Tufts University - Jumbo Yearbook (Medford, MA)

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Dedication ....... Rational Occupation Senior Survey ....,. Beyond the Hill ..... Class History .....o Seniors .....,. Senior Directory ....... Activities .,,i.. Clubs Sports ....i Fraternities ..... Faculty .....r. Acknowledgments vr.. Advertising .,... CONTENTS 4 9 15 42 46 93 96 ,,-..--,128 ,,-.---160 ----.-.194 ------r222 ------r240 ,,-----242

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By john Holmes, '29 HE could have run a brookside mill, A barny building, three old men Working a twenty-foot soaked wheel That dribbles out but drinks in Power to turn one shaft, to tool From country woods to wood a Wooden Use - bowl, dowel, or helve - And happy there have been warden Of such work and words, and selve Himself, hoeing a nearby garden. He could have raised apples, lived Up ladders in a midst of spray, Cursing the lost, boxing up the saved, Washing apple's many enemies away. He did. To prove it can be proved. But his farming runs in and over And out from book to brook to apple And back again, till to discover Emerson among the baldwins, tell people Apart from trees, is a leaf-dapple In New England sunlight, names, names Of listeners flickering in fields Of pages of chairs of classrooms. Little by little the orchard yields, Though the good shoulder lames. He pounds in handy home-made pegs To hold down larger transcendensions. Not one to set up famous flags, He is an explorer of five dimensions, But needs more north for his own legs. Hungry for green, he sees ground-pine Springing up underfoot, smells it, Smiles, makes mystic Melville plain, Sits Dreiser by Franklin on fence-rails, And wonders what century he's in. Now in his hale middle years he shouts A huge joy from a ridge in Maine, Buried in blueberries. The tax abates Where a man's brush and bushes are his own It is his levy, not the state's On his own bones he pays, and glad to. Hear him wake up the standing timber, joking or drawling his Thoreau or God. He moves, he mills log and lumber, Lecturing to build citizen-head. Where autumn's red, and springis red In some of the green, and the Water-wheel Pushes when the stream is full, he could Have run a brookside mill, and did. His lathe has grained the grain of wood.

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We are the Seniors of the Class of '55. XVc came to Tufts four years ago, not quite certain of what we would find. We were eager to learn and we looked forward with a bright and hopeful an- ticipation. Looking at ourselves now we are at once excited and bewildered by what we see, for we are differ- ent from the people who first arrived at this Hill. Certain changes, somewhat indefinable, have come over us. They are incomplete, but as we view the results thus far we can say critically, yet with satisfaction - It is good. It will be better. We made a wide and objective survey of our class this year through a poll of senior attitudes, thoughts and values. We answered questions that attempted to discover the ways in which all as- pects of our life at Tufts have affected us and shared in the forming of the individuals we now are, and we found it difficult to rate the intensity of our opinions on a scale ranging from not at alli' to very much. Though the results which appear on the following pages are presented to give a generalized view of the Class feelings as a whole, we can relate ourselves personally to them for we know that che entire picture could have no exis- tence at all without each one of us. The changing world outside Tufts we have con- sidered also, for nothing can exist by itself and we have greatly felt the influence of the activity going on around us. The perpetual state of cold and too frequently fiery war which we have known all our college lives, the uneasy govern- ments of Europe and the political manoeuvers of our own statesmen have altered our future plans, and which of us could remain unaffected by the barrage of stereophonic sound, bermuda shorts or the chlorophyll craze. And though the course of our life at college is predetermined to a large degree, a presidental cam- paign or a World Series left none of us quite un- moved. The books we chose to read, the theories we took for our own - the very songs We whistled and the slang we used mirrored a whole universe of literature, politics, science and art. So we borrowed a bit from events close by as well as those a continent away, and carried on our own activities here at Tufts. The history of our class relates what we did in four years of college, and much of it seems not unlike the doings of a hundred classes before us. But we are a group of unique individuals in a world that is never quite the same from day to day and we know that the things we did here are exclusively our owng the ways in which we lived our last four years can never be duplicated, even by ourselves. Perhaps it was the voiceless knowledge of that fact that made Senior Week the frantic whirl it must always be. It was the last collective activity of the Class of 'SS and as we danced our way through the Senior Cruise and the Prom, and stood motionless under the wave of the Alma Mater at Pops, our emotions ran feverishly high. These were our last moments of being college students and we barely slept at all, so anxious were we to pack the memory of four years into four brief days. So we turn the page and take a final look at ourselves and the Seniors who changed along with us. It is not a memory of the buildings or the lawns of our college that we will carry within us for a long time to come, though of course the physical aspects of our four years at Tufts could not be completely separated out. But it is rather the people we knew here, those whose faces look out at us from this book, and all the others who contrib- uted to our education and our individual growth, that have had the greatest and most enduring effect on us. This is the page most difficult to close. We are the Seniors of the Class of 'S S. We came to Tufts four years ago not quite certain of what we would find. We Were eager to learn and we looked forward with a bright and hopeful an- ticipation. ' We are leaving in the same way. L. E.