Spring Fling has come and gone, and, regrettably, we were confronted with displeasure over the span of the weekend, from the boorishly thrown fists of thoughtless Neanderthals to the restricted admittance of cameras in the mighty kingdom of the bands. The weekend’s events were well planned; don’t think for a second that we place any doubt on those individuals who worked hard to bring everything together. The Spring Fling Committee achieved success in planning the festivities professionally and with the students’ interests in mind, and the student and staff volunteers worked through the crowds and cold to keep things in line. However, in spite of the effort, the weekend harbored too many negative aspects to go unnoticed.
Our first complaint is to the Conan-aspiring meathead who started roughing people up, particularly a member of our staff, because his language barriers left his grunting unanswered by the fans of a spectacular Battle of the Bands. The assailant was obviously not thinking at the time, because now that he’s in jail he’ll be forced to perform “special” favors if he wants his steroid fix.
His behavior was second only to the fiascos of Friday night, following an onslaught of mechanical bull rides, as some of PSC’s worst-found amusement in breaking the back windshield of a campus police vehicle and slashing the tires of respectable employees. There is no reason for actions like these, and there should be surprise that police presence and reaction has quickly been deemed excessive by the majority of students.
Saturday night left many wrapping themselves in whatever would provide warmth from weather that hardly resembled May. Though nothing could be done about the cold, it left people unsatisfied and listening to bands that were generally unpopular among the Plymouth masses. It could be that too much focus is placed on the entertainment of Spring Fling, and not enough attention aimed at making it all simply fun without all the hype.
One disturbing moment of Spring Fling was the limitations.
The Clock was unable to obtain as much coverage and photographs as we first planned because we were stopped at the gate and told no cameras would be allowed. It appears as though one of the bands put a clause in their contract stating that they didn’t want their pictures taken. So we were halted at the entrance while dozens of others winked their way through the frisking area so they could hold their cameras. The weekend overall wasn’t bad; it just wasn’t as good as it has been or could be.
As a final unrelated gripe, we’ve learned that Eleanor Congdon has lost her job so that she may be replaced by another anthropology teacher-or at least that’s the school’s official position. We find this hard to believe and all we can say is that we are extremely disappointed this is happening, especially in the wake of rumors circulating that the school pressured her to not tell anybody for fear of retribution. As one final note: NO! BAD SCHOOL!
So, as the merriment of graduation opens the door to the next five hundred graduates, The Clock would like to say fare-thee-well and thank you to our loyal readers. It’s been quite a year, from the tragedies of September 11 to the last hours of classes, and we hope it’s been a joy for you as it has for us. Special thanks to our departing seniors: Andrew Coutermarsh, Bethany Gates, Lisa Hepburn, Otto Kinzel, Patrick McGowan, DJ McLaughlin, RJ Monton, Keith Sheets, Zachary Tirrell, Lindsay York, and The Fat Squad.