Barnard College - Mortarboard Yearbook (New York, NY)

Page 22 text:

There ' s no step quite so long as the one that changes a girl from a Freshman to a Sopho- more. It involves more than merely groaning at notices of Sophomore in- stead of Freshman meetings. Consider the enormously improved position of the Sopho- more coming back to college in September. She discovers how it feels to be expected to win Greek Games, not just to provide a couple of cheers and some minor opposition. She can look about her with educated eyes and say Doesn ' t the new crop of Freshmen look young! She can take a long smoke in the Jungle as though she owned it. She knows how to circumnavigate the line in the cafeteria, how many cuts are safe, what courses are snaps, and where South Hall is. Tilsons, Brooks Hall and the smoking room are synonyms for home. Bridge — the exclusive property of upperclass- men — has become another course in her curric- ulum. The curtain of awe and confusion has been lifted. She starts the college year with the assurance that comes from knowing the rules and the ups and downs that are Barnard. If wise little smiles and swaggering walks have become Sophomore tags, the rest of the school knows there ' s a good reason for it. The matter of completing group require- ments via long labs, obscure poets and listen- Sop ;. Officers: Peggy Cummiskey, Iris Davis, Marjorie Welter, Mary Louise Stewart. ing assignments in Music 1 is no mean feat, with exit-exams to contend with too. When Spring comes, it ' s major-choosing time. Clear-eyed or cautious, each Soph crosses her fingers, takes the plunge, and — in between major ' s meetings — wonders where her decision will carry her in the future. 18

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Life is bound by books and rules Read and followed with adherence. The academic glamour fools The Freshman with its false appearance. She beats her brow in every course; Outside intrusion — she rejects it. She finds the libe a helpful source, And fondly plans to pass the exit. College is an education — Witness Freshman concentration! Six-passes on the lawn and panic over English A themes are inevitable. Efficient little white index cards for that first term paper help to maintain some semblance of academic order during this frenzied phase. Dr. Alsop ' s inimi- table Hygiene A classes improve one shining hour of a Freshman ' s week with highly useful pointers on Vitamin B and good mental adjust- ment. Of Saturday classes — that special Frosh blessing — and the first collision with quiz books, no more need be said. While the year was still young, each Frosh had a date named Arthur, who turned out — as any upperclassman might have warned her — to be a rat. She recorded his unhappy tale in her best manner, under the alert ear of the English department. More often than not she icfused to believe that the queer voice played back to her was the one she ' d been making generous use of for some seventeen years. Every Freshman is automatically a member of the Undergraduate Association and is en- couraged to take up her part in the workings of democracy at Barnard. The class of 1947 went into politics with a bang. Its fervor burned until forty-three candidates for class president had been nominated. Bonnie Hauser was the final winner. Mary Rudd became Vice- President, Alessandra Rice took over the duties of Secretary, and Helen Trevor was chosen to 17 tend the treasury. They saw to it that the Frosh- Soph party thoroughly cemented the class ' for- eign relations. Thus did 1947 become a true part of the Barnard community.

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Life is bound by rules and books Bui boundaries are ever shifting. The cocky Sophomore overlooks Such things — and thus begins her drifting. Her brow is bent on sly deception; Outside intrusion — she expects it. Outwitting profs is her perfection, And three times has she flunked the exit. College is one big vacation — Witness Sophomore dissipation! What ' s it like to be a Sophomore at wartime Barnard? The class of 1946 knows. Happily, wartime has not meant war torn, and things- in-Barnard-for-the-Sophs are still among those present. Epidemics of exit-fever and major- picking are as prevalent as they were in a more peaceful world. The Sophs continue to be called the Forgotten Class , while the rest of the college shakes its collective head in sympathy at their proverbial decline into oblivion. No wide-eyed innocence, no Prom, no caps and gowns! A mere vacuum, thinks the misguided three-fourths of the student body who are out- side the inner circle. But the Sophs, not even bothering to put their laughter discreetly up their sleeves, go blithely on their way, wearing the jauntiest grins in Barnard. Let no one deny that they have made sacri- fices — brave and unflinching in the best Sohpo- moric tradition — this historic year. The Soph- omores were the first class since the invention of the zipper to button themselves into their light blue gym suits. But this is war, and they ' ve taken it with stiff upper lips. Exclusive- ness was their next sacrifice, but that turned out to be fun. Chairmanned by Kathy Keith, ' 46, Frosh-Soph hop grew up, changed its name to Winter Ball and posted cordial College In- vited signs. In a gym magically enchanted into a shimmering snowy cavern, dance-rationed Barnard had a lovely time, thank you. When it came to costumes for Greek Games, the Sophs refused to let their wings be clipped by rationing orders which had them using last year ' s clothes. Ingenuity soared, scissors went into action, and 1946 emerged proudly with their games as colorful and inspired as any. The record shows they ' ve been right there shouldering their full share of physics labs, first-aid courses and fingerprinting. The Sopho- mores — They ' re all right. Wet Frosh and Sophs scavenger hunting.