Ripon College - Crimson Yearbook (Ripon, WI)

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Delta Suj Wins Float Prize Coach stands up. Hard telling how much grass he has chewed to- day! Pretty hard on him. But the Red men never let go—they're at it. But the Vikings take the game. Hard luck for the Red men—15 to 9—but what a game! The crowd is gay. just the same —there they go — piling oft bleachers—cars moving over the field—grind of brakes, notes of the band drift across the field—people with blankets trailing alongside. There go the coeds, red sweaters, tarns—laughs—and the hoarse call of voices over the field. Open house at Harwood. Lyle. Parkhurst and Bartlett. How that coffee sizzles all the way down! Sand wiches. cakes, mints, fill up all the ex- tra spaces. Tracy house smoker from 5 to 7: Merriman banquet--the crowd scatters. Lights flicker on the campus. Bart- lett's big R vies for honor with West —serenaders down on the lower cam- pus; tang of frost on the air; a moon and stars. The Commons greets all homecomers. What a rush before the dance: flow- ers. dresses, programs and those extra dates. What a noise! And then 8:30. The gym filled with lights and a happy crowd. Wally Beau hands out the rhythm! Noise! music, a shuffling of leet. and calls across the floor. But it isn't long before everything is over. Just a snack after- ward downtown. You decide to meet tomorrow. Then roll in. Tired? Oh. my! How good that bed does feel! It’s Sunday. Seems as if you just rolled in. A few' groans and noises come from under your breath. And does your head hurt! But you manage to get up. dress, and go out to dinner- may be a walk afterward. Time goes. You'll have to say good-by. Odl grads leave—calls—laughs on the air—screech of shifting gears— waving hands. See ya soon!' Gradually homecoming goes. Your head aches worse. There are queer jumps in your stomach. A few' pesky grads around to make noise. Never again such a homecoming! But wasn’t it a grand and glorious feelin? If hr the llall --23-

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Homecoming R-I-P-O-N Smoke, flares, a battery of tin cans and the Frosh marching to the R-f-P- O-N from a dozen rusty throats- the torchlight parade moves down the town square. Straggling upperclassmen fill in along the sides, or ride sedately in Venus Napoleon (now deceased), or Seaver's Lazy Lizzy. Hurry up. Wayne, and stop making eyes at that red haired Fagan gird It’s only Dave running along side ready to le td a big cheer. Yeh. gang, let's go! No wonder Bill Dallaway has to stop his motorcy- cle in order to hold his ears when the Ripon cheers break into the sky. Then back to Prexy's pasture for the big bonfire- only possible through la- borious hauling by the Frosh (God bless 'em). Between the roar of a big flame and Pat's cheers, everybody's celebrating. Here’s Arch and the hand. The Alma Mater sounds with the crackling fire. Horn toots come from the roadway, yells of old grads, and the crowd moves off to campus houses there to chatter far into the night. Some try to sleep, but it isn't any use—too much noise by the Smith Hall boys ? ? ! But Saturday rolls around. Some are up early, slappinq together the last parts of the floats. Ten o’clock! We are down on the big square now wind blowing sand—horns tooting — old alumni calling a greeting. Well here come the Frosh! What queer looking specimens! Get off my toe. you lummox! Vir- ginia Klein glares up at Howard A left'. and he obligingly steps aside. It isn't long before the parade curves down the street—music—chatter of the crowd—a train whistle downstreet— and cold wind shivering over every- thing. Floats going by—the crowd moves forward to see. Frosh initiation on the square! Bart- lett cops the prize with the interpreta- tion of Kappa Sigma Chi song. The wind is sharper now. A grand old day to slug the pigskin for a touchdown! Won't be long till the boys lather Law rence. A few short spaces for dinner, then the crowd moves out toward In galls field flying banners the pep song blaring into the wind. Bleachers are filling coeds in furs. blankets— whistles and snatches of song in the air. Law- rence is getting stirred up across the field. Can't let them beat us to a yell. Here goes! The locomo- tive! Lawrence cheerleader col- lapses at sound??!! Redmen dash- ing down the field—the crowd's up—give 'em a hand. They’re at it—the pigskin sails across the field. It’s the first down, ten yards to go. Foam Lueck's out on the fiedl starting a grand yell. The half’s up—a big cheer Redmen are still plucky. Frosh llomc coming initiation.

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Erna Bagemihl Miss Erna Bagemihl likes ro tell about the time she walked down Ri- pons mam street in her hiking clothes and overheard one woman observe to several others. She teaches at the col- lege.' and in the tone of one telling an incredible fact. People need occasionally to be re- minded that she teaches for (except when the occasion demands dignity) she seems like one of the students. She is not really a teacher” for the infor- mation she imparts is not superimposed upon the defenseless student but is ab- sorbed by him in his contact with her. Her approach to English literature is based on the background that the class - ics and historical studies give. Her appreciation of literature is a part of her and she makes it a part of the stu- dent by that too rare pedagogical de- vice—inspiration. Parties and picnics are never com- plete without her. It’s she who sees that everyone gets there, remembers rhe salt, and leads the crowd in every- thing from charades to roller skating. She’s such fun.” is said again and again so sincerely that no one minds its triteness. Her living room, or bet- ter still her kitchen, is the finest place for chicken sandwiches and the discus- sions of Life (with a capital L) which accompany them. When Miss Bagemihl’s friends scold her because she doesn't write essays or publish the learned paper she's sup posed to be revising, she says. I haven': lime. Her acquaintances must agree. She guides scores of freshmen yearly from Zane Grey to Dostoivsky. from themes to light essays. She deals with the good and bad points of each student's English. She inculcates in other students a love for the classics of English literature. Between classes and conferences she finds time to urge a freshman who wants to he a lawyer to go out for debate: she helps a pen- niless sophomore to get a job; she en- courages an unemployed alumnus to regain his confidence. No student ever feels she is too busy to attend to his particular problem. Once to the amusement of that day and this, someone called Miss Bage- mihl phlegmatic. Though she may be calm enough outwardly, the sheer joy of combat she displays when roused by wrongs done to some student or faculty member is awe-inspiring to watch. The fervor of her German an- cestors who migrated to escape reli- gious persecution, still lives in their red haired descendant. Miss Bagemihl. like Dr. Goodrich, and Dr. Evans, and Dr. Webster, is a Ripon graduate. She has brought to her Alma Mater enthusiasm for its fine traditions and faith in the future which she is helping to build for it.