Simpson College - Zenith Yearbook (Indianola, IA)

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“Senior Cydone.” T IS a generally accepted and self-evident fact that the opinions of both individuals and masses of mankind are subject to change in different times and under varying conditions. At present the members of the class of Naught-Six are forcibly reminded of the truth of the above. A year ago we were Juniors, and we spake as Juniors, we understood as Juniors, we thought as Juniors; but when we became Seniors we put away Juniors, we thought as Juniors; but when we became Seniors we put away childish things and our opinions changed to suit another view-point. A year ago we tried to convince ourselves that to be Juniors left nothing to be desired. It is proper to say that “we tried to convince ourselves’’ Decause deep down in the recesses of our gray matter we knew that a Senior is a being as infinitely great compared to anything else which Mother Earth has yet produced, as a star of the first magnitude is to a lightning-bug in a hay loft. Last year we would have strenuously denied this—now we admit that it is so. So much has one short twelve month in Simpson College accomplished in the broadening of our minds. As Juniors we were perhaps somewhat boastful of our prowess in the various things in which we were interested, and we called all manner of man to witness that we were what we were and that there were none others like unto us. It was not wrong perhaps to be proud of ourselves because we were the greatest Junior class ever known to history, but after all this was a small distinc- tion and looking backward from the heights of our present position we smile to our virtues or sing our own praises on any occasion. In the present free and enlightened age everyone whose education has received any attention whatever knows that a Senior is the one truly important thing known to Modern Civilization. In this connection too, we wish you to note, that we were not born thus . great, nor have we had greatness thrust upon us. By diligent and persistent effort we have raised ourselves to our present exalted station, and while we do not thrust ourselves forward before the footlights of publicity, we do not really object to people admiring us,—in fact we rather like it. It is true that for a time one thing embarrassed us considerably. This was the knowledge that as we passed along the streets, busy mothers stopped in their household tasks to point us out to baby sons and daughters, and to tell the children that if they were

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SENIOR.

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good and did not play in the coal bucket or chop down any cherry trees they might sometime be like us. Most people would have been flattered by such a knowledge and would have waxed exceedingly proud of themselves, but we did not. To tell you of all the things in which we are superior not only to ordinary mortals but to any Senior Class which has heretofore graced this institution is impossible both for lack of space and for lack of inclination. We believe con- ditionally in the proverb, “Toot your own horn lest it be not tooted,” but we do not now propose to put the belief into practice, having observed that those who do so are frequently accused by envious persons of having too exalted an opinion of themselves. Returning to our text, from which, after the usual ministerial fashion, we have wandered far afield, we observe one change in our opinions which is more serious in its nature. Last year we noticed in the countenances of the members of the then Senior Class a pensiveness slightly tinged with melancholy, at which we wondered much. We thought that if we were as near to graduation as they were our joy would be full and we could conceive of no reason for sorrow. Now, however, as the time approaches when we shall bid farewell to the insti- tution with which we have been identified so long, we understand, and our- selves feel this touch of sadness. Our thoughts wander back over the varied scenes of our college career and as we live over again in memory some pleasant happening or seem to see again some friendly face there comes to us a vague regret that our college life lies now behind us, and ahead “The days darken round us, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.” It may be that at times we have felt that a college course is full of hard- ship, but after all it has been a happy time, and the memories of Simpson, like the friendships we have formed there, will remain with us through life. And now in conclusion, hoping that in your memories of us you will only hold to that which is good, we give you—fellow students, teachers and friends—not this time au rcvoir, but farewell. —C. B. S., ’06. Class Officers. V. D. Dusenbery, President. Besse Matson, Vice-President. Bess Harris, Secretary. William Reynolds, Treasurer. C. Boyd Stevenson, Historian.