University of Rhode Island - Renaissance / Grist Yearbook (Kingston, RI)

Page 27 text:

“The Great American Library Fundraiser” The spotlight shone on ten men, scantily clad in bathing suits and gym shorts, strutting their stuff across the stage. The loud and sometimes lecher- ous cheering of the mostly female audience drowned the blaring music. The University’s first Mr. URI” all-male beauty contest was underway. A visitor to campus within earshot of the din in the Union Ballroom that Tuesday evening in Feb- ruary might have asked, Why aren’t those stu- dents studying in the library?” The rambunctous goings-on had a more scholarly intent than appearance indicated. Ironically, the quality of studying in the library would be directly enhanced by the Mr. URI show. We just wanted to have a fundraiser that would attract a lot of people to make money for the library, explained Lauren Richard, the show’s chairperson, and we thought a male beauty pageant would be fun and different. The show was part of “The Great American Library Fundraiser, sponsored by students to raise money and create publicity to help URI ' s ailing library. Why is a private fundraiser among student need- ed to raise money for a state- funded library at a university ? Staggering inflation rates of ten percent or more sent prices of library materials to the moon and beyond, even back in the days when people thought they ' d never get used to a 50C gallon of gas. State funding for the URI library hasn’t kept up, and for the past few years, there just hasn’t been money for adequate staff or materials. In fact, a mid-70 ' s survey of nineteen colleges and universities placed URI ' s library near the bottom in professional staff size, total expendi- tures, librarians-per-students and clerical and technical staff. The dean of the library, George Parks, has point- ed out that a library the size of URI’s needs 52.000 new books every year just to keep up. The library has fallen far short of that figure in recent years, and this year purchased only 23.000 new books. Staff problems at the library are just as bad, and have been for several years. There are more statistics, volumes of figures to demonstrate again and again the enormity of the gap between what the library is, and what it should be. As grim as the statistics are, the reality is more depressing. Empty shelves; missing reference books and periodicals; broken equipment and too few staff members to turn to for help distress and anger students engaged in research and study, chasing them off campus and even out of state in search for needed materials. Legislators have seen the statistics, and have come to campus to catch a glimpse of the condi- tions. But the coffers still have not opened up enough and the library sinks deeper and deeper every year toward academic oblivion. So in 1980, the students launched the Great American Library fundraiser, surpassing its goal of $5,000, which is not even a fraction of the dollars needed to bring the library up to snuff. Perhaps the concerned response of students to the fundraising drive will jar loose some bucks for books from the politicians from Providence won ' t be winning any beauty, popularity or maybe even reelection contests if the students in Kingston have their way. by David Gregorio 23

Page 26 text:

I — XiBUMy- WE ' U Go i vc frWtf 1 LW ArtlcMJ UUMy Fuuo TtfiiK . snwono 3 V; -» tKue uTwtrrsmrg 22

Page 28 text:

L. Greenwald Perhaps the most common practice at URI is the dreaded all nighter which takes its toll on every student without exception. In every dorm and every frat there will be a select group that will take it upon itself to make the long stand until morning, in order to pull out a good grade from an almost sinking ship. I remember that feeling of urgency that drove me to the limit of endurance in the quest for good grades. On more than one occassion I have had a 64 oz. bottle of Coke at my side and a pack of cigarettes in my top pocket as the only compan- ions I could count on to last the night with me. I can ' t count the times different people would offer to spend the night with me to catch up on some work they had let get too far ahead of them. But my own problem, procrastination, would be my own doom, and would leave me with no one to count on but myself. I remember one night in particular when I had an especially difficult test in Music 101. I had not been to class for about four weeks. I went up to Copyright and had copied all the notes that I could lay my hands on. As I waited, I saw several classmates who were in the same predicament. Each of them seemed to have an excellent reason for missing weeks of class that made my meager excuse of a dying parent seem almost inconsequential. It’s a shame that so much bad luck had been levelled against the Music 101 class,” I said to myself. You know, it just didn ' t seem fair that so much tragedy should hit everyone in the same class and the same time. I snatched my notes from the lady behind the counter and dashed by back to my dorm room to stuff four weeks of class notes, totalling two- hundred and twenty five pages, into my brain in one night. Feeling as though the night would be a useless attempt at cramming, I went to a friend’s room where I hoped to find some solace. My heart almost fell through the floor to find a keg was just being tapped. Of all the things to see when I had ten hours of studying before me! It appeared to be some kind of omen that seemed to say, “Enjoy yourself . . . you ' ll be studying all night. I drank a beer or two and thought about all the work I had to do. The thought just seemed to make me have one or two more. But I had to study, so I headed back to the lounge where I left my notes. As I neared the door, my breathing and heartbeat simultaneously ceased as I found the door locked with my notes - and cigarettes - locked inside. The clock struck midnight. There I was with no notes, no time and no hall director. My heart began beating again, my respi- ration returned, and I pulled at my hair until I came up with a great idea: the campus cops. With their usual quickness, the police were on the scene in about thirty minutes. After I retreived my notes, I headed for my quiet room. But as I turned the key and slowly opened the door, something hit the door from the other side with such force, it knocked me into the one across the hall. The people from across the hall burst out and started screaming that I should not get so drunk when there are other people trying to study. I just shook my head in disbelief. After they retired, my room mate came out to tell me to leave because he had an “overnight guest. So there I stood, with no where to go and still a whole lot of work to do . . . I sat in the hall in front of my room for the rest of the night reviewing my notes until 5:30 the next morning. As I looked at my watch, the steady drip of acid in my stomach reminded me that it had been eleven hours since it had felt any solid food. Deciding it was time to go on a food search, I ventured to Butterfield Dining Hall where the first shift were going in to prepare breakfast. There is no more determined creature in the world than a Butterfield breakfast lady. She and her commrades had made up their minds not to give this starving, half- crazed student a morsel of food. As I lay begging at the feet of these food misers, I felt a strong hand grab me and yank me off the ground. I looked up and saw the cop that had let me into the study lounge the night before. Neither he nor I was very pleased to renew our acquaintance so early in the day. The cafeteria finally opened, I inhaled my breakfast, and reviewed my notes for the last time. I ran to Fine Arts to take the test. As I crashed through the classroom doors, I almost fainted when I saw an empty room. I checked the time, place and date. Everything seemed in place. Way over in the far corner stood an old black board scrawled with: Music 101 has been can- celled and the test will be held next week at the same time. Again, I shook my head in disbelief. By “Wild Bill Potter