University of Arkansas Fayetteville - Razorback Yearbook (Fayetteville, AR)

Page 31 text:

His tory of S enior Class J In the year of tribulation, eighteen hundred and - ninety-four, at ville Fayette, there assembled together from various portions of the lands of Ark an’ saw many manly youths and beauteous maidens. These hopeful in¬ nocent . all too ignorant and careless of the tortures prepared for them in the Hall of Inquisition (Examination Hall is an official euphemism for the same place), soon, as was inevitable, made the ac¬ quaintance of the Chief Inquisitors and of alma mater; equally inevit¬ ably. of course, these youths and maidens met each other and-?- but eel a njfit ! Those that survived the Inquisition were duly initiated in the (for ome perennial) Order of the Freshmen, and, sacrificing per¬ sonal pride to tradition and precedent, put on appropriate giddiness and greenness. Apropos at this point in the chronicle, it becomes our painful duty to tearfully record that this assumed demeanor was so well put on and became so confirmed a habit with some of the order that to this day they have never been able to throw it off. Vidi The gay and giddy young things have, by ’95, • become wiser, much wiser, in one respect at least. Aided by the gentle admonition and persistent prodding of professors, and the mo re effective loving rebukes of the Confessors (the Discipline Committee), they have learned to know that universities are not merely charitably organized retreats where the festive youth may abide in jov and cheerfully telegraph home: “Send money to buy chevrons—been appointed section-marcher.” Some of them wear a weary and haunted look. Banquo’s ghost masquerades before them most effectively in the guise of unpassed fresh exams. (It was in this year ’95 that the session was changed, and in the consequent mix-up, the class remained in undisturbed possession of the soph claims until June, ’96.) ft or hi (Tfie Profs) And now, in the three short months to September, ’96, behold, what a transforma¬ tion! The lordly junior, admitted into the sanctum sanctorum of the Li¬ brary, stakes out for himself a cosy corner, props his feet independently upon a table, and spends his vacant hours devouring magazines, “cuss¬ ing” his pet professor, or practicing a blase expression- Vici Time has posted in his scrap-book another leaf — another year’s checkered history — tear-stained and blotted in some places, with many attempted erasures and sub¬ stitutions, but, withal, a pleasant diary, — and the senior is before you. His traditional seemly gravity and learned look is more than half concealed under a happy smile, and his stately, solemn tread is heard only in imagination. His step, instead, is light and joyous; and why not? The fourth mile-post is in sight, the race has been almost run and the prize is ready for the victor. We begin to know now why the end of school is called commence¬ ment, but we are not afraid of what the future holds—we are eager to try it. The Class of Ninety-eight kicks up its heels, drinks a toast to itself and clasps hands around in a vow to strive to gain with its world class¬ mates a worthy record and an endur¬ ing name. [ George Nicholes Historian