LaGrange College - Quadrangle Yearbook (Lagrange, GA)

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Why, you may ask, do you remember so much about your first year? Because it was a new experi- ence, an experience of being on your own, and making a place for yourself in the college world. The spirit and curiosity and enthusiasm of the Freshman can never be equaled. We can ' t wait for summer to begin, we said, and it was restful at first, but before long, we missed all the girls and longed for the hurry and bustle of school. Then we couldn ' t wait for school to begin, and we happily repacked our skirts and sweaters, and joyfully greeted our classmates, and viewed the freshies with secret delight because we knew that they would soon be at our mercy. Remembering our experiences of the previous year, it was easy for us to yell at the rats and let ' em have it. They ' re too high-handed, they need to be taken down, we told ourselves, not daring to think back and remember how we felt. It made us feel big to visit in Freshman Hall, and talk about which courses to take, and which not to take, and what to expect of which teachers, while the Freshmen absorbed what we said like a sponge. We knew things. We had had a whole year of experience. Being a Sophomore had lots of responsibilities. Our sister class was graduating, and we had to help send them to New Orleans. To give said help, we sponsored a party in February — a Valentine Party with a Kay Kyser musical program. We planned and planned, an d sent invitations to every boy we had ever heard of. Then we decorated the gym until it looked like anything but a gym. People came from miles around, and bought everything we had to sell. With aching feet and strained muscles, we jubilantly counted up a tidy profit to help send the Seniors on their trip to the Crescent City. The first of May the Seniors took their table, and we had to strain our originality and ingenuity to decorate again. We made placecards and favors, and adorned the table with Greyhound Busses. In our white evening dresses we looked quite angelic as we formed a line for the Seniors to pass through. The crowning event of the night was when we presented our Sister Class with thirty dollars — each dollar bill painstakingly rolled up and tied with a white ribbon like a diploma. Came class day, and we were responsible for the refreshments and the daisy chain. That daisy chain was almost our undoing too. Will I ever forget how we rode out the Franklin road, early in the morn in a drizzling rain, and plucked every little daisy for acres around. Every spare minute we had that morn- ing, we rushed down to the gym and wrapped daisies around that seemingly endless rope. By noon the drizzle had increased to torrents, and we sorrowfully read the disgusting announcement that class day had been called off on account of inclement weather. We all went down and lovingly looked up our useless daisy chain. We had done our best, but the elements had done their worst! This Commencement we shed numerous tears as our Sister Class departed. Our crowds at home had broken up — some married, and others moved away. Then we suddenly knew that there are no friendships quite like college friendships. That September of our Junior year, we were even gladder to get back and settle down. Now was the time to make plans for after graduation, and to definitely decide on major subjects; now was the time to choose our Freshman sisters, and cherish and protect them. It was like being done unto one year, and doing unto the next. More than ever before we were learning the art of cooperation, and the ad- vantages and necessities of working together. We dutifully handed over our class dues each month, and our Senior trip loomed on the horizon. In May we each became a hostess at our table in the dining hall, and it was our duty to see that every- one at our table (including ourselves) got enough vitamins. Also we took over the store, and we were so proud of this new possession that we practically fought over whose turn it was to keep the store. T o celebrate the receiving of our Senior privileges we had a blow-out affair — a picnic at the city pool with enough food for all of us to carry some home. How glorious to be a Senior! We could go places alone, we could chaperone to the show, we could go out any night of the week — in fact, about all we had to do was be in by 10:15. We tried our new rules, and they were good, and we wondered how we ever got along when we were Freshmen. Unbelievably soon, our Senior year; the year we had always thought would never come; the year we hated to think was our last; but the year we hoped to make the best. That first Sunday when we donned our caps and gowns and strolled nonchalantly down the church aisle while everybody stood up and stared at us — there ' ll never be another thrill quite like that one. It was worth the struggle through the other three years just to be branded a Senior and to have a whole year of dignity and superiority. Speaking of a grand and glorious time — that ' s exactly what our Senior Trip was. Fun, Food and Ad- venture, capitalized and underscored. Our Trip was something that we planned for the longest and something we will remember the longest. If you don ' t believe me, just ask any Senior who went. All too soon they ' ve ended — our gay and carefree days, and we find ourselves facing the world. Perhaps we aren ' t armed with knowledge, but we ' re certainly armed with memories. And now, simply the word LaGrange brings it all to life again — and it will never die!

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There are fascinating stories of great men and great women; there are thrilling accounts of adventures; there are exciting tales of the struggles of nations; but most important of all, there are memories of college days — days that are full and overflowing — each one a new and unpredictable adventure in itself. These memories are fascinating stories of future great women (we hope) ; they are the thrilling accounts of our adventures into the vast realm of knowledge; they are exciting tales of our struggles to assimilate this knowledge. They are the memories of the grandest days of our life — our days at LaGrange College. Looking at the rows of Seniors in their solemn black caps and gowns, with one or two caps a little awry, who would ever believe that they are the remains of those wide-eyed, gullible and self-conscious kids that started the long grind in 193 7, and are on the verge of crossing the goal line. But it ' s true, and we ' re all happy and sad, and sorry and glad. For with the word LaGrange there comes to our minds hundreds of pictures: hopeful rushes to the post office just before chapel; big goody boxes from home; sleepless nights worrying about various and sundry things; slow-moving class periods filled with daydreaming; that awful waiting and hoping for a phone call; the joy of sleeping after a good day ' s work; Please See Mes from Dean Bailey and the tedious process of pacifying the family; restlessness before holidays; recitals and more recitals — some good, and some not so good, but always interesting because they represented work and effort; lively chatter and laughter in the dining hall, and the monotonous singing of Happy Birthday to You ; exam time when everybody is hollow-eyed and cross; myriads of jokes and pranks; uplifting and inspiring moments in the prayer hall; Moon River and aching hearts; filling trips to the Senior Store and frantically searching for the key; endless sessions over cokes in the drug store downtown; the lonesome sound of train whistles in the still of the night; hard and devitalizing games of soccer; the unwelcome sound of the alarm clock; delightful sorority meetings; long hours in the library; Sunday afternoons when it rained. Sometimes when the going was rough, we thought, Why did I ever come to college, anyhow? Wherever did I get the crazy idea that I knew anything about anything? Every thing I do is wrong! ... I Haven ' t an ounce of sense! — then there were a few precious times when we worked diligently and reaped what we had sown, and everything in us sang because we knew we had done our best. And now, simply the word LaGrange brings it all to life again. Our first year brings to mind initiation — and what a wide field of activities that covered! And what cowering and terrified rats we were before those awful Sophs! It was our first real taste of college life (and mineral oil), and it tasted a little bitter, but we loved it — after it was all over. After overcoming our fear of the Sophs, we discovered that they were swell gals, and pretty soon, we thought everyone was a swell gal, even if they did sometimes take advantage of our ignorance. We learned a lot that year about how much we were expected to know, and about how much we didn ' t know. Those first weeks we learned all there was to be known about Bull Sessions. The handbook said, Freshmen may go to town twice a week, so we strolled down from our little feminine world to mix and mingle with the outside world twice a week. Also the handbook said No student is allowed to ride to and from a destination unless it is raining, so every time we went to town we hopefully prayed for rain. Those two times a week we stored up Jones ' Specials and hotdogs like a cimel storing up a month ' s supply of water. All our clothes we outgrew, and when we went home for the week-end, people remarked, You ' re looking well, or College certainly agrees with you; how much have you gained? And we all smiled and tried to act nice, but all the time, we were fuming inside, and secretly resolving to go on a diet the minute we got back to school. Sorority bids went out, and we made up our minds and R. S. V. Peed at 5:00 o ' clock, and were taken into the inmost sec rets of the Eta This or the Gamma That. Now each of us had our special little group, and we felt that we truly belonged. Then the Junior Class had a meeting — a very, very important meeting — and each of the Juniors chose a Freshman to guide and protect. We no longer had to worry, we had an upperclassman pulling especially for us. That first Christmas at home was such fun, seeing all our home-town friends and comparing colleges. We all loved our school chums, but we still felt that there are no friends like old friends. Before we had hardly settled down from the holiday gaiety, we realized with dismay that it was time for our first finals — finals that terrified us even more than the Sophs did. And we spent much more time worrying than we did studying, and somehow we survived those exams — on the merits of o ur worrying, I guess. Spring Holidays and May Day followed in quick succession, rushing right into our first Commence- ment. How we stood in awe of the Seniors, wondering if we would ever be numbered in that coveted class. Perhaps we even shed a few tears at the thought of losing our Senior friends.

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MISS CROSS Sponsor WHEN I HAVE SUNG MY SONGS Ernest Charles When I have sung my songs to yon, I ' ll sing no more. ' T would be a sacrilege to sing at another door. We ' ve worked so hard to hold our dreams, just you and I. I could not share them all again — Yd rather die with just the thought that I had loved so well, so true, That I could never sing again, That I could never, never sing again, Except to you. I JOHN J. WYATT Mascot