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THE M A R 0 0 N TIG E II
THE SONG IS ENDED
Ellis Philip Ellis, ’35
On June 4, 1935, forty-two Morehouse seniors will en
ter the world of educated men. “All their seeking, striv
ing, yearning, waiting” will be at its journey’s end, and
for what? The cynic would say, “For a license to look
for a job.” But is that altogether true? I’d rather think
it to be a certificate for service—a sort of credential
which states that you have succeeded in the world ol
college, and that you should succeed in the world of
affairs. Gentlemen, let’s try and explode that “cruel
world” myth.
“The world,” as life after college is usually referred
to, can’t be too new and unaccustomed to, for you have
tasted of the world each day we spent in college. Gol-
lege life is merely the process of recapitalization—a re
living of those hectic experiences which are to follow.
The young and green freshman comes to college from
Tato Road, Alabama, with a flock of broad “ahs” and
a radium flash. He thinks that the institution is his.
The ego is high and the altruism is low. But as time
advances he becomes more and more altruistic. He
learns that he is not Mr. Morehouse, but merely a cog
in that mighty machine—Morehouse. Then his head de
creases back to its normal size, the flash dulls, and an
other man has learned the greatest game of all: give and
take. A senior, standing on the throes of graduation, has
to pass through these same stages before finally finding
his niche in the world of affairs.
Now' that our freshman has learned the game of give
and take, his progress may be noted by leaps and bounds.
He takes his broken ankle on the football field with a
vim. He feels proud of his having been elevated to the
presidency of his class. He blushes as his fellow school
mates congratulate him on his having made a reputable
showing against the Oxford College debating team. In
the role of a Lunt, he is elated at his success in “Names
in Bronze.” And when the last paddle is broken, the
word “Brother” is like music to his ears as he enters the
ranks of his favorite fraternity. These attainments re
quire the same skill as do attainments in life.
All is not sweet, however, and he finds our former
freshman confronted with the same sort of setbacks that
we will face in life. He flunks a course because he
hasn’t the “right attitude”—in other words, he is not
a yes-man; in life, he’ll lose an important appointment
for the same reason. Even though he is more qualified
for the position, he misses the presidency of the student
body because his fraternity didn’t have as many “broth
ers” as Eta Beta Zeta Row; in life, he shall miss his
great chance wholly because his political party happens
to be down this term. I le gets a “D” in a certain course
when he deserved a “B” just because the instructor hap
pens not to be his “frat” brother; in life, he’ll fail in
a certain community because he is a Baptist instead of a
Methodist.
Gentlemen, yon need not wait until you have received
that well known “This hereby certifies—” before going
out into the world; you have lived in it daily for four
years. Deliver me from the stereotyped upstart, who de
lights in returning to his Alma Mater—of about two
years, and then it took him eleven semesters—with the
message of, “De woild is hah-ard.” It's no more dif
ficult than college, just a change of scenery—that’s all.
And as I sit in my window and watch a fleeing sun fast
fading away into the western oblivion; and with the soft
strains of “The March of the Grand Priest” still ringing
in my ears, I find that I’m unable to penetrate that nebu
lous blanket of the future to read your horoscope, but I
must contradict my subject by saying: “The song is not
ended—it has just begun.”