THE COLLEGE

It is surprising how quickly the college year loses its shiny new quality and falls into patterns so familiar that it requires a conscious effort to remember the summer days when there were no students at the center of things. The class bells ring just as they always have; the smokestack puts up its white plume on a brisk morning; brittle leaves carpet the campus; the paths are filled with class-bound students; freshmen hurry to be the first in line at Commons; the shouts of touch-football players enliven the afternoon; the library receives its due from eager and reluctant scholars; the queue for the second show stirs impatiently as The Petty Girl evokes roars from the Nugget crowd; Baker Tower strikes 10 o'clock and then quits for the night; the dorm lights burn late, and a faculty office presents a single bright window in the darkness of Reed Hall. The 182 nd college year has settled down, and even the class numerals 1954 do not sound entirely strange.