Arkansas State University - Indian Yearbook (Jonesboro, AR)

Page 32 text:

Leadership Retreat: Wet Weather, Heated Debate Dean Moore cracks a funny----- 28 In the past, the annual leadership retreat has sometimes tended to be a prolonged picnic—a time for administrative officials and the student brownnoses to pat each other on the back and rationalize about the state of the campus. But the last outing at Walcott was diiferent. The pollyanna atmosphere was gone—replaced by a healthy aura of discontent. And neither the thunderstorms which muddied the volleyball courts nor the mass dunkings at the lake dampened the spirits of the upstarts who were determined to question status quo. Dean Moore managed to maintain a strained smile throughout the onslaught. And Miss Stroud gave her usual lectures about campus life after dark and how to brush the teeth properly. But after the irrele-vancies had been endured and the business begun, the students—reinforced by a few outspoken faculty members—voiced their disapproval of some of the procedures and policies of their new university. The punitive classcut system and outmoded rules for women’s dress were among the topics scrutinized. The result was not a childish bickering session but rather a worthwhile analysis of some of the problems which are bound to confront a growing school. Two things are certain: a lot of people got wet, and a few people got burned.

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President in Lackluster Campaign Take one election. Subtract the enthusiasm. Reduce the number of signs and posters—the glossy smiles and red paint promises. Leave the butcher paper banners unhung. Remove the noise and circus color. Take away the partisan intrigue and midnight accusations. Add apathy. What do you have? University! It was the year the coalitions disbanded—or did they? It was the year the campus politicos axed the old election system—and forgot to offer a new one to replace it. It was the year the Greeks got out of the limelight—and went underground where the campaigning was cheaper. It was the year the independents got a bigger voice in the SGA—and spoke in a hoarse whisper election day. And after the rickety platforms were assembled, the apologetic speeches and uncertain assertions made, even a chance to turn the knobs on new. university-ized voting machines failed to draw voters: only 20 per cent of the last year’s turnout showed up to play. True, it was a more sane election: there were fewer sleepless nights, fewer paint-splattered pledges nodding in class. But the old-timers, the veterans of past political tortures—shook their heads with nostalgic sadness amid the new sophistication and said quietly to each other: Not like it was. Back when was a freshman, we worked like hell...”. 27

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Dry socks were a rarity at the retreat, but stringy-haired girls and soggy sweatshirts were common. Students were usually found huddled under umbrellas (below) during break periods. But the traditional dunkings were carried out anyway, even though everyone was already wet. The girls, after a pilgrimage to the drink. Miss Stroud in tow. were ambushed from behind (lower left) by male conspirators. And Dean Moore (above) was carried struggling by six stalwart lads to that natural habitat which his nickname implies.