Wake Forest University - Howler Yearbook (Winston Salem, NC)

Page 14 text:

WAIT HALT, As we approach the end, the life of the past EVENING — the tower flecked with soft months and years becomes in retrospect a .sm- shadows as the sum goes down . . . the hush of cession of kaleidoscopic scons, most of them per- twilight . . . music pouring from the carillon in Imps centering around Wait Hall: the tower, soothing, peaceful . . . Wait Hall rest- MORNING the tower gleaming white in a ing for a while at the end of the day. flood of warm sunlight . . . the great hell tolling NIGHT the lower silhouetted darkly against slowly . . . professors looking surprised and re- the star-lit sky . . . lights gleaming from many luctantly closing their lectures . . . students eagerly -windows . . . silence everywhere . . . lights finally pouring from classrooms . . . through all the going off one by one. in the Philosophy seminar, round of hours. Wait Hall the center of ceaseless in the Music mom, in the English headquarters activity. Wait Hall closing its eyes and sleeping. 10 i

Page 13 text:

E A- J John McAleenan James J. Page William A. Roach James T. Spivey Benjamin F. Steelman Liulil W. Taylor (missing in action) Leroy James Teachey Warren Williams (missing in action) George W. Wirt . Kenneth Wodenschek V5N Yet ail months ago they laughed with us. Were classmates, comrades sharing college days: Together future plans the graphed with us To reach brave heights in all our varied leans. Then evil came. Each went like knight of old. As Christian Warrior defending Truth. Fate called. These fell. We bow, and write in gold Their names on pages hallowed by their youth.

Page 15 text:

THE BUILDINGS AND ADMINISTRATION Central in the array of college buildings and looking down upon scores of dark magnolias, the tower of Wait Hall keeps watch over successive generations of students. From this tower, and from the administrative offices on the floors below, the routine of all our college days — orderly and precise, in apparent informality — is timed and regulated, all the way from the imperious summons of freshman days when one hurries sleepily to class in a gray winter dawn to the last stroke of the hell signaling the end of the last class of our college careers. You enter Wait Hall this morning from the sunny side, and find yourself in the midst of the hum of noiseless typewriters flowing from beyond four doors that always stand open while the day ' s work is in progress. You cannot see the word President on the opened door to the left, but you know where to find him. Mrs. Pritchard, secretary, quiet, orderly, efficient, sits at her desk. Yes, the President is in, and the door to the inner office is open. He is glad to see you — sit down. The President is a builder, as you know — always working quietly, with no fanfare, seeming to have infinite leisure but never idle. Through the fourteen years of his administration the college has grown steadily and soundly, in spite of disastrous fires, depression and war, with new and greater buildings taking the places of the old or rising in new places, and with enrollment growing to the record capacity of 1,100. Now. when many colleges are surrendering temporarily or closing permanently, his enlargement program is progressing steadily, looking to a yet greater Wake Forest of adequate equipment and 2,500 students. The President is a dreamer, hut a dreamer of practical dreams that become realities. He may not be able to solve your problem for you, but he will give you sound advice, for which all other problems on his desk can wait. Feeling much better, and with thanks, you cross the hall, passing through a door inscribed Bursar — perhaps to pay your last fee, for your diploma, though not your final debt to the College. As you prop your elbow on the counter, a member of the efficient staff rises from a desk and meets you. with unfailing courtesy and good cheer. Yes, Mr. Earnshaw is in — you can see him at his desk in the small private office, figuring as usual. Looking many years younger than his thirty- eight years of service to the college would sug- gest, he is as much a part of the Wake Forest traditions as the magnolias, as unperturbed as the oaks, a symbol of quiet efficiency and sound judgment. Yes, he tells you, your diploma lias already been ordered. You pay your seven dollars happily and go your way, realizing that you will not come this way again. As you enter the hall again you pause, wonder- ing. Perhaps you are one of those who are trying to meet an inevitable deadline. What if you are- unable to get a further extension when your number comes up again next week? Long ago vou learned that the Dean is a wise and sym- pathetic counselor, knowing all the answers or knowing how you can find the answers. Crossing the hall, you barge through the outer office, not stopping to ask the indispensable secretary. Miss Godfrey, if you may enter — knowing from previous experience that you may. and welcome. The Dean knows how to be stern with those who need sternness, but he is more at ease when talking as a father or an elder brother with those who need guidance. You are at ease from the first Dr. Thurman D. Kitchin, President