University of North Carolina Chapel Hill - Yackety Yack Yearbook (Chapel Hill, NC)

Page 15 text:

mean to us is Saturday ' s camaraderie in Kenan Stadium; collective disdain for Duke and Wake Forest and State; momentary friendships en- gendered by alcohol, the Hot Nuts, and madras-butted, heavy-haired co- eds; memories of Lenoir Hall food, final exams and other unpleasant relics that survive not for their sweet memorability, but for their sheer repetitiousness — if these things are all that remain, then our time and effort have been a colossal waste. It is difficult and painful to think of such a large undertaking as having been useless, but if we have gained nothing more than a class ring and a sheepskin and a subscription to Alumni Neu ' s, then we are the same as we were when we first came to Page 11

Page 14 text:

exquisite agony of these questions lies the gift that Carolina has to offer each of us. If we have passed through this time — when we have been most intensely and expertly involved with the things of the mind without once questioning the nature, purpose and destiny of our lives, either we have failed the University, or Carolina has failed us. If all Carolina has come to t t t t t t Page 10

Page 16 text:

Chapel Hill. No wiser, no more aware than we were as freshmen who were awed (all but the most worldly- wise of us) by the scope of Carolina: South Building (the best-known and most - hated building) , the class- rooms: Bingham and Murphey, Cald- well and Hanes, Saunders and Ven- able, at first so new, then grown used to, alternately liked and despised. As freshmen we responded to the hoarse-mouthed exhortations of cheerleaders. We never questioned their right to demand our fealty, for as strangers we gladly swore allegi- ance to the welcoming blue and white banner. Then it was glorious to im- merse one ' s self in the roaring mass, and to sing the song after each con- test. If we had won (Walloping Wake or Dunking Dook, or whatever the alliterative aim), the song rang sweet with our calm acceptance of our superiority. If we had not won the past bauble of the day, our clear and true whisky-oiled voices drifted through Kenan Woods with the mo- mentary sadness of autumnal loss of the short-lived melancholy of the young who cannot live with darkness. After the game we drank to the de- lighted economic lechery of Harry and Sybil, of Spiro, Clarence, the Danziger ' s and the rest of the town ' s beer-peddlers. If we had lost to Duke, we drank to the end of the momentary world; but if we won, then intoxication heightened, not de- Page 12