Ohio University - Athena Yearbook (Athens, OH)

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.Ji:M l?rK. t e lecticH c Campus OKio. ' is ' . ' ' •■ The campus. We heard it called a friendly campus, and we wondered: Why? So we looked. What we saw was the tangible, the picturesque: The brick walks and their tributaries of cinder paths that mo ' e us along our way ... the stately McGuffey elms and their counterparts, forming God ' s beautiful contribution to the scene ... the drinking fountain where we pause, and the low walls in front of Cutler and behind Ellis that provide resting places for our moving bodies ... the eye-catching squirrel darting gaily across the leaf-covered greenery and disappearing into the bark and fohage ... the sight of tripods and sketchboards of photo and art students early in the fall, taking advantage of the last few warm, sunny, autumn days . . . and the couples under the trees. These we saw. But with time came the intangible. The feeling that crept into us at the faint sound of a class-bell ringing as we dashed across campus ... the annoyance that we felt, instilled by persons who stopped to talk right in the middle of our paths . . . the annoyance that we forgot when we ourself became a part of these groups . . . the nod to a friend ... the smile and greeting that is instantaneous, warm, friendly. We can feel more than what we see. It is reflected all about us. We are a part of what we saw and felt. Do we know now, the reason for the atmosphere that surrounds us?

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The bell rings and echoes crazily down the nearly-empty corridors. The instructor, notes clutched tightly in his fist, confronts the class and sees our same faces, tired, bored, smiling, attentive, and indifferent. He begins the lecture, his voice loaded with learning ' s ammunition. A student gazes out of the window and the words fall about his ears fruitlessly, barely passing through the outer chan- nels. He thinks about the date he had the night before, or studies the sunlight as it warms his arm. A fly buzzes lazily around a light and somewhere in the back of the room there is a feminine chuckle. The lecture goes on and the pro- fessor notes with approval the students who listen and take down words in their battered notebooks. He pours forth a new barrage of words stimulated by the interest of some, but he aims now for the student gazing out the window. The weapon of his voice is tireless and hammers constantly into the scuffling of feet and the coughing in the back of the room. The eyes of the dreamer respond slowly, with effort to the words, and the hand begins to write, hesitantly at first. Then the dream- er raises his hand and poses a question. The reply is given and there is the first faint sign of interest in the usually dull eyes. Another hand comes up, and waves hesitant- ly. The questions and answers pour in a constant stream of communication be- tween the listeners and the speaker; there is understanding, at least for a moment. The bell rings, signifying the end of the daily battle. The professor has won, but we walk away strengthened in defeat.