July/August 2010

• PROLOGUE
• HELLO, COLUMBIA
• COLUMBIA, ALMA MATER
• LETTERS HOME TANGO
• LET’S CHEER FOR SIXTY
• TO THEE, O COLUMBIA
• THE BEANIE RAG
• SO MANY MISSING
• SEE YOU AROUND THE QUAD
• (Encore) TO THE SWEET MOMENT
• (Encore) DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF TIME

PROLOGUE

Yes! I am your booze-and-buffet show now!
I guess Richard figured I may know how
To express our Sixty spirit with some song.

If you please, no clinking spoons on glass now—
You don’t wish me to fall on my … face now.
It sounds dumb, so kindly do not hum along.

There’s some nostalgia
On the agenda:
No tears, just grins.

So, no grumbling! Lend me all your ears now.
And no mumbling! Help me quell my fears now—
Stage fright’s one of my slight sins.
Listen as the “Sweetest Sixty Suite” begins.

HELLO, COLUMBIA

Let’s raise a cheer: Rah!
Sixty is here: Rah! Rah!
Eager to keep a date: Rah! Rah! Rah!
Sing out our boast—
Sixty’s the most!
Fellas, let’s celebrate.

Hello, Columbia, bonjour, shalom,
Hail, Low Rotunda and dome.
Our fav’rite roads do not lead to Rome—
Hi, Alma Mater, we’re home.

We pulled all-nighters—who’s got a dex?
We slogged through many a tome.
We got the lowdown on Oed’pus Rex—
Hey, Butler stacks, look who’s home!

Who tried marijuana?
Who contracted mono?
We espoused “Mens sana in corpore sano”!

We took diplomas in cap and gown—
How fifty years now have flown!
With a salute to that gold King’s Crown,
Here’s what experience has shown:

Learning leads Man to know
The spark that makes us human—
“In lumine tuo videbimus lumen.”

That’s why Columbia is home—
We’re Class of Sixty—we’re home.

Learning leads us to grow
The spark that keeps Man human—
“In lumine tuo videbimus lumen.”

Hail, Alma Mater!
We’re Class of Sixty—
We’re home!

COLUMBIA, ALMA MATER

Columbia, Alma Mater,
Enthroned in citadel pristine,
From thy great height,
Pour forth thy light.

Inspire us still to seek Justice and Truth,
Keeping faith with ideals of hopeful youth.

Columbia, Alma Mater,
Enshrined in majesty serene,
Shining beacon sublime—
Light the paths of Learning through all Time!
Grace the ways of Wisdom through all Time!

Columbia, Alma Mater,
Shine, o beacon sublime—
Grace the ways of Wisdom through all Time!

Coda:
Columbia, Alma Mater,
Shine bright, o beacon sublime!
Grant the world thy wisdom through all Time!

LETTERS HOME TANGO

Dear Mother,
Dear Father,
College so far is fun.
Don’t worry.
Why bother?
Here’s what your boy has done:

I’ve learned to sing of love with J. Alfred Prufrock.
I’ve mastered theorems called Cozy Schwartz’s rule.
I now can tell an old rock from a brand new rock.
I nearly, but not quite, swam three lengths of the pool.
(I’m taking nude swimming.)

Somehow the math class is all about these vectors.
Nothing’s contemp’ry in the core course C.C.
“Which virtues are Achilles’ and which are Hektor’s?”
Professor Fellows asked his favorite freshman—me!
(My head is still swimming.)

I aced the test, that’s why they placed me in advanced French.
Oo-la-la! Monsieur Gendzier’s un bon américain mentsch.
(I get the feeling er heisste Ginzboig.
En français Gendzier’s how they say Ginzboig.)

Most of my classmates went to a school called Science.
They act as if Columbia were one great lark.
They meet each challenge with steady self-reliance.
They even go into neighboring Morningside Park.
(Though we were warned not to.)

Dear Mother,
Dear Father,
Want some more proof I’m having fun?
The homework’s
No bother.
It’s no big deal for your son.

I keep a notebook for dear Professor Nobbe.
He liked my comments on Marvell and John Donne.
I’m still bewildered by Polykarp and Rabi.
(Aye! Aye! Aye! I.I. Rabi!)
In physics I doubt I’ll ever be number one.
(I can’t work the sliderule.)

I’m signing up for lectures by Lionel Trilling.
Can’t do without his insights on Proust and Mann and Gide.
I understand his sessions are downright thrilling,
And he’s the elegant model of speech I need.
(I’ll ad-opt his accent.)

Hist’ry’s a bore, but there’s a storied sure antidote:
When James P. Shenton lectures, he’s flaunting a raccoon coat.
(While he’s reliving the roaring Twenties.
Roar, Flapper, roar! Hurrah for those Twenties!)

Two of my roomies have to cram for Organic.
They’d better do well because they are pre-med.
Last week they lost it. Man! Did they ever panic!
They weren’t certain if their fetal pig was dead.
(So much for Bronx Science!)







Dear Father,
Dear Mother,
College will soon be done.
I’m worried.
Oh, brother!
What will I do for fun?

I’m learning modern art from this cat Schapiro.
He says Cézanne paints mountains and apples blue.
To Howard Davis, Giotto’s the greatest hero.
He frescoed big churches and some small chapels too.
(Try saying “Scrovegni.”)

I’m in a senior seminar with Dave Truman.
He knows the art of putting us all at ease.
To Harvard Law School I’m a sure thing to zoom in.
Of course I will score high on the LSATs.
(My safety’s Yale Drama.)

Don’t I have luck! Who knew I’d pluck the purest gold ring
In Sidney Morgenbesser, my wise young philosopher-king.
(I owe him more than I can acknowledge.
He’s the best prof in Columbia College.)

If they would cancel Class Day and Graduation—
(Gee! Will Dean Palfrey really read out our names?)—
I’d take more courses—they are a revelation!
And who said college was nothing but fun and games?

It’s fun, yes, but the best parts are hard work
Disguised as games!

LET’S CHEER FOR SIXTY

There’s something I need to get off my chest,
It’s something to which I hereby
Most solemnly attest:

Let’s cheer for Sixty,
Hurray for Us!
We’re Number One,
Top-drawer, A-plus.

We’ve made our mark in
Science and Arts,
In each profession
We’re top of the charts.
We’re known for our smarts.
And we’re not old farts!

Ask Alma Mater,
Didn’t she know
That once we all got going
There’d be no slowing?

For fifty years we’ve
Met every test--
Sixty!
We are the best.


What worked for Sixty
Will work for all.
We studied hard and had a ball.

We snacked at Riker’s
At 2 a.m.
As patrons we were
The Crème de la crème.
That dive was some gem.
That waitress—ahem!




Remember Ta-Kome
And Mama Joy?
Their food would leave no question
Of indigestion.

Those institutions,
Alas, are gone.
Sixty!
We soldier on.


For Sixty’s evenings
A Broadway play
Was eleven subway stops away.

While at the old Met
Way back we’d stand.
Tebaldi! Callas!
By Bing she was banned—
He should have been canned!
(He should have been caned!)

Rembrandt and Renoir
Were never far,
New shows at some museum—
You bet we’d see ’em!

The city’s treasures
Ours to uncork—
Sixty!
We owned New York.

Just one conclusion—
Foregone, no jest:
Sixty!
We are the best!
Best! Best! Best! Best! Best!
Best!

TO THEE, O COLUMBIA

In the upper regions of Manhattan,
By the strong shores of the IRT,
Where the wild wind whooshes off the Hudson,
On thy sacred soil we bend the knee.

We are ever so infinitely grateful,
For you took us in when we applied.
To our future, O College, you proved fateful
On the hoary heights called Morningside.

Rare refuge of tranquility from the city’s din—
We were sure of our ability once you let us in.

Who can fault us when we sing thy praises?  
Don’t we know, when all is said and done,
That we owe thee big-time?
O Columbia!
For thou nursed us truly, every one!
We’re in deep debt to thee,
O Columbia!
Thou hast blessed us duly,
Every last Alma Mater-loving son!

THE BEANIE RAG

Someone walked off with my beanie!
Someone’s a sneaky low snake!
When I catch up with that meanie,
He will regret his “mistake.”
After that heinous crime
His tail’s not worth a dime.

Wearing it I felt ecstatic,
Topped by Columbia blue.
Losing it proved so traumatic
I couldn’t go out for crew.
Didn’t know what to think,
I should have seen a shrink.

But then this freshman applied his young grey matter,
And I remembered: I am a Sixty man.
Lost one light blue lid.
This is what I did:
I paid a visit to Mister Sal the Hatter.
And so my plan for many hats began.
With each one that’s worn
Dapper Dan’s reborn.
Beaver to busby, meet the classy Sixty man.

In a homburg I attend inaugurations.
On safari I sport helmets known as pith.
Yes, pith.
I cruise the Champs-Élysées
In a straw canotier.
(Think Maurice Chevalier
And other  Frenchies who have turned to myth.
Oui, myth.)

I don mortarboards for Oxford convocations,
Perform surg’ry in a snood of net and gauze.
Up on the screen, on the stage,
I have been all the rage
As a periwigged sage
Acting with great aplomb to great applause.
With cause!

Bowlers and brash Tam o’ Shanters,
Black Basque bérets and chef’s toques,
Miters for bishops and cantors,
Harris tweed caps for plain folks—
I revel in chapeaus,
More kicks than Broadway shows.

So many hats you can try out,
So many parts you can choose!
So many lives that will cry out:
“Take me on—what can you lose?”
Ask any of Sixty’s men.
Things do work out!
Amen! Amen!

Still I’d gladly
Swap a stack of Stetsons
And a rack of Borsalini
To get back one purloined beanie
And start at Columbia again!
Oh, yes!

SO MANY MISSING

(In memory of Mike Lesch)

So many missing,
So many taken,
So many dear friends are gone.

They disappear with each passing year—
No longer with us,
No longer near.

Such dreams to live for,
Such riches to give,
Such plans not acted upon,

So much lost promise,
So much lost love
Within our hearts lingers on,
Within our hearts still lives on.

Such dreams to strive for,
Such riches to share,
Such plans not acted upon,

So much lost promise,
So much lost love,
Within our hearts still lives on.

All their lost promise,
All their lost love,
Within our hearts will live on.

SEE YOU AROUND THE QUAD

See you around the Quad—
See you where Hamilton
Salutes John Jay—     
See you around the Quad.

See you around the Quad—
It’s great to greet old friends
And hear them say:
“See you around the Quad.”

Now a few of us seem sedater,
One or two heads have long gone gray.
Some of us might stand straighter,
Some of us have gone gay.

See you around the Quad—
Semi-centennial celebrants are we!
Are we retired?
Newly inspired?
Debonair, square, or mod?
The world is a wondrous quad—
See you around the Quad!
See you around the Quad!

Verse:
We’re Columbia, vintage nineteen-sixty.
As alumni we are turning fifty.
We surmise that this reunion’s nifty--
No surprise since we are super cool!
Colúmbia, Colúmbia, Columbiá!
Super school!

See you around the Quad—
See you where Dean Van Am
Still stares away—
See you around the Quad.

See you around the Quad,
Where pals from far and near
Turned out today—
Saw you around the Quad!

Well, some settled in Seattle,
They must have a thing for rain!
Others with weather battle—
Decamped down east to Maine!

See you around the Quad—
Back after half a century are we!
Full of fine stories,
Triumphs and glories.
Adventures bold and odd!
The world has become our Quad—
See you around the Quad!
See you around the Quad!
The world is Columbia’s Quad—
See you around the Quad!   

TO THE SWEET MOMENT

(For Jane Lazerow)

Here’s to our youth,
Travails and trials,
Wild fears and errors.
The quest for truth
Took years and miles,
Took tears and terrors.

Wandering in dismay,
Lo and behold, that shining day
We saw the way.

Here’s to our prime,
Most precious time
Of endless tomorrows.
Here’s to time yet to unfold,
When, growing older,
We’ll weigh the day’s joys
And sorrows.

We savor each season,
Life teaches how.
Here’s to the fleeting hour,
To the sweet moment,
To Now!

DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF TIME

(For Jane Lazerow)

Days and nights turn to years,
Dance to the Music of Time.
Lows and heights, smiles and tears,
Dance to the Music of Time,

Captured by life’s fancies,
Enraptured by life’s refrain--

Rounds sublime, sounds in rhyme,
Dance to the Music of Time.
Bewitched by the strain,
Be it mad or sane,
Dance to the Music of Time,
To the Music of Time,
Time.