Rockford College - Recensio / Cupola Yearbook (Rockford, IL)

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W ,,mm,,,, 1 . 1 f ffl 1 fffmw, 1fff fffq WMZ Wm, ,,,,, , 0 U X ,.,, , ,,,,,,,ffW Wfff,,,,,,fffQ,0 Z,,,,,WfM Zffmnffffffffafffw Z f f i Beminisrente The senior is sitting beside the fountain on a dreamy afternoon in early lune. A bird chirps softly as he teeters at the water's edge, a little breeze runs lightly through the trees and stirs the senior's hair. Her book falls from her hands and her eyes gaze unseeing into the silvery spray. But out of the fountain rises a little tableau. It is made up of many girls in ludicrous attire: bright middy ties stream down their backs, while beneath their chins spread broad expanses of sailor collars. They are dancing about and chattering, or standing silently alone, some are confident and others timid- this one gay and that one pensive-some survey the rest with curiosity, while many are arm in arm. Finding ourselves, as freshmen, murmurs the senior looking on. The picture sinks away with the falling drops and another rises into view: lt is a rollicking party of girls on top of a great auto-bus. Off to the country for a lark-full of life and zest, all laughing, joking, singing uproariously-de- lighted with their own wit and nonsense. The senior smiles in sympathy with the joyous sophomores. But they in turn now fade from sight and are replaced by a fantastic group inimock Elizabethan costume. Here is a lovesick Romeo with charming Juliet, here a lumbering Falstaff and here a stately Portia. Here, too, are active sprites behind the scenes, busy with ladders and hammers, here flying fingers are mak- ing needles flash, here busy brains concoct ffthe linesf' And the onlooker re- joices because she sees not many individuals, but a class-in many, one. Again there is a hush broken only by the soft fall of the water. And there emerges slowly the class in caps and gowns. At first they are marching down a dim aisle while organ strains sound faintly, now there is bright sunlight and the clicking of cameras, now a long table where dainty flowers are no brighter than faces bent above them-for in every eye shines happiness and love. At times the busy merry voices cease and there is wistful silence. But all has vanished-the fountain plays on, telling no more stories, still lost in memory the senior gazes at the silver spray. '7