 | The Cavalier daily Thursday, September 24, 1970 |  |
A Letter
From A Friend
Matriculation at the University,
as it is curiously dubbed, involves
more than endless waiting in lines,
heaps of computer cards and heavy
words concerning the Honor
System. Rather it marks the beginning
of a journey, one which can be
devastating or rewarding. One of
the editors recently received a letter
from a friend, who graduated from
the University in 1965. Although
he came to a school far removed
from what it is today, parts of his
message are well put and not entirely
irrelevant to our milieu.
Ed.
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Most of us were deeply confused
even then - like Pip, our very
presence at U.Va. represented expectations,
but the benefactors of
these expectations demanded as
qualification that we act out a
bizarre ritual of conformity . . .
UVA 1961
THE TRIPS FESTIVAL OF
MIDDLE AMERICA CONTINUES
Our Novocaine was whisky and
Creeper was our Jerry Garcia - our
poetry poured not from the electric
strain of the Grateful Dead, but
from the smoky wet ghettos of
fraternity dance rooms - our most
moving question became - "Hey . . .
Hey Baby. I wanna know if you'll be
my girl?"
We killed ourselves in frantic
"down the road" escapes and
fought daily in the classroom for
intellectual mediocrity.
I remember that September,
stepping alone and terrified off the
train with all my worldly goods in a
borrowed suitcase and five hundred
summer job dollars in my pocket.
The numbing euphoria began then
as I walked the long blocks to Eljos.
Half an hour later, I emerged
with basic equipment - one suit,
three sports coats, three pairs of
slacks, ten oxford shirts, five rep
ties, a pair of Weejuns and a black
umbrella. I was ready to cast my
entire self into the "pursuit of
academic enlightenment" a in UVa.
Four years later, I stood on the
Lawn submerged in the impossibly
hot camouflage of a black robe,
fake sheepskin in hand trying to
decipher the curious Latin summation
of my "enlightenment" . . . . .
the loss of my virginity (just
barely),
a free steak dinner for guessing
the score of the 1963 Duke-U.Va.
game,
smoking as a habit,
a two foot trophy from the
athletic department,
over one hundred unread books,
one false tooth,
a pair of horn rimmed glasses,
one friend,
and the knowledge that what
ever it meant to be . . . (me) was
and was by the nature of reality
meant to remain a complete
mystery.
I had mastered the needed
vocabulary, acquired the proper
costume and cultivated the required
"whodoyouknow." The East Lawn
and Range, a few trees and twenty
one years of sound sleep blocked
from me the irony of that seldom
seen, never read arch by the medical
school - "Enter by this gateway
and seek the light of truth, the
way of honor and the will to work
for men."
It is almost August and Cambridge
is putting on her annual heat
show. It has been a long sleep into
chaos, a cold lonely wake, but the
hands that truly bridge separation
are multiplying - they are warm
with flowing blood - their cuts
healing faster and they have skin
and texture, unlike before.
It is now for you to forgive us
our sleep, not with pity but with
love. For you and I are now alive
and can do, can change and build.
| The Cavalier daily Thursday, September 24, 1970 | |