Rollins College - Tomokan Yearbook (Winter Park, FL)

Page 17 text:

. . and lithe bodies, shufflins . . Gay multi-colored lights in the trees at the K. A. dances by the lake ... the babbling of the fountain . . . laughter and soft music . . . Getting out of class at twilight . . . Thursday night candles and steak . . . Organ Vespers . . . the solitude . . . the complete retreat from the earth as the music wraps about you . . . Bus Erie, subtle suggestions of shadow, and the stained glass windows. . . . The dinky gasping along, self important with the knowledge of all the lectures she is interrupting . . . the buildings trembling as if with fear . . . the students shaking with laughter at the Prof ' s expression . . . The soft torture of the morning bugle that seeps in- sidiously into a dream . . . waking to drowsily contemplate the merits of cutting class . . . then either oozing back into sleep, or stumb- ling out of bed . . . sliding into your room mate ' s clothes . . . half heartedly brushing your teeth . . . trotting over to breakfast . . . Hearing alarm clocks that chatter from the Dorm windows . . . unconcerned, undisturbed as their owners. . . . Tita sitting on a table on the porch, scrib- bling down names . . . Coffee, eggs, and sleepy eyed Cloverbloom girls . . . bare legs . . . Hair still neat with the memory of recent in- timacies with curlers . . . lasses carelessly lip- sticked . . . meticulously toe nailed . . . Elsie dawdling with her coffee ... Si, his lashes . . choir boys and 3 ■ rl s . . a splash of blue and white . .

Page 16 text:

' Jane Russell being happy in a manner that can be heard for miles an miles and miles and miles . . . . relaxation between classes . . . . familiar rattle and clank of Elbow and his bike . . . . first of the month at Mr. Brown ' s office . . bleachers . . . the bleachers covered with people from everywhere . . . except Rollins College . . . Shells cutting through the water . . . shining oars . . . silence except for the chant of the coxswain. . . . The bonfire . . . with freshmen dancing about it in brilliant pajamas . . . the fire writh- ing in the sky . . . shedding sparks . . . fantastic shadows . . . and the flickering light that sucks the color from everything. . . . Gyps y Fiesta in the spring . . . colored lan- terns . . . gaudy booths . . . fortune tellers and dinner on the lawn . . . George Fuller and the Mule Cart players presenting . . . And the cold nights at football games . . . clouds of vaporous white breath . . . Sue, Tommy, and Tita shouting themselves into a hoarse illusion of a whisper . . . The trip to Harper ' s to warm up if the night was cold . . . the trip to Harper ' s to cool off if the night was sultry . . . the trip to Harper ' s to celebrate if we won . . . the trip to Harper ' s for consolation if we lost. . . . The Phi Delt house, still jeweled with lights at dawn . . . and the chatter of the typewriter and the soft melody of a radio keepin g the burner of the midnight-Mazda company . . . The crowds parading into the Annie Russell theatre for first night perusal . . . diamonds, stiff shirts and hurried cigarettes between acts . . . the coughing in the audience . . . Hilde- garde and the programs. . . . . . Levy, truck in ' up the Jacob ' s Ladder of Fame . .

Page 18 text:

. . checking students ' names . . • • and far into the night . . Convocation . . and colorful regalia . dancing . . to the mercenary victrola. shadowed on his cheeks, vocally wishing a fate worse than death for the world in general. . . . Convocation . . . Professors in colorful re- galia . . . Brad looking warm and uncom- fortable . . . seniors in their cap and gown . . . Checking the students ' names to prevent ditching . . . the winding snake of people be- ing gobbled up by the chapel door. . . . The solarium, where sand, sun and a tan may be had for a quarter . . . swirling mists over the lake in the very early morn . . . Ham ' s for hamburgers and coffee after the show . . . The Dubsdread for swimming, golf, and school dances . . . Magnolia trees overpowering with a scent that smells vaguely of something the barber used to smear in your hair when you were little. . . . Going to the Bach Festival . . . the union of voices . . . magnificent music swirling about . . . The art studio . . . June sitting on the steps . . . the Raes passing by in their station wagon . . . the smell of turpentine . . . Mr. A4cKean with an evil glint in his eye for late ones. . . . Scooting down to Big Johns . . . Venus, the goddess of Booty . . . never forgetting a debt or misplacing a bill . . . ever there with an outstretched palm . . . whirring rubber electric fans that horrify novices when you poke your hand into them . . . dimmed lights and pretzels . . . the song of the mercenary victrola . . . Cuthell and Betsy dancing . . . the sheltered booths and warm atmosphere . . . Just a little place, but we call it home. . . . The stainless fabric of the night . . . tacked in place by innumerable stars . . . the air sick with jasmine . . . The lights and the ginger- bread elegance of Lakeside . . . the tiled fresh- ness of the new Literary Band Box ... A com- bination of new buildings and old . . . which somehow personifies Rollins ... a union of new ideas and old. . . .