The Beanie

History of 1908

The freshman historian boasts of the victory of his class on St. Patrick’s Day; the sophomore chronicler tells how well his class has trained the freshmen; the junior scribe generally forgets to hand in any history at all, or if one is presented he tells of the ‘ ‘ glorious junior promenade; ” the senior does not write a tale of victory, but rather a lamentation, bewailing the fact that his play days are almost over and his life work is about to begin. Although the proverb says, “NEVER CRY OVER SPILT MILK,” one must allow the senior to weep a little, for his day of glory is almost over and he will soon become a freshman in the college of reality. ”

The young,” says Aristotle, ” look forward in hope, the old live backward in memory.” So we seniors look backward on our college life with most pleasant memory. We came here boys: we go out men. The change has, viewed altogether, been a very happy one. Although we may have chafed a little under our freshman restraint, still I believe we had a good time even in the darkest hours of our servitude.

It is not meant that the young should boast of their achievements, but we who are the old men in this little college world of ours should be allowed to sing lhe praises of our ” golden age.” A recital of our athletic victories would be monotonous, so suffice it to say that we have contributed to the various athletic teams more ‘varsity men than any other class in college.

We have lived in an age of collegiate revolution; we are about to die in a period of academic peace. As freshmen we helped inaugurate a new president; as sophomores we saw the scholastic standard for athletics; as juniors we rebelled, but in vain, against a general rise of ten percent in the passing mark, and thanked our stars that we had passed freshman mathematics; as seniors we welcomed the largest entering class that the college has ever had, and wisely ruled the largest body of undergraduates in the history of the institution. We soon pass out, our places will be filled, and not even a ripple on this busy stream will mark the place we once occupied. It is one of the most distressing.

We are, at present, the holders of the lemon squeezer, having been awarded the precious heirloom by the class of nineteen hundred and six. It will soon be our duty to pass it on to the most deserving class under us in college things of senior year to know that no matter how large or small you were, or thought you were, in this college world your place will be taken, and the paper, club, or team will go on without a tremor.

As our mark on the college life we leave two new customs, which will, we believe, soon be traditions. The first, that of compelling the members of the lowest class in college to wear a conspicuous cap by which they may be identified at all hours; the second, the “sophomore smoker,” an entertainment given by the sophomores to the college, to create enthusiasm for our spring contests.

Our history is almost finished, our last examinations are approaching, our class day and our commencement are at hand. We soon step off the top round of the scholastic ladder and begin our long climb on life’s stairway. Our class will scatter back to the four corners of the earth from which, four years ago, we were gathered by this college mother and each one will take that position in life that fate has assigned. We have been loyal and true undergraduates, we will be more loyal and more true as alumni.