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

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History of The If a newcomer to the diminutive municipality of North Adams were to stroll up Church Street, he would pass by a small cluster of stately buildings which a weather- beaten sign proclaims to all to be the State Teachers College. There, on a certain fateful day in September, 1949, a group of ninety-six eager young men and women entered upon a severe program of studies designed to create from the crude, malleable ore of naive, immature adolescents the polished, erudite pedagogues that grace con- temporary institutions of edification. Their personal trials, tribulations, glories, and triumphs, although worthy, are too miscellaneous and vast a collection to present herewith, but their combined intellectual and social progress may, perhaps, be suggested by the following class history. This was a time of great stress in the world. The economic structures of nations the world over were tottering, the threat of communism was looming more and more ominous, and a genuine crisis was developing in Palestine over the conflicts between the Arabs and Israeli. But history is always history, and our minds were busy absorbing knowledge in more immediate fields. A casual onlooker might raise an eyebrow at the sight of freshmen scurrying about the campus busily examining the bark of trees, but we were oblivious to any ridicule, for those tree maps just had to be completed. We had our first glimpse of the erudite Dr. Freel, whom we were to know better and better as we progressed through N. A. S. T. C., the intrepid Miss Underhill, and that of the inimitable Wily Willie Malone. Not all of our time, however, was spent in pursuit of that fleeting imp, knowledge. We still found time for extra-curricular activities. The men began their four-year domi- nation of intramural sports, as Freel's Frosh swept all before them in the football league. We mingled with one another at the Freshman Reception, and somehow managed to survive a tumultuous election in which jim Gazzaniga edged out the incomparable Qremember him?J jim Young, Esq. A few stalwart members of our class were members of the New England Championship basketball team and still others starred in jenny Kissed Me . Our sophomore year brought back a group slightly diminished, a trifle more so- phisticated, but with that thirst for knowledge still unslaked. Somehow we staggered through Physical Science, Economic Geography, English, and American Literature, and drank deeply from other fountains of knowledge. Who of us that were present shall ever forget the day Charlie Chaplin appeared to do an experiment for us? We all strove

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THE IVY POEM The leaving grates against my mind, the awful ending of the all that we have known-finality. I cannot see the glowing world with arms that seek to take and hold my heart I only know that I shall lose a friend. Perhaps the sentiment is bare, perhaps I haven't got the stuff to face the stern realities of lifeg perhaps, but no, it isn't that,- it's just the memories, the dreams the quiet moments lost in pensive thought that suddenly engulf my mind, recalling all that was and is and cannot be again. They say tomorrow never comes and yet tomorrow with its awe full end, its grim excitement closing a door is coming, --now Goodbye to what has been my heart will never know that happiness again. What is a college? Old and tired walls surrounding ancient classrooms, musty with the smell of learningg Scuff- marked halls, still echoing with voices that were stilled a quarter century agog Terraces with grass that blooms anew each spring, vying with the dusty textbooks gathered thereg Adolescent nick-names scrawled on window casements Granite steps worn smooth and shiny by shoes forever changing in their styleg Youth in baggy sweaters and five o'clock shadow taking notes or doodling or dreaming--- of the end of classg Instructors lecturing from notes and wondering where the scholars wentg Youth wondering, worrying, cramming for examsg Youth loving, losing, taking margin notesg snapshots, hopes, ambitions, ---immaturity, The long and thankless job of moulding character, A way of life inshrined in all the hearts that ever beat within those ivy covered walls.

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Class of 1953 to emulate Demosthenes in an incomparable Public Speaking Course, but nevertheless still found the time to answer the call of the social world. Our various talents were spent in promoting the Sophomore Prom and various other social affairs. Still others of us starred in The Night of january Sixteenth . When, once again, we returned, this' time as jaunty juniors, we found a group greatly reduced, but more nearly approaching that pinnacle of complaisance, and the aforementioned thirst for knowledge still unsatiated. This year found us at last embarking upon the perception of the methodology which forms the background that any self- respecting dominie must have to be accomplished in his profession, it seems. Those of us who elected Guidance as our major were introduced to the rudiments of that fascinating field. Soon we were immersed completely in the busy work for which the junior year is justly famous. Yet, underneath all our grumbling, beneath this blind groping, there beat within our breasts burning desires to become modern rein- carnations of Virrotino de Feltre, Maria Montessori, and who knows, even Henry Pestalozzi. This was the year the Grover's Gaza Globetrotters made their long trek from Mecca for a successful appearance against the jV's. And this year also saw us sponsoring the junior-Senior Prom, winning the Stunt Nite competition for the second time, and romping through the Christmas Carol. Our senior year saw a compact group return to brave the proving grounds of Mark Hopkins Training School. We were a mere shadow of the unruly mob that had first entered here four years previously, yet those of us who were left were beginning to approach the standard of leadership expected of us. The Guidance Majors had their three afternoons in the Clinic, where they, too, began to put their principles into practice. We also thought our way through a Philosophy of Education, and amazed veteran pedagogues wherever we took our field week. We also struggled through Tests and Measurements, Mental Hygiene, and Philosophy. The Future Teachers of America, an organization dedicated to the resuscitation of tired minds, was founded in this year. Those of us who were musically inclined blos- somed out in the Mikado. Gradually, even imperceptibly we changed, we settled down, and in adapting our- selves to greater responsibilities, lost a great deal of the previously mentioned imrnaturity. Perhaps, in the process, even becoming teachers.