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In its handling of the war abroad, racism, poverty 
and student protest at home, the American people 
have proven themselves guilty of v/ar crimes; 
crimes against peace, and crimes against human- 
ity-crimes for which top German leaders were 
jailed or executed; crimes attributed only to 
'them.' If, however, as Herman Goering stated, "In 
a life and death struggle there is no legality" then 
the country should encourage its leaders to 
promote the killing of Vietnamese civilians-black 
panthers-underprivileged people-and students. But 
it should also recognize their privilege to fight by 
any means. If we choose to follow this suicidal 
path instead of working to eliminate the hate and 
greed that divides us, we face inevitable decay and 
a period of violence and revolution totally beyond 
belief. A revolution which knows only destruction. 

In its report to the President (and the nation), the 
President's Commission on Campus Unrest recom- 
mended, "The President seek to convince public 
officials and protestors alike that divisive and 
insulting rhetoric is dangerous. In the current 
political campaign (1970 elections) and throughout 
the years ahead, the President should insist that no 
one play irresponsible politics with the issue of 
campus unrest." Ignoring completely the rational 
policies outlined by the commission, the Nixon 
administration rampaged across the country 
seeking to discredit political dissenters as extrem- 
ists. In the midst of a period of high tensions, 
mounting hatred and misunderstanding on all sides, 
the President has failed as the nation's leader. 
Instead of acting to "bring the country together," 
the administration's self-interest tactics have 
helped to widen the gap. 



The nation's young have called for an end to 
racism, war and the irrelevance and unrespon- 
siveness of the university. They have been met with 
intolerance and forceful restraint. The national, 
state and campus administrations must end blind, 
repressive tactics and respond positively and 
swiftly to rational demands. Police state tactics will 
only discredit the liberal and moderate student 
leaders and turn over power to the extremists. 
Universities must drastically update curricula, 
instigate substantial student input into decison 
making, remove their political-military ties, pro- 
mote academic freedom and university autonomy, 
and terminate racist practices. The country must 
gain the trust and support of the young. This 
country's future lies with its universities. 

On Friday, November 27, J. Edgar Hoover-the 
second greatest director ever to head the 
FBI-announced a plot by an East Coast group, the 
East Coast Conspiracy to Save Lives, to kidnap a 
high government official and demand, as ransom, 
an end to U.S. bombing in Southeast Asia and the 
release of all political prisoners in the nation. He 
refused to identify the official, though claiming 
knowledge of his identity. He also failed to explain 
why no action was taken against the group. He 
continued his announcement by claiming, "We 
have information that black extremists and New 
Left dissidents may resort to aircraft hijackings as 
part of their strategy to get our government to 
meet their demands." Again no evidence was 
disclosed. 

Such statements stink of the unsubstantiated 
accusations so common during the infamous 



McCarthy era of the 1950s. They contribute 
nothing to the easing of tensions. It is little wonder 
when campuses are infiltrated with state and 
federal undercover agents, marijuana users are 
persecuted for a personal freedom which has yet to 
be proven harmful, and political leaders use 
student protest and idealism as a scapegoat for 
personal advancement, that the young have 
developed a distrust and disrespect for law and law 
enforcement officials. Police brutality has been 
demonstrated to the nation in the pig riots of 
Chicago, Kent State, Jackson State and elsewhere. 
Televised incidents of indiscriminate, excessive 
beatings of demonstrators (commie hippies) has 
displayed irrefutable proof to the reluctant 
audiences of middle America. When authorities are 
sent onto campuses outfitted for war, tragedy is 
the logical result. 

Campus unrest has grown from the idealism of a 
sub-culture into a peace movement into a 
diversified program of student-youth protest. 
Misunderstanding, apprehension, fear, hatred and 
violence against campus protest has been encour- 
aged and exploited. Programs by liberal and 
moderate groups have not been taken seriously. 
Harassment and overreaction by law enforcement 
officials has not been effectively punished. 
Appearance and life style have become synony- 
mous with ideology and action. Terrorist activities 
are blamed on a minority but their actions bring a 
war of repression against a generation. Intellect- 
ualism seems grounds for distrust, a different 
appearance grounds for hate and a nation lines up 
to do battle against its youth. 




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Steve budman 



Such activities and beliefs cannot be tolerated. 
Nonviolent protest must be heeded and protected 
if orderly progress is to survive. The majority of 
students support peaceful, rational change. They 
are willing to work within the system if it will 
show its willingness to respond constructively. 
Elements of violence on both sides must be 
isolated and stopped. The country must be brought 
together. The national administration must use its 
power to unify the nation. University administra- 
tions must initiate long overdue reforms, now. The 
country must act as a whole to eliminate the 
conflicts that divide it. 



Coexistence requires compromise and understand- 
ing. Repression and abuse of power require 
revolution. 




harold laios 



iiiiiiiii 



campus unrest 


1 


kent state 


8 


elections 


12 


bishop 


18 


rote 


24 


rugby 


31 


football 


37 


dining hall 


46 


library 


50 


university theatre 


55 


campus atmosphere 


65 


diamond back 


72 


sga 


78 


regents 


82 


pollution 


88 


led 


97 


chapel 


101 


Washington free clinic 


105 



volume 1 issue 1 January 1971 



us is the combined effort of photographer-writer 
teams who have attempted to create an emotional as 
well as a physical record of the university 
community, it is our intent to cover those events and 
personalities which have the greatest significance to 
students, in this way we hope to provide not only a 
permanent record of the year but also an interesting 
and informative magazine, we actively encourage 
feedback and participation by members of the 
community. 



harold a lalos editor 

paul h levin managing editor 



opinions expressed in this magazine are those of the 
editors and respective authors and do not necessarily 
reflect the views of the university. 



us currently publishes three volumes, issue one 
distributed in January, issues two and three in may. 
offices in room 207 journalism building. 454-2230. 



copyright January 1971 , editors of us 

all rights reserved 

no portion of this publication may be duplicated 

without written permission. 



front cover by harold lalos 
rear cover by paul levin 



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Brown, dry leaves now cover the sidewalks 
and the grassy hills where four people died at 
the hands of the Ohio National Guard. 

Couples wander together whispering recollec- 
tions of the day of terror. 

And that damned canope where the order 
was given to fire still stands--a cold, gruesome 
sentry-over the ground once soaked in blood. 

How can we forget? 

How can we, as human beings, resolve the 
feelings of guilt? Will we ever find escape 
from the horror, the sadness, and the shame 
of the murder of our brothers and sisters at 
Kent? 



Anywhere. 



-iarry higgins 



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josh wllkenfeld 




Maryland gained a Republican Senator, an 
additional Democratic Congressman and an 
overwhelming favorite for the governor's chair 
in the 1970 off-year elections. The November 3 
election was billed across the country as one of 
the most important in recent times because of 
the President's minority victory two years ago 
and his troubles with a Democratic Congress. 

The big surprise in the Free State was the 
loss suffered by Senator Joseph D. Tydings, a 
one-time Univeristy SGA President, a liberal 
dove and reform Democrat. But this wasn't the 
year for liberals and those, who Uke Tydings, 
had supported the Vietnam Moratorium a year 
earlier. 

He was replaced by Congressman J. Glenn 
Beall, whose father Tydings had ousted from 
the Senate six years earlier. Beall had full 
support from the President and Vice President, 
and capitalized on well-organized opposition to 
Tydings' gun-control advocacy and on the 
incumbent's aloofness from his constituency. 
Tydings was also badly stung by "Life" 
magazine charges that he engaged in financial 
influence-peddling, charges eventually dis- 
proved but not until after the election. 

As for Beall, the only thing voters were sure 
about was that he is a moderate Republican and 



Steve budman 




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harold lalos 




Paul levin 



that he probably loves his mother. Replacing 
BeaU in Congress was Democrat Goodloe Byron 
from Frederick, whose parents were also 
representatives. In other congressional races, 
voters sent Uberal Republican Gilbert Gude of 
Montgomery County back for another term 
along with Larry Hogan, a Prince Georges 
County Republican who defeated antiwar State 
Sen. Royal Hart. Hogan, strong on crime and 
campus disruptions, is a former FBI agent and 
journalism teacher at the University. 

The biggest upsets were in machine-oriented 
Baltimore City where Parren Mitchell, a black 
professor at Morgan State, beat longtime 
incumbent Samuel Friedel in the primary and 
then won easily in the general election. In a 
neighboring district, young Rhodes scholar Paul 
Sarbanes upset George Fallon, another crusty 
veteran, in the primary and defeated his 
Republican opponent in November. Clarence 
Long in suburban Baltimore and Edward 
Garmatz of the city were re-elected, Garmatz 
with no opposition. 

And on the Eastern Shore, GOP national 
chairman Rogers C. B. Morton had no trouble 
winning re-election, but a month after the 
balloting, he left his post to become Secretary 
of the Interior, replacing Walter Hickel, who 
earlier in the year incurred the President's 
disfavor by saying the White House could be 
paying more attention to youth. (A replace- 
ment for Morton had not been chosen by 
presstime.) 

To no one's surprise. Gov. Marvin Mandel, 
chosen by the legislature two years ago to fill 
out the term of Spiro Agnew, won an 
overwhelming victory after a low-key, million- 
dollar campaign against Agnew-protege C. 
Stanley Blair. Secretary of State Blair Lee was 
elected the state's first lieutenant governor in 



more than 100 years. The week after his 
victory, one of his sons was arrested for 
possession of 23 pounds of marijuana and 
hashish at his dad's home. 

Locally, Prince Georges County got a new 
form of government, home rule-meaning the 
county can pass its own laws rather than relying 
on the entire General Assembly to govern the 
county. Elections Jan. 26 for a county 
executive and a council will be one of the first 
elections in the country in which 1 8 year olds 
vote. 

There are about 16,000 University students 
who, because of the lower voting age and a 
state constitutional amendment wiping out 
residency requirements, may be able to vote in 
the county elections and who have the power 
to have a councilman all their own. (At 
presstime, the state attorney general's office had 
challenged the students' right.) Among the 
candidates for the post of county executive are 
former College Park mayor William Gullet, State 
Senator and former University student Steny 
Hoyer and state's attorney Arthur Marshall, 
whose campus claim to fame is prosecuting the 
University students busted for drug use or for 
occupying buildings. 

Two surprises in the primary and general 
election voting in the county were the defeat of 
Sheriff William Kersey, Who had created his 
own army, navy and air force contrary to the 
wishes of the legal police department; and the 
crushing defeat of commission chairman Fran- 
cis Aluisi and the election of a new interim 
commission, later to be incorporated into the 
new council. A Republican, John Burcham, was 
the first member of his party elected to the 
governing board in 20 years. 

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Last May, when University students were holding 
block parties on Route 1 , campus officials tried several 
appeals attempting to clear demonstrators from the 
boulevard. One of these was the promise of a chancellor 
for College Park. 

On the final night of protest activity last spring after 
a midnight march to President Wilson H. Elkins' house 
on the hill, Major General Edwin T. Warfield of the 
Maryland National Guard reminded students the 
chancellor was coming soon and they could take their 
grievances up with him. And July 1, Chancellor Charles 
Edward Bishop arrived. 

From the beginning, those who met Bishop realized 
he was different from the University officials College 
Park was used to. He is approachable. For the first time 
in 12 years and probably more, it is possible for any 
student to walk in the big office in the main 
administration building and get farther than a 
receptionist. Bishop himself often calls student leaders 
and others he feels he should talk to and requests an 
appointment. Once you pass into the inner sanctum of 
dark paneled walls and Japanese silk screens-office 
decor left over from previous occupants-you are 
entreated to join the chancellor around a coffee table on 
the side of the room. 

Frequently during business conversations he takes 
notes. But even in social situations, he looks the speaker 
directly in the eyes and questions, discusses, concurs or 
objects, always conveying the effect of paying attention. 
He listens. 

The image Bishop has sought is that of open 
responsiveness to students and he is building it by being 
almost omnipresent. 

On the eve of the first day of classes he appeared at a 
rock concert on Fraternity Row where he introduced 
himself and his new administration. The next day he 
attended a rally sponsored by the Democratic Radical 
Union of Maryland after spending the weekend fighting 
an injunction which attempted to prevent the rally and 
others of its nature. Later that week, the chancellor held 
his first convocation, on the mall in front of the 
library-the scene where most of the protest activity had 
begun last spring. 

It's interesting to note that President Elkins-never 
the epitome of openness-cancelled his annual convoca- 
tion two years ago because he was jeered by Students 
for a Democratic Society and confronted by militants 
from the Congress of Racial Equality. 

One wonders how Bishop would react in the same 
situation. Possibly he is acting now to avoid such 
attitudes. Certainly he would be surprised and 
undoubtedly annoyed to discover students felt it 
necessary to use dramatic or even violent tactics to 
reach his attention. 



His instinctive flair for public relations has cautione 
him that his strength lies in being fair and objective 
Knowing that he can't possibly be a hero to all sides ( 
the academic and poUtical spectrum, he has decided 1 
strive for at least their combined respect by stayic 
firmly in the middle. So far, this policy has on' 
dismayed both the more liberal and conservati' 
factions at the University. Both would like to see hii 
take a firm stand one way or the other. Bishop is tc 
clever for that. Again, his instinct tells him to avoid tl 
extremes. 

For the top administrative position on campu 
Bishop is remarkably less a paper pusher than a troub 
shooter, father confessor and court of last resort. Rath 
than initiating policy and positions which flow from tl 
top downward, the majority of Bishop's time is spe 
reducing tensions and resolving conflicts which ha 
built their way from the bottom up. 

In weighing the success of Bishop's handhng 
potential crises so far, it is probably sufficient to s 
that he is still enjoying a relative honeymoon peri< 
with the student body. The only real criticism of Bisb 
at this point which cannot be reasoned away, is that 
avoids dealing with any of the sore spots left over frc 
the previous administration. His excuse is that he canr 
accept responsibility for what happened before he cai 
to College Park. 

It seems reasonable that a newcomer would 
reluctant to pry into the affairs of his predecessors wh 
they are still very much in evidence as his superiors. I 
it is also obvious that those who feel matters are s 
unsettled from last spring have no one else to go 
Possibly Bishop shies away from becoming enmeshed 
the quagmires created by his predecessors because, 1 
any good public relations man, he abhors unpleasa 
ness. Not that he shrinks from conflict. He seems qu 
wiUing to face anything if he is in control. But to cai 
him unaware and surprise him with tension when 
least expects it will produce visible irritation, rare in t 
man who never really loses his cool. 

One surprise he intensely disHkes is discovering t 
someone is attempting to speak for him. 

"Bishop speaks for Bishop," he once told a stud 
who reported one of his administration had passed c 
message purportedly from the chancellor. He does sp 
for himself, deahng directly with the public and m 
media, thereby changing the entire focus of the effti 
of Robert Beach and the University news service. || 
At the end of the first semester of what will doubt 
be a long tenure at the University, it is difficult to ga 
what Bishop's overall effect on the University will 
During these first few months he has even provided 
an across-the-board restructuring of the University, 
regardless of their viewpoint, it seems likely most wc 
agree Bishop is a vast improvement over the stagnai 
which set in at the end of Elkins' 12 years. 

If Bishop has his way, perhaps this spring 
students' fancy will turn back to love, and the 
month of May will be spent strolling the side' 
instead of the streets. 

-Rarer 



18 




photographed by paul levin 




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note 



photographed by paul levin 



Because of its legal status as a land grant 
college, the University of Maryland has 
always had some sort of ROTC program. It 
wasn't always the Air Force that was here. 
Back when Calvert Hall was a new dorm, 
the Army was represented on campus, and 
the University looked more like a service 
academy than an agricultural college. 

Today, the ROTC and the University are 
changed almost beyond recognition. Cal- 
vert Hall is old now, the University is one 
of the foremost academic institutions in 
the United States-and the Air Force is on 
campus. Every Wednesday, drill day, one 
can occasionally see a blue uniform on the 
mall, a sight that indicates the change in 
uniform, and a drop in enrollment since 
AFROTC was made voluntary in 1965. On 
that day. Cadets, under supervision of their 
fellow cadet officers, drill in Reckord 
Armory for an hour, a time span which 
comprises barely one third of the time 
spent in a normal cadet's schedule each 
week. Other activities include office work 
in the cadet office, and classwork which 
ranges from one hour a week for GMC 
cadets (those in the first two years of the 
program) to more than two for POC cadets 
(those in the second two years). Only POC 
cadets receive academic credit for their 
courses, and only those cadets receive the 
government's monthly payment of $50. 

For the cadet who wishes to participate 
in other related activities, there is the 
Arnold Air Society and the Maryland 
Honor Guard. The latter organization is the 
only way a cadet gets to touch a weapon 
(rifles and swords). Cadet participation is 
strictly voluntary. In fact, a few years ago, 
the Pershing Rifles was disbanded by the 
detachment because its members were 
falling behind in their studies. 

ROTC programs at America's colleges 
have been termed essential to the defense 
of the United States. The majority of 
armed forces officers come from ROTC 
programs in civilian educational institu- 
tions. The importance of these programs is 
fully realized by the Federal government in 
its agreement with the University of 
Maryland. Each year as part of its land 
grant agreement, the University pays the 
cadet program 511,000. In turn the U.S. 
government pays the University $250,000 
for keeping the program on campus. So the 
University makes $239,000 for having the 
AFROTC program on campus. The extra 
money is one of the factors that keeps our 
tuition from being three times what it is 
already. 

Today's military forces are part of a 
gigantic bureaucratic machine, immensely 



25 



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complicated and intricate. It is for that 
reason that college ROTC programs are 
valued. The technical and modern aero- 
space Air Force needs experts in manage- 
ment. That is what most cadets are taught. 
Air Force officers sit mostly in chairs, 
rather than airplaine cockpits. The priority 
of values is revealed in the qualifications of 
the faculty. The professor of Air Science 
has a Master of Business Administration 
degree from G.W.U. and an M.S. in Civil 
Engineering from Purdue. The asst. profes- 
sor of Air Science 400 is a Master of 
Aerospace Operations Management at 
U.S.C. and the asst. professor for AS 300 
has an M.S. in Education from U.S.C. 

The civilian emphasis on management is 
not the only such influence in the program. 
No one can escape the program without 
having it pounded in that civilians run the 
military. It is that fact and the value of 
having a non-professional officer corps that 
prompted Harvard's President Dr. Nathan 
M. Pusey to say: 

"Mindful of the lessons of history and 
acutely aware of the dangers to a 
democratic society in the existence of a 
corps of exclusively professional officers 
the Congress established the ROTC." 
Continuing his evaluation of the program 
with a mind to current politics, Pusey gave 
this advice to his fellow Americans; "It 
would be shortsighted in the extreme if 
academic institutions were now to with- 
draw their cooperation from the ROTC 
program because of repugnance to an 
unpopular war." 

-george saunders 




28 



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It's been almost 150 years since 
William Webb Ellis first picked up 
the ball and ran with it but the 
spirit of freedom and individuality 
that he showed is still being carried 
on. Beards, long hair, inebriation, 
cowardice and lack of fitness all 
have their place on a rugby pitch. 
So do the more traditional, close 
cropped, bull-necked, brave Joe 
Colleges commonly associated with 
such sports. The common bond 
engendered by the mingling of 
sweat, blood, desire and muscle in a 
loose scrum is often more perma- 
nent than that of a fraternity to 
which one must pay dues and 
homage. It is a bond that tran- 
scends all cultural boundaries and 
gets back to the nitty-gritty of life 
itself 



There is only one referee and 
that much maligned individual can't 
possibly see everything that is going 
on and thus deprive some crafty 
individual from equalizing the con- 
flict by any means necessary. There 
are no pads because they not only 
cause injuries; they lead players to 
do dangerous things that can injure 
both parties. Ruggers are generally 
friendly sorts though and play 
cleanly, very hard, but cleanly. 
After all, how can you sit down and 
drink with someone whose ear you 
have just bitten off? Violence, nice, 
clean, controlled, violence, with no 
artificial aids, is what rugby is all 
about, and woe to him who 
transcends the unspoken rules 
about what is clean violence. A 
loose ruck is a terrible maelstrom of 
milling feet, elbows, and fists and 
no one with a guilty conscience 
should ever go near one. 

Except for those exceptional 
individuals who can play any sport 
well, rugby seems to be made up of 
persons too slow for track, too 
small for football, too short for 
basketball, too kind for lacrosse, 
too weak for wrestling, too uncoor- 
dinated for swimming or gymnas- 
tics and too dumb for academics. 
As you can see, this eliminates all 
the specialists. The result is a team 
of individuals who are good, both 
on offense and defense; who can 
run, kick, pass, tackle, ruck, dum- 
my and punt with equal ability. A 
rugger is the jack of all trades of the 
sporting world. Since the players 
must fmish the games they start, 
fitness is important, but ruggers 
play rugby to keep fit, they don't 
get fit to play. And anyway, how 
can a sports minded man keep 
"training" when he is also expected 
to drink huge quantities of beer 
after every game, sing lewd songs, 
and stay up late hours traveling 
back and forth from games. 

Rugby is a game. The ruggers 
play rugby. There are no scholar- 
ships, no paid coaches, no team or 
league standings, and any expenses 
are met by the membership. That's 
why the White Flash (a very reliable 
car) is so famous among ruggers and 
why Bruce's car (we had to push it 



31 



out of the Norfolk Tunnel) so 
notorious. Training is done and 
most attend practice sessions but 
there is little pressure to be there. 
Ruggers can usually be found at 
soccer matches and football battles 
because they enjoy them, but they 
are always heard commenting, 
"You wouldn't catch me dead out 
there." Football players usually say 
the same thing about rugby. Varsity 
sports just take up too much time, 
make too many demands on free- 
dom, and losing is too frustrating, 
what with the students, coaches, 
newsmen and what all berating you. 
Rugby is also a social sport. It is 
an opportunity for gentlemen and 
ladies, and other ruggers and rugger 
buggers, to get together. After the 
game both sides meet and have a 
"doctor" look to their wounds. 



None of these doctors are licensed 
by any state and their usual 
prescription is only large quantities 
of medicinal ale, to be taken orally, 
as often as necessary until no pain 
is felt. This medicine and the songs 
ruggers are so fond of often leave 
first time rugby partyers quite 
taken aback. Nude runners, ritual 
dousings with beer, beer slides, 
body paint, zulu warriors, muffin 
men, the mayor of Bayswater's 
daughter, and four and twenty 
virgins from Inverness are all well 
known at Maryland parties. 

To mention ruggers without 
mentioning the social portion of 
their lives is absurd. Most rugger 
buggers are not just the hanger-on 
types who scream, "Whee, 
OHHHoo" and the like, or wish 
they were elsewhere during the 



32 




33 




35 




game. Most are quite knowledge- 
able about the finer points of the 
game and very capable of tackling 
and scrumming. In the early days of 
Maryland rugby, they were often 
the only fans. 

In short, rugby is an experience 
that one must pass through before 
it can be understood. Explaining it 
to the uninitiated is a lot like trying 
to elaborate on an acid trip, or 
making love, or going through basic 
training, or sky diving, or any of a 
hundred other experiences that a 
person can undergo. Anyone who 
has tried rugby can tell you 
something about it, but to know it, 
you'll have to try it too. 

-larry habits 



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36 






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sitting in the stands 

next to people 

breathing alcohol 

spilling cokes on sticky pants 

and screaming sore-throated cries 

"yea... yea... yea..." 
but the wrinkle-faced lady 
next to me doesn't care 

We won, We lost 

We... 

i feel a part of a grand cause 

jumping up and down on the bleachers 

daring the planks to crack under my feet 

i want to run over and tackle the old lady 

with the wrinkled face 

and yell in her sagging ears 

"We! We!" 
but she wouldn't understand 
old ladies let their wrinkles get in the way 
they don't see football 
as natural aggression 

Where's my uniform 

the one i used to wear in fifth grade 

when everybody was the same size 

and it didn't hurt to get tackled 

the one that was on sale at sears for 1 2.95 

with the split crotch and the loose helmet that bounced 

on my head when i ran 



i want to run out on the field 

catch a 99-yard touchdown pass from bob tucker 

and run back 

sneering at the old lady 

through grass-stained lips 

but she still wouldn't understand 




42 



i want a lockerroom to take home 

and play with 

sweaty walls and football players 

telling dirty jokes 

about their coaches 

and the coaches going home and telling their wives 

dirty jokes about the players 

a blackboard with x's and o's 
explaining plays that work 
only in chalk 

someone is always in the shower 
with wrinkled skin 
just to keep the lockerroom steamy 
so you can't see who is laughing/crying 
after the game 

i want a sprained body 

and a rubdown 

starting at the shoulder blades 

and then a tightly wound bandage for my leg 

because i like the 

smell 

of fresh tape 

--larry blonder 



44 




45 



photographed by Steve budtr. 





48 



I 



DtninG baLL 



"Meat loaf is under investigation and the 
isagna contract has been given to another 
lanufacturer," said food service director Milo 
. Knight. 

The dining halls responded to student 
Dmplaints about food this year by removing 
epper steaks and beef turnovers from their 
inner menus. 

There were other changes. Tuna, egg, ham 
id chicken salads were added to luncheon 
lenus this year and serving lines were 
sfrigerated so that more puddings and 
srishable milk dishes could be served. 

Furthermore, the scramble system was 
itained and waiting Unes were eliminated, 
nder the new system, students could walk 
ght up to the item of their choice and put it 
a their tray. 

Yet diners in the six University dining halls 
ill were not satisfied. One night, the second 
vel of dining hall 1 exploded into a food 
ot. A few students started tossing fried 
licken at their friends, and in a few minutes 
licken, spinach, milk and desserts were 
ying across the cavernous room. 

Unlike a similar food riot last year, 
rganized by a radical campus group, this 
Jar's food-throwing derby was unrehearsed 
id completely spontaneous. 

An upset Knight wondered why it hap- 
jned. He "couldn't understand" why stu- 
;nts were dissatisfied, emphasizing that his 
3or has always been open for student 
iedback. 

He noted the additions and cancellations 
ti the menu, the scramble system, and other 
[novations. He pointed with pride to the 
hanksgiving, Christmas and steak dinners 
lus other expensive, elegant meals. He 
raised the new Sunday system of serving, 
here students can now eat dinner from 2 to 
:15 p.ra In the past, a dinner-lunch had 
Jen served until 1 p.m. 

In the beginning of the year. Knight had 
lid "My department is set up to protect and 
itisfy students." 

Knight and his crew tried hard. Meanwhile, 
artial board began its second year as a means 
)r students to pay less money and eat fewer 




meals in the dining hall. The charge for the 
partial board program is $50 less than full 
board, though the partial board meal costs 
average out to $4.50 per day per student. FuU 
board students pay an average of $2.60 per 
day. 

Partial board will not be available next 
year, because the Board of Regents has 
decided the plan is not economically feasible. 
Only full board will be offered. 

Looking to the future in a more optimistic 
light. Knight still looks forward to the 
construction of a new dining hall in the gulch. 
The new facility, scheduled to be completed 
by this spring near the temporary buildings in 
lot V, was shelved temporarily as funds were 
transferred to the construction of an addition 
to the Student Union. Knight now expects 
the new dining hall construction to get under 
way this fall. 

Changes. New facilities. At least Knight will 
be satisfied-until the next spontaneous 
food-throwing brouhaha. 

-david lightman 



49 



UBTzany 




Doomed eternally to stare-down the 
administration building, McKeldin Ubrary 
quietly squats at the center of the campus, 
suffering from indigestion brought on by 
crowded conditions and overstuffed stacks. 

A campus crossroad is the front porch, 
where Testudo reigns subUmely, paying httle 
attention to noisy political rallies but glorying 
in the caress of a near-forgotten legend. 

Through the front doors tramp 20,000 feet 
daily, the scholars in search of solace or 
solution. "In books lies the soul of all past 
time," decrees the chiseled slogan on the 
front wall. Inside the average age of the more 
than 1,000,000 books is 25 years. 

Dedicated in May, 1958 in honor of Gov. 
Theodore R. McKeldin, the Ubrary was 
designed to house slightly more than 500,000 
volumes. 

It was heralded then as "the biggest and the 
best of its kind in the area." But today it is 
overcrowded, understaffed, confusing and 
foreboding. Its shelves are crammed to near 
double capacity. 

Student assistants are advised only to 
explain the cataloging system-never to 
accompany the searching student to the 
correct floor or shelf. A five-year job of 
reclassification, from the Dewey Decimal 
system to the Library of Congress catalog 
method begun 10 years ago, is yet to be 
completed. The stacks are dusty and dimly 
lighted; the study carrels cold and uncomfort- 
able. 

The costs of replacing stolen or damaged 
books is never less than $10,000 annually. 
And, there is nothing more aggravating to the 
researching student than a book missing a few 
torn-out pages. McKeldin's seating capacity 



is 2,000, room for less than 10 per cent of the 
student body. The Ubrary staff has admitted 
that any good university library should have 
capacity for 30 per cent of the students. 

But for all its faults, McKeldin is still the 
University's library-where, maybe, the book 
needed for a sociology paper might be found. 
Where, maybe, the bound volume of "Life" 
that includes the issue reporting My Lai might 
be found early in the morning. Where, maybe, 
a last-chance-before-the-exam copy of "Hedda 
Gabler" reposes on the shelf, stripped of 
pages 22, 23, 40, 41, 48 and 49. 

Library administrators are confident the 
undergraduate Ubrary now under construction 
will ease the pressing problems at McKeldin. 
Scheduled to open this fall, the new Ubrary 
will feature increased study faciUties, with 
some small rooms designed for four or five 
students working together. 

A large reference room will operate on a 
24-hour basis, with a lower level reserve 
reading room planned to be nearly twice the 
size of its counterpart at McKeldin. The 
building will have a seating capacity of 4,000 
and is costing $7,598,000. 

Undergraduates thereafter will be Umited m 
their access to the volumes and stacks of 
McKeldin. Administrators have indicated that 
a closed stacks poUcy may be instituted in 
McKeldin after books assigned to the 
undergraduate Ubrary have been transferred. 
But, for another semester at least, the 
problems of McKeldin will remain the same. 
The men at the front door will continue to 
cUck off 10,000 frustrated students a day and 
booklooking will remain as exasperating and 

challenging as ever. 

-bob hobby 



SO 



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cinfosRsft^y tbeatRe 




photographed by harold lalos 





Always an ego trip for the performers. Every high 
school preview audience since the beginning of high 
school preview audiences has given them a standing 
ovation. It helps them through the next few nights. 
Standing ovations are exhilarating even when they don't 
mean much. The kids get caught up. Someone stands 
and everybody realizes he's just seen something he can 
tell everybody about. A couple of other stragglers stand 
and it must have been a great show. So everyone stands 
and the applause gets louder and more enthusiastic as 
they congratulate themselves for having the presence of 
mind to be at what is surely the most exciting theatrical 
event of the last.... 

And for a moment, the cast can forget-forget the 
missed lines and the missed cue and the follow spot that 
stopped following midway through an important 
speech. They can forget that the next night's audience 
won't be quite so charitable. And they can even forget 
for a moment that the director won't forget, even for a 
moment, any of the mistakes they made. 

They'll have to be better tomorrow. That's what all 
those weeks of rehearsals were for. How many thou- 
sands of times did they repeat that one stupid tableau so 
they'd have it right? How many hours did they sit 
staring in a mirror at heavy blue eyelids and too-red 
cheeks and that awful grey stuff in their hair that won't 
really wash out for weeks. And to cap it off with the 
absurdity of costume parades~"Okay, move your arm in 
that gesture you use when you first meet him. ...Does it 
pull too much in the shoulders?. ..and you still need the 
wide belt and that velvet sash thing." 

Somewhere along the line, it occurs to them that 
they're involved in what must appear to outsiders as a 
student enterprise. It isn't really, and they know it. It's 
despiriting. The sets are designed by a prof; the shows 
are always directed by profs and the box office is run 
like a business. In fact, the only aspects of the 
production which aren't run to a major degree by 
non-students besides acting are the ones no one is 
supposed to notice. The students who construct the 











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59 




sets, man the lights, control sound levels and take care 
of the props have the least appealing jobs in the 
productions. They give the shows their claim to the 
term "student" but that isn't enough. The one effort 
University Theatre made to become a truly student 
xganization-their rejection last year of the music 
department's semi-professional operas as part of their 
".chedule-earned them a slap in the face from Student 
Government in the form of a budget slash of over 
K.OOO, enough money to mount an entire production. 
But it isn't a professional operation. When things are 
nessed up, students alv^ays seem to have the responsibil- 
ty. The dirty stage the cast keeps tripping on and the 
;orner of the staircase that never got painted aren't 
eally the designer's fault. And v^hen a scene doesn't 
vork as v/ell as it should, the actors usually get blamed 
ather than the director. 

Working under those two directors is a lot more 

rouble than it's worth anyway. The differences are so 

Xeat between them. Roger Meersman, a mountainous 

ndividual who could probably find a licentious angle to 

Mary Poppins," directs in pictures. The cast moves 

rem tableau to tableau but has to find its own logic 

vithin each. Individual parts aren't directed so much as 

rand sweeping movements. Ron O'Leary, thin, delicate 

ut firm and uncompromisingly optimistic, directs each 

rioment to within an inch of its life. Every gesture 

eems to be planned but they don't always add up to a 

ig moment. Both of them, in silent, unmentioned 

ompetition for the biggest theatrical effect, the biggest 

urst of applause, the most spectacular idea. 

And to what purpose? Why do they expend all that 

ffort. Why does the cast put up with rehearsals at 3 

.m. and physical demands no professional director 

'ould even think of asking? Why is there always activity 

1 the theatre? So little of what really happens there is 

/er seen by the audience. The polish, the glimmer of 



talent, the glitter and sparkle are almost an after- 
thought. 

The illusion that is theatre is absurdly transient. It 
exists only on the stage and only for a few hours. The 
reality of theatre is the hours on stage practicing an 
entrance, the eternity spent in front of mirrors. And for 
most of the performers, the reality of theatre is 
rehearsing two parts at once. As one show reaches the 
dress rehearsal stage, the next is having its costumes 
designed. The work is never completed, nor is it the sort 
of activity that can be called communal. 

The bustle on stage is deceptive. There are lots of 
people involved; they are doing similar things; they 
work together; but there is an aura of loneliness. A sad, 
illusory feeling as hard to define as any emotion 
conveyed on the lighted stage pervades the empty one 
between productions. 

When it's over there is nothing they can save. A 
program perhaps, maybe a picture and a couple of 
telegrams. Three years from now, even less, they won't 
be able to recall the lines. When the lights dim on 
closing night, there's nothing they can carry away. 

Certainly they don't do it for the reviews even if the 
reviewer at the Post did say last year that they were the 
best college theatre troupe in the Washington area. 
That's not what they're working for. And it isn't the 
glitter or the congratulations. 

The only thing they can take with them is the 
applause. That moment when the lights go out and the 
clapping starts and someone stands and everybody 
realizes he's just seen something he can tell everybody 
about. So everybody stands and the applause gets louder 
and more enthusiastic as they congratulate themselves 
for having the presence of mind to be at what is surely 
the most exciting theatrical event of the last.... 

And for a moment, the cast can forget. 

"bob mondello 



64 




harold laic 



Bota 



65 




campus 
atmospYiGfze 



Amid the tall columns of unending 
Georgian architecture the faceless 
shapes evolve. Yielding to a multi- 
tude of forces and pressures they 
live. Transformed into countless, 
always minutely different, mut- 
ants-living, learning, changing, re- 
acting. Endlessly they come-believ- 
ing, wanting, hoping-they are all 
different yet they are all the same. 
Into the system they feed, hoping 
always hoping, as their person 
becomes people before the ma- 
chine. Abandoned, lost in a world 
that can no longer afford individ- 
uality; a programmed world depen- 
dant upon conformity. Carefully 
molded, carefully shaped into 
shapelessness; formed to the time- 




harold lalos 






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larry higgins 



69 



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70 




less conformity of a master stencil. 
Innocently they come, creating new 
inputs into a closed circuit. Chal- 
lenging the ancient procedures of a 
modern relic. Faced with the 
non-logic of obsolescence, its age 
old structure retaliates. Still they 
come-ever increasing, screaming, 
pleading, demanding to be known, 
to be recognized, to remain recog- 
nizable. Will they change or be 
changed? Will the endless pattern 
remain endless; or will the machine 
be adapted by those it must in turn 
adapt; or will it topple under the 
logic of its non-logic? 

The wind passes through the stately 
columns. The sun and moon rise 
and set. The skies are clear then 
cloudy. It rains. 

Still they come, conforming to it as 
they attempt to conform it. Single 
faces in faceless groups. Living in a 
microcosm of distrust, fear, and 
hate over idealism and individual- 
ity. They are pretty pictures in a 
pretty setting, surrounded by pol- 
lution. Still they come, bringing 
hope to despair, concern to apathy. 
Products of an environment they 
did not produce. Misunderstanding 
as they are misunderstood. Silently 
screaming to be heard. They are all 
different. They are we and we are 
the University of Maryland. We are 
the world. We are.. .we are me and 
me is alone. Help me. 

It rains. Footprints glisten autono- 
mous. A cat watches. Classes start 
and finish; semesters begin and end. 
The seasons change. It snows. 

I am an individual. I must remain 
different. Yet we are one; we must 
remain together. We are alone. Help 
us. 

-harold lalos 



larry higglns 



r)Bk 




.-*^^^ 



At about 4 p.m. every day, there may or may 
not be any stories planned for the Diamondback's 
front page. An hour later.there may be about four 
or five written or being written. And at 10 p.m., 
people can be trying to figure out what to do with 
those stories because they have been superceded 
by still another set of stories that will go on the 
front page. (Somehow, campus news has the habit 
of happening at 9 or 10 p.m.) 

Diamondback staffers are learning to be 
flexible, learning to bend according to the 
exigencies of time, space and priorities; thus 
learning to be professionals. Diamondback staffers 
accept more responsibility ultimately than most 
professional newspaper journalists ever do, and for 
some reason, Diamondback staffers have a long 
record of success in the public media. 

Before each paper arrives on campus hastily 
bundled, 50 at a time, most of the contents of the 
paper has been in one or another stage of a 
two-day cycle. 



photographed by warren hill 




o^v.^ 



y-nysiCiox 











72 




Copy on the inside pages with the exception of 
sports IS funneied through the news editors to the 
copy desk, run four nights a week and Saturday 
mornings, by the copy editor. This person's job is 
one of the most crucial, because, together with 
each daily editor, he is initially responsible for the 
copy, headlines and newsplay of the inside pages. 
Editing copy means knowing "style" (no Ph D 
is ever referred to as Dr., basketball hall is the Cole 
student activities building; call him either SGA 
President Stu Robinson or Stu Robinson, SGA 
president...and so on) which takes years to get into 
your head, by which time some energetic soul has 
finally rewritten the stylebook. Editing involves 
headline writing. Good headline writers, many of 
whom got their start on the Diamondback copy 
desk, have a valuable skill. Most people take 
a headline for granted, without realizing that 
someone had to count it out and rewrite it 100 
times, to make the words fit. (People who enjoy 
puzzles usually can write good heads.) 

When the inside copy for the Wednesday paper 
is finished Monday night, it is driven by someone 
to Suburban Record, the Diamondback's Silver 
Spring composition shop. Tuesday, Record typists 
type the copy and production people put the ads 
together and process the photography for photo 
offset composition. 

Tuesday afternoon, early evening, late evening 
and early Wednesday morning (until possibly 4 
a.m. Wednesday) are devoted, by some, to getting 
the Wednesday paper out while the copy editor is 
working on Thursday's paper. 

The news editor has assigned stories and 
pictures, and after consulting with the associate 
editor, managing editor and editor-in-chief, a 
tentative schedule of coverage and news play is 
established. 

Subject to change, of course, at any time, often 
every half hour for the next seven hours. 

From 6 p.m. until, to the chagrin of the people 
who work every night, often 3 a.m., copy is 
written and edited either in the Diamondback 
offices in the journalism building or at the Record 



73 




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74 





\''''%ik'tKm: 






75 



or sometimes, during elections and crises, in 
Baltimore. 

The associate editor or the daily editor (five 
days, five papers, five daily editors) does a front 
page layout. Often there is another and another 
and another...until the stories fit or new stories 
replace them. 

After the copy is relayed to the Record, the fun 
really begins. All night long, v^'hile the biggies were 
planning the front page, people were in Silver 
Spring proofreading the inside pages, the sports 
pages and the editorial pages. A prerequisite for 
working in an offset composition shop is a deep 
love for "cut and paste." When copy is cut, paper 
strips are sliced with scissors or a razor blade. 
Putting it back together is done with glue or wax. 

To get stories to the Record, set, edited, moved 
around and finally pasted up usually takes until 
2:30 in the morning. When the last flat, a positive 
which is used to make the offset negative, has been 
rolled and is placed in the big green box, the 
Diamondback is on its way to Easton, yes, folks, 
Easton-across-the-bay, where it's printed. Every 
day. And that's how the Diamondback gets 
together. 

Not surprisingly, working there is a seven-day a 
week job for some people. Friday is their only 
semi-day off, because on Saturday morning, 
somebody has to wake up enough to start the 
Monday paper and so it goes... 



intity of graffiti. 

Copies of "Open Sights,*' volume 
)er eight are strewn on every c 
3ople sit waiting and talking: b 
jceive their free^ services. 

|ort blond-haired girl, called 
Ing with an ash tray full of cigs 
ler elbow, 
isly fidgeting her 
ced over the tray, 
bouncing on the 
**Don*t let Dei 
h e'll say I'm dum la^ 

[wkys says Pm dumb/l 
Is someone to pick on.** 
put back in the tray and 
ler cigarette as she waited. 
le clinic offers basic medical facl 
e staff of more than 200 volunteers 
th basic problems in the fields of 
jease, abortion, draft, drugs ai 




^ 




76 




But Diamondback may be a historical curiosity 
next year. If the state legislature, the regents and 
the University administration continue in the 
direction they are headed, all student publications 
may be forced to become independent by next 
fall. 

Independence may mean no University funds 
and, in the most extreme form, no use of 
University facilities. The chances of Diamondback 
in its present form surviving that kind of cut are 
slim. 

The advantages to the student body of having a 
journalism department paper or an administration 
paper are debatable. Other schools whose media 
are part of the academic curriculum are treated to 
editorials about the beauty of the weather and the 
wonderfulness of the administration. 

Without at least a reasonable two-year transition 
from the present state of financial support to 
financial independence, Diamondback and the 
other media could fold and be replaced by the 
journalism Jingles or the Administration Gazette. 
A comedown, at best. 

But for the time being, Diamondback will 
appear Monday through Friday during the 
semester and, in crisis, during exams. 

And for the time being, 60 years of journalistic 
freedom will be unbroken. 



-susan gamen 



77 




larry i i 



The 1970 Student Government Association 
administration was inaugurated the night of the 
Skinner building sit-in and it ended the day of the 
Board of Regents vote on the new disciplinary 
rules. In 1970, the SGA was more involved with 
the state government and the University adminis- 
tration than ever before, but rarely was there a 
distinct conclusion to any of the issues. In most 
cases, the issues and the term of office of SGA 
members did not exactly coincide and as a result, 
many of the problems that had plagued students in 
1968 when the first activist SGA took office, 
continued through 1970. At the same time, 
however, personality clashes and internal disputes 
overshadowed the substantial nature of the issues 
the SGA dealt with. 

The 1970 SGA pledged itself to reestablish 
liaison with the state government and it got its 
first test over the student activities fee. The $18 



activities fee, which is collected for the SGA to 
distribute to over 30 campus organizations, came 
under attack from the state General Assembly 
because the fee and its counterpart at Morgan 
State College subsidized several controversial 
activities and publications. As a result, Thomas 
Hunter Lowe, speaker of the House of Delegates 
pressured for a bill that would make the fee 
voluntary-Lowe's goal being to force the SGA 
into a position of being unable to finance anything 
controversial with the fee because only a minority 
of students would pay the fee if they didn't like 
what it was being used for. Furthermore, he felt 
that state money such as the fee should not be 
used for anything the state had no control over. 

SGA's state affairs director worked over the 
summer lobbying for the defeat of the bill, and by 
November, the original intent of the bill had beer 
defeated. Instead, the Board of Regents wa5 
instructed by the legislative council, to exert mow 



I 



78 



mplete authority over SGA allocations. In a 
Dvember regents' meeting, SGA President Stu 
abinson threatened to dissolve the SGA if the 
lard assumed direct control of the funds and in a 
amatic reversal, the regents voted to study the 
lestion of activity fee control until this month. 
SGA also succeeded in continuing to expand the 
iportunity for students to take fewer general 
ucation requirements. SGA's academic affairs 
rector, working with the University Senate and 
e Arts and Sciences Academic Council, was 
•gely responsible for the elimination of the 
reign language requirement and the lessening of 
her requirements after months of grueUng 
mmittee meetings. 

1970, however, was also the year the SGA as an 
ganization attempted and largely failed to 
annel energy, released last May during the strike, 
ward solving problems on campus, at the state 
rel and in the federal government. Sometimes 
is was beyond the control of SGA. One student 
ider for example, tried to register large numbers 

students in time for the November elections, 
stead a court injunction obtained by a local 
ilitician silenced all but one day of that effort. 
Campaign Involvement Week was a case where 
JA found itself financing the invitation of local 
d state office candidates and having only a 
jidful of students take the trouble to come and 
Ik with the visitors. 

This was also the year of open SGA hearings on 
e proposed disciplinary rules and regulations and 
I ROTC. In both cases, where SGA asked for 
)inions, advice and information from the campus 
immunity, so few spectators came that the 
immittee panels often outnumbered the obser- 
rs. 

Pushing for improved student services, SGA's 
jdent services director usually found himself 
ainst the same wall that had existed for the past 
n years. Administrators who had been at the 
liversity since before most of its current 
idents had been bom, too often tended to say, 
t can't be done now and here's why," rather 
an, "Let's see how we can do it as soon as 
ssible." Pressure for increased campus lighting, 
lor coded and telephone equipped parking lots, 
;huttle mini-bus and a discount laundry all were 
shed aside in the pursuit by administrators of 
; goal of not rocking the institutional boat. 
Finally, an issue that had been simmering for a 
ig period of time emerged in the demand for the 
r. of Cole student activities building for the 
Ivolutionary People's Constitutional Convention. 
Sident pressure for the use of the building 
bught to light a series of long-standing grievances 
33ut administrative control of the building. 
^ hough the convention was not held, the 
CTtroversy demonstrated inconsistencies in the 
hidling of various student fees. The student 
aivities fee was student controlled, while the 
a letic fee and the student fees which built the 
aivities building are run as the personal fiefdom 
oJim Kehoe-a discrepancy certain to loom larger 
a students and the SGA push harder for student 
iiolvement in all levels of the University. 

Student government at this University is 
cingingmore rapidly than ever before-five years 
'wo Greek political parties had exclusive 
• ol over student offices and SGA's primary 
p pose was to provide shows, dances, concerts 
al to subsidize the Diamondback, the yearbook 
a:l a few clubs and bands. In 1970, the old parties 
*'l loyalties have totally disappeared and 
ahough the shows, dances, bands and concerts 
sll remain, the SGA is now primarily a lobbyist 
f' students to the chancellor's office and to 
AaapoUs. How weU it fulfills these new functions 
w determine whether it wiU continue. 

-j brooks specter 




losh wilkenfeid | 



79 




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4: 







josh wllkenfeld 



Later this month, the Board of Regents will meet 
to determine if they will seize control of student 
activity fees. The Student Government Association 
has voted to abolish itself if this happens. Even if 
they remain in existence their function will be near 
zero. Given these conditions and one of the largest 
turnouts since finance committee disputes, the SG A, 
at its Dec. 10 meeting, proceeded to demonstrate to 
the audience and itself how totally inept it really is. 
The insueing circus was in accurate keeping with the 
Mickey Mouse award presented to President Stu 
Robinson at the outset of the meeting. 

"Fiddling while Rome burns" was the comment of 
one vice presidential candidate during discussion of 
the most inconsequential issue of a student activities 
banquet. Sec. Grace Greenburg sparked the hour-long 
dispute over a $300 banquet for SGA, heads of 
activities and of the student activities department 
Overlooking profound arguments such as, "A free 
dinner is the only thing we get out of all this," SGA 
gratiously eliminated its banquet. 

But it is our student government There were times 
that night when the roar of the crowd, which hovered 
around 40, was similar to the clammer that greets 
Lefty Driesell in Cole student activities building 
before a game. 

Showing the strain of his inability to control the 
crowd or the legislators (it was difficult to 
differentiate), SGA Vice President Mike Blank tried 
to limit debate and adjourn the meeting repeatedly 
and unsuccessfully. Obviously disgusted, he answered 
one legislator's request to create order with a 
mumbled, "I don't give a shit" The circus continued. 

If you didn't know that half the group was 
fraternity men attempting to use SGA as a stepping 
stone to Baltimore politics, you could believe they 
were all Yippies. It is hard to imagine that such a 
large group of apparent idiots could come together 
other than by design. 

Yelling and screaming and name calling, either 
practice for the upcoming election or inter-house 
squabbling, caused one to charge that it was the 



largest fraternity meeting he had ever seen, and two 
presidential candidates to beg the group to save the 
mudslinging for the campaign, v^ich was to have 
started that morning. 

However, because of technical (constitutional) 
difficulties, Dec. 16 elections, which President Stu 
Robinson had lobbied furiously for, were in direct 
conflict with two provisions of the SGA constitution, 
which were, in turn, in conflict with each other. One 
specified elections should be held in "spring," the 
other stipulated "spring semester." So, presumably 
to salvage early elections, legislature voted 10 to 7 to 
have spring legally begin Dec. 9 on the College Park 
campus. The move added neptive points to SGA's 
credibility and forced at least four people to resign 
from their posts. 

Strangely enough, on Dec. 10 the temperature 
reached an unseasonable 55 degrees and truly 
frightened experienced SGA watchers feared the 
circus had been vested with some mystical power. 
Winter weather returned, though, after Central 
Student Judicial Board determined that spring means 
the second semester. 

The major uproar, however, came after an attempt 
to impeach Robinson. The motion was defeated by 
the same people who have been screaming all year 
that the best thing for SGA would be a new 
president, even Mike Blank. The attempt to at least 
institute proceedings was defeated because the great 
race for office has begun. Students outside the 
tarnished circle of SGA are not aware of the shit that 
is shoveled there everyday and, if they care enough 
about student power to vote, will probably follow 
Robinson's endorsement blindly. So the private 
backstabbers become the public supporters and 
Robinson stays. 

It is certainly clear that such performances cannot 
be allowed. Students must take the time to seek out 
candidates that can exercise responsible leadership 
and vote for them. If they do not then they deserve 
to witness the greatest show on campus-in all three 
rings. 



When the Board of Regents sits around 
its long conference table for a meeting, 
the University listens. 

It listens because the twelve-busi- 
nessmen, educators, lawyers and a house- 
wife-who make up the board-are also the 
final authority in determining all Univer- 
sity policies. 

It listens because the Board of Regents 
is the final authority in determining what 
the University buys and sells, what the 
University wants and doesn't want, what 
is good for the University and what is 
bad. 

And it listens because the regents 
decide, in their monthly meetings, what 
the University is. 

Mandatory student fees, disciplinary 
regulations and acreage allotments for 
tomatoes, (the regents double as the State 
Board of Agriculture) are among consid- 
erations on which the board hears 



testimony, mediates arguments and then 
passes The Word. 

Their job is a controversial one and for 
every student, faculty member, adminis- 
trator or alumnus who agrees with their 
decision on the role of the University, 
there is someone or thousands who 
vocally, and sometimes violently, dis- 
agree. 

The regents' action this year in 
establishing new disciplinary procedures 
met considerable opposition from various 
University groups, chief among them the 
liberal-to-radical student population. 

The regulations provide for seven day 
and possibly longer, suspensions of 
students violating certain University 
guidelines, limited prohibitions on public 
speaking and mandatory student self- 
identification on request of designated 
administrators and faculty members. 

The regents' move for control of 
student activity fee allocations in the 
middle of the year produced an uproar 
among Student Government Association 
officers in the habit of dispensing the 
nearly half million dollars collected 
annually from the fee. 

The board voted to assume control of 
the fees in its November meeting but 
changed its mind after such actions as 
SGA President Stu Robinson threatening 
to dissolve SGA and mentioning the 
possibility of student violence. 

Other student organizations have also 
expressed displeasure at actions taken by 
the board-and even dissatisfaction with 
its continued existence. 




82 




photographed by larry higgins 



83 





85 



.1 




86 




The Democratic Radical Union of 
Maryland lists elimination of the board as 
one of its five 1 970-71 demands. 

A newer group, the Student Commit- 
tee to Abolish the Regents claims it is 
working to replace the regents with a 
University assembly comprised of mem- 
bers of the University community. 

Neither has succeeded, to the surprise 
of no one, and the regents continue to 
formulate University policy. 

There is hope, however, for those bent 
on removing what has been the regents' 
conservative influence on the University. 
The Board of Regents is changing. 

The first black ever to be named to the 
board, Edward Hurley, became a regent 
during the summer. At the same time, 
Elizabeth Deegan, 25-year-old University 
alumna, became one of the youngest 
persons ever to serve on the board. 

The appointment of Hurley and 
Deegan introduced elements of youth and 
UberaUsm, relatively speaking, to the 
traditionally ancient makeup of the 
board. 

Older board members have adopted an 
outlook somewhat more amenable to 
general student and University needs as a 
result of student activism. 

Perhaps as never before, the regents are 
attempting to become a positive force in 
the process of building the University. 

It can only help. 

-chad neighbor 



amntfMSKm&i 




87 




josh wllkenfeld 




sh wllkenfeld 





josh wilkenfeld 



90 



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94 



And God blessed them, and God said to them, "Be 
fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue, 
and have dominion over the fish of the sea and 
over the birds of the air and over every living thing 
that moves upon the earth." 



pollution 



Genesis 1 :28 



And they did. Not only did they subdue and have 
ominion over, but in Hving testimony to their 
iperiority they also created smog and teeming city 
[lettos, chlorinated hydrocarbon pesticides and over- 
opulation. Into the environment they spilled nitrous 
xides, lead, radioactive isotopes and a multitude of 
ther deadly poisons. Out of the once sparkling and 
iear streams, rivers and lakes, they created sewage 
umps-reservoirs of industrial waste-choking and 
illing fish and fowl alike. Into the landscape they 
irved graveyards of autos and scrap, leaving for waste 
\e skeletons of the very machinery they had used to 
angest and contaminate both land and atmosphere, 
hey allowed huge industries to reach out and grasp the 
ivironment with hands of filth and mire. Their God 
as named Growth-GNP. And in worshipping him, they 
;tabhshed a system more responsive to industry and its 
esires than to life itself. They raped the land. 
Human history has taught that the conquering role is 
/entually self-defeating. Man, who is ultimately 
^pendent upon his natural community for even the air 
; breathes, is witnessing in the seventies the results of 
s self-destruction. This is not to say that the problem 
new. Recent interest by the media, and ecology as a 
)litical cause, have simply sharpened man's focus. In 
merica it began with the first frontiersman, who 
iving hastily utilized his natural resources at hand, 
oved westward leaving his ravage behind, without a 
ought to the future-"from sea to shining sea." 
rowth and development were important then as they 
e now. But growth and development of what? The 
lestion is pertinent, because today, in spite of all the 
If-destructive awareness, the process continues. 
Underlying the whole problem is the fact that from 
rth, man is conditioned to accept as natural what is 
tually unnatural. It has taken drastic incidents like the 
istruction of 80 per cent of the songbird population at 
rd Island, Illinois by pesticides or the oil disasters of 
Inta Barbara to jar man to the reality of what is 
ippening to his eco-systems. Locally, driving daily 
I'wn U.S. Route 1 is an excellent example of eye 
I'llution with its neon signs, billboards, hamburger 
nnds and gas stations, virtually stacked one upon 



another, without even a second thought of its 
appearance. In addition, in man's mad desire to 
consume he has continuously overlooked the problem 
of disposing of the resulting waste. Last year 
municipahties spent an estimated S4.5 billion to collect 
and dispose of nearly 350 milhon tons of trash, and by 
1980, projected sohd waste will have grown to more 
than 500 milUon tons a year. 

Then man ranted and raved on Earth Day, April 22, 
1970 to save his earth. President Nixon outlined specific 
plans for environmental control in his State of the 
Union message to the 91st Congress in February of last 
year. But less has been spent on pollution during this 
administration than during the previous one. 

November of this year, the University was named as 
one of the 118 operations in violation of state water 
standards. The University's violation is sediment 
pollution due to the unchecked washing away of soil 
from construction sites. But state officials did not take 
any immediate action to force compliance with the 
standards. 

The biggest offenders of pollution are automobile 
manufacturers and oil companies. But at the time of the 
printing of this yearbook, the Nixon Administration was 
in the process of stopping the 91st Congress from 
setting a 1976 deadline for development of a 
pollution-free car. 

"...The 1970's absolutely must be the years when 
America pays its debt to the past by reclaiming the 
purity of its air, its waters, and our living 
environment. It is literaUy now or never." 



Now or never? 



-Richard M. Nixon 



-ruth sievers 




96 




97 



ten 



Education is not one of the functions of a large 
university-a fact realized and dealt with by the people of the 
Intensive Educational Development Program. In this 
sprawling University where every student is a number, an ID, 
too httle individual attention is the major student-professor 
gripe. 

Initiated in September, 1969, lED gives vital educational 
and psychological support to about 186 freshmen and 
sophomores (mostly black), who entered the University 
without the traditional academic credentials or preparation. 
The philosophy of the program is baSed on the appreciation 
of individual differences among students and the effective use 
of these differences to provide a well-rounded education. 

The flexible admission standards are used extensively 
throughout the program with the greater emphasis placed on 
personal interviews and recommendations. An interesting 
result of the personal counseling is that sophomores who 
began in the program last year have a higher grade point 
average than the University-wide sophomore average. 

Originally, a bridge for high school students in the Upward 
Bound program, lED has also become a comfort station for 
many other students who need some sort of attachment to 
stand the pressures of studying and living in a seemingly 
hostile environment. Their problems cover everything from 
money, to difficulties in communication with whites, to their 
own families. And because of the day-to-day contact with 
their counselors some lED participants refer to the program 
as a "family." 

Small group counseling is a vital part of the program's 
apparent success-small groups where the counselor and 
student have a common point of emotional reference. 
Another good aspect of the program is that the student 
experiences no obstacles in a massive web of bureaucracy, no 
chain of command. Students have a part in the 
decision-making. 

All students are officially part of the program for two 




98 



photographed by cathy lee 




99 



years. They are enrolled in the Office of Intermediate 
Registration and as such, lED freshmen are the only 
freshmen in OIR. After the basic University requirements are 
completed satisfactorily, students may transfer into the 
college of their major. 

Advisors function beyond the point of signing schedule 
cards. Most of them are. young enough to genuinely relate to 
the problems of the students and deal with them effectively. 

The program is divided into recruitment, admissions, 
financial aid, transfer students, Reading Study Skills Lab and 
tutoring. About 80 per cent of lED students receive full 
financial aid through Economic Opportunity Grants, 
National Defense Loans and College Work-Study Programs. 

The success of the program is probably due to the 
importance placed on the student as an individual. He is free 
to come into the office whenever he wants. His advisors are 
also his friends. He has a social group to relate to which helps 
him cope with the underlying hostility of this University. He 
is not ground up in the University's academic mill into a 
carbon-copy mental midget of the American Ideal. 

He is allowed to remain an intact, but educated individual. 

-Carolyn jones 




100 



cbapeL 



If you're there alone the quiet grips you like a vice. 

There's an inexplicable feeling of uneasiness as you walk down 
the empty aisle. 

Your footfalls are swallowed by the thick carpet, almost as if 
in defiance of your ability to disturb the silence. 

And if you dare to venture to the altar and touch the gleaming 
ornaments that are said to be holy, your stomach grows a little 
cold and your heart beats almost loud enough to be heard. 

It is because you have just stepped out of the series of petit 
crisis and meaningless joys that are the university and entered the 
mysterious, magical kingdom of the chapel. This is where the real 
rules are made. 

The origin of the "thou shalt nots." 

And the guilt. 

It is here that the basic rituals of life are performed-baptism- 
marriage-last respects to the dead. 

And it is here that the apologies and confessions are offered by 
men afraid. 

Afraid to travel the trip of life alone, afraid to face the instant 
of death and what happens after that. 

And so the search for guidance. In the chapel and thousands of 
other places like it where people sense the unusual and 
comforting presence. 

Places where serenity predominates. Where a ray of light, 
exploding quietly into the room, may illuminate the mind as well 
as the body and where one may find some hope that the serenity 
and the illumination will, in time, creep out of the buildings and 
human bodies that presently contain them and infect a world in 
danger. 

--larry higgins 




102 





103 



photographed by larry higgins 





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104 







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pRee cl\r2\c 

Jim Morrison's voice sounds scratchy and it's played 
much too low for a screaming Door's frustration. But then, 
it is not a very good record player. Neither is the furniture. 
The people who own them have better things to do with 
their money-like buy medical suppUes. 

It's the Washington Free Clinic waiting room. And it's 
crowded. And hectic. The phone rings but no one answers 
it. 

"Sherry Cohen, could you come to the desk?" an- 
nounces a girl around 20 who serves as one of the sign-in 
receptionists. She has a pleasant voice and you know she is 
smiling because she wants to. 

At the same time Dan Murphy, one of the cUnic's three 
coordinators, shuffles into the room, mop and bucket in 
hand, looks into the crowd but at no one in particular and 
in a low, steady voice, "I need four people to help me clean 
the examining rooms." Four people are at his side 
immediately. 

"Do you have any doctor's schedules around here 
anywhere?" asks another worker-volunteer. 



"Dave Douglas. Douglas. Dave. Hi." 

"Who wanted the abortion counselor?" 

And so it goes-a busy, casual, relaxed night at the 
chnic-a cUnic serving everybody for any problem. 

But it mostly serves young people. They start arriving 
each night at 7-close to 100 of them-sign-in, talk with 
"screeners" and then see the volunteer docton, lawyers and 
counselors before the place shuts down at 11 . 

The scores fUUng the waiting room are a far cry from 
those first few months of its operation in 1968 when 
doctors were just sitting around waiting for patients to 
arrive. But people kept coming and the clinic kept growing, 
from one basement room in the Georgetown Lutheran 
Church to the entire basement plus the offices of a D.C. 
psychiatrist who lends his place and staff for group therapy 
sessions. 

Clinic services have expanded to include just about every 
problem or need of the "free community." Abortion 
counseling, pregnancy tests, tests and treatment for vener- 
eal disease, draft counseling, group and individual therapy 
plus various educational programs in drugs, nutrition and 
first aid are all available. And, of course, you can go there 
for treatment of the more common problems of respiratory 
infections and other illnesses. 

But the most common problem among patients is 
venereal disease, according to Dr. Michael Winicoff, head of 
the chitic laboratory and one of the several doctors working 



105 



there as a volunteer. Birth control and abortion referrals are 
next in frequency, he said. All records are kept confiden- 
tial, including venereal disease cases, which is probably one 
very good reason so many patients frequent the chnic. 

The clinic receives injectable penicillin free from the D.C. 
Health Service. Dean Warden, a clinic pharmacist, said they 
receive all other medications from samples doctors have 
donated. But, Warden said, many donations are "useless" 
because they can be used only for elderly patients. Warden 
said the clinic mainly uses antibiotics, topical preparations 
and creams and birth control pills and devices. "We 
dispense what we have and write prescriptions for medica- 
tions we don't have available," Warden said. "But we still 
need more antibiotics and oral penicillin," he added. 

The cUnic has an extensive drug program with a 
phOosophy that "all drugs are not necessarily abuse," 
according to coordinator Alex Fox. If a person has a 
long-term drug problem, which Fox defines as those in the 
Heroin, amphitamine and "constant" as opposed to "occa- 
sional" acid use category, then it is an indication of a 
psychological problem and so he is referred to group or 
individual therapy. For heavy addiction, though, he is 
referred to appropriate therapeutical locations such as the 
RAP house, a living center for addicts kicking the habit. 

Fox looks ruefully upon the clinic as an example of an 
alternate health facihty-an alternative to $20 doctor visits 
in sterile offices where patients are treated in an equally 
sterile, cold, business-like manner. "Here they are treated 
Uke human beings, not numbers," Fox said. "Their prob- 
lems are really cared for," he continued. 

Kate Schaffer, personnel coordinator at the clinic and a 
part-time Georgetown University student, said she helps 
train new staff members by first acquainting them with the 
community and then putting them through the drug 
education program. A first aid workshop is also suggested. 
"Screeners," for instance, are briefed on community drug 
and personal problems he may encounter before he greets 
the patients. His job is to make them feel comfortable 
before subsequent referral. Sometimes he "feels out" other 
problems in the brief interview with the patient-problems 
the patient had not intended to deal with. 

Talking about their abortion referral policy, Kate first 
explained that they were trying to change the name 
"abortion counseling" to "pregnancy counseling" because 
"it is really more accurate and sounds more reassuring." 
Whatever it's called, it consists of a counselor "talking over 
the problem with the patient, not just directing her to a 



doctor or hospital," she explains. "It is a very traumatic 
experience and if someone just sits down with you and 
talks out the situation, well, maybe the girl decides to keep 
the baby," she said, "but after the discussion, if she still 
wants the abortion, the doctor will describe the operation 
and then refer her to an abortion counselor who is familiar 
with sympathetic area doctors and hospitals. But the doctor 
urges the girl to return for clinic birth control classes." 

Lab administrator Gene Hall first came to the chnic as a 
patient with no money. "They helped me tremendously," 
he said, ahd I told them I would pay them back when I got 
the bread." But Hall never did get the bread. 

"But I had plenty of time," he said. And so he paid them 
back with that. Long ago. He said that he thought of 
quitting many times but there was always something new to 
be done-painting, new equipment-and he just kept staying 
around until "this or that" was finished. Apparently it 
never was. 

A government lawyer by day, a draft counselor by night, 
Ted Levine says he just makes people aware of their rights 
under the Selective Service Act and then lets them decide 
from there. "I don't recommend "outs" or counsel against 
the draft," he said. "If a guy has a medical problem, I direct 
him to the appropriate regulations." 

He, like the other clinic lawyers, also handles simple legal 
problems such as landlord-tenant, consumer and negligence 
cases. But draft counsehng, he said, accounts for about 65 
per cent of his time there. 

So how does the clinic survive economically? The 
patients who flock there each night from Washington and 
the suburban areas do not have to pay for the services, 
although each night a box goes around the waiting room 
soliciting contributions. 

Lab administrator Hall says: "People think it is free and 
it is going to come from heaven, and it's just not." HaU 
noted that the chnic was, at one time, down to $12.00, 
"not including money we owed everybody." 

But they got contributions-not from heaven-but from 
donations at rock concerts, grants and spontaneous contri- 
butions. One recent addition was a $10,000 drug education 
grant from the Jr. League of Women and a $3,000 grant 
from the Lutheran Social Services. 

But perhaps the most important aspect of the clinic was 
summed up by Dr. Winicoff: "It is an experiment that is 
working. It can serve as a model everywhere." 

-marilyn alva 




photographed by paul levin 



107 





108 




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us 




volume 1 



issue 2 may 1971 



harold a lalos 
paul h levin 



editor 
managing editor 



i on/ret^ n 



opinions expressed in this magazine are tlnose of 
the editors and respective authors and do not 
necessarily reflect the views of the university. 



copyright may 1971, editors of ws 

all rights reserved 

no portion of this publication may 

duplicated v^ithout written permission. 



be 



front cover by josh wilkenfeld 
rear cover by paul levin 



campus atmosphere 




1 


registration 




8 


student living 




15 


cole student activities build 


"g 


34 


rock music 




42 


campus police 




48 


student union 




58 


speakers 




66 


barillari 




73 


animals 




80 


trail club 




86 


modern dance 




90 


cyclotron 




95 


shock trauma center 




100 


beautiful day trading company 


110 


food co-op 




117 


college park 




122 



us currently publishes three volumes, issue one distributed in 
January, issues two and three in may. offices in room 207 
journalism building. 454-2230. 



CAMOiyC ATMQCPMaj 



"Pow-wer to the people— Right on" 

The phrase, now the major portion of a 
new John Lennon song, is getting a little 
camp and much overused. After all, when 
Nixon comes out and says we need to return 
"power to the people" it must be losing 
significance. Nonetheless it still works well to 
describe the "radical" new program of reform 
instituted by Chancellor Bishop this year. 

In his progress report on the state of the 
University Bishop emphasized his three major 
objectives: to adopt a participatory adminis- 
tration, stressing contributions by students, 
faculty and staff; to develop new vehicles and 
systems for our collective ambitions; and to 
alter the physical environment of the campus. 
To support these objectives Bishop pointed 
out some accomplishments of his administra- 
tion: four student interns appointed to cut 
red tape and facilitate better communications; 
advisory councils for undergraduates, gradu- 
ates, faculty and staff; a new ruling to keep 
records, transcripts, files and grades confiden- 
tial; guaranteed due process in disciplinary 
hearings; disclosure of all research conducted 
by the University and the adoption of a 
human relations program. 

The programs and accomplishments sound 
terribly impressive and lead us to believe— 
hope— that we are reaching a renaissance 
after the stagnant Elkins era. Actually there is 
some doubt. Four student interns are 
insufficient to make any major breaks- 
through. The advisory councils can do just 
what their title suggests, give advice. They 
have no real power. The University is an 
educator, not a detective bureau, and 
information on students should always have 
been confidential. Due process is a basic right 
guaranteed by our system of government. All 
research should be public but we have no way 



of knowing about secret research until it is 
exposed. Besides, it does little good to know 
about it if the University insists on continuing 
objectionable projects. As for human rela- 
tions, a part-time director is ridiculous. 
Racism is still alive and well at the University 
of Maryland. 

Bishop has not been here a long time and 
his proposals have apparent merit. They 
deserve a chance to be implemented. But so 
far they are just tokens and, as such, deserve 
only curious speculation. We are waiting— now 
but not forever. 

The most sweeping system of reforms is 
being proposed by the Day committee in its 
report on the restructuring of the University. 
The committee is charged with making 
"forward-looking and realistic" improvements 
in areas from altering or eliminating the Board 
of Regents to reviewing administrators to 
proposing grading changes. Its suggestions are 
impressively vast and many are desperately 
needed. It will be interesting to observe which 
parts receive support and encouragement 
from the administration. The concept of 
periodically reviewing the contracts of top 
administrators is fantastic, provided the 



reviewing board is representative of this 
campus (sizable student membership). It v/ill 
be equally interesting to see if Bishop will 
support any proposal that will give students 
review powers over the administration. 

The University and Bishop have a tremen- 
dous opportunity to take this campus from its 
back seat conservatism to a position of 
leadership among progressive educators. In- 
stead of establishing a structure to bring the 
University up to date (no mean feat in itself), 
we have a chance to develop a better system. 
Otherwise we will be behind again before 
these changes become reality. To be a model 
for others to follow would be an unique 
experience for our bureaucracy. 

More specific and immediately pressing are 
the reforms dealing with dorm autonomy, 
ROTC and facilities usage. The dorms have 
demanded a complete end to the University's 
idiotic role of parent. They want the power 
that accompanies the responsibility they are 
expected to exhibit. They want to be 
self-governing. Bishop has deserted the resi- 
dents by delaying the report with red tape 
and no enthusiasm. The regents responded as 
expected by saying it "is the height of 
arrogance to request that we drop everything 
and act on this. ..It's outrageous that you 
should demand this." It is outrageous that we 
shouldn't. 

"ROTC off campus" is a popular cry but 
off campus means away from civilian 
influence and that is a poor risk. The 
committee report recommending a civilian 
controlled and staffed ROTC program is 
good. It must be supervised closely— very 
closely. If we can't eliminate ROTC we must 
control it. 

The facilities proposal is useless. The main 
problem is lack of availability to students 



because they have no voice in deciding space 
allocation. The proposal gives them three of 
twelve members on the deciding board: A 
token farce. 

The mutitude of reports and proposals 
show that work is being done. Bishop's 
administration is not idle. What it does not 
show is the sincerity of this administration's 
efforts toward helping to increase student 
authority. For each proposal that implies a 
greater role for students there seems to be an 
example of students being deceived or 
oppressed. In replying to criticism on the 
new rules and regulations, regent Kaplan 
stated, "There has been no greater evidence of 
democracy than that in adopting these rules." 
What democracy is exemplified by the right 
to make changes in a repressive document 
that we had no say in forming and no desire 
in adopting? 

We note a more significant regulation that 
has been adopted with the aid of a lot of 
"pushing and shoving" from Bishop, namely 
the freedom to paint dorm rooms according 
to individual taste. According to individual 
taste so long as: written permission is 
obtained, a $5 administrative fee is paid (to 
cover the cost of the required permission), 
another fee is paid for non-returnable 
materials, the job meets physical plant 
inspection, and the paint is issued by physical 
plant (to guard against any wild creative 
colors). And unless the walls are painted a 
solid, approved color, a $50 deposit is 
required and the room must be repainted 
upon leaving. This enables everyone to paint 
his room according to taste— so long as he has 
plenty of money, doesn't mind repainting 
everything to meet approval and isn't too 
creative. Some freedom. 

The latter is a minor point, the former a 
significant betrayal. Surely this is not what we 
are to expect from an administration that says 
it wants to combine input from students, 
faculty and staff into a participatory adminis- 
tration 

These programs and others that follow, can 
live up to Bishop's promises only if students 
are a major part of the deciding as well as 
recommending bodies. Otherwise this semes- 
ter's work will become nothing more than a 
lot of token efforts and camp, overused 
rhetoric. 



-us 




harold lalos 




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A dramatization, the truth .... 

"Advance, advance... STOP... improper authoriza- 
tion, return to your original places. 

"Advance, advance... wait here for proper 
validations. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, zombied faces 
looking for their places. Controlled by the most 
omnipotent UNI. 

"Gotoyouradvisergotoyourdeanfindyourtranscript 
getthestamp" 



You find the "right" line, but get to switch in 
time. Fight the others and settle for less, settle for 
anything to get you out. THEY ask, "Why do you act 
as if UNI makes the decisions? UNI offers you many 
options," but you must take what UNI gives you. 

The light ahead turns green. AS PACE has 
opened up. Hurry up, you damned students, move up 
in the line so I can get in too. I might make a decision 
before UNI sees me. Hurry up... hurry... 

"STOP." 






^. 




The truth, a dramatization.... 

Morris wa.s an average student, but his 
iucic had been above average. Freshman year, 
the job had been done for him. Somehow he 
did end up with five 8 a.m. classes. But hell, 
he was easily satisfied and anyway who 
really worried about sleep? High school had 
always started early. Being a commuter did 
make it a little tougher though, since he 
lived a half-hour from campus. 

Second semester, Morris moved on cam- 
pus to avoid the early morning rush, the no 
parking signs, and to catch up on his sleep. 
He was lucky again. He registered Monday at 
8:45 a.m. and managed to get almost 
everything he wanted. Sam, across the hall, 
spent the whole first week of classes running 
around like he was crazy trying to 
"drop/add." (Note; Last semester there were 
over 26,000 separate transactions involving 
dropping or adding, according to the regis- 



i 







13 



trar, compared with 31,000 the semester 
before.) 

Sam was having a hard time, mainly 
because he is a junior and registered Thurs- 
day and doesn't need any big lecture-hall 
classes anymore. 

Sam idealistically tried to fulfill his junior 
requirements in his junior year. But a couple 
of extra electives will slow him up. If his 
courses are offered he may catch up in 
summer school, but Uncle Sam lurks behind 
that kind of thing. 

Morris finally ran out of luck last semes- 
ter. Everything was fine until he walked into 
Cole student activities building and couldn't 
find his packet. Panic, hysteria set in. How 
could anyone lose a second-year student? 

"Are you sure you have been a student 
here before?" 

"Well, I ought to know, if anybody does." 

Morris got a new packet after an hour and 
hurried to his adviser. This adviser had been 
blindly assigned for the first time since 
Morris switched colleges. 

"Let me check the closed section list. 
Well, well, everything's closed. That's just a 
joke Mr. Ummm, hah, hah. Really, as far as 1 
can tell, the new college requirements as of 
July, 1968. ..wait, here's a change for 1970... 
anyway, I guess this is the new revised 
requirement sheet." Morris' skin begins to 
crawl as he decides to take the only courses 
open— three science courses and a math class. 
His adviser also determines, "Sorry-you- 
cannot-take-an-art-elective-because-classes- 
are-already-full-from-art-preregistration," 
and Morris drives home because he has 
wasted four hours proving his existence and 
preparing to register. 

Once he has the dean's stamp (waiting 
time, 15 minutes) the next morning, he can 
finally walk to the armory. There, he soon 
realizes the first courses he chose in his 
adviser's office have since closed, so he calls 
his man on the little black hotline and 
desperately tries to be brave about the whole 
thing. 

"Stay calm and look around." 



Three hours of juggling, dropping and 
sinking to the floor time after time to 
readjust the course sheets the registrar so 
thoughtfully included in the registration 
booklet and Morris just can't bear it any- 
more. His mind fogs and his eye focuses 
down the pages of the schedule book, 
looking for anything, TUTH 3-5, or MWF 
4-6. He adjusts his schedule and stammers 
over the telephone to his department that "I 
can't find anything except ANYThing TUTH 
3-5." 

"Take it!" shouts the dean. "Take it!" 
shouts the department adviser. 

"I'll take it," chokes the robot, absurdly 
thinking he can drop it for something else 
later, not realizing he'll have to draw straws 
with five other people for the open space 
and not realizing he'll lose. He stumbles 
past... 

• the cashier-"You owe us for not 
cleaning your Baltimore hall dorm room." 
(Can't fight it;just pay it.) 

• the dining hall photographer-"Why do 
you suppose people always say the IDs look 
like the students are being tortured? Smile 
please." 

• the student census— "Did you come to 
the University because of the large campus 
or because of the choice of professors?" 

• the athletic validation-"No, we can't 
tell you if you'll get a seat at every game, 
but you'll have a chance like everybody 
else." 

• and finally, into the light. 
Struggling to clear his mind and studying 

his schedule as amended, Morris numbly 
establishes that he can never keep up with 
the heavy reading load and lab work of the 
five courses he has "chosen." Dazed, he 
fights the desire to return to the armory and 
try to reregister. He has heard that the 
University has a policy of closing and 
opening courses each day, but he is tired of 
fighting the behemoth and he has not eaten 
and he really doesn't care anymore. 

-Sandra fleishman 



TiiMT 



Mmi 



A little over 55 years ago a military barracks was 
erected about 300 yards from Morrill hall. Military 
students lived in it. Its name was Calvert hall and 
people, not military students, are still living in it. The 
32,000 people who go to the University live a lot of 
other places, too. They call them dorms, apartments, 
houses and trailers now, not barracks. Students live in 
them from Baltimore to Charles County. And they 
leave them practically every day for classes and other 
things at the University. 

The most obvious homes are the dorms— at least, 
everyone sees them. They surround everything and 
they're taller than even the chapel tower and the 
flagpoles. They stretch for almost a mile and a half 
across an old suburban town next to Route 1 , north 
of Washington, D.C. A mile and a half from tired, 
mass-produced trailers sitting this side of the railroad 
tracks, to box-shaped, still slightly shiny Easton hall 
teetering on the edge of University Boulevard and the 
golf course. 

Forty-nine men live in 30 rooms in tiny Talbot 
hall. About 600 women live on the nine high rise 
floors of La Plata. There are aU kinds and sizes of 
dorms and they all seem different, yet somehow the 
same. Annapolis hall has rooms that are a foot and a 
half higher than they are wide. Talented residents 
used to put second floors in their rooms until the 
housing office found out. Calvert hall has rooms 
within rooms. You walk through your friend/enemy's 
room to get to your bed. (It must be a holdover from 
the military days.) 

Anne Arundel has a bell tower you can go up and 
look out of, if a housing staffer goes along. The 
complexes don't have any strange things. They're all 
just pretty much alike -and bigger. 

Living in a dorm can be pretty easy. It can also be 



15 



hard. It's easy because you always have a bed and the 
citizens of the state have provided small enough 
rooms that it doesn't take much to clean them— if 
you want to. The dining halls are always there, open 
eight hours a day. The food is not too great -it's not 
even close-but it's always there and you can have all 
you want, if you want. You can walk to things and it 
still takes you less time than three-fourths of the 
people who left a half hour early to get^ a parking 
space for the basketball game. 

But your roommate smokes two packs a day or 
brings in strange looking people who kick you out 
and do funny things in your room, or has a friend 
whom he insists on spending night after night with, 
alone. Everyone else seems to be a complete ass when 
all you want to do is pass an hourly or sleep. There's 
the freshman who's learning to drink and can't keep 
it down long enough to get to the right place in the 
bathroom. There are the dozen others who have 
learned but act like idiots when they've proved it and 
are working it off. There are the mandatory dorm 
meetings that hardly ever attract a quorum but still 
stimulate the dorm president to talk for 45 minutes 
about quiet hours. 

There are the unhappy and insecure people who 
write you up for violating parietal hours when even 
the resident assistant wouldn't do it. There are the 
dorm mixers where 1 5 of the bravest people from the 
closest opposite sex dorm come over to drink your 
beer, eat your pretzels and potato chips, and leave at 
10:30. There are the broken elevators and endless 
flights of stairs and fire drills where you have to go 
out and stand in the snow for 10 minutes in 
something hardly warm enough for the lobby. There 
are the plumbing systems with showers that turn to 
molten lava when someone downstairs flushes the 
toilet. 

Because the state is getting a little ashamed of the 
bad things, five of the most decrepit hill dorms are 
going to get a million dollars worth of overhaul this 
summer-new plumbing, wiring and other things. 
Calvert hall is going to be a little less like a barracks 
after 55 years. 




Paul levin 



17 




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19 



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paul levin 




The trailers are different. Mobile homes, they used 
to be mobile, where eight people can live. There's no 
hall outside where people can run up and down. 
You're alone with the other three people in your half 
of the trailer, sharing a wall with the four people on 
the other side. Since the four people on the other side 
are not the same sex, you share more than the wall. 
When the weather's bad you meet inside. When the 
weather's good the fire lanes outside are turned into 
living rooms. Most of what happens, happens outside 
because there isn't enough room inside. 

There are three httle rooms inside-a bathroom and 
two cubicles for sleeping. Somehow they fit two 
beds, two desks, a closet and two chests of drawers 
in each one. 

It's a long walk past Fraternity Row, Rt. 1 and the 
grass to class. It's a long walk back, too, but there are 
people to talk to and it seems worth it. The trailers 
have their own dining hall. It's half the size of a 
complex dining hall and cozier. They let people study 
there, too. 

Even though the people in the trailers don't 
complain much— they kind of like it -University 
administrators and regents are even more ashamed of 
the mobile units. They're so ashamed, they will take 
the ultimate step this summer-tear them down. Ten 
years of "mobile" life will come to an end. They'll be 
replaced by prefab modular units that take 60 days to 
put up and last 30 years. Four or five people will live 
together in an apartment-like arrangement instead of 
half a box. 



TMiuas 




Steve budman 



22 




Paul levin 





Paul levin 



CftLfK^ 



Most of the greeks live down there too, across Rt. 
1. Some on campus and some off. A lot of the houses 
sit around the lacrosse field that sits inside Fraternity 
Row. These houses look the same; they're well 
defined, they look hke the rest of the University. 

Some sit practically everywhere else. They're 
scattered to the south and east, from the gulch to 
residential College Park. Most are converted houses, 
non-greek houses, some were built by affluent greeks 
and especially designed for greek living. 

Sorority houses: Very nice inside, quiet and well 
done. They put most women's dorms to shame. Quiet 
women inside, studying, talking. They're harder to 
compare to the homologs in the women's dorms. 
Most know where they're going, though. Fraternity 
houses: Not so quiet inside, sometimes neat, well 
worn from frequent and sometimes frantic use. Hard 
to compare the residents to the ones in men's dorms. 
They dress a lot different, these days. You can't tell 
them from the masses just by looks, usually. 

Although the quarters don't look a lot different, 
from the hill anyway, the people act different.' 
They're hving there for a reason. They know each 
other better, make an effort to like the guy next 
door, do things together on weekends. 

Things change at the beginning of each semester. 
The house shapes up because people, new people who 
might live there someday, are coming. A good 
impression is important. Brothers are trying to make 
one every night for what seems Uke months. It's just a 
week or two, though. 

There are fewer rules in greek domain, the men 
don't have resident assistants or graduate residents. 
The food doesn't come out of a container shipped 
from Baltimore and the eggs aren't powdered. 

It's usually a long walk to the University and back, 
and despite the comforts at the house it's still a 
necessary walk. And when you get back, there are 
more smiling faces and it's more secure. You and 
your brothers or sisters living in the house-all with 
the same greek letters. 




Steve budnnan 



25 




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Steve budman 




27 



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29 




31 



The other places where students live are harder to 
pinpoint. But most of them live there. Houses with 
parents, apartments with friends, houses with friends 
and even apartments with parents. The commuters 
live everywhere. And because they live all over they 
are one of the University's few links with the outside. 
They make it clearer that, after all, the University is 
not sitting alone on a hill. 

One of the most memorable parts of living off 
campus has nothing to do with the living quarters. It's 
driving. Driving X number of miles to the University 
in the morning, driving the same number home in the 
afternoon. Driving the same number of miles every 
day, threading, cursing and sweating your way 
through thousands of other cars, trucks and 
motorcycles and never making it fast enough. 

When you get there, home can be any number of 
things-a plush split-level kept neat by a maid or a 
housewife with little else to do, a house with bizarre 
but neat decor, a bare efficiency with little more than 
a bed, or a dump caused by people with little talent 
or inclination for cleaning up. 

It's very quiet. Unless the place is your own and 
people gather there on Saturday nights. It's very easy 
to study, if you want to. It's so easy that it's kind of 
depressing and sometimes there's so little to do that 



you find yourself studying for a test— without really 
realizing it. 

Money always seems to be a problem. Rent, the 
stupid car you had to buy to get to classes, 
utiUties-sometimes there's hardly enough left for 
food. Most people can learn to get by on one meal a 
day, for a while. Nothing moves unless you move it 
and if your roommates are messy and don't move 
things, the place gets hard to live in. You manage, 
then one day you decide to clean it all up. It's a mess 
again in three days. 

When parents are around there are also little 
brothers and sisters, explanations for things you 
should have stopped explaining years ago, and 
security that makes you sick sometimes. When 
vacation comes you want to leave. You're not used to 
it though and it's a step, and you have to find people 
to go with, anyway. 

You swear you'll move out one day. 

You get by, no matter who you live with. Parents, 
friends, e.x-friends-it's only for four or five years. 
But for those years, or nine months out of those 
years, wherever you live, it's a place to eat, study, 
have fun or get by. It's home. 

-chad neighbor 



33 



[0L[ ^ 



photographed by josh wilkenfeld 




Big, cavernous and empty. The 
building that put the University on 
the map; the biggest university 
student activities building on the 
East Coast and it's empty. Students 
screaming they want to use it for 
concerts and the athletic depart- 
ment screaming back that there is 
no way to squeeze concerts into the 
crowded schedule and it's empty. 

Cole student activities building- 
like an airplane hangar for an 
SST— a fabulous building, really, 
with so much extra space it almost 
seems wasteful. Almost everyone 
who has ever been in it wonders aj 
some point how anyone could evi 
walk on that thin catwalk across 
the center of the ceiling, or how 
anyone could possibly steal the 
gigantic American flag that 
disappears every once in a while. 

It was completed in 1955 at 






35 




OTii- 




cost of $4,500,000 and for close to 
15 years students footed the bill 
for the arena, situated almost 
symbolically at the top of Campus 
Drive between the education build- 
ing and the athletic department's 
stadium. Since that time, there have 
been constant squabbles about who 
can or cannot use the building at 
what time. Physical education clas- 
ses play badminton, lift weights and 
run laps around its perimeter every 
day, but they use barely one one- 
hundredth of the building. When 
large lecture classes have tests, they 
seat people every other row, three 
seats apart, and still only manage to 
fill about two-thirds of the stands. 
Everything about the structure is 
huge, a vaguely comforting fact 
when you're all alone there. It's like 
another world-a peaceful place 
when nothing is going on-with its 
own quiet. People argue vehement- 
ly, secure in the vastness, the 
cavernousness of the building. 




37 



Others sit in solitude, surrounded 
by hundreds on hundreds of seats, 
utterly alone, sobbing quietly in the 
emptiness. 

Oh, the building has its moments 
(about 20 a year): 14,000 can cram 
into it— and do, sometimes-for a 
basketball game or a concert; 8,000 
used it for a strike meeting during 
last year's campus disorders. At 
those times it is anything but 
quiet— screaming, cheering, ap- 
plauding, with vendors shouting 
about their peanuts and cokes. But 
the place comes back to rest a few 
hours later, a little dirtier perhaps, 
and with another set of initials 
carved into the back of one of the 
seats, but peaceful.. .quiet. ..empty. 

Empty. 

-bob mondello 



39 




41 



You stand in line for what seems a lifetime and a 
half as the oppressive warmth of the crowd chases 
away any chill that might be in the night air until, an 
hour beyond the appointed time, the front doors 
swing open and the crowd jostles along into the 
bowels of Ritchie/Cole. You clutch at the hand of 
your friend and surrender your ticket to the man at 
the door. And then you are in. Stumbling and 
tripping-to Hell with the reserved seats-a mad dash 
takes you as close to the stage as possible, to claim a 
section of ihe bench or stake out a square of the floor 
and then sit and wait some more. 

The jugs of Ripple and Boone's Farm are passed 
around and the fumes from oh-so-many illegal 
cigarettes diffuse the brightness of the house lights as 
the sickly sweet, familiar odor drifts through the air. 
Away up on the stage a crew of tiny figures, who 
vaguely seem to know what they're doing, mill 
around preparing equipment and snaking coils of 
cable across the floor. Little communal groups grow 
up on the floor and the guy behind you whose boot 
toe is sticking in your backbone becomes a friend for 
the night. He apologizes but he's just so cramped up 
that he can't help kicking you but here, try some of 
this, he says, because it makes everything so-o-o much 
better. 

And finally, after the crowd has been shoehorned 
into every last impossible inch of floor space and the 
heat has begun to rise to an insufferable limit, the 
house lights dim and the spots shine down on the 
announcer, way off through the haze on the stage, 
who declares that here They are, ladies and 
gentlemen. The Ones you've been waiting for and 
They walk out onto the stage and plug in their guitars 
and strum a chord of ecstasy. 

Music is an elixir of the gods; it can soothe and it 
can rouse. Members of the audience writhe and wave 
and dance about and scream and stomp and clap to 
the whimsey of the musician magicians. 

Sha Na Na loaded 5,000 stomping, clapping people 
into a rousing good time machine at Ritchie last fall 
and transported them back to the early early days of 
rock and the sounds of Dionne and Frankie and Elvis 
and Bill Haley et al. And Al Kooper visited the 
armory. The white-eyed blues, they were good and 
sad and lifting all at once. Grand Funk railroaded 
Cole into a rough-hewn nirvana of sound and 
remember-what-else outside. In the winter came the 
haunting strains and melodies of Laura Nyro, 
caressing the keyboard with care. Steppenwolf in the 
spring, and a crowded concert and there's trouble at 
the door. 




Steve bud man 



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43 



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Rotk music has been coming \o the Luivcnuy m 
one fonn or another since the days of BUI Haley and 
the Comets. But this year, the music manifested itself 
in a new and bewildering wny-to the tune of crashina 
glass. 

Nearly 250 sta — ...„ ^ .,„,.._, ^^^^^^^ „^t^ v^ueu'io 
the Grand Funk concert, in November, to disperse a 
large crowd of ro." " ttle throwing gate-crashers, 
mo^ of whom u. udents, according to Police 

and administration oiiicials. And again, 

Ritchie during Steppen- ^i' - ••• - -' police wer: 

called to clear gate-era 

After each battle, the threats dn^; 
declaring and moaning that never 
supergroup play on campus. Debates began over the 
prices of the tickets, the avr- '■-'•' - • 
many concerts should be 
how to .' 

WillK 

The solution tc 

pre-;-" '■••■-- '■ 
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the D.C. 

of tilt' 




i ffiLK 



photographed by harold lalos 



The day Leonard Jankowski took over as 
captain of the campus police force, Skinner blew 
up in his face. After the yelling and screaming 
died down, they told him he could relax because 
this sort of thing came along once in a million 
years. Then Dick Nixon made his little excursion 
down Cambodia way, and spring crazies got into 
the students, and after the gas finally cleared, 
Leonard Jankowski got to know what it's like 
here on an ail-American campus— and it isn't 
anything like Vietnam, where he had served as 
an officer. 

All the time he was there he had never been 
injured, then he came here and got mixed up in 
this den of radicals, anarchists and freaks. At the 
Grand Funk concert last November he got cut in 
the hand by flying glass and received several 
stitches. At the Steppenwolf concert he got 
smashed in the face by a brick and looked funny 
for a week before the swelling went down. 

The force frequently finds itself outmaneu- 
vered and outnumbered at campus disturbances, 
ranging from the size of Steppenwolf, where 
county police were called in, to last May, when 
it took the National Guard to clear Rt. 1 . 

When they're not doing their best to hang 
onto the tail of a blossoming campus blow-up, 
they have a lot of other things to keep them 
busy. The force, whose officers are trained by 
the Prince Georges County poUce academy, 




49 




51 




I 




53 



works at solving crimes ranging from trespass to 
grand larceny and, of course, parking violations. 
Jankowski sees the force performing the same 
function as the police department in any other 
50,000-person city. Many students base their 
opinion of campus police on the basis of their 
ticket-giving notoriety, but Jankowski is quick 
to point out that "Ticketing is primarily done 
by a student traffic patrol" because "we've got 
more important things to do. 

"We've got quite a few students who are full 
poUce officers. We hire a younger man from 21 
to 31. He's got to be in top physical condition 
and have a clean record. The average educational 
level in the department is one year of college." 

Jankowski is proud of his force-under- 
standably so considering its model facilities and 
organization. It now numbers 51 officers, 
although it has a ceiling of 53 men. Twelve new 
positions will be authorized on July 1 when 
budgets for the University become effective. Of 
course, a maximum of 65 men isn't going to 
make much difference to a crowd numbering in 
the thousands, and Jankowski's department will 
still have to rely on outside force for many of 
those little embarrassments that seem to keep 



poppmg up. 

But most students seem to feel that if any law 
enforcement department should be used in 
campus disturbances it should be the campus 
police, due to their close association with 
students and the fact that students themselves 
are represented on the force. 

Jankowski's department is one of the most 
progressive in the area, with modern communi- 
cations, investigative and vehicle equipment. The 
crime rate at the University is low, compared to 
the surrounding area, although commuters 
always seem to be losing their tape players and 
hub caps. 

The University community sees and hears 
relatively little of its policemen except that 
they're always riding around in cars and they'll 
stop someone for running a stop sign. And that's 
probably the way a good police force should 
be— not omnipresent and poking its nose around 
and feared by the community it's designed to 
protect, but subtle, restrained; there, but not 
obviously so. 

"Protection, courtesy and service, that's our 
motto." 

--joe densford 



55 



JLQBOLD VITfIL 



56 



Do any good guys drive black cars? Well, one of 
the University's friendliest, quietest, least criticized 
administrators, Jerrold L. Witsil, does. 

Witsil is this campus's chief of police, a title which 
in administration jargon translates to superintendent 
of public safety and security. The lanky, 31 -year-old 
came here in August 1 969 from the security 
department of Florida State University where he 
worked full-time while earning a BS in criminology. 

While a nationwide storm rages over the use and 
methods of law enforcement, this mild-mannered 
leader of a 51 -man poUce force has escaped being the 
target of any major controversy. "To be criticized, 
you have to give cause," he says in explaining why he 
believes he has so far successfully weathered the 
storm. "No one is immune from criticism, but I have 
the feeling that from the department's professionaliz- 
ing its own image, we have eliminated a lot of reasons 
and causes for criticism." 

Perhaps he is right. The man himself responds in 
such a way. Take, for instance, the current 
controversy over disturbances and the future of rock 
concerts. Witsil, who was a deputy sheriff in Florida's 
Orange County for five years, maintains, "We would 
be better off for functions on this campus to have 
crowds controlled by the student body rather than by 
uniformed officers." He is so "all for" this idea that 
he headed an ad hoc committee of students and 
faculty working for implementation of the concept. 

When law enforcement is necessary on campus, 
Witsil believes, 'The University police should be used 



officers are called in. We would prefer to have only 
our people who understand the community and the 
inherent problems that can exist." He claims that in 
most cases, "we tend not to overreact." Yet some 
members of the community question whether the 
campus police react at all. Witsil denies the charge, 
maintaining that "crime statistics prove they do 
react." He cites the case of a stabbing on campus to 
which, he says, pohce responded in three minutes. 

The amiable police chief takes pride in "profession- 
alizing the department for the benefit of the 
University through upgrading and revision in the areas 
of training, employment, wages and equipment." He 
especially believes "a police officer on a college 
campus must have two important qualifications: 
education and an age in the general scope of the level 
of the community being served." But professional- 
ization of the campus force is far from the only 
reason this man has eluded major criticism or 
controversy. 

Witsil believes in a low profile of police use, which 
has proven a partial solution to unnecessary, 
potentially tragic clashes between the public and the 
people who are paid to protect it. 

Because of the way he has led and organized the 
campus police, perhaps even the most disgruntled, 
vehement cop-hater on campus may come to feel 
about our local force the way its chief, Witsil, feels 
about any day of his life and job: "There's always 
some good in every day." 



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I 




About 9,000 people are moved to get things 
done, sleep, eat and get mobbed every day in the 
University's student union. And when the last 
door swings shut every night, sometimes under 
protest from a disgruntled revolutionary or busy 
committee member, thousands of tiny bits of 
history, committed in earnest, by habit or because 
there was nothing else to do, are history. 

It's much the same every day. The weather 
outside, the number of exams to worry about, the 
talk of sports and the groups crusading outside 
change, but not much else. Whether it's October 
and balmy, frozen in December, bright and cold in 
March, or May and hotter than hell, the frenzied 
rush, the friendly meetings and the restless 
between-class naps go on, constantly. 

In front, the ground and sidewalks are torn up, 
the pipes exposed with stagnant water that's been 
there since it rained. It stands out, is impossible to 
ignore. Construction, enlargement, improvement, 
modification-sore and ugly for the future. Fifty 
people are sitting in the sun, on benches and the 
steps. A fiddle player calls attention to one cause 
or another. DRUM, Angel Flight, Krishna 
disciples, the cycle club and a hundred others. A 
black kid sits under a red, white and black poster 
advertising the eastern college judo championships 
at Howard University. A few purple and green 
posters are on the columns and doors but mostly 
there are scars from hundreds of posters tacked, 
taped up and torn down. The radical posters go 
first, the beer blasts last. 

The three double doors at the front entrance 
don't close much. The portable daily directory sits 
in the lobby, dusty and worn from a thousand 
days and more events. The box office is usually 
busy, sometimes swamped. On the other side is the 
unmarked door to the Black Student Union office. 
Serious, often unsmiling black students file in and 
out, busy with the planning white eyes never see. 
They have a lot to do. 

There's the smoke shop-where you still can't 
get a Playboy but panty hose and hot rod cartoons 
are for sale. Two citizenship plaques hang 
forgotten on the foyer outside the bookstore. The 
names of the best citizens since the '20s are 
engraved in dirty bronze. No awards for the war 
years though— the citizens were fighting. You can 
see Francis Food Freeney was most outstanding 
women's citizen in 1928. Space for the women's 
awards runs out in 1984. 

In the crowded, uprooted bookstore, student 
buy a few books. Books are piled almost to thi 
ceiling in places even though it's a big room- 
waiting for the construction to end, and room. 

The time for classes to change comes and peopl 
come and go even faster and the three doors neve 
close. Upstairs drowsy students pick up their 
books and leave a couch or study desk for class. 
The places aren't empty for long as commuters 
coming from a lecture find a place to wait for the 
next one. In a few minutes there are less people 
and it seems like people are smiling and taking 
their time again. 



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and full. The food is not too good but there's a 
lot. 

On the edge of the construction there are 
bulletin boards-for rides, jobs, apartments, 
anything valuable. The unnoticed place where an 
unwanted staircase collapsed and hurt two workers 
is there. There is no sign of the sirens that were 
heard everywhere. Further down is the bowling 
alley where unwilling coeds work off PE credits. In 
the back of the union, around the side where few 
people go and some have never seen is the room 
where SGA legislature meets. It's symbolic. 

The student union stays busy. But there's 
something in the union— busy people who are tired 
and ready for anything, vitality -the University in 
miniature. It's reassuring to know it will always be 
there. 

Later the doors will close and the people will 
leave and it will be quiet. But not for long. 

-chad neighbor 




61 




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63 



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An American tragedy. 

Om. 

Sure I remember Rod Serling. He used to 
write the Twiliglit Zone. I never missed it. 
Wow, there were so many good ones. Like 
the one about the man who went to Las 
Vegas and got gambUng fever, and died 
jumping out his hotel window after a slot 
machine chased him around the room. 

Om. 

And I am the King of May, which is the 
power of sexual youth. 

Cheez, he's taking off^ his shirt. God, 
Allen Ginsberg is hairy. He wears green 
undershirts. You know, he looks like that 
guy in DRUM. 

I don't think I've ever seen the ballroom 
so crowded. It's getting hot as hell in here, 
too. 

Mort Sahl. Mort Sahl. Let me see, oh, 
yeah, he was big during the Kennedy years. 
Topical humor. I don't know what 
happened to him after that. Went nuts, I 
think. 

Of course Allen Ginsberg smokes pot. 
Hell, he's done everything. Mesc, acid, he's 
the head's literary answer to Leary and 
psychedelic rock. 

Om. 

Why are they having Serling in the 
physics lecture hall instead of the ball- 



room? So few people will find it. And 
tonight's the first basketball game of the 
season, too. I guess there won't be much of 
a crowd. 

Buckley's supposed to speak at 8, isn't 
he? Well, I got here at 7 and I can hardly 
get into the lobby near the ballroom, let 
alone the damn room itself. Don't worry, 
they're piping it into rooms all over the 
Union. So what if you don't see the guy? 

You'd think someone would show up for 
Myrlie Evers. After all, she is the widow of 
one of America's civil rights leaders. And 
she is a Congressional candidate. 7:30. Oh, 
Christ, she's supposed to speak. We haven't 
even filled four rows. Think we have 50? 
60? God. 

Om. 

The hairy man used a concertina. Om, 
went the audience. And I am the King of 
May, which is long hair of Adam and the 
beard of my Body. 

"If I had the prescription, I'd be in 
Congress." Serling looked about the same 
as he did when he would whisper-talk, 
"This is ....The Twilight Zunn..." to us 
little kids every Friday night. 

The mouth is the thing that all the 
Buckleys have in common. That two-teeth 
smile, looking very boyish. "The week 
before Reagan came to Yale, Dean Rusk 
spoke in New York. Students obstructed 
his entrance to the hall where he was to 
speak, and when he did speak, commotion 
resulted." 

Om. People were smoking pot. 

"So I picked her up, and no sooner did 
we get in the car did she pull out the 
zig-zag papers, and I said, wait a minute 
honey." 

Just where did Mort Sahl come from 
anyway? He's not that old. He's a 
handsome man, I guess. Someone must like 
him, he sure has packed this place. The last 
time I saw so many people in the ballroom 
was when they threw marshmallows at 
Governor Mandel. 

Wait a minute. Bernadette Devlin came, 
too. 

"We have a situation where CathoUcs 
and working class Protestants cannot afford 
to live. It's not that they can't agree." 

She was little, kind of round, somewhat 
husky, but physically attractive. Her hands 
rose evangelically and her eyes instantly 
captured the room. "President Nixon is 
guilty for murder for the 50,000 lives he 
has sent to Vietnam since December. But 



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President Nixon is not black and President 
Nixon is not Communist. Therefore hie will 
never have to stand before a court of law." 

Serling was slight, his black hair grayer 
than we remembered it on the Twilight 
Zone. That dramatic, wispy-ish voice still 
came through. "Men don't die of darkness. 
It is the frost that kills." 

And Buckley had watery blue eyes, and 
the stare of a visionary, although we knew 
that stare well; television had taught him 
many things. "America had always taken 
its idealism literally." 

And Mort Sahl said he was getting 
married, but did not say to whom. And no 
one asked. And his hnes weren't that 
funny, but the guy sure as hell knew how 
to do satire, and boy, was he good. 

Om. 

Ginsberg was getting hot, because the 
ballroom was really packed. So he read 
Songs of Innocence and he read other 
works. 

And he said Om. 

And the crowd said Om. 

And after the speech, the crowd went 
Om. And went to sleep. 

-david light man 



Mmm\ 




Joe Barillari digs the hell out of living. 

Whether he's teaching huge-lecture History 41, 
or taking pictures, or rapping over a drink, or 
walking in the woods, or bustling around catching 
up with people he hasn't seen in a few weeks or a 
few hours, Joe Barillari digs it. 

After five years at the University, he has been 
fired by the history department. It's unfortunate. 
Few people enjoy teaching the way Joe does and 
few do it so well. 

Joe makes you smile. In class, he takes a few 
minutes to discuss what's on his mind-a new 
movie or the front page. More than likely, he will 
make you think but he will also make you laugh. 
His lectures are thoroughly enjoyable and a 
testimony to that is consistent standing room only 
in room 6 of Francis Scott Key hall-no mean feat. 
And he never hesitates to make a connection 
between then and now-if there's a relevant point 
to be made. He approaches his subject with a 
healthy skepticism. History, he says, is important 
if it can help people wade through the bullshit. 

Out of class you hear ten-minute stream of 
consciousness answers to simple questions that 
boggle the mind. Joe is one of the rare beings who 
can speak articulately for hours and never be 
boring. 




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77 






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What motivates him? Phenomenal amounts of 
energy, some of which has been spent on 
photography, most of which has been focused on 
his research (Hear that, history department?). The 
happiest time of his life, he said, was five weeks 
spent in London, living in a hole-in-the-wall doing 
original research. Some of the time he spent 
reading, other time talking and visiting and getting 
to know people. ..and buying books. His office 
overflows with books and looks Uke the Mongolian 
hordes descended, had a fistfight that became a 
brawl and departed leaving no semblance of order. 
Photography is important -he believes in it as a 
creative medium. And he is a cook. "I do peasant 
things, spaghetti...." It's just as well because, at age 
31, except for a brief stint as a married man, he's 
been more or less on his own. 

From his shaggy beard and scruffly appearance, 
an easy initial assumption for classifiers is that Joe 
is a raving-radical-leftwing-hippie-commie.... Not 
so. Although his politics are leftish, he has a 
"conservative's respect for the law" and drives a 
Mercedes. He likes Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, 
but "Bach and Mozart help keep me sane." If 
deprived of poetry, he'd miss Milton most. 

The University has been a pleasant place for him 
up until the end. He made friends and was, in his 
own estimation and according to many former 
students, a successful teacher. It's not so obvious 
in the big classes (like History 41 and 54) as it is in 
the small ones (like History 199 and summer 
school) that he impresses students with an 
emphasis on scholarship. Joe doesn't keep many 
letters of praise from former students-he's 
embarrassed-but they are a measure of his 
success. 

When he teaches small classes and does his own 
grading, A's are hard to come by, B's fairly 
common. But if a student hands in a horrible 
paper and complains about the grade, Joe feels 
obliged to say, "It sucked." D, he says, is a 
dishonest grade -either work is satisfactory or 
unsatisfactory-and people can usually accept an F 
before they can understand a D. If students think 
they're putting something over on him with sob 
stories, they're wrong. Joe says you can't blame 
students for trying to get a degree any way they 
can. Society forces everyone to have one and puts 
a price on it. "They'll find out it's bullshit 
anyway." 

His honesty is overwhelming. It's impossible to 
imagine him lying and it's impossible to imagine 
lying to him. "Am I boring you?" he asks 
periodically. Of course not, you reply, knowing 
well that if he were really boring, he'd be hurt if 
you didn't say so. 

What now? Not teaching forever-"! don't want 
to be a Mr. Chips." He can't see being a grand old 
man with a white beard. He's applied for a job as 
an aerial photographer and is looking for other 
academic work. He sold his first professional 
photography job in several years in early April, 
which made him exuberantly happy. He's writing a 
mystery and a picture book of his favorite 
things.... 

He's not bitter about leaving-a friend of his 
told him, "Joe, you're too big for that." True. 

To his friends, Joe Barillari radiates "I love 
you;'^to all the schmucks, he says, "Fuck you." 
But he pauses and says philosophically, "Schmuck- 
dom is its own reward." 

-susan gainen 



79 



kHmm 



photographed by josh wilkenfeld 



It's boring. Comfortable maybe, but boring. Oh, 

there's always eating. When faculty and students 

are experimenting with diets, eating can even be 

sort of interesting. And the breeding experiments 

aren't half bad sometimes. The accommodations 

are better than average-the community is pretty 

enlightened really-and the hours are no worse 

than those of an industrious freshman. There is 

some excitement every once in a while, but of a 

disgusting sort. Last year some pervert came in and 

mutiliated the body of a sheep and left it to bleed 

to death. But for the most part, the peeling 

whitewashed fences keep out the curious and the 

malicious and the place stays pretty peaceful, with 

nothing much to do but watdh the paint peel on 

the fences and the cars driving by. Restful, calm, 

without the pressures and insanities of the world 

outside.. .but boring. , . , „ 

--bob mondello 




81 




83 




85 



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photographed by larry higgins 



If you belong to the trail club it's hard to tell where 
you might be found at nine or ten o'clock on a Saturday 
morning. Before the average University student has even 
thought of getting out of bed, the average trail club 
member is liable to be canoeing down a river in central 
Pennsylvania, climbing a mountain in western Maryland, 
squeezing through a cave near Harper's Ferry or taking a 
9.5 mile hike through a national park in West Virginia. 
Often you have a choice. Trail club excursions include, 
among others, caving, canoeing, climbing, hiking, 
backpacking, camping, cycling and skiing. And all of 
these activities are, according to the official manual, 
"cheap, coed and frequent," the biggest expense often 
being the gas it takes to get there. 

For the oldest autonomous chartered club on campus 
(excluding the fraternities and sororities), the trail club 
manages to remain surprisingly informal. For two 
dollars a year-one dollar a semester in cases where 
paying the full sum at once presents a problem-you 
become a full-fledged member, eligible to go on any 
expedition you feel competent to handle. You are also 
given access to the club's extensive map files and 
equipment stockpile kept in their student union office. 

What actually possesses these stalwart few who 
valiantly drag themselves out of bed at ungodly hours of 
the weekend in order to climb a mountain or shoot 
some rapids in a canoe? Is it the exercise? The 
sightseeing? The danger? 

"The exercise nobody thinks about; when you've 
climbed enough mountains or walked enough miles it 




86 



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vii-^' 







just comes," notes trail club president Mike (Druid) 
Krepner. "People here at the University are looking for 
an escape, a chance to get their noses out of the books 
for awhile and to get away from the dorms. For some of 
the older members though, it's almost a way of life." 
This is obviously no exaggeration. While the vast 
majority of the club members are rank amateurs, some 
polish their interest in the outdoors to a near perfection. 
Two members recently completed a 2,500 mile canoe 
trip up the Athabaska and McKensie rivers, through 
Canada, all the way to the Arctic Circle. A group of 
others, some experienced, some not, took a several week 
long canoe journey through the Florida Everglades. One 
not so lucky ex-member was killed under an avalanche 
of snow and ice while on a mountain climbing 
expedition in Nepal. 

The trail club believes in getting back to nature by 
the most direct means. With what other organization 
could you get a whole day's worth of fresh mountain 
air, lose some weight hiking down a mountain trail and 
meet some of the nicest people at the University? With 
what other organization could you get a whole day's 
worth of fresh mountain mud, lose your wallet in a cave 
bottom and meet some of the nicest brown bears in 
West Virginia? Or see some of the most beautiful 
country this side of Ohio, and some of the most 
beautiful stalactite formations this side of anywhere, 
and all for only two dollars a year. 

--bob alien 



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Somewhere between gymnastics and 
theatre; damned for years by aesthetes as a 
bastardization of legitimate forms and now 
respected as a sophisticated art— modern 
dance. If dance is movement, modern 
dance is part of a contemporary movement. 
It can be blunt and heavy handed or gently 
subtle, but always, it is reflective of today's 
emphasis on the simple and down-to-earth. 

For hundreds of students, modern dance 
is just one more class to suffer through like 
any number of others which must be 
suffered through before the University will 
see fit to confer a degree. And for some, 
dance is preparation for a career, and a way 
to applause, and that intangible feeling of 
satisfaction that comes from doing some- 
thing beautiful. But for every participant, it 
is murderously hard work. 

Rehearsal is no less strenuous than for 
ballet and considerably more strenuous 
than for most collegiate athletics. That 
not-so-delicate clump with which a dancer 
occasionally lands on bent, rather than 
bended, knee means hours more of 
rehearsal in building EE in the gulch, and 



sometimes days of recuperation. Prepara- 
tion is, of course, extensive, as dancers 
prefer tired muscles to strained ones, and 
stretching them so they won't strain is a 
tiring process. 

Arching backward in a spine-twisting 
gesture, then leaning forward to gently 
press palms against the wooden floor 
despite protesting thighs and locked joints; 
The most impressive thing about the 
dancers, the characteristic one inevitably 
notices even as they relax, is the grim look 
of concentration lining their faces. Whether 
their movements are staccato and abrupt or 
swaying and peaceful, the expression 
remains. The dancers tell their story with 
gesture, not grimaces, succeeding until that 
last moment. That last moment, when they 
freeze on the final note, crumpled in 
despondency or tall in majestic exultation, 
alone on the nakedly empty stage, and 
realize they made it... and a faint, ever so 
slight upward movement of the corners of 
the mouth greets the applause. 

-bob mondello 




)hotographed by jim mccully 




91 




93 



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The elevator hisses and shushes melodra- 
matically as it slides down into the chamber 
where the University's cyclotron is housed. In 
that cubicle of an elevator, the only 
appropriate Muzak would be "The Sorcerer's 
Apprentice," played on a Moog synthesizer. 
But there is no music five stories down where 
the cyclotron whips ions around and around 
until they are traveling almost as fast as light 
and then slams them against a target. 

The principle of a cyclotron is rather 
simple. Positively charged ions are pulled 
along a series of electrodes by a moving 
electromagnetic field, much as the brushes of 
an electric motor are pulled around the coils. 
As the field jumps from one electrode to the 
next, the ions are pulled along, accelerating all 
the time. 

The ions whirl in ever widening circles as 
their speed increases, while the angular 
velocity of the magnetic field is controlled by 
a constant frequency radio signal. The field 
and trailing particles take the same length of 
time to complete each revolution, regardless 
of the radius of the particular orbit. 

When the desired kinetic energy is reached, 
the ion beam is shunted off by an extractor 
system onto the target material. The resulting 
collisions, scatterings and combinations pro- 
vide data for a multitude of experiments in 
nuclear structure physics and other disci- 
plines. 

The University's cyclotron is capable of 
producing higher energy particles than any 
other in operation. Because of the relativistic 
effects which occur near the speed of light, 
the University's machine does not operate as 
simply as described above. 

As the ions near the speed of light, their 
mass begins to increase significantly as their 
speed increases. This increase in mass requires 
a stronger accelerating force which can keep 
the ions up with the magnetic field and 
maintain the constant period of revolution, so 
the field strength increases with distance away 
from the center of the cyclotron. 



Paul levin 



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To keep the ion beam from scattering, the 
tractor electrodes spiral out from the center 
in a pinwheel pattern, twisting in the 
direction of rotation. Thus, the angle between 
the tangential direction of the ions' motion 
and the direction of the net attractive force is 
reduced and a tight beam of ions is produced. 

The Apprentice's splintered broom proved 
his undoing. The operators of the cyclotron 
must take stringent precautions that the 
splintered atoms from the cyclotron do no 
harm. Eight feet of concrete shield the floor 
above the cyclotron chamber-the control 
room and data analysis facilities are on the 
first floor of the physics building-and no one 
is allowed in the cyclotron chamber while the 
machine is in operation because the radiation 
would kill him. 

The cyclotron laboratory, which cost more 
than $7.8 million and was financed jointly by 
the University and the U.S. Atomic Energy 
Commission, is operated by the Department 
of Physics and Astronomy. 



Aside from work in nuclear structure 
physics, the cyclotron is also being utilized by 
the chemistry department for studies ranging 
from lunar samples to an environmental 
examination of the Chesapeake Bay. 

At present, the cyclotron laboratory staff 
considers their major obstacle to be a shortage 
of funds. A decrease in federal funds available 
for research at the time when construction 
was being completed has limited the develop- 
ment of the laboratory. By the end of 1971 
the laboratory will have only five experi- 
mental stations in operation, although there is 
space to accommodate a total of 1 2. And the 
current operating budget provided by the 
AEC allows only 56 hours per week of 
research, although the facility could provide 
152 hours of scheduled research. 

As the legend says, even in the house of the 
greatest sorcerer, the cistern runs dry. 

sean fitzpatrick 
and ruth seivers 




Paul levin 



99 






photographed by harold lalos 



At the intersection of Redwood and Green streets, 
outside University of Maryland Hospital in downtown 
Baltimore, the afternoon traffic of autos and 
pedestrians flows normally. Business goes on as usual. 

Upstairs, on the third floor of the hospital in the 
Emergency Shock Trauma Treatment Center, the 
hyper-critical condition victims of kidney failures, car 
crashes, gangrene poisoning or any other number of 
shock inducing conditions, lie prone beneath huge 
vines of plastic and glass tubes, catheters and wires, 
their lives wavering along the ice-thin boundaries of 
survival. 

The doctors, nurses and assorted professionals 
move quickly and efficiently from patient to patient, 
adjusting intravenous tubes, taking blood counts, 
with no more than a trace of apprehension in their 
countenances. Every day they deal in the realities 
that the rest of us make a conscious effort at 
forgetting. For them, business goes on as usual. 

You enter the hospital, spy the white uniforms, 
catch the fragrance of antiseptic, and your stomach 
tightens slightly. You feel a sense of relief that you've 
come only as an observer. You step into the metallic, 
streamlined emergency elevator that carries shock 
patients to their destination, and as it moves swiftly 
to the third floor, the uneasiness moves from your 
stomach, down your spine, all the way to the arches 
of your feet. You step out and in the outer room see 
unused stretchers that lie empty and waiting. 

"The Shock Center," explains Tony DePadova, 
who is in charge of the clinical lab attached to it, "is 
essentially for handling people who are so severely 
injured and in such a deep state of shock that they 
need more intense care than can be administered in a 
normal emergency room. 

"With these people the time element is extremely 
important. Many are flown directly here by 
helicopter (a helipad is located on a very nearby roof, 
and the state police have a copter at the Center's 
dispatch at all times). They can be brought here from 
any part of Maryland within 35 minutes." 

When a patient first arrives, whether his problem is 
heart failure, severe blood loss from a beltway 
accident, or a self-inflicted gunshot wound, lifesaving 
measures must be administered immediately. Blood 
pressure must be stabilized; intake of oxygen must be 
properly regulated— often requiring a tracheotomy. 
Only after measures are completed to ease the state 
of shock can treatment of the specific ailment begin. 

For treatment and subsequent observation, the 



large spotlessly clean room that houses the shock 
trauma center is jammed full of extraordinary 
electronic devices of every size and shape: electro- 
cardiographs, electrolytes, monitor scopes, and blood 
gas analyzers. There are phones, phones and more 
phones; phones to the outside, phones to the labs 
downstairs and direct lines to any number of other 
crucial points. 

Closed circuit television screens relentlessly moni- 
tor the body temperatures, blood pressures and brain 
waves of the patients in ever changing linear patterns 
of green. If any of these factors should pass a crucial 
threshold, an alarm automatically sounds. Smaller 
indicators monitor the patient's heart, venous and 
arterial blood rates in small digits that light up on the 
screen in the very appropriate color of red. 

In various corners of the room in movable beds 
patients lie covered with tape and stiff, clean sheets. 
Some are nearly hidden beneath the jungle of 
intravenous monitors, tubes, catheters and attach- 
ments that are taped to them all along their body, 
helping it do what it can no longer do for itself— bring 
in the lifesaving dextrose and blood pressure 
stabilizing serums; take out the urine and unneeded 
wastes; and monitor continuously all of the patient's 
vital signs. 

"People in shock or severe traumatic conditions 
often undergo radical changes, and they require much 
greater physiological observation," notes DePadova as 
he watches an assistant run samples routinely through 
the blood gas analyzer and telephone the results to 
the physicians directly above in the shock center. 
"We must run biochemical, hemotropic and urine 
tests to keep the physicians informed of the patient's 
exact condition. In shock, the lungs and the heart are 
the key organs." 

At the entrance of the shock trauma center a white 
collared minister stands, wringing his hands slightly as 
he waits to see a woman who has called for him. 
Nearby, an elderly grey haired lady has just regained 
partial consciousness and she thrashes lightly from 
side to side, twisting the sheets and rattling the tubes 
and glass. A nurse speaks to her in a soothing yet 
insistent voice "Do you know where you are, Mrs. 
Adams? Now, now, don't do that. You're only 
hurting yourself." 

In the next bed, a middle aged man rushed down 
from Delaware the day before lies in the last stages of 
a triumphant battle with gas-gangrene. He is nude, 
unconscious and very pale, with tubes and needles 




103 



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107 



taped to his thighs, penis, stomach and nostrils. There 
is no place for dignity or vanity when one is 
struggling against death on its own terms. He lies as 
helpless as an infant while doctors work to take a 
reading on his cardial output. "He was in very bad 
shape," a nurse comments, "but he's responding very 
well now." 

The center, whose maximum capacity is thirteen 
patients ("That's an unlucky number," the recep- 
tionist reminds us) fortunately has not yet had to 
turn anyone away. "In one week, we had ten 
patients," adds the young receptionist, who manages 
to remain cheerful at her station in the midst of the 
quiet suffering. "That was a pretty large call, and to 
be honest, we were scared to death!" 

When you consider that the next nearest facility of 
this kind is in New York, the call of ten seems 
remarkably small for a week's work. The fact is that 
there are only several shock trauma centers in the 
entire United States. 

"Texas has two, I think— one in Houston and one 
in Dallas where they took Kennedy when he was 
shot," DePadova recalls. "There's no more than a 
dozen of them in the entire country. Although this 
one has been operating on a very small scale for 
several years, the twelve bed unit was only added last 
year. ..The only place you really get treatment like 
this is in Vietnam since their average patient is a 
severe trauma case from gunshot or flack wounds. 
People are beginning to realize that here in America 
in our modern society, with all the auto, home and 
industrial accidents and all the other things that can 
happen to you, similar facilities are needed." 

By the very severe nature of the cases they receive, 
there is no way of getting around the fact that many 
who come in on stretchers, go back out on stretchers, 
only the second time, with their heads covered. Still, 
to most of the staff, this is not a deep source of 
dismay. 

"You just can't look at it in terms of raw statistics. 
Say out of a hundred patients taken in, sixty lived 
and forty died. Well, those forty could have been 
people who couldn't possibly have pulled through in 
an ordinary emergency room. The important thing is 
that of the sixty, some survive because of the 
intensive treatment here, and wouldn't have any- 



where else— we've saved at least eighty people who 
had gas-gangrene. We are slowly but surely pushing 
back the guidelines as to who is too critically injured 
to be saved." 

Considering the innovative nature of the Shock 
Trauma Center, it is no surprise that research is a vital 
facet of its operation. There is (literally and 
figuratively speaking) painfully little known about 
the basic body mechanisms involved in shock. 

"Well, the man died, but we got a good urine 
sample," a lab analyst is overheard to remark to his 
partner, the irony and bitterness strong in his voice. 

"Of course we must help our present patients," 
explains DePadova, "but we have to continue to learn 
more improved methods to save future patients. We 
can't stop with the limited knowledge that we already 
have. ..Hopefully we'll be funded more thoroughly in 
the future. Grants are hard to come by these 
days. ..We must find out much more about the 
mechanisms of shock and the exact changes that 
occur in the body: how to arrest them and turn them 
around." 

In a few hours as an observer you are left a bit 
more dizzy for the day's experiences. Remarkably, 
there is an almost serene calmness in the way the 
professionals go about their duties. But for the 
average person, the goings-on at the Shock Trauma 
Center are far too close to the essentials of life and 
death to be at ease with. When it's time to go you are 
glad to leave. 

"Drive carefully!" one of the doctors warns. "We 
don't want to have you back with us upstairs!" You 
start home along the high speed expressway and his 
parting words sound in your ears. 

The life work of the doctors at the center is healing 
with the things that most of us spend our time trying 
to forget. Their job is handling the it-could-never- 
happen-to-me catastrophies that do manage to 
happen to far too many people every day. 

Knowing they are there somehow makes the 
burden of forgetting somewhat easier. The fact that 
they are on call twenty -four hours a day, seven days a 
week is, in a vague, nauseous way, reassuring. 

You never know when you might need them. 

-bob alien 




This is one of two completely equipped 
ready-for-use major surgery areas. It is 
designed to make the trauma center a self- 
contained surgery, recovery, and research 
facility for critical shock patients. They will, 
when in full service, enable a patient to be 
brought in by ambulance or helicopter, 
wheeled into an emergency elevator, taken to 
the first floor and into a fully equipped 
emergency operating unit, complete with a 
twenty-four hour clinical laboratory facility 
and a staff specifically trained to handle 
severe shock cases. After surgery, immediate 
transfer to the fourth floor patient care area. 
When in full service, these two units will 
significantly cut down the time between 
reception and treatment, increasing the 
chance for recovery and aiding greatly in the 
research which is needed to save future lives. 



When in full service these units will make an 
already valuable facility even more valuable. 
When in full service, or more appropriately, if 
ever in service. These two units built and 
furnished at considerable cost sit locked and 
alone on their own deserted floor— a testi- 
mony to the stupidity of a state which allows 
such a worthy asset to remain inoperative. 
Progress created much of the need for such a 
facility and progress half-heartedly attempted 
a solution. But progress prefers to use its 
money for profit rather than people and this 
marvelous facility is handicapped because it 
cannot get funds to staff an already built 
surgical unit. Progress seems to prefer 
freeways to hospitals— they get more votes 
and campaign money. 



-us 



109 



mmm 
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photographed by steve budman 



I 




The Beautiful Day Trading Company is a food 
store-a natural food store for people who feel that the 
cellophane wrapped around their food is beginning to 
package them, too. 

Say it. Beautiful Day. Bee-you-oo-tee-foo-ell Da-a-a- 
ee-ee. 

Compare the name to Safeway, Giant Foods or Grand 
Union. Those names inspire confidence: They're big and 
powerful; they'll keep you safe, if you want to be 
wrapped in cellophane and have your spoilage retarded. 
That's security without flair or soul. That's what 
Beautiful Day is trying to get away from. 

Says Joe, one of the store's inner circle, "The 
important thing about food is its kharma-how much 
love and care have gone into its growing and packaging." 

Whether or not you believe that spiritual elements, 
hke chemical elements, can be transmitted through food 
(Joe, incidentally, is skeptical of vitamins), it is 
undeniable that the store has its own distinctive 
ambience. Even people who wander in for the first time 
and leave without buying anything comment on it. 

The store encourages you to get involved with your 
food, to sense the people involved in its production. It 
manages to be clean without seeming "untouched by 
human hands." 






Ill 




113 




115 



J 



The building, rented from Holy Redeemer Catholic 
Church, is on the corner of the parish school 
playground. The former meat market, according to 
Krispin, Joe's brother-in-law, "was a mess. They were 
ready to condemn it. ...It was really far-out to fix up 
everything with freak labor." 

When the store moved into the Berwyn road location 
in December 1970, the neighborhood was "kinda leery 
that freaks were invading," says Joe, "but now they 
come in and say 'the place hasn't looked so good in 30 
years.'" 

The inner circle, which includes Joe, Krispin, Cherri 
(Joe's sister and Krispin's wife), Richard and Elaine, is 
trying to make the store an institution that could 
continue if they had to leave. Their ultimate dream is to 
combine the store with a farm. 

In March, after four months of operation, they were 
stilt using any profit to build up the store's inventory. 

"I can never see running this as a profit institution. I 
can see making a living off it," said Krispin. 

"As soon as we can, we're going to lower prices, but 
we won't be able to do it for at least six months, until 
the store is completely full, until it can meet all the 
people's needs." 

The people who need Beautiful Day are a varied lot. 
Krispin, if he is in the mood, will tell you about Krees 
and gazieboes from Neptune who hang around the store 
planning to take over the Earth. Jerri Davis, of Lanham, 
however, admits to being nothing more exotic than a 
housewife who tries to feed her family of seven "whole 
foods." Before Beautiful Day, she went to Wheaton and 
RockviUe for organic vegetables. 

She first became interested in organically grown foods 
through friends who shared her interest in natural 
childbirth and breastfeeding. 

"I haven't gotten that deeply into the spiritual part," 
she says of food kharma, but she does not discount it. 
"When you eat whole foods you think clearer. Whether 
it comes from having the poisons cleared out of your 
system or because we're all in tune, I don't know." 

She says that natural foods are more nourishing than 
processed and reconstituted foodstuffs. By using them 
and emphasizing vegetables over meats, she has kept her 
food expenditures constant despite rising prices. 

They would like to sell only organic foods-grown 
without pesticides or chemical fertilizer-says Richard, 
who is taciturn and mild compared with Joe's calm 
directness and Krispin's excitable expansiveness, but 
with a rueful shake of his head he admits they must take 
some food that is not organic. 

Although none of the inner circle eats eggs, he adds, 
the Trading Company carries them "as a concession to 
popular demand." 

That's a curious remark for one so dedicated to 
serving the people, but it reveals the proselytizing 
enthusiasm which is mixed with their excitement at 
"doing something that you love to do. It's nice feeling a 



part of the store; like, it's you." 

Krispin, Cherri, Jerri Davis and the others know they 
are bucking the Zeitgeist, but also think they might be 
starting a new one. 

As Cherri puts it, "A scientist might say chemically 
you're wrong (about kharma), but a priest or rabbi 
might say you're right." 

Nutritionists do dismiss some of the claims of food 
cultists. Plants and people grow big and strong, they say, 
if they get the proper nutrients, whether they get them 
from chemical fertilizer and vitamin pills or from animal 
dung and fresh food. And it is further pointed out that 
there is simply not enough natural fertilizer to sustain 
production at current levels. 

That part of the problem is aesthetic and psychologi- 
cal, but it is nonetheless a problem: How do you 
exercise control over your life and experience personal 
contact with a reality that is too much intermediated by 
things? 

So whether you call it kharma or placebo effect or 
human nature, in these times the ethos of natural foods, 
like natural childbirth and breastfeeding, is genuinely 
and gently revolutionary and radical. 

At the same time, it is conservative. 

Jerri Davis gives her children apples and cheese for an 
afternoon snack because it tastes good and is good for 
them, something mothers have tried to do every 
afternoon since the dawn of time. 

The plan to make the store a self-sustaining institution 
echoes that great cinema line: "I'm building for the 
future. ..Someday, son, all this will be yours." It is the 
old human urge to build something good and build it 
permanent. 

The personal touches are like those in the grocery that 
used to be on the corner of my grandmother's block. 
What Cherri expresses as "...happy people doing things 
they really like. ..it just carries through in the food," 
chain stores try to do now with "customer relations," 
but it just is not the same as knowing Mr. Gerber is your 
friend. 

It is unfortunate that the terms radical and 
revolutionary carry connotations of absolutist Utopian 
movements to forge a "New Man" by destroying old and 
creating new institutions or, by remaking man through 
drugs or religion, to make a (brave) new world. Beautiful 
Day Trading Company have discovered by instinct that 
people do not "get the institutions they deserve," they 
get the institutions they need; that change comes 
through the continuous evolution of the interaction 
between people and their institutions. 

"We're opening up the community," says Krispin, 
"the inner circle is reaching out to the outer circle, 
bringing people in. ..people in the community who can 
add. ..because, y'know, you could do it. You could build 
a whole new world." 

-sean fitzpatrick 



116 



photographed by harold lalos 



A sense of community. Bring your own bag 
or box to carry the stuff home in. If you want 
cider, bring your own bottle; eggs, your own 
egg carton. Everybody contributes something 
and that makes it a co-operative-a food 
co-op. 

A couple of sacrifices just so the lower 
prices make sense. You have to order the food 
a week in advance and even then, they usually 
don't have something. And there's almost 
always a wait of about a half hour to pick up 
an order. But everybody smiles, and while 
you're waiting they sometimes have a couple 
of cakes cut up, and people talk to you and 
act friendly because they want you to be 
happy. 

It isn't very much like a real food store. 
The co-op gives you a price list and a 
newsletter. Prices that change every week or 
aren't on the list, like meat and vegetables, are 
posted on blackboards that hang from the 
ceiling. It's just a big room really, with 
workers separated from buyers by a row of 
tables laden with canned goods. The workers 
take your order slip and find everything for 
you and put it in your bag and tell you 
they're terribly sorry they couldn't get these 
for you but won't you use your refund as 
credit for the next week. And you believe 
they really are sorry because the whole idea 
for the co-op is to help everyone realize that 
if they just work together even food prices are 
vulnerable. 

It's a quiet sort of revolution-people doing 
something in a slightly unconventional, 
slightly more complicated way to get around 
something they don't like, and discovering it 
really is fun and saying to hell with the other 
way. Maybe not a prelude of things to come, 
but even if the prices weren't lower, at least it 
gives a sense of community. 



-bob mondello 





119 





120 




[OLLtH MDK 



We used to park at Hungry Herman's, 
because there was no Hungry Herman's then. 
And there was no Stereo Scene or Dreama's. 
There were parking meters, and we parked 
there and ate our hamburger subs at Howie's. 

There was a lady sitting behind the cash 
register at Howie's, and she knew your name if 
you had been there more than a few times 
because at Howie's, they always wrote your 
first name at the top of the check. 

They had to, you see, because so many 
people ate at Howie's that they had to wait 
awhile for their food, and when their food was 
ready the lady with the bags under her eyes and 
the half-glasses who spoke in a high, cracked 
voice would call you. 

She would ask you to "state whether it's to 
stay or to go," and we would mumble "stay" 
and she would put that flat hamburger with the 
shiny rectangular roll on a small white plate and 
we would pay her the 50 cents for the food and 
another 25 cents for a giant coke. And we 
would get some salt out of the big box of salts 
near the cash register and find a table and eat. 

And the onions on the hamburger were fried, 
because the lady always asked us if we wanted 
raw or fried onions. And they put a lot of ice in 
the big coke. 

We used to park at Hungry Herman's late at 
night, too. That was the best time of all. 3 a.m. 
The Grill was closed, all the hell-raisers were 



either home sleeping it off or else somewhere 
else raising hell. So we parked and walked down 
to Rt. 1 where the "Plain and Fancy" donut 
sign revolved and everything else was dark. 

And we went into the donut shop, where this 
string-beanish guy stood behind the counter, 
and he got to know you, too, if you came in 
there all the time, like we did. A lot of freaks 
sat at the counter and drank coffee and ate 
donuts and talked about poetry and revolution. 
And we sat at the tables that were up against 
the other wall and listened and enjoyed the 
atmosphere and played Simon and Garfunkel 
records on the jukebox and shivered with 
thoughts of walking back outside, where it was 
so cold. Some nights we forgot the car. 

But last May, they raided the donut shop. 
They arrested 28 people who were sitting at the 
counter discussing poetry and revolution, and 
people sitting at tables chomping chocolate 
donuts and playing the jukebox. And they 
closed down the donut shop from 10 p.m. on. 

And we couldn't park at Hungry Herman's 
anymore, because when we were sophomores, 
they built Hungry Herman's. But we wouldn't 
go there because Howie's charged less, and 
anyway, they put more ice in the cokes and 
asked you if you wanted your onions raw or 
fried. 

So this year I go to the donut shop on 
University Boulevard. And I visit College Park a 
lot, but I usually walk. 

I like to use the laundromat, because it's 
much faster than the dorm machines. And the 
dryers dry much better, even though they do 
cost a penny a minute. 




warren hill 



123 



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125 




byron loubert 



I like to visit the 7-Eleven. I don't know 
why, because they charge a lot of money for 
the same thing Peoples and Albrecht's charge 
less for. Maybe it's the fact that I can glance at 
the newspaper headlines there. Albrecht's keeps 
their newspapers behind the counter. If you 
want to buy one, you have to ask for it. 

And I hke the delicatessen, too. If you're 
alone, you can get a good hamburger 
sub— though they don't fry onions nearly as 
good as Howie's— and watch television. And 
talk to the man who makes the subs. He's a 
riot. 

There used to be a Hot Shoppes where the 
Big Boy now is. It changed this year. We 
sometimes ate at Hot Shoppes, when we were 
in ,the mood to sit down and eat at a "nice" 
place; someplace a httle less rustic than Howie's 
or the deli. Anyway, Hot Shoppes was the only 
place we could get an Orange Freeze. 

We used to see a lot of couples at Hot 
3hoppes, stopping there late Friday and 
Saturday nights for an ice cream sundae. The 
more serious people drank cups of coffee. 
Everyone looked out the big windows and saw 
Mr. Tony's, which had no windows. We joked 
that it must be a Mafia headquarters. 

There also used to be a post office, next to 
Mel's Other Place. If we were in a good mood, 
we would ask the postman if he had any 
"special" six cent stamps. We didn't like the 
Eisenhower ones all the time. 

I had a Big Boy yesterday, and it was as good 
as everyone says it is. I went in my faded jeans, 
the ones with the holes in the seat. Big deal. I 
couldn't look out the window. They closed the 



curtains. 

If I smoked, I'd buy my cigarettes at the 
machine in Food Fair. Only 35 cents. Last year 
they were 30. 

One thing never changes. People lined up, 
day and night and especially on Fridays, at the 
Suburban Trust window. 

Sometimes I stiU visit Howie's, to get a 
hamburger sub. They still put a lot of ice in the 
cokes-after all, it wasn't that long ago. But the 
place is always empty. They don't know my 
name anymore. They never ask for it. They 
don't have to. 

I go to the College Park donut shop 
sometimes, too. But even though they've been 
staying open all night again, they run out of 
donuts by midnight. In fact, they even pile up 
the empty trays so when the donut delivery 
man comes, he can get in and out faster. 

A few people sit at the counter. Freaks. Girls 
in ragged blue shirts and guys either stoned or 
trying to fake it. Discussing nothing. The 
jukebox is quiet. I haven't sat down in the 
donut shop all year. 

I go to Hungry Herman's sometimes; their 
rolls are the best in town. It's usually crowded, 
but their cokes aren't as big. And they make 
everyone's onions the same. 

Howie's took down their big sign that used 
to revolve when they were open. They also 
took away the lady. I haven't seen her in 
months. 

The price of progress in small-town America. 
We left College Park. I returned, and couldn't 
find a decent donut. 

-david lightman 




warren hill 




byron loubert 







C3thy le« 




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...a new concept 




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better things... 
for better living... 

through chemistry 





LIS 



volume 1 issue 3 may 1971 



harold a lalos 
paul h levin 



editor 
managing editor 



opinions expressed in this magazine are those of the 
editors and respective authors and do not necessarily 
reflect the views of the university. 



us currently publishes three volumes, issue one dis- 
tributed in January, issues two and three in may. of- 
fices in room 207 journalism building. 454-2230. 



copyright may 1 971 , editors of us 

all rights reserved 

no portion of this publication may be duplicated 

without written permission. 



front cover by harold lalos 
rear cover by kathy sterling 



contents 



basketball 

lacrosse 

baseball 





rrfwffi Ff 



In an era when traditions are being torn down, 
the University is rapidly building a tradition at 
Cole student activities building in the winter 
months. There, Lefty Driesell and his biological 
freaks have been packing the spacious fieldhouse 
despite their less than impressive records. 

In Driesell's two years, the University set a new 
season attendance mark each season. The 1970-71 
season saw an average of 10,000+ attend the 14 
home games, in sharp contrast to the pre-Driesell 
era when 10,000 was considered good attendance 
even when top-ranked teams provided the opposi- 
tion. 

In fact, the crowd had an appeal all its own. 
Cynics pointed to the average University student's 
lack of values when 8,000 protested last May about 
American involvement in Cambodia and 10,000 
showed for a basketball game. Yet come they did. 
All kinds of students. From coat and tie with a just 
as prim and proper date to freaks wearing 
whatever. 

The crowds knew their basketball or, at least, 
how to read the scoreboard, with the volume of 
the cheering in direct proportion to the Terps' 
position. No amount of effort by the cheerleaders 
would get the students to respond to a cheer. But 
let somebody wearing the home uniform score and 
the volume was... well, if Cole had rafters it would 
have shaken them. 

The crowd was an involved crowd. In each of 
the University's close ball games, a new peak of 
noise was reached with each score as the end of the 
contest neared. And if the Terps won, it was 
bedlam— witness Wake Forest or the granddaddy of 
them all, the South Carolina celebration. 

Still, why would students go to see a 14-12 
team? ...to see the coach, and that's where the 
traditions have begun. 

An average contest, with the 10,000+ attend- 



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ance: First the opposition comes out, their 
appearance drawing boos and various other 
nondescript calls. Then comes the home team, 
bedecked in new uniforms, drawing cheers and the 
sounds of approval. But it's a restrained cheer, for 
the crowd is waiting for something else. Finally 
Driesell enters and the crowd cheers and then— the 
high point of the evening— he gives the "V" sign 
(which he does not like and plans to cut out next 
year) and the crowd cheers and cheers. The game 
doesn't matter. The crowd came to see the "V" 
and what Driesell will do. 

Well, the game does matter, but not this year. 
That will be another tradition-sweat along with 
Lefty until we get the big boys. And this year the 
big boys began to arrive. The varsity had a couple 
of them, Jim O'Brien and Howard White, but those 
big boys will be replaced by even bigger boys next 
year. Driesell got himself a freshman team that just 
might start another tradition. 

The freshmen were undefeated in 1 6 games. But 
everyone knew they would win, it's how they won 
that set the fans' hearts aflutter. They won each 
contest by 34 points, outrebounded the opposition 
by 15, outshot the opposition by 14 per cent, and 
so on, practically forever. 

The whole freshman outfit made another 
tradition almost seem true— Driesell's claim that 
Maryland will be the "UCLA of the East"-by 
piling up scores like 1 10-57, 124-66 and 107-77. 

The varsity also played this year. 

They started strong and had, at one point, an 
1 1-3 mark, but... well, "faded" is a kind word. 

With the freshmen coming up and another such 
freshman squad promised fof next year, maybe 
Driesell's about ready to start another tradition - 
winning. 

-Steve sigafoose 



<*..* V 






harold lalos 




warren hill 




Steve budman 



10 




photographed by 
Steve budman 




oh to be an Indian 
and play lacrosse 
like it was new 

turning and churning 

in the grass 

forcing reluctant muscles 

toward a goal, 

hopefully the opposition's 

running through a maze of fields, 

tossing a ball 

and working-in 

a new pair of loin clothes 

i'd play midfield 
for the Washington Redskins 
and strain my lacrosse thighs 
to win a pennant or two 

and the next season 

I'd hold-out for a better offer, 

perhaps Manhattan 

with an option on the Bronx Zoo 



but my thighs are not lacrosse 

they don't bulge from under short pants 

they have pusless pimples 

and look like fat men in a sauna bath 

when i wear a loin cloth 



and besides, 

i'm better suited to bleacher seats 

where i can watch the terps 

(beat Johns Hopkins 

sing Navy 

obliterate State 

out-jargon Jargon) 

turning and churning 
in the grass 
and playing lacrosse 
like it was new 



-larry blonder 




13 





.^^5^ 




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16 






'^S^' 






'*^.^ 




Rsrr 





Steve budman 



BaseBaLL 



I 



The little kid hitting pebbles with a stick that 
bounce off the upper deck of RFK stadium, 
forgetting the pebble that was too quick and 
dropped to the turf of backyard, USA; the 
potato chips that ran out and the beer that was 
warm just when Warner Wolf set the Nats 
defensively in the last of the ninth. Roger 
Maris' 61st, Frank Howard's 40th, Don Lep- 
pert's third of the night-that's baseball to 
middle America. 

And collegiate baseball? That's the little kid 
grown some, with his inner socks rolled just so, 
hoping the Pirates' birddog sees him and 
wondering why he can't hit this rinky dink 
righthander whose tosses look like pebbles. It's 
wanting to be a Topps baseball card, instead of 
wanting to collect them. It's the big hit in the 
last of the ninth, greeted only by half-empty 
stands and teammates' half-hearted, perhaps 
jealous, applause. Wonder why you didn't sign 
out of high school. 

For those who don't aspire to the bigtime, 
it's satisfaction maybe, but surely the pressure, 
work and time-consumingness of bigtime col- 
legiate sports— minus the glory. A way through 
college, a contact with the gung-ho days of high 
school— that's college ball for the nonprospect. 

Shipley field, a sunny afternoon, riding the 
bench when everyone is on Rt. 1 , a number on 



your back as if the one they give you at 
registration is not enough. Pinch-hitting maybe, 
knowing they know that if you were that 
fearsome, you would have started. Whoomp. 
Strike one. A loud foul even, that'd do. Low 
and away. Crouch more, maybe a walk. Ready 
...down the pipe. ..swing... and it's a high drive 
to deep... but no, you have to run out the 
popup anyway. 

No matter, remember what the splendid 
splinter says, "It's the hardest thing to do in 
sports, this hitting." If you're good, you'll 
succeed a third of the time. Man, that's life. 

Good trivia ammunition, those statistics. 
Measuring lives on paper. Have to sneak a look 
at the sports page nowadays, though. One Jim 
Bouton doesn't make it all relevant. 

Lots to do in spring. Fancies turn everywhere 
but Shipley field. Don't need a ticket, and you 
won't be hassled. A game for another era 
maybe, or just out of the realm of sport, too 
near perfection. Until the grounder shoots 
through the shortstop's legs and the leftfielder 
throws it into the stands. Tragicomic in a way. 
Great parts, the hitting, the fielding, the 
throwing, the sliding-brought together, but 
unblended in an unnatural form, each thwarting 
the other. The inaction builds at a torrid pace. 
Ah, if life had its built-in breaks, or its own 





23 




larry higglns 




seventh inning stretch. How nice to change 
sides once in awhile. 

Even stealing has its rewards. Sacrifices aren't 
counted against you. Justice and honor on the 
diamond. If the pitcher hits you, he is 
penalized, you are rewarded. Assuming Ray 
Chapman's fate doesn't befall you. Beaned in 
1920, dead. But he's the only one. 

Throw it around, little pepper, that'a'boy, 
hey rag arm, good eye, way to hang. Gets the 
adrenalin going to get psyched. Almost as if his 
success was your own. Something to tell the 
kids anyway. "Played college ball?" "Yeah." 
Adds an aura of sorts. Doesn't go down on 
paper like the doubles and triples, but it still 
counts. ..doesn't it? Somewhere they've got a 
record of it. 

Softball. Now there's a game. Don't need any 
talent. Ego-trips allowed. Everybody makes 
contact, almost. Short bases, short throws, Light 
bats. Modified for the masses. 

Intramurals on a lazy spring afternoon, with 
a good view of Rt. 1 . Some guys look like 
they're good enough to play college bail. 
Tee-shirts, cut-offs and beer bellies. A step 
toward the real-world and the company team. 

Always have something more pressing. But a 
game, man. Gotta play, as long as you don't 
have to. Get lost in that world. They won't 
keep records, but you know. Being happy 
doesn't get measured. Save my ups, will ya? 

Back at Shipley, empty now, game's over. 
Sure would be nice to go down onto the field 
and hit some pebbles. 

andy sharp 




25 



v?'i?5 



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tmawcR^^ 



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m 




Catherine abell 
angela abrahams 
roger abram 
marc abrams 
mary abrams 
Jeanne abramson 



sherrill absher 
marilyn acken 
marsha ackerman 
barbara adams 
carol adams 
I'oan adams 



peter adams 
renee adams 
michael addis 
philipades 
lawrence adier 
david agee 



William aivalikles 
grace alder 
Shirley alderson 
bonnie joy aleks 
henry alexander 
susan alien 



anne allnutt 
neil alperstein 
rae ellen alperstein 
richard alperstein 
James altieri 
lois altshuler 



Janice alvey 
george amrein 
david anderson 
dolores anderson 
Sharon anderson 
nancy andrews 



sherry-lynn andrusia 
silvia angst 
camille anselmo 
cynthia appel 
Steven appelbaum 
frances appler 

Stephen arkin 
zorthian armstrong 
ross arnett III 
theresa arney 
alien arnold 
oanne aronson 



Janice aronstein 
peter arthur 
beverly asard 
oscar ascherl 
daniel assad 
mark atcherson 



27 




dennis atwood 
marcella aucremanne 
cynthia aud 
m. richard auerbach 
waiter aughenbaugh 
susan aumack 



John bacon 
astrid baege 
rhonda baer 
carl bailey 
colleen bailey 
bryan bailey 

dennis baker 
diane baker 
James baker 
Joan balacek 
Carolyn baldwin 
Stephen baiuch 



barry bank 
theodore barberry 
dick barham 
ilene barke 
theodore barila 
susan barlow 



helen lee barnes 
louise barnes 
martin barnhouser 
m. theresa barr 
Joseph barrett jr. 
susan bartholomew 



m. michael bartlett 
jill bash 
ira basile 
waiter bateman 
phyllis bauer 
William baugh 

marsha baum 
ralph baumgardner 
diane baumgartner 
gale baylin 
Josephine bayly 
Christine beard 



Claudia bearinger 
susan beavo 
elissa bechkes 
diane beck 
donald beck 
helene becker 



wendy becker 
angella beckley 
roger beechener 
carl behrens 
Joseph behun 
sally bell 




s>. 




Sl'l 




victoria bell 
robert bennett 
joan benney 
billie bent 
William bentley 
edward berg 

marian berg 
karl bergenstal 
frederick berhalter 
aron berkman 
gale berkowitz 
Janet berkowitz 



erica berry 
Helen berry 
theodore berzinski 
natalie best 
deborah bidwell 
bruce bitcover 



ronald bittner 
maureen bitz 
nancy black 
Jonathan blacker 
barbara biair 
elissa bellassai 



patti bennett 
nancy blakeney 
lee blasecki 
barry bleiweis 
ann blevins 
eleanor block 



marilynn block 
Jill blomquist 
Jeffrey blumenthal 
John bochnowicz 
myrna bock 
karen bodkin 



jean boker 
linda bombino 
elizabeth boniface 
thomas bonifant 
michael bonk 
Jonathan book 

martin book 
leslie booth 
Judith bootz 
Joseph borkoski 
Joanna bort 
f. Stefan boss! Ill 



John bouchard 
marcia boyd 
thomas bradshaw jr. 
James brand 
linda brantner 
beryl braunstein 



29 









richard braunstein 
John breckenridge 
Steven breeskin 
maureen breitenberg 
Patrick brennan 
margie brenner 

Charles brenton 
louann bress 
Charles bright 
Shirley brilliant 
Janice brimberry 
margaret briody 



susan brion 
William broda 
melody brodnick 
Stanley brodsky 
donald brooks 
helen brooks 



leslie brott 

carol lynn brown 

eileen brown 

Irving brown 

jacquelyn yvonne brown 

James brown 

mary brown 
andrea browne 
robert browning 
scott brownstein 
linda kay brunson 
Stephen brutscher 



david bryan 
diana bryan 
cynthia bryant 
adam brzeczko 
russ bucans 
gwendolyn buchwald 

richard buckholz 
mark buckley 
susan buckwalter 
barbara bugg 
richard buhrman 
jane bullock 



patsy bulmash 
susan burck 
mary buckart 
Joseph burke 
nancy burroughs 
Judith ann burson 

Judith burton 
marshall bush 
shelley butler 
Christine butterfield 
donna byars 
John byrd 



30 




fEB^tk'L 




toby byrd 
coleen bystrak 
Virginia lance cadle 
ann cady 
anne caiazzo 
concetta calogero 

donald Campbell 
barbara campfield 
bruce canham 
ceil canin 
Sharon cannon 
Judith cano 



jon cantor 
faye caplan 
linda caplan raden 
myra caplan 
larry caplan 
sandi caplan 



Jaime cardenas 
James carlson 
ronald Carroll 
elizabeth carter 
Janet carter 
kenneth carter 



rita carton 
Charles case 
Sharon cassidy 
darlene castle 
gail castleman 
susan castrilli 



Samuel catania 
mary cator 
karen ceolla 
rochelle chaiken 
Samuel chalfant 
ann chambers 



clarence chambliss jr. 
dianne champo 
lea chartock 
rebecca chaski 
david cheng 
rena cherry 

Janice chew 
William chies 
William childs 
Jennie chin 
philip chin 
wanda chin 



sudhitham chirathivat 
Stanley chop 
clif chrapaty 
elaine christensen 
ronald ciavolelia 
patricia anne ciccone 



31 





0^M& 6> 




patricia cislo 
phyllis Clancy 
david dark 
James dark 
John dark 
robert dark 



theodore preston clarke 
robert clay 
celia diane clithero 
kathryn dough 
Judith clower 
William dowser 



gregory coates 
lincoln coffin jr. 
bonnie cohen 
carol cohen 
Jeffrey cohen 
lee cohen 



louis cohen 
rhonda cohen 
Stephanie colbert 
theresa cole 
William cole jr. 
patti collett 



margaret ann collins 
susan collison 
ladd Colston 
Cecelia coltrane 
edward comly jr. 
michael cone 



kathy conkey 
John conkey 
emily conrad 
kenneth cook 
martha cook 
mary cook 



dale coran 
Julie cosner 
mary costello 
tom coumaris 
frank covey 
donaid cox 



larry cox 
margaret cox 
roderick cox 
carol coyle 
marsha craig 
mark Crawford 



joan crotty 
Connie crump 
dandridge crump 
michael crupi 
elda ivette cruz 
ernesto cuesta 



32 




ofelia cuesta 

Jacqueline dee cullins 

ronald culp 

lea anne Cunningham 

seth cutler 

helena joy czarniecki 

timothy dahle 
barbara dalfonzo 
Joseph dallavalle 
ronald dalrymple 
robert danielson 
peter danko 



y Ian dao 
russell dare jr. 
richard dashill 
barbara davenport 
kathryn davenport 
gary davies 



barbara davis 
brenda davis 
brenda davis 
david davis 
dennis davis 
robert davis 

Sharon davis 
Virginia davis 
barbara davitz 
Charles day 
Stanley day jr. 
Catherine dean 



James debeer 
linda debrick 
maxine deck 
m. Judith deckelbaum 
glenn decint 
margarita deleon 

gregory delia 
bonita delibera 
edv/in delong 
angela delwiche 
Stephanie dematatis 
rae dematteis 



Judith demer 
bob denier 
Janet dente 
roy deppa 
mignon derrick 
helen detlie 



gregory diachenko 
margaret diamond 
alberto diaz 
anita dickman 
daniel dibenedetto 
deborah diehl 



33 




mark diehl 
karl diehn 
diane diemer 
deborah dietle 
Sandra dietmeir 
gary ditlow 

tessa doan 
ronald doherty 
William dommel jr. 
kathryn dondero 
gerald donegan 
brian donnelly 



cynthia donnelly 
margaret donnelly 
thomas donohue 
barbara donovan 
brenda dorenfeld 
richard dove 



bonnie down 
dorothee drake 
William draper 
donaid dresner 
Sharon drexler 
arlene dubee 



lawrence dubit 
robin dubin 
Stephen dubinsky 
frances dubrov 
carol duke 
Sharon dunmore 



david dunton 
alfred durham 
Joyce durocher 
William durm 
gary duvail 
susan dwoskin 



William dwyer 
marcy dyke 
peggy ann eacho 
george earman 
sharon east 
fynnette eaton 

Catherine ebel 
edward eberling 
ciaire eckert 
dennis eckstine 
manuel economedes 
nancy ediow 

Joseph edmonds 
deborah edmondson 
magdalena edmonson 
elizabeth edmunds 
Sandra edmunds 
Cheryl edwards 



34 




gerald edwards 
j. steed edwards 
Charles eichelberger jr. 
mary eichelberger 
Sharon eisenhart 
laura elam 



James elder 
Sandra elkin 
dave elling 
Charles ellison 
marilyn emanuel 
david endres 



diana eng 
seena engel 
Irene engle 
ross englehart 
gail english 
pamela ennis 



ellen epstein 
Sharon epstein 
jay erdman 
sharron eror 
tana esham 
carol essrick 



maryann estes 
susan cure 
deborah evans 
lois eves 
mickie evans 
ruth exier 



dennis fair 
mary fairlamb 
Jacqueline falk 
mary fang 
Jeanne fangmeyer 
brooks farrar, II 



kenneth faulstich 
rosemary fay a 
nancy feaster 
alan feinberg 
susan feindt 
barbara feinglass 

shelley feingold 
paul feinsilver 
carol feldmann 
albert feldstein 
gary ross fennel 
andrew ferguson 



June ferrari 
thomas ferraro 
nancy jo field 
Steven fields 
sarah fields 
rebecca fink 



35 




^HWK^ 



nancy jean finney 
William finnin 
domenic firmani 
ronald fisch 
janis fischer 
jody fischer 

carol fisher 
Jeffrey fisher 
Joseph fisher 
Judy fisher 
paul fister 
carol fitzwater 



nadine fizzano 
Julia flatley 
susan fleisher 
roberta fleishman 
edward flowers 
frederic flower 



robert floyd jr. 
ralph fogwell 
danny ford 
Janice ford 
Jeffrey ford 
mary forlines 

michael forman 
ilene fox 
James fox 
Julia fox 
louis fox 
Steven fox 



Steven frahm 
eric francis 
Joan francis 
emily francois 
Charles frankfort 
carole franks 



duane frantz 
ilene freed 
richard freed 
John freeland 
thomas freeman 
elizabeth frey 

Jonathan fricker 
barbara frid 
rochelle jean friedland 
alan friedman 
cheri friedman 
helene friedman 



Samuel friend 
sandra fritsche 
dorothy fritz 
nancy frye 
brian fujii 
drusilla fuller 









^ii^E 



gary funkhouser 
katherine gable 
demetrios gadonas 
michael gaidis 
Joseph galante 
george gallo 

deborah galvin 
harry gamble 
barbara garber 
susan garber 
robert garcia 
evelyn garfield 

sherry garland 
creston garner 
michael garofano 
marilyn garrison 
Sandra garrison 
janis gaskins 



fred gatchell 
richard gates 
Joseph geatz 
susan gebhardt 
debra gelfeld 
morris gelman 



barbara gendler 
harriet gerber 
tamara gerdts 
susan gerlock 
barbara germenko 
Charles gettier 



barbara gewirtz 
kim gibbons 
Joseph gibson 
ronald gill 
gordon gipe 
craig gladstone 

ann glazer 
nancy glazer 
Suzanne glickstein 
William glidden 
suzan globus 
herschel gloger 

eriinda giorioyo 
david alan glunt 
mary anne gnash 
anthony gochar 
nancy golas 
lois goldberg 

lynette goldberg 
lynn goldberg 
eric goldenberg 
beth goldkind 
howard goldhammer 
glenda goldman 



37 




""■ ..^-^Pi 



' &r^ 




jj23m 



robyn goldsmith 
paul goldstein 
robert goley 
Sharon golliday 
michael golub 
shari goodman 



margaret goodrich 
jerry go^don 
polly gordon 
ronald gordon 
donald gorelick 
dwight gorsuch 



peter gossans 
nancy gottlieb 
sr. theresa gottuso 
laura grady 
robert grafton 
carol graham 



Johnson graham 
glenn grant 
leonard grant 
roger grant 
John graves 
Jennifer gray 

howard green 
John green 
nathan greenbaum 
grace green berg 
marcia greenblatt 
ch. emily greene 



michael greenstein 
linda gregg 
spencer gregg 
paul gresham 
Stanley grey 
John gribbin 

Charles grier 
margaret griffith 
priscilla griffith 
helen grigg 
margaret griggs 
Stephen groh 

larry grosswickle 
alice gry savage 
frank guest, III 
jacquelyn guinan 
fredesvinda guime 
joan gulkasian 

robert guthrie 
philip guzman 
Carolyn gwaltney 
debbie haas 
James habersat 
holly hafer 




e£M^Jm 





^52 















kathleen haggerty 
Charles hakkarinen 
george hall 
marcia hall 
Stanley hall 
theodore hall 



William hall 
wayne haman 
Cynthia hamilton 
frederic hamilton jr. 
jimmy hammond 
ileen han 



William hand jr. 
wendy hankoff 
melinda hanks 
w. scott hanle 
rebecca hansen 
karen harbour 



thomas hardy 
Patricia harger 
hope harkavy 
janet harkins 
marene harkins 
karen harmening 

patsy harmeyer 
marilyn harmon 
jean harpster 
dorothy harr 
bonnie harrell 
ellen harrelson 



claire harrington 
bessie harris 
Charles harris 
elsey harris, III 
Irene harris 
richard harris 



carol harrison 
russell harrison 
Shirley harrison 
rosemary hart 
robert hartman 
sean harty 

robert harvey jr. 
kathryn haskin 
John hassett 
dennis hatfield 
robert hatfield 
Pamela hauck 

sheila havranek 
ethelda hawkins 
georganne hayden 
John hayes 
susan hayes 
lawrence hays 



39 



w^ ^ 

^ei 















diane hayward 
Josephine head 
raymond heagele 
Charles healey 
betsy healy 
david healy 



michael healy 
rose heavner 
darvin hege 
dawn heindel 
muriel helman 
michael hemminf 



Charles henck 
kathryn henck 
deborah henderson 
harold henderson 
maria henderson 
pamela henderson 



les henig 

keith henry 
robert henry 
reinhold herberg 
William herbert 
John herbots 

douglas heritage 
harry herman jr. 
rochelle herman 
kathleen herrick 
aurelia herrington 
carol herron 



James heslin 
douglas hess 
david hickman 
max highstein 
jean hill 
marie hill 



linda hinch 
noreen hines 
Julie hinman 
robert hirzel 
ira hochstadt 
marianne hockman 

nancy hodges 
zita hoeike 
Charles hoesch 
John hoesch 
david hoexter 
henry hoffacker 

bruce hoffberger 
arthur hoffman 
thoman hoffman 
maureen hogan 
david holcombe 
sharon holtzman 



40 



r^^ r ^ - 




^rw 


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James holzapfel 


Wi'^j 


f^^ 


linda holzman 


Ml 1 


ffi 1 


patricia hook 


]tJ IL^ 


mary hope 


^^^ A^k 


Stanley hordes 


i^i^^ 


i^^^H 


maxine hormats 




Slfl2£ 










linda hormes 
richard horner 
david howard 
glenn howard 
wayne howard 
becky howe 

elizabeth howe 
robert howell 
esther hsiao 
mary hubbard 
lucille huddleston 
roberta huber 



tim hudson 

linda huffines 

miriam hull 

Janet hunt 

mary gansevoort bleaker hurlbut 

rae hurwitz 



phyllis hyatt 
faye hylton 
robert hynes 
diana hynson 
brad iarossi 
robert ibach jr. 



danie ichniowski 
Joseph idol 
Stephanie illar 
nancy imiay 
carol imp 
michielle inagaki 

Janet inches 
lois ingber 
deborah ingel 
michael Ingram 
donald inscoe 
kenneth iserson 



barbara isrow 
donald iwancio 
gloria izumi 
ellen jablon 
laura Jacobs 
robin Jacobs 

alan jacobson 
Joyce jacobson 
Steven jacoby 
Sophie jacoby 
wanda jacoby 
bonny jaffe 



41 




patricia James 
Sharon janicki 
carol jannetti 
peter jaquette 
alien javins 
eugene jeffers 



barbara Jenkins 
linda Jewell 
Charles jewett 
Sharon Johnson 
thomas Johnson 
paraskevoula Johnson 



ronald Johnson 
willa Johnson 
arlene Jones 
georgia Jones 
kathleen Jones 
linda Jones 



maryellen Jordan 
louise Jung 
Janet justice 
doris kaatz 
edward kabara jr. 
jan kaczmarek 



Jeanne kadet 
allan kahan 
sara kahn 
marjorie kaifer 
Judith kallman 
victor kamantauskas 



nora kammer 
robert kamosa 
ellen kampinsky 
susan kandell 
barbara kane 
barbara kane 



barry kane 
Patrick kane 
robert kanyuck 
arnold kaplan 
elyse kaplan 
robert kaplan 

susan kaplan 
michael kapland 
elizabeth karcher 
Joyce karlick 
Charles karpewicz 
Julie kasamatsu 

beverly kasnetz 
elleen katz 
rita katz 
Stanley katz 
susan katz 
ann katzen 



42 




Cindy katzman 
ellen kauffman 
linda kaufman 
verne kaupp 
marty kearney 
george keefer 



James keenan 
katherine keheley 
sheila keigher 
mary ann keller 
edward kelly 
leo kelly 



martin kelly 
norbert kelly 
kathy kenefick 
John kennedy 
lynn kennedy 
Stephen kennedy 



Sharon kenney 
deborah ann kent 
elizabeth kent 
linda kerr 
michael keskinen 
peggy kersten 

marsha kessler 
michael kessler 
robert keyser 
kathryn kierzkowski 
ann marie killeen 
waiter kimmel jr. 



Carolyn king 
elizabeth king 
michael king 
norman king 
sara king 
rita kipper 

robert kirby 
Sharon kirkpatrick 
alan kirschbaum 
philip kirschenbaum 
raymond kirsner 
gary klausner 

eileen klebanoff 
veronica klebinder 
barbara klein 
darlene klein 
j. arthur klein 
linda kleinwachter 

lisa kligman 
gayle klimek 
susan katz 
Stephen kling 
leonard klompus 
miriam klompus 



43 




/iP]2SS 




deborah klopman 
elizabeth knopfle 
ellen kohn 
fern komenarsky 
Suzanne koppelmann 
Janet korb 



diane korn 
harry korab 
kathryn pollis koshel 
Jeanne kostas 
sarah kowaleski 
george kraft 

Jeffrey kraman 
eileen kramer 
iris kramer 
mary kramer 
nancy kramer 
robert krauss 



deborah kravette 
linda kreamer 
thomas kreps 
nancy kriegel 
sherri krieger 
Jackie kropman 

ellis franklin kube jr. 
karl kuckels 
george kuehn 
eric kuhfahl 
albin kuhn, II 
david kulik 



minnie kung 
Suzanne kurcias 
donald kurtz 
karen kuryloski 
Julie kutish 
nicholas kutson 



dennis kutzer 
diane lafferman 
richard lalim 
david lam 
jeffery landes 
penelope lane 

debra lange 
gerald lange 
William lanson 
mark lapidus 
brenda latka 
frances laucka 



barbara lavallee 
sherrie lavine 
barbara lawrence 
Virginia lav^rence 
carville leaf jr. 
Jeffrey leaf 



44 




michael lears 
linda lebling 
barbara lebow 
henry lederman 
arnold lee 
Constance lee 

eddie lee 
margaret lee 
Joanna leefer 
daniel lehman 
frederick lehman 
William lehmuth III 



kirk lehneis 
bernard lehrhoff 
linda leibelson 
michael leibelson 
adrianne leiderman 
Janet leissner 



John leistner 
mary jeannette lentz 
Janet leonard 
henry lesansky 
carol leshinsky 
forrest levely 

karen jean leventhal 
marcia terry leventhal 
Cheryl levin 
fred levin 
monica levin 
nancy levin 



Chester curtis levine 
donn levine 
susan lynn levine 
leonard levy 
mark levy 
barry lewis 

marilyn lewis 
lawrence liberatore 
robert lieberman 
jerry liebes 
martin liebman 
elizabeth light 

david lightman 
daniel Mm 
chi lin 
michael lind 
harry lins 
george linthicum 

larry linton 
arlene lishinsky 
Jeffrey llssauer 
arnold litman 
cyndy litofsky 
valentine liu 



45 










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judy lum 
diane luna 
soren lundsager 
alma lynch 
helene lyons 
raymond macdonald 

richard macdowell 
William mcamis 
patricia mcauley 
nda mcbriety 
waiter mccabe 
eugene mccarthy 



patricia mccarthy 
James douglas mccarty 
robert mcchesney 
udith mcclanahan 
lynda mcclelland 
margaret mcclung 

Chester mccoid 
carol mccormick 
jessyna mccree 
William mccullen 
Charles mcculloch 
anthony mcdonald 

leo mcdonald 
george mcdanolds 
Carole mcdonough 
marie mcewen 
Patrick mcgaha 
Shirley mcgaha 

robert mcgonigle 
Jerome mckay jr. 
Joseph mckay, III 
richard mckay 
suzanne mckay 
Joanne mckenna 



46 



p 








P!l£3'^l 




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Joseph mckenzie 
deborah mckerrow 
Valerie mcneal 
dennis mcroberts 
dennis mcveigh 
robert mace 



katherine mack 
sue madden 
bonnie magee 
Joel magram 
paula magrogan 
mary maguire 



michael magyar 
mary mahady 
redge mahaffey 
cynthia malament 
timothy malcolm 
mary maher 



Virginia maione 
jose maldonado-acosta 
Christine malesh 
jean manch 
andrew mandell 
bonnie mandell 



pahi mann 
anna manning 
larry manning 
joann marceron 
Charles marcus 
deborah marcus 



peter marcus 
michele margolin 
robert markle 
lynne markridge 
richard marks 
fred marmarosh 



robert marsh 

Joyce marshall 

linda marson 

francis augustus martin 

gary martin 

glenn martin 



lames martin jr. 
nelson martin 
patricia martin 
randi martin 
marian marx 
philip mason 

michael mastrangelo 
george matheos 
yashihiro matsushima 
elizabeth mattern 
linda matthews 
Stephen matthias 



47 




diane mayer 
robert mayer 
priscilla mayores 
sally mays 
Charles medani 
thomas meerholz 



benjamin megiddo 
Patricia mehok 
Stephen meleski 
michael meliker 
andrew melisano 
Julie melvin 



george menassa 
mary-margaret mercer 
rebecca merriken 
gloria merritt 
dominick messineo 
beverly meyer 



marian meyers 
peggy meyerowitz 
renee meyers 
marriet miceli 
thomas michel 
marilyn michie 

wayne mielczasz 
jane mihall 
ronald milberg 
Christine miles 
braunda miller 
carol miller 



david miller 
david huls miller 
j. douglas miller 
joan miller 
loren miller 
martha miller 



rita miller 

John hampton mills jr. 
theodore mintzer 
cecille mirvis 
denise mitchell 
marsha mittelman 



javier miyares 
arthur mohagen 
eileen monaghan 
gary monnier 
david montanari 
John moore 

richard moore 
deborah morick 
Stewart morick 
rocco morelli 
Janet morley 
diane morris 



48 







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janet morrow 
fahhimeh morthzavi 
thomas moseley 
richard moser 
susan moskovitz 
francine most 



susan motz 
Sharon mroz 
Steven mudrick 
meredith muller 
Patricia muller 
donna mullikin 



edward murphy 
helene murphy 
Joseph mutolo 
dorothy myers 
Vivian naman 
bonnie needel 



roger neff 
alien neihouse 
helene neyfeld 
hazel neuwirth 
michal neverdon 
marc nevin 



jay newirth 
rose nev/man 
richard neyhart 
Joseph nixon 
William norrell 
karen norwood 



chyri norte 
barry novick 
martha nudel 
jose nunez jr. 
marsha oidick 
linda o'leary 

karen oiias 
John Oliver 
brian o'neill 
alan oresky 
eileen orner 
lynn osman 

judy ostdiek 
Carole oswell 
wendy oswell 
robin outman 
thomas overton 
anita owings 



george owmo 
Judith marie page 
bernice palmer 
michael panos 
gerald pantaleo jr. 
david panzer 



49 




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joan paper 
niki parker 
lynnette parsons 
nancy parsons 
Carolyn parrish 
susan pasarew 

patricia pataky 
gene paul 
pam paul 
betty payne 
nancie peake 
marilyn pearl 



phyllis pearl 
charlotte peede 
alice peisner 
John pensinger 
warren percy 
pablo perez 



susan parkins 
James Joseph perkowski 
leslie perlberg 
elizabeth perry 
nancy perry 
Charles perticari 

humberto pertierra 
patti peternell 
david petrou 
david pfau 
John pflaum 
timothy pflaum 



barry philipp 
Virginia philpot 
diane pickard 
diane pilla 
roger pittiglio 
roslyn pleasant 



linda poffenberger 
Janet pohlmann 
jan polan 
ruth polinsky 
wendy pollack 
david pollock 

sandra pollock 
cole porter 
darryl porterfield 
george post 
maria poulos 
peter powell 

kathleen pozarek 
dianne prather 
sarah presley 
barbara price 
deborah pridgen 
robert primosch 




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david pritzker 
wilbert proctor 
Carole pszward 
nancy ptacek 
laurettequillin 
wendy quinn 



ames quirk 
Jeffrey raden 
leslie raines 
linda randall 
nancy rascovar 
martin rayman 



susan rechen 
jane recht 
dianne rector 
bonnie jean reed 
dana reed 
Patricia reed 



nora reese 
carol reeves 
david reger 
James reggia 
jane reidy 
craig reilly 

jean reisert 
david reiss 
mona remer 
craig reynolds 
lani remez 
dennis resnick 



James restorff 
monticello reynolds 
seema reznick 
susan rhiel 
david rice 
sharon rice 



Steven rice 
Jacqueline rich 
laura richards 
susan richardson 
sharon ridgeway 
michael rifkind 



gall riggs 

domenic rignanese 
mercedes rintoul 
Judy rippeon 
neverly ritchey 
mario rivas 



angel rivera 
anthony rivetti 
arlene robbins 
susan robbins 
James robertshaw 
sally robertson 



51 








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robert robeson 
carol robins 
carl robinson 
James robinson 
Stuart robinson 
barbara rochow 



edith rodman 
philip rodwell 
carol roe 
clara roe 
mitchell roffer 
John rogers 



William rogers 
randy roig 
Hilda rojas 
manuel romero 
lynn ronningen 
beatrice roppe 



nancy rose 
ellen roseman 
karyl rosen 
Steven rosen 
david rosenberg 
marsha rosenberg 



diane rosenblatt 
mona rosendorf 
robert rosenfeld 
andrea rosoff 
barbara ross 
ronald ross 



bruce rossi 
Webster roszell 
adrienne roth 
david rothkopf 
ruth rothman 
patricia rounds 



William rowe jr. 
patricia rowny 
Joel rozner 
Jackie rubenstein 
debbie rubin 
lewis rubin 



nolan rubin 
deborah rucker 
carol ruddie 
barbara rudich 
William ruiz 
clement ruley 



gary ruppert 
elaine rusinko 
pamela russell 
wesley russell 
Sharon ruth 
thomas rutkoski 



52 




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margi rutledge 
susan ryan 
theresa saathoff 
sherrie saber 
Janet sachs 
anita sager 

Christine salac 
j. Stephen salfeety 
Jacqueline sallow 
maria salvadore 
ann salzman 
Pamela samit 



barbara sancewich 
robert sanders 
myra sandidge 
Stephanie sandier 
marianne sane 
kathleen santell 



m. victoria santry 
george sarbacher 
anne sasaki 
mindy saslaw 
craig savage 
michael savage 

Stephen savage 
patti sayre 
Sandra sborofsky 
janis scalise 
brandt schanberger 
beth susan schapiro 



robert schappert, III 
merle schattner 
audrey scher 
donna schertzer 
Stephen Schick 
karen schloss 



linda schlossberg 
jane schnuer 
harvey schochet 
linda schoolfield kessler 
katherine Schramm 
helene schreiber 



sharyn schrier 
frederick schroeder 
donald schuirmann 
elley schuster 
Stuart schwalm 
dina schwartz 



melvin schwartz 
rita schwartz 
William schwartz 
richard sciambi 
Cheryl scott 
richard scott 



53 




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monti scribner 
francis scruggs jr. 
jan seabold 
Harriet sealfon 
sondra sealover 
nancy seamon 



treva sears 
anthony sedutto 
waiter seely 
John sefakis 
mark seff 
lynn segal 



thomas sehler 
melvin seidman 
shelley seiden 
sherry seiden 
roslynn seidenstein 
patsy seigel 



sandy selesky 
helen seligmann 
albert seike jr. 
ann sentman 
dennie hammett sepe 
lames seret 



carmelo sergi 
patricia serino 
lester severe 
marty severe 
James shaffer 
Janice shaffer 



kathleen shannon 
barbara shapiro 
Pamela shapiro 
lanae shaw 
m. teresa sheehan 
Janet shephard 

nancy sheridan 
mary lou sherk 
carlton sherman 
sujin shin 
david shinn 
manouchehr shirazi 



susan shisler 
ilene shiian 
robert shocket 
Charles Joseph shrader 
michael shull 
mark shulman 



anne shuman 
miriam leslie siegel 
lynn siegelman 
diane siemek 
linda sierk 
ruth sievers 



54 





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Jeffrey silberberg 
carol silberg 
richard silberg 
Harold silver 
alan Silverman 
jay Silverman 

Jeffrey Silverman 
sara Silverman 
arlene silverstein 
larry silverstein 
James simick 
richard simms 



stephan simms 
joan simon 
John Simpson 
robert simpson 
paul singer 
Patricia sintetos 



Steven sisgold 
diane sisk 
susan sislen 
linda skreptack 
susan sladen 
nora slavin 

faye sledge 
millie slowik 
John smeby 
albert smith 
carol smith 
Carole smith 



charlotte smith 
diane smith 
ernesto smith 
livingstone smith 
ronald smith 
rowland smith 



susan smith 
kathleen smithson 
elaine smoter 
larry smythers 
joan snider 
michel snitzer 



bruce snyder 
patrice sobin 
alan sobol 
shelley soich 
James solarski 
marlene soiomon 



shelley somerstein 
david somerville 
harry sommer 
kathryn sommer 
gregory sonberg 
mary sorensen 



55 









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betty sorte 
dianne spal 
roger spangenberg 
david sparkman 
ronald spath 
kathleen spear 

Judith spegele 
karen stentz spencer 
Judith stachitas 
wayne stack 
barry stadd 
allan stahl 



nancy stansfield 
b. susan stargell 
althea Jeanne statham 
jack stauss 
roger stead 
raymond steckman 



norman stein 
barbara Steinberg 
shelley steinhorn 
cynthia steinmetz 
Janet sterling 
larry stermer 

Judith stern 
sally stern 
bonnie Sternberg 
david Stevens 
linda Stevens 
Charles stev^'art 



george Stewart 
Janice Stewart 
nancy Stewart 
gloria stiller 
mary stiller 
mary-regina stiner 

donald stires 
ann stites 
barbara stitt 
frances stokes 
ralph stokes 
robert stokes 



freda stolwein 
robert storrs 
gerald stowell 
Christine strahan 
Vivian streep 
Christina strobel 



Joan stumpf 
linda sugarman 
karen sulcov 
Janet sullivan 
marie sullivan 
mary sullivan 



56 









snawri sullivan 
margaret summers 
raymond surette 
pat suriano 
alan suskind 
ted sutphin 

chalermkiat suvanamas 
deborah swaney 
ellen swartwout 
alien swartz 
thomas swartz 
mark swatta 



chary! sweeney 
robert sweeney 
linda swerdel 
nancy swope 
sheldon sydney 
russell sydnor 



albert sykes 
joan Sylvester 
kenneth Sylvester 
dave taguwa 
thomas talbert 
joan tang 



terri tarason 
lawrence taubman 
thomas taylor 
barbara tcherkassky 
michael tcherkassky 
jack teemer 



lynne tellis 
Suzanne temkin 
barbara testa 
susan teter 
rona tetervin 
Carolyn thomas 

herbert thomas 
patrlcia thomas 
waiter thomas 
William thomas 
John thompson jr. 
rosemary thompson 

Willis thompson 
richard thornberry 
robert thornton 
Joseph tiberi 
barbara timmermans 
odIn tidemand 



William tipsword 
malcolm tipton 
marilyn tishler 
beverly tobin 
John todd 
susan todd 



57 














andrew tolley 
marsha toomey 
kristin toothaker 
Carolyn torsell 
victor toy 
russell travers 



broughe treffer 
Judy tremmel 
William trepp 
Joseph trezza 
Stuart trippe 
thomas trodden 



linda trofast 
louise trow 
nola trusen 
edward tuchman 
susan tuck 
neil tucker 



mary ann tuma 
barbara turner 
Joseph turner 
Christine tuve 
ernest tyler 
pamela ann underbill 

madelyn sperry 
hal spielman 
William spooner 
bernard springer 
barbara unger 
William uryuhart 



Joyce utmar 
betty jo van demark 
barbara van fossen 
elizabeth van fossen 
edward van name 
christel van rooy 



robert varney jr. 
William vayne 
george venet 
paola verduci 
gail vesely 
William vesely 



peter vial 
betsy vielhaber 
norbert vint 
Janet vizard 
barbara vogel 
sandra volentine 



marie vondas 
maudeen wachter 
Joanne wade 
david wagner 
Virginia wagner 
diane walden 



58 




frank walker 
linda walker 
mary walker 
weida frances walker 
William walker 
harry walkup jr. 

mary wall 
deborah Wallace 
russell Wallace 
joan wallach 
cynthia waller 
John walsh 



nicholas walsh 
robert waltz 
brian wampler 
david wang 
gerard wang 
vaunette wang 



Isaac waranch 
Judith waranch 
linda waranch 
Christine ward 
kathryn ward 
Stephen warner 

elizabeth wascavage 
nancy watts 
William waugh 
ellsworth weatherby 
Charles weaver 
gary webb 



susanne weber 
cheri welgandt 
eileen weinblatt 
gerald weiner 
gilbert weiner 
phyllis weingart 



gerrie weinstem 
george weise 
deborah weiser 
Susannah weitz 
roger welker 
lester wells jr. 

jean wengert 
ellen weiss 
scott wenner 
marilyn weseloh 
susan wesson 
James westcott 

jean westler 
joan westreich 
joan weszka 
burtchaell wetterall 
kathleen weymooth 
linda wheeler 



59 







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Catherine white 
pamela white 
paul white jr. 
ddvid whitehill 
leslic whitlinger 
l<enneth whitmore 



James whitney 
richard whitt 
paul whyte 
mitzi wicker 
deborah wiest 
elissa wilen 



William wilkerson, III 
paul wilkins jr. 
david Williams jr. 
denise Williams 
James Williams jr. 
karen Williams 



robin Williams 
tessell Williams 
wesley williams 
William Williams, III 
kathy willigan 
richard willis 



ann wilson 
John wilson 
marjorie wilson 
Sandra wilson 
sheila wilson 
thomas wilson 



Judith Winchester 
James windham 
irvin winebrenner 
chary I wines 
christophe winslow 
linda Winston 



ronald winter 
sandy wipf 
daryl witt 
linda wohlmuth 
dorothy wolf 
diana wollin 



Carolyn wong 
Shirley wong 
keith woodside 
debra woo If son 
dianne woolley 
Stephen woolston 

henry worth 
carol wray 
Joyce wright 
robert wright 
wayne wright 
berkeley wrobel 



60 



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robin wyett 
ronald wyett 
ann wylie 
arthur wynkoop 
deborah wynn 
donald wynn 



jamie wynne 
Harriet yaffe 
michael yarmosky 
deborah yates 
Harriet yedlowski 
dickey yee 



judge yellon 
Judith yellon 
margaret yocum 
mary lou yopes 
beth young 
John young 



nancy young 

carol yudkoff 
Christine zaiko 
philip zaiesak 
raymond zawacki 
gretchen zelenka 



joan zeller 
linda zetlin 
shawn zetty 
gerald zoller 
carol zyskowski 
rachel solomon 



michael goldrich 
mickey mouse 



61 




us is the combined effort of many people, we have tried to 
produce a magazine which will record the events and emo- 
tions of 1970-71. We are constantly seeking new people and 
encourage contributions and ideas from everyone, if you 
are interested, join us. 



photography 



writing 



karen bernstein 
Steve budman 
larry higgins 
warren hill 
harold lalos 
cathy lee 
paul levin 
byron ioubert 
jim mccully 
alan scheinine 
josh wilkenfeld 

art 

cathy lee 
kathy sterling 



bob alien 
ira alien 
marilyn alva 
karen argy 
larry babits 
larry blonder 
joe densford 
sean fitzpatrick 
Sandra fleishman 
susan gainen 
larry higgins 
bob hobby 
Carolyn jones 
harold lalos 
david lightman 
bob mondello 
chad neighbor 
nancy parker 
george saunders 
ruth seivers 
j. brooks spector 




special thanks to nancy parker, carolyn jones, and bob 
mondello for editing and thinking; to paul panitz and mar- 
ian cole for composition; to jan hinsch, e. leitz, inc., for 
assistance with photomicrographs; and to all who helped 
with this volume. 




Cathy lea 



to free expression 



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