Ahh early May… that time of year when most undergrads are crying in the library and then skipping home in sweet summer joy. Seniors, on the other hand, are crying into their beers and thinking that if they party and celebrate enough, the impending graduation date (and the prerequisite exams) will painlessly disappear. So, in search of some comfort to help me through this difficult time, I decided to share some words of wisdom I found in the 1967 Georgetown yearbook.
Why was I looking at a 1967 Georgetown yearbook, you ask? Well, in a blatant abuse of key-wielding power last semester, I was studying in the Independent office. The Indy shares its office space with the yearbook and, for some reason, there was one yearbook lying on the Indy’s side of the office. It happened to be from 1967. With a final in a half hour, I obviously decided to cozy up on the couch and saunter down memory lane. Fifteen minutes and a few tears later (I got emotional about graduation early, okay?), I picked up my computer and copied down the poem that a Georgetown student wrote for the first few pages of the yearbook. And so, for my second and last guest appearance in Ben’s Senior Citizenship column, I have decided to share the poem with you. Some of it is comically outdated (there were polo matches?!), but most of it is still relevant. Enjoy.
“The sun is down, but there is still fire in the ashes. A haze has been cast over four years of your burning youth—a haze that, once gone, won’t return.
You arrived as everyman, as anyman. The Walsh doors flew open and the match was struck. The light shone through the lobby windows and you were but an image of what you are today.
That first semester was the greatest ascent—not knowing whether you had climbed far enough socially or academically—not knowing whether you should go up or down.
With each scare, you pushed into that den of silence, that cubicle of solitude, where knowledge was more easily come by.
An unforgotten lecture is still toiling; yes, that lecture that made you forget that you were a student. “If only I…”
But the fire raged. You who knew where it burned, would not tell where it lay.
“I” was the one who saw Thomas Jefferson and Washington in their seats of honor. “I” was the one who rejoiced in exams’ end.
And “I” dwelt in thought with John Carroll, knowing that my stay would be shorter than his.
He watched, she watched, you moved on.
You learned from the one who had the right answers at the right time; you laughed with the one who made the joke.
You paused to attend to the little things; a snow fight or just a daily chore needed as much attention as the trudge to classes.
STOP! Look where your footsteps have led you.
Flowers bloomed; they grew with each year; with each year you grew, and noticed neither.
Those who didn’t find time looked on hopefully; those who did smile knowingly.
The polo games were good, and if you knew the score, you had a pretty poor time.
The expressions—great and terrific—for the social bombasts had dissipated in the heat, and what was left was a pretty good time.
You explored causes and ideals. War and peace presented their cases as you listened.
You continued to circle the globe daily without touching it.
The second semester began, and the rites of Spring were upon you.
The last semester was here, as you began the last lap.
Famous people came and spoke to you, and whether you listened or not, you were impressed.
The campus loomed larger than life—even the dorms became caverns of solitude.
But Gothic architecture does not breed Gothic persons. Georgetown’s gentlemen hold a variety of interests.
As your withdrawal becomes more definite, you can look back to all the images of the university.
There were the people who made it real: the friends. Those who helped you and those who guided you. The life and color of what would otherwise be a dismal place.
The age and tradition of your surroundings brought forth newness and vigor.
For your four years have flown; for others, they are still to come. The sun is down, but there is still fire in the ashes.”
- Kerry Kirschner
This is exactly what being a member of the class of 2009 feels like.
