Emerson College - Emersonian Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 8 text:

SHlP'S LOG The maiden voyage of the Flagship 59 Foreword ....A,....,,.e.,,,...eAe.,....,.................,.,.... ...,...,..... . . 5 Dedication ...,i........,,,.,..,.........i A , 7 Faculty and Administration i.,..,.. ,...i 1 O Seniors ..........,,..,....,....,.,...,,.,.., i.... 2 8 Underclassmen ...,....,.....,,....... .,... 5 8 Organizations and Activities ...... ,.,., 6 4 Theatre Arts ...i.i.i...........,.,..... ...,. 7 8 Broadcasting ., .... ..i.. 8 2 Speech ,..........,,. ,,.,. 8 6 Montage ..,.... ...,. 9 3 Class will ....,..i..,.... i.... 9 9 Student Directory .i,.., 4..i,... 1 17 4

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Page 9 text:

FOREWORD For of the .foule The bodie forme doth take For mule ir forme And doth the bodie make Spenser Where others dream ahead this spring, toward the summer we dream backward into the past, and a journey. Sights, sounds, smells, all served that journey well . . . All of a summer, children played on the beaches. They were happy and friendly, as each wave swept in across the sand, the smaller ones turned their backs to the sea, and ran sensibly away. When the water, edged with foam, drew back again, they went running after it, with an air of driving the ocean before them. But, at the next wave, they flew as before, with shrill alarm, and fresh surprise, The sun warmed their small, brown, legs and they collected with enthusiasm bits of clam shell, sand dollars, and colored stones worn from the tide. The larger children plunged into the waves like little dolphins. The water was clear and cold. Time seems to stand still on the beaches. Only the shadows change. The shore still curves away to the south under the summer sun, a light breeze stirs the grasses on the dunes, and the shouts of children fade against the rolling thunder of the sea. The college years are akin to those spent by the sea, we gather, we seek, we are refreshed by the language of learning. But, there is something more, there is an indecision, as the shore becomes too familiar, and we look to the horizon. It takes navigating to get out into the bay, through the narrow channel, tide and wind both have to be right. There is the rip tide . . . there are dark walls, the shining shoals hide murky marvels . . . there is the wind that rattles the sails and the turbulent tumult of loneness . . . alone . . . there is no other way to reach the fruition of desire . . . when an ideal is the pediment of the structure of identity and truth . . . It is a struggle against innumerable odds, through dark, through rough winds and heavy seas. The hurricane lashes, the skies tremble with the rumble of thunder . . . grey, green dark, the sea rises . . . the sails are lashed . . . turning back is diflicult, turning back is the death of the soul . . . one can never go back completely to the idyl that is past . . . one must go on . . . through the dark . . . . . . and then . . . there is LIGHT . . . 5