Wheaton College - Nike Yearbook (Norton, MA)

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The gentleman on the left is Mary Ellen Chase En Marche encore Swing it! seen to rush out for a cigarette after a class. Mr. Creighton tells music App. that he prefers Bessie Smith to Nellie Lecher, but warns not to trust anyone who is MAD about Beethoven. Snatches of conversation run together and are lost.in the atmosphere below. Mr. Sharp looking up from his Thackeray, “Really Miss X wouldn’t you find it convenient to major in some field other than English?” Or Miss Burlingame, “Are you having trouble at home?” Miss Marshall, ‘Ethyl Alcohol is almost 200 proof.” Mrs. Korsch, ““Are my seams straight,” Mr. G. “I do my thinking in bed,”’ Cressey, “Am I urban or rural?” Miss Jennings starts, the bell has rung. Dr. Sprague, “The worst thing for a man would be to be a woman.” Miss Okie, ‘““Breathe—2, 3, 4, breathe—2, 3, 4.” Page fifteen

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now Page fourteen If Freud could see them FACULTY What pleasure to the Gods must be the sight of our fine faculty. What flattery in imitation though by human limitation. “Pss Pssyche,”’ whispers Mr. Austin, bearing the spirit high. Bearded Dr. Shook carefully illustrates that the physical world is pretty straight- forward. Mr. Stein, always late, advises, “If you develop this symptom come and see me.” Miss Hill has a wheee of a time with her own collo- quialisms. “If that’s the romantic element, I can forgive it,” remarks Mr. Earle as a plane buzzes overhead. Ever the scientific spirit Mr. Shipley suffixes his remarks with, “Don’t put all your faith in this, what I say may be wrong.” The voice that charms, is it Cary Grant or Mr. Knapton? Is it lively and vigorous symbolism that makes Mrs. Boas open the window when she marks papers? On over the campus scan Godly eyes catching a bit of conversation here and there to sketch the professorial temperament. Community spirit reigns as Doctor Lange, very college, passes the potato chips taking part in every worthy activity. At Marty’s Miss Vickeray and Miss Schonbar ask “How many are sitting at this table?”” The former finding a glass of Mull Cider just the thing after a walk along the beach, the latter noting that the Dodgers are out for spring practice puns, “Got a butt I can bum?” Miss Metzger, Shoulders McGinnis, and Mr. Gurwitz (led by his cigarette holder) are En Marche

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CLASSROOMS Morpheus or Lucipher? From the halls of Mary Lyon to the nooks of Stanton basement there is a constant battle twixt these two for classroom domination. Many an excited professor has winced at the subtle snores from the back row; many a timid teacher has refereed for the enthusiasts of the first row. As the grey dawn seeps through the cracks of the zoology laboratory, clear-eyed freshmen eagerly probe their homarus Americanus, search- ing for Truth. (Thus sayeth the Wheaton College catalogue.) What better background for a love letter than the aroma of formaldehyde? Fret no more professors! Your science B1 classes are not shaking their heads to contradict; they are merely getting into the swing of the tennis matches. There is nothing like a good map to clarify a history lecture. And then there are those in Mary Lyon 7. It is not that they are small; it is not that they are illegible; the main difficulty lies in their lack of boundary lines. Even the Spartans might have been daunted by our frigid, lightless halls of learning. However, to really live, we must suffer! Page sixteen