NYU Washington Square College - Album Yearbook (New York, NY)

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an inadequate explanation. Still, the number of years and the nonappealing qualities of cynicism do not necessarily leave sentiment as the only alternative. We might be realistic-or we might be bitter and complain that our years spent at NYU were not as prohtable as we had hoped. But we must keep in mind that hope requires positive action in order to be realized. And there is only negative action in complaint, in rancor, in criticism. The fault, if it exists, lies in ourselves. As for realism-its greatest value is in objectifying misdirected idealisms-revealing the truth behind them. Realism varies with the individual-the responsibilities it de- mands are personal-the responses we give are distinct. There are other choices, to be sure. We might don the sophisticates' garb and pretend that it all doesn't mat- ter, really. But it does. All of us knew, inwardly, that it was our duty to grow up. Some forgot or couldn't find the time. Those who did mature will remember the sig- nificant stages-perhaps with remorse, for it is often characteristic of young people to run in circles around a square until, suddenly, its four sides enclose them. And here is where sentiment enters the picture-when we attempt to extend the metaphor of maturity by likening those four sides to four years. On the surface it 'is nothing but sentiment-but pierce the surface and surprisingly enough the square takes on definite dimen- sions. We can examine our college years now, only in terms of what has 'happened to us since. Our Freshman apprehension at thinking out had mellowed into calm quiet. or gentle despair by the time we were Seniors. The af A Jgl Il gs-44' an Q 1, 1 I Q 4 Xw via 'Ill

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ll! Wa. x QTL N so' AW 'Nice HY glorify the Class of V 1952? It is only now past that we have emerged as a unit in the records. Before we were 7 l I y x is , le I ' bv . commencement CXCYCISCS o ' , 5 'W o O Q 9 . ' K ' 0 , WC ' not a unified grou-p' were individual students-some with a purpose, others with none. And we are no longer students-most of us. The Class of 1952, as such, will exist in the future as an expedient. Oh, you're a graduate of NYU. What class? Your answer will be a simplification of four years, of three-and-a-half, of three-years spent not as a mem- ber of a Class but of a small group in Commons, on Third Floor South, in the first subway car. There was no Class of 1952 in Chateau, Chock,', Tilli's. There were merely pre-meds, English majors, music students- eating together because they understood one another's complaints, because they were free the same hour. Each of us can cite other reasons for having banded together in certain spots at certain times. But not one of those motives will bring the Class of '52 to the fore. It has not existed until now! And yet it has been the traditional function of this section of the Yearbook to glibly in- corporate a few hundred individuals into a nonentity and to attribute each special event to the binding power of that nonentity. Reason, you have bowed to senti- mentality. We will nod to sentiment-because three or four years of our lives deserve more than a cynical shrug-and be- cause a cynical shrug is too often a weak substitute for

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University, as catalytic agent, had a continuing effect upon us which directed our growth during the time we spent at school. Conditioned by the passing years, we shall continue to reflect, with a variety of emotions, about the events that shaped and molded our course at NYU. As Frosh, we became part of a system. Our different responses to this system were evident in our varied modes of dress, of behavior. Wearing white buck shoes, grey flannels, rep ties, sweaters, some tried to simulate the dress of campus colleges, while others maintained the dignified, business garb of the City. Diifidently, at first, some of us sought out the clubs, publications, political offices. Yet others were content to hurry home after the last class, and many hastened to their jobs each afternoon. Commons, the lounges, the subway, or per- haps the front of Main became familiar meeting places. There was the thrill of cutting our first class and, soon, of being an upper-Frosh. By the Sophomore year, our routine was established. Being left to our own resources was a new and pleasant feeling for most of us. We studied, we crammed, we borrowed notes. The required courses were being dis- posed of. Many of us found time for fun, too, or we made the time. There were dances in the Green Room and at the uptown hotels. There were dates with new friends from school, or trips to the Village, or maybe we just continued on with our previously-formed groups. Somehow, though, a new perspective was be- ginning to order our ideas and actions, whether we