Frosh boy--" Tell me, Mr. Van
Sophomore. . .
Reggie holds up his hand for
silence, then exclaims, "One more
time . . . and pow--right in the
kisser."
Frosh boy--"l'm sorry sir,
I wasn't thinking When I addressed
you. May I try again?
Reggie nods condescendingly and
the Frosh boy starts again, "Oh
Great One, would you please tell
me, a lowly freshman, how to get to
the lab?"
"Just follow me .
Reggie--
and away we go.
lam a Freshman. I share this
overwhelming honor with 332 other
fortunate souls. We are all vic
tims of the sadistic humor of the
Sophomore class, like innocent
lambs led to the slaughter. We
plunged into the depths of Customs
Week experiencing anziety for fear
of what was to come.
But our fear was soon demolished
and replaced by sorrow as we were
told that the Mickey Mouse of high
school had stepped out of our lives
completely. Drying our tears, we
found ourselves in the midst of
customs which included wearing
dainty hockey caps, virgin foot
wear, and Groucho Marx bow ties.
And as the sun slowly sets on the
Behrend Campus, the shadows of 2
humble Freshmen are visible as
they bow wearily to the stately
LOW LIFE
THE YITTANY CUB
Assistant Editor
Carol DeArment
Editor
Ruth Brown
PSI SIGMA UPSILON
TreaSurer
Marcia Osborne
President
Kathie Horsman
y S