Wheaton College - Tower Yearbook (Wheaton, IL)

Page 18 text:

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XTX Nr Wind steals strips of crepe paper but the wheels travel on. All thoughts center on chicken wire and spotlights and displays. Competition is the key to the finish. The past and the present unfold the heritage that are triumphs. Juniors seek Mount Rushmore. Presi- dents in silver. Nothing too high to reach. Not even the roof of the Stupe. Tradition cannot be broken. The first night is Fri- day and a bonfire. Water buckets guard the pag- eant of fire while awake Freshmen defend the ties. We walk on the field where tomorrow's cleats sing. Our remembering is consumed in smoke. Long hours yield chilled air and floats. Perhaps not all as good as a flowered Blanchard. But the bleachers watch them round. Scarfed faces turn with the wheels and mittened hands clap loudest for the Seniors. Wind steals strips of crepe paper but the wheels travel on. This is Saturday after- noon andthe sky is pressing. ll

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ls it the Sophomores who win? The people behind the face. Tradition passes from Homecoming to Parents Day and the tugging of war. Men against men. Fresh- men against Sophomores. Past Freshmen remem- ber how the blades protest leather soles and bull rope blurs gripping hands. And they warn. But the feet still pound a line across McCulley Field. ls it the Sophomores who win? The people behind the face. On October thirty- first the face is Dick Markwood and the people are from California, Tennessee and Ohio. They are parents. Yellow mums proxy a sun. Cardboard numbers pretend to be jerseys. We huddle in blankets to solve Titan plays and to procrastinate. Gray, black and white speckled marble leads the way down or up. The cold iron lends a supporting hand when Winter gives us slush. We greet friends with an absence that looks beyond. Cinnamon and gray checked tile is the beyond. A numbered box with one window houses our anticipation. That is our reason for this trip be it once-a-day or perpetually. 13