Towson University - Tower Echoes Yearbook (Towson, MD)

Page 19 text:

THE TOWER LIGHT The opening Weeks of school were the Weeks in which the senior and junior men would occasionally open that hallowed door and enter briskly, only to come out slowly, mumbling incoherently. Somehow We could not accustom ourselves to the fact that this Was no longer OUI' den, that We could no longer find refuge here. Lest we appear unappreciative let us hasten to say that the new room is really much better than the old one. Our little bulletin board has given Way to a Whole row of blackboards on which have already appeared a number of very unfunny jokes. The single covered Waste can has been displaced by a number of open cans which are a boon both to the gentleman Whose talents incline toward basketball and to the flies, who really owe us a vote of thanks for the free food. And yet with all these obvious advantages some of the upper classmen seem singularly unimpressed. They watch the freshmen stalk through the portals of the new M. R. and gnash their bicuspidsg for who are these young upstarts to feel as much at home in a men's room as their venerable superiors? Ah, Normalites, ye Writer must perforce hold a brief for these poor unfortunates. Let us remember their sufferings, and speak unto them gently! Let us be indulgent unto them, knowing that there must eventually come a time when they will have adjusted them- selves and once more be comparatively normal, sharing with us again the trials and tribulations Qprofuse apologies to Horatio Alger, Jr.,j of our existence at Normal School. L I But hold! you say to yourselves, surely we cannot be finished with this article! Why, it hasn't even a quotation as a Htting finale! And right you are, O best beloved. No scribe who really is a scribe ever passes up such an opportunity to quote, especially when he has an idea which has been shouting for liberation since it Was conceived. So, in imitation of our betters, we might at this point stoop to a bit of 'homely philosophy touching vaguely upon our subject- For what is Life but a comedy of adjustments and choices--? JULIUS SEEMAN, Senior III. 9 rw'-15,1 i3Jfi,i.1,..1

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THE TOWER LIGHT uo Vadis p TEMPORA! O mores! fSurely the use of some classic remark is indicated to start things going. We all might have said, It's . an ill wind that blows nobody good, but that would be too poignantly reminiscentlj What we're driving at is that Time, the Great Healer, has gone and perpetrated a dirty trick on us. Y'see, for years the inmates of Normal School have been looking forward to the time when the dear little children in the campus school would have a fine building all their own and thereby allow us to expand our cramped muscles and, inci- dentally, move into the empty rooms. And now those dreams have become a grand reality. THE Towian LIGHT oiiices Qplural for dignity, we have only onelj were moved to more spacious quarters, the alleged book shop now has more space in which to sell a large and most de- licious assortment of books , even the men's room was transferred to a place three times the size of the old one. And thereby hangs a sad, sad tale! How can we adequately describe our feelings as, for the first time this year, we conidently opened that little door to the right of the auditorium, only to recoil at the terrible sight Within? Woe unto us! The men's room was no more! Ah, 'tis true that earnest students in the reference room next door will no longer be forced to listen as impromptu male quartets rend Sweet Adeline and other barroom ballads. But what matters that, when weighed in the scale against all the misery wrought? The sign MEN'S ROOM was still outside the door, leering at us in hideous mockery. But where were the articles of furniture which we had come to know so well? Where were our precious lockers? And the waste can which received the debris thrown by the more accurate members of the men's force? Where Was the blackboard which carried notices of men's meetings and results of tip- tap-toe games? Such speculations as these ran through our minds as, panic stricken, some of us gazed at the remains of that once glorious room. Then through a sentimental haze which magnifies so intensely in retrospect we began to recount scenes of the past two years. For was this not the room which, more than any other, had been a silent listener to all our confidences, our loves and grudges, our hopes and fears and regrets? Was this not the room into which we fled as freshmen, harassed by stern instructors and fto our complex-ridden minds, haughty seniors? Thus our maudlin ravingsi- 8

Page 20 text:

THE TOWER LIGHT The Aftermath A HERE had been a storm. The swirling mass of water at my feet bore all too well the evidence of that fact. Above it was the very deepness and brilliancy of the blue, the freshness of the breeze- those things that might cell me what had been. Again I looked at the torrent below me. Even as I gazed, more of the bank at my feet was washed away to join the tangled mass of debris already well started in its mad journey to the bay. Below was the aftermath of three days rain, which, in itself had done little damage, but, collected in the river bed was now devastating and destroying fields of corn, railroads, bridges and at times creeping to the very doors of the houses of men to claim their lives. Above was the cleared sky, resembling the cleared counte- nance of a human, who, having been provoked, had let fall floods of angry words and deeds but immediately after was ready to forget and forgive. The revenger was happy again. The sky, after many days, was clear. Too late! The rain had fallen too long and too hard to be disregarded. Words once uttered, deeds once performed, can be neither unspoken nor undone. The floods must come bringing fear and desola- tion to the bodies and souls of men-after the storm vanished. D. Voms, junior V. O Rainy Street Corner Wet, slippery streets Glittering as lights splutter on, Wink off, and splutter on again. Puddles in the road Splash heedless ankles, ripple and subside. Dripping umbrellas bobbing unsteadily along Occasionally colliding blindly, One end politely tilted, then turned down against the driving rain. Tightly closed sedans and water-soaked flivvers, Held back by a malevolent red eye, Jump forward as the signal changes, Eager to be away, heedless Of wet and somewhat wilted passers-by. Soon everyone is home, and only Wet, slippery streets A Glittering, as lights splutter Uncertainly in the driving rain. H. WEINER, Senior III. 10