Brown University - Liber Brunensis Yearbook (Providence, RI)

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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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grubby shirt they wore into every exam for luck? Where are their Scotch Koolers from the foot- ball games, their Hillhouse hats, yes, and even their beanies? Take a look at the picture of the boat that was at the crew races at Spring Week-end. It is very fine, but 1t's the outside looking in. I can't find the snap shot of the stimulated fellows who thought the Seekonk would be a nice bath tub. What courage they had when they dived into its oily depths to swim like triumphant Beowulfs to the cheering shore. Here was the magnificent dig- nity of man and a symbol of his undaunted spirit! And the slender shells that were hardly specks in the distance came flashing by, and in those specks were people you knew straining at their oars. A part of us was in each of them, for during those few seconds we were also pulling with them. Every time we saw an athletic contest we became a part of it We were the player on the field and the quarterback in the stands. Both were the same, but the camera could only show one at a time. Wait! There's a shot of the ROTC units. The men in them look like machines. Marching, order ing, automans dressed in bluc. 1 can hardly see their faces. Do they have personalities? What about the day there were no correct shirts in your drawer for drill and vou wore a button down? Standing in rank sweating out the inspec- tion was a minor catastrophe. And the day your ship had a collision in the taciial trainer in Lyman was a reality. No one can say that Navi- g;ition 301 was a gut. It's hard to operate in a third dimension and you felt Ahab was right in T S rarw

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