OCR Text |
Show COLLEGE ywffo SOMETIMES they are beautiful. Sometimes they are plain. They are freckled, knock-kneed, curly'haired, slender-waisted, dark-eyed. They have big noses and little noses. And sometimes they have red fingernails. They are all dreamers. Sometimes they are slow and a little laziy. They are unsure of themselves. But they laugh out loud. They work and they dance. They stop and wonder about life and time. They are shy and a little scared. But they like to do things. They like politics and football. And they can do things. They are the poets and accountants and chemists and teachers of the future. They are noisy and ambitious and eager and bored and rude. He-he is the engineer with a pipe and an instrument, or the medic, mysterious in white. He is talking to be noticed in a crowd of "brothers,"''' the slick youth in tan shoes and creased pants with a diamond and emerald pin. He is the lawyer balancing a mountain of books down the Park steps, or the athlete with the College Inn following. From the lawn he watches legs, comments. She-she is on boards and at teas and being meticulous in labs and beautiful at formals; the be-sweatered beauty who talks politics and religion and sex, and flaunts a bosom which flaunts a pin or a withered corsage. The psychology major who squints and knits; the dumb queen of something or other. Change is their one common quality. They are communists today and democrats tomorrow; Christians in the morning and atheists by night; poets under the trees and doctors in the labs. Some work. Some just work their families. But in the classroom there is a comforting equality- the rich flunk, too. Sometimes their eyes say: "I am going to be a good teacher, or doctor, or writer, or senator. I am going to build good bridges.'11 They are alive; they are normal; they are young. Look at them. These are the People. |