Campbellsville University - Maple Trail Yearbook (Campbellsville, KY)

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for about an hour only to be torn asunder by a multitude of greedy fingers. The napkins seemed to form a blanket behind the gym and I thought back a few weeks to that premature snow that had fallen over the earth. Drive-in students heralded it as a good omen from above, on campus students considered it the biggest social event of the year. Mid-term gave the students an academic rating as to progress made or in most cases, regress noticed. With the brain strain came many dif- ferent responses from students and faculty alike. Some teachers lost their heads and some lost other things . . . and one continu- ously threatened to flush students to greener places. But what was college for anyway? Sure more students started wearing glasses and walking a little slower. Bleary-eyed collegers would stumble into class with red creases on their foreheads and cheeks where they had fallen asleep on their bedspreads or toppled over their books. Eight o'clock came earlier every day and the weekends flew. 1 Future became present and all too soon past. 3 Beside from a little snow and sunshine, the monsoon season proved to be true. Kicking across campus I roused a Starling and it caught the wind and flew off toward the autumn , moon. I was then alone for awhile and re- f treated to the Alumni Chapel. It was a time to be alone and I wondered how many other students felt as I did. I was engulfed in a hazy mist of memory like I sometimes want to do. South I-Iall was completed and occupied by now and there had been a series of Exodus' taking place on campus. The men in Carter moved to South to make room for the women of Stapp. And good ole Stapp met its maker that Fall. If one shed a tear a hundred did as the porch where I and many others had sat and talked, or sometimes just listenedg where boy first met girl and stole his first kiss. With it went tradition but the old Victorian code still re- mained. The concrete world crumbles with age and the rubble is cleared away, but the abstract remains, for only the concrete and an idea are potential while a memory is kenetic.

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? beautiful, but twice a week at nine in the morning I had to be in one of its pews for the chapel program. Besides chapel I had Fresh- man convocation on Fridays which was in- tended to teach me in a semester what I should have learned in a week. But I was in college now and its own special maturing process was teaching me to accept responsibility. Often I would sit in my room watching the rain as it formed small puddles on the pavement and turned the grass a deeper shade of green. It was then that I realized what college was all about. The books, the teachers, the friends, many of which would only become shadowed memories and nameless faces someday in the cloudy, distant future. A raindrop fell through the barely opened window and landed on my cheek. It slid down and left a track just like a tear and I remembered a friend on the faculty that had already left us for a better world. It was quiet and I lay back on my bed and went to sleep listening to the farm report on the radio. When I awoke the leaves were dancing before mother nature's brush and a vast monthly dis- play of color shrouded the campus. The Dog- wood, the Oak, and the Maple had donned their vesture of autumnal colors and I was a Sopho- more. The building of floats for homecoming was a busy and arduous time. Chicken wire, napkins, wagons, and tractors were combined to support the theme, Tiger Spirit . As a rule the nights were cold--very cold. Our fingers seemed to stay with the spirit of the season for they too turned--a light shade of blue. And then the weeks labor was displayed

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The mist dissipated as a door was opened be- hind me and my reverie caught the four winds. I was no longer along and was glad for one can become a slave to solitude. Through the open door came a blast of artic-like wind that sent chills throughout my body and I realized that it was winter--and I was a Junior. Yes, cold winter with its short days and long nights-- Christmas time and the new year. Basketball season was placed on a pedestal as students witnessed a winning season for the very first time. I can still see myself sitting in the high school gymnasium between the eagles, trying to transmit to the team the electrifying sense of excitement raging through my ramparts. The trees were all bare and the skinny fingers of the Dogwood eenied to reach for the sky as I left the chapel and wandered aimlessly across campus. I stood for a moment in front of the library looking rut the new Stapp Hall. just then two snowflakgs drifted down out of the grey sky and lit upon tin, Iceve of my coat. There they lingered for a long time and then they melted and were gone. Somehow I felt remorseful a thought about those that were gone from these now dear but trying portals. The snow started coming down harder, so I headed for my dorm stopping momentarily to chase a squirrel that went scurring up a nearby tree. I had to hurry now for tonight the play The Diary of Anne Frank was to be presented. Something had happened on campus lately that seemed to unite everyone loving drama. Dar- rell and Larry Gay had come and planted a new and different spark that gave we, the stu- dents, something to unite and work for and more than ever gave us something to be proud of. Everyone was raving about it and it sounded as though it could be the start of something new and big. I decided I'd better eat first so I headed for the the gourmet kitchens . One advantage of going to supper in the winter was the fact that you wouldn't be attacked by flies or get fly spray in your ears. I got my meal, sat down. and for some reason I wondered if I could make it as a barber. I dwelt not long on that train of thought but directed my attention to