Wichita State University - Parnassus Yearbook (Wichita, KS)

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Now, our generationmoops! That re- quires clarification in itself. We speak of generations and of generation gaps. A generation is commonly thought to be the progression from father to son or mother to daughter, any division in the descent of the family. That was the original intent of the word, yet it hardly holds true any longer. A generation gap is no longer simply father to son or mother to daughter. It is 1968 to 1970. It is the Beatles to the Wings. It's the Hula-Hoop to the...you guessed it, the Hula-Hoop. How confusing it can be as we become involved in the circle that encompasses both the present and the past. 'Tm a member of the Hula-Hoop generation! Oh! Oh! Oh! Remember Danny and the juniors? Skating parties? Petticoats? Wally Moon and Duke Snider? Ruby and the Romantics? I'm a member of the 1975 Hula- Hoop generation. Oh, Clarification. It's a necessity. Are the graduates of 1977 a genera- tion in themselves? And, if so, does that create a gap between them and the graduates of 1978? Gap-- a broken place...a wide differ- ence of opinionsf'

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Is he the epic poet who betrayed his occupation by the simple act of writ- ing the Illiad? Was it a betrayal? Before Homer, before man became preoccupied with the transfer of thought--over dis- tance and time--to a sheet of paper, a scroll or a tablet, man died, along with his thoughts. Individually, The poet or rninstrel--the teller of tales--was no longer needed. Magic had conquered. The transfer of words was magic in itself and the power of the words was magical indeed. Betrayal or not, time and dis- tance remain the determining factors as to whether or not the Hmagicall' quality of words endure. Reflecting, this chrome horse is well aware of that long-ago, irreparable act of betrayal and of the possible futuristic consequences of attempting to mold this, or any original betrayal, into some- thing that endures--something that re- tains its essence unmindful of time and distance. However, as I've mentioned, my right eye sees independently of my left, my physical body and spiritual body are one. continued on page 20

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Is time moving so fast and with so little apparent thought that we have broken places every year or two? Are our values, our ideals, our opinions changing so rapidly that father can no longer talk to son, mother to daughter? We ask these questions, all of us. We make demands on our time. We remain, in the end, impatient for a foothold. We wonder what the next generation of descent will bring. Will they label us as we have done so with our past? Will ours be called the Space Age? The Envi- ronmental Age? The Liberation Age? The War Age? Will that which we propa- gate survive to view the next Mage? Perhaps our age will be called the Age of Procrastination, or the Age of Ap- athy? Apathy Age. Apathy Age. It has sort of a ring to it, like that of a fouled metronome: click-click-click, ad infi- nitum. In searching for roots--footholds--we have nearly forgotten the circle of pre- sent and past must also, by nature, include the future. Our renewed and heightened interest in the past four nos- talgic, atavistic curiositiesh should serve as a clue. Our time--our period--isn't so different from others. There were the periods of history which entertained men such as Sophocles and Shakespeare --the periods of tragedy when the pre- sent seemed no longer able to serve human needsg when the present no longer lived up to short-sighted human expectations and the future was, at best, uncertain. Granted, Sophocles didn't have to contend with missiles capable of span- ning continents in minutes, nor with the profundity of their arrival. Nor did Shakespeare entertain the likelihood of self-destruction of this planet because of overpopulation, germicides, insecticides or deodorant propellants. 'gWhat the hell is a propellant? W.S. What the hell is a deodorant? Anon. 11 They were, however, dealing with the same basic questions which concern us today. Those of Self, those of God, and those of Essence. Through this process of mental confrontation they, as we must, arrived at the inherent capability present in man that continues the spe- cies--sometimes against enormous odds. The quality of hope. A quality that must live--must be allowed to exist--re- gardless of race, religion, social status-- idealistic optimism or blatant pessimism-- a quality that must remain, above all else, inherent. The answers are there, as is the es- sence. Some ably find theirs in God, others in Self, others in music, the arts or their professions. Others still in na- ture or in the seas or in the heavens--it really doesn't matter where. It can be found in a wheelchair, in a ghetto or in a cemetery. lt can be found if we seek it diligently, learn from what we see, and keep in mind that it's a full circle we're traveling. One that consists of past, present and future. It can be seen both flourishing and floundering at a university. That's why I'm here, to bear witness to flounderers and flourishers alike that hope is present and that creation is hope. I'm called Grandfatbefs Horse and l'm the creation of john Kearney. I am, as a creation, an expression. As an expression my purpose is to trigger an equivalent emotion--equivalent to those of my crea- tor--in anyone viewing me, touching me or taking the time to understand me. That's why l'm at pasture here. Because this is an institution of knowledge and of hope. Knowledge of the full circle we travel and hope for the future of man. Look into my eyes of chrome and see what I see. Touch my soul of chrome and feel what I feel. I am that expression. Gary Brees 2 1 XS even ties