Massachusetts College of Art and Design - Palette and Pen Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 28 text:

To all who in some way aided in the saving of our shool we are deeply grateful. We owe much to Mr. Palmstrom who left his position as president to become a more powerful determiner in the outcome. Our faculty, alumni, and friends in the outside fields worked hard and showed themselves to be true believers in the philosophy of our school. The student body in its unified ap- proach to the problem showed a spirit of loyalty hitherto untried. It was as if a bomb had exploded their retreat. They realized just how much they had taken for granted. It was the feeling too — not the rah-rah Alma Mater kind but a more elusive hardly discernible joy and pride in the school, the life and the people who worked and lived within. The long line of Mass. Art Commuters waiting at Kenmore — a part of the mov- ing pulsing crowd bearing down upon each bus as it swerves to a stop. The gay laugh- ter as clumsy portfolios and drawing boards are lifted into place. The small groups huddled over coffee cups in the lunchroom eagerly discussing school topics developing into ever widening concentric circles of thought as Y-Day and plans for world peace are discussed. We believe dif- ferently — we are of different races but this is not a problem, for we have learned to respect and value the thoughts of others. May these ideas of future students be free to develop and through guidance reach the fullness of maturity — that is our hope.

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ask timid questions. The answer was ridiculously simple — decorations for the approaching Hoe-Down . This barn dance was the real thing — square dances with a professional prompter, hay, cider and doughnuts, an even a photograph in the next day ' s paper. The traditional ceremony of Smock Day, and the Freshmen really became a part of the student body, despite being marked for weeks afterward by those bright green smocks. We remember President Philbrick ' s inspiring talk on that occasion. The motif of our Christmas Party was Old Boston, dear to art students. This theme was carried out in the place-cards and in the big-three dimen- sional cut-paper murals in the cafeteria and in the foyer where the dance was held. One of these murals showing the market district of Boston made its appearance at the Museum of Fine Arts, during the Boston Builds show. Those students whose commuting schedule permitted enjoyed something new this year — visiting with Miss Munsterberg after school of a Wednes- day afternoon. And to carry on other traditions of the past, we have the Spring Formal — a night at Pops — the Mother and Daughter Tea — Thus, when we remove our noses from a Psychology book and our fingers from a jar of paint, we manage to have our lighter extra-curricular activities. Roberta Whipple

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Music today — ah, Ravel ' s Bolero — Did you see the notice? — a cleverly done impression — a fiery dancing fig- ure wound round with gay colored papers. It is Monday, perhaps Wednes- day — Roger is unpacking the disks, pol- ishing them in preparatio n. The needle hits the disk, is silent for what seems eternity, then sound. It climbs thru the thin air spiraling up and up until it crescendos against the height of the lunchroom. It circles about capturing the occupants then weaving down again through stairways, railings and corridors into the dimly lit auditorium. The music emanating from the vie is now powerful, throbbing, now light and capricious, now tripping with feverish haste, now cautious in tempo. No one stirs — it lifts them through the ceiling and beyond. The warning bell shatters the air. The music is once more wrapped in folders and dreams put away for another day.