Rowan College - Oak Yearbook (Glassboro, NJ)

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I i I I I I 1 i 1 i I i 1

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'-t...! ..Yv'4! . I Wandering through poles of people en route to seat in back of class three buildings away. Grapple thru herds of heads hoping to find help from avidyna. 4 Open door expecting answer to question. Man situates himself in seat and presents credentials. Aha, this must be a university! Yes, it is! Great chamber of awakenings. Minds congregate in close quarters to meet with answer to question of existence. For- get all talk of progressive methods. This is state INSTITUTION. Must applaud policy of pedagogues who assemble at rear of room. ' g One scholar of Judas Priest comes forth. Leanshead over shoulders and postulates on end of Universe. Wasteland of my youth. Think back and remember flipping base- ball cards. Prof picks up chalk. Advances toward board. Scrawls illegibly over board some ancient form of Simian dialect. Then waits for answer from Universe. Class sits attentively anticipating final word of wisdom. Prof gives forth with Edict. Astounded, someone in back of class burps loudly. . This room. of achievement. World of accomplishment. American language taught 'here in Sanskrit. Language of dollar and purpose. Student closes eyes. Waits to see if someone will shake the world.' No one does. Falls asleep. Stand in front of building, stare. Go into library. Sit in back by window.. Look out on armies of pragmatists. My 4.0 dissolves through meditation. Stick finger in ear. Try to pull something out. Nothing there. No culture, life, sex. , Wheels turn in legendary laboratory of our genius scientist. Him has seen God in Glassboro. Come down in spaceship.. Relates deeds of man and purpose for being here. Get up and walk to door. I ' . Pick up pieces here and there. Bound to turn up the meaning of natural law some- where. Listen to lessons of man and witness games in order of heirarchy. Academicism of building breathes back at me. Laugh and get hold of pen. Write down now and translate later. No one here has gotten past door into hall of enlightenment.. Everyone sits around and listens to graves speak of Dewey. Pound would have been depressed. Wouldn't be able to understand. Golback down corridor and walls speak of 1925 and Normal School. Taste blood of dusty veins throughout building. Look at watch. Time continues to die. Go out and taste the, afternoon. Will it ever happen? Will they ever discover us here under this tree? lWhoIef world comes to us. Venture into the heart of Lyceum and return with hours of clarity. Theday goes down street with phantom Einstein recalling Mozart and Faust. Qi I V, V . Q o ' Sidney Benstead .s .

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Run up and down three wings of concrete l?j plasterboard building. Great halls of wisdom with wise sages ripping off riffs of this. Coffee stained classrooms hallowed by the remains of ashes from innumerable cigarettes. Angel-headed hipsters careening through doors of B wing to parking lot and liberation. Searching for connection to great mainland over other side of Bosshart lot. TRIAD A lone dirty boy of campus born on wrong side of tracks. Seeking out phone booth for only one is to be found there. Awaiting word from God as to time in clockless desert of some Dali-like wasteland of sexless classes. Herds of detached maniacs rumbling through corridors toward 11:00 classes. Flocks of faces passing, and posing in block mirrored wall in lobby where law and iustice fumble with its number one Iackey-communication. Has father Mark great high priest of hipdom ever made a personal appearance here? Does he sneak into Triad,at 2:00 a.m. and silently steal a peek in the mirrored wall? Does Pappy Parker hold seances in basement and coniure up ghosts of erector sets he knew long ago? Oh, great one! Thy name is Triad! Thy name be holy? Thy name be pure! Three hundred people rush out thy solitary B wing door, past scrawlings of HULK 530. Pushing, pausing, prodded onward by their own insanity. Mr. Mercier's class will meet in room ll7 scribbled across green l?j board. The door is locked to A wing and no one can get through. Send cavalry. C wing is flooded by torrential rains, send Romney? The scrawl on the men's room wall offers no help. ' Holy, Holy Triad, the tow trucks will tow me away. I shall receive one more ticket. l shall park one more mile away. Lunacy is thy faith. Goodnight Pappy Parker wherever you are. ' -Sidney Benstead lll r ll if nrt' ilnlllll nl il zfyti i 3 5 ll I F W 5 l .fff dll Il Fl l wr 'ff' mf' i THU Pi' . 2' Fi r is V' It V I5 'I , ,s - I ' gxllv' MQ, 'XK XV,, ' ' Mx'-els ,W ,, ,,,4......i