Arkansas State University - Indian Yearbook (Jonesboro, AR)

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ANNUAL MANIA, 196 7 Never again,” said the tissue stuffer whose fingers were red and bleeding from wire scrapes and cold. (He had said the same thing last year.) “Why? Why am I out here?” lamented the sign painter whose brush was too large to trace the narrow lines and whose paint-smeared visage looked thoroughly disgruntled. “We’re crazy, shouted down the amateur carpenter who couldn’t drive nails straight from his precarious perch high above. “Great! I love it!” leered the electrician who was getting a charge out of scaring girls by telling them not to step on all the live wires he had lying around. Three non-talented onlookers busied themselves getting in the way and telling dirty jokes to anyone who would listen—especially sorority women. But by 3 a.m., nobody said much of anything. The hollow-chested weariness from too much coffee and too little sleep had immobilized and silenced the gay horde that had descended. sweat-shirted and eager, on the display sites only a few hours before. All but a gutsy and persistent few sat quietly around the wood fire that was turning the bottom of the oil-drum furnace into a red glow. A pledge, suddenly aroused from his nap by the fire by a member’s cry for assistance, rose, grunted. glanced longingly at the curling flame, and tiredly expressed the sentiments of one completely oblivious to all the color and tradition of the madness in which he was taking part. “Homecoming.” he said slowly, “big .... deal.”

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homecoming. ..

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