Temple University - Templar Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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Business is Business. by Faye Shapiro For most Temple graduates, Speakman Hall will be remembert'd solely as “that nice-looking gray building ”— one of the few aesthetically appealing structures on campus. To a certain group, however, Speakman will always lx the place where thev spent their junior and senior school lives, in the Schoof of Business. The business student stands apart from the mainstream of the university. There are few long-hairs though the trend today is to have long hair, veterans make up a sizable portion of the classes, and the boy-girl ratio is overwhelming. Most classes have less than lour females. The business student is often accused of being materialistic, particularly by those in Liberal Arts fields. They are probably right. Business students too often take courses merely because they know that the employment work! wants them to. Many students are in school just to get their diploma and then a job. Senior year is visiting-time at the Career Services Office, eyeing and being eyed by companies, and worrying about where and when and whether one will work. The basic business curriculum differs from that of Liberal Arts, since there is little elective choice hv the student, other than selection of his major. Moreover, though the Business School is not a training center, numerous courses, particularly those in accounting, tend to be vocational rather than educational; and the accounting graduate leaves Temple as a skilled practitioner. commanding a comparatively high salary for a recent college graduate. But there arc also courses where providing general knowledge is the objective, and any later employment benefits in the business world are secondary. The outside business world is not that outside, either. Part of the reason that Speakman is eye-catching is the generous contributions of major corporations. Reliefs and artwork on the walls, a spacious lounge, and other imaginative artistry in architecture make the building a place business students are proud to call home . Slinking silently through Speakman's corridors are those mysterious young men in long-sleeved white shirts and black ties—police trainees. Probably one of the reasons that their classes are in Speakman Hall is that they won’t he harassed there, because most business students couldn’t care less about police presence on campus. Business students are even more apathetic than the typically apathetic Temple student, and especially so when it comes to Temple’s Student Senate and its actions. Overwhelmed by the more politically concerned Liberal Arts majors, the business student feels like an outsider in a seriate that is viewed as representing them ’, not “us ”. In one senate election there was only one candidate running from the Business School, so they just handed him the post. When the motion to oust President Anderson was made in the Student Senate, the Business senators neither voted for nor against it—they had left the meeting. But the business student is changing. Although his primary concern still is getting a job. ne’s now interested in getting that job with a firm that contributes to tin-public good. He’s becoming increasingly concerned about vital issues, from pollution to polities, lb- may even refuse to work for some companies because of their involvement in the Vietnam War. To the business graduate, Speakman Hall will always he the Speakman of old. the site of his undergrad hustles. hassles, and hang-ups. But the times, and the stereotypes. they are a’ changin’’. n

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Sitting in a tree, sharing the same branch, were Poetry and Science—a very odd couple according to all scholars. Aware of this discrepancy, and the need for change, I ventured forth and started to converse with them in my very best manner. After discussing their strange relationship, I settled back and waited for their replies. I was sure that their minds were changed because they had quizzically gazed at each other while I had talked. Science, a small young woman, pondered a while before replying. Smilingly she said, “Master Poet and I sat together long before Adam walked by. Why do you wish to separate us now? Didn’t you know it was I who taught Poet his rhyme, and he who explained to me about bleeding rocks and broken hearts? Can’t you see we exist together?” Knowing that there was an answer, but not having it at the time, I begged their pardon and continued on my way. The ruins I passed were marvelous to explore, but my time was limited, and I only glanced at them from afar. It was getting darker—so dark that I fell into a hole many times my height. Before my first screams died away, a face appeared at the top of the hole. Startled, but relieved, I asked for help. Without saying a word, the stranger lowered a lantern. In the lantern s light, I saw all around me, from the bottom of the hole to its top. The stranger shouted down: “Use what’s around you.” Pleased with my find. I started the climb. Placing hands and feet on hard stacked papers which were the steps, I found my way to the top. Before I could say “thank you to the stranger, he moaned, You’ll never learn; you’ll fall again.” While walking away, I heard him say, “It by David Goodman does jio good to be close at hand; no one ever listens to History.’ The final leg of my journey was started after a short rest. Before long, the road branched into three oaths. While studying the various ways, I spotted an old man whittling. “Good evening. I said. “Can you tell me the correct way?” Looking up at me, the man said: “I can guide vour hands at whittling, or your eves and mind along the various paths, but only you can choose the correct way. We sat and talked awhile about the roads and their ends. After we had finished, we parted. After travelling a few steps down the road that I had chosen, I tunica and called. Thanks for the Education. I’m finally on my way. This may be a C + paper in any English 1 class, but it is also a passing comment about my education in Liberal Arts. Learning can be a terrible journey if you must surmount the extra obstacles fostered by “teachers ”. Many of the teachers at Temple are still in that forest, searching for the correct road. And yet, thev are telling us the “correct road . Fear, unfortunately, dominates a teacher’s curriculum here because the classroom education has become simply a buffer for their job retention. Teacher, teacher, build up those walls. Never allow your face to fall, Upon that branch shared for all. For if you see a glimpse of light. Threading through all lx oks of might. The road home may be. As easily as sharing your tree. ji

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 Finding the Answers by Steven Davidson Many liberal arts students find themselves taking courses that seem to mean nothing to them ami lead them nowhere. They do not usually know why they chose thcii major; perhaps they once had an interesting teacher in die field, or their mothers told them English teachers lead nice lives. Neither can they tell you what use they will make of their education, nor muster up the courage or honest) to admit they've made a mistake, and after graduation will go into Dad's business as they should have done straight from high school. Because of the irrelevance of their curriculum to their lives, the liberal arts students drift listlessly through their courses complaining about the professors, the work, and the grades. They learn almost nothing, and reach a point where they no longer care about their ignorance. In contrast to these aimlessly drifting students are a few in each discipline who are dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. They knew they would enter their chosen field, because they know where they are going. The subject they are studying thrills them, and they want to learn more. They do not look on their courses as drudgery, but as answers to questions they have asked. And they seek answers to other questions outside the classroom, by research in the library, the community, or the laboratory. The following article by a chemistry Senior doing independent research portrays the dedication that characterizes these students. It’s hard to believe that this idealistic devotion to an idea can exist side by side with the prevalent intellectual apathy; but It's here. —Editor's note Yeah Dave, after Psych I'm going home and take a nap. I didn't get much sleep last night studying for that Thermo exam. Oh damn! I just remembered I have to finish that prep of the hydroxamic acid this afternoon. The acid emoride decomposes after a day of storage even in the freezer.” That’s research in a nutshell; when you’re tired you stay and work; when you need to study, you stay and work; when you want to go out, you stay and work. Why? Because vou committed yourself to something and despite the bother and aggravation you stay, work on, and see your project through. Not only do I feel committed but I enjoy it. I'or me, and most others I know doing independent research, that’s more important. The intellectual experience of pursuing knowledge on your own terms is invaluable. Working next to grad students and learning techniques is just a part of research. Working on your own project, meeting the problems as they arise, the real dismay when the compound you have turns out to have the wrong structure and ten weeks of work go down the drain; it’s all real and it all hurts, hut then sometimes .... sometimes it works out. after months of work your project results are good, your compound is made, or your structure is proven, or your data fits tin theoretical curve. Then comes the great moment, the paper. Between your professor, several grad students, and yourself, the paper somehow gets written and sent off. hopefully to be accepted and published. Then you are immortal, for as long as your publication is in print or available.