Bethel University - Spire Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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Another favorite game, especially among the football players, is “Guess who's ineligible at the end of the year,” or “Is there going to be anybody left to play the offensive line?” (This is pretty much an all-day game and after straining to play it well, the squad is often too exhausted to rehash the latest episode of Charlie's Angels.) Regardless of these trite and insignificant games, coffee-shops in colleges do have value. College is a place for inculcating a little higher learning into out heads, but the coffee shop has given us a chance to escape theory and studenthood and become people again. When we look back at our youth, someday we will turn to our sons standing next to us and say, “Yes, son. 1 learned the most about life back in the coffceshop at venerable Bethel College.” DAN ERICKSON

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I -ike the now extinct Bethel beanie, bonafide all-nighters are en route to insignificance. Until recently, the term itself challenged even the most diligent student. But now, the watch-phrase of procrastinators and perfectionists alike has degenerated to a cliche without class. “All-nighter” no longer connotes a dusk-to-dawn struggle against the temptations of sleep and boredom. Current usage defines an all-nighter as “any study period of more than five hours.” In order to restore dignity to the maligned reputation of the all-nighter, a criteria, “a conceptual base,” is here proposed. 1. Make the L.R.C. rounds telling friends about your upcoming fate. Gorge on sympathy. 2. Tell as many people as possible that the need to stay up all night is not, in any way, your fault. 3. Coerce someone (friend, spouse, prof) to “pull the all-nighter with you. 4. Buy a pound of M M’s and several packs of bubble gum. Check the coffee supply. 5. Play or watch I M basketball until at least 10:30 p.m. 6. Declare that nothing short of a Marx brothers movie shall interfere with your concentration, but inwardly budget hourly breaks for theological discussions, gin rummy and banana splits. 7. Beginning at 2 a.m., stage absurd arguments to relieve the tedium (e.g. “Is chemistry or sociology a more valuable background for taking ceramics?”) 8. Around 4 a.m., turn up the stereo, slam windows and do jumping jacks to let nearby slumbcrcrs know you’re still at work. 9. Hit Perkins for breakfast. Talk loudly about your incredible feat. 10. Go to class, bleary-eyed and dishevelled. (This is worth at least three free cups of coffee from sympathetic friends.) 1 1. When it’s all over, rationalize the mediocrity of your accomplishment (paper, painting, etc.) away. Under the circumstances, no one could have done a better job. LAURA ALDF.N There is a certain feeling of exhilaration one can feel coursing through the air in the coffccshop. It is one-thirty, and the lunch ladies arc about to accept food cards. The throng begins to crowd around the cashier. The between-class-passers-through grab their coffee, slap down their dimes, and leave the coffeeshop to the more hardcore constituents. During C and G mod breaks, they leave behind a good percentage of their number who have rationalized their way out of attending the second half of class. (“If I skip the last half. I’ll have an hour more to study in the library.”) These people know full well that they won’t get out of the coffeeshop for at least two hours. Anyway, the coffee drinkers have left, leaving behind the hard-core “shopees to play their favorite game: Guess how much work I have to do” or “It’s three weeks into the semester and I’m five weeks behind.”

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“I can’t imagine why you look so spaced from a mere all-nighter,” said my roommate. “I don't want to talk about it,” I muttered. “Right. Well, when’s the paper due?” he persisted. “11:20.” “I don’t have any important classes this morning,” he said. “My typing needs a brush-up anyway.” “You sure?” “Yes,” he said. “I always wanted to know about . . . Aristotilean rhetoric?” “It’s quite interesting,” I said. He threw his pillow at me. “Let’s go out for coffee,” she said, grinning. “I’ve got a test tomorrow! “So do I!” The grin got me. I didn’t want to bother him; it was finals week. “A good jog to the Scm and back could help our concentration,” he said suddenly. He always knew. He listened. And he didn't give patronizing advice. “Now!” We darted out from the bushes by the dorm, dumping water on the enemy. They came after us. We ran. Somehow the door was locked. As we beat on the door, I yelled—“You got me into this!” She laughed and beat harder. Then came the flood. Soaked — and laughing hysterically—we looked at each other. I saw her zest for living... My roommate, cohort and friend.