Ripon College - Crimson Yearbook (Ripon, WI)

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To Classes Though the outgoing mail is heavier than usual for these few days, the students are settling down. Curtains are hung, rugs are laid, radios are hooked up and study lamps adjusted. The new wearing of the green seems anacron- islic when seen through the slowly changing leaves. The campus reveals her loveliest charms as the foliage on her trees turns from green to orange to russet and gold. No more sleeping until ten, no more lying in the sun talking of last night, or last week. A new activity vitalizes the college. Up at seven, breakfast in the Commons, then the walk to Ingram filled with mingled feelings of reluc- tance and eagerness. With empty notebooks and filled pens, students sit through introductory classes listening to the professors lay out the work for the coming nine months. Down to the book store for stifF-backed texts (and perhaps a stop on the way back for a coke). As the bell chimes ten o'clock the student body and faculty gather in the chapel. Dr. Evans, in one of his grand talks, orients all to the job in hand. I'en-twcnty. and back to Ingram and to classes. The year is begun! o —21—

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Frosh Party ✓o Having met all of the faculty and most of the student body, the freshman is more at ease. He has found himself in the Ripon family and will be at home for the next four years. But wait! All these introductions have been formal. Another change must be made. Those dignified nods and reserved smiles of recognition must become familiar, “more easy.” So the freshman men arc called into meeting by the mighty sophomores. Several of the most likely, wearing new green caps with the numerals “40 on them, are singled out. One is given a sack of Pillsbury's Best, another a pail, the others commanding looking green broadsides. The paste is mixed and the parade begins. First to Bartlett where one Frosh with sleeves rolled pastes the Frosh rules of conduct (or so the sophomores think) on the side- walk for everyone to see. In exchange a Bartlett freshman girl sings a song which is lost in the good humor with which it is welcomed. A few of the freshman men have disappeared. On to Harwood, to Lyle, then to Parkhurst. The routine is varied; the bills go on trees, and posts. The girls recite, and listen to mock proposals. All the while the juniors stand to one side and offer instructions to the master- ful and heedless sophomores. The seniors also watch—smiling, remembering. A few more of the freshmen have faded away into the night. The bills are almost gone, the freshmen tired, the sophomors satisfied. No need now for reserve—all barriers are down. —20—

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Polly Thinker Hob Lane