Salisbury University - Evergreen Yearbook (Salisbury, MD)

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Then to my dreaming mind came snapshots of those happy, mad years. Twin Lanterns, fire alarms, Crisfield, Pop ' s Schack, River Road, night raids, picnics, doughnuts, coffee, Thomp¬ son ' s Grill, Mayflower, then to Lil ' s, dances and more dances . . . and the undercurrent under the froth . . . Where are we going? How will we make out in school? What ' s the use of it all? And beneath the surface we were being molded, formed into definite individuals . . . the lava was flung into the air by mighty forces, and cooling before it landed, took, each piece, a unique shape. Slowly but surely our class had diminished in numbers. Dixon, Morton, Mitchell, Spence, Towers, Cissel, Howard, and many others were lost in the reshuffle of a new term. The class of fifty had dwindled to thirty-five, then to twenty-two, and after the three-year course ended, only five of the original class of ' 36 returned for the degree course. Of course there were a few others in our group to graduate in ' 37. I remembered Louise Parker, Raymond Jump, Dorothy Pruitt, and Frances Robinson; they had all come back f or a degree. By that time most of us had settled down, were very sedate, and filled with the weariness of the sophisticate; it seems impossible that we really had thought so. About the most vivid recollection of that fourth year was the class trip to Philadelphia, to hear a concert. We had heard Kirsten Flag¬ stad, and had we been thrilled! The ride there and back had been filled with a great deal of comment, especially between Carolyn Riley and myself. The others would join in, thus making it very merry. The curtain bell rang, and snuffing out my cigarette, 1 mingled with the crowd returning to their seats. I walk slowly because of my new leg, so many people pass me on the way. Four middle-aged ladies nudge me as they go by, and upon lifting my eyes from the ground, I behold old friends. Carolyn, Helen and Dor¬ othy, wal king together in gay conversation; they had not seen me, and my first impulse was to let them go by, but thinking better of it, 1 called to them. They turned, but did not recognize me; they glanced through the crowd, and I, suffering from self-consciousness, did not address them again. So, like ships in the night, we crossed paths and separated into the unknown again. After the play was over, I decided to find out something about my old classmates with¬ out their knowing it. Twenty years seemed too long a break to span again in friendship. I called up the Bureau of International Vises, and asked the Under Secretary, who was a friend of mine, to give me all the information which he might possess. He was very oblig¬ ing in the matter, visitelling it to me in a half hour. While we were chatting, he mentioned a message which had come to the office for me. I opened it and read; Gathering of the old clan. 01 ' 37 is painting the town red tonight. See us at the Hotel McPherson at eighteen o ' clock. Sam. 27

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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

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I was certainly thrilled. So that was why the girls were together the night before. 1 was so overjoyed 1 wanted to dash right down, but decided against it, thinking that I ' d better pre¬ pare for the night. 1 went down to the Haber¬ dasher ' s and bought a green sweater in stock and a tie—what a flaming hue—then I ran up to my room, as fast as my leg would let me, and dug down until 1 found an old pair of brown checked pants. 1 put on a blue shirt, brown shoes, dark brown socks with red rings, the patents, tie and sweater. Then called up the garage and ordered my car. By the time 1 had purchased a small gift for each of the old pals, the clocks were showing seventeen o ' clock, so without further ado, I drove over to the Hotel. Despite the huge size of the lobby, I espied the group right away. Helen was sitting, as used to be her custom, smiling, and not saying a word. Louise Parker was busily chattering with Sam Carey, who having grown corpulent and quite hairless, acted pleased. Carolyn sat in the center of the group, looking very bored and smoking a cigarette. Raymond had left a very dear friend for the sake of this meeting, and was com¬ menting on those who passed to Dorothy, who was almost convulsed with laughter. Frances Robinson seemed very quiet, and a little sad, though Jean Koch, who was sitting next to her was pointing out several handsome men at a distance from the group. ' When I reached them, they all stopped talk¬ ing. An air of incredulity spread over their faces; when I said hello, they gaped as if at a creature from the other world. The war had certainly changed me far more than any of them, and my heart sank; after a while they got over their shock, and began to chat of old times. Once the grotesqueness of my features had become familiar, they began razzing me, in the old way, about my clothes and my habits. A furtive tear started, for while we were trying to be desperately gay and familiar, it was of little use. We were strangers. At the first hour of the new day, I begged to be ex¬ cused and left with a burnirig heart for days never to be replaced. 28 always in thought word, and deed, distinguished not only for the fad that it was the last three-year classes, but that it was a class in which nc two of its members were alike. Its character, expressed in class neutrals, rather than class colors, have symbolized its individuality. White—sincerity, the key¬ note of success; black—the depth of character which make.c; lifo rirhp r