Salisbury University - Evergreen Yearbook (Salisbury, MD)

Page 29 text:

Teetering on the shaley cliffs that shade the valley of Nepenthe, Creeping up the crannied crags that rose above Nepenthe, Stumbling, falling, rising, crawling. Climbing, climbing. Climbing upwards, ever upwards. Upwards, Upwards to our goal, we ' d go. Upon the trembly mountain-mass on high Beneath a single beam of strong, white light. Which showed our weakness and the quaggy ground. We stood and stared into the outer, vaster night. Which shrouded us . . . our light . . . our knowledge mound. Trembling on the towering heights that showed us life ' s immensity. Peering into the darkling mists that veiled the face of verity. Longing, aching, hoping, praying. Seeking, seeking. Seeking knowledge, always knowledge. Knowledge, We, teachers of the truth, must go. Samuel Sherwell, ' 37 25

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A new day is bornl Yes, the rays of the sun have only within the last twinkling passed over the rim of the world; their light, reflected as yet from only a few bright particles, has inspired the babes of that dawning to seek a fuller and richer happiness in the living of that day. Toward the enhancing of that sought-after happiness, they have chosen to enlarge their backgrounds, and so to bring into use a larger scope of vision of that day and the next day ' s physically dead but mentally immortal. This happiness, they have found, is not only enjoyed at a cost. In fact, it is even remuner¬ ative in itself. To be happy in one ' s occupation is, indeed, the greatest happiness as yet achieved by mankind. That feeling of know¬ ing a thing well done; of being fully equipped to make the most of the day yet in its infancy; of elation at the knowledge of the fact that one is more capable of enjoying that happi¬ ness that comes into watching nature in its budding infancy with a knowing interest as it proceeds toward some useful end; these all add to the zest of life, but not one-half so much as the feeling that one has in some way (great or small) enabled the babes of the day to achieve more happiness than their normal ex¬ istence would bring into their reach. With the aims: to be able to live more hap¬ pily themselves, and to enable the coming generations to encompass its life in a happier medium, we, the present senior class, have seen fit to extend the term of our life ' s orien¬ tation through the addition of knowledge of the arts and sciences with the hope that in GO doing we may make the light of this day more bright by increasing the number of re¬ flecting facets in the jewel brains of the babes of the next dawning. Thus far have we been looking ahead. But there will be numerous fond recollections and unwanted memories as¬ sociated with the sojourn at this temple whose stately portals in their majestic beauty ever look down on us with pride in our happiness. Can you recall the first moment when you felt the movement within of some new-born plea¬ sure as th e result of a new listening to that unfinished masterpiece? Can you remember the intense self-satisfaction at finding that a great thinker of some past day agrees with your pet theory that all your associates have laughed at and scorned? Can you visualize the feeling of success at having imparted some bit of tinted glass through which some babes of tomorrow will be able to live with a greater happiness? If you can, follow that road to its ultimate end and be happy. Now, with the future a brilliant outlook toward the enchantment of life, and the past medium by which this enrichment is brought about, can we not say we are ready to live today? But the sun hastens on in its life-giving, glowing arc. Even now it shines above the mid-morning with a challenging brilliancy. If we are to accept that challenge, we must be off. Au revoir, if you, too, would seek such happiness, follow. 24

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Leaving the Drury Lane theater, between the second and third acts of Le Monde Apres La Guerre,” my mind wandered over my own ex¬ perience prior to 1957. I thought of the great war, that had completely changed the political map of the world. I thought of my own war career, which had ended so disastrously with the loss of my right leg; then, vague memories of other happier days appeared. Ages seemed to have passed since the time when I stood with the other seven members of my graduating class, and received my de¬ gree. That was in 1937, twenty long years ago. 1 wondered what ever had happened to those people whom 1 had learned to know so inti¬ mately, and who had now drifted far from sight. As the picture of myself standing on the plat¬ form, erect, self-confident, came back to me, a sad smile flickered momentarily on my lips. The war had changed all that. Seeing hun¬ dreds of men die, knowing thousands were dying (far better men than I), had changed my feelings to a truer if less flattering opinion of myself. I lit a cigarette and began to ruminate on my school friends. The last I had heard or seen of them was ten years before, when Sam Carey had removed my leg. They had told me that Helen Smith was married to an insur¬ ance agent who was, at the moment, an act¬ ing captain in the artillery. At the same time Carolyn Riley was at headquarters decipher¬ ing foreign codes, while Louise Parker was entertaining the members of the High Com¬ mission at Washington. The others had slipped out of the picture by then. School days in a different time and three thousand miles away—? A class trip to Wash¬ ington, using four cars; Mr. Caruthers, Mildred White, Norris Bachtelli, and I drove. In my car were four girls, Harriet Burns, Margaret Aus¬ tin, Carolyn Riley, and Rebecca Adams, and what fun we had had . . . getting lost in Wash¬ ington . . . missing the other cars by a few min¬ utes at the monastery . . . stopping the car for Margaret, who was very sick . . .driving home late Sunday, barely missing a huge Grey¬ hound which tore into view around a sharp curve. 26