On Saturday, a couple of my good friends and I ventured over to the College for a Band concert. The Band is called Newberry’s Victorian Cornet Band. They play the music that you would have listened and danced to on a summer’s evening if you had lived in the time just after the Civil War to the turn from the 19th to the 20th centuries. Some of the selections they played were traditional American songs of the time such as “Safe in the Arms of Jesus” by F.J. Keller and “The Washington Post” by John Phillip Sousa. The Cornet Band also played some selections from “Un ballo in maschera” and Terzetto and Finale “Attila” by (Joanne knows this) Giuseppe Verdi. I really enjoy this type of music very much and I wasn’t sure if my friends were going to like it or not. It turned out that my friends loved the concert and we had a grand time.
The College we went to for the concert is Swarthmore College. It was established in 1864. I grew up and have lived near this college for many years and the sight of the Bell Tower is very familiar to me. The campus itself is so beautiful and well maintained. The concert was held in the Amphitheater of the Scott Arboretum. Every time that I visit the college though, I can’t help feeling that the College has lost their way some how along the way towards actual higher education. This college is probably one of the most liberal institutions in America today. Whenever I comment on other blogs or I am confronted by belligerent liberals and they ask me what I know about liberalism I can refer directly to my experiences with Swarthmore College.
It does no good to rant about the people that go to or run Swarthmore College. The institution itself is a very noble one. I can only hope that someday that they will return to the days when all ideas were considered and not just those of a narrow and close minded ideology. I think after having a history that began in 1864 they would owe it to themselves and their students to consider all ideas.
If Still Your Orchards Bear
Brother, that breathe the August air
Ten thousand years from now,
And smell—if still your orchards bear
Tart apples on the bough—
The early windfall under the tree,
And see the red fruit shine,
I cannot think your thoughts will be
Much different from mine.
Should at that moment the full moon
Step forth upon the hill,
And memories hard to bear at noon,
By moonlight harder still,
Form in the shadow of the trees, —
Things that you could not spare
And live, or so you thought, yet these
All gone, and you still there,
A man no longer what he was,
Nor yet the thing he'd planned,
The chilly apple from the grass
Warmed by your living hand—
I think you will have need of tears;
I think they will not flow;
Supposing in ten thousand years
Men ache, as they do now.
Edna St. Vincent Millay