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Catalyst

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Title:
Catalyst
Alternate Title:
The Catalyst (Volume IV, Number 19)
Physical Description:
Newspaper
Creator:
New College of Florida
Publisher:
New College of Florida
Place of Publication:
Sarasota, Fla.
Creation Date:
February 8, 1968

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Subjects / Keywords:
History -- New College (Sarasota, Fla.)
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newspaper   ( sobekcm )
government publication (state, provincial, terriorial, dependent)   ( marcgt )
College student newspapers and periodicals
College publications
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United States -- Florida -- Sarasota

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Eight page issue of the student produced newspaper. Includes the Catalyst: Literary Supplement, vol. 2, no. 2, edited by William Hedrington.
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This bibliographic record is available under the Creative Commons CC0 public domain dedication. The New College of Florida Libraries, as creator of this bibliographic record, has waived all rights to it worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law.

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New College of Florida
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New College of Florida
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Before photographing or publishing quotations or excerpts from any materials, permission must be obtained from the New College Archives, and the holder of the copyright, if not New College of Florida.
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NCF0001715:00109


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Volume IV, Number 19 Published by Students of New College, Sarasota, Florida February 8, 1968 soc Formed To Run Stocks sc: Unusual Sanctions; Salisbury Is E xpe Ll RAR ,::: A Student Disciplinazy Committeehasbeenformed by the Student Executive Committee to purchase and maintain stocks, as well as supervise their use. becomes a member, and a copy of this charter would have to be obtained. o conclusion was reached on the question of whether NSA membership would be put to a vote of the students. Student Gets Restrictions Instead of Suspension Reason Is The Student Executive Committee at its meeting last night authorized the committee, and appointed Allan Jaworski chairman. Jaworski will be known as the "Stockman." Appointed Jaworski's assistant was second-year representative Ivan Saxby. S ax by will be known as the "Whipping Boy." Saxby will wear a costume of black tights, boots, cape and hood when performing his office. The SOC was formed because of a Student Court request, made last week, that the SEC handle the operation of the stocks, which both the SEC and SC approved as an alternate punishment to the present system of sanctions. In other business, it was aJ;:reed the Student Financial Investigation Committee should investigate the possibility of students being employed as maids aJ.d maintenance wOikers Assistant Dean of Students Arthur Miller repol!ted Dean of Students George Petrie was d o u b t f u 1 the SEC's recommendation that dormitory costs be pro-r
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Pa e 2 Editorial ENFORCED MATURITY Why doesn't the Student Court admit that a certain matUl'ity is required to ft.mction successfully as a student at New College? New College 1s relatively liberal social situation and the exceptional amotmt of control given students over their own disciplinary affairs (for comparisqn, see the report on student rules at other colleges, below) make it absolutely necessary that the attitude of students be adult and responsible in areas of social control. Once. however, t:J:e SC h_as taken a patronizing and unsoph1st1cated approach m dealmg with a student who has proved himself tm able to act responsibly in the New College society. In attempting to keep the student at school at all costs, it has made itself ridiculous by imposing a series of extraordinarily restrictive and hwniliating sanctions against .II, in fact, the student in question is unable to conduct maturely enough to have the privilege of entertaining VISitors after 11pm, leaving his room when he chooses after that hour, and maintaining a degree of personal privacy then how can the SC maintain he is mature enough to remafu at at all? How far can the SC go in attempting to leg1slate a pro-rather than an anti-social attitude? Of course, it is unfortunate if a student is required to leave the New College society. Some people have even likened such an enfo:ced to death. But suspension for a term or t:'o. 1sfar less senousthan expulsion. The possibility of readmiSsiOn of the student is not impaired, and the en-forced absence could very possibly create the distance re quired for the student to reach some necessary conclusions about his responsibility to himself and other students. The Student Court should act in loco parentis no more than should the administration. It cannot legislate or enforce maturity. It should stop trying. LeHer WAR REPORT To the am, ;Monday, February Sr 1968 With the allied troops in the fields. The following is my accotmt of the recent vicious actions of this war: Ithasbeen a rough week for those "never-say-die" forces of the allies, l..Ulderthe leadership of the m timate Student Adulthood (USA), as their archenemies, the Very Callow-Minds (VC) scored yet another major victory in a war that has dragged on now for almost four years, The implic;tions of the defeat for the allies may be farreaching. In the past, ma1y VC victories have been moral ones, affecting the general populace with either an apathetic attitude toward the desperate financial instability of their government, or an intense hatred mixed perhaps with paranoia against wh without bills ?f rights were subject to qu1te arbltrary disciplinary regulations. One of the Statutes of Columbia University states that a student may be dismissed at any time on any grol..Ulds which the deems sufficient. At Ralcliffe (Continued on page 4, column 2) Member Associated Collegiate Press Volume IV, Number 19 February 8, 1968 Published weekly 36 times per year by stu. dents at New College. Subscriptions: per year, or 15 per copy. Address sub scription orders, change of adct.ess notices, and tmdeliverable copies to: The Catalyst/ New College/Post Office Box 1898/Sarasota, Florida 33578. Telephone 355-5406. Editor ... La11rie Palllson ManagiDg Editor Steve Orlofsky Advertisi.ng .... George Kane Circulation .... Katie Smith Photography .... Miguel Tapia Minter Replaces De Hart As Grounds Chief Staff: Kit Arbuckle, Fol'Test Beyers, Mruy .Blakeley, Margaret Bryan, Richard de Koster, Jean Graham, Ca.rola Heitm=, Jon Lundell, Abby Misemer, Stephen Olson, Mary lDuPhiWPS. Margaret Sedensky1 Beverly ShoemAker, Edna Walker, Cheryl White, Gary Wil liams Minter, formerly a super visor m the Department of Buildings and Grounds, has been appointed Supervisor of the Physical Plant Mmter.will replace Gage DeHart, whose title was Director of the Physical Plant. Controller Charles Harra said De Hart was replaced partly as an e-conomy move and partly because of "problems" in allocating priorities to various jobs. Specifically, HaT a cited the long delay in obtaining lights for student dormitories. Harra said a "director'' of the physical plant is generally a uate engineer, which Minter is not. Thus, his title will be "supervisor. Minter will continue in his present duties, Harra said, a; well as as-swning the additional responsibilities of processing work orders scheduling crews to perform tasks and preparing requisitions according to department requiie ments.

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'fk Literary Supplement VOL 2 NO. 2 Edited byWilliam Hedrington FEB. 8, 1968 Vacation for Three Through the face mask he saw a different, exciting world. What ftm it was to dart among the colonies of coral and sea urchins with their menacing spines. They lurked everywhere. He surfaced. He floated on his back and let the Stm and water play about his head. How beautiful, he thought. The stm was brilliant, the water translucent, the sky a rich blue. The hills of neighboring islands rose up frow the water and above them billowed majestic clouds. It was just as he imagined in his winter daydreams and so much nicer than Puerto Rico. It had been flat and hot, except for the rain forest which was damp and insect infested, and the beach had been ugly. It was a strip of land studded with modem hotels. They were commercial and filled with herds of fat, foreignlookingJewsfromNewYork. The smell of grease from the poolside snack bars and of sun tan lotion from their fat bodies pervaded the beach area. He had hated it. WhenRoger Simson got tired of floating on his back, he decided to go exploring. He walked to the end of the beach and out onto a small promontory covered with cactus and buttressed on all sides by thousands of pieces of coral. It was a graveyard. He searched it carefully for interesting specimens, but there were so many. It seemed a jtmkyard. He threw the pieces he had collected into the sea, waked briskly to the end of the promontory, and sat down on a corroded rock. He looked out over the water. He smiled at the sea spray and at the Stm, Mrs. Simson looked anxiously up into the sun, reapplied the sun cream recommended by the dermatologist, and readjusted her hat. Lois Simson did not want to get too much sun. In fact, she wanted to get no sun a t all. El abora t e precautions h adbeentakentoinsure than none o f i tsharmful rays would penetra t e h e r se n s i tive skin. On her h e a d reste d a wide straw hat, on her face and hands were several layers o f stm. cream, and arotmd the rest of her body, a blu e beach robe was draped. S h e looked again up int o t h e stm, then at her husband m .. s go. WeliO'e been here long enough. I've been m the SUD too fonaYou know what Dr. Waters told me. Please get Roger. He's over there somewhere. 11 She pointed to the promontory. A shrill whistle pierced the air. Roger Simson turned and saw his father wwing at him from the beach. He knew that whistle. It meant "come." Well, he was not going to come when called. Let them whistle again and again until they bothered to call him by his name. A second shrill whistle pierced the air. Roger stayed on his rock, pretending not to hear, and looked out over the water. A moment later his name pierced the air: "Roger! 11 "What!" he screamed, wrenching his head in fury toward the shore. "We're leaving now." "Why so soon?" he yelled b ack. "Your mother doesn't want to get too much sun." Roger Simson didn't f eel like yelling b ack. It made his throa t hurt. He w anted s o to stay. He wanted to st< till the end of the d a y, but it would be futile to argue. It would only lea d to unpleasantness. The three vacationers g athered their things together, shoo k the sand from their towels, and installed themselves in the hotel's beach buggy. It bore them over the b arre n hills of the island b ack to the hill on which their hotel lay, sprawling in the stm.. It was a complex of buildings and recreation facilities. The guests were lodged in stucco cotta ges, most of them two stories high. A building d esigned to look like an island plantation house containe d the public rooms and a nightclub. Adjoining it was a terrace restaurant. The Simsons returned to their room. Mr. Simson got out his camera and had his wife and son stand together by a palm tree nea: the door. "Smile," he demanded. "Get closer together. There, now you've got it. This picture will be good enough for a travel poster. 11 The camera clicked. Mrs. Simson's smile lingered, her son's disappeared. It was then decided that Roger should explore the hotel meet the other guests, and return. to give his parents a report while they had cocktails, showered, and dressed for dinner. Roger Simson left the room but did not stay at the hotel. Lois Simson asked her husband to make her a gin and tonic. While he made drinks for both of them, she examined her face in the bathroom mirror. It was only slightly pink. Tha was a relief. She removed her wet suit, soaked it in the sink, ran the water for her shower came back into the room, a white bath towel wrapped around her, and laid out on her bed the dress she planned to wear that evening. It was white and shiny. She took a sip of the gin and tonic and gazed on the dress. Tonight they would go to a nightclub, she thought. They would dance and listen to calypso music. Tonight would be bet' night. It would be lively. It would sparkle. She would be so gay, so happy. They must all be gay and happy. She would have ftm, Oh, she so wanted to have ftm.. "Lois, the water, 11 scolded her husband. "Oh, yes, 11 she replied absent-mindedly. She swallowed the remainder of her drink and withdrew to the bathroom. Before entering the shower she called out: "Herbert, make me another." He did and made another for himself. Then he sat on his bed and put new film in his camera. The harbor of Cllarlotte Amalie was very picturesque. The boats were inviting. What fun, Roger Simson thought, it would be to have such boats, to sail among the islands. Several of his classmates at prep school did it every spring vacation. It would be so nice if he were invited to join them some time. Where would they sail? They would not stay in St. Thomas. There were too many tourists. They would sail among lesser known islands, moor in secluded coves and have delightful picnic lunches, swim and lie on the white decks in the sun, and when it was setting and the wind picking up, as it was doing now, they would set their sails and head further south to explore other islands. Oh, it would be wonderful, he thought. Roger began to shiver. He looked at his watch. It wa; time to return and get dressed for dinner. He left the wharf, crossed over the coastal road, and fotmd the path which led up to the hotel. It was a steep hill to climb, full of sharp stones. Mrs. Simson sat on a chair in her shiny white dress, her lips p ainted a bright red, her fury mounting. "Look a t your father, 11 she implored. "Look a t him!" she cried. Mr. Simson w a s lying on his bed in his \Dldershort s H e h a d b een drinking. They had both been drinking. "Look a t the lazy fool," sh e snarled. Make him get ready for dinner, Roger. Tell him t o get dressed. C ome, Herbert!" she shoute d "Get dresse d. I t s g etting l a te, and we want to get a good table! Roger Simson went over to his father. "Please get read y he begged. He couldn' t stand h is mother'?" 11 11 iJ' :npi.lOI'eQ no attention to him. "Get up!" he cried. "We don't want to be late!" "That's right, 11 she echoed. "If you don't get ready, we'll go without you!" Just as Mrs. Simson was on the verge of crying or screaming, it was h.ard to tell which, her husband got up and dressed for dinner. Asoft breeze blew down onto the terrace. It caressed the women and men in colorful clothes. Their red faces glowed as they spoke animatedly of the events of the day ;nd of the pleasant possibilities the night mis}lt bold. The haiSh look of annoyance disappeared from Lois Simson's face. She mellowed. How beautiful it was, she thought. It was just as the travel brochures said it would be. The stars glittered m the sky. The lights of the town below shone brightly. The dark water of the bay reflected them. It sparkled. It glimmered. The moon glowed above, Clh, it was a picture she would always remember. It would be photographed and impressed in her memory. She looked up at the stars, then at her husband sitting besideheratthetable. "Herbert," she cooed. "Please call the waiter. I'd like a drink before my dinner. 11 Roger Simson was furious. "You shouldn't drink so much!" he scolded. "You must stop. You've had too much 2lready. 11 Mrs. Simson looked into her son's hostile face, shuddered, turned her head away, and broke out into loud artificial laughter. "Be quiet, you prude. You can't tell us what to do. Can he, Herbert? He can't tell us what to do, Tell him he can't." Herbert Simson grinned at his son, told him to shut his mouth, and called the waiter over. Roger knew that idiotic grin. It meant his father was getting 1runl<, very drunk, was mellowing and soon would sink into oblivion. Lois Simson smiled approvingly on her husband. Herbert could deal with him, she thought. He would quiet his harsh voice. He would protect her. He would make her happy. He would make her evening beautiful. Dinner was brought and taken away. They returned to the room. Herbert Simson loosened his belt and tie, took off his shoes, and stretched out on his bed. "Now don't go to sleep Herbert, 11 his wife anxiously h wamed. "You promised to take me somew ere. H erbert S imson grinned a t her and told her to shut up. Then he closed his eyes. Sh e was furious. Sh e w as enraged. She wasn't going t o let him spoil h e r evening. She would h a v e her f\Dl, she told herself. Sh e would dance She would sing. She would hav e h e r drea m ".Let's so she called to her SOlD. HeglaDc;dathercooly, hatetully. "I don't want to. 11 "Then to hell with you, you drip, she screamed and raced out of the room. How terrible they were, he thought. How ugly. How he despised them for tormenting him so. How W?nd.er ful it would be if they were dead and out of h1s life. What a relief it would be. He reproached himself. They were his parents. She his mother. He his father. She might hurt herself. She (Continued on page 4) Drawing by Susan Kuntz

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Photograph by Michael von Guttenberg Downtown Dealer I Resume B.A.: 1959. M.A.: 1961. Married: 1960. Taught three years: Philosophy At a minor tmiversity. 1963: Wife died: suicide. One day in 1964, In a lecture on Reality, To everything I said There echoed refutations in my head. But this New Job is Really Me it's really fine it's mine the chrome's so bright it's like clear thought the motors roar like chimera it's just the thing it's just the way it all should be my salesman's tongue as slippery as any salesman's tongue can be from years of lectures on philosophy and since it is so really good I'm here to stay I have to stay I have to MAKE IT Everyday Sell it Buy it everyday I do it any way I can you see those flashing reds and greens? A SALE A DAY A SALE A DAY the neons really pull them in A SALE A DAY everyday some guy comes in machinist's hands cut up like meat I put him in the driver's seat it costs him "seven dollars weekly" it costs me what I have to pay A SALE A DAY a man who buys his time by sales has to buy the only way has to buy it everyday or go tmder So I will make a deal any kind of deal Hey mister see that two-tone Ford gray and pink as dawn? I will make a real deal You know that dream you have of dawn? I can make it real I can make it real real if I can make it I have to make it A salesman's got to sell A salesman's got to make it NOW A no-sale day Is a salesman's hell while today's sale is a reason why not to die ---WilliAM HEDRINGTON Drawing by Mary Blakeley Traveling Do you think You can question a feeling, Ask for directions As we asked the man For the Post Road In a Connecticut town? How can you ever speak That vaguest question, Ever find an image Definite as the bear You swore you saw Beside the road Though none of us Had seen it? You understand: We traveled East Into the dawn -You wouldn't close your eyes. --LAWRENCE PAULSON 11:30 I ll: 30. When she will come. Twenty minutes, dancing Kore. I saw the greyness of the room and the blueness of her leotard, grasping her body. Leaping smiles. And three-knotted winds slashing at leaves. She said. Little Alice Blue Leotaxi, skipping ballet jumps in the studio on Saturday morning. At the pre-teen dance I bought her ticket. Other boys laughing, and she laughing now. Muffled masculine coughing in the grey room. She stepped outside to talk. Voices nmning past. And then he ha ha. Kore dances for the cough and the rorr: ing of beer cans. My fingers are bloody from the wall. Aeolus kisses the dew grotmd. My face is covered with the dew of tears. The wind whispers secrets to the leaves. ShE' whispered she would come. In youth the steps to the dancing studio, we sat. She rose to go inside and I fell, laughing at my clumsiness. She was afraid. hurt yourself. Your hand, bleedin? K?re's Al.ice has grown. I was not ready, but I wait. Time agam, walking away from the dancing studio steps. I sat. I fell. The leaping blue leotards. Grey promise. Staccato wals, .. Coughing room. Dancing, dancing. Sch.ool mus1c, Without words that lie. Alice's words, .Kore, yes to other eyes. Beer joy nmning Faces hello-ing. Good bye to all. Little whulwmds are kicked arotmd the bushes. Un knots. Two pairs of arms, tangled hopelessly. Dmcmg. Dancmg of sex while we talk. And somewhere there is Alice, who knows. Kore somewhere, falling through lust. As I fell and laughed, I fall and cry. icc's concemwasformyc um.siness. My cum sy hands buying her ticket. Clumsy adolescent voices laughing, and the little heart she wore in her pocket. The emblem. Shehadpaid. Leotards have no pockets. Cigarettes bum (my hand bums) away and pile on the grotmd, with the dying of the leaves. Leaves which fell, dancing from farewell trees. I am still waiting, longer than my heart can. For the lover, waiting is (I call lover to a bloody wall) death. Waiting means a fall from grace. Alice was grace. Kore is passion her maidenhead long lost with the leaf of some past, as Alice and I sat on studio steps, and laughed at other dancers. If I could have been sure, but Alice lied with her eyes, Kore with her lips. If I had known but the coughing was not anger. The rolling of was sorrow. And now it is I who wait alone, angry at myself, sorry for Korc's dance. Her leaps were laughing and Alice laughed at the other dancers. She was best of all. Her blue leotard flashed taps as she laughed. I sat on broken steps, and waited. Sitting in a crowded restaurant, Alice blew smoke out of her nostrils as she took her coffee bre;:k and laughed at her failure as a professional dancer. She coughed a smoker's cough. I told her she still moved like a dancer and she frowned at my foolishness. She still smiled the smile she smiled at the dance. Her heart in her pocket, which I had bought. She walked, aloof, to another customer and carried a bottle of beer away. The cans of rattl.ed in Kore's room. And the cough was not hers. Kore kissed me goodbye, the kiss meant for another's lips and promised she would come. I have waited and contmue to wait. The knots of wind lash viciously at my face. I struggle against their bindings. Aeolus laughs at my futile efforts. I watch for her footstep on the path. My Alice will dance to me. I'll come soon, Kore smiles. She dances free of my embrace .J llsten for the taps of Alice 1s shoes to dance across the b.arren and leap the aridity into cornucopia. Springing fruits of plenty, fertilizing me. Kore. Alice. Alice. Kore. II The bw;tding of silent architectures of memory leaves me standmg baffled in the meaningless footprints of the past. The movement of the present finds me hidmg from 1ts force. The passion of the future lurks in gr.ey, ttmnels, frowning at the labyrinths which will tmwmd themselves. I fall. I sit in this maze and cry; Kore's future will never be, and Alice's past is now her present. I dreamed of walking hand in hand with Kore and .Alice, each wearing her blue leotard, and each dancmg joyous answers to my smiles. We would be wedded in our walks. The wind would blow no more, and no coughs would break the fragile web ofsilence, htmg by the dawn on our shoulders. I dreamed these dreams long after I sat and waited at ll:30 for Kore to join Alice to visit. The winds themselves into desperate tangles. The leaves dance mto patterns which will be read from a hill someday. Kore. Alice. Korealice. --HARDIN FRAZER

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A Myth In the neo-F <1.1Stian Germany of the last century there lived a mathematician named Dmitri. Dmitri was bom in Russia, the only son of a town clerk and his wife, both of whom were devotedly religious. Dmitri's talent for figures was noticed shortly after he entered school. Dmitri studied hard, at fifteen entering the University at St. When he was twenty Dmitri had ex hausted the mathematical resources of Russia and so moved to Germany for better instruction. By the age of thirty Dmitri had mastered all the mathematics then known and considered himself ready to begin his researches into new mathematics. He cloistered himself in a high, white tower in Konigsburg and began thought. For ten years Dmitri toiled, but to no avail. Although he could leam the works of other men from textbooks, he could produce nothing himself. Then, as was his manner, Mephistopheles appeared. "Dmitri intoned the tempter, "you have abandoned the traditions of your people, and the faith of your parents, to place your faith in Your new faith has not failed you, but neither has it been tested since you are an tmcreative man, unable to do more' than follow the works of others, which is the sorrow of your life. I offer you a choice. and a W
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Pearl smaller and smaller he became and the orange rolled down the spectrum looking for a complement smaller, he would not return. and the trees bent over to see what was underneath it all; the closer they came the less there was for them to see until all you could find were a bunch of flatly lying trees. small, smaller, leaving us calling in the wind; and harmonics reduced themselves one by one to a cool white tone smaller. he never looked back. and donuts turned into cups and back again and the counters and the adders JUSt roared. smaller yet, it was irrevocable. and the Yin and the Yang entropy increasing became a perfect grey pearl. he disappeared it has been said. I think he only vanished. --DELANCY KIMBERLEY DANGERFIElD Room "There must be some way out of here." --The Joker I am in a room. There are no doors, of course, but there is a window, not a large window, but big enough so that I could, were it possible, crawl out and walk away. Unforttmately however the window is hopelessly jammed, it will not open, I know, I have tried many times and it resists my mightiest efforts as if I were indeed as insignificant and weak as I seem to be. Resigned (almost resolved) to the room for the time being, I look about me. The bare walls are coated in an eerie dark red, with a texture like thick flannel. The room is chronically dark, yet strangely enough remains warm most of the time. I may seem in fact quite contented at times in this womb-like atmosphere. This contentment however is always short-lived, a self-deception, it never progresses into anything related to happiness, nor is i t allowed to digress into any kind of szenuine apathetic acceptance. The window is Drawing by Susan Kuntz the problem, for 'While (as I said) there is no lighting as such in the room, the filth of the window occasionally permits a ray of perverted, mad light to diffuse into the room and seek out my eyes. The initial feeling which results from this sudden illwnination is one of pain, yet I find myself becoming more and more addicted to watching this window, waiting for the next insane beam to flash in the eye of my mind. Moreover, the window is in actuality partially open, at least there is a crack at the bottom which, although not such that light can enter, does permit air to flow in and out (when, of course, the outer world is windier than usual). This rare ventilation awakens me, revitalizes me, by the simple process of replacing the warmth with coldness; I become once more agonizingly aware of the window, I struggle once more with its hopelessly hopeful impossibilities. Failing for the thousandth time, I fall to the floor in frustration and exhaustion; I gasp for breath and notice that the room is once more warm, the wind has ceased; I fall asleep---or awaken. --MAD JOHN Elegy for Hix Morton (caretaker, who died of cancer, 1967) I have finally given up Six years at the prep school. Still, it was easy to find out From a sentence or two in the graduate news That he died quietly in his place, Quite sober for once, and alone, In the middle of an tmusually good Friday. It surprises me, though, That I can remember even now The daisies, craning their necks, Who watched his guillotine come down; And the night the headmistress thought As the moon tilted in a cold fall sky That he might take care of the coy cheerleader. Yes, let him lie tmder the football field In the peace that would, No doubt, pass his understanding; Let the living still go uniformed, Shocked by bells, in the long halls Where he worked and smiled, Cracker-like, At the girls who skirted him. For what is there to say now Except that always when-Pensive, restless, bored with it--We glanced out of his washed windows From whatever class, h e would be Riding past, plaid-capped on his tractor, And that, thank god, he tried to teach us nothing? ---HELEN HICKEY Improvisation Time to take stock Wind the clock Turn the page (beep) Sweep out the room (And not under the rug) Judgment must be made For the sake of us all. But on what stand? (Get down offa that soapbox. ) Refusal to lean forward On the podium And give a bit of knowing Advice to my listeners. (Listeners?) I cannot hear myself (Turn up the volume. ) Enough of this misassorted Self-contorted and aborted Child of frustration. If there is hope for solution Of the genetic code, What of the frenetic code Of those already Very much alive? Perhaps there is no code, only Widespread improvisation. --BETSY BROOKS Vacation (Continued from page 1) might do something ugly, something horrible in the st:te she was in. He must find her. He must bring her back. It was his duty. Roger Simson searched the grotmds. He looked in the lobby and in the nightclub. He checked the swimming pool, the tennis courts. He asked the groups of people strolling about if they had seen her. He asked the clerk in the lobby, the hostess in the nightclub, the woman inthegiftshop. Noonehad seen her. She was nowhere to be fotmd. He was desperate. Where could she be? Could she have walked down the hill into Charlotte Amalie? No. That was impossible. Could she be back in the room? Yes! She must be! He ran back to the room. She was not there. He tried to rouse his father. "Get up!" he screamed into his face. "Get up and help me find mother! 11 There was no response. "Get up! 11 he screamed again. There was no response. The man was insensible. Roger shook him. There was no response. In fury and despair he slapped him hard across the face. There was no NapcliEIM. o er ank to the oor, wrappe his arms tight y about his legs, put his head on his knees, and rocked back and forth, crying, "Help me somebody, he moaned. "Somebody help me. Please somebody help me! 11 No one could hear him. There was no one. Roger stopped crying. He rested his head on his shoulder. If only he could find her, he thought. If he could bring her back, calm her down, and get her into bed. He was sure she was so drunk she would fall asleep. She must. Look at his father. But where was she? He had looked everywhere, everywhere but t11e dining room. The terrace dining room! Maybe she had gone there! Roger Simson raced out of the room, walked quickly down the p:th, through the lobby, up a flight of stairs, and out onto the dark, deserted terrace. He searched it with his eyes. Over by the railing there sat a white form. It was she. "Mother, 11 he called. There was no answer. He moved closer. "Mother, 11 he called again. She turned her head towards him. "Dance with me, 11 she said. "No, please come back to the room and go to sleep, 11 he begged. "Dance wit11 me, 11 she demanded, raising her voice. He implored ;gain. "Please come back to the room. 11 "No one will dance with me, 11 she said. "There is no one who will dance with me. Why won't you?" "I don't want to," he replied, exasperated. "Please come back to the room. He touched her shoulder. 11Leave me alone, 11 she warned. He touched her again. She wrenched her body from the chair and slapped him hard across the face. "Don't touch me!" she screamed. "If you won't dance with me, get out of here and leave me alone! Get out of my sight, you drip!" She fell back into her chair and covered her face with her hands. "You won't dance with me," she sobbed. "I have no one to dance with." "Stop, mother," he yelled. "Please stop!" "Will you dance with me?" "No!" "Well," she annotmced, "then I will dance with myself! 11 Mrs. Lois Simson began to dance aro=d the floor to the lively rhythm of the calypso music that flowed up from the nightclub. She was very drtnlk. Her son laughed bitterly at her. What ahideous thing she was, he thought. How pathetic she looked, staggering back and forth, holding up her hands in the dancing position, pretending to have a partner. She wa> a wreck. She had always been. Should he leave her like this? There was nothing he could do. To stay and watch was too painful, too revolting. Roger Simson told his mother that he would be waiting in the lobby and left. The drtmken woman stopped dancing. She walked over to the edge of the terrace and gazed up at the st:rs. She stretched out her hands toward them. "Dance with me, 11 she whimpered. They glimmered quieti y and did not answer. --TOM LUHRMAN

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February 8, 1968 notes By Paul Adomites DISAPPOINTMENT The new Hendrix album, "Axis: Bold As Love," is disappointing, to understate the point. Perhaps the stellar advances made for rock by the "format" album, that is, an album which is to be considered a total work instead of a number of tunes put together, did more harm than good, for many groups are trying to imitate the fonn of such masterpieces as Pepper's." Quite a bit of the music on this album is good, although Hendrix's Adomites solo work here is very weak in spots. The real star of this record is the drummer, Mitch Mitchell, who drills his way through many jazz like breaks and is even given severalsolos, all of which he pulls off very well. It is interesting that Mitchell and Ginger Baker are the only rock drummers who are doing really creative solo and backup work. Rock has been centered on g, but na really exceptional stickwork soloing has been done, with the exception of the two gentlemen mentioned a b o ve. The biggest problem with A:cis : Bold As Love" is the song lyr1cs, which range from inbearably comp lex (well nigh unsingable) to un_ be arably trite. A corollary of is Hendrix's singing. I was Im pressed with Hendrix's vocal work on "Are. You Experienced? but here the impossible lyrics, cou p led with Jimi's desire to shout "Yeah;' "girl," and "babe," result in a good deal of sloppiness. It seems that Hendrix's first album, being more in the hard-rock school (at least as far as the tunes and lyrics went) as opposed to the "experimental" nature of this work, was a good deal more honest. Hendrix has really bitten off more than he (or any other singer I know of) can h
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Pa e 4 The C.nalyst ElmendorfAt Conference Student Rules President John Elmendorf is in Freeport, Grand Bahama Island, this week to attend a meeting of the presidents of the 12 member institutions of the Union for Research and Experimentation in Higher Education. Dr. Elmcndorl. said the presidents of the Union, which l 'ew College was invited to join last year, meet .lllllually to discuss matters of mutual concern. A chief topic at this year's meeting will be the problems of implementing experimentation and innovation in higher edu c ation, with particul. Loc:l

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