Eckerd College - Logos Yearbook (St Petersburg, FL)

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full year on our new campus. It seemed awfully far away. For the Sunshine Festival of States Parade, we spent the day as ushers, finally ending up sitting on curbs to eat one of the cafeteria ' s box lunches (ham and cheese sandwiches, apple, and cake with more icing on the paper than on the cake). A day of no classes and the prospect of earning money for the class made up for the tired feet and sunburns we got. Beneath the humor (like that famous caption: Head Fruit Picker Contemplates his Navel Orange) and much of the sincere mutual interest between ourselves and our mentors, there ran less pleasant currents. Dr. Kadel asked the students to show a more positive attitude. Look back on our short history and see what had been done, he said. Then look to the future with confidence and faith. We hove established a goal for ourselves and we will achieve it. Headline: ANSWER NEVER DEVELOPS IN FORM OF NEGATIVISM. It was easy to pick at little things. We wanted so badly for OUR college to be perfect. In our idealism we denied our own humanity and t ried to deprive our mentors of theirs. It was later said that those tree are brave indeed who allow others to think, speak, and act freely, bounded only by man ' s responsibilty to man.® Our mentors are such brave men. They have taught us to think and speak freely. They have given us maximum opportunities to act freely. The conflicts we have had over the years with them are due to our differing understandings of the limits of man ' s responsi- bility to man. Easter vacation sent our choir on a week-long race through Florida. Wild Bill, Twitchy-hips Carrol, our bus driver, and Mrs. A. W. Rideout, Bunny ' s mother, served to moderate the disputes between the prima-donnas, looked after the little details, and kept us all going. It was a good tour. We made many friends. Most of the rest of us spent the holidays at home, sleeping late and relaxing. Some few went to Lauderdale, some stayed on campus. The second half of the semester opened with the christening of the Triton Den (Snack Bar) by Mrs. Kadel. In another of our shows of esprit (and to help with morale) we had decided to redecorate. A mural, fish net, and zany new menu gave us a real social center. We elected our first officers under the new Student Government Association Constitu- tion. We had plays. Sandpiper concerts, beach parties, intramural softball, Friday night movies, a Lightening class sailboat, and a lot of new ideas to keep us hopping. A special treat was Miss Blumenthal and Mr. Hall ' s candlelight buffet in late April. Spring formal, sea-gull feeding, our first annual Athletic Banquet, the Cabaret Ole, (the Spanish Club ' s Fiesta), the Social Science Forum, Artist-Lecturer Series, and the announcement of ground breaking ceremonies for September closed out the year, except for exams. It was a good year. The S tudent Government, Honor Court and Code, Student Christian Association, school colors, nickname. Men ' s and Women ' s Dormitory Councils, Publica- tions Board, intercollegiate sports, basic rules and standards, all had been created. ?«

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10 to think, to write, to be inspired for creativity, to be independent. So, the mid- Winter groups met, the professors said Come and see me thirty days from now with the results of your study. You ' re on your own. Thirty days seemed lil e such a long time to write one paper. Surely there were enough hours in the day to sleep until noon, go to the Snack Bar dances every night, cheer loudly at basketball games, indulge in long bull sessions about what is truth? or what do you think about so-and-so? There were none of those long science labs or W.C. discussion groups or language labs— just twenty-four hours a day to be creative. This was the ideal, but by the third week in January, most of us found ourselves frantically trying to find books to back up any vague generalizations we had managed to think of in three weeks. We found that days without classes, just like the busy ones from first semester, simply were not long enough. Where had the thirty days gone? And why was it so hard to be independent without some prod- ding from W.C. discussion leaders? So the typewriters were brought out and used steadily the last week of January. We found that the 500 word W.C. papers which had taken nine hours first semester to write were nothing compared to a ten- or twenty-page research paper. Sleepy-eyed, Floundering Freshmen coming back from the doughnut shop prepared to stay up all night in order to finish what was supposed to reflect a month of independent study. And we looked forward to classes again and the persuasion of professors. Most of us made many resolutions never to get behind again. ' That is what January seemed like to our eyes. In reality, we did a lot of work, and fairly steadily. Everyone, including ourselves, was impressed by our performance. Second semester opened on a note of hope despite a few wisps of weariness and frus- tration. The basketball team had a 4—3 record which it stretched to a 6—3 for the season. Social events showed promise of a new gaiety in our off-campus hideaway, the Ford House. Our new Board of Counselors had set to work to advise college officials on how FPC can reach its goals; help interpret the college to its communities, church, local, and academic; and to lead the public In the financial support of the college. That last was most timely. Not only was the establishment campaign going into Its last phase, but also, our not-so-wise use of electricity had led to what has turned out to be the first annual blackout. Every unnecessary light was turned off. Equally hopeful was the Trident ' s announcement that Elizabeth Woodward had been accepted as the first member of the Class of 1965. As the semester rolled on, we began to watch the weekly notices of students-accepted-and-paylng-thelr-$50 as if they were stock market quotations. In a sense, they were. It ' s a long time from January 2 to April. Even some of the best socials of the year, ships, new students at the March scholarship conference, and the verbal vendettas of the W.C. staff were not enough to stay the slow decay of our morale. Things got bad, but not so bad as in November. If one watched, he would see that the Snack Bar didn ' t really start to fill up until 10:30, there were fewer bull sessions, and a lot more studying. We were learning. For some, beginning to study came too late. Our land for the new campus remained tied up in a fantastic tangle of petty local poli- tics and law suits. Dr. Kadel kept assuring us nonetheless that we would have at least one

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12 formulated, or begun. In an end-of-the-term furor, the Trident proposed, and the Col- lege Community decisely rejected, a plan for Freshman Initiaton. Help Week was to take Its place. All the major foundations of student life were laid. We had reason to congratulate ourselves and the mentors who had pushed, coaxed, kicked, and smiled us through the year and its many triumphs . . . and troubles. Especially dear to our hearts was Western Civilization: SUDDENLY, LAST SEPTEMBER ... It all started (but really it may not hove be- cause I can ' t be sure of my position In the time continuum) v ith the need to es- tablish a frame of r eference for my Existential search for meaning In the macroform of the culturally relative reality which I, in my alienation, perceived to exist. The crying need to maintain and enhance my phenomenal self on the proper levels of relative morality acceptable to my culture led me to contemplate the symbol in the vain hope that I could achieve Nirvana. But some Sebastian at the Spring Formal kept urging me to gouge ' em, and be real and study the microform. I Next slide, please.) Anyhow, one day I quit picking my boils long enough to ask the elastic universe whether or not it was relevant to ask where I was at. From ten heterophonic voices shouting in ostinoto motif come back: Frankly, we don ' t know!, which. Doc, is why I ' m here. Now, if you ' ll just shut your window. . . ' The summer of 1961 was notable in three ways. We had our first language summer school. With Ford Foundation backing, we tried and partially succeeded in recruiting more students than in 1960. There was only twelve more to be exact, but in the process of getting that class 162, our field workers brought our college to the attention of a wide section of the nation. Of less note, but equal importance, was the slow but sure work of the ground breaking committee. We were honored by the Danforth Curriculum Conference in the form of an invitation to Dr. Bevan and three of our professors to attend a curriculum workshop in Colorado Springs, Colorado. We were the talk of the conference. Pre-college conferences were notable for Dr. West ' s cooking of steaks, upperclassmen ' s doing too good a job of telling freshmen how tough the academic load was, and trips to the new campus. Most of our mentors got well earned and much needed vocations. The Year of Disillusion 1 96 1 -62 Our second year began with the usual rush of testing, orientation, and registration. Help Week was not as successful as had been hoped. Distance and conflicting pressures pre- vented thorough planning and execution. One hundred Founding Freshmen came back to greet with great joy and relief the new Class of 1965. We spent a lot of time those first few weeks just getting acquainted. We spent even more studying. Those of us who hod made it through the first year had a seriousness of purpose and a much better un- derstanding of what college was all about.