Emerson College - Emersonian Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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we could get there, too. The slim, stern-faced man had been hard at work in his usual quiet way and lo! — WERS-FM. There was no silence from a lady in the drama department, either. (You remember; the lady with the hat.) Dodsworth, Othello, State Of The Union, Winterset, Idiot ' s Delight, and Bravo were all forthcoming and were triumphs in which we had a share. And that big, important event. The Junior Prom. Charlie Bern ' was our choice as Queen and she was a perfect choice— if we do say so. 1 he Louis XI and the Somerset became a tradition. We began to find out that the loud sigh was fundamental and that the study of cerebral palsy was a toughie”. Things we were doing were becoming history. September, 19‘ 0: we looked at the clock and realized that we were seniors; the upper- classmen. We hid an occasional freshman from a vengeful sophomore and realized that we couldn’t get any studying done in the smoker. The slim, stern-faced man had left us to help Uncle Sam out of a hole and although we didn’t like to see him go, we knew that if anyone could do the job, Chuck” Dudley could. A man with a moustache, a voice, and a profoundly sensitive intellect took over the speech department and earned our respect. Hey, how ’bout that nyoo bookstore!” We bought new buildings? 1 here goes my tuition!” We became accredited! Amen!! Other men left to help Uncle Sam and we gritted our teeth. We saw and we acted in Light Up The Sky, Playwright ' s Workshop, The fest, Our Town, Proscenium, The Druid Circle, and The Madwoman Of Chaillot. Light Up The Sky was invited to tour a few of the theaters in and around Boston and the lady with the hat had scored again! Look Ma! We’re clinic supervisors.” We got measured for caps and gowns and kept telling Mrs. Fraser that we couldn’t possibly be overcut. There must be some mistake. We turned out the yearbook. People like Bob Perkins, Bud Stewart, Randy Goetze, Jean Carr, and Bill Williams were guiding us along the last part of the voyage and we were nearing the finish line. Then there was the man with the glasses and the white hair and the soft voice. When he wasn’t listening we called him Joe”. He was telling us that he had taught us all he could and that it was time tor us to get out there and put what we had learned to use. The Senior Prom and graduation invitations. Commencement. Now we are going. We walk through the passageways, by our new bookstore, and up the stairs to the clock. This time we stop at the clock and look up. That same stoical ticking. We remember that its bells have timed our education as we have heard them and gone from class to class. We know that each one of its ticks has accounted for one of our sadnesses or pleasures for the past four years. Our time is over. We must make room for a new class and the clock will tick on. As we quietly stand, we listen. We hear our gripes. But the thing that we hear most clearly is our laughter and we remember the four years that have come and now are just back there around that last bend. The stage in the theater, the classrooms, the radio studios, the clinics and the children we tried to help ... the clock; once they were for us and we were a part of everything. Now we must go on. There are other bends in the road ahead. We must pass these, too. This time we smile at the clock and at the memory of our own faces as we stood there, by the door, four years ago. Next year there will be new faces there and we silently hope that somewhere the echoes of our laughter and traces of our having been here will remain. We go out the door, and as we close it behind us we hear the clock ticking. . . . Warren Wright Page seven

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