Quinnipiac University - Brave Yearbook (Hamden, CT)

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SENIOR CLASS HISTORY - I963 Early in the morning of September 9, 1959, our glorious crusade for higher learning begins. The stately auditorium of Quinnipiac College reverberates to the thunder of little feet. Five hundred of them. Atop the feet, attached in some nebulous manner which Mr. Katz will presently strive mightily to pound into the skulls of his would-be biology scholars, are two hun- dred and fifty human entities which make up the raw material of the new freshman class. Inno- cently, with bland faces, we listen to the old master deliver his usual best ever-selectest ever- smartest ever-biggest-ever tirade. This, we are told, is one of his shorter efforts. With sinking hearts we wonder what a full scale oration will entail. Would the human mechanism be equal to such a demand? Our dwarf minds cannot conceive it. Impossible. Little do we know of the old master, utterer of subtleties. For him it is possible. We will see it come to pass. A flurry of welcomes, instructions, lists, dry jokes, titles, names, inundates us. Dazed we pass out of the great hall. We have met the enemy and we are theirs. Behind us on the field the victors crowd together, smiling and nodding in their black robes. Timorously we venture forth into our new world. Our recollection of this period is dim. Faint cries of Where is 18, I can't find it , Beware of juergensen and Baroque , and Come on, there's a girl in the cafe I want you to meet . These intrude themselves into our con- sciousness, along with an aura of impossible homework assignments and personal inade- quacy. Gradually we begin to grow more as- sured, however, and some progress is made. The first tests are taken. A few cars turn right on Whitney Avenue and head for the Army re- cruiter. Most stay. Life goes on. Time waits for no man, even those as harried as we. We elect our freshman officers. Our attention is directed to social activities, class dances, socials, clubs, athletics. In varying degrees we sample them. Christmas vacation. Some of us lucky enough are blessed with term papers, the rest have to be content with catching up on old homework or, perish the thought, resting and doing nothing. When we return the Spector of finals stalks the halls, and when they are over, we all, but some especially, know that they are called finals for more than one reason. Returning after the mid-term recess, we search in vain for certain faces. They have fallen. New elections are necessary. Our ofli- cers have found popular acclaim is not a guar- antee of immunity from finalities. With our new officers we strive on. Our spring dance at the New Haven Lawn Club is an unparalled success. Older and wiser now, we have-at the challenges our professors hurl at us. Each chal- lenge leaves us still older and wiser. A brief respite is granted us for the annual Quinnipiac Weekend. Some of the wise sages, responding to the convivality of the moment, convocate and declare college life would be fine if we could somehow extend the weekends, say from Thurs- day to Tuesday, with Wednesday as the new day of rest. Like many fine plans, however, this utopian ideal is too far advanced for its time and dies an inglorious death under the forces of conservatism. They laugh. With the prom and the picnic in the past, we settled down for the struggle against the grim reaper called fin- als. Strive we do, but he, without remorse, lays low a goodly number of our companions. We return in the fall of 1960 decimated but undaunted. Those that remain are the chosen ones. Unfortunately, others, lowly freshmen, swell the ranks of the student body beyond the phsyical capacities of the college. Dean james, acting on a theory of Dean Bennett, uncovers a new and disturbing type of student, the bivehicular. This particular student has the disquieting habit of driving to school early in the morning and parking his car in the parking lot. He thereupon walks to the corner, gets on the bus, goes home, and brings his family's second car to school and parks it. While the sociological, psychological, and moralistic as- pects of this phenomonon may provide Dean

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james abundant material for her classroom mon- ologues, it is fraught with serious possibilities for the average student. Local legend records two instances of tragic events which took place as a result of this problem. In the first week of the school year of 1960, a junior, arriving at the campus at 9: 15 A.M., was forced to search so far for a parking place that he violated the Red Chinese border, was captured, and has not been heard from since. Again, on the first snowy day of 1960, one of our luckless classmates, joe Zilch, class of '63, became entrapped on the face of the Glacier which forms the outermost and most primitive section of our vast parking area, and despite his best efforts, both he and his auto- mobile were inexorably drawn to the rim of the Glacier and over into the water. Search efforts proved fruitless and Joe was reported as lost in the vast expanses of Lake Whitney's Annex, in- formally known as Veggo Larson's cesspool. As a result of joe's untimely demise, a safety patrol was organized, ostensibly to direct traffic but actually to prevent any further incidents such as the one described above. Their building, labeled Campus Police Headquarters , seems to exert a certain fascination on fraternity mem- bers, especially around pledge week. These members can often be observed casting calcu- lating looks upon the pledges under their charge and then upon the Headquarters . What they are thinking remains a mystery. Happier events occupy us in the second year of our college life, however, those of us who have survived the purges of the spring of 1960 are old hands at the classroom game. We now branch out into other educational areas, the Normandy, the Sleigh House, apartment parties. fraternity socials, and their ilk. We, as the saying goes, are acquiring polish. Sophomore year is characterized by the awakening to the true climate of social life. Classes, assignments, even finals, while still as grim and deadly as ever, have lost some of their awe-inspiring quali- ties and take a-position of major buf not all-con- suming importance. This attitude exacts its toll but there are fewer faces fading from the ranks than faded in the freshman year. When spring arrives and the class assembles for commence- ment, it is essentially the class that started the year. We were experienced and we are learning to survive. For many the awarding of the A.S. degree is the end of the college career, but for others the journey is but half completed. As juniors we can now look back on our first two years and remark how young and fool- ish we were. As members of the upper-classes we enjoy a certain unshakeable superiority. We are the chosen ones. How that phrase rises to the lips. Even the haughty seniors come to us and ask that we assist them in their time of need by underwriting the Senior Dance and being co- sponsors, making it the Junior-Senior Dance. We oblige and the dance is a huge success. Destiny appears to smile on us. Confidently, we take the work in stride. No longer are we the timorous freshmen or sophomores, but juniors, mature citizens of the college world. First semester finals pass and we are passed relatively unscathed. Our prom is the biggest in the his- tory of the school. Music by Pat Dorn, songs by .lack Jones, parties until all hours. An experi- ence to remember forever. We finish the year in grand style. Finals are swept through and our numbers are intact. We begin our final year. Now we begin to look back. For a moment we feel almost old. How many of us are married or planning to be married? How young these freshmen are. Were we ever that young? Perhaps, long ago. How strange. We feel ancient here, yet we know we have hardly started on our journey. Soon we will be out in the world finding our place. Commencement of the journey from these walls into the outside is the central fact now. Still we study and go to dances and par- ties, for many there is almost desperate urgency to enjoy this free and easy life we now lead. Soak in it. Press it to you. Drain it of every feeling and experience. Enjoy the friends here within these walls. Soon we will graduate and it will be over, never to be recaptured except in fleeting memories. Despite these feelings, how- ever, we are anxious in a way to get on with it. Our last prom, Graduation parties, Commence- ment . . .