Mitchell College - Thames Log Yearbook (New London, CT)

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atural Charm by Thomas H. Finnegan This would not be a very difficult shot: one of those familiar half-table-length, slight-angle-to-the-right, end- pocket shots, it would leave good position for the fourteen and then a perfect break shot. And yet, as I looked it over and watched Bruce lean over his table with a confident smile, I knew he was going to miss it. I could feel it. Too much angle, the nine would hit the cushion a foot before the pocket with that air of ineptitude about it that can put you off your game for hours. If it were my shot, I told myself, I would sight it in once, pause while staring down the nine, line it up again, wait for that curious sensation of certainty that tells me everything is right, and then . . . pink. Click. Rooolll. Kapunk. Tom! Corne on, partner, concentrate. We need this break shot. Watch your bridge. Pull your fingers up higher. Hey, Tom! Not yet, Bruce. Make sure you . . . Hey, FINNEGANW' Pink. Click. Rooolll bump roolll. I was annoyed as much at being called by my last name as I was at Bruce,s shot. Among friends at a party, a last name echoes coldly off postered walls. Through a hovering gray cloud I could see a corduroy arm waving over at Bruce's basement bar. Bette Midler crooned to us that she's In the mood . . . as our opponents prepared to finish off our rack. Wake up, shark! Come on over! I Want you to meet a friend of mine! The voice was that of my good friend, jeff, whose companion, I could barely discern over that smoke-obscured distance, was a short, dark-haired girl. With the Divine Miss M urging me on, I threaded my way past the butt of a cue, over a tangle of limbs on a pile of tasseled cushions, and toward jeff and the short, dark girl. He was smiling amiably, standing with his left arm resting lightly on her shoulder. Hi, Tom! I'm really sorry I had to tear you away from your favorite game, but I wanted to introduce you. This is Chris Bongiornig Chris, Tom Finnegan. I smiled down at her and observed that she held her head at a slight angle, as if she were embarrassed or had poor posture. Her black hair was cut quite short and did not look particularly attractive to me. But she had marvelously large brown eyes, a broad but pert nose, and an intriguing smile. Hello, Chris. Are you artistic? Already I had forgotten her last name. Am I artistic? she asked quizzically. 'QDO you paint or sculpt? Or Photograph ? I paint a little, she fibbed. Why, do you? No, I don't have any ability at all myself . But I admire people who do have talent. I should have stopped at that, but I continued. I think that there cannot be a nobler ambition than to be creative. There couldn't be a more desirable achievement in one's life than to leave behind something of one's own creation - a little piece of oneself - some-

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3. A three-room, furnished apartment complete with kitchen, color T.V., double bed, and private bath. 4. A letter of introduction to several voluptuous girls of fine repute. 5. Unlimited use of a 1974, Black Cadillac Eldorado. 6. An unlimited supply of alcohol to be used only for medicinal purposes as prescribed by Brawn-More's psychological counselor fwho is very understandingj. 7. A public relations expert, at your disposal, to explain all of the above to the press. 8 And last, but not least, a college education. We at Brawn-More sincerely hope that you select the right college for you, Bud. We personally feel that you would find our college in keeping with your life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. If you have any questions, Bud, please feel free to call, write, or visit me personally at your convenience. If, for personal reasons, you do not choose to attend Brawn-More, or it you feel that our academic curriculum is too strenuous, our resourceful placement service will gladly assist in slipping you into a reputable junior college in your home town. Then, after a brief two-year stint, we will exercise our unwritten reserve clause and expect you to transfer to The Big B. Good luck, Bud, in all your endeavors. Knowing that you are worldly-wise, we feel that this is an offer you cannot refuse. Hope to see you soon as a member of The Big B Boccie Machine during the '74-'75 season. Once again, Bud, good luck and good boccie! Your friend, Guido Baciagule Director of Athletics Brawn-More College Brawn-More, Connecticut joseph Krakol

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thing by which the rest of the world and of mankind will mark your presence here on earth. History does not remem- ber factory workers. A machine can assemble or sort or print or inspect. Only Man - and God - can create. I stopped, and debated whether to elaborate. i'Do you know what I mean ? jef f was watching the progress of the pool game. Chris did not look too captivated. Yes,l' she fibbed again. As if on cue, jeff returned his attention to his two friends. Chris lives in Cambridge and works downtown in Boston. As if you couldn't tell, she is very Italian. You should meet her parents sometime, Tom. They're nothing short of magnificent! They both speak more Italian than English, they'll smother you in attention, wine and food at the drop of an introduction. I've never known such charity and unselfish generosity! They're the two greatest old people I've ever known! Old people? I said, with a look intended to remind jeff that he was saying this in front of Chris, for God's sake. She entered in. My father is seventy-two, and my mother is almost sixty-five. At times it feels as if I'm living with my grandpar- ents!' Although she might not have meant it to be an all-condemning statement, I took it that way. Why don't you move out, then? How old are you? Twenty-three. Really! Why don't you? It might get through to them that you don't want to end up the spinster who lived and died under her parents' protective captivity. They might come to realize that not all the children of Old World ances- try want to remain so completely uninitiated into the American way of life - and particularly the American way of growing up. And you MIGHT even discover some exciting differences yourself. You can't stay sheltered all your life. You've got to get out and make some decisions on your own. And some mistakes of your own. At least it will result in your destiny being determined by your wishes, not theirs. Looking back now, I wish I had caught the look in her eyes at that moment. I would have understood that she did not take the same view of living with her parents that I did, that she didn't see it as a prison walled with stuffyN Old World mores. She didnlt want to forsake all the rich tradition and the firmly-delineated heritage, which she cherished a great deal, just to become a more typically troubled and turbulant young All-American woman. she loved the com- fort and security that this personal inheritance gave her. It provided her with an almost religious sense of serenity and confidence. I wish I had seen that then. But, with the clatter of the break shot coming from behind me, I continued sermonizing for several more minutes. When the crowd at the party began to seep away, I mentioned to jeff that we should invite a few of our friends up to my studio for a while. He agreed, and a few minutes later a caravan of autos, led by my antiquated and almost- completely-windowless Ford van, made its way to the dead-end country road where I lived in an old single-room studio above an empty four stall garage. As we rattled up the winding driveway which left the road at the Dead End sign, Chris looked over -Ieff's shoulder and took note of the locale, which, she was surprised to discover herself thinking, was the perfect lair for an unsuspecting seduction scene. A true bachelor's paradise. She noticed also the windows popped out of the van and never replaced, a small crowd of motorcycles sitting and lying half-buried in the snow, and