend the mechanic, must know the parts of an automobile and how these parts fit into the scheme of things in order to do a good re- pair job. We, too, must know the cogs in friendship in order to keep it in constant running condition, ready to go out and climb the high roads. Our neighbor in Amherst whom we know as David Grayson remarks that capacity for friendship increases. When a person's heart really opens to a friend, he finds there is room for two, and when he takes in the second, behold the skies lift and the earth grows wider and he finds there is room for two more . Our hearts have opened and our chain of friends is increasing. We relinquish the joy of our associations in this college with the hope that these friendships which have taken root here will in some measure be like this ivy. They are not mushroom plants which grow over night and shrivel and decay. Their growth is slow, but each spring when April comes round, you may be sure that there are new leaves sent out from the original plant to catch the sun. And, if in this long ascent the groping tendrils find some flaws in the wall, they will gently cover over rough and smooth alike and cling to it more tenderly. Winifred K. Smith '37 pugr flfirfy-fz:'u