Towson University - Tower Echoes Yearbook (Towson, MD)

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

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

Page 21 text:

THE TOWER LIGHT Beach Storm Waves, pounding on the jetties Foam, suddy, swirling round you. Wind, pulling at your clothing Rain, beating on your face Sand, cold and Wet and stinging Blown by racing wind and rain. People huddled close in corners Or running with the wind Cold rain against wet faces. Foam, white to the horizon. Ocean, twisting, seething, writhing Nature, beauty at its height. LOUISE OGIER, O 0.0 Autumn Autumn is a Gypsy maid, Surely you must know, Don't you see the colors bright? And feel her cool breath blow? The pumpkins glist'ning in the sun, Are gold this maiden gives, The cornstalks stacked up in the Held Are tents in which she lives. See! Her cloak, once new and green, Is now a dingy brown, The leaves now turning red and gold, Are trimmings on her gown. Poor Gypsy maid, she's torn her dress. See the fragments fly? Some drop down upon the earth, The rest whirl toward the sky. Of course you know this maiden, Who comes but once a year! She tells us that there's fun on hand,- For autumn days are here. RIBERO WIL 11 Senior IV LBY, '32,