Kenyon College - Reveille Yearbook (Gambier, OH)

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And now I sit here in the library, suspending for a moment these recollections, and gaze at the graffi- ti on the wall next to me. One pundit has written There are only forty people in the world and eight of them arc hamburgers. and another has scrawled Earthquakes cannot be held morally responsible for their actions. Finally, the graffitists have turned their talents to Kenyon and concluded that Dumb as a McKean is a tautology and We must accept the Givens in life. It is all there on the walls, I guess. Someone in twenty years will ask me what being a Kenyon un- dergraduate was like and 1 11 laugh. It was like a lot of things. I’ll probably say and then stop, unable to say much more. Because, after all, it was a lot of things, most of which might resist description. One calls to mind the lookout — perched above Route 229 where countless Kenyon students have come to lose themselves in reveries, chemical or oth- erwise. and the long walks or bicycle rides taken in Ganibier countryside, accompanied by a book or a friend, returning wearily back to the campus. Each will remember his or her favorite class, w here the professor told jokes or made a remark so telling it rose above the significance of taking it down in notes. And each will remember the nuance of a day. perhaps in spring, walking back from the Post Office of the Village Market, hearing the stereos that celebrate good weather. 10

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I.iz Hutchins 9

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 l There will be other memories, perhaps accessible only to certain groups, that will recall Kenyon in an image. For some it will be a long workout in the ficldhouse or on the fields, for others it will be tedi- ous committee meetings with tedious administra- tors. Some will recall play rehearsals that lasted into the long night, others will think of the Church of the Holy Spirit and choir practice. Drunken Spring Ri- ots and meals beneath the stained glass windows in Pierce Hall. The AD’s SOMF and the Betas' Lag naf. Drinking away Friday nights hangover on Saturday morning in a Bexley or New Apartment. There arc other images that call to mind Bishop Chases legacy; of conversations that spun from the bottom of souls to crate friendships or enmities, of books that struck us with their truth or offended us by their lack of it. of the countless frustrations, fears, sadnesses and joys. All these scenes merge into one. like the interweaving together of threads that make a tapestry and that tapestry is memory and desire. Then all the visions of night and day, of Old Kenyon and Gund, of long afternoon labs and religion semi- nars, all of these become one blur of past and present of which the entrances and exits arc most clear. Don 11 Guy Ricgcl