Boston University College of Practical Arts and Letters - Sivad Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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REFLECTIONS Dumb, dumb, dumb! Dumb as a fish, oh heck! I wish my tongue could mutter This hard, dry lesson in Ec. All’s well for the brainy girl Who can rattle it off with a vim. All’s well for the girl with a rep— Her glory will never grow dim. Cram, cram, cram! But it doesn’t do any good. What in the world are you going to do With a head that’s made of wood? Work, work, work! Burning the midnight oil, Fussing and fuming and raving, Till your blood begins to boil. And at the breakfast table You don’t even stop to eat, But tell me, what’s the good of it When you’ve got all your brains in your feet? OUR GUESS AS TO WHO WROTE-— “T am monarch of all I survey’—Steve, very apparent. ‘When I consider how my light is spent’”—Any dorm girl. “One more unfortunate”—A flunkee. “Have you not heard the poets tell?”—Professor Ashby. “Seated one day at the organ’”—Margaret Norris. “But all for the joy of the working’”—Miss Carvell. “I’m tired of planning and toiling’”—Any of us the day befcre a vacation. “A thing of beauty is a joy forever’—Dr. Warren. “There are gains for all our losses’—Professor Smith. “Between the dark and the daylight’”—A worried Senior during the week of finals. “We have been friends together’—Graduates, extemporaneously and en Masse. “Grow old along with me’”’—Professor Taylor. [ 232 ]

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ue so? bom OF | ree eoncanaeconeoele ercenamaenennmnannenmnonnannaannanannannidt COLLEGE RECORDS After a very careful study of the college records, involving many weeks of tedious research, we have compiled the following information con- cerning the year 1927 to 1928: That there were 41,357 cups washed in the lunchroom from September 15 to April 15, inclusive. That Mr. Zervas shouted ‘‘Next!” just 103,962 times. (It is estimated that the energy consumed in this way would have been sufficient to push a Mack truck from here to Park Street.) That two Seniors and four Juniors were satisfied with their term grades and admitted that the exams were fair. or obvious reasons, their names will not be divulged. That Dot Woehrle has three gray hairs from worrying over the yearbook. (She pulled them out and their hiding place is to date undiscovered.) That nine-tenths of the Juniors have ‘‘the skin you love to touch”. The rest are taking lessons. That if all the tables in the dorm dining-room and all] the tables in the lunchroom were placed end to end and the students seated in alpha- betical and chronological order at them . . . they would still reach across the table. That 41 victrolas in the dorm were broken by the annual music contest between the Sophomores and the Freshmen. That if the time we spend crossing our campus between our classes could be used in some other way, it would add twenty years to the most produc- tiv e period of our lives. That the energy exerted by Dr. Warren’s forefinger around a certain lock of hair would be great enough to write 6,97214 best sellers, if said forefinger could be used for that purpose. That the dorm is also occupied by 110 students every day. Thirteen of these are dorm girls. THE PORTRAIT OF A GIRL’S BRAIN WHILE STUDYING [ 281 ]

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I was seated one day at the organ; I was weary and ill at ease, For a wild and intense longing Had seized me, ah—I couldn’t sneeze. I tried but I couldn’t work it, I hemmed and hawed around; The aggravatin’ was there all right But I couldn’t make a sound. I was just unspeakably nervous— I’m afraid I shook like a leaf, But the joy of the happy was mine at last When I sneezed—oh—what a relief! THAT EXTRA FIVE DOLLARS Please may I have five dollars? I know it’s extra, but see, We’re having a new athletic field, And they’re charging another fee. It’s five for this semester, And five for the next one, too. I’m sorry I have to ask you, Dad, But what am I going to do? You thought they didn’t have extras? We thought so as well as you, But things are always happening When you least expect them to. I can tell that you don’t like it— I know you’re seeing red, But just be thankful! I’m not a boy, Or you’d pay seven fifty instead. EDITOR’S NOTE: Many thanks to this poem! President Marsh read it and immediately decided we should not pay. [ 233 ]