Kenyon College - Reveille Yearbook (Gambier, OH)

Text from Pages 1 - 150 of the 1971 volume:

WHO WE ARE There we were-demented children mincing about in clothes that no one ever wore, speaking as no man ever spoke, swearing love in wigs and rhymed cou- plets, killing each other with wooden swords, hollow protestations of faith hurled after empty promises of vcngeance-and every gesture, every pose, vanishing into the thin unpopulated air ... We're actors—we’re the opposite of people! ... We pledged our identities, secure in the conventions of our trade, that someone would be watching. And then, gradually, no one was. We were caught, high and dry. -Rosencrantz Gui Ideas tern Are Dead. by Tom Stoppard Jim Price 3 4 5 “The whole education of women ought to be relative to men, to please them, to be useful to them, to make themselves loved and honored by them, to educate them when young, to care for them when grown, to counsel them, to console them, and to make life sweet and agreeable to them. These are the duties of women at all times and what should be taught them.. Jean-Jacques Rousseau 6 Chip Hcrbst Tom McAdams 7 John Eppling John and Linda Aycr 8 9 Tern' Du rica Sam Fitzsimmons S 13 Peter Hoover 14 Larry Bell Ramsey Tcrhunc Gordon Weilh 15 The athlete with a mind towards ends the lover with a mind towards means knows he can depend however odd it seems that we arc how we move and movement needs no more to prove. Those who say we’re what we eat. or what we see cannot contend with a fool’s quickening beat or a knee's supple bend motive is body set to work What we know of good is a muscle's jerk. 1 17 Ken Alpcrn 19 Mr. Flccklo 21 22 Clark IXnigan 24 One of my favorite phrases is. “second down and goal to go” because it uses simple familiar words in a technical way but so they sound at the same time vaguely obscene. 25 Pcicr Benin Sieve Bralowcr C hris Myers B.irr Dircnfcld Bulch Griffin 27 Patsy Scllcw 29 Belinda Bremmer -rraigrrKsra- -jek jx rtvvK ’ H jilTl ’ '._. Tr«0 Vtf«W£E President Caplcs 30 Vicc-Proidcnt Lord 31 32 David Carter John Irving It' we didn’t have classes none of us would know when to leave. Phil Schwartz Mark Liebcrman Bill Dagger Martin Greene Harold Levy Rick Yorde Boh Tomsick Ross Schram Jon Boyd John Gaudry Norm Schmidt Tim Baker Mike Cummings Mike Rosenberg 40 41 Bruce Landis Other campuses are in flames and the grass ripples here. Steve and Nancy Christy David Caplin Paul Kaufman J. T. Grillo Richard Goldmann Jay Townsend llal Griffith Herb Hennings Jim Kronenberg Doug Tidd Mark Sullivan Dan Ralston 46 Doug Neff “Eighteen years we’ve been swimming and winning. There's one tradition the women won’t change!” Walker Pclc Holloway 47 Coby Johnson Brian Akers Mike Schicmmcr 48 Alan Rapoporl 49 Rob Moore 50 Pete Halapatz 51 Bob Weist Pete Galier Kelly Moody Bob Rocsky V Chuck Burton George Deepe Joe Hornick Rick Bird 54 1 55 ■ Mike Timmer Doug Bootes Jim O’Dair Steve Dolan 59 60 i SI Tony Aposiolaros 64 Pete Holme Jim Schneider 65 Mr. Daniel Mr. Grecnsladc Mr. Johnson Mr. Michael 68 Mark and Vida Slralcy Mr. Klicn Mr. Lentz � Me spent a life at Kenyon changing Ins simple energy into an accessible truth. A name flaked gold in split wood above his door signalled his readiness to listen. Mis wit bridged the hardness of historic fact to the vague events of life and his humanity transformed our past cruelties into an approachable whole. In short, we called him teacher and we knew he was a friend. 72 73 Stan Lit . Santc Matteo Four years, innumerable exams, pounds of paper and thousands of pages. read, re-read and underlined have brought you to this moment: a lassie turned and a hood draped across your shoulder blades. 74 G� ry Hives Fred Mills John Klinedinst Jeff and Pat Harris 75 George Cashcll Karl McCardlc John McQueen Jim Facklcr John Shu tcr The first delicate female hands take hold of a Kenyon diploma. If Philander Chase had any pull with the powers that be to make a sign and show displeasure, he didn't use it. The sun shone bright and birds sang. 78 Russell Potter 79 We hope you have enjoyed RevieUe '71. If you did not we are truly sorry. Fraternity pictures, once a traditional feature of the Kenyon College yearbook have been omitted. The reason was partially that of space (not of time). We were forced by the inflationary rise in print- ing costs to shorten the book by 16 pages. Fraternities no longer claim the high percentages they once did on this campus. For these reasons, among others, it was de- cided that fraternities not be pictured. RevieUe '71 has attempted to capture the feeling of the changing campus. The yearbook is not a reference source nor is it something which is often read. It is hoped that it may serve as an outline which you your- self will fill in and as a reminder of a time which was as pleasant as it was short. One of our distinguished alumni once said. “Live so your college days will be- come glorious—as college memories.” When you next read this book Gambier will be just a memory. We hope it was pleasant. RevieUe '71 staff included: David Bergman (copy): Ellen Murphy (photography); Chris Fahlman (design); Coty Sidnam (page design); and Lconie Silverman (seniors). Thanks are extended to Jeff Wolin. Sam Barone. Chip Hcrbst, Sally Ritterbush and Scott Bassage for photography; Fred Hansman for sports coverage; Bill Bechtel for PACC pictures; Jeff Bell for theatre pic- tures; Pegi Goodman for art; Robin Stevens for typing; Steve Falconer. Jim Klein and Paul Piraino for finan- cial help; Mark Denton. Fletcher DuBois. Jim Hub- bard. Nina Mooney and Winston Pickett for advice; Walter Kalaidjian and Richard Katz, copy; Mr. Slack, advisor; Dean Edwards. Dean Crozicr and Mr. Miller for assistance in procuring facilities; Mr. Church. Chair- man of the Publication Board; and Keller, our patient printer. Mycr Berlow, editor 5 i I I I At some time or another there comes to nearly every student a strong sense of frustration with the academic way, even a feeling of anger or despair. For some, this comes as early as the freshman year; for others, not until much later. But, whenever it comes, this feeling usually finds the student thinking himself trapped in a static and sterile world, while somewhere out there awaiting him is a dynamic, challenging, and altogether relevant existence. In short, he feels that he is cut off from life, and he cannot convince himself that what he is doing in college has anything to do with that pul- sing. vibrant world that he longs to be part of. The feeling. I must tell you, is not peculiar to those who attend small colleges in Ohio. It isn't especially characteristic of the present generation of students and it is certainly not uniquely American. Indeed, the great opening monologue of the most celebrated poem in German. Goethe’s Fa us I, is largely given over to Faust’s denunciation of the university as a place of death and to his anguished cry to be returned to life. As far as Goethe was concerned, writing two hundred years ago, the deadly nature of the academic mode was pretty well summed up by another of his charac- ters. who tells a student. Grey, my friend, is all the- ory And green life’s richly bearing tree.” But it isn’t usually Goethe and Faust that I'm re- minded of when I hear this student lament. Rather I am drawn to think of another figure in German liter- ature. the hero of one of Thomas Mann’s early stories, written at the beginning of this century. I think of him ness, cut off, he is consumed by the sense of his apart- ness and isolation. This episode serves to characterize Tonio’s ex- perience throughout his adolescence and into adult- hood. He becomes a successful writer, acclaimed by both the critics and his fellow artists. But at the same time he becomes an increasingly bitter man. for he is burdened by the sense that his writing is a sterile activ- ity. having nothing to do with the dance of life or with those who are the dancers. He feels himself damned forever to be apart, fated, so to speak, to haunt the corridors of life. Mann resolves his hero’s situation in a scene that is carefully balanced against the earlier one. Once again there is a hall brightly lighted and a background of lil- ting music. Once again there is dancing and the danc- ers move gaily through their figures, forming patterns and breaking them, embracing partners, finding new relationships in changing forms. And here again in Tonio, concealed in the shadows beyond the door. But this time the door is open and he looks through it. watching the dancers intently, watching not with clini- cal coldness, but with what one might call passionate detachment. And suddenly he understands that his apartness is not a curse, not a state wished upon him by a malevolent nature, but a gift, a special blessing. For he comes to see that whatever he will claim by way of understanding, he owes to his standing apart. It is only from his position of detachment that he can view the totality of the dance; only from there that he WHY WE ARE HERE first of all as a solitary, isolated figure, standing alone in a dark corridor, his back turned towards the door. On the other side of that door, within a brightly lighted room young people are dancing, people his own age. for he is now sixteen and in love for the first time with a girl who is among the dancers. They move easily and gracefully through the complicated figures of the dance, smiling at one another, happy, self-as- sured. completely absorbed in what they are doing. But Tonio-lhat is the hero’s name remains in the cor- ridor. even though he yearns to share their innocent happiness, and their zest for living. And in the dark- can follow the dance’s flow, distinguish the move- ments. trace its larger patterns. It is only from beyond the door that one can tell the dancer from the dance. Only now docs he see the paradox of the dance. So often before he had envied the dancers their natural grace and their seeming freedom of movement.Now he recognizes that the very movements and rhythms which reveal the inherent gracefulness of the dancers reveal also that the freedom of the individual dancer is subordinate to the forms of the whole. If one departs for an instant from the pattern, he may trip and fall or collide with others, ruining the whole. The present mo- mcnt occupies the dancer so completely that he cannot establish what has gone before or discern what will come after. As participant he is denied the larger view. He is the prisoner of his own limited experience. So long as he is dancing he has no real knowledge of the rest. Only to him who has watched from afar before joining the dance is it given to dance with the knowl- edge and understanding of the larger movements. Io dance thus is to dance indeed. Within this figure of the dance. Tonio discerns, is somehow represented all that he can ever designate by the words life and love, and to the children of life he owes all that he w ill ever know of joy or sorrow , plea- sure or pain. The admission had profound con- sequences for Tonio’s art. even as it does for his life. His writing, he recognizes, has heretofore been no more than narcissistic self-indulgence. Now he will seek to put it to the service of life, as some small repayment for all that he takes out of life. The critical distance which Thomas Mann believes necessary to art is just as essential to liberal education. Ihe passionate detachment which eventually charac- terizes Tonio best characterizes the academic mode. It is a first feature of the academic way of knowing that it sets the student at a remove from experience, from the actuality. One cannot come to understand religion by praying or having visions, any more than one can become an expert on childbirth by having babies. The way to inquire into political science is not by serving in the Congress, nor is writing a novel the way to study literature. This is not to say. of course, that the academic way is the only way of knowing. The farmer knows the sea- sons as the sailor knows the sea and the miner the earth, each in ways significant to him. A boy who raises a dog from puppyhood will know that animal as no biologist can. A sculptor who works a figure out of stone will know the material and the form as no ob- server ever will. Yet each of these ways of knowing is a particular and individual one. so private a way per- haps that it cannot be communicated to others and therefore not to be translated into the service of life. The virtue of the academic mode is that it deals not with private and particular truths, but with the general and universal. Its concern is what pertains to all men. not to one individual. And thus it enables us to burst the bonds of our own person, to escape the limits of our private experience and the tyranny of the present moment. But there is a price to be paid for this free- dom. for this liberating education, in hard work, in de- votion. in honest commitment. And part of the price we pay is temporary or occasional isolation, the sense of being apart. On behalf of my colleagues I welcome you who arc members of the Class of 1974. I hope that your years here will seem to you a gift, a special bless- ing. I trust that when you go then to join the dance of life, you will move through its figures with greater in- tensity and with greater zest because you have gained here a view of life’s larger scheme. But I hope too that you will take with you some offering to life in return. There are millions in the world who will never have an opportunity for the larger view. I think you know that you arc here on their behalf as well as your own. I hope you will be true to them and to yourselves. The Tiew From Beyond I he Door Addrcw at the Opening of Col- lege. 1970 by Bruce Haywood 2 5 I don’t know if it’s the cows or the cold keeps me here. 6 Camped on the lawn is a company of kids playing “Stop Light” the object of which is to get as close to the one who’s It without him seeing. I was never very cagey and was always caught a foot or two from the goal. I learned however how to walk backwards with great facility. 8 9 10 12 13 ■■ ■ •- “The land here ...he was trying to find the right words, “well it's something different from the run of the mill. It’s beautiful country alright. But more than that there’s something wild just beneath the surface that says ‘cut me. however much you will. I know what it is to be wilderness.’ Christ, when a storm comes up. sometimes I think ‘now it’s going to take its revenge.’ ’’ 15 I 17 From outside my window you can see trees forming a line of protection and then fields and then hills, wooded and blooming; and beyond that another ridge of hills and beyond that (if your imagination is good) Cleveland and the Cuyahoga River burning because of the waste we have made of it all. Mr Rogan This is the letter of a Kenyon student applying to his draft board for Conscientious Objector Status. Local Board No. 10: Christmas Day, 1970: How strange it is for us to cel- ebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace today, for there is no peace in our lives. We worship this child of gen- tleness, but we are not a gentle people. Man celebrates life, but the interior of his heart resembles a graveyard. He worships the Christ and calls himself a Christian, but he is not Christ-like. If the baby Jesus were born again today, he would see soldiers in the streets of Bethlehem. Over his head he would hear not a chorus of angels, but the shrieks of jet planes filled with bombs and missiles. The eyes of the Christ child would gaze upon nations ringed with nuclear weapons, upon silent submarines beneath the oceans, preparing to deliver their shiny gifts of death. He would sec a mad. blind civilization, dancing above its own grave. Would he listen to our songs? Would he believe our prayers? Would he accept our gifts? The United States government has announced that it will observe a 24-hour truce in Vietnam, because of this holy day set aside for honoring the birth of Jesus. 2000 years he has been waiting, and all we can give the Christ child is 24 hours. For tomorrow we must start killing again. The songs and prayers will fade away, the lights and decorations will be taken down, for we must return to the business of death. We snatch away the gifts of the Magi from the hands of the baby Jesus, and in their place we give him a crown of thorns, a cross, and a whip across the back. Did we hear the cries of Jesus while Herod slaugh- tered the innocent children of Israel? Did we hear Jesus crying in the concentration camps of Nazi Ger- many? Did we hear the shrieks of the baby at Hiro- shima, at Dresden? Did we sec him dying of starvation in Biafra, too weak to call out, too close to death to cry? Have we heard the child of God crying out in Vietnam, in East Pakistan? Have we seen the son of man in the hospitals of New York, his life cut off be- fore he could cry? Whatever we have done to the least of our brothers, so also have we done to Jesus. He has been born and he has been crucified every day of our lives. Neither he nor his truth can be buried by time; either we con- tinue to crucify the son of man. or we give him the chance to build his kingdom of love. You cannot kill for Jesus. You cannot wage war for the Prince of Peace. 18 You cannot give life by killing. You cannot create peace, freedom, or human dignity by destroying life. You cannot “win an honorable peace”, for in war there is no honor, and from war there can come no peace. It is often said that peace is a noble ideal, but un- realistic and unworkable and impossible; that war is natural, and evil is necessary. That is probably true. Man cannot be God. Never- theless, he should aspire to be godly. The demands of the Christ are impossible to fulfill: not to hate, not to , be angry, not to desire that which is not one’s own, not to be evil in word, thought, or deed. “So you arc to be perfect, as your Father in heaven is. This is the com- mand of the Christ. St. Jerome tells us that “God be- came man so that man might become God.” That may be impossible, but nevertheless we believe, and we must act in accordance with our beliefs. If war is natu- ral. then man should learn to transcend his nature or to suppress it. That which is good, rather than that which is natural, should guide our lives. And if evil is necessary and the good is impossible, I choose to live for the impossible. Even if peace is nothing but a dream in the soul of man, I choose to live for that dream. 19 PACC: Violence and Social Change Saul Alinsky Symposium: Is a Liberal Arts Education Relevant? There’s a thin and sometimes undcfincablc line be- tween man and nature, man and society, man and mankind. Arc our creations part of us, less than our- selves, or more than we could ever hope to be? Until we view art, or destruction, we never think of these distinctions. As we learn, we try to draw lines, an ob- jective yet creative act. 22 Violins don't grow on trees. That’s one thing man has made—and made well. And what tree would not gladly be such a sensuous form? And what cat would not have his guts more than a flics feast and be instead an eternal wave of sound? Rob Mayer Damon Kefby It must have been some season that the Wright brothers flew their oversized kite and crushed thick grass under their bicycle wheels. Since then we have cov- ered a thousand such fields with concrete and asphalt. How quickly we can get there, but there’s so much we have to sec. M 25 Up from the mud and into the trees. Nine stories of home-sweet-home. We make webs of steel and con- crete and we fill them ourselves. Spiders laugh at our butcheries and the locust rattles like a stack of plates. 26 “He climbed a hill and said a prayer” To have built a college out here must have been an act of both fever and foresight. 28 : Vr:-'- Middle Path Day In a way. Education is about giving back to the world around us what we have taken from it in order to grow. Old trees, pecked at and bug infected, fall to the ground and eventually become part of the soil. But man. I think, wants to give more to the Earth than just his carcass. He wants to give a sense of peace and beauty to what’s around him; he wants to join and heighten the Earth’s natural harmony. Lewis Sage 30 5 i I I I HOW WE LIVE the summer had inhaled and held its breath loo long' It always goes like this: I am sick of road work, office work, or lifeguarding whatever I am doing that summer, and I am sick of the sun and the water and I want her skin to pale all over, I pack up my clothes and my books to be ready to go back and it’s time to go back. Some have explained il by means of a so-called biological clock. but I like to think of muses and sages somewhere on a hill in Ohio screaming. You damned fool, come back-you’re stupid as Hell! 3 4 6 They say that in Gambicr the an- imals are so friendly the dogs will cat from your lap. squirrels will eat at your feet, and students will eat out of your hand. 7 8 Mr. Boyd 9 II Bendex, Norge. Kelvinator. Whirlpool. bi-o-dcgrade-able non-phosphatic A woman beats her clothes against a rock the Gangees Hows on. and on. 13 “The winter looked the same as if it never had gone 14 15 17 i Go where you no longer see the road. To a field framed by a solid fence. The grass will grow all around you. To alleviate the headache caused by Wittgenstein. Bul- tmann or Mill take two Zap Comix. one eight ounce can of Coke and any side of a Grateful Dead album. If symptoms persist see the doctor. � My eyes arc blear)'; the books arc all open on the table. I dimly remember that the last time the chimes rang the count was up to five. I say to myself, “why the Hell am I pulling a nighter? but softly because it’s dawn and the birds have begun to sing. It’s hard to decide whether it’s my grinding teeth or the daybreak that keeps me going. L. 22 Over the first snow that has stuck I track my life's blood and awake. I have been reading all morning. How short’s the jump from Walter Scott to Patrick Spence. These anyway are the events that accompany coffee and muffin. The lobby of the post office is open. I collect the mail I didn’t collect the night before. The whole village is mine but for one man with whom I watch a display of Christmas cards. In the side streets nothing has happened. A horse might bray and the mole hills may have grown a little longer, but the essential patterns of life, this mild Thanksgiving, have remained, for the most part undisturbed. Then down Gaskin Avenue, back to the center of town. I inspect the new construction: a high rise that has risen only to the first floor. The man from the bookstore passes me. and waves. I smile and wave back. In the room beside me a glass is tinkling. A loose spoon knocks against a side. Others sniff warm cider like all liquor. Others laugh. All arc waiting for their dinner. If voices call me I will go in, but someone believes I am busy. 24 25 You sometimes get in a terrible way out here. Draft boards are the only ones who write you. and Saga is the only one who feeds you. 26 h More than college gothic. it is Ohio which is the beauty of Gambier: farmhouse, trestle. Co-op. The gargoyles of Old Mather look to a land their inventors never dreamed of. adopting a casual air. Our pace is the pace of a heartland. I History like a pendulum always swings hack to the cen- ter: man. One May of violence and death moves back towards the conserving energy of life and peace. 30 31 a silent shadow passive mutability pacem in lerris the young woman’s eyes link words to experience pacem in libris 32 5 i I I I