Haverford College - Record Yearbook (Haverford, PA)

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Tcm Helmstadter, with a grunt and a smile, de- clines the chance to build, but instead collects and eats with relish the inner organs of the fireflys sprinkled at random around the island. He shuns the truths lying at his feet, and instead pulls a potato from the swamp and slips it into his pocket. Often, quietly to himself, he says Mrkgnao. Tom Joyce, settling on the brightest part of the island, quickly fashions hundreds of smoothly curved female cherubs from his stock of truths, shunning all books. These new additions to the island alternate between mixing him drinks, tweak- ing his chin, or stroking him affectionately as he goes on to build a swimming pool, three beach cabins, and seven cases of gin. The sounds of merriment from this corner increase steadily as time goes on, and no amount of stares from other parts of the island can serve to quiet the female giggles. In keeping with this spirit, Lorenzo Milam builds an elaborate still, a rather chesty female torso, and a door with eight locks on it. He settles down quietly to sample the results of the first run-off, but is soon disturbed by John Bernstein who, not too eager to build anything, has thrown together a blunted meat-cleaver. Bounding around the island, he uses this to bludgeon sizable hunks off all the various buildings that ore beginning to tower around him. The gnomes of creation, safe in their hiding place, watch the activity. Their faces begin to sag and quiver. This was not the purpose for which the island was laid. Daringly, pushed to action by this untoward turn of events, the group steps from the bushes. Scoop- ing up stray truths as they move towards the cherubs, they mold them in their hands to new truths, showing what should be done with the fer- tile resources of the island. The advance is soon turned into retreat. Darts and bludgeons fly; gnome-heads are struck by tumbling structures; walls and doors block com- munication; one cherub removes his glasses and lectures on filing -systems; another quickly prints up a paper condemning gnomes; the island be- comes forbidden to the original builders. Incredulous at their own failure, the group mills uncertainly on the outskirts of the island, wonder- ing where to go, what to do. And then, albeit mournfully, the trumpet sounds, the fife is heard, the embers ore relit, and the gnomes. Breathing united force with fixed thought Mov ' d on in silence to soft pipes that chorm ' d Thir painful steps o ' re the burnt soyle. Twenty-nine

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Feeling that many hands make large the work, Bob Price, Larry Ferguson, and Jim Francis pool their talents into the building of one modest edi- fice. With a real spirit of criticism, two of them often stand bock and watch the efforts of the other. When Bob is working, the structure tends to resemble a lofty white mansion, replete with lofty pillars around the front and sides, complete with a wide cascading lawn of purest green. Larry mumbles dislike for this gaudy display, and with a heavy book destroys all the columns and re- places them with a harder New England front, complete with sprinkled snow on the lawn. Jim vociferously stands back and applauds the efforts of oil. The pile of debris resulting from the vacilla- tions of will tends to build up an insurmountable wall of discarded refuse around these three, and presently they are hidden totally from the view of gnomes and cherubs alike. Striking in contrast is the handiwork of John Schott. Using a minimum of truths, he stands somewhat off from the throng and quickly fashions a sheaf of paper, a typewriter, and a printing press. First, using these new-made tools, he types up long, arduous, finely printed papers. Then he turns to his soulmates and, pulling up his swaddling clothing, begins to read his manuscripts. Many of the cherubs stop their work to listen, smiling and nodding their heads, returning to their work only when John goes back to typing up another sheaf. Tony Cowen builds an impressive structure that changes consistently as it grows. First it looks like a dusty tome, then a Renoir painting, then a woman lightly clad in a smile, and finally a castle. It is grand and magnificent panorama, but un- fortunately he garnered most of his material from off the island, so mixed with all the books and truths are not a few palm fronds, tree roots, and a wriggling salamander. The building, conse- quently, IS rather unsteady, and no sooner does Tony bolster up one corner than another begins to droop. Also constructing a fantastic edifice is Tony Bing. In moments, this cherub has built, using all the filmy truths, a spiderweb of beams and cross- beams flung skyward that threaten to obscure or even capture the sun. The work could go faster, but with a sly smile, Tony pauses every now and then to fashion a dart from a gossamer truth and secretly fling it at the protruding parts of any nearby tad. Bob Leeds has considerable trouble with his work. As soon as he gets some sort of foundation laid, he disappears from the island for a long interval, reappearing each time a little older and a little greyer. Therefore, his building must be whipped off between trips: a Rube Goldberg ap- paratus that is kept from falling only by a well placed supporting hand here, or arm there.

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llPUIillllllll HISTORY . . . Ubi studeo, patna ibi One of the best known eras in European his- tory of unknown men is the lower, lower middle ages. Undoubtedly, however, there were many men who deserved immortality. Giovanni Capistrano d ' Abruzzi in his recent book on medieval life be- tween 907-809 has attempted to reconstruct the lives of some of these men. A small fragment from his writings is reproduced below.- ' Not far outside of Pans was a small country estate called Villans and in the pages of the estate book we find that there was a man living there called Kenneth Calkins who was known by his friends as Bodo. Actually there is very little that is known about Bodo except that he spoke a south German dialect and lived on the corner of the estate with his faithful wife, Jepie, and three dogs. However, just as we are able to con- clude certain facts about the weather during the night when we get up in the morning and find that an icicle has suddenly appeared outside the window, so, too, the historian becomes a detective in attempting to discover the missing links of his- tory. With this in mind, let us try to imagine what a day in the life of Bodo Calkins was like. On a fine Spring morning toward the beginning of the end of Charles McCaffery ' s reign, Bodo gets out of bed. He goes downstairs or upstairs depend- ing upon whether he sleeps on the second floor or in the cellar, winds the kitchen clock and sets the alarm at 9:45 for Jepie and then slips out the front door. It ' s still a fine spring morning so he whistles as he and his favorite dog, Widsid (with open i ' s), make their way to the manor house. Today is a special day for Bodo, for besides its being his twenty-first birthday and fifth wedding anni- versary, he is also going to give his semester report to the manor steward, Jean Hecht, on the progress of his investigation on ecclesiastical and temporal relations in Normandy. As he approaches the manor house he sees Hecht pacing back and forth in front of the door — a cigarette holder clinched tightly between his teeth. Three of Bodo ' s con- temporaries, Erman Iriye, Frambert Nauman and Ragenold Long, are already there trying to keep pace with the steward as they deliver their reports. As Bodo draws nearer, he overhears them talking. The first is discussing the influence of whales on Japanese-American relations; the second is quoting a passage from Augustine, and the third is reading a paper on the political theory of the Missi Dominici. Intermittently, the steward mutters under his breath, Gemeinschaft. ' ' Otherwise, he doesn ' t seem to be listening. After waiting in vain for an hour for his turn, Bodo Calkins becomes disgusted and decides to seek out the manor lord, Thomasus E. Drake, and complain. However, when he gets to the door of his office, he finds a little note on it saying, Hove gone on a trip to Florida in search of old manu- scripts. Will not return until victorious. Bodo ' s eyes shine for this means there will be a celebration that night. He forgets about his report to the steward and hurries home to help Jepie prepare the wines. ' History is largely made up of Bodos. ' ' From the Poems and Love Songs of J. P. Abelord. - Lo Vita Nel Mezzo Del Cammin. 3 Ibid, vot IX p. 221. In the place now occupied by the grounds of Saint Cloud. Ed 3 Brachtcn, f. 401b: ' secundum quod videri poterit toto die. ' Thirtv