Westminster College - Argo Yearbook (New Wilmington, PA)

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Excerpts from the Fall ... I see trees aflame with color . . . golden yellows, burnt oranges, livid reds and ashen browns. Their hues, smoldering in the morning sun, fan to a fiery brilliance at dusk. Fall ... I think of bulky sweaters retrieved from the trunk, of apple cider and cinnamon donuts, of pumpkins and hayrides and Halloween parties, of homecoming floats and football games. I feel the chill of the morning hours. I see the mist rising up from the lake. The tempera- All the world ' s a stage and I ' m the master performer. ture drops a few degrees and the steaming lake cools. I ' m late. It rained. And now everyone can watch my perfor- mance. I parade into class anticipating everyone ' s amuse- ment at my appearance. My normally manageable if Winter . . . and the trees, their flames now quenched, somewhat unruly mop of hair frizzes and spreads like a etch their silhouettes into the sky. Their branches cross in head of beer or a clowns curls. My sneakers will squish all a complicated latticework. I view their patterns through the way to the only open seat in the room. The front row, the haze of my breath ... it smokes like a dragon ' s in the of course. I guess I really should invest in an umbrella ... air for a moment and sinks to its final resting place among but that would spoil the fun. the icy blades of grass. Diary of a Weatherman 8 Weather

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4 Jukebox in the TUB keeps the rats ' rocking. Grill WWNW Disc-jockey Kermit Burch cues up a top 40 favorite. Dancers moved their feet on beer gummed floors at the Alpha Sigma Phi house beneath the multicolored glow of tiny lights tucked into the conventional overhead illumina- tion. Brothers and guests joined in singing Kool and the Gang ' s number three bestselling hit, ' Celebrate ' at the top of their collective lungs. On party nights, Phi Kappa Tau rolled ' down ' the rug to protect the regular carpet, and dancers swayed to the pleading strains of Michael Stanley Band saxaphones, while at Theta Chi they jiggled to J. Geils and Pittsburgh ' s Donny Iris. At Sigma Nu ' s infamous midnight parties you could literally ' cut the rug ' dancing in the carpeted livingroom to Frankie Smith ' s funk hit ' Double Dutch Bus ' . Over all, the year was a good one for music: the Rolling Stones ' history-making tour, Stevie Nicks ' first solo al bum, ' Bella Donna ' , and Rick James ' naughty exuber ance. Brooke Shields bombed in the movie ' Endless Love ' but the theme sung by Diana Ross and Lionel Richie be came 1981 ' s number one best selling single and the pedes trian favorite of lovestruck couples at formals and soror ity candle lights. The J. Geils Band scored a number one hit, ' Centerfold ' , the same week they appeared in concert at Westminster. Whether you hated it or loved it, all that punk, funk and jazz combined to make this a toe tappin ' , finger snappin ' , memorable year, g] Shelley Davies Brian Montgomery and disco beat. Linda Hardy move their C. feet to the Emerson Music 7

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Enjoying balmy spring temperatures, Gary Winn, Peg- gy Qoodrick and Qinny Meharey relax near the ampith- eater. . ., ' ! Haysta cks dot a field in late summer. Freezing rain drizzles outside the French doors in Ferguson Hall. Snow blankets the campus during January term. We are the sun-deck crew. Our numbers assemble before the ten o ' clock sun strikes the planking. Each salutes the sun in turn with a shading hand, then sets about her business under the unblinking gaze of our overseer. Towels unfurl in the wind like sails. Bathing suits are bared like flags to show their colors. Long coils of hair are braided and roped over shoulders. Suntan oil is swabbed liberally over brown arms and legs. By mid-day we have settled into our positions. Some are ab- sorbed in a magazine; its pages anchored with an elbow. Others, propped up on locked arms, parrot some tune floating in over the radio waves. The routine is broken occasionally by a frisbee thrown over the railing like a life preserver. Waves of heat rise from the tarmac. Saltwater beads on arms and legs like sea spray. The sun weakens. We, the sun-deck crew, grow restless and rise up. Like condemned mutineers, our gear stowed under our arms, we walk the plank and disappear from the deck . . . there is only the receding sound of thongs slapping against heels. H Cheryl Geruldsen Weather 9