Tufts University - Jumbo Yearbook (Medford, MA)

Page 31 text:

At the end of four undergraduate years, the urge to evaluate, to take stock of what, exactly, has happened, is strong. For those of us who spent the years 1970-1974 in college, the question of what it all adds up to is important, not only because there were so many newly legitimated alternatives—dropping out, going to work, becoming political — but also because of expectations we brought with us as freshmen. College, or, more specifically, Tufts itself, was for many a bright new challenge, a new environ¬ ment which promised change, enlightenment, opportunities, and status. For many, the decision to go to college was not a conscious one. Rather it was a course of action expected by parents, educators, and peers. What emerges from conversations with fellow seniors is a lack of consensus over the purpose of an undergraduate education. Few of us talk about the general worth of a liberal education in the traditional sense; that it makes one a more rounded, sensitive, cultured individual. The concern seems to be instead with the experience of college as a totality. There is a feeling that such things as meeting new people, living in coed dorms, and going into Boston are just as important and valid as scholarly pursuits, in terms of learning opportunities Tufts has to offer. A marked resurgence of interest in the arts and in athletics parallels this trend. Some seniors comment that Tufts has allowed them to lead the life styles they are most comfortable with. On the other hand, a criticism develops to the effect that students today spend their time drifting instead of developing. For some, this is borne out in a lack of an intellectual atmosphere. For others, it means a loss of a sense of community. Tufts may well be an ivory tower, but there seems to be no agreement on whether college as a haven is desirable.

Page 33 text:

The Class of 74- This year ' s graduating seniors seem to me to be the end of an era and the beginning of another. The talk among the faculty lately — to say nothing of educators around the country — has centered on the new breed of undergraduate, the goal ori¬ ented hard-eyed realist who can ' t wait to get into medical, dental, or law school, not to save mankind, but to put the down payment on the big house in Winchester. And more power to them. I remember the shock waves four years ago — when the class of 74 entered Tufts — when the New York Times reported that from 5% to 20 % of graduating seniors of 70 wanted nothing more than to forget their undergraduate education and get their heads together by eating berries, driving trucks, or forming a vegeterian commune. Impractical, maybe wasteful, if nothing else, of time. But I remember that wild breed with love and wonder. Four years ago I confronted a senior who attacked everything I stood for — lectures, learning, the Establishment. And his parting shout as he hitchhiked off the campus in time to miss his com¬ mencement was Wait till you see my kid brother — he ' s really wild! Well, I ' ve met his brother and sister, the class of 77. They are charming, intelligent, wide-open to knowledge, crawling with energy, but wild, they ' re not. And I miss it a little. Which brings me to the class of 74. Right in the middle between the poles. Hard-working but a little flaky. Cause-ori¬ ented but practically organized. More drama majors in this year ' s graduating class have been accepted in graduate school than ever before. Torn Ticket is doing more and better productions, led by some very able seniors. The bubbles at the Arena may never fly, but the arts are alive and well in Medford, thanks to a precarious balance of antic creative imagination and solid student organiza¬ tion. But the balance could so easily swing. I hope that none of the class of 74 will return to the days of pure creativity, happenings, chance art, random and destructive activity for its own sake. However, I also hope that they never lose the courage to be different, to oppose old ideas and older people in their search for respectability and a niche in the Establishment. The class of 77 is a joy to teach, but I hope the price will not be the creative death of that really wild kid brother or sister who hasn ' t come along yet. Best wishes to 74, who just may be that rarest of animals — a balance of imagination and reason. Harry M. Ritchie Department of Drama 29