Brown University - Liber Brunensis Yearbook (Providence, RI)

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PR T b I L

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Moby Dick when he threw his quadrant away. Where is the guy that stood next to you in drill with the high grease shoes that made yours look like they had been through mud? Thank goodness no one photographs Monday mornings. Will we ever get away from them in our lives? Nerves that arc drawn fine by the activity of the week end are played violently upon by the roar of Buildings and Grounds men empty- ing the trash barrels filled with the refuse into the waiting truck. Then like J. Alfred Prufrock you lie in the warmness of your bed trying to decide if you should go to your eight o'clock or not. The clock ticks away and the hands move steadily towards the eight. Is it worth it? A culti- vated conscience or Mrs. Read win out, and with epic dignity you stagger off to the mirror to view the remnants of it all. It is a minor triumph to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of the week end to meet the coming week. There were times when you remained in bed and, comforted by the re- bellious tendencies in you, went back to sleep. Bless the three cut rule. Where are the rules now? Surely they will be with us throughout life? It all comes back to me and the sharper every- thing seems, the more I want to play with the past. This is all part of me and will continue to be so. Those four years were not a black and white stereotyped existence where men were put in sunple categories, but a living experience that inipresses itself deeply on my mind. 1 guess it is the lasting relationships with other people that were most important.

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A Take for instance the pictures of the social life which naturally include shots of our dates. Now we know that those girls did not just appear on campus during the week ends. But there they are. You get the idea that it was by magic that they showed up for the football, hockey, or baseball game. Maybe it was at that, but Graham Bell earned a lot of royalties from the many telephone calls that went out as well as telegrams and letters. Remember the guy who got ten flushograms for Homecoming? It was a house record and just to save face he snuck over to Bryant on Saturday night to make an engagement for the evening. In the pictures they are just girlsshort, tall, blond, brunette girls. Where did they come from? Every time of year they were up there the dressed-in-fur-coat and six foot scarf ones, the bermuda shorts and sweatered ones, and even those with slickers. What a fool a person would be if he thought they just sat on the wings of the stage of college life to appear in fine regalia before the thousand eyed spotlights on the week end. If you went deeper into their geneology, you would find them during the week in Andrews Hall lounge knitting or playing bridge, at Toy Sun's for a coffee date, at the women's college in Poughkeepsie, N. Y., thirty minutes up Route 20, a few twisty back roads to Wheaton or even a three hour round trip to Wellesley; or, for that matter, a hundred other places. And by the way, they were not always just playing bridge or knitting during the week. Perhaps they were at Harvard or Yale or Princeton or even Trinity the week-