La Salle University.

Explorer (Volume 1970) online

. (page 7 of 7)
Online LibraryLa Salle UniversityExplorer (Volume 1970) → online text (page 7 of 7)
Font size
QR-code for this ebook


rowing on a river. All week. To race on Saturday. Then run and row again.

Crowds come. Occasionally. Big crowds came on Dad Vail Day. Until the
Liquor Control Board closed it down. Some crowds still show. Skimmer lives.
Sort of. But the crews still run — and row. And win — and lose.



The river rolls on, and John Kelly's statue watches over it all.











10




+ 1 +







Baseball is the great American sport — that nobody watches.
Nine men on a diamond — considerably fewer than the number
of angels Augustine put on the head of a pin. Except when the
team is at bat — then they can only have four men on the field —
except the New York Mets — in their Edsel days.

Baseball is played with a baseball — from which the game
derives its name. A bat is also used — but that conjures up furry
creatures of the night — human and otherwise. Gloves are also
used — sometimes in boxing.

Baseball players spit a lot — it's part of the game. Nobody
knows why they spit a lot — unless their mouths spring leaks a
lot. Baseball players run, and hit, and catch, and swear — mostly
the latter. They also keep score — unless they're practicing —
sometimes the score looks like they're practicing — football.

Baseball is a fun game — and interesting — if you like that sort
of thing.

BASEBALL



12




13





14




15



TRACK



". . . heard anything like it . . . no, he's a pretty
good runner and as far as I can figure he's
serious about it . . . exactly: he says that it's
absurd to just keep running around in a circle
'cos no matter how fast he goes he just ends
up back where he started ... I tried that, but
he says if it's such an accomplishment how
come nobody ever comes to see it . . . no, be-
cause he says even if all that were true running
around in a circle makes him dizzy ... no,
last year it was no problem ... no, the only
thing I can think of is that he switched into
philosophy ... no, that won't work either—
that's what started it all . . . well, the last cross-
country run we did, he was gone for four
hours ... it sure as hell is bad for the score . . .
well, he just said that running through nature
like that alienated him from the world — he
kept saying 'participation in nature' — anyway,
turns out he just walked the whole two and a
half miles, stopped to look at trees and the
sky — when I asked him about the race he said
he was in enough other races . . . uh-huh . . .
uh-huh . . . uh-huh . . . wait a minute, let me
get this down: the circle is a symbol of what?
. . . Cosmic Unity, uh-huh . . . the faster he
goes around in a circle, the more he relates
to— what's that again? ... the totality of life,
uh-huh . . . salvation through striving . . .
Geethie? ... oh, -o-e-t-h-e . . . well, I'll try it . . .
OK, thanks a lot Russ . . . I'll be talking to you
. . . right, Bye."

lie







^^^^^m






^^^v


"""Si




LiM^^tfflu^^^^




lA


■ v ' ' : ' :




lyflE












■ m \








1 1

Li

■ - m







V







19




FENCING




Clickety, clickety, lunge, parry, clickety.
Fencing noises, (lunge? noise?)
"Bon soir, mes amis."

Everyone stops (no more clickety) and turns and
pulls off their masks.

Like a long ago echo, Errol Flynn, standing in the
doorway. Their jaws descend a few inches.
Purple velvet boots, thigh length, with the tops
turned down below the knee, rough scarlet leather
pants, big brass-buckled belt, pure-as-the-driven lin-
en shirt with one of those frilly do-dads down the
front, poof de foof sleeves, burgundy cape, jauntily
worn on the left shoulder, not quite covering the
gold gilt scabbard. Huge black matador's hat with
a pink ostrich feather billowing from the side, all of
which sits atop his shoulder length curls. Grinning
his roguish grin. One of the guys stammers out,
"ah, the freaks are playing in the gym, this is the,
ah, fencing, ah, ah ... "
"I know what it is, me hearty."
Maybe one of them crazies has took a bit too many
of them funny little pills, maybe . . .
"Let's get to it, what?"
What?

Floosh, the cape goes off.

SSSSSSSSSSSZZZZZZZZZZT, the blade out of the
scabbard.

Whoooooop, whoooooop, the blade flashes
through the air while he loosens up. (Remember
the sound of Zorro's blade as it carved the sign of
the "Z" on Sgt. Garcia's shirt? Out of the night
when the pale moon is bright ... ah, those were the



days) The guys in the club (still in the same posi-
tion, jaws on the floor) haven't moved a muscle;
awe, wonder, and magic on their faces.
"I'm really confused," mutters one, quickly silenced
by the rest. They stare transfixed as he
flashes the silver frog sticker in front of their thun-
derstruck faces. He fights an invisible adversary,
with many "HA's" and "HA-HA's" (accent on the
last HA) and "EN GARDE YOU SWINE" he battles
on, hypnotically flashing the blade. It moves so
well. The fog rolls in and the walls disappear and
the Fencing Club is whisked away to the under-
world of the great masters of the sword. On the
rigging of Captain Peter Blood's ship, cutlasses
between their teeth, standing in the fencing school
in Paris as the instructor reveals that Tony Curtis is
really the Purple Mask (it was one of ours who guf-
fawed at the thought of that pansy as the Purple
Mask, remember?). With the Hussars as they
charged at Balaclava. "I am Zee finest swordsman
in all of France," zey shout as zey ambush one of
zee tyrant's gold coaches on its way to Paris. Hilt to
hilt with Douglas Fairbanks, gritting their teeth and
hissing out, "you dastardly dog." And on they
woosh, down the corridors of time.
Bounding from stairway to tabletop, poised on the
parapet, on burning desert sands, with the
musketeers against the Cardinal's guards. Ah, what
a trip.

The Fencing Club at LaSalle is a group of students
who like fencing, you know, foils and stuff. (HA!)
Well, buckle my swash.



21




22



33




SOCCER



— The soccer team lose again?

— No, they won.

— Yer kiddin!

— No, seriously.

— They won?

—Yeah.

— They musta cheated.

They didn't win too many, but they didn't lose 'em all: for a change. Nobody
really understands soccer, except the referee, and he's not tellin! The team
wears shorts like basketball, and spikes like football, and the ball looks like a
flitty bowling ball, only inflatable. They play in McCarthy Stadium, like ROTC;
nobody's sure who's more organized.

People come to watch it, mostly kids from the Midwest who think it's a
greased pig contest. Soccer fans too; they usually get ill and leave early.

Life's really rough when nobody covets your sweatsocks.




24



*




25




n







^HnJfl^v



Si




^m







COLLEGIAN



The "super-straights" captured the COLLEGIAN this year. After three years
of control by non-Catholic, communist-inspired radicals, the campus journal
had again nestled itself under the protective wing of God, Church, and the
silent majority.

The election of Richard Nixon inspired the selection of the newspaper's
first editor-in-chief of the year. Born and raised in Easton, Pa., Tom Curley
landed on the COLLEGIAN scene and proceeded to confuse all of his staff
members by making references to "graphs," "stats," "DSJ inserts," "flush
lefts," "drop ins," etc. Curley worked for a real newspaper over two sum-
mers, and everybody had to suffer as a result. Reflecting the values and tastes
of Middle America, Curley could normally be found with a modified Daniel
Burke hairstyle, and cool Elvis Presley sweaters.

His successor to the throne, Joe Klock was a self-styled Ace Politico, who
spent most of his time collecting trivial campus information, irritating most of
the administrators, and making a general pain-in-the-ass of himself. He di-
vided the rest of his time making the life of the Student Activities Director
miserable, throwing darts at pictures of the Vice-President of Business Affairs
and the Business Office Staff, and generally immersing himself in bureaucrat-
ic irrelevancies. He consistently avoided matters academic and journalistic.

Tim Santoni, a William Buckley liberal, spent a few months as Managing
Editor. His main contributions were operating a cash register at Peoples Drug
Store, being intellectual, and occasionally appearing at the newspaper office.
George Fennell succeeded Santoni, and was fondly nick-named Gross George
by his fellow staff members. Noted chiefly for his filthy mouth and aes-
thetically displeasing body, Fennell devoted a good amount of his time scream-
ing at everyone on the staff, and padding his expense account. Prior to his
appointment as Managing Editor, he headed up the Photography staff, where
he distinguished himself in the area of pornographic photo reproduction,
pizza eating, and his traditional embezzlement.

The News Editor's slot provoked mixed reactions, being about as hotly
coveted as a "free" weekend at Joe Sprissler's house. Jack Whalen, the Che
Guevera of La Salle College, held the post until he transferred to Stony Brook
to be closer to his girl friend and pusher. The second News Editor, Bob
Schoenberger, resigned because the post was interfering with track practice.
The third office holder, Mike Arricale, resigned after three weeks because the
weekend work interfered with his trips to New York. The last News Editor of
the year, Mike Donnelly, was coerced into taking the post after he was threat-
ened by the Editor with certain personal disclosures relating to his unortho-
dox religious beliefs (he is a practicing Catholic).

The Features Staff was originally headed by Joe Glennon and John Loh,
the Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee of collegiate journalism. They were an
interesting pair insofar as they had one mind in two separate bodies. Lew
Sudul, a somewhat unbalanced Junior, succeeded to this position and was
ably assisted by George Zakarewsky, a somewhat strange looking, unkempt
Favorite Son of Kensington.

The Sports Staff went into its second year of command under Jim DeSte-
fano. DeStefano had complete control over the sports department since the
first editor-in-chief had no interest in sports, and the second editor didn't
know a jock strap from a basketball. Neither editor, moreover, ever read the
Sports page. DeStefano was assisted by Bill Rogers, when he was around,
and Al Cummings, when he was understood.

Joe Briggman, the intellectual pride of the staff, headed the Photography
Department, and while he was initially occupied removing Fennell's pornog-
raphy from the files, performed a competent job — he actually knew how to
take pictures.



31




Jack Kenneff was Business Manager the first semester until he resigned,
and the position was abolished. His primary achievements revolved around
his ability to protect his roommate's (Curley) interests and the establishment
of an indecipherable bookkeeping system. Ray Folen was appointed as Asso-
ciate Managing Editor and assumed the duties of the Business Manager. He
was great. He kept impeccable books, all sorts of cross-reference files, and
was never seen.

John Mason assumed the post of the other Associate Managing Editor after
two days on the staff. His credentials were excellent: he worked for th" 1
Academic Vice-President (access to information is always handy), and he
was a friend of the editor's. Bobbie Costa was named Assistant News Editor,
and had the distinction of being the first woman on the staff. She spent a lot
of time blushing, since the rest of the staff had a hard time adjusting to social
niceties and suitable language in her presence. She was responsible for
layout, but no one ever said it, because it sounded vulgar.

Things go on, a dismaying fact to certain individuals on campus (about
90%), pretty much as they always have, with but minor alterations. The
crypto-pinko thrust of much of the newspaper is being contained, but only
just and as a matter of fact with ill-concealed reluctance. The COLLEGIAN'S
locks are regularly changed, and new keys are seldom distributed by the
maintenance staff, a distressing situation which has not, however, prevented
us from gaining access to other quarters (see cut) which, thus far, have
proved surprisingly (not to our critics) amenable to what we by and large
conceive of as the proper discharges of our duties. Days-Eez to all.



i ^




**%



\

i

La Salle students



tfl»M$ Or Artiwlct**«»»H|agfi I J

a t o rema i n as c oach despite new



meet to discuss
mobilization plans




ola resigns




S3R
Carey resigns TrUsfTe s post,
ed Acting Chairma



SUPPOSE

^rel^ 1HEY WILT
^O^;^ MNlVERSlty

^ AND





hypocrisy tied in
with attendance
at Mass'



what is



Five ton administrators aoDointei



RESIDENCE COUNCIL




34



EV. DIV. WIVES CLUB




35




COLLEGE UNION COMMITTEES



Oyez, oyez, oyez. Come one, come
all. Come and see the exciting Premiere
Dance. The genuine, exciting La Salle
College Premiere Dance. Come and
see. Come and buy. See the greatest
collection of terminal acne this side of
Teaneck, New Jersey. See North Phila-
delphia's pubescent high school
girls. See the slavering dorm students.
See the slavering day hops. See Jerry
Dees. Get an eyeful of John Veen.
Feel the floor tremble to the Philly
Stomp. See the South Philly grease
bands play. Smell the sweaty ballroom.
Watch the couples make out on the
balcony. In the music room. In the
phone booths. In the rest rooms. See
the Queen Contest. Yessir, you can't
go wrong and the price is right. Come
one, come all. Oyez, oyez, oyez.

Q.What istheC.U.C?

A. A student organization.



Q. What does the C.U.C. do?

A. Repeat the question.

Q. What does the C.U.C. do?

A. The C.U.C. sponsors the Orpheus
coffee house, the student film series,
anybody who'll speak for free, the
Thieves' Market Art Exhibits, the pin-
ball machines in the game room, neat
trips all over the world, and lots of
swell mixers. And it keeps John Veen
and Tom Powell employed.

Q. What else does the C.U.C. do?

A. Closes the Union Building early
and on weekends.

Q. What is the C.U.C.'s main func-
tion on campus?

A. To absorb the students who
aren't socially repulsive enough for
the fraternities.

Q. Why does the C.U.C. have its own
building?

A. Because nobody else wants it.




CAISSON CLUB



NEWTONIAN SOCIETY







37







SEMPER FIDELIS



ITALIAN CLUB




%£g*g&* :



% **»



- ~ «. "•*






PSYCHOLOGY CLUB




39




PSI CHI




ACCOUNTING ASSOCIATION



VETERANS CLUB




41




CROSS KEYS






•»




gr


■h


r


JKM






f' 1^


A


ft.






1 - * ll


1 : sH

IX


1




g^Mj




r




FABRICIAN SOCIETY




43



MEN'S CHORAL




EV. DIV. MARKETING ASSOCIATION




I



/N VIETN AM f

BKwg tee f*




STUDENT

MOBILIZATION

COMMITTEE




ji,j»-l s










BRING US
TO&FTMEkX





46



EV. DIV. STUDENT CONGRESS




47



EV. DIV. SENIOR CLASS OFFICERS




48




ALPHA EPSILON DELTA
EV. DIV. ACCOUNTING ASSOCIATION




w^







EXPLORER




BETA ALPHA



52




GAVEL SOCIETY



HISTORICAL SOCIETY




. . ■'■»-




SOCIOLOGY CLUB



YOUNG DEMOCRATS





SOCIETY FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF MANAGEMENT




CHYMIAN SOCIETY



56



INDUSTRIAL RELATIONS COMMISSION




j^r



, 402



L



\y>\



GREEKS



(Enter brass band. Marching.)

"Rise Up for Commerce, Little Boy, you can save
this land, if you lend a hand, so rise up for Com-
merce, Little Boy . . ."
(Band passes in review.)

Remember the frats marching row on row? End-
less ranks of three piece suited eager young men.
Bright and ready for Commerce. Doin' it all for the
soft job and the easy life. Remember how their
wingtips glinted in the Sun? How impeccable penny
loafers (optional) showed the carefree life of col-
lege? Remember those great parties with underage
kids drinking Lestoil and throwing up on their
dates? Remember Dad Vail, T.O.R., and Schmidt's
in a keg?
(Swelling chorus of "Rise Up for Commerce")
Well, a blight has crept over the tables down at
Gar's. No longer do fraternities drink beer, act
horny, and gross out. Yes sir, the fundamental
values that have made America what she is today
have been wiped out. Wiped out by the fatal
spectre of demon weed.

(Fade to existential setting of a lone man,
dressed in mod black, who stands in a spotlight on
a darkened stage, and sings wistfully, in a sweet
tenor:



"You can save this land, if you lend a hand . . .")
Some fraternities have turned on — turned on to
drugs, and turned on the American Way. No longer
are our boys in the frats square-jaw from keeping
themselves clean shaven. No longer do they glow
in the Sun and smell vaguely of English Leather.
Now, now, my friends, they wear psychedelic army
jackets and protest bell bottoms, and they let their
sideburns creep past their ears like the insidious
tenets of the Communist menace.

(Sad soft chorus of "You can save this land . . .")
But, deep down inside, I mean deep down inside
where it's really at; these boys have got what it
takes. They still go to basketball games. They get
haircuts for job interviews. And they still throw up.
Scratch'em deep and you'll find that John Wayne
still lives.

(Rousing chorus of "Rise Up for Commerce."
Mass bomber formations fly overhead, and Jane
Withers looks on in awe.)

Now we've got to do is find a place that sells
wingtip sandals . . .

"Rise Up for Commerce, Little Boy, You can save
this land, If you lend a hand, So rise up for Com-
merce Little Boy . . ."



PI KAPPA PHI




59



V



PHI SIGMA EPSILON




DELTA SIGMA PI




PHI KAPPA TAU




61




PI SIGMA EPSILON



6?




PHI KAPPA THETA




6-1





1 2 3 4 5 7

Online LibraryLa Salle UniversityExplorer (Volume 1970) → online text (page 7 of 7)