1977-1978 NWC The Black and Red Vol. 81

THE BLACK & RED

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MS LIBRARY WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

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FEARFUL SYMMETRY Tiger! tiger! burning bright In the forests of the night.

What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Wm. Blake, "The Tiger,"st. 1.

Tlie moon shone brightly in the deep night sky like a glowing pearl set upon blackest vel­ vet, stars scattered about it like small, glimmer­ ing diamonds. A warm, gentle breeze rustled through trees and bushes, stirring even the un­ cut grass around a large building which glowed eerily in the bluish light. A light green van drove silently up to the structure, slowing to a crawl when it began to descend the sloping ramp, hidden by thick foliage, which led to a loading dock below ground level. As the vehicle entered this subterranean space, a huge alumi­ num door slid into place behind it, shutting out the night air.

The van backed up to a raised concrete platform bathed in the glare of a naked light bulb. The doors opened, and two men stepped out, dressed in dark green jumper suits. Three other men, similarly garbed, came to their aid as they unlatched the van's rear door and swung it open. A pair of green orbs glared out of the shadowy interior. “All right, let's just take it easy now," muttered the van’s driver.

Slowly and cautiously the men slid onto the platform a large iron cage and its occupant, a huge Bengal tiger.

The animal stood about four-and-a-half feet tall at the shoulder, and appeared to measure over ten feet from nose to tail. It stood in its cage bristling and tense, huge muscles rippling beneath a magnificent coat of deep orange fur streaked with white and black stripes. Its eyes glowed with a feral light, like deep wells of savagery. Its lips were drawn back to reveal ivory-white fangs, and a low rumble sounded from the back of its throat.

John Kelley, one of the three who had been waiting for the van, stepped back to ad­ mire the beast. He ran his hand through his sandy hair and whistled loudly. “That is some animal," he said. “Look at the way he holds himself!" His comment was completely ignored.

“Okay, this one’s going into the middle cage," said the van's driver tonelcssly. “Kelley, run upstairs and keep an eye on it. Let us know when lie's cleared the cage door. You other guys, give me a hand getting him onto the elevator." John bounded for the stairs, while the other men began to move the cage care­ fully onto the elevator platform by means of which food, animals, and an occasional main­ tenance man were raised to the cage above.

The Feline House of the MacArthur Mem­ orial Zoo was set up around a U-shaped corridor with exits at either end. On the out­ side of this corridor were the smaller cages that housed lions, panthers, cougars, and other cats; all these offered access to large outdoor areas in which the animals could romp when the door at the rear of each was open. Within the “U" was a large area, seventy by forty feet, enclosed on three sides by unbreakable glass (as were all the cages at the MacArthur Zoo; no rusting iron bars here), and on the fourth side, the same wall of the building in which the exits were positioned, by a facade of artificial rock which reached a height of fifteen feet and afforded five terraces wide enough to allow the cage's inhabitants to lie on them and sun them­ selves. This middle cage had no roof, but was left open to the elements, since the walls were high enough to make sure that its prisoners wouldn't jump out onto the building’s sloping roof. In the center of this cage was a small pool of water surrounded by a few small trees and bushes.

John reached the main floor and crept silently to the middle cage. The five young continued on page 5

THE BLACK AND RED= NEW 1977 Volume 81. No. I \

Cover Story

1-'carfui Symmetry EDITORIAL

2

A Fancy of Love

3

The Second Martin

9

Summer Dreams

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CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

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ACTIVITIES

14

Psalm.

17

Commencement 1977

18

Literature: A Way to Salvation

24

ALUMNI

25

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ESTABLISHED 1897

Gregory Schulz

MANAGING EDITOR

.Don Scheuerlein

STAFF WRITERS

Jeffrey Schallert

-p 3*7 8

M&

Mark Rieke David Payne Brian Dose

1

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

, . Jerry Ewings David Huebner

t

Entered at the Post Office at Watertown, Wisconsin, as Second Class Matter under the act of March 3, 1879. Second Class postage paid at Watertown, Wisconsin.

ACTIVITIES

. David Kolander

ART

. . . Mark Wagner

BUSINESS MANAGER

. . Rick Johnson

CIRCULATION MANAGER.

. . Timothy Kant

ADVERTISING MANAGERS

Greg Otterstatter

:

Mark Wilde

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printing by Mark l:ckcrt

Published Monthly during the school year.

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EDITORIAL vices to Commencement Exercises and includ­ ing, as tar as possible, whatever has particular­ ly captured the interest and involved the time and energy and talents of our student body.

A third facet of the B & R tradition most certainly is entertainment. Campus and Class­ room is our mainstay effort at providing enjoy­ ment and relaxation, with occasional humorous articles and offerings of fiction to satisfy the fancy of the majority.

To these three traditional roles, which have (for the most part) characterized this paper through the years, we add our stated intent to vitalize the communications within our cornmunity.

It seems to me that a conscious and consis­ tent effort to foster the interchange of ideas among our authors and readers is fundamental to the editorial position of a paper such as ours. The B & R is an outstanding vehicle for the literary growth of ail our contributors pre­ cisely because it invites you to express yourself and then in turn offers that written expression of thought to those who will most constructive­ ly consider your work, add their criticism, and provide encouragement.

I do not believe we can be faulted for espousing such a goal as we view the potential that the Black and Red possesses; it is the most effective means available to us for furthering a vitalizing interchange of ideas and a sharing of encouragement among the Northwestern com­ munity.

Can this paper significantly advance the Northwestern spirit? With all the optimism and energy of our youth, we have set ourselves to the task.

want you to know from the first that this volume of the Black and Red is wholly dedicated to furthering the Northwestern com­ munity, this unique community of students, professors, parents, alumni, and countless individuals who earnestly support our work of preparation here at NWC. In June of 1897, the editors of the B & R’s first issue stated the original goals of a fledgling paper, instituting an eighty-year-old tradition which we today are proud and eager to con­ tinue: The chief object of our paper will be to establish some means of communication between the in­ stitution and its former pupils, to furnish information of what is going on to those living at a dis­ tance, and at the same time to keep its readers informed, as far as possible, of what has become of the former students.

At the same time we shall endeavor to furnish such reading material as will interest the liter­ ary and scientific tastes of our readers.

Not only has the Black and Red faithfully circulated accounts of current events to friends of our college; it has become the official chron­ icle of the school as well, recording the details of campus life in Watertown for the benefit of interested readers in the future. To better serve this end, we have instituted the Activities column appearing herein, conceived as the most workable means for recording campus activities in every area, ranging from athletic contests to sacred concerts, Opening Day Scr-

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GREGORY SCHULZ

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a fancy oF Lone a

street. At this distance, she looked as attractive as ever. An alluring picture of loveliness from bygone days. At length, his chance came; Keith skipped past impatient autos.

As he approached, he saw that Jennifer had remained the charming creature his high school years had known. She hadn’t changed-that old magnetism was still there. Feminine comeli­ ness radiated from her very being. Keith was enthralled.

Closer and closer, the man strove for his goal. His mental notebook surveyed the prize of womanhood looming before him. The rich almond tan of her shapely legs. Off-white denim shorts added a beautiful accent. The blouse highlighted the sensitive curves of-her body. Her face, with its flushed fulness, drew him.

Now he was gazing into her face. Her smile, as if fired by sunlight, dazzled him. Keith re­ experienced the huge, brown-velvet, fawn eyes, the ebony hair tossed by seemingly invisible winds, the cute little upturned nose. The aura of her perfumed fragrance captivated him. His legs began to melt beneath him-the way they used to. Memories swept back .. .a mind tide.

They should have been bittersweet mem­ ories, but they weren’t. Years, as often hap­ pens, had smoothed out old problems: erasing the bitterness and salvaging only the sweet remnant. The young husband remembered the first shaky phone call he’d made to this girl, the clumsy, blatant compliments, and the love feelings which had been pent.up inside. Being near her, in itself, had been a thrill. After all, she had been one of the most sought-after girls in school.

Love had boiled in his veins during those times. The impression had never truly died: this chance meeting fanned once more the

willowy young beauty snaked gracefully through the rush-hour tangle: a vision of delicacy among the turmoil of traffic. Astride an expensive ten-speed, her path wended smoothly within the stop-and-start maze. From her wind-tussled hair to the symmetry of her well-proportioned legs, she was all womanlively and vivacious. The royal blue of her cycle characterized the impeccable taste with which she was endowed.

Not many passersby took note of the sight while busily plodding along. But Keith did. Admiringly, he eyed her progress... then thrust out his arm in greeting. Would she acknowledge his gesture? The doubt pounded in his mind. Long years had passed since they had seen each other.

Almost immediately she caught sight of him. Recognition streamed over her face as she waved in reply. The man thought he noticed the essence of a smile steal across her lips.

The idea pleased him.

To his further astonishment, the girl pulled out of the bustling thoroughfare and motioned to him. Keith’s heart raced in anticipation; he never considered resisting her beckoning. The across-the-street proposition intrigued him: what could Jennifer Brockman ever want with him. . .ol' Keith Philips? Interesting con­ jectures pressed into consciousness. Conjec­ tures his wife would have cried about.

What did Jennifer have in mind? It HAD been years. Never since graduation had they en­ countered each other. Still, those high school days had meant something. Lost in former dreams, a sounding horn deposited him back on the shores of reality.

He checked the car lines for some break.

There was none. His eyes strayed again to the feminine figure on the opposite side of the 3

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had slipped by, common interests had suc­ cumbed, too. Hastily, Keith phrased a des­ perate query. “What are you doing for a living, Jenny?”

“I’m in interior decorating. Independent, of course.”

“That must be interesting.”

“Yes, it is.”

Once more silence seized control. This time, however, she broke it. “How ’bout you, Keith? I suppose you’re a big man by now.”

“Shift worker at Paper Products.”

“Oh. Well, as long as you like your work,” she intoned apologetically.

minute matchpoint of flame in his heart. She had never been very passionate. Passionate could not describe her actions in the least.

Better words would be polite and courteous.

Jenny had been kind enough not to break his youthfully tender heart. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had known it at the time.

Yet, to admit it was a completely different story. Keith Philips was not one to give up easily. And he hadn't then, either.

There were other reminisences. The flamered pant-suit which always aroused him so.

The evening they had both taken an unexpected dip in the lake behind her parents’ cottage.

Then, after the swim, banana popsieles out on the deserted porch. Longing had been the main force in his life at that point. A kiss. Even a romantic touch of the hand. But. it was not to be.

Here, after eons of time- three whole ycarsthey were re-united again. Keith wondered what she would say .. .what could or would they talk about?

Her lilting voice shattered his revery.

“Hi, Keith!” she chimed in her shyly melodi­ ous way.

“Hello, Jenny. You certainly haven’t changed. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself. Sure has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Can’t argue with that. So.. .what have you been doing for excitement?” Keith asked.

“Well, right now I’m just out for a little ride. Have to keep in shape, you know.”

“You don’t seem to have that problem.”

Keith complimented.

An embarrassed smile was his answer.

She countered, “What’s new with you?”

“Not much, I guess. Little Timmy was born about six months ago. That caused quite a stir in the family.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were married!”

An imagined tone of disappointment flattered the man’s ears. He added, “Yeah, it’s already been a year and a half.”

Silence. The conversation was dying...

Keith could feel it. He struggled for words.

He couldn’t let this conversation wither away, like they used to do.

“Time certainly does fly, doesn’t it?”

“Sure docs,” she replied.

Again silence. There had to be something to say, but what? Obviously, more than years

It was harsher this time .. .the silence. Not a hostile quiet, but a silence fostered by an impassable gap. Both knew the conversation was over. The only question remaining was who should break it off. Neither desired the honor, but someone had to take the initiative.

Escape was the only exit. Seconds passed.

Pedestrians, heedless of the pair frozen in time, hustled past. Finally, Keith braved to breach the frigid quiet. “Well, I’d better get a move on. The wife’s expecting me.”

“I should get going myself,” Jenniferrcplied.

So saying, the lady of bygone days re­ mounted her royal blue two-wheeler.

“It was nice talking to you, Keith,” she lied in courtesy. “Have to do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” he replied. That sometime would be never.

Not quite willing to admit defeat, Keith added, “Take care, Jen. We’ll see ya.”

4

"Yes. you too. Good by."

Yet, this farewell was different. Now he had something to go home to. There was also the realization in his head that Jenny and he could not have made it together. They just weren't cut out for each other. Any such thoughts had been juvenile hopes.

Keith crossed the street and once more began his journey home. His steps were lighter now, his pace quicker. With anticipation, he looked forward to a domestic evening playing with Timmy and a passionate hug and kiss from his devoted wife.

"Good by.”

With a pert twist of her buck, the lithe form pedaled out of Keith's life, blending into the swirl of society. He watched her disappear.

It recalled Graduation Day. There were no real emotions, only polite good by s for him. Foi her. the farewell had been a relief; for him, a hellish nightmare. Her figure glided off again, the identical way it had at graduation. The pic­ ture had been burnished into his memory. It was the same air of unconcern—never even turning to look back.

DAVID PAYNB

continued from cover newcomer's eyes blazed savagely, transfixing the gaze of his suddenly quiet enemy, whose own eyes reflected faint glimmerings of fear, a feeling up till now totally alien to it. This strange tableaux, framed in the mystic light of the full moon, held for interminable seconds.

Then the challenger abruptly lowered its head, breathing hard, and backed away hesitantly till it butted up against the confining glass wall.

There it fell to the ground, covering its face with trembling paws as its conqueror in this weird battle of bestial wills never moved or fl inched.

As John watched frozen in fascination, the Bengal turned to lace the four sets of eyes that glowered at him from the deep shadows be­ neath the rock wall. One by one their light faded, till all was darkness. Then the tiger turned and walked back to the pool, and resumed his drinking. John stepped back and mopped the sweat from his forehead. He heard his name being called from downstairs and slowly turned and walked away from the cage, glancing back occasionally.

John's work shift ended at five the next morning. As he drove home, the sun rising like a red fireball behind him, he puzzled over the scene he’d witnessed. He hadn't told his fellow workers about it at all; they never seemed to want to converse with him anyway, ever though he'd been at the zoo for nearly half a year now. This didn't really bother him, since he didn't think much of them either; they were

tigers within, lounging in the shadows of the rock wall, peered at him with their luminous eyes. He stared at that wall, in which the door to the elevator was cleverly concealed. He won­ dered how these tigers would react to the arrival of the new Bengal, for they had been in this zoo for years, while he had only recently been captured in the jungles of the Malay Peninsula. Zoo officials had worried about that too, he knew, but had decided to put him in with them anyway, to see whether or not the arrangement would work.

At the grating sound of the hidden door opening, John leaned forward, squinting. At first he could see nothing; then the Bengal tiger stepped slowly into the moonlight which streamed through the open ceiling. "He's in!” shouted John towards the stairs, and the door squealed shut. The tiger ignored this noise, warily eyeing its surroundings. Apparently satisfied after a few moments of this, he walked slowly to the pool, smelled its water, and began to drink. A low growl sounded be­ hind him. One of the young tigers, roused by the entrance of this invader, had risen to its feet, and stood glaring at the newcomer. The latter lifted its head and turned to meet this challenger. The young tiger growled again, louder than before.

With an easy feline grace the Bengal padded to within ten feet of its opponent, and there halted, staring intensely at the other. Both stood silently, neither moving a muscle. The 5

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not the type of people he was used to, and an intelligent exchange of theories and ideas was as alien to them as their bull sessions were to him. It was no reason to quit his job at the zoo. though, especially since other work was scarce and his liberal arts education, abruptly cur­ tailed in its third year because of lack of fur­ ther funding, had not equipped him to offer specialized services to any employer.

When he reached his sixth floor apartment after an hour's drive, he felt exhausted. After closing the door behind him and fumbling with the lock, he threw himself on the threadbare couch and wearily scanned the discolored, close-set walls, their plaster cracked in a hun­ dred places. The sink in the small kitchen was filled with dirty dishes from the day before, the faucet steadily dripping on them. A layer of dust covered everything. Normally, coming home was a depressing chore, but today John looked at the whole mess without really seeing it. His eyes came to rest on a rust-colored stain on the ceiling. He stared at it for a long time.

Then, scowling, he clapped his hands on his knees and rose from the couch. He walked into the bedroom, and pulled a cardboard carton out from under an unmade bed. The carton had an encyclopedia set in it (he couldn't afford bookshelves), and John hastily located the “T" volume, then impatiently paged to the column marked “Tiger.” How­ ever, he found only the scantiest amount of information about the animal there, certainly nothing to explain the strange behavior of the new Bengal. He slammed the book in disgust, shoved it back into the closely-packed carton, and pushed the box under the bed again. He got up, took a shower, then jumped into bed, silently resolving to go to the public library and get a book on the subject. But he never did.

During the next month, the whole atmos­ phere in the f eline House began to change.

This metamorphosis was subtle, almost im­ perceptible. Of course, it wasn't noticeable during the daylight hours, when eager visitors filled the corridor, milling around before the cages to ooh and aah and mouth the same old, tired cliches about “the big pussycats” that had echoed through the building for years as they munched on stale popcorn and sipped at

watery sodas. But at night, when darkness fell like a cloak over the deserted and littered aisles, then the cats began to pace nervously, not only the tigers in the middle cage, but the animals in the surrounding cages too. They were growing more restless every night.

Part of John's job on the night shift was to sweep the floors clear of the refuse that ac­ cumulated during each day, so he was acutely aware of the mood of the place. But what was more disturbing than the uneasiness of the other cats was the calmness of the Bengal tiger.

The other tigers in the middle cage kept their distance from him, as if intimidated by his very

existence. The latter, a week after his arrival, had taken to staring silently at the moon through the open ceiling, remaining motionless in the middle of the cage for hours at a time.

But as the night would progress and the moon would slip out of his sight, he would still sit there, unflinching, with his head lowered and his face lost in shadow.

A little over a month after the Bengal's arrival, a fierce wind whistled through the foliage, and drove broken formations of jagged clouds before it which glowed whitely when they chanced to be propelled between the earth and the sinrk white face of the moon.

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John was climbing the stairs to sweep the floors again when lie was suddenly aware of a strange silence above. Me stopped halfway up and listened. A sound reached his ears, the likes of which he had never heard before: that was certainly not the noise of a pacing cat. He quietly leaned his broom against the wall and crept up the remaining stairs, crouching as he reached the landing. But his stealth was un足 necessary, for the attention of every animal in the building was riveted upon the middle cage.

The noise was emanating from there, from the Bengal who was standing before the other live tigers like a teacher before his pupils. John slid closer to file cage to hear more clearly.

He listened closely, his eyes widening. This wasn't just the snarls and growls of an animal: it sounded almost like some form of language1 .

John shook his head in disbelief. It had to be his overactive imagination, a result of too many Edgar Rice Burroughs novels in his childhood.

But as he listened further he realized that this actually was a language, some cryptic, un足 guessed form of communication for noniuiman lips. He felt cold all over at the realiza足 tion, cold and shaky. He looked around. Was there a look of vague comprehension on the faces of the cats, or was it a trick of the fluctuating moonlight? The sound droned on and on. The very air seemed charged with an electric intensity. Time itself seemed to grind to a halt. Suddenly, there was silence. John turned toward the middle cage to see the Bengal advancing on him. With measured tread it came towards him. halting three feet from the glass, and looked into his eyes.

John was Iro/en by the force of that glare.

He felt a chill go up his spine, as if he were caught in an arctic blast. These weren't the eyes of a mere animal there was an intelli足 gence behind them, a cunning, shrewd, unhuman intelligence. There was also a deep, burning anger, tiie indignation of a thinking mind trapped in the body of a mere beast and displayed as a spectacle for the chiklrcn of his captors to find entertainment in. Lust for stolen freedom pounded in that mind, the desire to wreak bloody vengeance on those who had imprisoned it. A large cloud obscured the face of the moon: still the tiger's eyes blazed into his.

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Then it turned away, and the spell was broken. Returning to the pool, the tiger stared through the aperture above. John was suddenly aware of a low snarling coming from behind him. He whirled to see a leopard crouching in its cage, as if preparing to spring. In another cage a lion was growling softly. The sound in­ creased. Other cats joined in. John began to back towards the stairway. Every animal in the building was adding to the crescendo. The tiger continued to stare at the sky. The noise grew louder. John slipped on a discarded piece of paper and narrowly escaped falling. Louder. He reached the head of the stairs. Louder. The moon reappeared. The noise ceased abruptly The Bengal tiger raised its head and uttered a shattering, deafening roar.

The animals exploded into a fit of furious madness. Fiercely they threw themselves against the glass that hemmed them in, roaring wildly. The tigers in the central cage were savagely assulting one pane of the glass, as the huge Bengal towered over them, urging them on as it were. John didn't think that one pane of glass could take that kind of punishment. He bolted down the steps and toward the locker where the guns were kept for emergencies.

Three other men came running up to him, “What’s going on, kid?” one of them asked.

“It’s like a riot up there!” John gasped, out of breath. He quickly told them what had happened. They looked at him skeptically and started to snicker. John blew up. “All right, laugh! But if they get out..He opened the locker and grabbed one of the rifles equipped with tranquilizing darts. The others looked at each other, then snatched up weapons for themselves, one other tranquiliz­ ing rifle and two pistols with live ammunition.

Thus armed, all four men raced up the stairs into the melee.

The tigers shattered the glass just as the men arrived. Somehow, John thought, they knew just how and where to hit it. “Unbreak­ able” it obviously wasn’t, after all. The tigers

piled out of their cage, but the Bengal hung back. The rifles fired, and two of the animals went down, pawing helplessly at the darts protruding from their Hanks. Quickly the men reloaded and tired again. Two more fell. The fifth leaped back into the cage. The rifles were reloaded again, and the men advanced cautious­ ly. The hubbub around them died down.

Suddenly the Bengal tiger jumped out. The men stopped in their tracks. John put his rifle to his shoulder, aiming for the neck. He began to squeeze the trigger. But he couldn't shoot.

The tiger began to back away snarling. John relaxed, dropping the gun to his side. He couldn't do it. The growl faded from the tiger's lips and he looked at him curiously, his head at a slight angle. With a muttered curse, the man next to John took aim and fired. “No!" he shouted, grabbing at the rifle. The tiger roared in pain. He gathered himself for a lunge at his captors. “He's gonna' jump!" shouted one of the men with a pistol. He fired three times, straight for the head. The tiger fell to the ground, a red stain spreading over his left eye.

For a few seconds he was shaken by convul­ sions; then he lay still.

John went home early that night. A sense of loss weighed heavily upon him. He didn't turn on the lights when he entered the apart­ ment but just sat down heavily on the couch.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see the face of the tiger the second before it was shot.

He was haunted by the look in its eyes, as if it couldn't believe that a man, its enemy, could understand it. But in that instant before the tiger died, John did understand. He rose and walked slowly to the window, opening it wide to let the wind blow in his face, to let his hair stream behind him. He stared at the night sky, at the dazzlingly bright moon and the shining stars, and the clouds Hying freely above the earth. He understood, all right.

He remained at the window, motion­ less, until the moon set behind the trees.

JEFFREY SCHALLERT

E]E]E]E]E]E]G]G]E]E]G]E]G]G]G]G]B]G]E]G]E]G] .

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THE SECOND MARTIN of factionalism and controversy in the Lutheran Church. Those opposed to the liberal conces­ sions of the Interim formed the Gnesio(true)Lutherans. They were championed by Matthias Flacius, a “hyper-Lutheran,” who held strictly to whatever Luther had spoken. Another group supported Melanchthon’s attempt to reunite the Lutherans and the Catholics by compro­ mise. They were called the Philippists. They also supported the “Variata,” Melanchthon’s liberal revision of the Augsburg Confession.

These two groups squared off against one another for the next thirty years.

A number of controversies split the Church even farther. Chief among these was the Adiaphoristic controversy. Here the GnesioLutherans argued, and rightly so, that nothing is an adiaphoron in the case of confession or offense. This attacked the Leipzig Interim violently where Melanchthon had conceded adiaphora to the Catholics. Another major controversy centered around the real presence in the Lord’s Supper. So-called Crypto-Cal­ vinists argued that Christ’s body and blood were not actually present, but only represented.

Ironically, these men felt this had been Luther’s teaching as well. Seven other important contro­ versies plagued the Lutheran Church, causing many hard feelings.

Out of this tense era Martin Chemnitz arose as the champion of orthodox Lutheran­ ism. He had attended the University of Witten­ berg while Luther was still lecturing but derived little benefit from him. His main in­ terest at that time had been astrology. Not until he became head of the ducal library in Prussia did he take an interest in theology. He studied on his own, becoming ordained in 1554 at thirty-two years of age.

He first came into the theological spot­ light in 1561. At that time Dr. Albert Hardenberg, a Lutheran preacher, was accused of teaching Cryto-Calvinistic doctrine. Chemnitz

rt is truly amazing that Martin Luther died Ji when he did. For twenty-five years since the Diet of Worms (1521) he had lived under the papal ban and endured countless strifes in his fight to free the Church. But, dying when he did of natural causes, he entirely missed the Lutheran Church's most trying hour.

Scarcely five months after Luther's death, the Smalcald War began. The forces of F.mperor Charles V faced the Lutheran princes under the command of F.lector John Frederick.

The cards were already stacked against the Lutherans, but when Maurice of Saxony turned traitor by joining Charles, their doom was scaled. The turning point of the war was the battle of Muehlberg (1547). Here Charles routed the Lutherans, capturing both the city and Hector John Frederick.

In 1548 the victorious Catholics imposed the harsh terms of the Augsburg Interim upon the defeated Lutherans. The document, oddly enough, was writen by Johann Agricola, a former colleague of Lulhev. Under the terms of the document, most Roman customs and ceremonies were reinstated, wiping out nearly all the gains of the Reformation.

The same year, due to the non-compliance of the Lutherans, Fmperor Charles asked Philipp Melanchthon. Luther's chief aid, to formulate a new agreement. This became known as the Leipzig Interim. Melanchthon hoped that he could salvage some Reformation gains by conceding some points to the Catholics. He conceded, but the Catholics did not. As a result, he gave in to their ceremonies, choosing to consider them adiaphora. He recognized the power of both Pope and coun­ cil. Most shameful of all, he forsook the foundation of the Reformation, the matter of sola gratia sola fide, by recognizing the Catho­ lic's Semi-Pelagianism. Laity and clergy alike were shocked to hear of such concessions.

The Leipzig Interim signaled the beginning 9

attacked his doctrine in the tract RepetItio sanae doctrinae de vem praosentia. He sub­ sequently became an arbiter in a number of other controversies, increasing his reputation with his just, scriptural decisions.

As the schism among the Lutherans widened, the need for a clear, concise statement of doctrine became increasingly apparent. Chem­ nitz and Jacob Andreae took the task to heart. In 1576 they led a group of thirty theolo­ gians at Torgau in formulating such a document.

Two existing statements were used as a basis for it, Andreae's own Swabian, Saxon Con­ cordia and the Maulbronn Formula. Chemnitz was the chief author of it because of his clear and practical style. Copies of this Torgau Con­ fession were sent out over all Germany, Chem­ nitz and Andreae recording and pondering the reactions to it.

The following year Chemnitz, Andreae, and Nicholas Selnecker (the Triumvirate of the Formula of Concord), met with three other theologians to re-examine the Torgau Con­ fession on the basis of these reactions. It be­ came necessary to change the confession. The resultant document, chiefly from the pen of Chemnitz, assumed the name “Bergic Book'’ (or “Thorough Declaration”). Due to its length, Andreae attached a summary . (“Epitome”), the two parts taken jointly making up the Formula of Concord. It was not a new confession, but an exposition and defense of the Lutheran Confessions. The Lutherans now had the tool they needed to unify themselves.

The Formula of Concord was not the only area where Chemnitz was a champion of the Lutheran cause. His many tracts and books defended the cause against all who opposed it.

He was among the first to realize the danger posed by the Jesuit order. This order filled its ranks with highly educated men who would stop at nothing to stamp out heresy. Against this order Chemnitz composed Theologiae Jesuitarum praecipua capita, ex posing their falsehoods and tactics. From 1565-1573 his time was occupied with the famous Examen Concilii Tridentini. It is a scholarly analysis of Trent’s decisions, based on Scripture, the Fathers, and the history of Catholic dogma.

For this work he received the title “the Most Villainous Lutheran.” Perhaps his most famous work is De duabus naturis •'»» Cbrivtn » very

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excellent scriptural, exhaustive treatment of the whole Christological significance of the per­ sonal union of the natures of Christ In his writings he fulfilled his goal of setting forth in simple and concise form what the Word of God taught.

Much of the success of Martin Chemnitz’ work can be attributed to his character. He, un­ like many other theologians of his day, was not affected by politics. He spoke what he con­ sidered to be the truth regardless of whom it might offend. One historian has labeled him a cross between Luther and Melanchthon. He possessed the reason of the domesticated, balanced old Luther in addition to Melanchthon’s tact. He was humble, moderate in all things, and, above all, he possessed a quiet per­ sistence. It could truly be said of Chemnitz, “He was a gentleman and a scholar.”

His theology serves as an example to lay­ men as well as clergy. He was not dedicated solely to tile word of Luther as others of his age were, but to the Word of God. His theology was practical, not theoretical. Pastoral con­ cern outweighed for him the need to have a logically neat and airtight system of doctrine.

Unity was important to him, but he realized that unity could only be based on strict ad­ herence to a solid confession. He insisted that true unity presupposed pure doctrine, which in turn demanded isolation and condemnation of false teachings.

The Lutheran Church owes a great deal to Martin Chemnitz, a defender of the faith and an architect of Lutheran unity. Perhaps the most complimentary statement made about him comes from a Catholic pen: “You Luther­ ans have two Martins; if the second had not appeared, the first would have disappeared.”

MARK RIEKE

The Encyclopedia of the Lutheran Church, J. Bodensieck.

Formulators to the Formula of Concord, Theodore R. Jungkuntz.

From Luther to Chemnitz, E. F. Klug.

Getting Into The Formula of Concord, E. F. Klug and Otto F, Stahlke.

The Lutheran Cyclopedia.

The Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge.

10

SUMMER DREAMS Early May Sets up another round, And I Already having downed March and AprilMid the papers and the books Find the glass again, Ahhhh So cool against my hand.

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I know I'll be called to account In the final days, But for just a moment now Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll enjoy the sparkling sunny rays, Barefoot tramp the soft tickling grass For the last drop And watch the breeze rustle the foam Of the trees.

I'm well on my way...........

Summer dreams, Like ceep jeeps On Friday night streets They cruise in low gear, Careening corners and Glancing sidewalks, Finding her sitting on the curb, Feet in the gutter And her cigarette-smoke halo Glowing Rising in the streetlight.

I find it easier to return Than I expected.

BRIAN DOSE

11

iCAMPUS & CLASSROOMI floor Witt—-the other half in Coburg, all other Preps on l st and 2nd floor of Augs­ burg, coeds on 3rd floor of Augsburg.

This would leave the north hall of 1st floor Witt empty for the married tutor’s family.

And speaking of married tutors, another puzzling question is brought to mind: Wlnt can this new addition be on our campus? Maybe Tutor Kogler was jealous of the fact that the Wartburg staff recently got a secretary and thought he'd find his own secretary Or perhaps he thought that as long as there were so many girls already on campus, no one would notice one more. Another possibility is that he figured signing in his wife on the weekend would double the number of signatures on the open dorm sheet. Or maybe he decided to listen to our country’s new administration and their energy-saving plans by no longer driving back and forth to Oconomowoc. One last thought was that he was simply complying with Dean Lindcmann's new rule that everyone must have a roommate.

This brings us to another haunting question: How do I pick a roommate for next year? To help you out in this dilemma, we have pre­ pared a handy roommate qualification guide.

Just clip this questionnaire, put possible names on the top and place a check-mark lor each qualification (or disqualification) your pro­ spective roomie has.

A t this time of year, most of us are looking ^•forward to going home for the summer to start the old job to rake in the funds or to see those young maidens once again in the home town. Of course, there are those that claim New Ulm as home and have to see those young maidens again. But some people at this time have to be wondering about some impend­ ing questions that won’t be answered until next fall. For instance, will Chef Hanke be able to come through with another exciting line-up of test items for next year? Or what will the kitchie line-up look like after graduation steals Miss Homecoming Queen? Or will there be even more young beauties invading our already loaded campus? And the real puzzler-where will they all stay?

Here are some suggestions we have heard as remedies for the housing problem: 1. In the course of the next three years completely switch all college men into Co­ burg Hall and put the coeds in Wart and Witt, since respective enrollments would warrant this.

2. Put coeds on 2nd and 3rd floors of Wart, the college Sophs in Coburg. The Frosh will live in Dean Lindcmann’s office, so he can keep a close eye on them (him?).

Lock up the rest of first floor.

3. Fill all of Wart and the 2nd and 3rd floors of Witt with college men, put half of the Quintaners on the south half of 1st

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HANDY ROOMMATE QUALIFICATION GUIDE Does lie have: 1. A subscription to various magazines 2. A stereo 3. A car 4. Clothes my size 5. Willingness to clean room alone 6. Deodorant 7. A mom that’s a good (frequent) cook 8. A pretty girlfriend (for pictures) 9. A pretty sister (for me) 10. A television )oes he: 1. Play cards and lose 2. Worry about open-door policy 3. Get more mail than I do 4. Get more feinail than I do 5. Sleep with typewriter going 6. Talk to Elmer a lot 7. Chew snuff, and if he does, does he use: a. A spittoon b. The garbage can c. The outdoors d. His drawer e. My drawer

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For many years it has been commonly assumed that all Greek words necessary for NWC translation were located on Prof.

Spaude's all-embracing vocable lists. But a new Greek elective has been added for next semes­ ter Greek 64 How an Ancient Language Can Survive on a Modern Campus, or The Comedy of Errors. This course has proven that the Greek language is neither inflexible nor in­ telligible, but a whole lot of fun. To prepare you for the course, Prof. Spaude has entrusted us with preparing the new vocable list for him.

This list is published early with the hope that all will be prepared for the voc quiz to be administered August 24. tAXnj o KWpv£X\

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-a multiple choice test ■ second cut Turk's gym (flupao-iup, ) -Smiley‘s gym -Chefs gym -Bronk's gym -dregSchulz'sgreat mistake ■- classroom attire -firth t-year thtudent -two-urn plus two-um -a) who open dorm is for b) what you did on your last Hebrew exam - what C <5 Creminds one of -what we'll need for the rest of Vol LXXXI

JERRY EWINGS AND DAVID HUEBNER

13

ACTIVITIES Indeed, what a wonderful opportunity to praise God in song!

Another of Dr. Lehmann’s organizations, the concert band, has been the victim of in­ adequate housing. For the past two months, the band’s practice space on the auditorium floor, along with the whole upstairs of the building, has been given over to remodeling crews. Only recently has the band been able to reassemble, as it is retiming instruments and re­ shaping lips on the snug confines of the gym­ nasium stage. Nevertheless, earnest rehearsing is once again underway for the band portion of the commencement concert on graduation eve.

Greg Schulz, director of the popular Jazz Ensemble, has had the same problem with his group. With the cooperation of Chef Hanke, however, the twenty-member ensemble has been enjoying practice facilities of late in (he cafeteria. The ensemble is primed for the “big event,” its third annual concert with the Prep Singers, May 7, in St. Mark’s gym.

But if the instrumental groups think they've had problems, they should check with the Forum society. Preparing for their final production, Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People, these aspiring actors have set up stage in St. John’s gymnasium, our Music-Auditorium, the basement of Wartburg, classrooms of the Chapel-Arts building, and in ! regard to the use of the gym, the sock ' > most

trod lying a new concept or format is I nusually not easy, and this article didn't prove otherwise. The basic problem was this: should the editor present an amalgamated ver­ sion of the springtime campus activities, thus trying to give the effect of unity, or should he throw out a composite, reporter-like edition?

We opted for the latter in this introductory issue. In this way the readers can observe what types of activities on campus are considered under the jurisdiction of this article, and the writer is spared the agony of editorializing and striving for one common theme, when there are so many different organizations to be reckoned with at this time of the year. Obviously, an economy of expression is of utmost necessity in such an article. This writer hopes that he has done justice to our many activities and organi­ zations in this respect. So, our first attempt: what's the haps on the NWC springtime campus?

As it sped through Iowa. Nebraska, Texas, Arizona, and California this past Easter vaca­ tion, the NWC Touring Chorus offered its beautiful anthems to God's glory in various WELS churches. By all reports, the hearty welcomes they received from the host congre­ gations were reasons enough to consider their ministry in song a blazing success. Dr. Leh­ mann’s select group returned to campus on April 13th and concluded its tour with the traditional Homecoming Concert in the Chapel.

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sincere thanks to Coach Thompson for all his cooperation in its many requests. Director of An Enemy, in which Ibsen bitterly ridicuies the “so-called Liberal Press” of Norway in the 1880’s, is Paul Ibisch. Lead actors are veteran Bruce Becker and Forum “rookies” Carl Springer and Richard Smith. Though the play, to take place on a low level stage on the gym floor, hasn’t been put on at the time of this writing, it does promise to be a “break a leg” success.

The other side of spring activities concerns itself with sports. And if students aren’t flexing their muscles in intra-mural softball, where Kuehl’s marauders and Ylvisaker’s Sophs are running neck and neck for the shirts, they are making use of our expansive intercollegiate program.

Unfortunately for baseball fans, the Trojan diamondmen have looked like a college version of the i960 Mets for the first part of the season. Anemic hitting, slipshod fielding, and not enough pitching to meet the demands of a double-header-laden schedule have been the bane of our young team. Nonetheless, the team has seen bright hopes for future success in the gallant pitching of Dave Voss and Roger Neumann, and in the consistent hitting of left-fielder Denny Himm. Coach Pieper’s “9” has a 2-10 record as it heads into the meat of its 1977 schedule.

Coach Sellnow’s golf team has had much of the same lack of success so far. Shortage of practice time and tough competition have led to a 2-6 combined meet record. Particularly prestigious was the recent meet against Mid­ west Conference foes, Ripon, Monmouth, Coe, and Lawrence, held on the rolling hills of Lawsonia Links in Green Lake. Even Mark Smith’s 86 couldn’t keep the linksmen from being also-rans in such competition.

If the track team had as much manpower as desire, it might have more of a fighting chance in its tough meets. Added to the fact that the harriers lack depth in the weights, our two top sprinters, Jim and Ken Nelson, ' have been plagued by nagging leg injuries.

One star has been Phil Heyer, whose 19*9” long jump claimed top honors at a dual meet with Carroll and Ripon.

The most consistent victors on our sports program in recent years has been the tennis team. Under the tutelage of Jon Stern, this year’s contingent is no exception. The steady 15

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play of Tom Nass, Keith Tullborg, Bruce Bitter. .

Bruce McKenney, Dan Kuehl. Jim Proeber. and Mark Rieke has led to lour victories in five starts, including a 9-0 shellacking of rival Concordia Milwaukee.

Finally, we must make mention of the 2nd annual NWC Booster Club Volleyball Tourna­ ment. Thirty-seven congregations from Wiscon­ sin and northern Illinois took part. Volunteer helpers included members of the college phy-ed classes. Along with various gifts to our Prep School, this organization has provided us with music lockers and is in the process of supply­ ing additional football bleachers and a sound system for the Chapel. On behalf of the ent ire student-body, we sound a most heartfelt “thank you” for all the equipment you so con­ sistently provide for our benefit outside the classroom.

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PSALM Come to me m the day ui liuuble.

When your foes surround you, seek my face.

I am a refuge to the weary, a fortified place: In my wounds there is safety for the fugitive.

There arc provisions inside; their siege will not succeed.

My gates are impenetrable: i will supply your every need.

Come to me in the day of trouble.

Come to me on the day of your salvation.

I will dry your tears, and fashion joy from mourning.

The day of gladness will dawn and dry up every sorrow.

Look to me for comfort, look to me to heal your soul.

I will fill the emptiness inside. I will make your heart beat love.

Come to me in the day of trouble.

Come to me in the day of your rebirth.

Do not be afraid in the veil of death; you are not alone.

I am at your side forever; my light will split the gloom.

Let there be no room for despair in your heart; I am near.

Open your eyes and behold me. I will never leave my beloved.

I will never let you tall out of my hand, for I love you.

From the beginning of the world 1 gave myself for you.

I will close your eyes with a kiss; I will wake you with a cry.

Death's wail will be drowned out by joyful shouts of victory.

As surely as I rose from the grave, I will cal! you out in glory.

Come to me in the day of trouble.

Come to me in the day of life.

DON PIEPER

17

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C(©JWlCiaC€jHl€J5®: 1977 Commencement speech in the field of humanities, presented on Wednesday. May l{j.

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ri-)hat I am about to discuss is potentially one of the most important controversies of modem times. The question is this: Have B. F. Skinner and other behavioral psychologists advanced valid claims with regard to human nature, and are their proposals for scientifically shaping the future acceptable? We should not underestimate how much is at stake in this debate. The glum prediction of Aldous Huxley may prove to be true. As he put it, We have had religious revolutions, we have had political, industrial, economic and nationalistic revolu­ tions. All of them, as our descen­ dants will discover, were but ripples in an ocean of conserva­ tism-trivial by comparison with the psychological revolution to­ ward which we are so rapidly moving. That will really be a revolution.

Actually, the revolution is already in progress even if it is only in its initial phase. The debate continues to attract attention in academic and literary circles. It remains to be seen whether the advocates of scientific control of mankind will be able to make it a political issue and begin to implement their program.

To avoid misunderstanding, I should first say that I am not talking about the specific therapeutic techniques which the behavioral psychologists have contributed to psychology.

Instead I would like to focus on the overall approach of behavioral psychology to the study of man as it is exemplified in the work of its leading exponent, B. F. Skinner.

There is no opportunity to develop Skinner’s thought adequately here, but some of his views may be briefly summarized as follows.

Everything that an individual does is the in­ evitable result of his genetic endowment and of the forces at work in his environment. Me has no freedom of choice in anything. Instead he merely tends to repeat automatically those actions that have favorable consequences for him. Since the environment is in Skinner's opinion the determining factor in man’s actions, the way to improve man's existence is to elimi­ nate the effects of chance by scientifically designing an environment that will control man in a favorable way. In short, environmental design is Skinner’s answer to all of man’s problems.

We recognize at once a huge gulf between the behavioral approach and the Christian point of view. Skinner's “man” is a machine without moral responsibility for his actions and consequently without actual sin. Likewise the corruption of human nature since the Fall is ignored in the assumption of the perfectibility of man. All absolute standards are abolished, and self-gratification becomes the only rule for conduct. It is obvious to us that as a whole, Skinner's philosophy is bankrupt and danger­ ous. Still, there are lessons to be learned from an analysis of it.

The crux of the problem seems to be the use of strictly scientific methods in the study of man. Science has been studying man for centuries, but not until the present have scientific principles been applied to man rigor­ ously and exclusively. This recent development was perhaps to be expected in view of the ad­ vances in physics and biology over the last hundred years. The behaviorists reasoned this way. If psychologists were to duplicate the successes of physicists and biologists, the study of man would have to be patterned on 18

the study of alemc j net rinim.ds. And so the behaviorists concentrated on observable, objec­ tive evidence and tried to explain human be­ havior on the basis of a minimum of principles.

When they found a way of explaining behavior without referring to the difficult concepts of intention, will, and free choice, they seized it.

This may be good scientific technique, but in psychology it seems inappropriate for a number of reasons. One is that although scientific analysis is a sensitive way of dealing with causal connections between observable events, it is blind to the possibility o{'bidden and uncontrolled processes. If, as most people believe, the mind is free to make meaningful choices, a purely scientific approach will be unable to expose that fact. We should just as soon expect to be able to see red objects as red while wearing dark green glasses: we cannot, but that does not mean that there is no red color. I suspect that scientific logic has a simi­ lar incapacity for detecting free will.

Another consideration that makes the pure iy scientific approach inappropriate for the study of man is the impossibility of proving a theory absolutely. A theory is only an attempt to explain a situation on the basis of assumptions and inferences from facts. Mow accurate the explanation is cannot be known; what counts is how useful the theory is. This presents no problems in the physical sciences.

We can deal confidently with inanimate matter in accordance with a defective theory; no one cares if something unforeseen happens to a metal chip or a sample of gas as a result of our error. But the situation changes completely when man himself is being manipulated. What gives anyone the right to attempt a program of scientific control over mankind on the basis of an improvable theory?

A further objection is that Skinner's theory is an inadequate explanation of the facts. On the whole, his argument is consistent in what it does explain, but that is not enough it ought to account for all the facts. A madman can come up with a consistent account of the way in which everyone is persecuting him. but he is unable to explain convincingly the overwhelm­ ing evidence for well-intentioned and neutral acts on the part of his fellow men. Similarly, the behavioral scientist has his greatest dif­ ficulty in explaining some of the most signifi­ cant aspects of Tn<3n: his intellectual abilities

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and emotions, Ins creativity and intuition, his capacity for self-sacrifice. Skinner answers the charge by suggesting that refinements in the theory may yet come, and by insisting that there is no real explanation to be gotten from the traditional view of man since the idea of an inner, uncontrolled self defies understanding. I would agree with the last point, but I do not think that Skinner offers a superior sort of understanding. Any explanation that we can offer merely defers the point ai which we must confess our ignorance. And do we really under­ stand the meaning of a “caused” event any better than that of a “free" choice? Max Black, a prominent logician, has spoken of the concept of cause as a “peculiar, unsystematic, and erratic notion” such that “any attempt to state a ‘universal law of causation’ must prove futile.” I do not think that Skinner's insistence on causal explanations is any improvement on the traditional view that man has a free will.

There is really no reason to regard man as a machine.

Finally, one asks the question, “Why?” Why does Skinner propose a scheme for the so-called “improvement” of mankind through total scientific control? What can his motive for helping future generations be if he does not acknowledge ethical demands in the traditional sense? Skinner faces the problem squarely but has only a lame answer. Some people, he says, find themselves “induced” by society to work for the preservation of the race or of a culture.

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According to lha way ol thinking, these induce­ ments offer the prospective benefactor of man­ kind no concrete personal gains, and the credit which is earned by such work is illusory and meaningless. Yet Skinner apparently accepts this motive, even if it is only a shadow of the Christian injunction to “love they neighbor.”

When we get down to the question “why?”, we see how empty the purely scientific view of man really is.

It strikes me as almost incredible that any­ one could share Skinner’s unbounded optimism and his expectations of a utopian future.

There is no getting around the obstacle of origi­ nal sin; it is, as Pascal wrote, that mystery of human nature without which we become in­ comprehensible to ourselves. It is staggering to realize that the problem of evil is being denied or ignored in a century that has produced a Hitler and a Stalin. But just because we find Skinner's conclusions utterly implausible does not mean that they hold no danger for us. The rise of the twentieth century dictators should also remind us that political power can shift drastically and disastrous policies can prevail.

And more pressing than that is the possibility that the behavioral approach will win out in our nation’s educational institutions.

Remember that ours is the Age of Science, and anything that has the prestige of science behind it has great weight. We would do well to raise a dissenting voice.

JOEL FR HD RICH

!. ; The motto of the graduating class.

I HAVE PUT MY TRUST IN THE 1 I .

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LORD GOD, THAT I MAY DECLARE ALL HIS WORKS.

PSALMS 73:28.

Graduation hymn for 1977 May God bestow on us His grace, With blessings rich provide us, And may the brightness of His face To life eternal guide us That we His saving health may know, His gracious will and pleasure.

And also to the heathen show Christ’s riches without measure And unto God convert them.

Thine over all shall be the praise And thanks to ev’ry nation, And all the world with joy shall raise The voice of exultation; For Thou shalt judge the earth, O Lord.

Nor suffer sin to flourish; Thy people’s pasture is Thy Word Their souls to feed and nourish, In righteous paths to keep them.

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Oh, let the people praise Thy worth, In all good works increasing; The land shall plenteous fruit bring forth, Thy Word is rich in blessing.

May God the Father, God the Son, And God the Spirit bless us!

Let all the world praise Him alone, Let solemn awe possess us.

Now let our hearts say, Amen.

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Commencement speech in the field of religion.

/^ne of the many questions which occurred ^^to me for the first time this past year was the question of the clarity or clearness of Scripture. In our religion courses this past year, we as a class have seen Firsthand some of the problems involved in working with the original Greek and Hebrew texts of the Bible.

There are problems in unraveling twisted gram­ mar and problems in defining rarely-used words. Besides, in our own reading, we’ve come across many passages, as I’m sure everyone has, that we read b"T vr don’t •. il>v understand;

their meaning seems to be ambiguous. For these reasons, at least I have pondered the question, “How clear is the Bible? How under­ standable is this book upon which we base our hope for salvation?”

Since the Roman Catholic Church has traditionally taught that the Bible is a mysteri­ ous, sublime book, it is not at all surprising to learn that Martin Luther had a great deal to say about this point. During the years in which he spent much of his time refuting Roman Catholicism, he addressed this problem on

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various occasions, aid u «ny opinion, he came to what is a very up a-.c and enlightened ap­ proach to the topic. Briefly, then, l would like to summarize what Luther said about the clarity of Scripture and to show how his ob­ servations can help us when we encounter dark passages in our personal study.

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In his commentary on the Thirty-seventh Psalm, Luther relates what his basic convic­ tion is about the clarity of Scripture. At first reading, however, what he says seems to be a tremendous overstatement. He says, “No clearer book has been written on earth than the Holy Scriptures!" “No clearer book!" he says, and one begins to wonder if Luther had never read the likes of Dr. Seuss or even Caesar's Gallic Wars: Luther in another reference goes on to say. “With respect to the whole Scrip­ ture, 1 will not have any part of it called ob­ scure.” “How can Luther make such state­ ments?” we ask.

To explain his thought* both lieu and in otiier places Luther uses some simple imagery.

He compares the Bible to the sun. Just as the sun is on a level far above man, so the Bible as God's revelation is also on a level far above j man. It is on a shelf all by itself. Likewise, just as the sun on its own level is always bright and ! clear, so the Bible, as the product of the all­ knowing God, is always bright and clear on its own level. What Luther means is that when one looks at the Bible objectively and disassociates ! it from all human experience, just like the sun it is perfectly clear.

We might then say, “This all sounds fine, but why are there parts of Scripture which we can't understand?” Well, Luther himself never claimed to be able to understand every passage n Scripture. He said, “It is indeed true that some passages of Scripture are dark (dunkel).”

To explain these passages, however, Luther merely continues his sun imagery. Just as we : can’t always see the full brightness of the sunthere are times when clouds pass between us and the sun, or when we are inside a building, or even when we hold our hands over our eyesso also at times we cannot see the full bright­ ness of Scripture because of various obstmc ; . tions between us m<i the Bibb These obstnn

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tions arc obvious. Fusi ol ali, language at times blocks our view. The Bible was written in Greek and Hebrew, and no one today has a per­ fect knowledge of these languages. A second hindrance is our lack of knowledge about the circumstances at the time when the Scrip­ ture accounts were written. The third and most important obstruction is that we as humans simply lack the insight needed. We are not as bright as we might think, especially when one compares us to God and considers that the Devil is constantly working among us to con­ fuse us.

Luther’s point, then, is that when we have problems understanding Scripture, these prob­ lems come not from some obscurity which is inherent in the text. Just as the fires of the sun are not dimmed when a cloud passes between us and the sun, so also when clouds of our own ignorance and feebleness pass between us and the Bible, the Bible is still 1009r clear and un­ ambiguous.

Application

tossing a shovelful of coal omo the sun in order to make it burn brighter. Yet this is exactly what many modern theologians do. They in­ sist that the Bible is just another piece of ancient literature end that they therefore may freely toss in their own human reason to clari­ fy any part which they don’t understand. We should recognize that there are two levelsone divine and one human. It is illogical for anyone to carry up the scum of human reason to the level of the Bible.

Still, by the same token, Luther tells us that we should not despair. I think our natural tendency when we find a dark passage is to throw up our arms and say, “I can’t under­ stand this! What’s the use in reading this? I’ll get a commentary or I’ll ask my pastor.” It is then that we should remember the various ways that the sun is hidden from our view.

There may be clouds between us and the sun, and we can’t do anything about that. How­ ever, it also may be true that the sun is hidden simply because we are inside a building or be­ cause we have our hands over our eyes. These are things we can do something about. Luther very strongly believed that the obscure passages in Scripture were explained by the clear. In re­ gard to dark passages he said, “They contain nothing but precisely that which is found at other places in clear, open passages.” When we meet a dark passage, with the help of the Holy Spirit we should open our eyes to other clear spots in Scripture which will illuminate the dark. By letting Scripture interpret itself, we will more often than not receive help in such a situation.

“Is the Bible clear?” Perhaps we should ask, “Is the sun clear?” Luther’s sun imagery, I feel, offers an enlightened and realistic approach for anyone who is puzzled about the clarity of Scripture. More importantly, it re­ assures us that our faith does not rest upon a book of mysteries. As Luther says, “It is a horrible shame and crime against Holy Scrip­ ture and all Christendom to say that Holy Scripture is dark and not so clear that every­ body may understand it in order to teach and prove his faith.”

Such a view of the nature of Scripture, I feel, can be very helpful to us whenever we run across a dark passage in Scripture. First of all, such a view explains why dark passages exist for us. Very often when we read a passage which we don’t understand, we tend to blame the author. “Why did God write in such veiled terms? Why didn't God make the Bible more intelligible?” In doing so, as Luther points out, we are merely projecting our own imperfec­ tions and inabilities onto the Bible. When we consider the Bible as the sun, I think we come to a much more correct and a healthier evalua­ tion of dark passages. Then we recognize that any passage which seems dark, is dark only be­ cause there is some sort of barrier between us and the Bible which forbids us from under­ standing what is perfectly clear in and of it­ self. Rather than blaming God, we should blame ourselves.

Secondly, Luther's view can give us hints as to how to deal with dark passages when we run across them. What we should never do is to explain them by the use of human knowledge or reason. On a cloudy day undoubtedly the last thing we would think about doing is

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NWC LIBRARY WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

LITERATURE: A WAY TO SALVATION! EEThat value does literature hold for us? To be * ▼ sure, our classes abound in Homer. Livy, and the host of their successors. The shelves of our personal libraries often overflow with books of all sorts. But it is so easy to read the authors-classical or modern-seeking nothing more than to fulfill course requirements. It is easy to glory in the sheer number of volumes arranged about our desks rather than to examine our handling of the available wealth.

Wealth it indisputably is, this store of human thought laid so conveniently before our gaze.

We must certainly go beyond cleverly printed covers and rare copyright dates to uncover these riches, but what exactly is the most beneficial approach to the literature of the world?

A book may be read for simple enjoyment.

Certainly the thought of relaxing for the even­ ing with a copy of, let’s say, Don Quixote is a comfortable one. Most people find relaxation in the humor of authors such as Cervantes.

Many of us appreciate too the chance to read line after line of Shakespeare, for instancewe enjoy the beauty of language and derive profit, if you will, from literature in terms of art appreciation.

A great number of readers today, however, delve into the works of author after author in feverish search for the wisdom of the masters. i i They seek answers to the eternal questions of •: life not only in the dialogues and writings of 1 the acknowledged philosophers Voltaire, Sartre, or Plato himself, but in each and every poem and novel and short story which achieves enough recognition to be set into print.

The authors themselves champion the notion that they possess the definitive answers to the Great Questions of mankind. The con­ cept of divine literatus is present in most authors to a large degree. The American liter­ ary pioneer Whitman was not original in claim­ ing that the saviour of mankind was to be the writer. He called the Poet “the true Son of God,” but then Milton had earlier made the audacious claim that he was to excel all other literature and in his poetry “justify the \v.i\s of God to men.”

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Students ot literature claim to weigh the philosophies of every author equitably in their search for satisfaction. In fact, our college text for World Literature commences with Genesis enroutc to Solzhenitsyn. But equality of con­ sideration is not itself at issue. The very light in which all writings and authors are considered in the classrooms of the country imposes on literature an inherently impossible demand.

How can the questings of men—however cleverly displayed and meticulously invesligated-yield absolute answers to others engaged upon the selfsame quest? They simply cannot. An ap­ proach to literature cannot by its very nature expect to find some type of salvation in the words and thoughts and phrases of men who are themselves grasping for unrealized goals.

This brings us to the initial question of this essay. Allow me to suggest that the fore­ most function of literature, rather than to pro­ vide a saving philosophy, is to yield insight.

Very specifically, our approach to a book must be with a mind toward viewing the philosophies as expressed, for example, in the Greek at­ titudes of Homer, in the pessimism of Vol­ taire, or in the cry for personal morality in Solzhenitsyn.

Allow as well that I speak of this approach to literature quite apart from Scripture and all Christian authors. We can thus gain an entrance to the realm where unbelieving man can be observed in his darkness. Perhaps then we shall be better equipped to see his need for the Light of the World, the only satisfying answer to his questions, and perhaps we will then be able to more effectively present that Light to him.

A further implication of this approach to literature is that the Christian reader-particu­ larly the one concerned with literate communi­ cation-has to seek out, actively and persistent­ ly, the poems, novels and stories which can in­ deed yield such insight as 1 have mentioned.

As students we would do well to pore over the world’s authors at the very least as a matter of education. As men who need to reach out to souls in the very darkness documented by the authors of the world we need to make this our approach to literature.

24

GREGORY SCHULZ

ALUMNI ^T'here is a famous maxim which states: “No news is good news.” For those of you who are adherents to that proverb-have we got an alumni section for you! Personally, when it comes to this section, 1 prefer to think of it as short, but sweet.

This is not to say there isn't anything going on in the Synod. If you don’t believe me, ask the Northwestern newlywed-Tutor Kogler. Or, you might ask the soon-to-be-graduating class at the Sem. Indeed, much is happening to NWC alumni during this part of the year: the only problem is that we don't know about it.

With the days of school swiftly waning, it was impossible for me to glean information from our many operatives spread throughout the United States. Consequently, this alumni section contains the last words of our out­ going editor, Glenn Schwanke. (Incidentally, Glenn is last of a dying breed. Due to our re­ vamping of the Black and Red, there will be no alumni editor, as such. I am merely a lowly staff-writer playing double jeopardy with oui Editor-in-Chief.)

Now, on to the news -

and Mrs. Philip SUiwciin on March 4, 1977.

Rev. Schwerin serves Good Shepherd, Cheyenne, Wyoming.

- A daughter, Jennifer Mae, was born to Pastor and Mrs. Charles lies on March 15, 1977.

Rev. lies serves St. Paul and Zion, Colome, South Dakota.

CALLS -Rev. Martin Schulz (’64), who formerly served as the dean of Northwestern Preparatory School, Watertown, Wisconsin, has accepted a call to St. John of Milwaukee.

- Rev. John Gaertner (’59), formerly of First Lutheran in Prescott, Arizona, has ac­ cepted a call to serve the Hope Lutheran Con­ gregation of West Chicago, Illinois.

-Rev. James Castillo (’70), who formerly served Hope, Louisville, Kentucky, will be installed at Peace, Hartford, Wisconsin, on June 5, 1977.

-Rev. John Martin II (’69), who formerly served Martin Luther, Forest Lake, Minnesota, has accepted a call to Bethany, Kenosha, Wis­ consin.

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ANNIVERSARIES RETIREMENT -Christ Our Redeemer, Denver, Colorado, celebrated its tenth anniversary on March 13, 1977. Rev. Louis Sievert ('67). serves the con­ gregation.

Rev. Frederic Gilbert (’28), retired as of April 1, 1977. Pastor Gilbert served Jordan, West Allis, Wisconsin.

GROUNDBREAKING

One parting note

-Faith Lutheran, Russell, Kansas, held groundbreaking ceremonies for its new church on March 27, 1977. The congregation is cur­ rently served by Rev. Edwin Fredrich, Jr. (’70).

Vicar Jonathan Rupprecht (’74), made an unorthodox contribution to the Church Ex­ tension Fund last April. At a congregational ice cream and pie social, he took top honors in the pie-in-the-face contest. His wife, youth group, and “best” friends donated S10 for the opportunity to pelt him.

BIRTHS

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A son, Andrew Philip, was born to Pastor 25

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East Gate Drive (Old Hwy. 16)

Co-Mo Photo Company Photo Finishing — Cameras Black and White - Color “We Process Films” 217-219 N. 4th Street Watertown Phone 261-3011

WARREN-SCHEY House of Music MUSIC-INSTRUMENTS PIANOS-ORGANS 261-8644

208 Main St.

WATERTOWN DAILY TIMES ★ A Daily Newspaper Since 1895

M&l Bank of Watertown "The Latest m Motion Pictures” 308 E. Main Street (414) 261-1692 WATERTOWN, WIS. 53094

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smoothed the wrinkles from her per^spiration-laden gym suit. Cheerleading prac­ tice had been tough tonite, real tough. True, the group needed the extra time, but it was too late in the season to accomplish much. Miracles were not about to happen. Impossibility is impossibility; uncoordination, uncoordination.

At any rate, the cheerleaders provided a type of “poetic justice” to the basketball they were accustomed to root for. This year the Lincoln Lancers attained a coveted 3-11 record one of their better performances of late.

Stashing her suit in the recesses of her phy ed locker, Carol slipped over to the mirror.

Feline agility brushed the long auburn locks to their customary luster. With a muffled Pfft\ her perfumed fragrance was renewed. A glance for one quick recheck and she was gone-out into the cool sterility of the school corridors.

Quite a change from the stale locker room at­ mosphere. She waltzed by row upon row of lockers. At length, she reached the one she had been assigned to. The gray-brown door of 417 swung open rustily after she had worked the combination.

The halls were abandoned at this hour.

Janitors occasionally scudded around here and there, but otherwise Carol was, for the moment, Queen of the Hall. A little later, the basketball players-practicing now for next week’s grudge match against Langdon-would populate the narrow corridors and fill them with their raucous laughter. But, the quiet which reigned now was amazing.. .the school complex was sleeping, recharging itself for the coming morning.

Unhurriedly, the Hall Queen gathered up her necessities for the night ahead. There wasn’t much homework for tomorrow, just enough to be a bother. With books in hand, she pushed through the weighty steel doors into the outside world.

Carol always looked forward to the long walk home. The seventeen-block stroll proved to be a good rubdown after each trying round in the educational mills. It was the perfect time to mellow out and breathe relaxed air for a change. During this interval, she could per­ use the events of the day and choose the rele-

vant, while she cast off the unnecessary-filling the pigeonholes of her mind.

Today had not been exceptional. It seemed like a gray day, rather indistinguishable from the many others which had preceded it. Sixthhour study hall had, as usual, provided the highlights of the day. Mr. Edmondson, the babysitter for that hour, was so “slow,” it was pitiful. He had no relationship whatso­ ever with the kids. There had been the familiar rat-tat-tat of jaw breakers rebounding against the blackboard behind Mr. E’s chair. The ever­ present paper airplane pilots weren’t to be denied, either. Only one thing out of the ordi­ nary had occurred all day, and that in eighthhour study period when some dumb frosh had tried to hold her breath till she passed out.

Her prank worked, too. It was fascinating watching the color of her complexion rainbow until she finally lapsed into unconsciousness.

After giving those events a peripheral run­ down, she switched over to what happened to be her favorite topic: boys. This is the subject which generally consumed most of her medita­ tion time. To do so wasn't really a luxury, but rather a necessity. Without going over the day's encounters, the hits and misses, it was impos­ sible to gauge her behavior for the coming days, especially the next one. Flirting with the guys was a tough job; each case needed precise analysis. Every boy who was a worthy catch demanded a separate and custom-made tech­ nique. Consequently, what turned some on. turned others off, and vice versa. In terms of male contact, today had been a pretty signifi­ cant one. Jimmy MacAllister had left a cute little note in her locker. There was also Terry, who had been desperately striving to capture her attention throughout one of Mr. Bernard's ' patently boring chemistry classes. Tom had been successful in attracting her gaze in study hall. He had made the effort worth her trouble.

In addition, there were Dennis and A1 to think about. They were darkhorses, but one can never tell.

While she was pre-occupied with male-in­ spired thoughts, city blocks passed by unheeded.

The wheels of her fertile mind were, however, forced to a standstill as she attempted to find continued on page 52

THE BLACK AND RED SEPTEMBER 1977 Volume 81, No. 2

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Cover Story

First Kiss, Last Kiss

34

EDITORIAL

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The Lost Treasure

35

ACTIVITIES

38

Madison Visited.................

40

There Are Only Ashes Here

43

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM Summer Shades..................

44 . 47

An Abiding Dwelling...........

4<) f

I ESTABLISHED 1897

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

. . Gregory Schulz

MANAGING EDITOR

. .Don Seheueriein

STAFF WRITERS

. .Jeffrey Schalicrt Mark Rieke David Payne Brian Dose

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

.... Jerry Ewings

ACTIVITIES

. . David Kolander

ARI

.... Mark Wagner

BUSINESS MANAGER

. . . Rick Johnson

CIRCULATION MANAGER

. . . Timothy Kant

ADV FR USING MANAGERS

. Greg Otterslatter

David Huebner

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Entered at the Post Office at Watertown, Wisconsin, as Second Class Matter under the act of Ma'ch 3, 1879. Second Class postage paid at Watertown, Wisconsin.

Published Monthly during the school year.

Mark Wilde I 'HiH'.y fry lfork l ekert

EDITORIAL It is through the idealism of youth that man catches sight of truth, and in that idealism he possesses a wealth which he must never exchange for anything else.

Albert Schweitzer

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A fresh beginning once again our campus is alive with that optimism peculiar to the outset of a brand-new school year. Handshakes of welcome and the eager trade of news be­ tween friends provide simple testimony that summer jobs and home living have been ex­ changed for studies and dorm life. New texts are in evidence everywhere ... as arc the first strains and injuries of the season. Another cycle of drama is in the works, the latest volumes of literature and collections of pictures too. Music of all kinds is to be had for the listening. Northwestern is again a vital com­ munity. and it’s tally good to be here.

At the same time that this optimism abounds-in dorm and classroom, out on the field and in the auditorium -the more “realistic” among our number are looking to the in­ evitable triumph of a familiar cynicism held by the many as being the unalterable nature of things. Speaking from recent experience, the point appears to be valid. After all, the end of last year was especially wearing on many of us, leaving the impression that complaints about every professor, classmate and rule were (at least partially) justified. Passing complaints were initially accepted, soon corroborated and suddenly taken as universal fodder for con­ versation.

Our close associations can easily create a

camaraderie of apathy, but I for one cannot see the course from beginning-of-the-year optimism to constant complaining as the in­ evitable slide and inescapable rut these “realists” are even now awaiting.

It need not be, this descent into a routine of complaint and apathy; the tools for fashion­ ing a continuing, productive optimism in the Northwestern community are within reach.

Count the good in your life. Why not make an afternoon visit to the Bethesda children across town and begin taking stock of your assets? Physical mobility for one, mental and physical health for another. Add the ability to express yourself clearly, to see and hear and know the wonder of God’s creation at first hand. When you’ve the inclination to chafe at unending assignments, resume your census and look instead for some small way of rendering thanks for your predicament.

A major aspect of our education here is also one of the finest weapons against debilitat­ ing complaining. I am speaking of the discussions-not gripe sessions, but frequent and con­ scious exchanges of opinions, ideas and mutual encouragement. Seek out your professors and the upperclassmen around you before resigning yourself to a reality that allows for nothing but frustration from one minute to the next.

Why not reach out in turn when those same colleagues are downcast and do your part?

Most important, don’t allow sermonizing to become simply a necessity of daily routine.

Listen in chapel. Make the effort to hear the dynamic message of peace from every speaker; it's there if only you’ll stay really awake and make the effort to listen.

The frequently voiced admonition to make an unbreakable habit of personal Scripture

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study is the soundest piece of advice you will carry away from here. Nothing is a more soundly pragmatic tool for optimism than sitting down every day with a prayer on your lips and a Bible in your hands, whether you are overwhelmed with joy, bitter with frustration or simply facing one more day of classes. Un­ less you've mastered this lesson, the Lord who knows you can only find peace in turning to Him can send problems and disappointments and frustrations to chasten and correct you.

Let’s set our house in order while it can

easily be done amid the optimism of this fresh beginning at college: the Savior’s Sermon on the Mount for our conduct, Paul's words to Timothy for our motto in daily preparation, the cries of the Psalms for our watchword!

We have already heard enough of the scoffers who decry “the blind idealism of youth,” who expect that we will soon learn better. We choose instead to pray, study and trust that this youthful idealism will prove a tremendous asset indeed for the proclamation of the Truth to which we hold.

GREGORY SCHULZ

?

chesr of trash A red bandana, picture puzzles, Christmas tree ornaments, army khakis—all captured his attention. Soon other members of tiie neighborhood gang began to assemble.

Like wasps at a particularly muddy puddle, they swarmed around. Robbie's friends, rivals, and acquaintances. . ’everyone joined in the good-natured fun.

Their childish amusement was short-lived, however. Within minutes after the initial assault on the amazing storehouse, the whack of a slamming screen door made them all look up. Robbie knew what would happen next without even having to glance in that direction.

The sound of that screen door had been im­ printed on his mind since infancy. Of course, it had to be Mrs. Barwick, the wizened old widow who lived next door to his house. Me straight­ ened up just in time to glimpse the aged skele­ ton of a woman clatter down the equally ancient steps and scramble out to her sidewalk.

Her dog, a mean and toothy black Lab.

/^\ld Man Peters died last week. He passed ^^with the same silent dignity he had imbued on the neighborhood. Undoubtedly, the stal­ wart pillar of that society would be missed.

The ting-ting-ting of his rusted-out Rambler percolating down the street and his fastidious­ ly kept terrace garden would be lost to the echo of the past.

But the children didn't realize this. All they understood was the mountainous heap which the man’s relatives piled next to the curb.

It captured their imagination. Eternity had passed three times over before the relatives left to let the young scavengers luxuriate in their new-found wonderland. Robbie was one of those children attracted by the lure of the in­ triguing playground. Living directly across the street from the Peters’ house, he was the first to make the dash, once the carload of relatives had turned the corner a half a block away.

With the speed and intensity only a child can muster, Robbie dived into the veritable treasure 35

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bounded at her heels. It was quite a sight seeing the old lady rage so furiously . . .her eyes blinking and dentures clicking. It was difficult to tell which was barking louder-the dog or the woman.

The staccato shriek of her voice pierced the calm atmosphere. “You scamps, you sacreligious scamps!” she foamed. “Don’t you have any respect for the dead? Get away from that stuff.

Get away, I say. Or I’ll sic Blackic on the lot of you!”

An effective threat, Robbie thought to himself-the widow’s dog was renowned throughout the area for attacking innocent passersby. Nevertheless, the migration away from the playground was also motivated by the crone’s time-wrinkled forefinger, which seemed to stab across the street and prod them on their ways.

Robbie was the last to yield to the fuming old woman: grudgingly he forsook the treasurenow forbidden-for home. Still his mind chewed over the problem. “Batty” Barwick was not going to keep him from attaining his goal.

That heap was the best one there had been for a year! And it was just across the street. For a moment. . .one short moment he attempted to fathom the unlathomability of adult logic.

The impossibility of the task forced his mind to the more fertile regions of contemplating the amusement which awaited him on the opposite side of the street.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in reconnoitering the situation. From the picture window of his house. Robbie saw the hidden treasure beckon him with alluring lingers. Mid­ afternoon saw him screw up enough courage to make several passes past the prohibited pile on his bicycle. The few minutes he had spent there earlier had convinced him it was worthy of the quest. Once he even dared to stop long enough to rummage through one of the open boxes.

However, this small victory was rendered value­ less by the dawning realization that his every movement was being followed by the binocu­ lar-eyed woman across the road. A spin of the pedals solved the problem, but did not answer his desires.

Nevertheless, the child would not be denied.

Old Man Peters could have no use for the things now, and tomorrow the trash collectors would come. One chance remained for Robbie 36

!

wait until the darkness of nightfall could ob­ scure his moves. The decision was made, seconded, and passed in the confines of his head, and the expectant vigil began.

Blackness oozed gradually over the hori­ zon that night in Alfred Peters' former neigh­ borhood; slowly a darker hue enveloped the evening sky. By the time the stars were firing themselves for their nocturnal duty, there was a child delving into the depths of a cardboard box world.

Behind the boxes, Robbie peered with an eagle’s eye at the Barwick house. Discerning no hostile eyes scrutinizing him, he returned to the work at hand as well as in hand. She was probably absorbed in some TV show, with Blackie lying asleep at her feet. Why she should mind his presence here, Robbie did not under­ stand. It didn't bother his folks. The opposing opinions confused him, but he did not try to reconcile them. There were too many other important considerations.. .old shirts, throw rugs, gadgets, gizmos, nuts and bolts, paint brushes. These all bore much more weight in Robbie’s seven-year-old mind.

Engrossed in his youthful activity, the boy did not catch sight of the two shadowy forms advancing up the block toward him. Robbie glanced away once and noticed the twin glow of their cigarettes-two tiny fireflies bobbing and swaying against an inky backdrop. At that time he did not give them a second thought, but now, as he recognized the dim outlines of the tallish figures, his body tensed.

Unmistakably they were “hoods”—the way­ ward rebels who were known to the younger ones by their fearsome reputation. They were knife-toting teenagers with a gripe, vandals who defaced everything and anything with their obscene inscriptions. The whole gamut of these synonyms pounded in Robbie’s head during that flash of recognition. Simultaneously he felt the stomach muscles of his small body tighten. A decision had to be made: to make a hasty homeward retreat or to take a stand and stay “king of the mountain.”

Robbie wanted to run—that’s what his mind told him to do. Yet the thought of running in the face of danger was distasteful to him. This opinion, coupled with the desire to dig deeper into the recesses of his private treasure chest, compelled the boy to hold his 37

ground. Besides, they would simply walk past and leave him alone. It had happened that way a hundred times before. What possible use could hoods have for a pile of trash, anyway?

Closer and closer the two approached... ominous figures clashing with the quiet serenity of the drowsy neighborhood. The pale etching of their faces contrasted with the dark back­ ground. Suddenly the face of the taller one was lit by the glow of a lighter. A puff of smoke and the duo was upon him.

Two more steps and they would have passed by Robbie and his little paradise.

Robbie waited for those two steps, hoping against hope that the undesirables would con­ tinue their tramping. Robbie waited in vain.

Steps away they halted and confronted him.

Penned in by the boxes at his back and the two boys, Robbie felt true fear well up in him. This was not the expectant fear he had experienced when he first sighted the living shadows; it was the raw terror of the little animal cornered.

The teenagers towered over him staring with contemptuous eyes. Robbie saw the stubby, straggly patches of hair on their chins. The long, greasy locks of hair, the filthy, worn-out jeans, and the green-brown moldiness of their khaki coats imprinted lasting remembrances in the young boy’s head. Exhaling a breath stale with cigarettes and yesterday’s supper, the tall one sneeringly interrogated Robbie, “Docs your mommy know you’re out so late, little boy?”

Robbie, though secretly offended at such condescension, replied meekly, “Yes, she does.”

“Doesn’t she know it’s dangerous for little people to stay out after dark?” he retorted with a knowing wink at his companion.

Robbie shot back, “If you think I’m gonna leave just because you’re here... I was here first.”

At that outburst, the shorter and stockier boy grabbed him and started shaking him.

“Kid, I don’t think you understand. Get out of here, or I’ll break your head.”

Having said this, he shoved Robbie force­ fully aside and began to tear through the boxes, scattering the contents everywhere. Robbie, struggling against the powerful force of the push, strove stoutly to regain his balance, but failed. He sprawled miserably in the wet grass.

Common sense screamed that he should

!

run home, but he was not ready to give up yet.

They would have to leave sometime. Wisely he remained immobile where he had fallen the picture of defeat. Tears were forming in his wide eyes, but he valiantly choked them back.

Such a display would be the final blow to his pride.

At length the pair left, not deigning to look down upon their lowly victim. The remnants of Robbie's treasure trove were strewn about the area, suffering the same fate as the young boy.

Bracing himself, Robbie got up. The lure of his wonderland had somehow diminished-there was nothing left that he wanted out of that mess. With a half-hearted effort he went to what had been his great desire. Immediately he noticed what the older boys had taken-pills.

Anger swelled in him; he felt its Hush in his cheeks. He didn't care that they took the pills, but the two bullies had robbed him of all

the pleasure the heap had furnished. Now there was no fun left in the game of looking for hidden treasure. He hated them.

They were three houses down the block now. His anger overcame the fear he still felt.

Robbie's tongue, quivering with fear, formed vengeful syllables. Punctuated with a fearbetraying squeak, he shouted feebly, “You PILLheads, you think you’re SO tough!”

In answer, the flick of cigarette ashes-the fiery glimmer destined for a dewy death.

Striding stiffly to conceal the unsteadi­ ness of his limbs, Robbie made his way across the road. His gait proceeded artificially until he gained the secure darkness in the shadow of his house. Robbie darted to the back door and bolted to his bedroom.

The next morning he awoke to the whine of the garbage truck crushing a worthless pile of trash into oblivion.

DAVID PAYNE

ACTIVITIES <&(ur Opening Service is over, but we hope

ing, truthful Scripture messages from the lectern helped to reaffirm in our minds how fortunate we are to be able to worship God in this way. There is one difference in the Chapel, however. A sound system has been installed as a gift of appreciation by Coach and Mrs. Thompson for the numerous opportunities and blessings their family has experienced at North­ western College. We most sincerely thank them tor this improvement to our school.

The opening exercises and services didn't begin the year for some students, however.

Most notable would be the football team, which returned on Sunday for an organiza­ tional meeting. An impressive group of twentyone Freshmen turned out to bolster up the ailing Trojan veterans. Coach Thompson noted

its proceedings will stay with us throughout the year: Prep President William Zell reminded those in the assembly of the friendships we have as schoolmates, classmates, professors and pupils, and especially, in and with Jesus; the majestic opening hymn invoked the Holy Spirit to bless our works and efforts; and Tutors John Brenner and Roger Kuerth were inducted into the Lord’s service as assistants in the dormitories and classrooms. Needless to say, this was an inspiring beginning to a school year!

Another uplifting experience for the stu­ dents was the privilege of being at the first chapel services. The robust singing of God's praise by the student body, and the unchang38

that there were some key summer and earlyseason injuries, but that the spirit of the team was “super." Coaches Thompson, Pieper, and Lindemann, and every single player are deter­ mined to get the win-loss record back on the plus side, where it belongs. The potential is there, with offensive leaders Jim Nelson, Nate Radtke, Tom Bchnke and Keith Free. Defen­ sive stalwarts are four-year veterans Mark Barenz and Dave Voss. The season begins with a September 10th showdown against Mount Scnario.

Though not yet an “official" NWC sport, the soccer team is ready to embark on another winning season. Coach Bruce Marggraf, who re­ turns as an All-Conference selection along with Keith Bilitz, has been whipping his men through rigorous running, sprinting, and ball­ handling drills for nearly two weeks now. Ten of the eleven starters have returned, and Mark Birkholz has been recruited from Michigan to shore up the remaining spot. The twenty-nine member team is pointing toward its opening game against Maranatha on September 10th on the NWC soccer field. I hope you were there to cheer them on!

First-year cross-country coach John Brenner (who has been accused by at least one team member of “trying to lose weight and find a woman in keeping with recent tradition") is optimistic about his team’s development this year. Spearheaded by ace Larry Gierach, the Trojan harriers are presently running up miles and miles of distance on the streets and high­ ways of the Watertown region. Eight men are out for the sport, gearing themselves up for the ten-team County Technical Invitational at Waukesha on Saturday, September 10.

Still in the opening stage is the develop­ ment of this year’s Jazz Ensemble and Forum Society. The ensemble veterans are quite pleased to see the ample number of talented Freshmen ready to fill in for the departed Seniors. The group is already hard at work in the nearly completed Music-Auditorium on some Woody Herman and Maynard Ferguson charts. High enthusiasm, talented musicians, popular music, and a receptive NWC audience— the Jazz Ensemble will have another impres­ sive year.

It should be the same for the Forum Society. The first meeting turnout was relative­ ly low, but, again, the Freshman class will

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; supply some good numbers and talent. Direc­ tor Bruce Becker is planning for two “month­ lies" before Christmas, to be followed by the Forum Christmas Service. Present plans also in­ clude a Shakespearean play for the “Final” production in April.

For all those alumni who were given to despair after realizing that the traditional bell was not operating, we have good news. Work on the recently proposed bell tower has begun.

Under the supervision of the campus building committee this effort is underway as an early portion of the 1979 graduation ceremonies.

This coincides very nicely, of course, with the centennial celebration of the Alumni Society.

The Victory Bell will soon be ringing again!

There is other good news. Amidst the hub­

bub concerning recent enrollment drops, the College Recruitment Committee (Profs. Baumler, Fricke, and Lindcmann) has seen fit to in­ corporate the student body into the program.

A very heart-warming organizational meeting saw eighty-one students more than eager to offer their talents to help in any number of programs such as leading tours, drawing up posters, writing letters, welcoming new stu­ dents, using musical abilities, etc. Juniors Jerry Ewings and Dave Kolander were selected to assist the committee in organizing student input. For those of you not able to attend the meeting, it isn’t too late to pitch in. And if you can’t help in a “physical” way, we ask for your prayers for God's guidance and blessings in this so vital task.

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DAVID KOLANDER

Modison Visited

i

iiany a curious smile arose on the faces of •"'friends as I told them my plans for attend­ ing summer school at Madison. “What's wrong, not getting enough to do at Northwestern?”

Time and again I related my reasons for such a move. The previous summers were rather bor­ ing, even though 1 had a job. As each fall approached, I always had a rather unfulfilled feeling. Then, too, 1 felt rather uneasy because 1 had never attended a public school. Perhaps spending a short time on such a campus would help me to relate to the problems of my friends and future parishioners. Finally, l really won­ dered how classes at the UW would compare with our classes here in difficulty, methods of teaching, and especially in professors. As I went to Madison, I hoped my education would not be confined merely to classroom academics.

The hassle one goes through just to be accepted at Madison is staggering. In the hope of avoiding a last minute rejection, I traveled to Madison twice and made numerous phone calls. They all proved to be in vain. When I arrived to register on the first day, 1 had not yet been accepted. The all-important transcripts, both high school and college, had not arrived.

After two hours of the run-around, a friendly counselor agreed to check out the mailroom.

There, in a ten-day backlog, he found them.

With the transcripts now in hand, I had passed the first obstacle. Then came the job of evaluat­ ing them and determining my class ranking.

To my surprise, all but four courses (Rel. 10,11 and 30,31) transferred, giving me a total of 114 credits, six short of the B.A. requirement. In my chosen field of 40

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study, history, I was likewise only six credits away from the requirement. Since 1 had in­ tended to take six history credits, dreams of attaining a degree from the University of Wis­ consin danced in my head. 1 soon learned it would not be so easy. For a B.A. degree, the last thirty credits must be completed on the Madison campus. Though 1 was disappointed by this, I was grateful just to be accepted after all the hassle.

My counselor, thinking I desired to graduate as soon as possible, had a suggestion. If I re­ mained at Madison for the fall and spring semesters, he said I'd be able to work on some post-grad credits while still completing my B.A. requirements. When he heard that I wanted to return to Northwestern in the fall, he developed another plan. After I received my diploma from NWC, 1 could earn the needed credits in the following summer and fall sessions. From there I could decide for myself if I wanted to work, go on to grad school, or travel for the spring semester. There was a cer­ tain appeal to his suggestion. Throughout our discussions, he always came across as a con­ cerned friend, having my best interests at heart.

At the same time, he never missed an oppor­ tunity to extol the virtues of the UW, especially the fine history department. His zeal for my welfare made me feel welcome on the big campus.

My two courses, the French Revolution and American Foreign Relations, met for one hour each weekday. I had chosen blindly, not knowing anything about the particulars of either the courses or the professors. Later I learned that by chance I had chosen courses taught by the two most radical profs in the history department.

Professor McCormick, whom I had for Foreign Relations, was exactly what I had pic­ tured a professor to be. He was rather young, but portly, had a distinguished beard and wore thick glasses. Though unrefined in manners, his learning was readily distinguishable. Neverthe­ less, despite his imposing appearance and ob­ vious knowledge, his class turned out to be rather dry. Although he affirmed his radical leanings in the first class, he kept the class very objective by presenting a stream of data and allowing us to draw our own conclusions. This lecture style left much to be desired. He

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appeared to be on vacation, living off his laurels. His lecture notes were yellow and crinkly with age. Thus his classes, informative though they were, were lifeless. In a futile attempt to inject some life, he began to spice up his lectures with frequent profanities and begged for questions. He only drove students away. On the final day, only seven students out of the original twenty-nine showed up.

Professor Goldberg was entirely different in the French Revolution course. Even as McCormick looked the part of a professor, Goldberg looked like a radical. He was a tall, gaunt man, perhaps fifty years of age. His hair was in a constant state of turmoil. The eyes in his deeply creased face had a certain gleam to them. His radical nature came out time and again in his classes, relating France’s Old Regime to the American capitalistic autocracy.

His lectures were fifty uninterrupted minutes of dramatic presentation rehearsed to perfec­ tion. Striding about the room, staring into space, his rising and falling voice had a hypno­ tizing effect on the entire class. Listening to him, I could readily see why Madison had been a hotbed of revolt in the sixties. As he closed the last lecture, he reminded us, "My young friends, the revolution had only begun.”

The professors were not the only people from whom I learned. Attending classes with such a diversity of students as Madison has proved an education in itself. I had envisioned finding long-haired radicals in tattered jeans at every street corner and eggheads in class.

Neither was the case. The hippie breed seems almost extinct on the Madison campus. To be sure, the radicalism is still there, but it has a new appearance. Many Northwestern students would be put to shame by this appearance.

Clean-shaven faces and medium length hair is the.rule, at least during the summer. The dress at Madison was in general better than at North­ western. Tattered jeans were not present there in any great numbers. On the other side of the coin, the average intelligence was below my expectations. The great majority of students would vainly attempt to copy down the lec­ tures verbatim. Some even taped the lectures.

In any case, they never made any attempt to judge the importance of a fact or statement. In discussion periods students posed many elemen-

tary questions. When the professor asked a question, the student would often talk around it. In many ways Madison was a far cry from what I had envisioned.

Although I roomed in a dorm during my eight week stay, I never had any close friends.

There were several reasons which contributed to this situation. During such a short session, one tends to keep to himself to quite an ex­ tent. Furthermore, the professors supplemented their lectures with heavy outside reading schedules which took up a great deal of time.

The general lack of communication in the whole dorm left it the ideal study place. Yet the silence was often shattered by brief out­ bursts of profane language, an unpleasant fact of life at Madison.

I did have occasion to talk with various classmates during the term. In each case they were friendly, asking about majors, future plans, and the like. Never did anyone scoff when I told of my studies here and my voca­ tional goal. On the contrary, in most cases they asked more questions. General amazement greeted the hearing of NWC’s course loads, curriculum, and no-cut system. In any event, they were a welcome source of conversation.

Madison, the campus, as well as the city have much to offer the student. The campus facilities are outstanding, dwarfing ours here.

It’s a half-hour walk across the campus past building after building. There are over a dozen libraries, several gymnasiums, student unions, labs, a hospital, you name it. The city of Madi­ son offers still more. For those who don’t study as much, there are bars and discos.

Entertainment, both erotic and wholesome, are at the student’s fingertips. The shops around the campus cater to the student’s every possible need. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has found the whole setup too large for personal taste.

UW-Madison has much to offer the student in the way of facilities, reputation, intellectual professors, and recreation. In these ways it far outshines tiny Northwestern College. But after eight short weeks there, I was longing to return here. Our college has advantages which that giant doesn't have. Our professors, though perhaps not as intellectual in some cases as Madison’s, still have overwhelming advantage 42

in their Gospel orientation. Madison's profs, despite their seemingly endless knowledge, continually draw wrong conclusions, where the Bible clearly shows the true way. Our facilities may not be the greatest, but for 112 years NWC has turned out men who know the Word of God. Personally, I feel the biggest advantage we at NWC' have over those at Madison is our Christian fellowship. I missed the opportunity of talking over difficulties with my friends and fellow Christians. With these advantages. North­ western has no need to shrink from comparison with UW-Madison.

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But there are only ashes here.

Nothing’s left For the lire to tease and lick Or excite With her tickling breath.

I’m done.

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At your feet. Lord, Lay the charred remains of life inflamed, Praying That your Face Which finds form in such blackness Might calm the wind That torments me And quickly bring Your breath again.

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BRIAN DOSE 43

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CAMPUS & CLASSROOM r t seems that it was only about three months I ago that school left out for the summer, and now here we are again. All those relaxing summer nights are only history as we drag ourselves through the rut of the school year here on our campus. But while we were gone, some people were obviously making our campus more beautiful. Some nice flowers were planted in the open sections of plush green grass.

Beautiful furniture and carpeting were placed in the Wartburg lobby. The Music-Auditorium was completely revamped, as was the men’s locker room in the gymnasium. Then some excellent tar and gravel was laid in the parking lot so parents could take a sample of the new campus home on their tires and shoes. (Actually, we have learned that the loosely-packed gravel was intended as a trap for anyone who might try to break our “No motorcycles on campus” rule.)

One of the newest-and most attractiveadditions to our campus is the snow fence that has been set up around the area of grass just south of Wartburg. It only took two days to put it up, so apparently it is quite an important fence. At first we thought it was intended to make either an arena for initiating frosh, or else an “overflow” area for those crowded evening chapel services caused by the amazing increase in the Prep enrollment. But then the excavating equipment rolled in, and we won­ dered whether the sophomores might be getting ready for their Arbor Day tree-planting a little early. To clear up all the puzzles, we talked to the powers-that-be, and while we spoke with Mr. Mudwuppie, he told us that they were setting up a booby trap forvandalous ceeps.

This booby trap is going to be a very corn-

plicated one. The plans were sent for through the mail, and they came in a package marked ACME CEEP-CATCHING KIT (our beloved janitor used to hunt roadrunners). The kit came complete with all the equipment and all the instructions. We were given a copy of these instructions, so we though we’d publish them here, in case any of you have trouble with these things.

1. Unwrap kit. o Read instructions.

3. Put up fence around desired area (take much time for this).

4. Bring in Acme steam shovel and dig four holes near center of area.

5. Cover all four holes with simulated grass carpeting.

6. Position included items (which will lure the cceps into holes) on the carpet.

7. Put up the following signs next to items: a. Free cigarettes! b. Mufflers with holes—On sale! c. Grease here! Goes great with hair and clothes. d. Copies of the book: 1,001 Dirty Words and How to Use Them.

Wouldn’t it be nice if all of our courses at NWC were electives? As one ponders the vast possibilities of such a system, he might find there would be some classrooms jammed with students (Remedial Reading, Remedial Arith­ metic, Remedial Calisthenics) and some classes less sparsely populated (Latin, Greek, German, Hebrew). One practice that might crop up is the use of the bulletin board by the faculty to recruit students for their classes. Thus we en­ vision the following notices under the all­ elective system: 44

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Bored by English?

Take Religion 30 with Pres. Toppe, or, take Pres. Toppe’s Religion 30 course. To rephrase that, study the Lutheran Confes­ sions with Pres. Toppe in Religion 30. As one modern theologian put it, "A student should study Religion (i.e., the Lutheran Confessions) under Pres. Toppe. ”

Take Shakespeare! Hear exciting first­ hand accounts of the professor’s journeys through bloody of England! Spend all Thurs. night writing smashing composi­ tions! Spend Mon. nights re-writing smashed compositions!

See Prof. Quam Eng. 21 Music 20-21 Hear themes from the greatest composers down through the years! This I believe is the best course in Music.

As things are slipping back into the old routine, we have noticed a few things (well, one anyway) that seem to be taken for granted by veterans of the campus. However, these things are looked at in a different light by the freshmen. The example that has come to our attention is the mail. The new students on campus have an entirely different attitude.

They are given keys to their mailboxes, and actually lock them. Moreover, they always carry their keys on their person. Then every morning, starting already at 10:30, they stand expectantly in front of their mailboxes, hoping for a letter from their one and only sweetheart.

And the worst part of it is their hopes usually become reality (at least for the first two weeks)!

On the other hand, the campus regulars usually lose their keys while they are unpack­ ing, but that makes no difference, since they don’t lock their mailboxes. As for checking their boxes, the only time they bother is when some lovely young lady “happens” to be in the lobby. They don’t anticipate any incoming letters from their one and only, mainly because by this time the Northwestern syndrome has struck and they don’t have a one and only.

Hopefully, though, the freshmen will learn from the example of the upperclassmen and will be able to handle this large adjustment as they learn that they, too, have been quit—just like any NW man.

This ad arr. by A.O.L.

HEY, FELLAS! Need a shower? Plenty available in gymnasium. Only one towel.

Prerequisite:

i !

Phy. Ed. 10-11, 20-21 BOYS!

See the man from Rome for all your classroom questions on Caesar! Constantine!

Heichelheim! Yeo! History 20-21

If you understand that you don’t under­ stand what you understand you under­ stand, then you will understand the princi­ ples of Logic 54. Understand?

g

See Prof. Kirst

t=

JERRY EWINGS and DAVID HUEBNER

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ONE:

Quietly stealing The days away, Mocking lazy glances and slow wits While passing a swift sense Of paradise through my grasp....

The valley Traces the line I have to run, Run down to the sea.

Opening wide its arms To close me in.

All flowing into summer, Luring me on.

TWO.

Awkward and elegant cranes Lifting themselves Off the calm slough’s channels With long sweeping gasps At flight, Trailing long thin legs Across the surface.

The scratches fast disappearing As the easy water smooths And gently nudges the shore Pointing to the bird Skimming the treetops....

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Under The heavy hazy blanket Of summer’s afternoon I lift a drowsy eye To the numbing sun, Blurred by the sweat Of the sky.

It no longer Burns fiercely, Glinting indignantly As in winter, But smugly grinning.

Slowly wrings the valley Of its sap, Lapping it up greedily To feed Its already overstuffed Belly.

The thick green tangled mat Of the valley floor Rolling down the hill From the bluffs’ Bony limestone knees, Cracked in a thousand places By little fissures of water Running, Always running From the open wounds.

Sparkling streets All running away from home.

The entire valley drips, Energy and desire Draining from the immobile bones.

The deep blue Of spring’s sky Is falling in great drops

Majestic sunrises Glorious sunsets

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Scurry to shore In their little boats; But I stay, Entranced, Watching the wind-shredded clouds Change from bright orange To pink, To violet As they gracefully soar Over the valley, Over the dying Flames, Heading east.

East.

Over the bluffs, Leaving heaven pale And faded, Mixing with the green hillsides Into a watery and weak Glaucous blue mist.

And the foliage drips Around me, The rounded backs of the leaves Gleam with perspiration And the tall grass Bends low, Scattered with beads Of sweat, Heavy only at their loss.

The lingering color Slowly melts from the sky And the blue Darkens to a dying gray As hordes of mosquitoes Rise from the swamps And flurry around The day’s carrion.

All is so still.

What happened to Winter’s fantasies?

Spring’s excitement?

A cooling Refreshing breeze Stirs my mind With castles and dragons, But the world is so softI could poke my finger through it Like wet paper.

FOUR: I run Down the valley, Splitting the earth In two.

In my wake Bluffs on both sides Race towards shore In bristling green waves, And the wind Catches the rollers, Curling the tops Into scattered Limestone whitecaps.

The sweat drips From my brow And drowns In steaming stagnant puddles At my feet, And I watch Their rings fade Into the shades of summer.

THREE:

The evening summer sun Behind me bobs Over the waves, Peeking at me sullenly From each crest As I swerve From side to side, Enjoying the heady feeling Of the curves, Wishing autumn Hadn’t legs as fast as mine.

The day is burning In the west, The blazing sun Devouring the valley In a blinding hunger, Pouring violet smoke Along the horizon And sending a fiery shaft Across the water towards me.

The fishermen 48

an abiding place quickly won young Daniel over to the idea of a world tour and was so insistent upon this en­ deavor that soon the two of them embarked on the first leg of the journey. My friend was somewhat disappointed to find that, instead of traveling by balloon, train, ship, or any other vessel, they were to travel by means of their own two feet upon a plain path which now stretched before them.

Even on closer examination the pathway did not appear remarkable: thick forest sur­ rounded a beaten-earth walkway. Nondescript trees provided continual shade along the way even as dense underbrush, full of brambles, dis­ couraged any impulsive wanderings. Upon this cement-hard ground (“Countless feet must have packed it like this,” Dan interjected) they made their way for a time until the two stood in awe in front of a huge, almost palace-like structure.

"Have you ever in you life seen a residence betokening a more successful man?” Jungdraengen queried of my young friend.

Indeed, the boy could not answer because he was fully occupied with the towering and richly inlaid pillars of this mansion. He was still marveling at a troup of statues guarding the fountain in front of the door when a toojovial voice boomed at him from up in the building's entrance.

“Well, lad, don’t just stand there gaping.

Do come in and make yourself at home. Well, come along, boy, what ore you waiting for? By way of formalities, my name is Staquo, every­ thing you're looking at is indeed my property, and all that’s required for one to have a share in all this is to ascend these stairs and come in.

What do you say? How about giving the lad a hand, Jungdraengen.” His rich robes flapped and glittered in the breeze as Staquo impatiently glared down from his threshold.

Jungdraengen moved to give the youth a starting push up the marble steps. “It's a long way to climb, to be sure,” he confided. “To join Staquo and enjoy living in his house, you

l/l/ho us ac*m‘l l*iat *ie *ee^s anything " V other than boredom when faced with the traveler recently home from abroad? Often we are obliged to greet his tales of less-than-vast adventure with polite interest, although feeling scarcely a trace of genuine enthusiasm for his travelogue. It was precisely that mandate of polite interest which I was beginning to assume as a young friend of mine, newly returned from an extensive tour, interrupted our leisurely ex­ change of pleasantries to speak of his adventure.

Quite honestly, I was shifting my posture to gain a more comfortable position against the tree at my back and was paying far more heed to the gurgling of a nearby brook than to his words when young Daniel’s monologue seized my full attention. He, too, was reclining com­ fortably upon the unkempt lawn which spread out all around while he now eagerly narrated his trip. His narrative jolted me considerably.

Why, I myself had in the long-past days of my youth trod that same pathway he was now so vividly describing! Farther and farther he revealed the most intimate details of that trip I had thought to be my own unique experience.

More and more excited I became, finally ig­ noring altogether the rough brush of that oak tree’s bark against my aged neck and shoulders.

At length, I resolved to set down for you in writing the story of our common journey just as my friend Daniel recalled it to me.

The exact time of his departure was (as my companion related) very difficult to pinpoint.

However, somewhere within the first years of his college career he had made the acquaint­ ance of the man who was to become his guide for the trip. Amid the flurry of vocational decisions and curriculum choices he came to fall in with this reputable fellow by the name of Jungdraengen. What this man’s proper title or status actually was, my friend could not dis­ cover. Nevertheless, because this new acquaint­ ance had about him an air of leadership and long years of experience at it, very naturally he came to be addressed as Mr. Jungdraengen. He 49

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ness of the Staquos who strive after the Success have to be prepared to do anything in order to of today’s society. Man, we can change all that. reach the summit. Everyone envies the man who wears those sparkling robes of rich success, <■ 'You and I and everyone else who sees what happens after the rat race to climb those but to get there you’ve really got to exhibit marble steps-we can get it all together.” ambition, drive, good fortune and blind deter­ "And then?” prompted the youth. mination. Best get going.” And his guide drove “Then, with the lines of Brothers in olic his hands into the small of Daniel's back. camp, we’re set to really get after the Estab­ "But what of the rest of our trip? I can sec lishment, man.” from here that the pathway continues on our "And then?” right. Surely we can always return to visit Mr. "We go to it, brother! We get it on and get Staquo if we wish,” reasoned the lad. While the trash out! We topple the whole, rotten side-stepping away from Jungdraengen’s shove structure; dump the stinking mess!” and moving toward his right, though, Daniel "And then? No, don’t bother. You’re no felt compelled to call out in farewell, "Your stranger to me, Cursall. I've had an earful from rich mansion and luxurious clothes are not for you often before this, and I can see by your me, Mr. Staquo. Even from down here the hesitation that you’ve yet thought no farther weary stoop of your shoulders and the green than to burn all the bridges in sight. You may hue of your eyes speak loudly of the continu­ be sure that I will not share your home. Let’s ing price for Success.” With those last words move on, Mr. Jungdraengen.” With that, his their strides carried the pretentious house from guide ceased his attempt to push Daniel and view. the two of them, ignoring the slogans of Cursall Not much farther along, they came to rattling emptily at their backs, once more another residence alongside the tree-covered walked along the earthen way. path. No awe held Dan speechless as he looked As he led on, Jungdraengen observed in a more closely at this; it was nothing more than conversational manner that visiting with cither an old, patched-up military tent with a com­ Staquo or Cursall had not interested him much plementary occupant who was all astir in beads on his last few tours, "But, to judge by your and patches, medallions and embroidered contemporaries whom I’ve accompanied of slogans. The cynical face of their second late, you are certain to find our next visit most would-be host peered forth from between the intriguing. Most inviting indeed, I daresay.” khaki blankets covering the door. Daniel could So with only that bit of exchange, Daniel practically taste the bitterness in the first words from the sneering mouth of the young rebel, and his guide forged on at a brisk pace in keep­ ing with Jungdraengen's anxiety to reach the "Welcome, brother!” was his proclamation. next stopping-place as quickly as possible.

"To a kindred spirit who has rejected the establishment of that hypocrite Staquo I say: Actually, their third prospective host came my home is your home. 1 offer my small house to meet them along the way. My friend had to a Brother of the Cause like yourself. Name’s just begun to stand up again after kneeling to Cursall. come on in.” remove an annoying pebble from his boot Jungdraengen was again pushing my friend, when he felt a small hand tugging at his sleeve, this time toward the tent’s dingy doorway. accompanied by a vaguely familiar voice urging While resisting his guide's shoving, the lad him to hurry along. posed a question.

"At last you’ve arrived, Daniel. I’ve so "What is it you offer me that I should looked forward to your coming-everybody at make this my home? It seems to me that if home is just dying to welcome you. Come on!” you are as anxious for me to take up residence Daniel, who had so collectedly weighed here in your tent as Mr. Staquo was for me to the merits of the first two invitations, now live in his mansion, you need to give great found himself sorely tried by this insistent, cause before 1 will come in.” blue-jcaned and sweatshirt-wearing young girl "Meaningful existence, real goals-that’s pressing against his shoulder. He found it far what you'll have here,” Cursall all but breathed easier to just let himself be led farther down smoke as he replied. "You’ve seen the shallowthe path by his two guides than to protest. The

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50

girl continued to tug coquettishly at his right arm, and Jungdraengen took firm hold of his left, so that my friend was obliged to proceed hastily, whether he had wished to hurry along or not. In fact, he scarcely resisted their promptings at all until the three of them reached the girl's house.

Her home was a modest apartment set tastefully in an outcropping of sandstone north of the road. Its door could not quite contain the sounds of a large party within-Daniel could hear a riotous commotion inside-but when Jungdraengen threw it open, even that damper was removed. My friend was then nearly overcome by the din and merry-makers alike.

All over him swarmed the friends of the girl at his side. Together with Jungdraengen, they were forcing on him invitations to every device of self-indulgence imaginable, all the while en­ deavoring to usher the young traveler into their party room.

Yet somehow in the middle of this mob which threatened to engulf him, Daniel’s thoughts reached out longingly for the promising solitude of the winding pathway.

Even as his foot struck against the threshold to the smoke-filled apartment, his mind was drawn away from the outstretched amis and groping hands, away from the girl’s touch, and free of Jungdraengen’s insistence that this would be a suitable abode.

With a final, mighty effort of will he broke into a dead run and did not slacken his pace until he was miles distant from that crowd. As he sat down upon the moist ground to work out a cramp in his calf, young Daniel reflected that he had come frightfully close to taking up permanent residence with that girl and her irrepressible companions. The memory of all those hungry faces still haunted him as he absently got to his feet again and resumed the trek.

Somewhat later, he suppressed a final shudder at that near disaster and turned his attention to the path itself. Now, when had the road become so narrow? There was hardly room for two to walk abreast, where before a half dozen young men could have proceeded side by side. Even as he wondered that there was only room now for one person to walk next to him, Jungdraengen appeared to occupy that space. He was out of breath and had ob­ viously exerted a great amount of effort to

catch up with the lad. Until Mr. Jungdraengen had caught his breath, Daniel calmly pushed on.

Then his guide spoke in a lone which for the first time betrayed his age.

“Seldom have the youths I have led along this path resisted the attractions of the places we have visited. Why do we not halt for a space and review those residences? Perhaps 1 could counsel a return to one of the three if you will only stop to hear my arguments.”

Not to be persuaded, however, the young man led on with an undeniable look of deter­ mination on his face. After seeing this, his erstwhile guide continued.

"Truly, you are a singular individual still to insist upon pressing forward. I have yet one more locale to show you, then a decision must be made, for never has any young man avoided the ultimate necessity of choosing a permanent residence at some house along this route.”

Thus the pair arrived before the last stop of the journey. It had become increasingly obvious to Daniel that Jungdraengen was not nearly as powerful an influence as he had been at the last visit when now my friend himself led the way through massive iron doors which guarded the entrance to a cave at the very end of the path.

As he stood accustoming his eyes to the dim torchlight of the cavern, Daniel smelled the oppressive odor of an ancient tomb, one long closed to the passage of soothing breeze and stirring wind alike. Gradually the atmos­ phere became tolerable; soon he could see the features of the hall as well.

To his left were countless shelves over­ flowing with myriad volumes. Heaps upon heaps of scrolls, tablets, and books of all sorts lay scattered around his feet. At a glance, he noted fragments of De Rerum Natura, bits of The Prince, and well-worn copies of the works of Mann, Voltaire, and Kafka strewn amidst mostly unreadable covers, some bearing the titles of most literature known to man, old and new, famous and obscure. As his gaze extended from the mass at his feet to the sight in the middle of this clutter, the youth was reminded of pictures he’d seen of medieval alchemists at work, with measuring and recording instru­ ments of all kinds scattered about amid the printed matter.

Once his attention arrived at the center of all this, though, he was thoroughly absorbed by 51

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the sole figure perched there in tattered rags and completely oblivious to their advent. It was intent upon the study of its own reflection in a mirror which it held.

“He will continue that way too,” Jungdraengen whispered reverently. “Not only are we far beneath the notice of the brilliant Selfgod, but he has for the past several decades been totally engrossed in his contemplation of the Ultimate Answer.”

“Then,” discerned the young man, “this is the residence of Intellect alone, the lofty dwelling of those dissatisfied with all else, where you now suggest I take my place. This abode is also the shrine of its residents to themselves, is it not? It should be small wonder to you that I will not consent to live here-in this place of perpetual suffocation.”

Such was the conviction of my friend Daniel that Jungdraengen was left quite impotent to debate the clearsightedness he had expressed. Instead, the guide-who-led-no-more turned lamely to the right side of the cavern and thereby indicated a frenzied figure dashing toward them.

Stumbling over tables and charging through the heaps of books, careless of the damage done to the rare volumes, this last figure bowled into the middle of Selfgod's library, seized the young wanderer by the lapels, and demanded in wild-eyed abandon, “Brother are you saved!

Have you heard the light in the dark? Do you feel the one and only deep down in your head?”

Daniel grimaced as he noticed the blue­ ribboned cross proudly emblazoned on the

robe of this fanatic. Certainly this pseudo­ monk would have ranted the more had he not been met with the succinct, eminently forth­ right statement, “I know in Whom I have believed.”

“But have you perceived the Invisible, in­ haled the Spirit, or gone on a holy soulwinning for the lord?”

“No more!” And with that Daniel threw off the aggressive hands and made toward a small, unobtrusive portal at the far end of the hall.

“Where docs this door lead, Jungdraengen?” asked my friend as he put his hand to the latch.

“Door? There are no more doors,” protested Jungdraengen. “You must choose your home now.”

Nonetheless, Daniel bowed his head as he went through the wall into the sunshine and pleasant breezes of the one place beyond Jungdraengen’s best offering.

And the conclusion of our journey? There is, after all, one final residence at the far end of the path, a resting-place for the traveler who does not succumb to the urgings of Jung­ draengen cnroute. Neither status nor rebellion, sensuality, vanity, or fanaticism intrude, for our home has the aspect of a green, fertile pasture. There is that thirst-quenching stream now gurgling peacefully before Daniel and me.

All of us here live simply for the promised return of our Shepherd. After the trials of that journey in our youth we have found our abiding dwelling.

GREGORY SCHULZ

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continued from cover

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a place io skip through the dinner-hour traffic on Wisconsin Avenue. Carol was surprised at the extent of her progress, but not overly so.

It took a lot of time to get all the boy prob­ lems resolved in her head. Still, fifteen blocks was a very long distance to cross while you were completely unaware of the world going on outside of you. Next time, she vowed, I’ll have to be more careful. Sorting out all the guys won’t help much if you’re laid up in the hospital recovering from being run over by a car.

Home was close now. These were familiar blocks.. .the ones she had known from early on. Her mother and father had guided her around them in baby carriage and stroller countless times. Then, once she had been able

to get out on her own, she, too. had sped about them thousands of times, by bike and by trike.

This accustomed area always raised her spirits to their pinnacle. It was like returning from an extended vacation far away and seeing the be­ loved familiarity of your own home. It was a heavenly feeling.

Carol passed Franck’s house and then Gerhardt’s. She was home. For a moment she stood and contemplated the wonder of home, particularly hers. The huge green-stained build­ ing which housed her three brothers and four sisters loomed before her. The house-filled with love and sometimes serenity—spread its wings before the girl. Here was her sanctuary, her room.

The screen door screamed out its warning 52

family mail, she finally came across her piece.

Her mother had described it aptly enough. It was simply a regular letter, the usual corres­ pondence size. Normal in every aspect except for the absence of a return address. It had been postmarked down in Burton—a smaller town four miles south. That was the only clue the mystery postage afforded.

Her mind pondered logical possibilities.

Only one resolution availed itself. It had to be one of “those" letters. A hint of dread mingled with anticipation flip-flopped in her heart.

Once more she mounted the stairs and fled to the solitude furnished by her room. Here personal matters could be conducted in utmost confidence.

If it was one of “those” letters, it was quite a surprise. She had thought the author would’ve surrendered long ago. Admittedly, the letters were irresistible, but in another way they were spooky and haunting. Stories of how some innocent girl had been played by some evil-minded pervert, with such corres­ pondence as his persistent attempt at “getting a foot in the doorway" loomed again before her.

With care not to damage the precious con­ tents, she slit the envelope and removed its inner secret. Truly, the enclosed page lived up to her expectations. It was another in that on­ coming line of love poems. The words flowed like honey in melodious silence; the verbal expertise massaged her ego. As usual, the poem was a passionate work of art. Yet, for all his work, the writer had remained true to form by not signing his name. Instead, the words, Your Secret Admirer, were typed at the bottom of the paper.

Obviously, it was corny—a throwback to the fifties—but to Carol it did possess a certain shy charm. At the same time, this was the single feature which gave the notes their haunting character. It seemed strange that someone who exerted all that effort composing beautiful love poems of that caliber would be so remiss about identifying himself. It simply didn't seem like the normal thing to do.

Another quick glance over the contents, and Carol had slipped past the bounds of reality and transported herself into the world of daydreaming. With a secret admirer, many wonderful, novel imaginations could be sum­ moned into being. Hasy it was to see herself

and then slapped shut to announce Carol’s arri­ val. Lithely, she leaped up the stairs to dump off her books. A "Hey, Mom, I’m home" drifted down to an aproned matron busying herself in the kitchen.

On her way back down, Carol's nostrils detected a savory aroma wafting through the hallway. "Wow, Mom. What we havin'?"

Her mother, raising her voice to outdo the noisy cooking, pronounced the verdict.

"Chicken with stuffing and mashed potatoes."

"Sure smells great!" the girl replied- men­ tally licking her lips in contemplation of her favorite meal. "Hey, what’s the big deal? Did Dad invite company for dinner?”

“No, dear, I just felt in the mood for some­ thing special, that's all," “Well, that’s fine with me!" Carol ex­ claimed, with her motion being seconded by an obedient growl from her stomach.

Down on the first floor now, the girl clad in leisure-time apparel which she had quickly donned while dropping off her books flopped onto the unsuspecting couch. Once the dust had settled, she cried out, "Say, Mom, did I get anything in the mail?"

The unified reply came in the form of the dampened click-clack of utensils. Carol gave it another try. “MOM.. .did I get anything in the mail?”

This time the answer floated back quickly and clearly. “Yes, Carol, you did get a letter.

Couldn't tell who it was from, though: it didn't have a return address. And for your in­ formation. that cosmetics catalog you were looking for didn’t make it. Wonder why it’s taking so long?"

Half-facetiously, the girl replied, “Mother, you don't have to screen my mail. I think I’m old enough to handle that now.”

“Now, dear. . .” her mother began.

“I know, 111a. I was just kidding. Hey, where'd you put it, anyway? I didn't see it at any of the usual spots."

“Now. let’s see. I can't re. . .Oh, yes. Of course. I must have left it on the telephone table."

Tossing her mom a grateful "thanks," C'arol strode toward the diminutive walnut table and wondered if her mother would ever learn to organize her thoughts. She doubted that such a miracle could ever take place.

Leafing through the mountainous heap of 53

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swept off her feet by the gallant white knight.

Daydreaming in this vein was pure enjoyment.

But, in actuality, it was not too difficult to peer through the noble lines of verse and pick out the true author. Yet, in doing so she robbed the white knight of his armor and exposed the author to undesired light. Guilt at knowing the unknowable flitted through in foolish reaction to her knowledge.

Without a doubt, it had to be Dan Millers, the shy recluse of her class. There was much too much evidence convicting him. All circum­ stantial, but yet pertinent. Besides, he was the only upperclassman at Lincoln capable of such eraftmanship. ' It had all started this semester. After threeand-a-half years of having maintained complete silence, although sharing the locker next to hers, he had suddenly come alive, speaking with her every day. He was a brilliant boy, though a loner. He was enrolled in all the honors courses offered by the school and still managed to be king of the mountain on the academic rolls. And although very gifted, he didn't flaunt it. In fact, he did everything but that. At best, he could have been called a quiet observer with a good sense of humor. He was the kind of person Englishmen called “affable chaps.” His looks weren't imposing, but they were passable. He was the good-looking “guynext-door” type.

Athletics were not his forte. He seemed co­ ordinated enough, but his timidity must have caused him to stay out of that culture. Surely, he couldn't be any worse than any of the pre­ sent members of the basketball team. The problem was that other males outshone him because he never made an attempt to best them.

While he was content to read, write, and medi­ tate, his classmates were out smearing would-be tacklers, scoring TDs and practicing their hook shots-all the men-orientated activities designed to impress and attract the opposite sex.

No, there was nothing wrong with him.

Dan simply had never taken an opportunity to prove himself. Consequently he was not the most desirable boy in the class. Far from it, he was ignored. The girl who went out with him first might take the chance of losing her status in that all-important stratified high school world.

Later, when high school flames had dimin­ ished and the roar of sports had burned low, he

would be a good catch lor any woman. He was the type who formed the staunch backbone of America. The loyal husband and faithful father. With his talents, insights, and intelli­ gence, he would be a climber in any Held he chose. Yet, for now he was the epitome of the lonely man.

A high-pitched voice shattered her reverie and forced her back into the confinement of her bedroom. At first, she thought it had been a scream, but in a second realized it had been her mother calling her to supper.

Slow-footed, Carol traversed the staircase.

Kdging over to her place at the table, she sat down surrounded by family. Hager mouths ripped through the blessing as well as the first helping with equal haste. Everyone seemed so engrossed in the delicious meal that conversa­ tion had become extinct. Soon, however, the excellent cooking provoked good spirits. The rollicking table talk common place to the Meyer household took over from there. News which had surged to the forefront during the day was discussed, digested, and/or ridiculed.

The recall of all Fords since their last strike evoked a fury of dialogue. As did the latest Presidential address which predicted that everimminent upsurge in the economy.

After they had bandied these topics about, the subjects moved more into a family light.

Carol’s mother inquired, “What was that letter you received in the mail today, dear?”

“Oh, it was nothing, Mom.” “Come on, now, it had to be something.

You don’t run and hide up in your room for every letter you get. Didn’t think I heard you gallop up the steps, did you?”

“Really, Mom, it’s nothing to get all hot and bothered about. It was only a letter a friend sent me.”

“You’re sure it’s nothing? You aren’t in any trouble, are you? No return address seems mighty suspicious to me.”

“MOTHER! IT’S NOTHING.. .BELIEVE ME!” the girl bellowed.

“Okay, okay. But I'd better not find out that you're keeping something from me, or you’re going to be in big trouble, girl. You understand that?”

“Aw, Mom, really. Don’t get so hyper about it.” Then, as an afterthought she added, “If you want, you can read it. . .if you're that interested.” With that move, Carol laid down all the cards she had in her self-styled little 54

game of poker-winner take all. It her bluff worked, it meant perfect absolution, but if it failed, there was going to be a sticky situation.

Of course, Carol didn’t arrange this tactic without previously setting the groundwork. It had worked many times before, but when would be the one time when her mother would call her bluff? For an endless, breathless moment she awaited the reply.

“Oh, that’s all right, Carol. I trust you.”

Victory bells chimed in the gambler’s ear­ drums. She fought to keep the accompanying smile from sneaking onto her face. She caught all but one corner of it as it twisted the side of her lip. The fruit of victory was not as sweet as it appeared, however, for Carol knew that she violated her mother’s trust one more time. Her conscience rankled.

As if in response to the struggle in Carol’s conscience and to the harsh “discussion,” con­ versation dwindled. An invisible wall separated the family from itself and compressed them into their own private cubicle cosmos for the moment. Gradually, the diners began to dis­ perse to their post-supper destinations.

Carol lingered over her meal, pondering secret thoughts. Her mother cut her medita­ tion short. “Dear, I'm afraid the dishes have to be cleared.”

“Oh-yeah.” A distracted Carol answered.

“Mom, I’m sorry. We shouldn’t let ourselves fly off the handle like that.”

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry, too. Now scoot upstairs and hit those books, kiddo.”

With that slight bit of prodding, the girl streaked out of the kitchen and hoped that her mother would forget to call her to help with the dishes. Maybe if she got out of there quickly, the chores would not be taken into account.

Up in her room once more, she began by taking out her school books. Her heart simply wasn’t in the studies, though. It was focused on a spot merely several feet away. “It” was inside her pillowcase-housed there to thwart nosey sisters or even worse, brothers.

Listening at the door to find out if any­ one was or would be climbing up the stairs, she put her ear to the enameled wood. The answer was in the negative. Cautiously, she drew closer to the bed and slipped her hand into the pillow­ case. In a flash she had located her objective and had extracted it. The girl laid down on the bed and read it again, letting the words slowly blend into her consciousness to sooth her.

Fighting back toward reality, she recognized the fact she would have to get at her assignments. What a drag! It was a struggle.

but Carol dragged herself back to the dreaded desk minus the letter. Time to start those trig exercises.

Normally, she didn’t have to spend much energy on homework. She had been blessed with an above-average intelligence and knew how to make use of it. Tonite was different.

Concentration was the key, and no matter how she tried, it couldn’t be summoned. Her mind kept drifting back to the harmonious strains which had been dedicated to her. Those lines were devoid of the artificial sweetness most boys counted on to make it with their sweet­ hearts. As far as she could tell, they bespoke sincerity and seriousness. That impressed her.

Here was natural sweetness-sugar—not some cheap imitation. And after a steady diet of that artificial stuff, the real thing came as a breath of springtime.

At long last, she hoisted herself back'into the realms of math and science. Evening had long since passed and night had fallen un­ noticed. One more trip downstairs to catch the late news and midnight diet-breaker, then she retired for the night.

Dreams full of knights in shining armor hovered over her auburn-haired head for the remnant of the night.

Morning dawned with the intention to hit school early in hopes of meeting Dan before classes started. To her surprise, the meeting took place as scheduled. Greetings were ex­ changed with the usual courteous “Good Mornings.” In vain Carol tried to scrutinize him-to fracture his stainless steel exterior and glimpse at the inner man. Just some hint of his “daring” letter escapades would have given her renewed hope. At first she thought she had detected a flaw, but as the day progressed she became less and less certain. By the time noon lunch period arrived, Carol held the firm con­ viction that she had been mistaken.

In terms of Dan, it was an average day. She waved to him on the way to social sciences class. Somehow he always managed to get to the window just in time to catch her. Uncanny precision. And, as usual, he possessed that same dumb-looking grin of accomplishment after he had done so. Following math, Dan walked her back to her locker. He had been doing that since the beginning of the semester, too. He passed the short interval with chit-chat about class and other major tidbits of trivia. It wasn’t the most exciting exchange, but she guessedwith a measure of correctness-that that was the most courage he could muster. Then when classes had finished for the day, he again caught her with his customary wave as he cc

stepped onto the bus which would whisk him away from her back to Burton.

Without a glint of realization, Carol had suddenly come to care about this outcast. The poems had done their task well. They whetted her appetite to see the real man behind the shadowy exterior. Her chance would never be better.

Impatience was her main stumbling block.

There was the tormenting question forever flitting about the caverns of her mind: “If he likes me, why doesn’t he show it?” Com­ pounding this there was the notion that if she attempted any bold maneuvers, he would im­ mediately and irretrievably be lost. He was the biggest challenge she had endeavored to engage in a battle of wits. She was caught in a world of paradoxes—an unwilling occupant.

Periodically, this occupant received her letters. Fan mail. They served as bright spots in an otherwise dismal situation. Weeks passed, and as with every senior, Carol couldn’t figure out where the time was going. Dan’s interest never lessened; however, it didn’t seem to heighten, either. Ne’er waxing nor waning— Carol was confused.

For Valentine’s Day she was exuberant over the huge hand-done Valentine card and the two accompanying poems. The card was a masterpiece, almost the size of a record al­ bum. It had five layers of different colors: pink, yellow, orange, red, and purple. Over this was a lacy doily with a heart-shaped pastoral scene centered on it. The scene was that of two silhouettes strolling into a sunset.

This, in addition to the poems, melted her heart. She sensed the moment might be coming soon when he would finally display his true feelings in person.

Carol was wrong. Little, if anything, changed. Forced to conceal her secret love letters, she quietly neglected them. Dan ob­ viously was not planning on altering his approach, and she no longer possessed the patience to wait. There were other boys.

They would clamor for her affections; they didn’t need any prodding. Indeed, she didn’t allow herself to neglect Dan, but she wouldn’t go out of her way for him either. The captain of the track team would take her out as many times as he could. After a period of such dating, Dan became dimmer-much dimmer as a light in her future.

Now the days were few. Senior year has a certain way of passing by unheeded until the last days. These are the cream; the ones to be savored. The last week was moving by ever so speedily. On the second last day, Carol fell

ill. As she rested on her bed. she reflected on the past and particularly on Dan. Whatever had happened to him that he had remained so aloof from her charms when he could have so easily won them? The query was strictly rhetorical. She knew no answer. Tomorrow was his last chance. With her mind’s eye, she imagined the scene. Concrete truth, however, washed it away. She would have to wait to see it. Yet, she would not refuse him the final shot. With dogged determination, she decided that no matter what condition she was in, she would attend the last day of classes.

The next morning a torrid throat scratched every syllable she spoke. Heaviness on her chest did not permit her the luxury of breath­ ing deeply. Nevertheless, Carol was at her locker early, waiting to exchange morning cordialities with Dan. Full of expectation she waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, with only two minutes before classes began, she ran for her first-hour room. Where had Dan been? The lousy busline must have been late again. That was typical. Well, she reasoned, he’ll be able to walk me back from math class and then—with cruel suddenness, realization came to her stunned brain. Today was the off day. They didn’t share any classes today. Not even the same lunch hour. A black mood brooded over her as she headed for first-hour class and revenge on her teachers.

The day ran past amazingly fast. A world's record for the eight-hour day. Before the seniors knew it, they were high schoolers no longer. Without any heralding or fanfare they had been transformed into beer-drinking, responsible adults. Three big cheers! Another class has passed through the hallowed portals.

All that remained now was the ritual gradua­ tion—a last and final salute to schooling. It was a time to be celebrated: break out the cigars and bottles. But Carol did not see Dan that day.

GRADUATION NIGHT. The long-awaited time of freedom. Liberation from books and teachers—the two major threats in everyone’s life. Relatives and friends-everyone join in the jubilee. The final fond farewell. That mixture of joy and tears. Much laughter.. .as much crying. Friends bidding adieu—perhaps forever.

Out of this swirling tumult came Dan. Directly, directly to Carol he moved. The two met. Blue eyes rivalling brown. He looked into her with a strength she had never seen, nor even sensed. What he wanted was known. A kiss. One kiss. One kiss for all the thankless hours he had spent slaving for her. That was to be his trophy. His eyes communicated this, for he could never have said such things. It

radiated from him to her. He had watched as she had kissed all the boys before him. Now it was his turn. She was willing, was he? This was the one moment he had worked months lor.

Undoubtedly, it would always be etched into his mind as well as hers. Forever is a long time for one memory. Would it be worth it? He moved closer. He thrust out his hand. She look it.. .tentatively, testingly. He felt the warm pulse of her hand in his. He shook it and was gone, disappearing into the tangles of the mass.

Carol strained to glimpse his final passing. She watched him vanish a tear forming in her heart for the unrealized memories. Carol put a hand up to her eyes, then slowly let it extend higher to smooth her hair, in preparation for the boys to come.

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he blood-red haze slowly parted itself from the middle and cleared. It was much like the sun breaking through a bank of thunderheads. With fog on his brain. Kip now realized that he was lying flat on his back with the referees, the ambulance attendants, and his coaches hovering over him. Their mouths were moving, but through the all-enveloping mist he could not make out their words. Grudgingly perception returned and along with it, memory.

It was the game to determine the conference championship. Our team had been down by four points. Yet. the momentum had swung our way and we were driving-chewing up yardage and spitting out defenders. Abruptly, though, memory ended there.

The white-clad ambulance attendants were leaving now-saying they’d be back as soon as possible. Pain flowed over Kip in waves of hot lava. He shuddered when it threatened to break over his threshold. In an effort to thwart the effect of the pain, he attempted to concentrate on other things. He focused his eyes on his helmet, which was lying on the ground next to him. Undoubtedly it had been flung there by whoever had reached him first after it became apparent that he wasn’t going to rise of his own volition. Now its red-and-white familiarity consoled him somewhat.

The attendants had returned.. .with a stretcher. Kip didn’t protest his leaving the game, although in truth that idea had never crossed his befuddled mind till now. Plain and

simply, he hurt. The taller man asked him where he hurt the most. Kip replied foggily that it seemed to center in his right shoulderhis throwing arm. Then, cautiously, with as much gentleness as the pair could muster, they slipped the stretcher beneath him. It hurt un­ believably when they finished with a jerk which lifted him off the turf and sent a lightning bolt of pain stabbing into his consciousness. It almost made him black out again, but instead he winced and tried to brace himself against the coming bumps on the way to the ambulance.

He heard the crowd giving its usual injuredplayer standing ovation. But that was far, far away, and the pain was close. . .much too close. It seemed like an eternity of pain. Could hell itself be more excruciating than this? Then the ordeal was completed, and he was laid to rest in the cramped interior of the ambulance.

A swirl of red lights and sirens, and the casualty had disappeared.

Every thing had come back to Kip's tor­ tured mind by this time. He could see his offensive wall collapsing around him. He re­ membered releasing the ball, but too late. It had fluttered harmlessly to the unoccupied left flat, or so he assumed. He had not actually seen the flight of the ball, for their men had been on him before he had had a chance to protect himself. First there had been big No. 80 barrelling over him. Then No. 77 had gotten in on the action. He had been charging

Continued on page 73

THE BLACK AND RED OCTOBER 1977

Volume 81, No. 3

Goal to Goal

Cover Story

EDITORIAL

66

Wind & Light...............................................................

67

The Lord of the Rings: Tolkien's English Epic........

.. . . 69

ACTIVITIES

72

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

81

Why.

83

Review: Sports in America

84

Autumn Spectrum............

85

ALUMNI

85

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ESTABLISHED 1897

Gregory Schulz

MANAGING EDITOR

.Don Scheuerlem

STAFF WRITERS

.Jeffrey Schallert Mark Rieke David Payne Brian Dose

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

. . . Jerry Ewings David Huebner

Entered at the Post Office at Watertown, Wisconsin, as Second Class Matter under the act of March 3, 1879. Second Class postage paid at Watertown, Wisconsin.

Published Monthly during the school year.

ACTIVITIES

. David Kolander

ART

. . . Mark Wagner

BUSINESS MANAGER

. . Rick Johnson

CIRCULATION MANAGER

. . Timothy Kant

ADVERTISING MANAGERS

Greg Otterstatter Mark Wilde

printing by Mark lickcrt

EDITORIAL For reasons that are not always easy to explain. Northwestern College is expected to maintain better facultystudent relations than arc found at other schools. Faculty and students should be a family where everyone knows everyone else; students should receive close personal attention...

We may have approached that “mfllenium.”

Not only is the open home of the profes­ sor becoming a way of life here; there is a persistent effort being made to present class material in the context of our future ministiy. Long-standing rules which have often ground against the student's sense of freedom are coming under scrutiny in faculty meetings, recently producing rules which are newlyclarified and open to responsibly-proposed exceptions.

I believe the faculty has, in their effort to exhibit a more fraternal concern for us, moved the student body, in turn, to respond with a more brotherly attitude. We’re doing every­ thing we can as individuals and classes to enrich the four and five-year preparations of our fellows. The most obvious evidences of this are such events as the bratwurst picnic we implemented to bring the faculty members and their families into closer touch with the collegiates, and the increasing cross-class repre­ sentation in student-run organizations and activities. Our goals for school spirit and in­ dividual attainments arc high, but we are beginning to reach beyond our own immediate interests and are perfectly willing to incur a certain amount of ridicule for not realizing the conclusion of our millenium within the semester.

One logical object for our reaching out is the potential preacher who has not yet entered Northwestern. Fully a third of our student body has asked to be a part of that outreach, contributing their time and individual talents to our recruitment effort. My roommate and I had the privilege last month of speaking at

President Carleton Toppe This observation was included in a report to our board of control three weeks into the 77-78 school year. Although primarily directed against unreasonable expectations for an institution with human failings, it speaks volumes for a college long placed on the defensive by charges from within and without that we are an institution of hard courses and hard hearts. The former charge remains a fact in the context of a nationally declining educa­ tional system, but the latter cannot stand as an unanswered accusation against the North­ western we know today.

President Toppe's remarks prefaced an explanation of the current advisor situation for freshmen. He continues with a report on the eleven faculty volunteers who have been assigned to about six first-year men apiece.

Not only do they serve as academic counselors; every effort is made to talk with the student about problems beyond the classroom, to invite them into the professor's home, and to write several times in the course of the year to his family back home.

66

J

5

’

two pastoral conferences, answering questions about the college and addressing ourselves especially to the question of recruitment.

Criticisms and pointed questions were raised, leading us to believe that the alumni held to attitudes toward our pastor-training college based on what the school had been back in their day. We are a different Northwestern from what these men picture, as Pastor Mahnke forcefully observed when quoting at Metro North the report which heads this editorial.

President Nauman furthered our insistence on more active and consistent support from the pastors of our local congregations. We sincerely hope that our area pastors will all look away from their yearbooks and sec for themselves what their alma mater has become, so that they will all assume the actively supportive role only they can provide.

It is not our pastors alone who as a body need to look again at Northwestern. Members

of many of our synod congregations have far too long neglected us. If they continue in neglecting to give us their prayerful support, we will be far from effective in providing the ministers they need. Must our people be faced with an empty pulpit Sunday after Sunday before coming to realize they have been ig­ noring a vital aspect of the Church's work? Has it indeed already come to that? Prayerful support for our work does not mean simply folding one’s hands as a few words are recited; prayerful support is given by the Christian who breathes to his God "Thy kingdom come” and then actively and persistently sets about encouraging all those working to bring that kingdom.

People of our church, where are your prayers and support? We need them if the "Northwestern millenium” is to have meaning.

And we are waiting.

GREGORY SCHULZ

***- »*.*.*.*•*•

&

But now The darkness has grown, And I don’t run home Anymore; I walk And listen to the wind Whispering between the streetlights.

The valley is dark, Darker still Than when I was young, For I was afraid of it Then, And it only lurked Between streetlights With a rustling voice In the trees On the way home, Home— Where light Is always shining.

I know it’s grown.

The sidewalk Grows narrow And long And hard to follow, And now sometimes i

: 67

I pause at the door To listen one more time.

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The Lord of the Rings: Tolkien's English Epic ,

~J"o reach a definition of the word “epic” one might best examine the epic literature of different cultures. The common ingredients of the epic can be found in works like the Ger­ man Nibelungenlied, the Greek Iliad, and the Roman Aeneid, to name only three. In each of these mythology plays a part which is readily noticed by even the dullest of readers. Gods, monsters, and the like are irrefutably necessary parts of the epic; one cannot imagine the Iliad or Aeneid without the Olympians, or the Nibelungenlied without its gold-hoarding dragon. The scope of the epic must always be breath takingly wide, involving earth-shaking deeds and battles like those of Achilles, Aeneas, and Siegfried. But the most important element of the epic is its theme, which is responsible for making it a cultural treasure over the cen­ turies. The theme of the epic is always a re­ affirmation of the values and ideals held by a particular society. The Nibelungenlied deals with the blood-feud of the early German feudalistic state. The Iliad lauds the Greek con­ cept of honor and renown in battle. The Aeneid glorifies the Roman destiny of world conquest.

English literature has never produced an epic which completely satisfied these three requirements of myth, scope, and theme. In > modern times it has looked as if it would never be able to, infected as it was with the fixed realism of the Age of Reason, the narrowness of Materialism, and the urge to question every value in modern Western society. This seemed a tragedy to a few, notably to an Oxford prolessor of Anglo-Saxon who decided that, rather

than bemoan the lack of a truly English epic, he would construct one himself. This scholar and author was J. R. R. Tolkien, whose name has become the center of a fast-growing literary cult in the English-speaking world. In 1937 he published the firstfruits of his labors, the children’s tale The Hobbit, followed nineteen years later by his master work, the trilogy en­ titled The Lord of the Rings.

These books chronicle the final events in the Third Age of Middle-earth, a land of mighty rivers, lofty, rugged mountains, track­ less wilds, and dark, impenetrable forests. It is a world in part populated by some creatures of English folklore, changed and often ennobled

by Tolkien to better fit his purposes. There are the deathless Elves, tall, grey-eyed and fair­ haired, the noblest inhabitants of Middle-earth.

There are the Dwarves, a proud and secretive race who delve out for themselves vast mansions beneath the mountains. There are Men there, too, like ourselves, who have the potential within them to work for the most excellent ends or the most vile. There are goblins (or Ores) and trolls, base and filthy creatures bent only on the destruction of all that is good or beautiful.

And there are the Hobbits, Tolkien’s own brilliant creation. Hobbits are an uniniposing " people, a little over half our height and inclined to be rather stout. They live quite comfortably and rather inconspicuously in their land of the Shire, in the northwest of Middle-earth, neither bothering nor being bothered by anyone else.

They are unabashedly rustic, turning their attention mainly to farming and gardening, and 69

to find them One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

(The Lord of the Rings, p. 1)

eating as often as they can. A race of stay-athomes, they think anyone rather queer who travels to other lands or gets mixed up in ad­ ventures. “nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things" which “make you late for dinner."

(The Hobbit, p. 18) Yet it is into the hands of these unheroic Hobbits that the fate of all Middle-earth falls.

For a Shadow is creeping slowly and in­ evitably westward from the land of Mordor, where the Lord of the Rings, Sauron the Great, lusts for dominion over all Middle-earth. To this end he is marshalling huge armies of Ores, trolls, and evil Men. and creatures even more fearful then these. While the kingdoms of Elves, Dwarves, and Men have long held against his numerous assaults, now they are beginning to founder, and will soon topple at his feet.

For uncounted years Sauron has made war on the free West, and his very name is a watch­ word of unfathomable cruelty and evil.

A great part of his power he put into that ring, and wearing it would have enslaved the owners of the other rings, and through them brought* all peoples under his dominion. But before ho could carry out his plans, an alliance of Elves and Men defeated him in battle on -the very slopes of Orodruin, and there cut the Rih£ from his finger. He fled that ruin a disem­ bodied spirit, to take shape and grow again in later years, but the Ring was lost by his con­ querors when the commander who had taken It as a trophy was murdered by Ores as he crossed a river. By an extraordinary amount of chance it was found thousands of years later, as

But the power of Sauron is also threatened.

In a previous Age he forged, with the aid of Elves he’d deceived, the Rings of Power, three for the Fives, seven for the Dwarves, and nine for Men. The wearers of these rings would be able to govern the forces of the earth for the good of their fellows. But in secret forges concealed in the volcanic Mount Doom, Orodruin, he fashioned the One Ring: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring

Sauron was growing strong again, by one of the rarest things to walk under the sun: an adven­ turing Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins. Now the Free Peoples hyve+hs Ring. They cannot use It against SauraTb f°r ^ll that is done with It turns to evil, and whoever wielded it would eventually become another Lord of fbc Rings, consumed by ambition. To defeat Saurat\they must destroy the Ring in the only p|ctcC{)OS' sible, the fires of Orodruin in the very bea^of

70

Sauron’s realm of Mordor. This task falls upon Bilbo's heir, Frodo.

These great issues are not the concern of The Hobbit. The Hobbit is a children’s story, a generally light-hearted account of Bilbo Baggins' journey, with thirteen dwarves and the wizard Gandalf to take revenge on a dragon who years before had stolen the dwarves’ treasure. On this trip Bilbo accidentally finds the Ring, whose only use, as far as he can tell, is to make its wearer invisible, which is mighty handy if you're going to walk into a dragon’s lair (which Bilbo does). The Hobbit is not, as some think, a necessary prelude to reading the Rings trilogy; the style and aims of the two books are very different, and if a reader is bored by the children’s story, he is still likely to find the trilogy fascinating. However, near the end, The Hobbit foreshadows the unifying theme of The Lord of the Rings : in an effort to prevent a war over the dragon’s hoard, once it has been slain. Bilbo gives up his very lucrative share in the treasure.

The Lord of the Rings chronicles the jour­ ney of Frodo Baggins to Mordor to destroy the Ring. The chances that he will be caught and die under slow torment are very great, yet he chooses to go on, renouncing his own life if need be to preserve the freedom of the peoples of the West. Many times he is given the oppor­ tunity to lay aside the quest, but he never does. The starkest and most memorable portrait of such self-denial, next to Frodo’s, of course, is that of his servant, Sam Gamgce, the only friend who accompanies him into Mordor. Sam gives up everything of himself, finally even denying himself the luxuries of hope or des­ pair, becoming a sort of automaton bent solely on getting his “Mr. Frodo” to Mount Doom.

Such examples of self-renunciation are extreme­ ly rare in all literature.

But another aspect of renunciation ex­ plored in the trilogy is perhaps the one element of The Lord of the Rings which, more than any other, makes it an epic for our age. This is the theme of the renunciation of power. People arc lured by the Ring. Not only Frodo but also many of the wise and noble people he meets are tempted to take the Ring for their own.

The irony of such a thing would be that, no

matter how good his intentions, the one who wore the Ring would be consumed by its evil.

If he wished to use It to heal the hurts of the world, he would soon be forcing people to suc­ cumb to his will and do what he wants, all the while not knowing that it is the Ring’s inten­ tions. not his, that are being earried out.

Some of the people faced with this tempta­ tion renounce it; others embrace it. Of this latter category the most haunting figures are the Nazgul, the Ringwraiths. In an earlier age they had been kings of Men, but consumed by pride and lust for power they accepted the Nine Rings which Sauron had forged for them, and easily fell under his total domination.

They are totally lost, and have no true sub­ stance in this world, for which reason they wrap themselves in thick black cloaks when­ ever they have to deal with men. A great part of the terror which they instil in others comes from the utter despair of their own existence, a despair voiced in long, high-pitched, shudder­ ing wails borne on a cold wind.

These things make up the core of the talc, but The Lord of the Rings is also an epic in the sense of its rich coloring and texture, the various complexities of plot, characterization, and setting. The fates of many diverse kingdoms and peoples are drawn inexorably together as the final battle of the War of the Ring approaches. There is a plethora of welldelineated characters besides the Hobbits them­ selves: Gandalf, the old wizard with his long white beard and bushy eyebrows, who conceals a power to challenge Sauron himself; Aragorn the Ranger, a forester and guide to Frodo and his companions, descended from once mighty kings; Galadriel, the wise and beautiful queen of the timeless Elvish realm of Lothlorien; and many more than space allows mention of.

The scenery of Middle-earth is panoramic, from the city of Minas Tirith set in the moun­ tains, its white towers shining in the morning sun, to the night-black halls of Moria, ancient and long-deserted Dwarf-mansion beneath the Misty Mountains; from the well-ordered and peaceful fields and lanes of the Shire to the slag heaps and tortured plains of Mordor, “a land defiled, diseased beyond all healing-unless the Great Sea should enter, in and wash it with

71

oblivion.” (The Two Towers, p. 239) The Lord of the Rings is the saga of great wonders and valiant deeds, of a land that may­ be never existed but, in the minds of many readers, surely should have, of issues and choices very much like those facing us today.

It is destined to survive its age, to live as long as the English language exists. In times to come its place will be with the Nibelungenlied and the Iliad, and J. R. R. Tolkien will be classi­ fied with Homer and Virgil, for he has given to our culture what will eventually prove to be its

most beloved treasure, a true English epic.

JEFFREY SCHALLERT Quotes taken from: Tolkien, J. R. R. The llobbit. (Thirtieth print­ ing) New York: Ballantine Books, 1971.

Tolkien. J. R. R. The Lord of the Rings. (Con­ taining The Fellowship of the Ring. The Two Towers, and The Return of the King) Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1974.

ACTIVITIES A few Trojans have done their best to be charitable: Cornell Wamecke followed Jim Proeber’s example by being very instrumental in scoring a goal for the opponent’s soccer team, Dave Kolander decided to keep a couple punts behind the scrimmage line, and the foot­ ball team has been giving away touchdowns to almost anybody who asks. But, we shouldn’t despair. All these deeds of love will be re­ warded. Just take a good long look at Cornell and see if you won’t agree.

Speaking seriously for a moment, several college men involved with the recruitment campaign have been charitable with their time this last month. Pastoral conferences at Mercer, Neenah, Manitowoc, Milwaukee, and Fairfax, Minnesota were each attended by one profes­ sor and two students. The Profs. (Lindemann, Fricke, or Baumler) presented a brief report on the present and projected enrollment status.

Following this the students fielded a variety of questions and heard many interesting com­ ments. Questions ranged from the subject of parking lot permission to the necessity of a five-year Latin program to the catch-all “Stu­

dent-faculty relations.” Students who parti­ cipated were Jerry Ewings, Mark Rieke, Greg Schulz, Dave Kolander, Tim Unke, Mark Wag­ ner, Dave Huebner, and Peter Panitzke. Other recruitment committees just getting underway include the movie committee and the tour leaders. Ewings, Jeff Schallert, and John Carter are screening ideas in trying to piece together a quality film presentation of NWC. In charge of organizing tour guides and duties is Dan Balge. This important program is off to a promising start, with more projects yet to come.

Another charitable “activity” took place on September 6th. Chef Hanke agreed to cater a brat and punch student-faculty picnic at Riverside Park, and the Seniors footed the bill with time and money. The mosquitoes stayed away just long enough to allow the students and professors to eat, talk, and run for their lives. By the way, it might be interesting to ask Ewings and Biedenbender how many brats they ate!

Except for Wamecke and Proeber's brief weaknesses, the soccer team has been anything 72

we’ve played some of the toughest competi­ tion the Trojans may ever face, most notably Lawrence University and Milton. A stirring 15-12 come-from-behind victory over Mt. Senario was a great beginning. 41-6 and 41-19 defeats to Lawrence and Milton, however, were rather deflating. The most recent setback was a 42-6 shellacking at the hands of a very fast Concordia, St. Paul team. Although neither offense nor defense has been very consistent, Coach Thompson’s charges have maintained a tremendous spirit and desire. If the Trojans can just straighten out a few kinks, the second half of the year should be a complete turnaround.

One of the most important activities this month has been that of keeping up the feeling of togetherness and high morale on the part of the student body. Maintaining this special spirit would make for an extra-memorable school year. The Seniors seem to be bleeding positiveness, and it has affected us all. There’s no reason why this Campus Activity can’t continue!

but charitable. After a tough 4-2 loss to Maranatha, the Trojans stormed to a 0-0 tie with rugged UW-Whitewater, beat Carthage 3-1, routed Milton 6-2, and upended Holy Re­ deemer 2-0, the first time we’ve ever beaten them. Bilitz, Tullberg, and Fricke (along with Wales, of course), have gained special notice, and Dave Clark’s goaltending has been superb.

Coach Marggrafs crew is starting to smell a championship!

Tutor Brenner’s Cross Country men have been pretty successful too. Led by Larry Gieraeh and Ken Nelson, the harriers have earned 2nd place finishes at the six-team Tro­ jan Invitational and at the eight-team Barron Invitational in Baraboo. A 4th-place out of nine teams at Waukesha and an 8th out of 18 at Madison Area Tech round out the season through September. All that Coach Brenner wishes would improve is the weather, which has been "rainy and wet.” Good analysis, Coach!

Unfortunately, tlie.footballers aren’t being quite as successful. It’s no secret, though, that

DAVID KOLANDER

continued from cover

like a mad bull with murder in his eyes all game long. And, finally, after he was nearly on the ground, No. 90 had sliced in underneath, taking along Kip’s right arm and shoulder.

That was where blackness-indefinable darkness-began. Yes, No. 90 had made that tackle, the bone-cruncher it was. Without his destruc­ tive help, Kip would still probably be in the game.

While the ambulance was whizzing toward the emergency room, he could almost see the nurses readying themselves to take him into surgery. Something must have been broken or there wouldn’t have been such excruciating

agony. With that in mind, he surrendered to the pain and lapsed into unconsciousness.

The next time he awoke, there was no pain or, at least, what little there was, was quite muffled. He himself was lying on his back on a hospital bed. A huge cast covered most of his right side and arm. Nurses were bustling around the corridors, and his parents were standing at the windows with their backs to him. “Mom.. .

Dad,” he croaked. “What happened?”

Quickly they turned to face him. Kip could see his mother had been crying-the tracks were still glistening on her cheeks. His dad didn’t look too well, either. He was terribly

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pale.

“What happened, Dad?" he repeated.

“Son, are you sure you can handle this • right now? Kip, it isn't pretty.”

“Yeah, you might as well give it to me now so I know what I’m in for.”

“Okay, prepare yourself. What it boils down to is that when you got hit, your shoulder was separated and the bone in your upper arm was shattered. You were in surgery a long time, and the doctors said it was a touchy operation. They won’t promise any­ thing. They say that with rehabilitation you’ll be able to regain seventy-five per cent use of that arm.”

Kip laid his head back on the pillow and let the words of his father sink into his head. What it spelled was an end to his athletic career. . . a premature end. Seventy-five percent recovery.

The impact of those words rebounded in his brain. His ego replied, “No way, I’m going to be playing next year. I don’t care what the doctors say. We’re going to be the conference champs, and I'm going to be the quarterback.

I’ll prove them all wrong.” Before there could be any discussion, he had resolved that he would be the starting passer next year, and that was that.

He wondered how his team had fared in his absence. He doubted they could have won.

Randy Pitts was “the pits” when it came to being a back-up quarterback. Almost worthless.

It wouldn’t have taken Loyola much time to figure it out, too. After a few downs, they would be teeing off every play. Letting his mind wander even further, he pondered how the papers would treat the game. The home­ town paper had a way of castigating the teams they felt didn’t live up to their potential. And, it was always a let-down losing a conference championship-especially to Loyola, their archrival. He could see no reason why the papers would be lenient in this case. He pictured the headlines: AUSTEN CHOKES-LOSES TO LOYOLA, 21-17. He could also see a sub-

74

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A stabbing pain tore his vision asunder. Try as he would, he could not regain it. Finally giving up that course, he contemplated his future. Basketball season was surely out. Prac­ tice would be starting in a couple of weeks, and I’d be fortunate to be off pain pills by that time, he thought. And, of course, there was the rehabilitation which would take who knows how long. Yet, maybe I could be back by track season. That would be almost six months. It was a shame about buckets, though; it’s my second favorite sport. He knew the basketball coach would miss him. He had spoken to him only last week about taking over the starting guard position. Point man, in fact. From there he progressed to thinking about his senior year.

Football season was a must. He would have to be ready for football season. His quarterback position would be waiting for him. He could taste the conference championship which had eluded him. It demanded another shot. He gritted his teeth in determination against the injury which threatened to rob him of this opportunity.

The nurse interrupted him. It was time for his hypo. Gratefully he readied himself for the needle. Suddenly the lights were out, and he was moving in another world.

The next several days saw a procession of doctors, nurses, family, and friends. Foremost among the friends was naturally Judy. She had a way of instilling confidence in him, confi­ dence he never guessed existed. The first time she had come up had been the best. Hesitantly she poked her head into the door and asked if he was accepting visitors. In mock apathy, Kip replied, “I suppose.” Actually, the answer had been self-explanatory. Her eyes overflowed with sympathy, an emotion which normally would have incensed him, but which now he needed more than anything. She rushed in and kissed him cautiously. Cautious of his shoulder: nothing else. As she moved away, she let her silky blondness brush his face. It was a fine feeling and he wanted more of it, but he wasn’t

scription: Junior Signalcaller Johnson InjuredAusten Never Recovers. Kip always had had a flair for the dramatic as well as a superb imagi­ nation.

Now, however, he was very tired. Ex­ hausted. He mumbled to his parents, “I think I’m going to sleep.” Promptly, he did.

Wakefulness revived him hours later. Pain screamed in his right side. It seemed as if his arm was being torn away. Frantically, he sought the buzzer to call the nurse. Finding it at his side, he pressed it urgently. Again. Again.

He stopped when he heard footsteps racing down the hall. For the first time he compre­ hended that it was night and that his parents were no longer present. Before he had time to reflect upon these facts, the nurse was at his side.

She was an old wrinkled thing-nothing like what was advertised on television and the movies. She bent over. “What's wrong, son?”

“Can’t yo\i do something about this pain?

It’s killing me.” he begged, unashamed.

“I’m sorry, son, but you’ve still got an hour and a half till your next shot. I know it hurts, but try and keep your mind off it.”

His mind answered with a sarcastic “Thanks a lot. How do you propose I manage that?”

Instead, he asked for a glass of water and tried to make the best of a bad situation.

Kip did his best to block the growing pain from his mind. He thought about his girl friendtrying to project a picture of her onto the ceiling of his hospital room. For a while, it worked. He could see her, the captain of the cheerleaders, bouncing around in front of crowded bleachers. Her long yellow-gold hair was blowing in the breeze while the rest of her shapely body jounced the usual cheers. The crowd was roaring. Her strong legs catapulted her into the air. Again the fans shouted and screamed. Hysteria was in the atmosphere. The vision on the ceiling was extremely satisfying.

He asked the ceiling when she would be coming to sec him. He hoped it would be soon.

75

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about to beg for it. After that, he looked for­ ward to her visits almost as much as his needed pain-killing shots.

His parents and brothers were also frequent visitors. It was nice to have them around as long as they didn’t stay too long. His parents still appeared to be in shock. Whether it was about his health, or the coming doctor bills, he couldn’t tell. As far as his brothers were concerned, they didn’t know what to make of the situation. They had never been in the sickly atmosphere of a hospital before, and it stifled them.

Then, of course, there were the doctors and nurses who provided almost constant vigilance.

The nurses were okay, but there were no young good-lookers and that bothered him. What was the use of going to the hospital if there weren’t any pretty nurses? The doctors were the worst sort of company. They were depressing. There was little they could do for the present with his arm in the cast, so their mainstay was conversa­ tion with him concerning how he felt. For the most part it was tidbits of “sage” advice. They had a way of emphasizing that this was the worst football injury they had ever seen. At the same time, there was the prospect of a seventy-five percent recovery reverberating in his mind. They did nothing to dispel this gloomy idea. The only constructive remark the doctors made was that he would need a complete rebuilding program, when the cast was removed.

Despite the doctoral “encouragement,” Kip managed to come through his stay in the hospi­ tal with relatively high spirits. True, there had been times v/hen waves of despair had buffeted the shores of his mind. But he was of stubborn German stock and could beat the evil thoughts away with sheer will power. He was determined to make his comeback. If need be, he would have given everything he had for that return.

He was supremely headstrong, and that was the one and only thing he had going for him.

After about two weeks he was released

from the hospital. Most of the final days had been spent in teaching him how to get along in the left-handed world he would enter after leaving the spoon-fed culture of the hospital.

The thick plaster cast the doctors had fastened to his body complicated every function of living.

Writing, eating, dressing-all the simple move­ ments he had been accustomed to for the past seventeen years had been removed from his grasp. He could not even tie his own shoes. It was horrible living with that cast. He longed to be able to touch the part of his body which was hidden. He also longed to do any of the things he used to be able to do by himself.

Slowly.. .ever so slowly he adapted to his left-handed environment. How unbelievably awkward it was getting along with only one hand. He could appreciate the phrase “with one hand tied behind your back,” because that was the way he was living. In reaction to the simple acts which had suddenly ballooned into ordeals. Kip often felt frustrated and angry.

It would have been so easy to say, “To hell with it all.” To him, it was a living nightmare.

However, there was one satisfaction—Judy was an ever-present help and asset. When things went wrong, she saw to it that they were righted. For the time being she was his patron saint—an island of hope in that sea of despair.

The pain was ever-present, too. Wherever he went, it was his constant companion. During the first couple days of school, the guys got their kicks out of “patting” him on his sore shoulder. However, their amusement quickly ended when they found that their little prank would double Kip over in agony. He needed the pills to dampen the pain. That was the only course left to him. He popped them at the rate of ten or more a day. Inwardly he was worried that he might become addicted to them, be­ cause he needed more and more to do the same job. However, the doctors assured him every­ thing was normal, and he shouldn’t take the pill problem too seriously. He would be able to taper off later when the pain lessened.

76

COMPLIMENTS OF —

On the whole, everyone treated him well.

At school he was somewhat of a martyr—a fallen hero. All of his peers respected him and tried to help him in whatever ways they could.

He was never at a loss for someone to help him carry his books or to open doors. The teachers were quite considerate also. Writing and study­ ing in general was a big hassle. They accepted the fact that he couldn't always keep up. Un­ til the cast was removed, Kip would be, to a certain extent, educationally handicapped.

Even the coaches went out of their ways to be nice to him. Coach Barker, the basketball coach, extended an invitation to Kip to attend the practices. Kip gladly accepted. It was nice to watch the sports he couldn’t participate in for the present. That way he wouldn’t be com­ pletely estranged from it. Of course, he longed to be out on the court, but Kip realized it was an impossibility. He also was allowed to travel with the team, lie became something of a mas­ cot in this regard a rallying point for the team.

It was good for him to be contributing in this way.

The cast was cut off in mid-December. The healing processes had progressed as well as could be expected. Now. the greater part of the burden would be on Kip’s shoulders. He alone could determine how much of a recovery there would be. To his chagrin, the doctors had been correct-he did need a complete muscle rebuilding program. His right side was utterly helpless. He would still be greatly handicapped for everyday tasks until such a program could be initiated.

The rebuilding program had to be begun at once. Kip could not afford further deteriora­ tion. That would have meant permanent damage.

The doctors advised a gradual transition to­ ward exercise. This meant orthopedic thera­ pists. For several weeks this was all that was allowed. No extra-curricular exercises or any­ thing. . .strictly visits to the therapist. With this man’s guidance, he was eased into an exer­ cise plan. It was a gradual, time-consuming

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WATERTOWN

satisfied with his progress so tar. Truly, they were amazed. His recovery was speeding along faster than they could ever have hoped or guessed. Yet, weight-lifting was not football.

The marked difference was apparent, and nothing could be surmised until the final test­ playing-was accomplished.

The months slipped past and his junior year was gone. Kip had aimed to be able to pick up the football by the end of the school year and accomplished just that. The doctors gave him the go-ahead. His shoulder strength was as close as it would ever be to normal. It was now or never.

It was a blessing having brothers instead of sisters. They were able to help him greatly in his comeback. They could run patterns and shag balls. They were a big help. Unfortunate­ ly, however, throwing was torture on his shoul­ der. Stretching those newly-mended muscles, ligaments, and tendons was murder. Weight­ lifting hadn't even suggested such agony. Ice packs were the order of the day—after every workout.

Week melted into week in the hot summer sun. The pain persisted. Kip consulted his battery of doctors. The verdict was the same all around-if he wanted to play football, the pain would always be there. There was nothing they could do. It was to be a fact of life for him.

With this sad revelation, the realization that he might have to give up the game and surren­ der to his injury came to him with jolting immediacy. It sacked him with the same ferocity No. 90 had. While pondering this, he appeared to be a broken man-confused and lost.

At length he arrived at a decision; he had come this far and was not about to give in now.

With finality he resolved to live with the pain.

However, this was not the only problem to plague him. Football camp was only a few weeks away, he knew he would be ready, but what about the team? Would they be willing to accept his recovery? Would they be willing to take the burden if he would be injured dur-

activity schedule. Already impatient because of his need to regain the use of his right hand, he became more so at the slow climb back to muscle tone.

After this rigorous diet of isometric exer­ cises designed at strengthening the muscles while the tissues mended at their own speed.

Kip was moved into a weight program. Here, too, patience was the key. At first he set too fast a pace and tore his newly-formed muscles.

This set him back a little riiore than a week, yet it did not quench his desire for a comeback. He was sure he could make it now, and having . learned the hard way not to rush things, he plodded ever onward.

Basketball season had passed some time ago, and now it was time for track. This meant a big decision for Kip: could he attain his comeback goals while practicing many hours for meets? Could he keep up his heavy exer­ cise schedule and attend track practice, too?

It wasn’t difficult to see that the answer to that question was “No, it couldn’t be done.”

But which sport should he choose? If he opted for track, there was the chance that he might not be ready for football in the fall. Naturally, there was also the probability that he would never be able to play football.

Night after night, he struggled with his dilemma. The coach made it known that he wanted him out for the team. They needed an anchor man. But, then, he doubted that Kip would ever be in football again. His parents provided little help in this respect also. His mother wished that he would promise never to pick up a football again, while his dad was rather non-coinmital, saying that he didn’t care what Kip decided as long as he didn’t get himself racked up permanently. Even Judy wouldn’t encourage him one way or the other.

It was a question which Kip had to tackle all alone.

After much grief, he decided that football was what he wanted: it would be football or bust. And, so, with that problem solved, he attacked his weight-lifting schedule with re­ newed vigor. The doctors had been extremely 78

ing the season and leave them in the hands of an inexperienced quarterback? These were questions he could not answer, but which had to be asked.

Three days before camp began he went to see the coach. He had been kicking around the new problems, and they refused to come to a resolution. The struggle was sapping strength which he truly needed for the maybe season.

Speculatively, the coach listened as Kip spilled his story. After awhile, the man smiled and told Kip to report to training camp. If he in-

deed was the best quarterback, he would get the job. It was a simple question of ability. If he wasn’t the best, he wouldn’t have to worry about such things.

Camp began August eighteenth. As August is accustomed to be, the weather was hot and muggy. While tricksters were frying eggs on the sidewalk, Austen’s football team was sweating out two-a-days. Kip had a head start on the other players; he had been practicing in the hot sun all summer. It was an advantage which was hard to.beat in the early going. It won him everyone’s respect.

To all the world it must have seemed that it was the old Kip Johnson quarterbacking the Austen Eagles. He hadn't lost his touch despite his injury. Both his passing as well as his timing 79

survived the incident equally well. True, it had taken a little speed from his ball and about five yards from his long bomb, but otherwise he appeared to be the same Kip Johnson, “The Field General.” With his passing and smooth execution he was a shoo-in for the starting job and even for a repeat berth on the all-star team.

That was the way it looked, but that was far from the way it was. Kip was in constant pain as he began a long and grueling season.

That pain was not meant to decrease, cither.

The opposing teams knew his weakness and were out to exploit it. It was the natural thing to do. While the winning season seemed to pass so quickly for the fans, it was an arduous jour­ ney for Kip. Each step onto the playing field threatened to be his last-more painful than the first.

Before the first game the coach had made the special point that no one but no one was to reach the quarterback. In defense of the offensive line, it can be said that they sur­ passed even their own expectations and did not allow many to slip through. To Kip the coach had said that if anyone did get past the front wall of blockers, he should dump off the ball and hit the deck. The coach knew what a valu­ able commodity a Kip Johnson was and also realized that he couldn’t afford to lose him.

The season progressed and the Austen Eagles were thrilling their fans game in and game out. Kip was the star on center stage— he was guiding the team toward an unprece­ dented unbeaten season. He fractured every record in the Austen book and established others. Scouts were coming in from all over the nation; the college system was interested in this high school phenomenon.

The season boiled down to a rematch with Loyola for conference honors. Spirits were high throughout the area. It promised to be an excellent game.

Loyola possessed the home-field advantage, but that meant little, since Austen was bringing fans in by the busload. By game time the stands were filled to overflowing. The weather was ideal. It was a beautiful autumn daycrisp and clean, with a blue sunny sky. The wind rustled the leaves briskly, but would not be a major factor.

Two teams staring the conference cham­ pion in the face were about to knock heads.

Loyola wanted to retain their first place stand­ ing, and Austen was determined to knock them off their pedestal. Kip himself met the en­ counter with mixed emotions: he wanted to beat Loyola badly, but also didn't want to get hurt, since it would be the last game of the season. He was still painfully aware of his struggle against pain.

The game was a knock-down, drag-out affair, typical of high school rivalry. No holds were barred. Everything was up for grabs in this single two-hour exchange. The score, was tied, 7-7, at the end of the first quarter. Both teams had begun their possessions with long, hard-fought touchdown drives. By the time half-time intermission arrived, Austen had engineered another long march and was leading 14-7. The third quarter marked a shift of momentum, with Loyola on the receiving end.

They scored an easy touchdown early in the period and were driving toward another as the quarter ended. The Austen fans were nearly hysterical. They were screaming and yelling encouragement to their team, which for the moment seemed to be folding.

Heads-up football was what the Austen coach called it. Loyola's fullback had broken into the secondary and was high-tailing it for the end zone when out of nowhere Austen’s safety man raced in for an exceptional openfield tackle. The ball squirted out of the full­ back’s stunned hands, and suddenly the ball belonged to the other team. Austen had the ball with eight minutes and twenty-three seconds left to break the tic. The football was on their own twelve-yard line.

Kip sensed that this was it, the chance he had been waiting for. On first down he called for a long pass and connected for a thirty-yard gain. From then on he was content to keep the ball on the ground and wind down the time.

Gradually, the Eagles inched down the field: grudgingly, Loyola yielded.

With thirty seconds remaining, the ball was

on the eleven. The time was now. Kip called a time-out and jogged over to the sidelines to consult his coach. They had to go for the TD, their norm ally-sure footed kicker had sprained his ankle on the last kick runback. It was strictly an all-or-nothing proposition. Passing was the only answer. They could bore their way into the end zone on the ground, but it would take more than the allotcd time.

The decision made, Kip hustled back into his huddle. He would keep his fullback in for protection, but everyone else was going out.

The primary receiver would be the split end crossing along the end line. It called for per­ fect execution. No time for interceptions or overthrows.

The team lined up for the play. Kip barked out the signals—31.. .16.. .24. Immediately ■ the ball was in his hands. The outcome of the game fell on his shoulders—injured or not. Kip followed his split end down the field with his eyes. The comerback was playing too close for comfort. He shifted his gaze to his secondary receivers. Then, he saw him. The fullback he had told to stay to help with the blocking had drifted out and was wide open. All he had to do was hit him.

Simultaneously, Kip noticed his protection was crumbling. Without the fullback in to pick up the strays, Kip knew he didn’t have a chance of not getting hit. Everything would be won or lost on this throw. He might not have another shot. Kip cocked his ami and stepped up into the sagging pocket. Momentarily the ball was gone. Just as it slipped off his fingers, a line man hit him. He didn’t have a chance to brace himself against the rushing defensive men. The ball sailed wildly in the direction of his fullback. Kip, however, was not allowed the luxury of watching its path. He couldn’t know if it attained its target, for precisely at that moment a steam-roller wearing jersey No. 80 flattened him.

The crowd roared. Jubilation burst forth on the Austen sidelines. For a few seconds Kip knew he had achieved his goal. However,

80

Everything seemed to be okay. He flexed his right arm. It still appeared unscathed. He was dumbfounded that such a hard hit had not phased him. Someone must be looking after me, he thought. Happily, he tried to get up, but found he couldn’t.

he was not in any position to celebrate his achievement. The crowd grew silent as it noticed the motionless figure lying on green turf. The coaches, caught napping, rushed out.

Slowly, Kip figured out what had happened.

He touched his shoulder and felt along his arm.

DAVID PAYNE

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM flpiis month the Campus and Classroom team ^'was troubled by a peculiar problem. We came up with so many terribly funny ideas that we had to throw some out. In order to decide which ones to toss out, we submitted them to our editor. First he wanted to throw the two of us out, but then realized that he had already completely scraped the bottom of the barrel to find us. Instead, he threw out the following • comedy ideas, none of which our readers will ever see in print: Limitations of the professors in TV ■’shows and commercials (too original).

2. Memorable moments in President Toppe’s symbolics class (excessive amount of material).

3. Bologna sandwich.

4. Jokes.

5. The new Greek play, “Homer On the Range.”

6. Thursday Night Live in the faculty meeting.

7. The real joys of being a kitchie.

8. Faculty-student discussion on Dolly Madison in the canteen.

9. The other idea will not be mentioned here, lest someone die of laughter (or the C & C editors die by stoning).

Upon surveyance of last month’s Black and Red, we found that the Activities Editor for­ got to mention some of the most prominent organizations on campus. Lest any of these organizations feel this was a malicious con­ spiracy on the part of the entire staff, we offer the following clubs their proper recognition.

The NUWTA, New Ulm-Watertown Travel Agency, is the first group to be cited. They have been operating in the shadows for in­ numerable years. The heads of the agency are Tutor Brenner and his counterpart in their western office, Mrs. Siegler. For men interested in the group, they have three types of fares to accommodate the individual traveler. Their “Get-me-to-the-church-on-time” fare is for those who already have that one special girl in mind. Each vehicle carrying men of this type is equipped with a jewelry store, a floral shop, a frame to hang an 8 x 10 of your sweetheart, and a parachute to let you down out of the clouds gently on the return flight.

A second fare, the “Get-me-out-of-it-ontime” rate, is for those going for a blind date.

Each of these vehicles is equipped with sun­ glasses, a seeing-cye dog, a walking cane, and 81

side. Every noon they have a meeting at which they test each other’s eyesight, and quiz each other on the names of their prey. One item of bad news has dealt the club a serious blow. In an early-season news bulletin from the man with the cigar, they were informed that no screens could be removed from the windows.

This has caused much complaining from veter­ an members, but the frosh claim that highpowered binoculars work even through screen wires.

a tape recorder (which keeps repeating: "She's really a nice girl, and she can cook!"). Also included is a pamphlet describing things to do in New Ulm (divided into two parts: one is places to take her, the other is places to go alone if she’s not so nice), a book of first lines that never fail-either way (depending on how she looks), and a rope-to snag her heart, or to hang the guy that set you up.

Their "Get-me-to-the-plains-on-time” fare is especially for those who are going west just "because it’s there." These vehicles are equipped with everything a buffalo hunter might need, including a genuine buffalo gun, a fake mustache to make you look more like a man, a buffalo call (much like a duck call, except when you blow into it, a voice says, "Hey, buffalo, wanna get lucky?”), a copy of last year’s DMLC yearbook, and a scouting report on new game. The NUWTA has already been quite busy this year. However, a reliable source has reported that the agency’s admin­ istration is prepared for the slow business which usually comes when our freshmen find out what our social life is all about.

The Procrastinators’ Club will be meeting sometime in the future. Any new members wishing to join are asked to make applications as soon as possible. Tom Pankow, President since the founding of the club, when asked about his long tenure in office, was quoted as saying, "We were supposed to have an election every year, but we’ve never gotten around to it."

The club has a meeting scheduled for every Monday evening, but they never meet until Tuesday night One of the big projects of the group was to write the book, The Last Night Term Paper. The book was completed three months behind schedule, but the question of publication has been indefinitely tabled. Here are a few of the club’s other projects: -the bell tower -college biology room -unveiling of Prof. Kirst’s telescope -accreditation —revamping of the Music-Auditorium -fixing the campus heating system The Hawkers Club has been very busy this year. Their headquarters have been shifted from the west side of Wartburg to the east

Here’s a guide we thought might prove helpful to our fellow students throughout the courses of the school year. The ideas given below were published in the booklet, “707 Tilings to Do in a Classroom to Stay Awake. ” We have singled out just some of the best suggestions for you to use.

No. 6: Hum along with Watertown High School’s marching band.

No. 17: Calculate your predictions for this week’s pro football games.

No. 23: Watch men at work on the bell tower.

No. 32: Estimate and graph the noise level in decibels in each professor’s class.

No. 41: Try to figure out what Dr. Leh­ mann is looking at in the back of the room.

No. 62: Dream up a fool-proof excuse that even the Excuse Committee couldn’t refuse.

No. 69: In a fourth hour class, plan your fastest route to the dining hall.

No. 73: Experiment in aerodynamic design (make paper airplanes).

No. 75: Count the number of pictures containing Luther in Room 27.

No. 81: Plan an escape from "Stalag 17.”

No. 88: Play battleship with your neigh­ bor.

No. 97: Steal the jimmy from the guy behind you just when: a) he’s called on. b) you’re called on.

No. 101: take notes (last resort).

82

-college guys hung out of the windows, not coeds?

-the COW award was for “Coed of the Week,” not “Collegiate of the Week”?

- the big TV show was Star Trek, not Charlie’s Angels?

-Special I’s (remedials) were a handful of Latin 01 students?

-“Quit yourself’ meant give up?

-having a stereo meant having two transis­ tors in one room?

-greasing was something you did to your hair?

-people read the Black and Red? -Campus and Classroom was funny?

Fall has fallen along with all the leaves and all our grades. And what big event does that bring to everyone’s mind? No, not quarter break or even the premiere of the new televi­ sion season, and not Muhammed Ali’s thirtythird “boring fight of the century.’’ Rather, our thoughts are focused on Homecoming.

This means that many alumni will be returning to Northwestern’s campus after a long absence.

We sat back to think of things that had changed here in the past few years, and here are a few examples. Remember when: - Wartburg was a college dorm?

—the Preps lived in East Hall?

JERRY EWINGS and DAVE HUEBNER

Why~ Why don’t the stars fall from the sky?

Why do people have to die?

Why did Timmie break my bike?

Why didn’t he break my brother’s trike?

Why is a bird able to fly?

Why can't the dog have a piece of pie?

Why can’t I fly out of the tree?

Why didn't God make wings on me?

Why Why Why Why

can’t I see the wind with my eye? isn’t water ever dry? don't you answer, won’t you try? do I hiccup, why. Daddy, why?

Why Why Why Why

is a word only three letters long. is a word you can’t answer wrong. is a word so easily asked. is the answer such a task?

PHILIP HENSELIN

83

import* 3fn America

'TIThis latest of James Michener's works sets ^■'out to explore the multi-faceted subject of sports and their place in American society.

As far as it is possible for such a diversified subject to be treated in any single volume, Michener has succeeded.

The motivation for Sports came from the author’s love for sports of all kinds and from the conviction that twice in the past, sports have saved his life. As a result, though at times saddened or outraged at the corruption in or the deficiency of sports as we know them, the tone of Michener’s comments remains posi­ tive. At no time is his outlook fatalistic or supportive of the idea that sports have out­ lived their usefulness. His aim is to alert people to both the current condition of amateur and professional sports and the possibilities which exist for change and improvement.

At a glance. Sports displays the most noticeable Michener trademark, length. Though not in the same rank as the thousand-page Hawaii and The Source, the book contains a respectable 576 pages. For anyone acquainted with the author’s previous works, the source of Michener’s verbosity is readily recognizable—he loves detail. The documentation and research that has gone into Sports are exhaustive. In each instance two or three illustrations of situa­ tions being discussed are provided. The charac­ teristics of the American sports scene which are treated range from an appraisal of the intrin­ sic value of various sports to a study of the people and methods used to finance and regu-

late sports on all levels. Though at times his detail makes for somewhat laborious reading, the criticism irrelevant is not justifiable.

In his discussion of American sports, the ideals which Michener proposes are based on three criteria: 1) sports should be fun for the participant, 2) sports should enhance the health of both the individual participant and the general public, 3) sports have an obligation to provide public entertainment. The author compares his ideals with the prevailing con­ ditions and suggests what he hopes would be a feasible plan for implementing his ideal or some reasonable compromise.

Michener does not limit his scope to the world of the super-jock. One of his biggest complaints is the lack of participation by the general public. Lifetime sports are recom­ mended as the best way to improve the general health of the nation. On one page a table suggests a number of sports which can be actively enjoyed by various age groups and which suggests a program of participation which provides a gradual decrease in the amount of physical stress required by each sport as a person's age increases.

I did not find Sports to be as memorable a book as The Source, but it was certainly worthwhile reading. To anyone interested in the “wide world of American sports” I'm sure Sports in America would prove interesting and informative. Sports, now available in paperback, is printed by Fawcett Crest.

GREG OTTERSTATTER 84

AUTUMN SPECTRUM Autumn spectrum Running From heady summer To arms of winter, Bounding With flaming eyes, Cheeks flushed and Glowing Prom the first frost; Life left behind.

FindingThe sun weaning.

Beyond the ice Knowing Of the promised spring.

BRIAN DOSE

ALUMNI call to St. Matthew’s of Oconomowoc, WI. He was installed September 18, 1977.

-Rev. Louis Meyer, Jr. (’54), accepted a call to St. John congregation of Fox Lake, WI, and was installed on July 10. He had previously been serving St. John, Benton Lake, MN. -Rev. William Gabb (’63), accepted the call to serve as the Dean at Northwestern Pre­ paratory School, Watertown, WI. No date has been assigned for his installation at this time.

-Rev. Charles Leannan (’72), formerly serving St. John, Jefferson, WI, accepted a call to Lord of Life, Houston, TX. His installation took place on September 18, 1977.

—Rev. Gerhardt Lambrecht (’63), accepted a call to teach at Wisconsin Lutheran High School, Milwaukee, WI. His former congrega­ tion was Trinity, Marshfield, WI.

TYlc t0 great length of the Alumni News in this issue, there will be no formal para­ graph. I will let the news speak for itself.

However. I feel there must be an explanation for the lack of an Alumni column in the first issue this year. This absence was due mainly to the needed re-organization of the filing sys­ tem and mailing processes. We of the Black and Red would like to thank you for your patience in this respect and promise that there will not be a repeat performance. Also, we are glad to once more include the Sem Notes. Thank you, seminarians.

CALLS —Rev. Kent Schroeder (’63), formerly serving Faith, Antioch, IL, has accepted a 85

1977. He presently serves St. Paul, Bangor, WI. -Prof. Carleton Toppe ('34), observed the 40th anniversary of his ordination on Octo­ ber 9, 1977. He is now serving as President of Northwestern College.

—Prince of Peace congregation of Thousand Oaks, CA, will celebrate its 10th anniversary on October 16, 1977. It is served by Rev. Jerome McWaters (’71).

—Emanuel congregation ofTawasCity, MI, celebrated their centennial on August 21, 1977.

It is served by Rev. James Rockhoff (’52).

-Immanuel, Manitowoc, WI, observed its 50th anniversary on July 10, 1977. Rev. Glenn Unke (’51), serves the congregation.

-St. Lucas of Kewaskum, WI, celebrated its centennial on August 21, 1977. It is pre­ sently served by Rev. Paul Hoenecke (’52).

-St, Matthew, Pound, WI, will observe its centennial on October 9, 1977. Rev. William Beslcr (’64), serves there.

-Rev. Frederick Fallen (’61), accepted a call to St. Paul, Arlington, MN, and was installed on July 17, 1977. He formerly served Divinity congregation of St. Paul, MN. -Rev. Robert Diener (’67), formerly of St. James, North Branch, MI, accepted a call to be Campus Pastor as well as Institutional Minister in Oshkosh. He was installed Septem­ ber 15, 1977.

-Rev. Howard Festerling (’65), was com­ missioned at St. John, Bay City. MI, as mission­ ary to Indonesia on September 18, 1977.

-Rev. Wallace E. Gaulke (’62), formerly of Salem, Sturgeon Bay, WI, accepted a call to both Immanuel, DePere, WI, and St. Paul, Greenleaf, WI. He was installed on August 7, 1977.

-Rev. Robert Plcss (’68), received a call to St. John, Princeton, WI, and was installed on August 28, 1977. He had been serving a congregation in Bismarck, ND. -Rev. Thomas Liesener (’67), formerly of Peace, Granger, IN, accepted a call to Trinity, Brillion, WI. His installation took place on September 11, 1977.

-Rev. Eugene Ahlswedc (’59), who had served Salem, Colorado Springs, CO, accepted a call to Christ, Eagle River, WI. He was installed on September 25, 1977.

—Rev. Frederick Zimmerman (’70), former­ ly of Peace, Vancouver, WA, accepted a call to Risen Savior, Milwaukee, WI. He was installed on September 18, 1977.

DEDICATIONS -Divine Grace of Lake Orion, MI, dedi­ cated a new chapel on September 25, 1977.

Rev. Maurice Hoppe (’70), serves the congre­ gation.

-A new school was dedicated to the Lord on September 25, 1977, at Salem, Ann Arbor, MI. Rev. Lyle Hallauer (’38), currently serves there.

-Faith, Dexter, MI, dedicated its new school on September 18, 1977. Rev. John Huebner (’66), is the pastor.

-St. Paul congregation of Beverly Hills, FL, dedicated a new church building on Sep­ tember 18, 1977. Rev. Dennis Lemke (’70), serves the congregation.

A new church will be dedicated to the Lord on October 9, 1977, at St. John, Pardeeville, WI. Rev. Ronald Uhlhorn (’58), presently serves the congregation.

Fox Valley Lutheran High School, Appleton, WI, dedicated a million-dollar addition on October 2, 1977. Rev. Wayne Borgwardt (’57), is principal.

-St. John congregation of Two Rivers, WI, dedicated its new pipe organ on June 19, 1977.

Rev, F.dward Stelter (’54), and Rev. Martin

ANNIVERSARIES -Rev. Daniel Gieschen (’49), observed both the 25th anniversary of his ordination and his 10th year at St. Stephen, Adrian, ML -Rev. Warren Steffenhagen (’49), observed both the 25th anniversary of his ordination and of his marriage. He currently serves the congregations of St, Paul, Oconto Falls, WI, Our SaviQr, Lena, WI, and St. Mark, Lena, WI. -Rev. David Worgull (’49), celebrated the 25th anniversary of his ordination and his marriage. He is presently- the principal of Manitowoc Lutheran High School.

—Rev. Reginald Siegler (’34), will observe his 40th year in the ministry on October 16,

86

MINAR

Scheele (’62), serve as pastors.

-A chapel and parsonage were dedicated a\ Faith, Marquette, MI, on July 10, 1977.

-Messiah, Shiocton, WI, will dedicate a new church building to the Lord on Octo­ ber 23, 1977. Rev. Timothy Meier (’72), serves this congregation.

-Grace, St. Joseph, MI, dedicated a new organ on September 18, 1977. Rev. Ronald Freier (’54), is the pastor.

OFFICE AND SCHOOL SUPPLY

Typewriters — Calculators Sales — Service — Rental School and Art Supplies 407 Main

the

RETIREMENTS

WATERTOWN 261-3671

FEED BAG SUPPER CLUB

-Rev. Frederick Brandt (’19), retired from the active ministry on September 1, 1977.

He had been a pastor at St. Paul, Appleton, WI. -Rev. Paul Kuskc (’26), retired from the active ministry at St. John, Glencoe, MN. He is residing in Watertown, WI.

- FEATURING STEAKS — BARBECUED RIBS SEAFOOD, etc.

— Noon Luncheons Daily — 121 W. Main Street Watertown

DEATHS

MALLACH PHARMACY

-Rev. Ruben Kettenacker (’30), of St. Paul, Marshall, WI, passed away on Septem­ ber 18, 1977.

—Rev. Norbert Paustian (’29), of St. Matthew, Oconomowoc, WI, died on July 14, 1977.

-Prof. Tlieo. Binhammer, em. (’17), passed away on July 3, 1977.

—Rev. Frederick Bergfeld (’30), of St. John, Phelps, WI, and Bethany, Bruce Crossing, MI, died on September 30, 1977.

INC. Gerald Mallach, R.Ph. Michael Chandler, R.Ph. Richard Kilmer, R.Ph. Ralph Varsho, Intern

MARRIAGES

315 Main St.

-Rev. Steven Korth (’73), who presently serves our congregation in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, was united in marriage with the former Anne Rakos of Tacoma, WA, at St, Paul, Tacoma, WA, on June 26, 1977.

Phone 261-3717

WATERTOWN

SHERWIN-WILLIAMS PAINTS

BIRTHS

PAINTS and WALLPAPER DRAPERIES and CARPETS

-Rev. and Mrs. Christian Sulzle (’72), were blessed with a son, John Llewellyn, on June 8, 1977. Rev. Sulzle serves our congre­ gation in Pullman, WA. -Rev. and Mrs. Jon Mahnke (’61), were blessed with a son, Nathan Joel on July 25,

Phone 261-4062

302 Main Street Watertown 87

Laabs of Cedarburg, WI. -Tim Johnston (’76), engaged to Mary Schweitzer.

-Marcus Bode (’73), engaged to Karen Pomerenke of Bloomington, MN.

1977. He serves our congregation at Carls­ bad, CA. -Rev. and Mrs. Charles Leannan (’72), were blessed with a baby son, David Mark, on September 3, 1977.

-Rev. and Mrs. Philip Krieger (’73), were blessed with the arrival of a son, Jonathan Paul, on August 7, 1977.

MISCELLANIA -Rev. and Mrs. George Ferch (’71), of East Wenatchee, WA, adopted a baby boy, Nathan, in September of this year.

—The California Lutheran High School began its first year of operation on Septem­ ber 12, 1977. Rev. Milton Burk (’45), is the principal.

SEM NOTES —David Farley (’76), engaged to Winifred Ericson of St. Paul, MN. -Marc Frey (’76), engaged to Elaine Smith of Adrian, MI. -David Carlovsky (’76), engaged to Debbie Voss of Libertyville, IL. —David Meister (’77), engaged to Connie Guctzlaff of Watertown, WI. - Beck Goldbeck (’75), engaged to Jacque Thrash of Phoenix, AZ. -Mark Porinsky (*74), engaged to Carolyn Kuecker, Caledonia, MN. -Marcus Manthcy (’74), engaged to Barbara Brenner of Bay City, MI. -Thomas Schulz (’74), engaged to Debra Ronnie of Glendale, AZ. -James Lindloff (’74), engaged to Stephanie Kell of Watertown, WI. -Jim Mattek (’77), engaged to Sue Hartwig of Green Bay, WI. -Mark Smith (’77), engaged. to Linda Peregrine of Oconomowoc, WI. -Bill Schaefer (’77), engaged to Judy Manske of Muskegon, WI. -Dan “Dorf” Myers (’76), engaged to Peggy Jeffers.

-Rod Pudell (’76), engaged to Debbie

MARRIAGES -Dale Raether (’74), was united in mar­ riage with Mary Hatzung on June 26, 1977.

-David Hein (’76), was united in wedlock with Rebecca Hartwig on July 17, 1977.

-James Bare (’76), was united in marriage . with Patricia Schaefer on June 1 1, 1977.

-Bill Heiges (’75), married Paula Mattek on June 18, 1977.

—Jeffrey Berg (’76), married Karen Schlicht on June 18, 1977.

-Dan Simons (’76), married Maria Alba on June 4, 1977.

—Mark Haefner (’76). wedded Jane Schultz on June 16, 1977.

—Jim Bourman (’76), married Hope Monthie on July 2, 1977.

—Alan Gumm (’76), married Carolyn Degnitz on August 6, 1977.

—Mark Schroedcr (’77), wedded Andrea Kuester on July 23, 1977.

-Robert Rhyne (’77), married Melissa Bruce on June 18, 1977.

-Tom Klusmeyer (’76), wedded Nancy Nate on June 17, 1977.

-Mark Sattler (’75), married Linda Thrams on August 13, 1977.

BIRTHS -Mr. ad Mrs. Allen Lindke (’74), were blessed with the gift of a baby daughter, Anna Michelle, on May 7, 1977.

—Mr. and Mrs. Greg Stahlecker (’74), were blessed with the gift of a daughter, Jessica Marie.

-Mr. and Mrs. Philip Schupmann (’73), were blessed with a baby girl, Melissa Marie, on September 2, 1977.

MISCELLANIA —Does Max recognize Der Papst???

88

-Robert Schumann wants to return to New Ulm, but not as a tutor. However, he can't remember why.

-Mark Guthmiller finally asked a female out—she accepted and enjoyed herself.

-Rumor has it that Bill Schaefer is eating alone these days.

-Mike Hintz seems to be starring in his own soap opera. His love life is working double time!!!

Lee Punke—in reference to the dubious wisdom of his decision to return from Ger­ many to attend Sem-says, “The average man’s judgment is so poor, he runs a risk every time he uses it. (cf. Ed Howe)”

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ATHLETIC SUPPLIES

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Phone 261-5402 LETTER JACKETS

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NORTH AMERICAN AGENT Watertown

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'Wannest'a ACCUTRON - BULOVA WATCHES KEEPSAKE & ART CARVED DIAMONDS 111 Main St.

261-1671

ROGER'S TV & APPLIANCES Hitachi — Sylvania Stereo & TV Norge, Gibson & Hotpoint Appliances Kitchen Aid Dishwashers Corning Ranges 402 Main Watertown Phone 261-3385

Hostess Ask for HOSTESS Cakes, Donuts, Fruit Pies and Pastries at your canteen

Electric Wiring Service Electrical Contractors Watertown 261-3755 Oconomowoc 567-7566 Hartland 367-6008

A. KRAMP COMPANY MATADOR • HORNET • GREMLIN PACER 615 Main Street Watertown, Wis. Phone 261-2770

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Phone 261-3880

Edward E. Hotter Realtor & Broker FARMS - HOMES BUSINESSES GENERAL INSURANCE

428 South Church St. — Watertown, Wis. 53094

0C0N0M0W0C Savings & Loan "SAVINGS TIME IS ANYTIME" 808 East Main Street Watertown, Wisconsin

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Co-Mo Photo Company Photo Finishing — Cameras Black and White — Color “We Process Films” 217-219 N. 4th Street Watertown Phone 261-3011

WARREN-SCHEY House of Music MUSIC-INSTRUMENTS PIANOS—ORGANS 261-8644

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M&l Bank of Watertown "The Latest m Motion Pictures” 308 E. Main Street (414) 261-1692 WATERTOWN, WIS. 53094

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Phone 261-2218

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SCHUETFS Radio & TV

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city Tf*he sun blazed brightly in a cloudless sky.

■ Unmetcifully it beat down with the force of a hammer against an anvil, setting the desert aflame, infusing its very sands with burning, qjenchless firs. Waves of shimmering heat rote to obscure the distant horizon. Mo stunted tree, no gnarled bush, not a single blade of dry. yellowed grass existed here, only the sand, white-hot, piled into immense dunes or swirled by a hot, fitful breeze, rolling out in every direction like a huge, white carpet until it seemed that the entire wodd must be nothing but r. floor of flainir.g sand beneath a relent­ less, flaming eye.

Through the eternal monotony staggered a man. His dark, close-cropped hair was matted against his fevered brow. A stained and torn linen tunic with short sleeves covered his lean, muscular frame, leaving his legs bare but for the sandals whose straps wound uo to his knees.

Over his shoulder was slung an almost empty water bag, and about his waist was a wide leather belt from which there hung, in a weather-beaten scabbard, the short stabbing sword of a Roman soldier.

He struggled up a high dune and paused at the summit. Gaius Marcellus Flavius, late of the army of Marcus Crassus, sole survivor, as far as he kr.ew, of the ill-fated Parthian cam­ paign into the deserts of the East, drew an un­ steady hand across his eyes. Looking out across the trackless white wastes he muttered a curse that was more than half a prayer. Gods, was he thirsty! Swinging the water bag in front of him, he grabbed it with both hands.

holding it over his mouth and wringing out every precious drop of liquid, but there wasn’t enough to even wet his parched, cracked lips.

In disgust he flung the thing away, then fell heavily to his knees. Waves of despair engulfed him. After surviving so many battles, not the least of which was the rout by the bloodcrazed Parthians, after his frenzied flight and long journey, to die now so many lonely miles from the cool rivers and green, shaded groves of his Italian homeland, to succumb to so im­ personal ana uncaring an enemy as a desert; it all seemed so pointless. Marcellus fingered his sword hilt. Perhaps that way: a quick thrust, a moment’s pain, and then release from this sad futility. He drew out the sword, staring at its blood-encrusted edges. Yes, maybe that way.

Look eastward.

Tlie thought seemed to enter his mind un­ bidden, as it from an outside source. Eastward?

Marcellus directed his gaze the east, his hand shielding his eyes from the onslaught of the sun. There, on the horizon, shimmering against the sky, could he make out something?

It was on the farthest limit of his sight. He rubbed his eyes, then strained forward as :f thus to increase the range of his vision. Yes! Something was there, nearly indistinguishable, yet undeniably there.

A city— Marcellus shook his head savagely. Impos­ sible! Not even an idiot would build a city in the middle of this inferno. Yet he couldn’t dismiss the thought that it indeed was a city, with wide avenues, tall buildings, shaded arcontinued on page 98

THE BLACK AND RED l

NOVEMBER 1977 Volume 81, No. 4

Cover Story

City

W.E.L.S. and Communism

103

ACTIVITIES

105

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

107

The Nights Grow Long and Cold

110

Reggae Music? Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s That?

Ill

Whoops!

113

Caged

116

Alumni

119

ESTABLISHED 1897

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

, Gregory Schulz

MANAGING EDITOR

Don Scheuerlein

STAFF WRITERS

.Jeffrey Schallert Mark Rieke

t

David Payne

mmrni Entered at the Post Office at Watertown, Wisconsin, as Second Class Matter under the act of March 3, 1879. Second Class postage paid at Watertown, Wisconsin.

Published Monthly during the school year.

Brian Dose CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

Jerry Ewings David Huebner

ACTIVITIES

. David Kolander

ART

. . . Mark Wagner

BUSINESS MANAGER

. . Rick Johnson

CIRCULATION MANAGER

. . Timothy Kant

ADVERTISING MANAGERS

Greg Otterstatter Mark Wilde

printing by Mark Eckert

continued from cover

bors, people, animals, and -water. Clear, spark­ ling water, gurgling up from subterranean springs, running in swift streams, cold and in­ vigorating. No, he told himself, there’s no city, no water. It was merely a delusion, the des­ perate wish of a dying man, nothing more. And yetHe shrugged his shoulders fatalistically.

Maybe it was only a mirage, but it couldn't do any harm to head towards it. He rose to his feet, sliding the sword back into its scabbard again. At least it couldn’t be any worse a place to die than where he was. Taking a deep breath, the Roman set off in the direction of the thing that danced before his gaze like an alluring. bewitching dream.

The hours melted one into the other. The sun reached its zenith, then began to sink into the west. Weary and reeling the man walked on, impelled by his grim determination alone.

His shadow lengthened before him as he went.

By the time his shadow was three times his height Marcellus knew for certain that it actually was a city, or rather the remains of a city. The walls of the city had fallen, though, and there was no sign of life there at all. The sun had al­ most completely disappeared when Marcellus reached the ruins. Scrambling clumsily atop the rubble of the wall he surveyed the city in the fading light.

The city was dead, ravaged by the assaults of Time. Broken pillars tilted drunkenly against the darkening sky. Vast flags of stone had buckled, leaving the streets a jagged, tortured mess. There were hardly any buildings left standing, and those that were usually had only one or two walls intact. It had been a giant metropolis in its day, stretching out for miles.

Far away Marcellus thought he could discern one large, low building still in one piece, but it could have been a trick of the failing light. To Marcellus’ mind these ruins exuded an aura of extreme antiquity, the air of a city which had lain in ruin for centuries even when Rome had been nothing but a settlement of thatched huts

on the marshy banks of the Tiber.

The sun’s dying rays slanted through the wreckage. One blood red beam fell upon a circle of stones some fifty yards from the Roman, about four feet high. Marcellus’ gaze was riveted to it for half a minute before he let out a shout of triumph, leaped down, and raced toward it at breakneck speed, heedless of the treacherously loose rubble beneath his feet. He stumbled when he reached it, and pulled himself up to the rim and looked down at his face reflected three feet below.

When he had drunk his fill and washed his face and arms he began to look for a place to spend the night. By now the sun had set com­ pletely. Before the light was totally gone, Marcellus spied a place where enough was left of two walls of a house to provide a corner that would shield him from the wind. He stumbled to it. pulled his arms inside his tunic to keep them warm, and curled up to face the cold desert night. Almost at once he fell into a deep sleep.

98

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In a dream lie saw the oily as it once might have been, set not in a desert but in the midst of a lush, green forest. Lofty buildings lined the streets, with porches of marble set about by golden railings. Silken curtains covered the windows, into which had been sewn fine, color­ ful gems. Oaken tables were inlaid with lapis lazuli, beds and couches of cedar were filigreed with silver and copper, and bestrewn with colorful silks and huge pillows. Fluted pillars thrust their proud, golden crowns to the skies, and in various places were set statues so skillfully executed that they almost seemed to breathe with a life of their own.

The inhabitants of the city were of a noble race, tall people of a proud bearing. The women were lithe and graceful, clad in brightly colored dresses whose long, flowing skirts enhanced rather than hid their beauty. Their hair blew freely in the wind. The men were of an heroic mould, sinews of steel rippling be­ neath well-tanned skin. Their grey eyes were Filled with knowledge and wisdom. The child­ ren were perfect copies of their parents, re­ flecting all the handsome qualities of their forebears. There was no poverty or want in the city; those who had more possessions willingly shared with those who had less.

At the center of the city was a wide pool of water, fed by an underground spring and housed in an ornately decorated, circular building. From here a vast network of aque­ ducts, both above and below the ground, ran to various parks, gardens, and cisterns through­ out the city. It was this spring that supplied the water for the entire population. At dusk the women would gather at the cisterns to fetch water for their homes, their laughter filling the air, sparkling and clear.

In fact, laughter seemed to fill the city. The laughter of the women at the cisterns, the screams of delight from children playing in the streets, the soft giggling of lovers strolling in moonlit gardens, all combined to form an end­ less symphony of merriment. If water was the

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i

99

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lifeblood of the city, then laughter was its breath. Male and female, adult and child, each one was a reservoir of joy which welled up and burst forth in peals of laughter which echoed throughout the city.

But the world changed as the ages passed.

The forest disappeared to be replaced first by dry grasslands and later by a desert. The spring kept the city alive, but in the increasingly hotter climate many of the plants in the parks died. Disease broke out, ravaging the populace.

Those who survived the plagues were forced to leave their homes; the few who stayed soon died. Then silence fell on deserted streets and empty houses. The silence reigned for many ages as the foliage died and the city crumbled into disrepair and decay.

As he dreamed on, Marcellus was aware of a deep and lasting sadness that laid hold of him with almost tangible fingers. A cold wind wailed through the dead ruins, lamenting the tragedy of a city which was once so vital and alive. Loneliness hung over the lifeless homes and the quiet streets, a piercing, aching loneli­ ness, an emptiness so poignant that it seemed to constitute a presence that searched in vain for the city’s long-lost inhabitants, an ear straining unsuccessfully to catch the echo of long-stilled laughter.

With a start the Roman awoke. The sun was up, to his surprise, and it was almost midmorning. Yawning, he thrust his arms through his sleeves, then stood up, stretching like a tired lion. He turned, and froze in his tracks.

Sitting atop the wall which had sheltered Marcellus was a wrinkled, toothless old man, emaciated beyond belief, his dirty grey hair and beard in wild disarray. Nothing but a soiled, tom loincloth covered his gaunt and wiry frame. But what startled Marcellus the most about the filthy little man were his eyes.

From beneath a tangled shock of hair they peered out, wide pools of sheer lunacy and un­ endurable madness. Gaius Marcellus Flavius, who had gazed unflinchingly on the bloodiest fields of battle, fell back in horror under the scrutiny of those unblinking eyes.

Suddenly the apparition leaped toward him with a wild shriek. Marcellus jumped back. His

loot slipped in the nibble, and he tell sprawling.

The old man ran past him unchecked and dis­ appeared in another section of ruins, laughing at an insanely high pitch.

Shivering and sweating, Marcellus got back onto his feet. A fierce revulsion shook him, a feeling of overwhelming nausea mixed with not a little fear. Part of him wanted to follow the thing and kill it, put an end to its wretched existence. Another part wanted to bolt and run, get away from that haunted place. For a moment he stood in agonizing indecision, then with a strangled growl he drew his sword and started off after the gibbering, cackling thing.

The hunt led Marcellus toward the center of the city. Time and again his prey would appear behind one fallen obelisk or statue, only to be gone by the time the Roman could reach it. They were drawing closer to the low build­ ing which Marcellus had seen on the previous day, and which he assumed housed the spring which watered the city. As he crouched down behind the toppled and weathered statue of some ancient king or god, he saw the old man dart into a doorway and disappear in the shadows within. Quietly Marcellus crept up to the door and slipped in. The building was huge, stretching maybe a hundred yards across, and topped with a domed roof. A rather large section of the dome, near the center, had fallen in, and through the hole there streamed in a brilliant beam of sunlight. It illuminated the tranquil pool whose calm surface was broken only by the rubble of the crumbled roof. As he gazed in wonder, Marcellus heard a noise to his left. He swirled, and there was the old man, staring at him again, sitting against the wall.

But there was something different about the face this time. The man was mad, no question, but in the dim light his face looked weary, in­ credibly old and tired. The eyes were filled with tears.

Moved to sudden pity Marcellus lowered his sword. He knelt before the old man and addressed him in Greek, the universal tongue of the day, “Who are you?”

The aged eyes widened. Dried, wrinkled lips parted, and a rattling, gravelly voice issued forth, as if from a tomb, but it was only

100

COMPLIMENTS OF — babbling nonsensical syllables. Marcellus tried again. “Who are you, old man?"

A look of dim recollection crossed the old face. The mouth contorted itself, then answered in a barely understandable dialect of the same language, “I am. . .1, I am C-C'ritias.. of Macedon."

“Mow did you come here?" Marcellus asked softly.

The old man hesitated, as if puzzled about the question, then answered, “With the army.

With King Alexander. I was frightened. A battle frightened me and I lied here."

The Roman frowned in disbelief. “Alex­ ander of Macedon? He’s been dead for..."

His voice dwindled to a whisper. “For over two hundred years.. ."

He's a mad old wretch. Best to kill him.

“You can’t leave," mumbled the old man.

Marcellus looked up from his musing.

“What?"

Don't talk to him. Kill him.

“It won’t let you leave," sobbed the old man. “I know. 1 tried to leave. It wouldn’t let me.”

“Who wouldn’t let you? What are you talk­ ing about?”

Kill him! End his misery.

The old man looked up, hatred gleaming in his eyes. “This city! This damned, dead cityV' No! Not damned! Not dead!

“It keeps you here,” he went on, his voice growing louder. “It won't even let you die!”

Shaken, Marcellus stepped back from him.

He felt his muscles involuntarily tensing, and his grip on his sword becoming tighter. The old man grovelled on the ground, crying and tittering insanely. Once again, horror gripped the Roman.

Kill him!

The thought reverberated in his brain.

KILL HIM! With a choked cry Marcellus raised his sword and brought it down in a frenzy on the shape before him. The old man fell on his face, was seized by a convulsion, and then was still.

Marcellus swallowed hard. It wasn't true!

Nobody can live for over two hundred and fifty years. He stared at the lifeless mass at 101

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his feet; its skin was shrivelling up, falling away from the bones and turning to dust before his terrified eyes, as if the power that had some­ how kept it from decay for so long had now released its hold on it, averted its attention to...

Someone else.

Marcellus backed through the doorway trembling uncontrollably. He began to stumble away from the pool, gagging and choking.

Don't leave.

He stopped short. “Who said that?” he shouted. The ruined streets flung his words back at him in echoing mockery.

You mustn't leave.

He pushed with all his might. The muscles on his forearms stood out in quivering, agonized knots. He fought with frenzied abandon to push that point through his heart, while another power tore at his hands and wrists to loosen his grip.

The sword dropped from nerveless fingers.

Marcellus bent over, burying his face in his hands. "Please1." he cried.

You must stay. This city will live only if you arc here. Forever, Marcellus remained bent over. Sobs wracked his frame. Soon they became hysteri­ cal, gradually changing into torturous giggling coming from frothing lips, then into high-

Marcellus covered his ears with his fists.

You cannot leave.

The voice was inside his head, reverberating in his mind. In terror he began to run again.

Stop!

“No!” he cried.

STOP! In front of him a leaning pillar crashed into the street, bringing him up short. He turned to the right, where an empty pedestal toppled in his path. Wrenching himself to the left, he caught his foot on a rock and fell on his knees, dropping the sword in front of himself.

Sobbing he grabbed it and held the point against his chest.

No.

pitched, insane laughter, laughter which echoed from every corner and every standing wall, laughter which filled the city.

The sun blazed relentlessly in an unclouded sky. Beneath it, in the flaming furnace of the desert, a man staggered, clothed only in a torn white tunic with a faded red cross emblazoned on the chest. Reaching the top of a dune, he turned to gaze behind him, ever fearful of pur­ suit from the fanatical Moslem enemy. His

102

vision began to swim, and he fell to his knees, swaying wearily. He knew that he couldn't take another step, and would die here.

Look eastward. There's a city.

The thought rose unconsciously in his mind. Squinting, he gazed to the east. On the

very edge of his sight something shimmered and Hiekered in the rising heat. Perhaps it was a city.

He rose and began to walk reeling toward the vision that danced before his sight like an alluring, bewitching dream.

JEFFSCHALLERT

W€1L£> &nb Communism

Apme time ago I was talking to a friend ^^about the importance of keeping track of communism. Not being convinced, he replied that no members of our Wisconsin Synod were communists. I do not doubt that this state­ ment is true (even though there is a communist newspaper office only about eight blocks away from our Synod Administration Building).

Yet, communism has profound ramifications for the Wisconsin Synod.

One effect, perhaps the most noticeable one, that communism has had for W.E.L.S. is the fact that it closes doors for us as far as missions are concerned. We have no mission stations in the U.S.S.R., Albania, Czechos­ lovakia, Romania, Poland, Red China, Cuba, et alia. According to the 1971 Hammond World Atlas, the population of the abovelisted countries totals around 1.060 billion.

With the world population listed at 3.632 billion in the same atlas, the population of those countries is almost one-third of the total world population. Thus, communism has placed about one out of every three people out of reach of the Wisconsin Synod. Even if we had sufficient manpower and money to open a

new mission in one of those countries, the communist regime in power would not let us in. Indigenous clergy have enough trouble, to say nothing about expatriate missionaries.

Not only does Communism severely limit our mission opportunities, but also it might encroach upon our present mission fields. I am thinking particularly of the African sphere of activities. With all the political upheaval caused by communists and communist-inspired anarchists, I would not be surprised to see a situation occur in which our missions in Zambia and Malawi might be closed. The com­ munists have already taken over in Angola, Somalia, Ethiopia, Guinea, Congo-Brazzaville, and Mozambique. In the words of Dr. Schwarz, “External encirclement, plus internal demorali­ zation, plus thermonuclear blackmail, lead to progressive surrender.” Now let’s take a look at the United States. I myself (and the reader too, I imagine) am not worried about a communist takeover in our country. But to suppose that religious freedom and material prosperity in this country will continue indefinitely would be to adopt a naive, unrealistic stance which doesn’t take into account the historical prece-

103

dents of morally-declining nations. To quote a Russian proverb, “When it happens to you, you'll know it's true.”

Communism also has ramifications for us as individuals in the fact that many people suf­ fer because of communism. Scripture states, “Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering."

(Heb. 13:3). We cannot ignore the plight of those “in the red burning belly of the dragon," as Solzhenitsyn puts it. We cannot ignore those who are losing their lives, their health, ar.d their wealth. A small glimpse of what those in the dragon have gone through follows: acid baths; bites of bedbugs swarming over a tiedup person; deprivation of sleep, food, and water; hard labor in cold Siberia; fabricated court trials. Even more repulsive is the com­ munist foray into mind-destruction by brain­ washing and drugs. Since political deviation and religiosity are considered abnormal, com­ munists put politically-differing and religious people in psychiatric hospitals. And the worst

oppression that those in the dragon suffer is the suppression of religion. Imagine hundreds of Madalyn Murray O'Hairs and Anne Gaylors running around in our country trying to eradicate religion not only from the public but also from the private sphere.

In view of these ramifications, what can the Wisconsin Synod do about communism? Just what it is doing-preaching the Gospel. As Paul writes, “The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to tear down strongholds."

(II Cor. 10:4). These weapons are the Word of God. Where Christianity has the upper hand, Marxist-Leninism is bound to decline. As far as the individual is concerned, there are other ways to get involved. A primary one is study.

In this regard, the Christian Anti-Communism Crusade puts out an excellent bi-monthly newsletter. Our library has samples of it, al­ though they are not kept current. In the words of Dr. Schwarz, “Study is the best weapon against deceit."

ROBERT SMITH

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ACTIVITIES mood. A swiss steak meal with all the trimmings followed. Pastor Charles Clarey was the guest speaker. After this came the traditional speeches

by Coach Thompson and student body repre­ sentative, Mark Wagner. The emotional “Alma Mater” ended a very satisfying week..

Even amid the Homecoming hubbub, it wouldn't be easy to overlook the achievements of the Soccer Club. In only their second year of official league play, Coach Bruce Marggraf and his teammates stormed to a 7-3-2 record, good for third place behind Whitewater and Maranatha. Perhaps the highlight of the season was defeating Holy Redeemer twice, the last time with the help of three goals by NWC’s Pele, Keith Bilitz. What makes everything even rosier is the fact that only Coach Marggraf and fellow Senior, Jim Proeber, will be lost from the starting line-up next season. We should get even better!

The Cross Country team had a very inter­ esting month. Tops on the list was not making it to a meet with Carroll. Directions as to where the meet was to take place weren’t too clear, apparently, and Tutor Brenner’s crew ended up running against themselves.

Several days later, the harriers went to Carroll again. They made it to the right park, but the weather didn't cooperate, and cleat-sized hailstones caused the times to balloon. Still, the team managed a return to normalcy by taking 7th place in the prestigious 12-team Beloit Invitational, with Larry Gierach notching the 6th best time. On October 29th NWC hosted its last scheduled meet, finishing

^here’s no doubt about it. The month of October was dominated by Homecoming.

The highlights may have been the Soccer Club’s 4-2 thrashing of Milton and the football team's thrilling victory over DMLC, but there were many other events along the way.

The Frosh lived through Initiation, even with its two “Alumni” days, and are rumored to have developed an undying devotion for Commander Jon Voss. Rick Himm, Steve Schlicht, and Jerry Ewings proved they were the strongest men on campus in the nightly arm wrestling contests. And, as usual, the Fri­ day evening Pep Rally was a rousing success.

More about the Pep Rally-Greg Schulz's Jazz Ensemble unveiled their classy uniforms and their tremendous rendition of Maynard Ferguson’s “Eli’s Coinin'.” The Ensemble was continuing in its fine tradition, but one organi­ zation was coming into its own -the Mad Man Boogie Band. With Jeff Carter, Bob Smith, Greg Bork, A1 Lonnquist. Fred Krieger, and Dave Cooper as its members, along with the help of Tom Bauer, Scott Spaulding, and Mark Wilde, the band staged an unforgettable Mad Man-arranged production of “Star Wars”. The crowning achievement of the evening was the naming of Junior Larry Olson and Mary Portenier, a Sophomore at DMLC, as the King and Queen of the Homecoming festivities.

Finally, in regard to Homecoming, we can’t forget the banquet after the football game. The college band played several marches and a special “Tribute to Louis Armstrong” to keep the alumni, students, and friends in the festive 105

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3rd out of 5 teams. Gierach closed out his illustrious Cross Country career by knocking twenty-three seconds off the Aztalan course record with a four-mile time of 10:59.

“An enigma" might be the best description of the Trojan gridsters. We gained an impres­ sive 7-7 tie with a 21-13 victory over archrivals Maranatha and DMLC, respectively, but lapsed into dreamland while losing to a mediocre Northwestern-Roseville club, 30-8, and a down-and-out Lakeland team, 12-0. The defense has come alive admirably during the last half of the season, but the Trojans have failed to “put it all together" consistently.

Coach Thompson’s charges play their final game against Loras College on November 5th, marking the last game for Seniors Pete Panitzke, Phil Heyer, Tom Behnke, Jim Nelson, Nate Radtke, John Rucge, Mark Barenz, Jim Gauger, and captains Dave Voss and Keith Free.

Turning away from the sports world, we note that Forum Society President Bruce Becker is announcing that its annual Christmas program wll take place on Saturday night, December lltli, in the College Chapel.

Speakers will be Bruce Becker and Mark Schulz.

In charge of operations and directing the choir is Mark Freier.

On October 21st a Prep-College joint chapel service had the privilege of hearing Rev. Howard Festcrling, recently commissioned to the Southeast Asia mission field of Indonesia.

Though he has not yet served there officially, Pastor Festerling gave a thought-provoking slide lecture and brief talk on the task which lies before him. As a student body, in addition to our prayers for God’s support, we have set a mission offering goal of $1,500 for the In­ donesia mission program. We might here note that, as of October 26th, the offering totals already exceed $1,550.

Another service which was, indeed, our privilege to attend was the special service giving praise to God upon the commemora­ tion of President Toppe’s fortieth year in the ministry. The Rev. Reginald Siegler, a class-

Watertown

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106

mate of President Toppe’s, addressed the assembly of relatives, friends, students, and well-wishers, reminding us how blessed the feet

of those arc who bring the good tidings of God’s peace. We praise God for the many blessings He has given you, President Toppe.

DAVID KOLANDER

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM Syncsis-What did the devil say to Esis?

Zeugma (zoog-mah)-mother of Paul Zell.

Qome avid readers of this column may recall ^-'the Greek vocables we presented for Prof.

Spaude’s new Greek course. In this month’s issue we have been asked to print a list of the terms of grammar and rhetoric which will be used in translating the Greek. The following are definitions (with pronunciation helps where needed) of the terms coming up most often: Alliteration-group of newborn kittens.

Anacolouthon sister of Barbara Colouthon.

Anaphora--neither commanded nor forbid­ den.

Asyndeton (uh-sind-uh-tun)-what the Prof, did to make you stay up late.

Chiasmus—holiday in late December.

Cognate-Dorm Council president’s full name.

Ellipsis (uh-lip-sis)-What’s half a mouth, brother?

Euphemism-second singular of Iphcmism.

Forensic (for-en-sik)—stranger ill.

Heniadys-What did Hen die of?

Litotes—opposite of Darkotcs.

Metonymy-declined like Oxymoron-as bad as an oxy-idiot.

Praeteritio (pra-tuh-ri-te-oh)-What do wor­ shipers of the idol, Ritio, do?

Rhetorieal-to torical again.

Over the past years there have been argu­ ments concerning the necessity of our math class here at Northwestern. With the great variety of math backgrounds, added to by the growing number of specials, many people feel that we should have a test-out system. To help out the advocates of the test-out idea, we have come up with a sample test, which would separate the men from the boys.

MATHEMATICS PLACEMENT TEST I.

107

Multiple Choice. Check only one answer for each question.

1. (2+3) + 4 is an example of: a. numbers. b. parentheses. c. 9. d. All of the above. e. Some of the above. f. None of the above.

( ) 3. -32 is greater than 12. ( ) 4. 2 + 2 = 5. ( ) 5. Algebra is everything you wanted to know about sets, but were afraid to ask. ( ) 6. Cubed roots are a gourmet pre­ paration of asparagus. ( ) 7. 2 + 2 = 3. ( ) 8. Logarithms are what loggers dance

2. If a boy has 2 quarters and 3 dimes, he: a. is poor. b. is rich. c. has more dimes than quarters. d. is going to the canteen. e. None of the above.

3.

1492 and 1776 are: a. multiples of 2. b. multiples of each other. c. famous years. d. adjacent rooms in the Warsaw Hil­ ton. c. Insufficient data given.

to.

( ) 9. A right angle is bigger than a line. ( ) 10. 2 + 2 is an example of the distribu­ tive axiom.

III. Word problems. Answer 3 of 5.

4. Complete the following series: o

a. b. c. d. e.

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1. A man left the grocery store to go home. He walked 5 blocks north, 13 blocks west, 4 blocks north, and 2 blocks west. If the wind was blowing SW at 7 mph, how many children did the man have at home?

None of the below.

14. red.

2. be or not 2,2,2,2,2 be.

2. Cheyenne, Wyoming is 425 miles due west of Omaha, Nebraska; Carlsbad, New Mexico is 550 miles due south of Cheyenne. Calculate the distance from Watertown to New Ulm.

5. An example of an empty set is: a. Bjorn Borg-0, Jimmy Connors-0. b. girls at Northwestern College. c. having all your Kretzmanns stolen. d. motorcycles on campus. e. Dave Kolandcr’s funny jokes.

3. Plot and graph the following on a co­ ordinate axis: the earth, a car, and lumberjacks’ tools.

6. -r is the symbol for: a. Division. b. the Wisconsin Synod. c. band’s percussion section. d. bacon and eggs (aerial view). e. Half of the above.

I

A recent poll was taken among the North­ western student body in which each student was asked to name the oldest edifice on cam­ pus. Some of the answers given were: what’s an edifice? the school seal; Martin Luther; books; homework; Prof. Schroeder. But the correct answer, of course, was the old gym, built in 1912. The building has borne several names, most recently known as the MusicAuditorium or Arniegic Hall. Last spring a new face was added to the old place, and reno­ vation continued all summer. But recently a new problem has cropped up. It seems well

7. A radical equation is: a. Make love not war. b. an equation submitted by the ALC. c. V5x^T = 2x. d. an equation that's anti-establish­ ment. e. The above.

II. True-false. Mark true (+) or false (0). () 1. 2 + 2 = 4. ( ) 2, Interest rates on house loans are high.

108

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over half of the students feel the Music-Audi­ torium is not open often enough for their use.

They feel that the Music-Auditorium is locked in chains and doesn't allow for popular stu­ dent use. Longer hours were requested and emotions were at a fever pitch. In order to get at the core of the matter, a Faculty-Student discussion was held. The dorm council didn’t know which faculty member would have the most information about the problem, but finally settled on asking Dean Lindemann to lead the discussion. After making his presenta­ tion, the Dean threw the meeting open for questions. Both students had several. Although no accurate minutes were kept, here is the way one person viewing the affair remembered it: Dean L: Are there any questions?

Prof. Lehmann: If we open the MusicAuditorium more, won't the students just want to use it more?

Dean L: Yes, 1 think that was the general idea.

AOL: Well, then, I just wanted to indicate one thing. The only people who will be allowed to represent themselves in my hall must belong to the chorus or to the band. To maintain the rule I’m going to institute a system of ID cards-band members will be photographed in their flashy, new 1954 uniforms, and chorus members will weartheirmaroon I mean, red with black stitching-robes in their mug shots. Only the people with one of these ID's will be given entrance.

Dean: Oh, no. Not so fast! We have a recruitment program with singers, too.

These men will need to use the musical facility too.

AOL: If you check the handbooks buried in the stacks in the library, you'll see that my rule is backed up by years of precedents.

Jeff See low: What would you do for supervision?

Dean: I would get super strong lenses in my binoculars.

Jeff: I mean, whom would you get to maintain order while the building was

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open?

Dean: Oh! Pm sure there would be some Arabs in the student body who would volunteer their help.

Tim Henning: I think we will need a third man if we're going to be open for more hours.

Dean: Yes, Richard Warnecke has already been appointed to the position.

Tim: Is Richard any relation to Cornell

Warnecke?

Dean: I can't answer that question or his secret identity might be revealed.

OK, now that weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve heard from every­ one here, I think we'll call it a night.

Just a one last reminder-there are a few dates open on the Arniegie Hall concert schedule, so if you know of anyone looking for a date, we'll do our best to accommodate you.

JERRY EWINGS and DAVID HUEBNER

The Nights Grow Long And Cold

It's late autumn And the flames have fallen.

Leaving the bluffs Bleak and charred.

The valley is darkened Under a sky Gray with lingering smoke.

And only a rare sunny day Still glows among the ashes That lie mounded under every tree.

Much has been consumed: I stand deep in Dry hoarded dreams And decaying overripe desires.

Stripped from my arms, Still reaching out.

Summer crumbles Under my crunching feet, And her brittle bones Crack loudly

110

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As I shuffle through The remains, Searching for something I lost last spring.

But haven't missed till now; Now, When the nights Grow long and cold.

BRIAN DOSE

R€GGA€ MUSIC? WHAT’S THAT? C rom the ghettos of Jamaica, a new musical form has arrived on the American scene.

Although not everyone has heard it yet, reggae is here. Pronounced REG-gay, it finds its roots in the pseudo-Christian religion of Rastafarian­ ism and in the political unrest of Jamaica.

Some critics have hailed reggae as the panacea which will infuse the stale world of rock and roll with new life. Artists such as Barbara Streisand, Taj Mahal, Johnny Nash, and Linda Ronstadt have recorded reggae numbers. “I Shot the Sheriff,” written by Bob Marley, became quite a hit for Eric Clapton.

Reggae is an amalgam of the ancient and the modem. The slow hypnotic rhythm is beat out on drums and percussion instruments that haven’t changed appreciably in hundreds of years. It is supported and complemented by electric guitars and sometimes by a brass section.

The plodding bass beat and monotonous rhythm guitar track distinguish reggae from other American musical idioms.

Though not all reggae artists are Rastas, or devotees of Rastafarianism, a knowledge of the sect is invaluable in understanding reggae.

Rastafarianism was founded by a black named Marcus Garvey in Harlem during the 1920’s.

He urged blacks to return to their motherland, Africa, where a black king would be crowned.

True to his prediction, Lij Ras Tafarai Makonnen was crowned Haile Selassie I, Emper­ or of Ethiopia. Although the emperor died in 1975, Rastas revere him as Jah, the living God. They believe that he is a descendant of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. Marcus Garvey is his prophet, a sort of modern John the Baptist.

Rastas consider all blacks to be the lost tribe of Israel exiled by God from Zion (Ethiopia) be­ cause of their sin. They are exiled in Babylon, a synonym for the oppressive capitalistic estab­ lishment. They preach a gospel of peace, love and reconciliation of the races but warn of imminent judgment on the “downpressors.”

Marijuana or ganja, as it is known in Jamaica, is regarded as the holy herb, a sacramental gift from God. Bob Marley, king of reggae and a Rasta himself, says that, “Herb is a natural thing. It grow like dc tree. It is de heali’ of de nation. De herb inspires.” In devotion to Jah, Rastas do not eat meat, use alcohol, or cut

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their hair, which they believe is part of their spirit. Rather than cut it off or comb it, they make thin braids of it and call them “dread­ locks." They resemble nothing so much as the dark mane of the Conquering Lion of Judah.

Reggae, in its native Jamaica, is primarily a singles-oriented musical form. Because of this most American listeners will find reggae albums boring at first as they hear the hit formula repeated endlessly. There is more to reggae than just the instrumental track, however. The lyrics express the cry of Jamaica's down­ trodden and proclaim the gospel of Ras Tafarai.

Hard times prevail in Jamaica. The country has been plagued by a rash of political violence which destroyed its appeal for tourists. The economy is in disarray and unemployment is unbelievably high. Though the politics of reggae songs were written for Jamaica in par­ ticular, they apply to other Third World coun­ tries equally well. Songs such as “Concrete Jungle," “Buntin' and Lootin',” “Cry to Me," and “Want More" have made Bob Marley a cultural hero. Lines such as, “Man to man is so unjust, you don't know who to trust," “A hungry mob is an angry mob." and “Cold ground was my bed last night, rockstone was my pillow.too" illustrate the plight of the Jamaican ghetto.

Bob Marley is the most successful reggae

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artist, although hardly the only one to get his work released in the United States. Marley first signed with Chris Blackwell of Island Records, the largest U.S. distributor of reggae, in 1972. Artists such as Peter Tosh, Toots Hibbert and the Maytals, Jimmy Cliff, the Mighty Diamonds, and Burning Spear have also released albums in the U.S. The emotions that songs like "Gnashing of Teeth,” "Go Seek Your Rights.” “Police and Thieves,” "War in a Babylon” convey are the essence of reggae. Reggae is the real “Roots” music of the Seventies.

For those whose curiosity has been whetted, a selected discography has been listed as follows:

This is Reggae Music Vol. I (Island ILPS 9251) an anthology This is Reggae Music Vol. 2 (Island ILPS 9327) This is Reggae Music Vol. 3 (Island ILPS 9391) Bob Marley and the Wailers/Rastaman Vibra­ tion (Island ILPS 9385) Bob Marley and the Wailcrs/Exodus (Island ILPS 9498) Peter Tosh/Equal Rights (Columbia PC 34670) Toots Hibbert and the Maytals/Funky King­ ston (Island ILPS 9330) Mighty Diamonds/Right Time (Virgin P7. 34235) TIMOTHY KANT

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j^^nothcr grueling session in the educational grist mills was down the tube. Now it was time to lie back and partake of my deserved reward-a nap. Yes, that was the element I had spent the day in anticipation of. Oh. it felt so wonderful to fall into the soft support of the mattress. Sleep, sweet sleep, come, take me.

I’m all yours.

Drowsiness was floating on my eyelids, and I was drifting peacefully off to dreamland. I had been compelled to leave this wonderland at seven o’clock this morning, and it was now time to journey back. It was a glorious relaxa­ tion. It was super!

Suddenly, it came to me. There was an in­ doctrination session scheduled for four this afternoon which I was expected to attend.

Drats! Those profs always find some way to ruin an afternoon. Why? Do a student's red eyes give them some sadistic thrill?

Disgusted was not the word for the

113

emotion I felt. I would have to be there, though. Mr. Lord, the chemistry prof who was conducting the session, would undoubtedly notice my absence. He was a bear about things like this and had always felt a strange fascina­ tion for badgering me. There was no possible way to wiggle out of this one.

In a flash, I was at the Science Building. I knew I would be too late, but there was the vain hope that my clock in the dorm had been slightly off. The announcement on the bulletin board had made it quite clear: ANY STU­ DENT NOT ATTENDING THE INDOCTRIN­ ATION WILL NOT BE ALLOWED TO USE THE NEW LAB FACILITIES. BE THEREON TIME. WE WILL BEGIN PROMPTLY AT 4:00.

There were two reasons I felt a great re­ sentment in going to this activity. First of all, it was ridiculous for the school to renovate the old building with new lab facilities. The

building was an ancient hulk of a thing. The cornerstone declared 1936 had seen its erection.

Within a decade, the whole place would have to be razed. Then they would have to start com­ pletely over again. Remodeling was merely pouring cash down the drain. And who cared if it was a brand new stainless steel one?

In the second place, how many brains did it take to figure out lab equipment? Every lab was set up in essentially the same manner.

Most things were printed out, such as-GAS, HOT, & COLD. Only an illiterate could mess up in a normal laboratory situation. I hoped there wouldn't be any in my section.

At any rate, by the time I had vented all these frustrations, I found myself in front of the door designated. Room 321. This was the place. I had taken the steps two at a time and consequently was a little out of breath.

Holding in my lungs so that I wouldn’t look like a basket case, I prepared to burst through the door. Most probably such an entry would disrupt the whole class, but, at least, Lord would know I wasn't skipping class. Gathering up my courage in a bundle, I zipped through the door. i.

The commotion I made could hardly be described. It was like a ripple in the ocean.

To be sure, I was not the only one who had forgotten about the session. The room was practically deserted. Had I gotten the facts right or not? Something was very wrong here.

There was only one other person in the room.

Desperately I sought help to bolster my sagging spirits by accosting the other occupant.

Actually, I couldn't have asked for a better helper. Although I hadn’t noticed at first in my despair, that other person was a female.

And some female she was. It was none other V than Chris Myers-the best-looking coed on i campus. If she couldn't help raise my spirits, nobody could.

It is rather difficult to depict the sensations which were surging through me at this exact , moment. There had been a smouldering crush lying dormant in my breast since I had first caught sight of her gorgeous person at the beginning of the year. Naturally, every redblooded American male on campus had shared the same feelings. But now I was alone with

:

her. I savored my opportunity to better my standing, it seemed like everything was going my way. Today she appeared much more receptive to my overtures than ever before. I couldn’t understand what had happened, but I wasn’t about to question it, either. Up till now, she had never even batted an intentional eyelash in my direction. Indeed, it was very peculiar, but I'm not one to complain about being “stuck” all alone with a beauty queen.

I ventured “We did have an indoctrination session scheduled today, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did, Jim.” she replied.

My heart jumped for joy. She actually knows my name! That was a victory in itself.

Encouraged, I tried again, “We were

supposed to meet here, weren’t we?”

“As far as 1 know. But it sure doesn’t look like it, though, does it? I’m certain we’re right being here. Wonder where Mr. Lord is?”

My mind queried, “Who needs Mr. Lord?”

Yet, outwardly I came back, “Oh, he’s always late. You should know that by now.”

“Yeah, that’s.. .”

As if on cue, our chemistry prof strode into the lab. He gawked at us over his glasses as if we were some kind of unusual chemical reaction and then stopped short. Accusingly, he demanded, “Where’s the rest of the class?”

We stood mute, knowing the* cardinal rule of this college was to never get “the Lord” riled.

However, he was becoming more animated by the second. Even his glasses were steaming up, as he muttered unmentionables under his breath. Finally he stomped out of the room 114

while the words, “the kids these days," Hew out of his mouth.

We assumed that indoctrination had been cancelled for the day because of a lack of parti­ cipation. Yet, just because the session had been called off, I wasn't ready to surrender my chance with Chris. As I said above, she seemed strangely accessible at present, and only a fool would not make an effort to get to know her better.

Not being a fool, I attempted to say some­ thing intelligent and pertinent. I failed. It came out, “Well, this is certainly a fun class.”

What a bomb! She looked at me as if one of my chimney bricks was loose.

Personally, I don’t think the blame for my moronic statement lay with me. It lay in the fact that I had never experienced such beauty up close before this time. I was lost in the depths of her bright baby-blue eyes. Her per­ fume mesmerized me. Her golden locks en­ thralled me. It fell in scalloped waves on her shoulders. It was so thick I was sure I could’ve lost my fingers in it. In short, I was beside my­ self.

Also, she was shorter than I. That alone was a boon to my spirits. There are not that many people in the world that I can look down on, being only five-four, but she was one of them. I luxuriated in this statistic. This truly must have had something to do with my exal­ tation, but it wasn't the whole story.

Undaunted, I made a move to try again. I wasn’t about to give in yet. I opened my mouth, trying very hard not to stick my foot in­ to it again, when who should shuffle in but the janitor! Just my luck! What a blow! Inter­ rupted at the most crucial point! He was humming some indistinguishable tune under his breath. Or, at least, that's what it seemed to be. At first, he didn’t notice us since we were seated at the back of the lab. He was staring downward, contemplating the floor he planned to sweep soon.

I coughed to make our presence known.

Neither of us had ever seen a man jump that high. I think I must have scared two years off his life span. I was afraid he would be angry, but when he came down, he seemed embar­ rassed. It was not normal for a janitor to act 115

this way. Usually, he would have bark-growled something and told us in no uncertain terms to get out of HIS room.

However, today was different. He stared at us with his sad, basset-hound eyes and apolo­ gized for breaking in on us. His exact words were: "I'm sorry. You two must want to be alone. I'll leave and catch this room later.”

Needless to say, I was astonished-janies aren’t supposed to be considerate. It was unthinkable.

Well, I never got to thank that man for his thoughtfulness, since, at that moment, Chris bolted from the room and fled down the stairs yelling, “I’m sorry, but I've got a cold.”

Talk about shutdowns. Whew, that was a classic. I wasn't going to let her get away with it, either. Nobody is going to “dear john” me with an excuse like that. So, for some reason-probably because none of this made any sense whatsoever—I took off after her. I had to get to the bottom of this.. .one way or another.

I must admit, those shapely little legs had muscle to them. By the time I had made it to the first floor, she was nowhere in sight. Plus I had no idea of where to look. Here, Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy. Come to Jimmy.

She could’ve been anywhere. First. I tried outside. Nope, there wasn’t anyone around out there. Then, I tried the basement. Still no luck.

It was likewise deserted. With dejection in my mind, I mounted the stairs. Maybe I wouldn’t Find the solution to this enigma after all.

But, as I climbed the stairs, guess whom I spied? There she was, sitting on the opposite stairwell, holding her head in her hands. It looked as if she was crying. Feeling that my quest was about to come to some resolution, I began to move in her direction. She didn’t look up until I was standing over here.

She was crying... the tears were streaming down her tender cheeks. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to move in and hold her, but I didn't even know the kid. I held my ground for the moment and bent down to ask her what was the matter. Bleary-eyed she looked at me and sighed, “Oh, Jim, I’m so confused.”

“She’s confused?” I thought to myself. Then she added, “I love you so very much, but I have a cold. Really.” Having said this, she

reached over and gently pulled me toward her.

She nuzzled against my neck and buried my face in the golden depth of her hair.

I was so keyed. It felt so good! I forgot everything and experienced the pure enjoy­ ment. She was THE coed on campus, and she

was in love with rne. In love with ME!!! I wanted to jump and shout it to the world. I felt good all over.

That’s when my roomie slammed the door and woke me up.

DAVID PAYNE

CAGED his lips.

Derek was their adversary. He was much shorter than his opponents-several inches so.

He was always on the defensive, attempting to fend off the two. Outnumbered in legs and arms, the valiant underdog tussled with ail the strength his compact, muscular body com­ manded.

Flexing, squirming, stretching, grappling, the smaller boy gave his “playful companions” everything they could handle. He was a snake, constantly slipping out of their holds.

Despite Ins virtuosity at contorting himself, his eventual defeat was inevitable. His struggles were weakening. In a matter of minutes, lie was subdued. Derek’s two powerful-now impotentarms were pinned behind his broad-shouldered back. The victorious pair flanking him as escorts, they began to drag/carry him toward his punishment.

At first, the loser seemed resigned to his fate. He was completely limp in the arms of his captors. However, appearances-as is wellknown-can be deceiving. They were in this case. Actually, he was saving himself for one last stand of defiance. The boys had moved him across the room and were approaching a door which was emblazoned with the words; DRYING ROOM. As the boy on his left reached out to grasp the doorknob, Derek bolted away and fled toward a door on the opposite end of the locker facilities.

Glancing at each other, the pair did not hesitate to give chase. They caught him just as

^■■hree figures struggled in the dim drabness ■ of the poorly lit locker room. Evidently it was not a battle in the true sense of the word.

There was no real punching, beating, kicking, or stomping involved. Seemingly no one was to be hurt. Nevertheless, heavy breathing and the sounds of physical exertion pervaded the air, accented by the thumping of the basketball players doggedly practicing on the floor over­ head. The fight was viewed by not another soul; only the gray-brown lockers served as witnesses. The room was deserted and would remain so until the practice session above was completed.

Although the object of contention would not have been readily discernable to the on­ looker, it would have been quite clear that the two bigger boys were taking advantage of their smaller opponent. The largest boy was heavyset to the point of overweight. His sheer pur­ ple nylon shirt covered him like a tent. Puddles of perspiration had formed under his armpits. The shirt seemed stretched to the breaking point when he flexed his flab. If you listened closely enough, you might have heard the seams groaning at the tension.

The other boy—his ally-was nearly as tall.

However, he was slender. He looked like he should have been one of the players practicing overhead. He was well-proportioned and rather good-looking-an antithesis to his partner. A moustache punctuated a slim pointed nose and matched his dark blonde hair. It was plain he was enjoying the situation.. .a smile played on

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he was slipping out of the locker room door.

The tat boy grabbed him by the arms while his helper took Derek's legs. The prisoner tried to kick out of their hold, but to no avail. Now they carried him bodily to the drying room entrance.

This time they didn't give him an oppor­ tunity to escape. Before he had a chance, the fat boy had Derek in a shoulder-wrenching arm bar. Mad Derek been foolhardy enough to try a move, his arm would have been pulled out of its socket. With feigned brutality, they forced him into the drying room and from there into the "cage."

The click of the Master combination lock scarcely registered in the young boy's mind.

Rage had overcome such small observations.

The other two considered this fun, but to Derek there was no amusement in being corraled in a dusty prison. Mis eyes (licked murderous intents at his tormentors. The click of the light switch proclaimed its light less message, while a third click firmly locked the drying room door on the boy in the cage.

A prisoner of three clicks. Derek squatted on the dirty floor and considered his plight.

The darkness surrounding him exhaled the mingled breath of sweat-encrusted socks, damp, mildewed towels, and salt-saturated gym suits. Stale blackness brooded over him: his thoughts were equally squalid.

"The Cage" was certainly an apt name for the ten-by-ten cubicle in which he was im­ prisoned. Segmented from the drying room proper, its partition was formed by a structure of two-by-fours and chicken wire. A panel of quarter-inch plywood served as the door with the security provided by the forged steel efficiency of that Master lock. A storage room for worn-out sports equipment, it now housed a boy.

Since the locker room was in the basement of the sports complex, there were no windows.

The darkness was devastating. The only light slipped in through a crack in the other door.

Space was cramped -crammed with boxes, basketballs, and old scorebooks. And black­ ness. Shelves jutted out to hold more miscellania. Everything from the beginning of the sports program at Hartford High to the present

had to be there. . .even the original dust.

Means of escape were many. The wire and wood partition did not extend to the ceiling, but fell a foot and a half short of that goal.

Mad that flimsy scaffolding been able lo sup­ port Derek's weight, that route could have rendered immediate liberation for him. But. he wasn't willing to chance that. Yet. There must be another way.

The thin door offered little resistance against a powerful kick by his stumpy leg: the same was true of the chicken wire barrier.

The wood would be splintered in one easy kick. It was simple.

Yet, in practicality, there was no way out.

Mow could he explain the wreck of the cage when the coaches came down after practice.

Me would be axed from his position as manager lor such a stunt. Realistically, he reflected.

I'm stuck. A prisoner in my own school. Me knew his only exit was in the hands of his jailers.

Still, the medicine of truth is never easy to swallow. Mis gorge rose to quash the realiza­ tion. Anger pulsed in his arteries. For the moment, as vital as the blood which simul­ taneously flowed through them. Torid thoughts threw the turmoil that was his mind into condemnations of his captors.

Those stupid upperclassmen! My co-mana­ gers! They put me into this position. What a pair of bums! Mow did I ever get stuck with a pair like that? Those two poor excuses for humanity couldn't spell the word work, much less know what it means. They never did anything right. I always have lo cover up for their mistakes. And this is what I get? This is my reward? Well, they'll be in for a surprise they'll have to make it on their own from now on. No more help from me. This is it.. .the end. They'll have to face their own mistakes now. No more covering for them. This is the end! Let them make it on their own for once.

All these accusations passed through his confused head. Me was fed up with their child­ ishness. but more than that he was afraid for himself. What if word of this episode should get out? The echo of the mocking laughter of his classmates rocked his mind till he was dis­ turbed to his innermost being. Me couldn't 117

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allow that. No, at all costs that had to be avoided. He could countenance anything except that. The derision of his high school friends whose favor he had worked so hard to gain could not be sacrificed.

The shuffle of composition soles on the cement floor pierced through the sable dark­ ness. His senses were alert to the slightest sound. What if one of the coaches or players should come down and find him here? Fear of being discovered made him cower in the un­ pitying blackness. The steps were approaching.

Apprehensive. Derek slipped behind a box in the back of his cell and uttered a silent prayer that the shoes were those of one of his co­ managers and no one else.

A blade of light sliced the thick darkness as the hinges screeched to announce visiting hours to the prisoner. Whiteness spilled into the drying room catching the blackness by sur­ prise and forcing it into shadowy corners. A wave of relief swept over Derek as he recog­ nized the figure. It was the slender boy, Jimthe more reasonable of the two tormentors.

Derek jerked upright and with a calm which belied his true feelings, moved toward the screen which separated him from the other boy. A hint of pleading in his voice, he per­ suaded, “Jim, haven't I been in here long enough? A joke is a joke. Come on, let me out.

There isn't any reason to stall this out, is there?"

After a judicious silence, the possible lib­ erator pursed his lips and declared, “So, you’ve had enough, huh? Well, I don’t know.. .It wouldn't hurt you to stay in there a while yet.

I'll have to discuss it with Eddy. Be back in a second.”

Sauntering toward the door with cocky assurance. Jim was about to leave to discuss the problem with his friend, when the prisoner cried out. “No, wait!” The tone of despera­ tion in that outcry warned him not only that he had better obey it, but also that their trick had outlived its fun. Yet, with an air of casual­ ness, he replied. “Yeah, what's your problem?"

By now. Derek's muddle of a mind screamed for release. At any cost. “Give me liberty!" it clamored within him. He looked upon the unresponsive tormentor inches

beyond his grasp with a hate bom in confine­ ment. Desperation tinged his pleas. “Please let me go.. .please. I'll do anything." Derek averred. “I’ll pack the uniforms for all the rest of the games. I'll load the buses by myself.

I'll do all the cleaning up. . .anything. Just let me out. PLEASE!" Jim stared at the boy behind the chicken wire in disbelief. It was impossible for him to draw himself away from the terror-stricken eyes: they reached through the barrier and held him entranced. Incomprehensible fear radiated from Derek. He didn't understand it.

but he saw it plainly. He had never seen any­ thing like it. Their game was finished-that much was clear. Jim felt a shiver begin in his neck and twitch down his spine. . .the look on Derek's face caused it- that inexplicable look.

Something was horrible here. Yet, the jailer could not refrain from attaining one final victory. “You promise to do all that stuff?"

“Yes, YES. I promise.”

“Okay. 1 guess I can let you out then. But remember. I'll hold you to those promises.”

“Just let me out! I'll do it I'll do it!”

Uneasily, Jim strode over to the panel door.

There was something terribly wrong here.

Several cumbersome twists of his fingers, and the lock fell open in his palm. In a flash, Derek

118

fled. With wild abandon, he flew out of the open door. Tears were streaming down his face.

Once released from his cell, Derek gradually began to regain his senses. As Jim joined him in the expanses of the locker room, he mut­ tered a word of thanks to his liberator. Jim wasn’t too sure about the condition of his younger managerial partner, however. “You’re okay, aren’t you?” he queried. “We didn’t mean anything. . .it was a joke. A big joke. We would’ve gotten you out before anyone else came down. Honest, we would’ve.”

It was difficult to tell if his message had gotten through to the younger boy. The. look in the underclassmen’s eyes still betrayed fearappalling fear.

Derek had heard the message and wordless­ ly accepted the apologies of the other boy. The

battle was within himself and he couldn’t allow himself to take his concentration away.

Attempting to find a refuge from the eyes of his co-managers, he got up and wandered to­ ward the bathroom. He needed a chance to clean himself up and pull himself back together.

Derek stood in the brightness of the bath­ room. He straightened his sweat-stained shirt.

A splash of water did wonders in restoring his spirits. It also washed away the tear tracks.

Glancing in the mirror, he noticed his hair was in dire need of straightening. He pulled the un­ breakable black comb out of his back pocket and looked into the mirror. With a shake of his head to clear nagging doubts, he began to comb the hair of a boy goaded by the barbs of ego and ensnared in the web of Self.

DAVID PAYNE

ALUMNI Kettle Moraine Lutheran High School, has accepted a call to Jordan congregation, of West Allis, WI. He was installed on Septem­ ber 25, 1977.

—Rev. Wayne Meier (’70), accepted a divine call to Peace congregation, of Granger, IN, and was installed on October 2, 1977. He had pre­ viously been at Austin, MN, serving both Trinity and Faith churches.

RANGER-MATERIAL SHORTAGE. That is the best I can do to describe my situa­ tion. I don’t know if I’m being boycotted by my correspondents, or what. What it boils down to is that we have an extremely sparse section this time. Some may suggest I try to fill it out with a long, drawn-out introduction.

However, this would hardly be fitting for any self-respecting Alumni Editor. The dignity of my position forbids such deception. Oh, well, so much for that bologna! Nevertheless, here is the material I have been able to scrape up.

Take it home and use it, boys.

ANNIVERSARIES -Rev. Joel Sauer (’49), observed his 25th year in the ministry on November 6, 1977.

He currently is serving Immanuel, of Kewau­ nee, WI. —Grace congregation of Glendale, AZ,

CALLS -Rev. Dale Baumler (’67), formerly serving

119

celebrated its 50th anniversary on Septem­ ber 25, 1977. Rev. Raymond Zimmerman (’28), is their pastor.

-St. Paul, of Crandon, WI, observed its 75th year of existence on August 21, 1977.

Rev. Markus Koepsell (’42), serves this con­ gregation.

-St. Luke, of Oakfield, WI, celebrated the twentieth year in their present church build­ ing on August 14, 1977. Rev. John Ruege (’53), ministers to this flock.

-Martin Luther congregation of Oshkosh, WI, observed their 60th year during October of this year. Rev. Daniel Habeck (’54), is their pastor.

-Zebaoth congregation of Milwaukee, WI, celebrated their 60th year on October 2, 1977.

Rev. Arthur Koepsell (’69), is their pastor.

-Zion, of Hartland, WI, observed its 110th year of existence on October 9, 1977. Rev. Norman Barenz (’47), serves them.

-Epiphany, of Racine, WI, celebrated its 50th anniversary on November 6, 1977. They are served by Rev. Thomas Kraus (’54).

-Rev. and Mrs. Wayne Schulz ('62), were blessed with a son, Jeremy Aaron, on August 15, 1977. He serves St. Paul, of Rapid City, SD. -Rev. and Mrs. Roy Beyer ('72), were blessed with the gift of a son, Jason John, on September 4, 1977. Rev. Beyer leads our church at St. Albert, Alta, Canada.

-Rev. and Mrs. Wayne Rouse (’70), were blessed with a daughter, Jodi Ellen, on Sep­ tember 4, 1977. He is serving Peace, of Clark, SD. -Mr. and Mrs. Roger Kovaciny (’72) were blessed with a baby boy, Karl Martel, on August 5, 1977. Mrs. Kovaciny is the former Ruth Hagcdom (’68). They currently reside in Medina, ND. SEM NOTES ENGAGEMENTS -Jim Langebartcls (’77) engaged to Shirley Martin of Tomah, WI. -Mike Hintz (’74), engaged to Julie Haase.

MISCELLANIA

DEDICATIONS —Lynn Hukee has announced the retire­ ment of the Silver Bullet as of August, 1977.

—Jim Witt was born again on October 27, 1977, at 10:15 A.M. —He who would have been King has be­ come the slave of a woman.

-The circus is in town.

-Mike Plagenz is still a rock-it’s not the last minute yet!

-Robert Schumann is trying out for the part of Moses in a new movie entitled “The Law-giver,’’ -Vicar Roy Hefti has unsuccessfully tried to sink his church and drown his bishop’s wife.

-Bob Noldan has taken his name off the NBA hardship list and has decided to com­ plete his education.

-The Anti-Christ has been well represented so far this year.

—Zion, of Egg Harbor, WI, dedicated a new teacherage to the Lord’s service on Septem­ ber 25, 1977. Rev. Paul Seiltz (’62), serves the congregation.

-Peace congregation, of Granger, IN, dedicated their new church on July 17, 1977.

Rev. Wayne Meier (’70), is their new pastor.

RETIREMENTS -Rev. Henry Ellwein (’37), who had served St. John, of Tappen, ND, retired from the active ministry on July 1, 1977.

BIRTHS

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-Rev. and Mrs. Thomas Liesener (’67), were blessed with a son on October 25, 1977.

Rev. Liesener serves First Lutheran, Green Bay, WI.

>

DAVID PAYNE ■

120

WHEN EXPERIENCE COUNTS • •

•

COUNT ON THE LUTHERAN HOME

A PIONEER IN CARE FOR THE AGING SINCE 1898 NOW PIONEERING IN COUNSELING AND RESIDENTIAL CARE FOR THE RETARDED

THE LUTHERAN HOME

BELLE PLAINE, MINNESOTA

Ti/annena FREE CHECKING 24 HOUR BANKING 4 We never close ”

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WISCONSIN NATIONAL BANK 104 W. MAIN BT. Watertown. Wisconsin

ROGER'S TV & APPLIANCES

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A. KRAMP COMPANY

MATADOR-CONCORD-GREMLIN PACER-JEEP 615 Main Street Watertown, Wis. Phone 261-2770

ffe%nr$ Formal Wear Rental Dial 261-4174 107 Main Street

The Busse Pharmacy go trojans a andy

[Electric (WIRING fSl ERVICE

Diiamonds

$

RUBIES SAPPHIRES EMERALDS

ENGAGEMENT RING SPECIALISTS

McFarland

Electrical Contractors

: 1

ri

American Motors

402 Main Watertown Phone 261-3385

AL SHUMAKER and

:

261-1671

111 Main St.

Smart Clothes for Men

Yowr Walgreen Agency Pharmacy

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KEEPSAKE & ART CARVED DIAMONDS

Hitachi-Sylvania Stereo & TV Norge, Gibson & Hotpoint Appliances Kitchen Aid Dishwashers Jenn-Air Ranges

COMPLIMENTS OF l '

ACCUTRON - BULOVA WATCHES

Oconomowoc 567-7566 Watertown 261-3755 Milwaukee 367-6008

CERTIFIED GEMOLOGISTS

Wagners Jewelers 119 E. Wisconsin Avenue DOWNTOWN OCONOMOWOC 567-3741

^JJa^emeLster

BOWL-A-FUN LANES

Funeral Service / Furniture Quality and Service at Reasonable Prices RAYMOND DOBBRATZ

766 NORTH CHURCH STREET

607-613 Main Street Invites All College Students to Bowl MON.—TUES.—WED.—FRI. 1 P.M. to 6 P.M. 3 Games SI.25 Phone 261-9866

PORT NOP

301 N. Third Street ATHLETIC SUPPLIES

Phone 261-5402 —

LETTER JACKETS

HUNTING AND FISHING EQUIPMENT

Phone 261-2218

Tfv LUMBER — BUILDING MATERIALS

“Everything To Build Anything" Dial 261-5676

SCHUETT'S Radio & TV "DOWNTOWN IXONIA"

HOSE'S BARBER SHOP

— Your Headquarters For —

New Concepts in Haircutting & Styling — Wigs —

RCA - PANASONIC

Appointments — Closed Mondays Open Fri. to 9 p.m. — Sat. to 3:30 p.m.

Modules — Components — TV's

102 S. 4th Street

Phone 261-3646

Candle-Glo Motel & Restaurant Highways 16 & 109 1200 N. 4th St. Telephone 414 261-2281 WATERTOWN, Wl 53094 MONA and DON THUROW

Duradean of Watertown "FLOWER FRESH CLEANING” of Fine Furniture and Carpets Commercial, Industrial and Institutional Building Maintenance WAYNE STAUDE, OWNER

R. R. 4,

140 Riverview Lane Dial 261-3350

FAST GATE INN FOR YOUR DINING PLEASURE East Gate Drive (Old Hwy. 16)

Co-Mo Photo Company Photo Finishing — Cameras Black and White — Color “We Process Films” 217-219 N. 4th Street Watertown Phone 261-3011

WARREN-SCHEY House of Music MUSIC-INSTRUMENTS PIANOS—ORGANS 261-8644

208 Main St.

WATERTOWN DAILY TIMES ★ A Daily Newspaper Since 1895

M&l Bank of Watertown "The Latest in Motion Pictures” 308 E. Main Street (414) 261-1692 WATERTOWN, WIS. 53094

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Watertown DODGE "New and Used Cars” 301 W. Main Street

Dial 261-3870

WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

"The Bank Behind the Town" at 205 No. Second Street Watertown, Wisconsin Phone 261-7102

MEMBER FEDERAL DEPOSIT INSURANCE CORPORATION

:■

BibkUolj, fylosicd SUofL Flowers — Gifts — Potted Plants

“We Telegraph Flowers” 616 Main Street — Phone 261-7186 WATERTOWN

TtUete* AUTO REPLACEMENT PARTS, Inc. 717 West Main Street

Dial 261-1850

WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

SCHNEIDER. JEWELRY

LeMACHER STUDIO

Student Gift Headquarters Accutron — Bulova

Steve LeMacher, Photographer

Caravelle Watches Columbia Diamonds Expert Watch Repair 309 E. Main Street

PORTRAIT & COMMERCIAL PHOTOGRAPHY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY SPECIALISTS 117 No. Eighth St.

Dial 261-6607

WATERTOWN

Dial 261-6769

Milwaukee Cheese Co. MALLACH CLINIC PHARMACY 123 Hospital Drive 770 No. Springdale Rd., Waukesha, Wis. MANUFACTURERS OF

Watertown, Wisconsin Phone 261-0242

BEER KAESE & WUNDERBAR BRICK CHEESE COMPLETE LINE OF SHOP at SEARS and SAVE

Institutional Food Products

QUALITY unsurpassed PRICES TO FIT EVERY POCKETBOOK

207 S. 3rd

Phone 261-3880

Edward E. Hotter E. E.

SUPPER CLUB €r 5-10 p.m. Daily 5-11 p.m. Sat. 4-10 p.m. Sun. PIPERSVILLE

Dial 261-2651

Itenneyi

We know what you're looking for IN WATERTOWN Fashion Headquarters FOR YOUNG MEN

HOFFER 261-4654 REALTY

Realtor & Broker FARMS - HOMES BUSINESSES GENERAL INSURANCE

428 South Church St. — Watertown, Wis. 53094

0C0N0M0W0C Savings & Loan

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“SAVINGS TIME IS ANYTIME"

\

808 East Main Street Watertown, Wisconsin

‘

KUESTER PLUMBING 222 S. First Street

Phone 261-2709

WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

Compliments of

WACKETTS Service Station

FREEDOM WHEELS INC. HONDA

SUZUKI & CAN-AM

31 1 S. 3rd St. WATERTOWN

1423 W Wise. Ave OCONOMOWOC

261-5930

567-9071

KUSELC^gg®) HOUSEWARES

HARDWARE

APPLIANCES

316 W. Main St. Phone 261-9941 GIFTS FOR ALL OCCASIONS

ZWIEG'S GRILL Fine Food

SINCE

1849

108-112 W. Main Street 261-7122

Open Daily -

WATERTOWN

■

BREAKFASTS - SANDWICHES : : 3 I : =

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PLATE LUNCHES - HAMBURGERS

Steue’d

BROASTED CHICKEN & CONES MALTS & SHAKES AMBER

904 East Main Street Phone 261-1922

LANTERN a

- FEATURING -

Piccadilly Smoke Shop 2

2

• Paperback Classics • Monarch Notes Open Daily: 7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Fridays til 9:00 — Sundays til noon 406 Main St. — Dial 261-6027

Pizza and

Steak Sandwiches ORDERS READY IN 20 MINS. - CALL 261-0006 500 BERNARD ST WATERTOWN

FIRST STATE SAVINGS

-KECK FURNITURE

complete home furnishers

COMPANY

FOR OVER A CENTURY

and Loan Association

I KM 12 Main St. — Watkrtown PHONE 261-7214

“Your Swings Insured up to S40,000”

Downtown or Shopping Center

FISCHERS THE DEPARTMENT STORE OF WATERTOWN

MEL'S GARAGE

WTTN

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A M

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1580kc - 1000 Watts

FM 94.1 me — 20,000 Watts

AUTOMATIC TRANSMISSION and

SYMBOL OF

GENERAL REPAIR Tel. 261-1848

NON. Water St.

adidas

SOUND SELLING

TRI-MART

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CORPORATION

^5*

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WHOLESALE DISTRIBUTOR 14 Styles to choose from Sizes: 3-16

Panasonic i

Tobaccos, Candy, Fountain CONVERSE-NIKE-PRO ICEDS

SHOE STORE 212-214 Main St. Watertown, Wise.

261-2395

Chemical and Paper Supplies 301 CLARK ST.

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WATERTOWN

PHONE: 261-4941

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(Baksthy POTATO CHIPS

die! pepsi SUGAR-FREE'

1

POPCORN

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1 14 W. Main Street — Watertown

OCONOMOWOC TRANSPORT COMPANY, INC.

Have a Pepsi day!

School Bus Transportation-Charter Trips 5021 Brown Street Phone 261-4905 OCONOMOWOC

C0C6^^ PEPSI-COLA BOTTLING COMPANY OF MADISON P.O. Box 8006 • Madison, Wisconsin 53708

:

THE STUDENT'S CHOICE !

PRIVATE ROOMS AVAILABLE FOR THE LARGEST AND SMALLEST IN BANQUETS AND MEETINGS

- OPEN 7 DAYS A WEEK BREAKFAST - LUNCHES - DINNERS

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For the Finest in Dining & Cocktails 700 E. Main St.

Our Greatest Asset Is Your Satisfaction YOU SAVE ON QUALITY CLEANING 412 Main Street — Phone 261-6851

— Weekly Specials — WED. NIGHT - ROAST CHICKEN All you can eat FRI. NIGHT - FISH FRY SAT. - PRIME RIB SUN. - BRUNCH Watertown 261-0074

WHEN THE NEED IS SPECIAL

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A SPECIALIST

INSURANCE COMPANY Merrill, Wisconsin

SERVING AMERICA'S CHURCHES—SINCE 1897

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For unto us a child is born Unto us a son is given

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WINTERTIDE

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haz! Here, boy, here. Time for supper.

Come on, Cliaz, get your biscuit,” the man called. He was standing in the hallway, filling it with his six-foot frame. He listened for the scratching sound of his dog clambering after his dinner. He waited. There was no sound, save that of his wife busying herself in the kitchen. Again he tried. “Here.Chaz. Here. boy.

Get your supper.” He tapped on his pet's dish— a trick which never failed to bring results.

This time it didn’t. ’ .

The man shuffled down the corridor to the kitchen. He stuck his head into the door and, lor a moment, contemplated his wife.

She would be thirty-four years old this spring, but didn't look anything near that. She was one woman who could claim to be twenty-nine without having a skeptical eyebrow raised.

Beautiful she was-in a homey sort of way.

She stood tall and erect in front of the stove, her hickory hair flowing onto her shoulders in rolling curls. Today she was wearing a blueplaid flannel shirt, much like the one he him­ self had on. Shaped around her slim legs were a pair of trim and tight blue jeans. At present, she was slaving over the hot burners with her sleeves rolled up to the elbows.. .stirring here and seasoning there.Leaning in, he attempted to catch her attention. “Jeremy, do you know where Chaz is? I called him/ but he doesn’t seem to be in

’ * V the house.”

“Oh,” she said, looking up from her loots' and pans. “1 left him out about forty-five minutes ago.”

“Woman, how could you leave him outside and forget about him? He could freeze out there for all you care,” the man mused.

“Don't get so huffy, JT. He's a hunting dog—lie's hardly going to freeze. Anyway, he was the one that insisted on going out.”

“Sorry, honey, guess I'm a little on edge today,” JT added placatingly. “I'll go call him in.”

With that, the husband turned and headed for the front door, while she went back to her cooking. JT’s shuffling gait proceeded through the living room, where it made a swishing noise on the carpet. As he passed the window, he tried to catch a glimpse of the weather out­ doors. However, it was steamed over. . .the usual result of Jeremy’s puttering around in the kitchen. Yet it was a small price to pay for the excellent meals she put on the table.

Reaching the entryway, JT stretched out a lanky arm and twisted the door knob. The warped door opened with a groan of protest.

The man stared at the winter world which lay before him. Winter had arrived early this yearcold and snowy. It wasn’t even Christmas— almost, but not quite-and there was already a loot and a half of snow on the ground. Lately,

continued on page 130

THE BLACK AND RED

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DECEMBER 1977, Volume 81, No. 5

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Cover Story

Wintertide Calvary From the Cradle

137

St. Thomas Aquinas

139

The Starâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Been Pulled to Earth Again.

142

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

144

The Ghost of Christmas Past

147

Reflections in a Department-Store Window.

150

Poem

151

ACTIVITIES

151

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EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ESTABLISHED 1897

Gregory Schulz

MANAGING EDITOR

.Don Scheueriein

STAFF WRITERS

.Jeffrey Schallert Mark Rieke David Payne Brian Dose

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

. . . Jerry Ewings David Huebner . David Kolander

ACTIVITIES

Entered at the Post Office at Watertown, Wisconsin, as Second Class Matter under the act of Ma*xh 3, 1879. Second Class postage paid at Watertown, Wisconsin.

ART

. . . Mark Wagner

BUSINESS MANAGER

. . Rick Johnson

CIRCULATION MANAGER.

. . Timothy Kant

ADVERTISING MANAGERS

Greg Otterstatter Mark Wilde

printing by Mark ICckcrt

Published Monthly during the school year.

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continued from cover

sequently, lie rummaged through the closet and brought out a black and red plaid CPO. Its woolen doth had been thick at one time, but that had been in years long past. Slipping it over his newer version, lie looked like an indi­ gent scarecrow. Ne\t lie picked a gre} corduroy cap off the shell Once upon a time it had possessed a deep, lush green hue. but years in the bright winter sun had bleached it leaching away its fertile coloring. Now it wasn't more than a floppy rag. lie positioned it on his head with aged familiarity. He’d have to think about getting a new one sometime. It could disin­ tegrate at any moment He had the closet door half-closed before he remembered his ear muffs, the complement of his outlandish outfit. A tad irritated, he Hipped the door open again and dragged them off the shelf. Back when he had been a child, the freezing cold of a sledding party had frozen his ears. The frostbite still haunted him His ears were as sensitive to cold as a thermometer, burning at the cold's slightest provocation. A whipping wind bothered him more than a fire-and-brimstone sermon by his pastor.

Having readied himself boots, coats, gloves, and headgear-to face the winter on­ slaught. he grabbed his rifle from the corner where it was propped. Just in case Better to be prepared than sorry. That sounded like something the Boy Scouts would say. yet it still bore the ring of truth. C'haz had a way of scaring up trouble when he went off into the woods. Like last spring when he cornered that big ol' mother bear up on the ridge. Or, a couple of winters ago when he had lit out after that timber wolf. Somehow he had a knack lor that sort of thing. And, who knows, maybe lie'll Hush out a couple of partridge or a rabbit for stewing. *‘JI RLMY, I'm going out to look lor C ha/.

though, the temperatures had been moderating a bit. It was nice to step outside without being immediately aware of the cold bite of the north wind on your face.

The snow in the yard had been trampled down weeks ago. due to the chores. In places the crushed snow' was beginning to form icy patches. Long, needlepointed icicles were form­ ing on the eaves of the house and the barn.

He'd have to go and knock them down soon, so no one could get hurt if they fell. The sky was one expanse of grey- the weatherman on the radio had predicted another snowstorm. 3-4 inches possible. Great, he thought. Just what we need-more work.

JT opened the storm door and yelled for C'haz. He expected the dog. snow-covered, to come bounding around the barn at any second Despite his expectation, this was not the case He w'histlcd impatiently. A long, shrill whistle.

Still no Chaz. Worry began to spook in his head.

Something must be wrong. C'haz never missed supper. This wasn't like him He was a good dog: he wouldn't just run oft. Maybe he'd gone into the w'oods to chase a rabbit and had gotten himself lost. He gave the dog one more shout and resignedly shut the door.

It seemed impossible that C’haz could've gotten lost. He had been playing in those woods since he was a pup. Romping through the stumps and vine-covered rocks had been a way of life for him. He knew the w*oods better than anyone in the township. Still, he was getting old he wasn't the hound he used to be. Lines of worry streaked JT's face as he mulled over the possibilities.

Reaching into the entryw»ay closet, he pulled out a nylon jacket. These new fabrics are really nice-a godsend. Yet, just to be sure, I’d better put on my old coat, lie thought.

Might get pretty cold if I'm out too long. Con-

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130

COMPLIMENTS OF — I called, but he wasn’t in the yard. Something’s wrong. I have to go find him.”

In a flash, his wife was with him in the tiny alcove. She looked into his sad, worried eyes and planted a kiss of encouragement on his lips. Exhorting him to be careful, she declared, ‘‘Make sure you’re back by six. You wouldn’t want your Christmas Eve dinner to be cold, would you?” ‘‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, honey.

What time is it now, by the way?” ‘‘Oh, it must be about 4:30.” ‘‘Okay, I’ll be back by 5:30. It’ll be dark by then anyway.”

With these words, he stepped out of the doorway and into the snowy countryside. One quick glance at his wife and he was gone.

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She kept her eye on him as he stalked around the yard searching for some clue which could lead him to his beloved dog. JT. James Taylor Bryant. Her husband. Her provider. Her man. She thought back to the first time she had seen him, nearly two decades ago. He had been tall then already.. .back in high school.

Tall, but gawky. Like a wild grape vine which was spreading out in all directions at once. She had laughed then, especially when he had asked her for a date. He, a country farmboy, asking ME for a date. But he never gave up; he kept asking and asking-beggin^-until finally she had given him the chance. That had been her ‘‘mistake.” He was innocent and naivetwo qualities which endeared him to her for­ ever.

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Time had removed the awkwardness from his limbs, but he still possessed those long, skinny legs and arms. Time didn't steal his naivete or innocence, however. He remained the country bumpkin he had been as a youth.

And she loved him for it. That country boy had always treated her right.. .in his own way.

Vet. he was tough, wizened by the hard work of running the farm by himself. He was very strong, too. but it never looked like it—he didn't have the weight. Jeremy watched him disappear. As he headed out toward the woods, she tore herself away from the window and set about her tasks.

: |

Chaz couldn't hoar his calls. At any rate, this was the only lead he could check out. It Chaz had taken after some hunter, there was no telling where he was. Dumb dog should know belter than to go gallivanting around, anyway.

Me crossed the yard to where the path entered the woods. The yard wasn’t very large, but then it wasn't a very large farm, cither.

Ninety acres wasn't large by any standards. It was enough to make a living, but barely. His family had fanned this land for two genera-

Air\ snowflakes swirled around JT's grev-green cap-miniature fairies in a white wonderland. The temperature was a bit chilly, ■uu not too bad. A film of snow had formed over the trampled barnyard, presaging the blizzard to come. He called for Chaz, full­ voiced. There still was no answer. He now con­ templated his plan of action.

With the newly-fallen snow cover, there wouldn't be any tracks. Without them it would be impossible to figure out which way that crazy dog had gone. Pure guesswork. He sur­ veyed the scenery, hopeful for some hint of the dog’s whereabouts. The best chance was that Chaz had either chased some game or followed someone out to the pond. Maybe some of the neighbor kids had decided to do a little skating, Chaz had always been a friendly dog. He would love to tag along with the Bartz kids. He would follow anyone. That's what bothered JT. Resolved, JT headed toward the foot path to the pond. He could feel chilly air leaking into his pants leg through a tear. Icy fingers tickled him as they moved down his left leg.

Have to get Jeremy to fix that one of these days he thought.

It was about a mile and a half out to the pond. The path wound through the woods. A scenic route. The distance would explain why

lions now. and they had made it work. He could too. Jeremy and he were making it. and that was all he wanted out of life. That was enough. It was fine with him. Cities held no fascination for him.

Jeremy wondered if she had done the right thing by muzzling Chaz and locking him down in the fruit cellar. She hadn’t intended on hurting JT, yet he looked so hurt, so afraid.

The piercing look his eyes harbored as he stepped outside haunted her: his brown eyesfilled with anxiety—held her in remorse. He had been extremely upset about the whole matter. . .overly so.

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He must be worried sick about ol’ Chaz. But, she had had to get him out of the house.

Locking Chaz away had been the only solution which had presented itself to her weary mind.

It was cruel, but necessary.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if JT didn’t treasure that dog so much. Companionship is what Chaz provided. That’s the commodity which JT needed. Ever since little Paul had passed on two Decembers ago, that dog had become a kind of substitute. Maybe it was better that way.. JT needed something to divert his mind.

Nevertheless, the woman forced such thoughts from her mind. There wasn’t time to reconsider. Other things had to come first: thoughts of her husband had to take second place this time.

Actually, it's a pretty nice day to be out in the woods, JT thought to himself. The temp must be just below freezing: it feels warm enough, but the snow’s staying. Too bad the sun’s not out; that would cheer things up a lot.

The tree skeletons looked bleak against the overcast sky. He was thankful that there was a sprinkling of evergreens to brighten the woods.

They always seemed so beautiful with their dark green stateliness and dignity. You couldn't help but respect a tree like that.

The first three-quarters of a mile of the path was the worst. It was almost steep, beside being bumpy and slippery. The path topped off on a ridge which overlooked the farm as well as the little pond. Later on in the winter, that ridge would be adorned with many-colored ice stalactites. In the winter sun, they would sparkle with greens, blues, reds, and yellows. .. a sight which made one stand in wonderment at the beauty of God’s creation. JT had always assumed that the different tones came from the various kinds of minerals imbedded in the ridgerock, but he didn't know lor sure. He just loved to see them. Maybe those huge and colorful icicles were one of the reasons people liked to refer to this area as “God's country.”

Of course, every scenic region considered it­ self “God’s country,” but it was an interesting thought.

Working your way up the ridge wasn’t really hard work: nevertheless, JT was sweating profusely by the time he had topped it. He regretted the fact that he had chosen to wear two coats. He had followed his axiom of “better safe than sorry” one step too far this time. He would've taken one off and carried it, but since he was already carrying his rifle, he didn’t have a free hand. The doubled heat was stifling him now. He knew he had better sit down and rest when he reached the summit. It simply wouldn’t do to sweat so hard that he would get chilled through. The prospect of pneumonia was not one he would enjoy.

As he closed in on the peak, JT pricked up his ears, hoping to catch the sounds of children skating on the pond below. If there were any skaters down there, they were keeping mighty quiet about it. Normally, you could hear them for a half mile. They loved skating and made no efforts to hide it.

Attaining his goal, JT glowered down at the pond. As he had guessed, there wasn’t anyone skating. He scanned the spectral woods for some clue as to where Chaz might be. He called. He whistled. Still no answer. With resig­ nation welling up, he looked for a place to sit down and cool off. He felt a lump of frustra­ tion in his throat. He tried to stifle it, but to no avail. He felt like screaming.

Jeremy tried to mb the growing spot of guilt from her mind as she descended the stairs to release Chaz from his captivity. It had been a dirty trick to play on JT. He hadn't deserved it. That dog meant everything to him.

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A forlorn pile of clothes lay crumpled in the middle of the bedroom floor. A strange contrast to the otherwise flawless neatness.

Jeremy had discarded them there some ten minutes earlier when she had slipped into the shower. Now she was sitting at the worn dressing table, staring into the mirror. It was amazing how much a good shower could brighten up the day. After a long day in a steamy kitchen, it almost made you feel like a new person. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but notice her robe.

It looked ratty. What once had been pink was now more or less grey. Its fleecy softness had

out the wrinkles. She held it up in front of her before the mirror. She liked it as much now as she did when she had first chanced upon it in the department store. Luckily, JT had not discovered it. . .he wasn’t supposed to know.

Spying a fallen tree backed by a small stand of evergreens, JT trudged over toward it. His gloved hand brushed the snow off the log and he sat down. From his perch he had an excellent view of his farm. It was snowing harder now.

Snow was piling up on the brim of his cap and

if/

disappeared eons ago... or so it seemed. She hoped JT would catch on one of these days and get her a new one. At the same time, Jeremy realized such a hope was futile. JT wasn’t one to notice such things. Glancing once more at the mirror, she looked at her hair. At present, it was a soggy wet mass, but the hair dryer would soon remedy that situation.

Jeremy moved over to the closet, reached up and pulled down a white box on which Burke’s was emblazoned in large block letters.

She set the box on the bed and struggled to remove the cover. Fver so gently, she lifted the bright blue dress out of the box and shook

on his shoulders. There would be at least another inch of the white stuff on the ground in the next forty-five minutes, he supposed.

Fortunately, it was the light, powdery snow and not the heavy, wet kind. With the snow swirling around his farm, it looked like a pretty Christmas card-the ones you didn’t see very many of in this day and age. Now everything was commercialism. Advertising, advertising, and more advertising. What had happened to the spirit of giving? To the spirit of Christmas?

To the good old days?

Yes, what had happened to those times?

That was a good question. What if little Paul

134

were still alive? What if he was sitting here next to me on this log right now? How would I treat him? How would I have changed if he had lived. What if we had gotten him to a doc­ tor sooner? What if?

It was all so pointless. He was gone, never to return. He was gone before cither of us had realized it. The fever burned him up. It happened so fast. It was nobody’s fault. But, he was gone, nonetheless, and things would never be the same. Never.

He was supposed to have taken over the farm. Everything had been planned. He would go to school until he graduated from high school and then gradually he would take over operation of the farm. He was going to amount to something. More than I ever amounted to.

He had been such a bright little thing. That’s for sure. Quick as a cat and smart. He would've amounted to something. He would’ve. He never had the chance.

But, what about the future? What about our future. Jeremy’s and mine. There’s no one now. No heir. What'll happen when we get too old to run the place? Will we have to sell out?

Who’ll take over? Oh, there’s the chance of another child. But. that doesn’t seem to be in the cards. The Lord hasn't blessed us that way.

Maybe that’s the way He wants it. Maybe this is His punishment for letting Paul die.. .Who knows? Everything's so hard to sort out.

And now Chaz is gone. What next? One thing after another.. .that's life. Well, can’t give up in the middle of the game. Gotta keep going. There’s still Jeremy. Have to hang on for her sake-she needs me. Who am I kidding?

I need her. What would I do without her? If there’s anyone who’s made my life worthwhile, it’s her. She's kept me going so many times. It wouldn’t be fair for me to quit on her now.

Better remember to take her to the Sunday School program tomorrow at church. She’ll enjoy that. Paul would've been old enough to be in it this year. It’s so heartwarming to hear those kids singing. They might not always carry the melody too well, but what they lack, they make up in enthusiasm.

135

JT chocked his watch. Better get a move on. It’ll be dark in a couple of minutes. Wonder what happened to Chaz. Hope he went back to the house while I was out here. He better have.

Worry still pounded on the man, yet he rose stiffly from his log bench and made his way through the snow back to the path. He stretched once to loosen his sinewy muscles and then picked up the rifle which he had propped against the log. With one final glance at the woods, he began his homeward trek.

Jeremy wondered about her husband. He wasn't the same man she had married, that was sure. Oh, externally maybe, but not inside.

Paul’s unexpected death had changed him com­ pletely. Part of JT’s heart was buried with the boy. He still had the same calm reserve and nonchalance, but his smile was gone. It had dis­ appeared. His sense of humor had left with Paul for lands unknown.

She remembered the long nights she had spent waiting up for JT after Paul’s death. He had taken on the custom of long moonlit strolls in the woods, attempting to set his mind at ease. Trying to pick up the pieces. It was an arduous struggle. It wasn’t hard to see the battle taking place in the man. He was fighting a war in his mind, a war where winning meant everything and losing nothing. There would be no relief if he lost the war. But JT had been strong. Strong enough to win. Or, at least, strong enough to hold his own.

Finally, matters achieved some semblance of normality. His face would no longer be con­ torted in hideous strain.

But the battle had drained JT. He had lost his smile. His sunshine. His cheer. Such a loss complicated things in every way. It was ex­ tremely hard living with someone who no longer had a sense of humor. True, kindness and gentleness go a long way in a marriage.

Patience, too. He had never lost those qualities.

But how can you live without a smile of en­ couragement or a timely grin at a private joke?

Maybe it wasn’t impossible, but very close to it.

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Dusk had been playing hide-and-seek in the woods lor the last half hour. There was no movement to be seen anywhere. Nobody was out. Well, that's not too surprising, JT thought to himself. After all, it is Christmas Eve. I should be home like all the rest of the people, enjoying it.

Even though the sun must have been down it still wasn't very dark. The clouds were strangely brilliant -lit by the lights of Bretonia several miles south. The cloudy greyness glowed as though it had absorbed hidden sun­ light. It added an eerie quality to the atmos­ phere. If the snowstorm kept up, it might not get dark all night.

What had been Hurries now developed into a full-fledged blizzard. The sky unburdened it­ self of its icy presents at full force. The wind, too. had come up and was blowing the snow into drifts. It whistled as it whipped through the tree branches. It was snowina so hard it almost seemed to .IT that he was moving through a dense fog.

But JT knew the path well. Me. like Chaz, had grown up in the woods. It had been his playpen since infancy. He could feel where he was just by the turns and bumps in the path.

He knew that soon he would be coming out of the woods and into his barnyard.

JT was right. Within a couple of minutes he arrived at the fence line which his parents had posted long years in the past. Shortly, he saw the dark shapes of his farm buildings. The barn and the house—both seemed equally dark and ominous. That the house should be dark was curious-the lights should have been on. It was far too dark to get along without them.

Jeremy must have turned out the living room lights to save bill money, JT thought. That was her way. She surely knew how to pinch pennies.

Or, maybe she was still working in the kitchen.

She spent hours in that room of hers-cooking, baking, frying, broiling. Maybe she had even fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the fire­ place in the living room.

JT fought the storm. He was glad he had

136

decided to wear the other jacket now. The wind had really brought the temperature down.

He wondered what the wind-chill factor was.

He approached the door. Everything seemed ghostly in the blinding snowstorm.

The clouds with their luminescent eeriness added to this impression. JT grabbed the door­ knob and pushed on the door. It was jammed.

Propping his rifle on the door frame, he shouldered his weight against the door.

The door popped open. JT slipped inside and began to brush the snow off his clothes.

After stomping the snow from his boots, he started to bend over to unbuckle them. Wet puddles were already beginning to form be­ neath his heels.

Suddenly, Jeremy rushed in from the living room and caught him in her embrace. Kissing him, she exclaimed, “JT, you’re home!”

JT stared into her eyes which were shining with happiness. He gazed at her beautiful form in the new blue dress. He saw the Christmas tree lights twinkling in jovial holiday cheer­ fulness. Chaz was lying on the braided throw rug in front of the crackling fireplace. He saw the sumptuous dinner set for him on the table.

Wine glasses asparkle in the glory of the fire.

He inhaled the tantalizing aroma of his coming meal and Jeremy’s perfume.

He smiled.

Jeremy basked in the sunshine of her Christmas present.

DAVID PAYNE

Caltmrp from tlje Crabfr I. Pointing All wickedness crowns your head.

See your lips: They brim with lies.

Behold your hands! They are smeared, Your fingers drip With guilt-blood.

Your evil living slays you; Justice is served In your death.

So die from Me, you sinner.

137

II. Reaching Lord!

Don’t

hide Your face i am smoke burning on the hearth my heart is parched and withered and i for­ get to eat and my bones pierce my flesh and (and the nails, my God, the nails!) and i can’t sleep and i am so tired and I am broken bleeding dying

alone A few pieces of crumbled clay You’ve thrown down so alone From You How can i.. .(surely Your arm is not too short to save, nor Your ear too dull to hear) Lord!

III. Pierced

: :

So today for us a Child is bom and Now for us Your treasured Son is given; Angels sing and ring all across the land Creation lauds the Gift sent from heaven.

Somehow, from the highways and crooked roads Again this mass of wretched sin has come At Your invitation with more sin-loads Than Pm able to hope to hide or run from.

Though I have tried and lied and turned from You, You still lay Yourself before me. Humbly mild, My Lord, my Savior! Such Comfort and true Rest! Watching, I both live and cry, dear Child.

My crown draws Your blood; Yours what I’m not able.

You’ve had my Calvary from the cradle.

GREGORY SCHULZ

138

\

ST. THOMAS AQUINAS /. A CA THOLIC VIEW It was stimulation from the East that startled Western Europe out of the stagnation of the Dark Ages. Economically, the people desired the new oriental products. But cultur­ ally, also, Western Europe was never to be the same, for Eastern thought also entered the West. The classical philosophers, Plato and Aristotle, were rediscovered. Together with them came the more recent Islamic ideas. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries these philosophies combined and brought to the West the revelation and challenge of ideas so novel that they threatened to sweep away the whole theology of Christendom unless it defended itself. At first the defense was no more than a condemnation of the new philoso­ phies, but this was hardly sufficient. The Church soon abandoned this effort; instead, she deployed her forces to surround and absorb the invaders. Her loyal monks studied the new philosophies, reviving the study of classical Greek. Their effort gave birth to scholasticism, designed to reconcile Greek reason with Chris­ tian faith.

The apex of scholasticism was reached by a quiet monk of the Dominican Order, Thomas Aquinas. Endowed with a penetrating and synthesizing mind, he applied the methods of the scholastics to theology and employed Aristotle in such a fashion that he produced what the Roman Catholic Church was eventually to consider its standard formulation of theol­ ogy. A devoted student of Aristotle, Aquinas made full use of that philosopher in his 139

attempt to think through and set forth in systematic fashion the whole range of Chris­ tian theology. He believed that he could, by eliminating Aristotle’s pantheism and substi­ tuting divine revelation, “Christianize” the ancient philosopher.

KNOWLEDGE For centuries Western Europe had clung to Augustine’s teaching that knowledge was a divine light infused into man by God. Aquinas, like Aristotle before him, taught that know­ ledge was a natural product derived from ex­ ternal, physical senses and the internal sense called consciousness. Man received sensations from the stimulation of the world. His internal reason then took over, cataloging and synthesiz­ ing. Aquinas admitted that man could not by this method acquire direct knowledge of God or the metaphysical world (e.g., the Trinity, in­ carnation, and resurrection). Aquinas here proposed a second source of knowledge: man might derive an indirect knowledge of God by analogy if he considered God’s attributes.

Aquinas went far beyond Aristotle in suggest­ ing a third well of knowledge, divine revela­ tion. To Aquinas, faith was also a road to truth.

Much truth is not to be reached by reason. It comes rather by way of revelation from God and is to be appropriated by faith, that is, by feeling His will.

Aquinas considered the very limitations of knowledge to be a proof of the supernatural world’s existence. Likewise, he held that true reason, instead of contradicting faith, actually

supported faith, since God is the source of all reason. Although reason could not comprehend all the knowledge given b\ revelation, it could never contradict it. It was a great accomplish­ ment of Aquinas to set forth the relation of reason and faith in such a fashion that those to whom Aristotelian philosophy was definitive could feel that they might consistently remain Christians.

METAPHYSICS

•:

The metaphysics of Thomas Aquinas is a complex of difficult definitions and subtle distinctions on which his theology is based.

1. God's essence and existence are one.

His essence is that He was the First Cause of all creation. Since the crea­ tion exists, it is logical that God, the Creator, exists.

2. God is the only true reality. Men have no reality in themselves but share partially in God's reality.

3. All beings have both potentiality and actuality. In other words, they both act and are acted upon. In God alone rests potentiality. He cannot be acted upon.

4. The body and soul of man form an in­ separable unit. The body (matter) is not the prison of the soul (form) as Plato believed.

5. All beings are both substance and accident. Man may exist apart from another man, but all men combined make up mankind. God, however, is pure substance. He is the only selfexistent reality.

theology, hut did not confuse the two. Me con­ tended that theology and philosophy played complementary roles in the quest lor truth. He went to great pains to delineate the boundaries between faith and reason.

He further differentiated between two types of theology. The philosophic type used reason to interpret divine matters as the principles for the explanation of all things. The second type of theology is concerned with those doctrines which Scripture teaches and faith, not reason, must accept.

Aquinas found it desirable in systematiz­ ing his theology to prove the existence of God. Since the world is in motion, there must be a Prime Mover. The series of causes in the world likewise required a First Cause. Since things may be good and true, it follows that there is a standard for goodness and truth. The very order of the universe indicates an omnipotent and omniscient hand in its creation.

He labored to prove that evil does not actually exist. He contended that evil is the absence of some quality or power that a being ought naturally to have. God could not have created evil, but he permits certain evils to attain good ends or to prevent greater evils.

Sin is an act of free choice, violating the order of reason. God gives this freedom to do wrong, but he also gives man reason to decide between right and wrong. This reason or conscience is absolute and must be obeyed at all costs. If the Church demands something against man's conscience, he must disobey.

In the area of predestination, Thomas struggled to reconcile it to human freedom and to explain why a man whose fate is already sealed should strive toward virtue, how prayer can move an unchangeable God, or what the function of the Church can be in a society whose individuals have already been sorted out into the saved and the damned. He answered that God had forseen how each man would freely choose.

Aquinas contended that the supreme func­ tion of the Church is to lead man to salvation.

But he further believed that it should have

THEOLOGY God is the center and theme of both Aquinas' theology and philosophy. “The highest knowledge we can have of God in tin’s life." he said, “is to know that He is above all that we can think concerning Him.” Aquinas used philosophy heavily in his

140

simple, informative sermons. In his writings he systematized doctrine for easier comprehen­ sion. He knew well that knowledge is multi­ plied when it is shared.

authority over politics and society, as their problems are ultimately moral ones. The chief happiness of the saved in the Church consists in seeing God. This will be imperfect here on this earth. The whole creation, as it left God, will ultimately return to Him. As the divine cycle of creation and return is completed, Thomas’ philosophy ends, as it began, with God. Thomas Aquinas was no innovator in the area of Christian doctrine. He borrowed ex­ tensively from philosphers who preceded him, both Christian and pagan, refining their teach­ ings. His desire was to present historic Chris­ tian doctrine as held by the Catholic Church, not invent new doctrine. Herein lies much of his greatness. He lived in a day when Western Europe seemed ready to give up the Christian faith. By his use of reason and Aristotelian logic, distinguishing the differences between reason and faith. Aquinas gave to reason an honorable and respected place in Christian thought. At the same time he gave Christian­ ity a firm intellectual foundation.

The zeal and devotion that Aquinas showed toward knowledge is indeed admirable. His scholarship, both secular and religious, is enviable. Yet, despite his knowledge, he was not proud. His humble character produced •SCY o

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As a student at the University of Erfurt, Martin Luther received his first taste of scholasticism. It had departed from the old way (Via Antiqua) which Aquinas had originated where reason was a tool of faith in determining truth. The new way (Via Modcrna) taught that reason was only a tool of the world and that divine revelation was the only source of spirit­ ual truth. These changes came from the writings of William Ockham and Duns Scotus. Apart from these variations, the teachings of Aquinas were mirrored in those scholastics of Luther’s day.

Luther became still more familiar with the writings of Aquinas when he was sent to teach Aristotle’s Ethics at Wittenberg University in 1508. As his familiarity with both the Bible and Aquinas grew, he discovered that their respective teachings were not in harmony. But still very much under papal domination, he kept his tongue.

In 1512, Luther received his doctorate in theology and a place on the theological faculty of the university. His intense study led him into Romans, Galatians, and Hebrews. From 1513 on his lectures, sermons, and letters manifest his disapproval of the whole scholastic scheme of theology and particularly of Thomas Aquinas.

The first public exposition of this came more than a year before the Ninety-five Theses.

On September 25th of 1516 a young student of Luther’s, Bartholomew Bemhardi, faced an oral examination for the degree of Sententiarius. His answers were remarkable, but he was the mouthpiece of his teacher. They were authoritative denunciations of scholastic tradi­ tion and theology. This was the declaration of

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war on the scholastic school, Luther's attack was not motivated by icalousv On the contrary, he stated. “I do this on behalf of the true theology and the salva­ tion of the brethren.” He believed at this tune that the corruption in the Catholic Church stemmed from the domination of Aristotle and his zealots in the schools. The theology of Aquinas and the other scholastics was not the simple gospel of Christ and the Apostles. It was rather a cumbersome and artificial com­ plexity, overloaded with subtle distinctions and far-fetched notions. It was more intellectual than religious in its nature.

Luther accused Aquinas and the scholas­ tics of making reason a god. They submitted all their theology to it. In specific areas, he condemned their doctrine of original sin where Aquinas made it a habit rather than a sin. The

continual offering of Christ in the Mass was another area of struggle. The most hotly debated issue, however, was justification by faith. Aquinas and the scholastic school advocated senii-Pelagianism, in which man helps to work out his own salvation, Luther, on the other hand, stuck to the presentation of Paul in Romans.

Luther realized that Scholasticism in itself was not totally bad. The zeal and devotion of Aquinas and the scholastics was enviable. They did undermine the pagan heresies which were creeping into Christendom. But Luther further saw that they had wandered off the scriptural path in their theology. He stated that while under their influence at Erfurt he “learned nothing but ignorance of sin righteousness, baptism, and the whole Christian life.” He struggled long and hard to show the right way.

MARK RILKE

THE STAR’S BEEN PULLED TO EARTH AGAIN The stars arc bright Tonight, and the snow Sparkles with its own Twinkling heaven.

Looking down the valley Sleeping before me.

Buried under the unbroken white, I sec it As God would have itA virgin Dressed for her wedding.

Waiting.

142

■

Everything is covered With the afternoon snow.

All the corners and edges Rounded, softened, Things familiar Now unrecognizable.

Transformed into something Unearthy. Their pure forms.

No trees anymore, Just fantastic skeletons Standing Silent of the past.

No longer breathing.

No longer needing to.

Life has gone With the grass and leaves; Only the spirit remains, Singing Without a voice, Yet my every nerve Vibrates in its harmony.

Silence is so full!

Death is so alive!

Heaven?

Turning around I stare at my tracks, Dark shadows in the snow Glaring at me.

Tying me yet With my humanness, Revolting all And pulling me Back to life.

Forced to walk Another mile, treading On the inviolate All the while.

Toward home.

My breath still rises.

Stepping as lightly as it can, And I notice

143

It's beginning to snow.

The sky is starless.

The star's been pulled to earth again To cover up my tracks.

Tomorrow The white will be Unbroken again.

BRIAN DOSE

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CAMPUS & CLASSROOM least twice next semester.

7^1sually by this time in the school year, the student body has been swamped with a tremendous number of rumors. We have tried to record as many of these rumors as possible for posterity. We cannot make any judgment as to the accuracy of any of the following. How­ ever, RUMOR has it that:

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Most of Northwestern's upperclassmen have by now become acquainted with the famous “Appearance vs. Reality" theory. Al­ though this is usually applied to the work of Shakespeare, we have found that it has many other implications throughout literature. For instance the following interlinear translation of a “Dear John” letter points out the principle of appearance vs. reality :

-Due to the large number of absences after the Thanksgiving vacation, the Dean has declared that there will be no more blizzards before or after major vacations.

-Someone thought Wittenberg was a barn and decided to make third floor the hay loft.

-From now on, the Black and Red will print the endings to Dave Payne's short stories.

-The Board went out of Control.

-Rick Johnson’s last trip to New Ulm was one big U-turn.

- More people watch the Gong Show at noon than eat lunch.

-First-hour Phy Ed class will be held at

Dear John, Interlinear translation.

How are you? Sorry / haven’t written you Ho, hum! Here goes another garbage letter. for so long, hut I’ve been very busy lately. I I really was trying to get by without writing had to have my wisdom teeth pulled, and the

144

you at all, but my mom forced me to do it. doc/or said I shouldn 7 write for a while.

Maybe if I'm lucky this letter will get lost in the mail.

Thank you very much for the last letter When I found a letter in my mailbox, I was you wrote me. It sure was nice to hear from afraid it was from you again. I could tell by you again. your dumpy handwriting.

Congratulations on doing so well on your I couldn't believe it when you said you got last tests! I knew you could do well because an “A” on a test. You acted so stupid when I you’re such an intelligent person. was around. I'm surprised you didn't flunk.

I was happy to find out that your sister I really don’t care at all about your sister made the Junior High cheerleading squad this being a cheerleader. I know you don't either, year. You must be very excited for her. Your you just were filling up your letter with boring entire family must be very athletic just like small talk. Besides, it’s hard to believe a gawk you are. like you could have a co-ordinated sister.

Thank you so much for the kind invitaAbout your invitation to a Walt Disney tation to go with you to that Walt Disney movie. That's got to be the most ridiculous movie, but I’m afraid I already have plans for thing I’ve ever heard of. You know I can't that day. You see. I have to go fishing with my have any plans yet for that day since it's four grandfather in northern Wisconsin. But maybe months from now, but there's no way I'd go we can work something out some other time. out with a turkey like you. I hope I never hear Sorry for the troubles. from you again, unless you can't figure out that this letter is a big shut-down!

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BOWLING PRO SHOP BILLIARDS

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DIAMOND FASHIONS

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Sincerely, Get lost!

Jewelers

Sue

WATERTOWN

145

SINCE 1853

MERCHANTS NATIONAL BANK We're there when you need us 100 Main Street, Watertown 53094 (414) 261-0616 a Marine Corporation Bank Member FDIC

wurtz

PAINT AND FLOOR COVERING

One Stop Decorating Center Corner of 2nd and Main

Dial 261-2860

Some people that have seen “Kolander jokes” have often wondered what they are.

We’ll give you a few samples here, and then you'll certainly agree that you should never have asked.

Swedish husband: What’s for dinner, Schnookums?

Swedish wife: Meatballs.

Swedish husband: Meatballs again? (Pow!) Koly: HA, HA, HA! Athlete: I’m a football player and want to get my picture made.

Photographer: Full-face?

Athlete: No, Half-back!

Koly: HA, HA, HA!

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There once was a young girl that wanted a pink polka-dotted ping-pong paddle...

Audience: ZZZZZZ! Koly: HA, HA, HA!

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MOTEL

Phone (414) 261-9400

r 1% miles north of WATERTOWN on Hwy. 26

I LOVE MALTS! .. .and sundaes, sodas, shakes, banana splits,...

MULLEN’S DAIRY

Here are some of the New Year’s resolu­ tions that have been floating around campus.

Maybe this is the year everyone will keep them.

-Greg Schulz-1 resolve that 1 will make the Black and Red into the Black and Read.

-Prof. Schroeder-I resolve that I will tell jokes without cracking a smile.

-Prof. Scharf-I resolve that Dean Biebcrt will never be late for my class again.

—Tutor Kuerth—I resolve that I will expand my library.

-Tim Henning-I resolve that I will stay out of Touring Chorus for a full year.

-Don Scheuerlcin-I resolve that the DC minutes will be posted within three months of the last meeting.

-Bruce McKenney—I resolve that I will

212 W. MAIN STREET - WATERTOWN, WIS. PHONE 261-4278 146

take all of Prof. Spaude’s Greek electives.

Bill Runke-I resolve that I won’t go out with any more girls.

-Phil Heyer—I resolve that my name will never again be associated with the Pep Band.

-Leroy Dux—I resolve that I will go to at least half of my scheduled classes.

—Paul Schulz—I resolve that I will get small.

-Dave Voss-1 resolve that the Pack will be back before the year 2000.

Norm Burger—I resolve that I will be the weatherman for Channel 6.

Fred Krieger-I resolve that I will chew more Copenhagen than Rick Schiebe.

- Jim Proeber-I resolve that more cards will be played by this year’s TC than last year's.

—Cornell Warnecke—I resolve that I will perfect the hop-skip-and-newton.

JERRY EWINGS and DAVID HUEBNER

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST

I

f you've seen one Christmas you’ve seen them all-right? The Christmas tree has the same ornaments on it this year that it’s had for the last ten years, Main Street of Watertown is lined with the same decorations as always, and every year some little wise guy defrocks the shopping center Santa Claus by yanking off the old beard. But not every Christmas looked like today’s Christmases. The Christmases of years gone by were dressed in quite a different garb.

Decorations have always been a big part of the Christmas celebration. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly’’ and the whole works; everybody got into the swing of it. And that didn’t mean throwing the stuff up the week before Christmas. The Germans of several centuries ago initiated the custom of an Advent wreath with one candle for each Sunday in Advent. They were also responsible for the Advent calendar which fascinates the children as they open another of its doors each day.

Likewise, the English began to collect holly and ivy with which to adorn their homes well in advance of the holiday. These two plants

have an interesting significance often over­ looked. The two are usually found together because holly is considered the man’s plant and ivy the woman's. There was a superstition that if the holly used to trim the house was smooth, the woman would rule the house during the following year; if it was prickly, the man would hold sway.

The Christmas tree was not always the trademark of Christmas. There are several legends as to its origin, the most common one being that one Christmas Martin Luther was so impressed with the beauty of the stars that he took a fir into his house and put candles on it to simulate the stars. This is only legend, how­ ever, and the only thing that’s certain is that the first recorded instance of a Christmas tree as we would recognize it was in 1605 in Stras­ bourg in Alsace. Prior to the appearance of the Christmas tree it was the custom to bring small potted cherry or hawthorn trees into the house at Christmastime. The Christmas tree was en­ tirely European in origin and did not catch on in England until after the 1840’s. The first trees were decorated with fruit and paper

! i

147

1

flowers. In Victorian times it was the custom that the decorations could not be eaten until after the Twelfth Night. Not until much later did candles become part of the tree’s adorn­ ment.

In early English homes the center of atten­ tion was the kissing-bunch. It was approximate­ ly equivalent to the Christmas tree today, in that it was the focal point of the house. This kissing-bunch was much more elaborate than the simple piece of mistletoe which we use. It was constructed by interlocking two rings so that they outlined the shape of a globe. The ribs of this globe were garlanded with holly and ivy and decorated with colored ribbons, apples and oranges. Inside the globe were sus­ pended small figures which depicted the manger scene. To the bottom of the globe was attached a piece of mistletoe.

Every year at Christmastime we’re told to “Mail early!" and every year, whether you do or not, the guy at the post office gives you an odd look over the top of his glasses when you try to buy a sheet of stamps to mail your

Christmas cards. The Christmas card as we know it is relatively new; the custom of send­ ing Christmas greetings, however, is not so recent. Originally these greetings were hand­ written messages. These progressed to writing paper decorated with a Christmas theme. The first actual card was not printed until 1843.

Many of the early cards were quite elaborate.

They were decorated with satin and fringed silk; they were gilded, frosted, embossed and jeweled. For the most part, they were not dis­ similar to today’s cards in that they depicted anything seasonal, whether that be religious or secular.

A great abundance of food has long accom­ panied the festivities of Christmas. In England, the boar's head was one of the most prized parts of the holiday feast. It was brought into the feast with great ceremony on a platter wreathed with rosemary and with an apple in its mouth. Later the peacock became the Christmas delicacy. The peacock was skinned with the feathers still attached to the skin, cooked and then put back into the skin. It was

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then brought to the table, leathers and all.

Both the boar's head and the peacock were reserved for the nobility. However, the abso­ lutely essential part of the English Christmas was the Christmas pudding. Its preparation was a day-long affair, and everyone had a hand in making it. Without the pudding there simply was no Christmas. The German Yuletide fare featured goose and a wide variety of cakes, pastries and gingerbread. Though these confec­ tions were not exclusively German, they were most familiar.

The single most important night in the English Christmas celebration was Christmas Eve. This was a night full of ceremony and tradition. It began with the bringing in and lighting of the Yule log. This was usually more than just one log but rather a bundle of ash branches containing as large a log as possible.

The log had to be large so that it would con­ tinue to smolder throughout the twelve days of Christmas and thus could be rekindled quickly when guests arrived, in keeping with the hos­ pitality of the season. The use of ash rather than some other wood stems from the myth that Joseph cut a bundle of ash the night of Christ's birth, and it was by this lire that He was swaddled. The log was lit with last year’s brand and once lit, the holiday was underway.

Part of the lore of Christmas Eve involved divination. A girl would determine her marriage fate by taking an onion for each man she liked and attaching his name to it. These were placed by the hearth, and the man whose onion sprouted first would be her husband. Another divination involved a bowl of ale punch into which a wedding ring, a bone button and a fourpenny piece had been placed. All the single people gathered around and drank the punch with a spoon. The one who scooped up the ring would be the first married, the button desig­ nated the bachelor or old maid, and the fourpenny piece went to the one who would become richest.

The wassailing of the fruit trees was yet another activity of the evening. This ritual was considered highly important if the next year’s crop was to be assured. One wassailing rite was to place a hot cake in the fork of a tree and to douse it with ale. In another version of the

ritual, a group of people encircled the tree and rapped it with sticks while singing a wassailing verse.

The entire Christmas holiday, comprising the twelve days of Christmas, was one of merri­ ment and entertainment. Card playing, normally not permitted, was allowed during the Christ­ mas holiday. Plays were staged, some being morality plays and others purel\ lor entertain­ ment. The last big festivity of the season was the Eve of the Twelfth Christmas Day. On this night a circle of twelve small fires with one large fire in the middle was built in a Held. The fires were generally thought of as representing the twelve apostles and Mary. After having enjoyed the brilliance of this display, the people of the household went to the barn and placed a cake with a hole in the middle on the horn of an ox. The ox was made to toss his head, and whether the cake flew backward or forward would determine a variety of things, depending on regional traditions. In one part of England, a good harvest for the next year was foreshadowed by a forward toss of the cake and poor or no harvest by a backward toss.

The German observance of Christmas was largely the same as that of England. A few cus­ toms were peculiar to Germany. One of the last Thursdays before Christmas was desig­ nated “Klopfelnacht." Groups of people would go around in grotesque costumes, rattling cans, ringing bells and knocking at doors. On St. Andrew’s Night, December 30th, girls would divine the direction from which their husband would arrive by standing barefoot under a plum tree and listening for a dog's bark. St. Thomas' Night, the longest night of the year, was devoted to dancing, throwing dice, playing games and general rowdiness.

Christmas past and Christmas presentin appearance they are two quite different holidays. Different technologies and different cultures have produced a change in the cele­ brations, yet the spirt of the season always seems the same. Christmas has always been a happy time and a time to put our regular lifestyle aside—at least for a moment.

GREG OTTERSTATTER

149 i

REFLECTIONS IN A DEPARTMENT-STORE WINDOW The din, the glare.

And this main street air Make me wonder As I stop and stare At a lonely manger scene 'Neath a plastic tree of green.

The crowd walks past.

But is stopped at last By the deep voice From a speaker's blast: "For only ten ninety-five Xmas spirit comes alive!”

I hear it said In the back of my head, "The birth of Christ Is no longer fed To a soul (although it dies) Like the sale of merchandise.”

I see you as if with my eyes: With angels singing in the sky Asleep in manger there you lie, The Savior of mankind.

The shepherds come on bended knee This glorious wonder now to sec: No neon lights; no shopping spree.

But joy and peace of mind.

And do the people passing here Know of you, as they stop and sneer, As if you ruin their atmosphere While buying "Santa’s” toys?

In church it's different once again.

But here I feel we have no friends.

In future years just who will send Your message on their voice?

In thinking, I had overlooked A little girl.

With head of curls, Tapping on my toe.

Her face all aglow.

Blue eyes threw an explaining look.

"It’s Jesus!” cried the girl aloud.

I turned and smiled To watch that child With her message sweet Trip down the street...

To be enveloped by the crowd.

RANDY MUELLER

150

f

In ancient times, o star. you showed man He was here.

He may be seen in stable mean by those who care to view.

The gifts they brought are gone, Replaced by modern lore.

Rational.

Critical.

No message is found there. ^

O star, the wisemen came led on by your bright light. / Gifts they bore— balms and moreto please the Christ child fair.]

Return, o star, return!

Guide us back once more to stable mean in Bethlehem, by faith the Child to praise.

But now the years have past Your glow no more is cast.

The manger’s bare.

J Men don’t care.

Jk Our Saviour, lie is lost.

Shine on, o guiding star, above our darkling world.

Reveal His face, Hold your place, And lead us e’er to Him.

1

;

^DAVIDPAYNE

i

i

ACTIVITIES Qut with the old and in with the new. The month of November saw just that as the fall sports teams bowed out of the picture for another year, and as the men in the gym pre­ pared for the long, hard winter. The football team, however, didn't pack up their gear until after defeating Loras College of Dubuque, Iowa, before a Dad’s Day crowd, 29-6. After all the wins and losses were tallied up, some of us were a bit surprised to find out that the Trojan’s 3-2-1 record in conference play was good for a second place tic with Maranatha.

Honored as first team All-Conference for NWC were Senior Keith Free, Juniors Pete Kiecker

and Dave Kolander, and Frosh John Kuske. On the second team were Nate Radtke, Ross Ulrich, and Joe Dietrich. Jim Nelson, Dave Voss, and Jerry Ewings made honorable men­ tion. Six of these men return, along with oodles of other lettermen, so the Trojans should look forward to improving upon their 3-5-1 overall record next year.

The basketball team started where the foot­ ball team left off, by defeating our Seminary 75-72 in a hair-raising thriller. Timmy Lindloff zeroed in with several long-range bombs to propel the team on to victory. Next the Tro­ jans disposed of VVCIC rival, Cardinal Stritch, 151 J

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Watertown

70-66 in another breath-taker behind the con­ stant “board” pounding of Jack Beck and Paul Zell, Unfortunately, the Buccaneers of Beloit College took the wind out of our sails for a while by hammering us 89-62. Competition on this level, though, can only help as the Tro­ jans ready for the Lancer Classic in New Ulm and the meat of their conference schedule.

A determined wrestling team took to the mats on November 19 for the first time, and didn't let up until it had soundly beaten Moody Bible College of Chicago by a 33-18 margin. Key pins were registered by Pete Hen­ ning and Paul Schulz. Three days later, how­ ever, Maranatha handed us a 30-23 defeat and left it up to the basketball team to avenge such a wrong. The grapplers don’t have too many home meets left, so make sure to go out and give them your support.

The Jazz Ensemble also performed during November-twice in fact—in the same place.

On the weekend of the 11 th through the 13th the Wisconsin Synod Lutheran High School Choral Festival was held at Onalaska Luther High School. The Ensemble just happened to be there, since it had put on a concert as part of a NWC recruitment program at Luther High, and was asked to perform for the Choral Fest’s entertainment program on Saturday night. From all reports they must have wowed the “kids,” for they even earned a fan club in the process. Even Cooper seems to have finally found happiness!

There was one more musical “activity” in November, though, and it took place on Nov­ ember 20th in our Chapel. Professor Zabell, with his Vesper Singers, Prep Singers, and Prep Mixed Chorus, presented a “Choral Vesper for the End-Times,” with selections such as “Lord, Let at Last Thine Angels Come,” “Komrn Suesser Tod,” and “Joy to the World, the Lord Will Come.” The service proclaimed the solemn inevitability of death, and that we as Chris­ tians can eagerly look forward to it. With joy we should thank God for the blessings He has given us during our life and for those which He has promised us hereafter. For those who attended, the ensuing Thanksgiving recess meant just that much more.

DAVID KOLANDER 152

WHEN EXPERIENCE COUNTS • •

•

COUNT ON THIS LUTHERAN HOME

A PIONEER IN CARE FOR THE AGING SINCE 1898 NOW PIONEERING IN COUNSELING AND RESIDENTIAL CARE FOR THE RETARDED

THE LUTHERAN HOME

BELLE PLAINE, MINNESOTA

KUE5TER PLUMBING 222 S. First Street

Phone 261-2709

WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

Compliments of

WACKETTS Service Station

FREEDOM WHEELS INC. HONDA

SUZUKI & CAN-AM

311 S. 3rd St. WATERTOWN

1423 W. Wise. Ave. OCONOMOWOC

261-5930

567-9071

KUSEL^ialMg) ^^HARDWARE STORES2^

HARDWARE

HOUSEWARES

APPLIANCES

316 W. Main St. Phone 261-9941 GIFTS FOR ALL OCCASIONS

ZWIEG'S GRILL Fine Food

SINCE

1849

108-112 W. Main Street 261-7122

Open Daily

WATERTOWN

BREAKFASTS - SANDWICHES PLATE LUNCHES - HAMBURGERS BROASTED CHICKEN & CONES MALTS & SHAKES 904 East Main Street Phone 261-1922

Piccadilly Smoke Shop • Paperback Classics • Monarch Notes Open Daily: 7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Fridays til 9:00 — Sundays til noon 406 Main St. — Dial 261-6027

- FEATURING -

Pizza and

Steak Sandwiches ORDERS READY IN 20 MINS. - CALL -

261-0006 500 BERNARD ST

WATERTOWN

SCHNEIDER JEWELRY

LeMACHER STUDIO

Student Gift Headquarters Accutron — Bulova Caravelle Watches Columbia Diamonds Expert Watch Repair

Steve LeMacher, Photographer

309 E. Main Street

PORTRAIT & COMMERCIAL PHOTOGRAPHY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY SPECIALISTS 117 No. Eighth St.

Dial 261-6607

WATERTOWN

Dial 261-6769

Milwaukee Cheese Co. MALLACH CLINIC PHARMACY

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770 No. Springdale Rd., Waukesha, Wis. MANUFACTURERS OF

Watertown, Wisconsin Phone 261-0242

BEER KAESE & WUNDERBAR BRICK CHEESE COMPLETE LINE OF SHOP at SEARS and SAVE Institutional Food Products

QUALITY UNSURPASSED PRICES TO FIT EVERY POCKETBOOK

Phone 261-3880

207 S. 3rd

BH Edward E. Hoffer Realtor & Broker

SUPPER CLUB €r 5-10 p.m. Daily 5-11 p.m. Sat. 4-10 p.m. Sun. PIPERSVILLE

Dial 261-2651

l^nnei/f We know what you're looking for IN WATERTOWN Fashion Headquarters FOR YOUNG MEN

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FARMS - HOMES BUSINESSES GENERAL INSURANCE

428 South Church St. — Watertown, Wis. 53094

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WISCONSIN NATIONAL BANK 104 W. Main St. Watertown, Wisconsin

ROGER'S TV & APPLIANCES

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American Motors

A. KRAMP COMPANY

MATADOR-CONCORD-GREMLIN PACER-JEEP 615 Main Street Watertown, Wis. Phone 261-2770

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402 Main Watertown Phone 261-3385

Formal Wear Rental Dial 261-4174 107 Main Street

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McFarland

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261-1671

111 Main St.

Smart. Clothes for Men

Your Walgreen Agency Pharmacy

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KEEPSAKE & ART CARVED DIAMONDS

Hitachi—Sylvania Stereo & TV Norge, Gibson & Hotpoint Appliances Kitchen Aid Dishwashers Jenn-Air Ranges

COMPLIMENTS OF

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Oconomowoc 567-7566 Watertown 261-3755 Milwaukee 367-6008

CERTIFIED GEMOLOGISTS

Wagners Jewelers 119 E. Wisconsin Avenue DOWNTOWN OCONOMOWOC 567-3741

BOWL-A-FUN LANES 766 NORTH CHURCH STREET

Funeral Service / Furniture Quality and Semico at Reasonable Prices RAYMOND DOBBRATZ Phone 261-2218 607-613 Main Street

Invites All College Students to Bowl MON.—TUES.-WED.—FR1.

1 P.M. to 6 P.M. 3 Games SI.25 Phone 261-9866

LUMBER — BUILDING MATERIALS

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_ *~y Che Castle Church, U)ittenberc}. _ "site of Cutters burial, February 22,1546 .

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(Jyi light breeze stole unnoticed through the trees which dotted the low hill. The people working in the intricate series of trenches which criss-crossed the crown of the hill rarely looked up from their painstaking tasks. They worked slowly and silently beneath the lateaftemoon sun, carefully chipping away at patches of rocky ground, the monotonous taptap-tap of hammer on chisel broken only occasionally by muttered snatches of conver­ sation or strident shouts for assistance. The expedition to Hazor, under the tutelage of the University of Pennsylvania’s Department of Archeology, was completing the next-to-last week of its two and a half months of digging in the hills of northern Palestine.

Dr. Lowell Kaufmann, the head of the expedition, sat in the shade of his tent poring over a number of reports concerning the finds of the previous day. An unguessed-at settle­ ment had been uncovered in the past weeks as his group had delved beneath the lowest pre­ viously uncovered level of the tell. It had been a fair-sized city which had flourished, accord­ ing to the old archeologists’s rough estimates, somewhere between the years 2000 and 1700 B.C. Signs of wholesale slaughter at its gates and riotous destruction within bore mute witness to its violent end. Kaufmann stroked his beard thoughtfully as he read the lists of pottery shards, rough ornaments, and human remains which had been unearthed; so far, all the evidence had supported his theory.

So totally engrossed was he in this that he hardly heard the sound of someone approaching at a dead run. He didn’t look up until a slim figure stumbled wearily through the door of the tent, grasping at the tent pole for support.

It was a young woman vainly trying to catch her breath as she pushed dishevelled locks of hair back from her sweat-beaded forehead.

Kaufmann recognized her immediately.

“Bonnie?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

The girl swallowed with great difficulty, then replied, “Doctor Kaufmann, you’ve got to

come right away!”

Kaufmann jumped to his feet, scattering the reports across the floor. “Is somebody hurt?”

She shook her head wildly. “No,” she gasped out, “but I just. . .1 mean, there’s some­ thing out there.. .uh-” She spread out her hands apologetically. “You have to see this for yourself, sir,” she finished lamely.

Kaufmann rose and gestured for the girl to lead the way. As they made their way through the camp, the archeologist’s mind was afire with curiosity. He'd had Bonnie Simpson in his seminar course last semester, and he thought he knew her rather well. She was a moderately bright girl, but, like most of Kaufmann’s students lately, not overly imaginative (a fact he pointed out to his classes quite often was the degree of imagination necessary In an archeologist). It was hardly likely, therefore, that she should have whipped herself up into such a frenzy over nothing at all. No, he decided, something had definitely shaken her up. He wondered what it could possibly have been.

She led him to a pit, about twenty-five feet deep and roughly five across. Kaufmann recognized the spot as a cistern which had been opened up barely two weeks earlier. It had been clogged with tightly packed rubble and loose stones, no doubt a final barbarism per­ petrated by the ancient city’s conquerors. The old man motioned for the girl to precede him down the ladder to the floor of the pit, where a single lantern burned brightly.

As he stepped off the final rung he turned to the girl, who had picked up the lantern.

“Now what is this thing that you’ve dragged me out here to see?”

In reply Bonnie pointed to a spot in the wall about two feet above the floor level.

“That,” she said, indicating a dim reflection of the lantern’s beam in an area of moderately loose stone. Kaufmann bent down to investi­ gate. Suddenly his eyes widened. He rubbed continued on page 162

THE BLACK AND RED FEBRUARY 1978, Volume 81, No. 6

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The Hazor Anomaly.........................

One Penney's Worth.........................

On A Midwinter’s Time.....................

A Winter Night’s Walk.......................

Where Life Used to Live...................

Mid-Winter Thaw................................

Restless Blue......................................

A Snowbird Called Out On The Wing The est Escape.................................

Fanaticism..........................................

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM...............

The Undertaker.................................

Poem..................................................

ACTIVITIES.....................................

ALUMNI............................................

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ESTABLISHED 1897

Cover Story 167 175 175 176 177 177 178 179 180 181 183 185 185 187

Gregory Schulz

MANAGING EDITOR

.Don Scheuerlein

STAFF WRITERS

Jeffrey Schallert Mark Rieke David Payne Brian Dose

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

. . . Jerry Ewings David Huebner

Entered at the Post Office at Watertown, Wisconsin, as Second Class Matter under the act of March 3, 1879. Second Class postage paid at Watertown, Wisconsin.

Published Monthly during the school year.

ACTIVITIES

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ART

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BUSINESS MANAGER

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CIRCULATION MANAGER

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ADVERTISING MANAGERS

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printing by Mark lickcrt

continued from cover

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them furiously, shaking his head, then stared unbelievingly.

Lodged in the rubble was a small, silver key with the letters “GM" inscribed on it.

The old man drew back, startled. “What in the world?" he muttered. He grabbed the lan­ tern from the young woman’s hand and held it three inches from the object. He wasn’t mis­ taken; it was a key. In fact, it was one of a set held together on a ring, the others still partially buried. “1 don’t believe it," he whispered shakily.

“Neither do I," the girl agreed, crouching down beside him.

Kaufmann looked over at her. She was trembling slightly, and with a start the archeologist realized that he was too. “How did you find this?” he asked.

“Well," she explained in a small voice, “about ten minutes ago I was down here, alone, and I came on what appeared to be a slight air pocket. I poked around in it, very carefully, with my chisel, and there that was.” She tried unsuccessfully to smile. “I don’t know why it’s got me so shaky. I guess the shock..Her voice trailed off into an interminable silence.

Finally Kaufmann found his voice. “Well, we won’t get anywhere just looking at it."

He glanced around the pit and saw the hammer and chisel lying to their left, along with the girl’s notebook. “Hand me those tools," he requested. “And get your notebook. I want you to record the exact position of those keys."

In less than five minutes Kaufmann had freed the keys from the wall. There were seven of them in all, two of them with the “GM" inscribed on them, two more with the inscrip­ tion “National Brass Company," and three which read “Masterlock." The two people stared at them with bewildered faces as they lay in the palm of the archeologist’s hand.

“Those two must be for a car," he said slowly, “and those for a house. I’d guess. The other three are definitely for a padlock.” He cleared his throat nervously. “How they come to be found in a stratum over 3500 years old is a mystery I can’t begin to-” He stopped short.

A thought had just crossed his mind, something which seemed so obvious that he silently cursed himself for not thinking of it before.

He eyed the girl across from him suspiciously.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, startled.

Kaufmann began to nod slowly. “Very good," he muttered sarcastically. “Very good indeed. And your performance was breath­ taking!"

Bonnie looked at him questioningly. “What are you talking about?”

“The conscientious young archeology stu­ dent who finds a frighteningly inexplicable phenomenon in the depths of an ancient city!

You played your role quite well." An impish smile touched his lips. “That was very ingeni­ ous, young lady. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you."

The girl stood up and backed slowly away from him. “Now, just wait a minute," she said thickly. “Do you mean to tell me that you think I. . .planted those keys in there as a joke or something?"

“Don’t worry," Kaufmann continued, “you won’t get into trouble. I have a sense of humor the same as the next man." He chuckled.

“I guess you young people are more imagina­ tive than I gave you credit for." He held out the keys to the young woman, whose mouth was hanging open in amazement. “Well, come on! Take them! It was a good joke, but it's over." He placed them into her hand patroniz­ ingly. “Now you're supposed to be saying ‘Had you going there, didn’t 1?’"

The girl was trembling with frustration.

Angrily she slammed the keys back into the old man’s hands. “Look, I swear to you, I found those right here!" she burst out.

“Oh, give it up!" he replied. He took a step toward the ladder, absently pocketing the keys. “You're milking this dry," he remarked, and climbed out of the pit, leaving the girl staring after him helplessly.

Within a day the story had spread through­ out the entire expedition. Everyone found the hoax quite amusing, but no one more so than Kaufmann himself. In fact, when he was collecting all the finds and packing them for the trip back to the university’s Museum of Antiquities, on a sudden whim he included the keys with the numerous legitimate items. The only thing that he couldn’t understand was the attitude assumed by Bonnie Simpson. Al­ though constantly pressed by various members of the expedition to confess to the fraud, she continued to defend her innocence in the en­ tire matter, assuming the air of a prophet in 162

his own country, said some. Actually, any men­ tion of the subject would send her off to her tent to sulk. Kaufmann assumed that she was disappointed that he had seen through her so A few weeks after the camp at Hazor had broken up and everyone had gone home, Kauf­ mann was persuaded by his colleagues in the archeology department to write a summary of the expedition and its results for their quarter­ ly journal. He couldn’t resist including the story of the key hoax in a footnote, relating how its perpetrator (who remained anony­ mous, of course) had proven to him that the age of the practical joke definitely had not passed. Deep down, he felt just a little foolish that it had taken him so long to sec through it, but he never let anybody know that. In any case, the whole matter seemed to be closed: the article was published in the fall edition, the keys were locked away in the department’s vault as sort of a memento, and that should have been the end of that.

But it wasn't the end. A few months after the Hazor expedition came to an end, as Dr. Kaufmann was sipping coffee and paging through a magazine in the faculty lounge of the Archeology Building on the university’s Philadelphia campus, one of the secretaries led in a tall, dark-haired man, around his early thirties in age, dressed in a dark trench coat and carrying a black attache case. She directed him to Kaufmann's chair and left the room as the man walked swiftly toward him. “Dr. Kaufmann?" he asked, holding out his hand.

“Yes, I’m Kaufmann,” the older man re­ plied, shaking his hand. “What can I do for you?”

The young man sat down in the chair next to him. “My name is Henderson, Doctor,” he said. “I’ve come to see you about something in your Hazor article that was published in autumn.”

“Oh, yes,” the archeologist replied, laying the magazine aside. “What about it?”

The man in the other chair swung the attache case onto his knees, and Kaufmann noted with a surprised start that it was hand­ cuffed to him. Henderson pretended not to notice, but whispered, “Before I begin, Dr. Kaufmann, I must have your sworn word that what 1 tell you won’t go any farther. It’s a

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matter of the utmost importance, and if it were to leak out, the results would be literally catastrophic.”

Kaufmann’s eyebrows shot upwards. He would have laughed, but he sensed that the man opposite him was in deadly earnest.

There was something in his tone of voice, something Kaufmann couldn’t quite define, that convinced him that he should listen to this man. “You have my word,” he replied finally in a bewildered voice.

“Thank you,” said Henderson. He glanced around the lounge uncomfortably. “I don’t want to take the chance of being overheard.

Could we move to your office perhaps?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Kaufmann, as both men rose.

ment’s vaults on the other. As they waited they talked about the science of archeology, and Kaufmann was pleased to find Henderson somewhat of an expert on the subject. Not a word, however, did he get from him concern­ ing the purpose for his visit, beyond the ex­ planation that it had something to do with Bonnie Simpson’s keys. When the girl arrived, Henderson exacted the same oath from her as he had from the archeologist. Then he cleared his throat, and began.

“I’m a representative of the N.I.H.R., a very unofficial agency attached to the office of the president. The initials stand for “National Institute for Historic Research,” and we take a special interest in archeological publications. But the real purpose of. the

“Oh, one more thing,” said Henderson, snapping his fingers. “The young woman you referred to, in connection with a set of keys' do you know her name? Does she still attend school here?”

“She does,” said Kaufmann. “I’ve seen her here on numerous occasions. Does this concern her?”

“Yes, it does. She should hear this too.

Please, could you have her located and brought to your office?”

It took the secretary half an hour to finally locate Bonnie Simpson. In that time, the two men had withdrawn to Kaufmann’s office, a rather comfortable affair located in the base­ ment of the building, across the hall from a small laboratory on one side and the depart-

agency is to caretully examine every list of finds for every expediton in the United States and allied nations, keeping our eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. Let me tell you why.

“In 1854, as you no doubt know. Dr. Kaufmann, an archeologist named J. E. Taylor visited the site of the ancient city of Ur in Mesopotamia. He excavated a portion of the hill there, and discovered an inscription from Nabonidus of Babylon, who reigned around the year 550 B.C. What nobody knows, except for less than ten people in the entire world, is that he also found an anomaly there.” Henderson swung his attache case onto the archeologist’s huge wooden desk, produced a set of keys, and unlocked the handcuff and the case. It opened 164

to reveal an interior lined with black velvet, empty except for its center. There, on a slightly raised platform and covered by a lock­ ing glass lid, was a coin. Henderson unlocked it, then handed it to Kaufmann. “Take a good look at that.”

Kaufmann turned it over in his hand. It was a common quarter, dated 1974. He handed it to Bonnie who, after a moment’s scrutiny, gave it back to Henderson with a puzzled look.

“Taylor,” he continued, “wisely pocketed the coin before anyone else saw it, and didn’t tell anyone about it until he could get it to the president of the United States, Franklin Pierce.

After a long explanation, Pierce took Taylor’s advice and set up, absolutely unofficially, the NIHR with the duties I told you about before.

The quarter was deposited in a hidden vault in the National Archives. Down through the years, only the president and the handful of men and women in the NIHR have known of its existence.”

“Why the secrecy?” asked Bonnie.

“To avoid a paradox,” Henderson replied.

“It’s a difficult concept to grasp. Maybe you’ve heard that old saw about the man who some­ how goes back in time and kills his father before he meets his mother. The paradox is that the man can’t be born now, so he can’t come back into the past to prevent his father from marrying his mother, and so he’s born after all, and goes back in time.. .ad infinitum.

Just what would happen in such an event no one knows. But the most frightening theory is that it would so strain the fabric of space and time that the entire universe would be annihil­ ated.” Kaufmann and the girl exchanged glances. They both shuddered.

“What you mean, then,” said Kaufmann slowly, “is that if the man who was going to go back in time learned of the coin being dropped in ancient Ur. ..”

“He might decide not to carry any coins with him when he does go back in time, to avoid any possibility of a paradox. Or, even worse, if he went back with some time machine he invented, if he learned of the coin he might somehow be influenced not to build the machine, and so on. Personally, I think that whoever this is going to be that drops a coin in Babylon, he’s going to be an unwilling time traveller. I put that into the future tense be­ cause there is no such thing as time travel yet that we know about. I think he’ll be someone 165

just walking along the street, and whoosh! he somehow finds himself in the past. I say that because any organized attempt to put a man into the past would no doubt take the paradox possibility into account and take steps to pre­ vent it.”

After another long pause, Kaufmann asked, “Do you think that the keys were dropped by a time traveller too, then?”

“That’s what I came here to find out. With your permission I’d like to conduct a test.”

Henderson leaned over the attache case on the desk, holding the quarter up in his hand.

“This coin has a fascinating quality to it: it’s indestructible. Not only has it withstood the ruinous forces of the ages, but it also survives everything we can throw at it. Laser beams bounce off it, explosions don’t even tarnish it...” He didn’t finish his sentence, noticing the looks of unbelief on the faces of his listeners.

Kaufmann looked at him askance. “That you’ll have to prove, Mr. Henderson,” he said slowly. The girl nodded in agreement.

“Easy enough,” replied Henderson. “Is there a laboratory around, a well-stocked one?”

“Right across the hall,” Bonnie answered.

Henderson rose from his seat. “Let’s go over there, then, shall we?” They followed him to the lab, which was deserted. Henderson searched for a set of hand clamps, and held the quarter with them over the sink. “Could you get me a bottle of strong acid, please?”

Kaufmann nodded to Bonnie, who crossed the room to a large cabinet, searched around in it for a moment, then returned wth a bottle labelled “Hydrochloric Acid.” She screwed the lid off of it and handed it to Henderson.

“We’ve theorized,” he said, sniffing at the con­ tents, “that as long as an object is in its own past (and this coin is still from the future, by the way) that it is in some sort of stasis, so that nothing can harm it.” Carefully he allowed five drops of the liquid to fall onto the coin.

To the amazement of the older man and the girl they rolled right off and dripped into the drain of the sink. The quarter was unchanged.

Suddenly, Bonnie’s eyes widened with delight.

“Let him try it on the keys,” she urged Kaufmann.

“Yes,” nodded Kaufmann. “I’ll go get them for you, Mr. Henderson.” He left the lab, and crossed the hall to the vaults. He had trouble with the locks; his hands were shaking

slightly. He exerted a conscious effort to stop them, but he was unsuccessful. He didn't know why he was so shaken up by what had just occurred, beyond the normal uncomfortable feeling that comes when one confronts, sud­ denly and unsuspectingly, the unknown. After a short search he located the keys and returned to the lab with them.

Henderson had, in the meantime, washed the quarter under the faucet and was putting it back in the attache case. He left the case open, saying, “If these keys are an anomaly, too, then I have to take them. You understand, of course?”

“Of course,” replied Kaufmann.

Henderson held the keys over the sink and, just as he had done before, poured five drops over them. Nothing changed. “Just as I thought,” mumbled Henderson grimly. But Bonnie clapped her hands.

“Vindicated!” she said with mock glee.

Kaufmann began to laugh nervously. He started to say something to her, but was interrupted

by Henderson, who spoke over his shoulder as he ran water over the keys to get any residue of acid off of them. “Now that we're sure, I have to make a final request of both of you.

“In your article you told all about these keys. However, since Miss Simpson never ad­ mitted that they were a hoax, there is still just a slight air of mystery about the affair.

If some yellow journalist outfit like the National Enquirer should by some wild chance get hold of it, the chances are that the timetraveller-to-be may find out about these keys he’s supposed to drop and it’s paradox time again.

“So, to prevent that as best we can: Miss Simpson, I’d like you to confess to the hoax, so that Doctor Kaufmann here can write an addendum to his article, and have it published in the next quarterly, to tell about it. That way, if someone starts nosing around about this, you can just point him to that written proof that it was all a joke. I realize that it's a real long shot that anyone will ever read the original article and take it at any more than its face value when he gets to that part about the keys, but we have to cover even the long shots.”

Bonnie smiled pensively. “There goes my reputation.”

“Not for long,” smiled Henderson. “If

Pm correct, whatever catapulted this guy into the past will happen very soon. The coin was almost new, and dated for ’74, and the keys don't look ultra-futuristic.”

"Wait a minute,” protested Kaufmann.

"They were found in different strata which differed in age by almost 1500 years. You don’t think the same person could possibly have dropped them both, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” answered the younger man as he placed the keys next to the coin on the raised surface and began to lock up the attache case. “If the things he dropped were in stasis, he’d have to be, too. In fact he still is.” He smiled to himself as he snapped the handcuff onto his wrist. "He might be looking for the things he dropped right now, for all we know.”

He looked up at his two listeners. "You'll do as I requested?”

"Of course,” they replied.

Henderson shook their hands. "Thank you very much. Your cooperation is greatly apprec­ iated.” He walked to the door. "I can find my own way out, thank you. Remember, not a word of this to anyone.” They nodded their assent, and he took his leave of them. As his footsteps echoed down the hallway, Kaufmann turned to Bonnie.

"Young lady, I owe you an apology.” He smiled wanly. "What can I say? You probably wouldn’t have thought any differently if our positions had been reversed.”

The girl smiled sweetly at him. "Please, don’t apologize. You’re absolutely right: I wouldn't have believed you cither.” They both laughed.

Kaufmann allowed his eyes to wander around the room absently as he thought about everything that had just transpired. "Who would have believed it?” he muttered. His gaze caught on the bottle of acid which was still on the table. He made a move to pick it up and put it into its proper place. But Bonnie darted ahead of him and picked it up. “I’ll take care of this, Doctor Kaufmann,” she said quickly.

“No, don’t bother. It’ll only take a second,” he said. “You probably have things to do, any­ way.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll take care of it.”

Kaufmann looked at her queerly. "It’s no big deal,” he started to say. Suddenly a look of 166

1

ated sigh he emptied the contents over the penny, then dropped both coin and bottle into the sink. “Water!” he said through clenched teeth. He whirled around to confront the young woman, whose face had broken into the widest grin he’d ever seen.

“Had you going there, didn’t I?” she asked puckishly.

suspicion flooded his face. “Hand me the bottle, please.” She gave it to him with a puzzled look. He turned to the sink, grabbing the clamp with his right hand while reaching into his pocket with the left to bring out a penny. He set them down next to the faucet handle and screwed the lid off the bottle, sniffing warily at its contents. He held the coin over the drain and let a drop of the liquid fall onto it. Nothing happened. With an exasper-

JEFF SCHALLERT

Ci>e Pcppcy’s YVortlj M r. Richard Nichols lounged in the overstuffed ease of his rocker-recliner. Even dressed down as he was, at first glance, his attire seemed to be custom-tailored to his body’s fine line. Yet, that was only fitting for the head man of the single home-owned men’s store in the city.

It was definitely Mr. Richard Nichols, not Dick Nichols or even Richard Nichols. . .those two men had passed on years ago. The graying businessman looked every inch the stern boss he was reputed to be. A harsh taskmaster who demanded a full day’s labor as well as loyalty, the man still commanded respect. He himself was as enduring as flint. The finely-incised facial features he bore had to have been cut by a master jeweler-that was the only explanation.

Still, the privacy of his own world shielded him, and the awesome facade of the business­ man fell away.

At present, he was peering diffidently at his quality-goes-in-before-the-name-goes-on television. It flickered mindlessly in response, outlining a grotesque rocker-thing against the west wall of the room. Satisfied that Ginger Rogers still complimented Fred Astaire after such a lengthy relationship, the man with the blackish-gray head of hair now contemplated the logic of switching from Right Guard to Sure. John Wayne throatily equated the Old West and glorified aspirin. Suddenly, a stark message confronted unexpecting eyes: PARENTS, IT’S TEN O’CLOCK. DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR CHILDREN ARE? The image of his tawny-haired daughter

clicked into place.

Who knows where she is, Nichols mused dejectedly. Lately, their relationship had been on the decline. He could understand that: no communication and a lack of mutual acti­ vities had sapped the formerly intense bond. A cavernous generation gap had developed-a gap which he believed could never have happened to a father and daughter so close to each other.

What brought fear into the swiftly aging man was that the breach widened daily. Would the two ever experience tightly knit unity again?

The idea tormented him.

An ideal picture of blossoming womanhood had rapidly turned rebellious. Drinking, dancing, and partying were no way for a mature young lady to spend her nights and Nichols bespoke himself to that point He felt he was doing it for her benefit, but opinions differed. This had marked the outset of the Nichols’ Civil War. In the series of skirmishes which followed, neither won, but both lost.

Nevertheless, the skirmishes had intensified into full-fledged battles, and now the tension obscured the atmosphere whenever the two combatants met.

Would they ever regain the lost unity? The enigma hammered at Mr. Richard Nichols.

Caught up in the horrors of their personal strife, he retreated to reminiscences of happier times. The journey took him back the nineteen years to the girl’s birth. The seventeenth of August, nineteen hundred and fifty-nine... the day his life had been irreversibly molded.

The joy—the inexpressible delight-at the 167

arrival of a healthy baby girl- Linda and Dick Nichol's baby girl. Once more the vision of the cherub/nurse floating into the tension-filled waiting room to announce liltingly, “Con­ gratulations, Mr. Nichols, it's a beautiful baby girl!” recurred in his mind's eye.

There was also the sight of the tight-lipped, white-smocked doctor staring at the scuAl­ ness of his shoe tops who mumbled a jumble of condolences and sympathies for a wife no longer a part of the family. And the pain. Yes, the gnawing, eating pajn. Like the old-time dust storms, that one tragic gust of life had blown the best of Richard Nichols away, leav­ ing but a gravelly residue of former richness.

Hurt had eroded his once fertile heart and left it a hollow hulk in the shell of his being.

Ancient waves of loneliness flooded over him. Loneliness caused by emptiness, by the unknown path which lay ahead, and by fear.

The frigid emptiness of the double brass bed they had scrimped those extra dollars for, the vacancy of her kitchen, the housekeeping which had reverted to his inept jurisdiction. .. they all oppressed him now. Fear, equally aged, buffeted him during those first troubled days.

How could he alone ever raise the new-born girl? Mr. Richard Nichol's knowledge of child­ ren, particularly infants, was nil. The nurse even had to show him how to cradle the limp little thing in his arms.

Things had been difficult. Lord knows, how difficult. But he had managed. The clash of the pink bundle of humanity on his shoulder . and the walnut blackness of Linda’s coffin had haunted him for years. In fact, that horrid vision still affected the man. Nevertheless, there were the fine memories he could hang on to-the little intimacies they had before that fateful day. And, of course, there was the ever­ present reminder in the person of his girl— the remembrance of the private joke they had laughed so much about-calling their daughter Penny.. .Penny Nichols. He heard her giggling at that pun throughout the years-his strongest bond to past joy.

Images of the nursemaids: Mrs. Managen, Miss Billingsly, and Mrs. Mackmiller danced before the lounging businessman. Years passed as his link to the past progressed toward eventual maturity. He vividly recalled the time little Penny had asked, “Why is the sky sparkly at night, Daddy?” Other questions innocently

posed, priceless times never to be relived, pic­ tures that should have been snapped—the Hood of memories came to mind. The widowed father remembered his daughter's first fearful day at kindergarten. Penny’s crush on the Parker boy and consequent first kiss was also worthy of a place in his Hall of the Past.

Working up to the present, he was again assaulted by the situation as it stood. The two could no longer speak without the crescendo of rising voices. Her journeys into the nighi life of the city left her no time for of Dad, and he resented that more than anything else.

At nineteen suddenly she felt that she was a woman of the world and had no need for the protective parental guidelines set down by her father. Undoubtedly, Nichols was losing a daughter. His single link with a destroyed past was slipping from his frenzied grasp, and there was nothing he could do to stop the loss. He was helpless, a feeling unfamiliar to one of the leading storekeepers of Sandoval. The remnant of his fractured world was collapsing upon him as the family bond gradually dissolved.

The man, drowning in a pool of self-punish­ ment, struggled for some lifeline-any lifeline which did not manifest itself. A groan of lamentation issued from a point deep within him. Like a bubble buoyed up from the depths of the sea, the moan swelled inside and clamored for release “How could you desert me when I needed you most of all, Linda?”

The woman enshrined in his heart answered not.

The thirty-second spot had disappeared from the nineteen-inch screen interminable minutes ago. A handsome brute of a sportscaster was reviewing the NBA scores. Mr. Richard Nichols felt sadness dripping over his soul. Strategic withdrawal to thev redeeming whiteness of the refrigerator was swift-footed.

The familiar fashum of the opening door soothed his troubled spirit. Several beers would quell the thirst of haunting doubts.

A more secure man strolled toward his easy chair, cradling bottles of alcoholic reassurance lovingly on his forearm. The deftness co­ ordinated by timeless years of practice was evident. As far as Nichols knew, his treasured daughter was not cognizant of his use of the late evening tranquilizer. Tipping the glass had never been one of the precepts he had taught her. An occasional social drink was all he had 168

ever indulged in before her eyes. Yet, these perennial midnight excursions in quest of confidence were an exigency-after almost twenty years, the trip from rcclincr to empty brass bed was still an arduous one, needing a booster shot. Drinking just enough to make him blissfully unobservant was an insomnious necessity.

The shaky businessman’s gaze caught sight of the low budget Japanese horror movie on his Zenith box. He rose to flip the channel selector. Not in the mood for depressing plots, his taste settled on a Jerry Lewis comedy (lick.

For the moment, vicarious delight took him.

From his blurred world, the single inhabi­ tant scarcely seemed to notice the film credits meld into the Hying stateliness of the StarSpangled Banner. The inevitable end came: the station dying its customary snowy death.

man had yet to extinguish the lights. The utter horror of the blackness coupled with the silence of inoccupancy repulsed him. Even in his hazy stupor he could feel the darkness lurking in the shadows. . .waiting to pounce.

The bottles piled behind the Lazy Boy did not give him the power to completely subdue his foe: the Budwciser shield endowed his fearridden frame with merely sufficient strength to struggle to a stand-off till morning. Some­ how the sunlight of dawn dispelled the solitary terror. In fact, it left him feeling sheepish about his childish fear of the dark. Neverthe­ less, each evening “it" reappeared, its aura of evil oozing into his consciousness.

The light was out now; darkness enveloped the man. With all the finesse of a car careening down an icy highway, Mr. Richard Nichols jounced along the hallway in search of his bed-

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Ai Nichols stood up on what he supposed were his feet and wandered toward the tele­ vision. He felt for the dial which would turn the set off. It did not take much time to find, and with a cumbersome flick of the wrist, he managed to fumble the switch into the off position.

The task of turning off his only companion against loneliness was not one he relished, but one that was a must. Silence blanketed the apartment; the sounds of quietude assailed his ears more than the noisiest textile machines could have. The dreaded pall of aloneness followed closely upon the loud silence. It crept slowly until it encased his whole body and held him captive.

This was only the beginning, however. The

room. Salvation was in the wall switch to the right of the door frame. He had that spot memorized. Like a crazed madman, he craved the sixty-watt radiance of his reading lamp.

The glow of the blazing bulb filled the room as well as the heart of the shadowy figure going about his nightly duties.

The muslin sheets crisply brushing against his bare-skinned body calmed him. Still some­ thing troubled his mind. It was perhaps the fragment of an unthought idea approaching realization. Trying to identify it, he could not definitely express the annoyance. He toiled with the bothersome absence for some time, but finally surrendered. It was hard to tell whether he was fighting to find it or to block it out.

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To suppress his agitation, Nichols resolved to read awhile. Snatching an anthology of short stories from the night stand, he decided to spend the midnight hours with Mark Twain.

His eyes slid down the page greased by the effect of alcohol in his bloodstream. Words ran into each other, creating many a verbal acci­ dent. At two, enough was enough. Troubles or not, it was time for bed. Adjacent the prone body, the alarm clock glowered the late hour.

The reading light went out. Darkness swam over the tired person lying in the expanse of the brass bed. Listlessly the man surrendered to the realm of sleep and dreamt of joys met in years past.

The volatile ringing of the phone jangled Nichols’ nervous system out of its hibernation.

The hideous echoing harshly evicted drowsi­ ness. As he clambered out of bed, a pinpoint of foreboding expanded in his stomach. The gray­ ness of dawn told him it was TOO early.

Phones were not meant to be ringing at 6:20 A.M. . .unless something unexpected had occurred during the night. Attempting to rid himself of the growing fear by exposing it, the tired man exclaimed to the wall, "Who died now?!?” Yet. the morbid pronouncement did nothing to dispel the dread inside him. With a pull, his robe was on and he headed down the hall in answer to the telephone's cries of lament.

A quivering hand snatched the receiver from its cradle. Mr. Richard Nichols raised the instrument to his ear. Tremulously he mouthed, “Hello?”

Distraughtness answered, embodied in a feminine voice. “Is this Mr. Richard NicholsPenny’s father?”

“Yes, ma’m, this is he.”

“I’m sorry to get you up so early on a Sunday morning, Mr. Nichols, but did your daughter come home last night?”

The question took the man aback. His first reply was silence.

The woman filled the gap. “This is Mrs. Braun. My daughter went out with yours last night, but never got back. I’ve known about it since four, but didn’t think it would be right to disturb you that early.”

Semiconscious to these remarks, Nichols replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Braun, I’ll check it out now. Would you hang on a second?”

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A parent affrighted raced through the hall­ way to his precious girl's room. In the speed of desperation he uttered a silent prayer to any deity which happened to be listening. Please let her be safe and sound in her bed. Let that be the end of it, PLEASE! Heedless of the girl’s maybe presence, he stiff-armed the door. Well-oiled hinges gave way easily to admit Nichols. The disheveled covers of a bed unmade since the previous morning manifested themselves to the man's wide eyes. Emptiness ruled the room-a vacancy which soon filled his heart. He stood on the rim of a cavern of panic, tottering on its edge. With saving grace, his mind brought him back to the woman connected to his life by a phone line. He dashed to the phone.

Mr. Richard Nichols, his voice tinged with franticness, spoke. "No, Mrs. Braun, Penny isn't here. Do you have any idea where they might be?”

"Well. I had hoped they were at your apartment, but there is one other girl they usually go out with. Her name is Terri. . .

Terri Rem ter.”

"Would you happen to have her phone number?” the alarmed businessman shot back.

Organization was his forte, and he intended to search out every lead systematically and solve this puzzle.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. It’s written here next to the phone. Do you have a pencil?”

"I’m ready-fire away.”

"7-8-8 3-3-2-2. Do you have that? That’s 788-3322.”

“Got it. I'll give the Remters a call and get back to you as soon as possible. Is that okay?”

“Fine,” the woman answered, evidently relieved that someone else had taken over the responsibility of tracking down the lost ones.

Furious fingers dialed digits. BRRRNG, .

BRRRNG. . .BRRRNG. A string of rings flowed steadily. Obviously the house was still asleep. Wake up! Get your lazy bones out of bed! There's an emergency! Impatience screamed in the confines his mind knew.

Finally with a click the receiver was lifted up.

The voice of a groggy matron mumbled, "Hell o, what do you want?”

“Hello, Mrs. Remter?”

A mutter confirmed her presence.

"This is Penny Nichols’ father. I was told 171

that Penny, Mrs. Braun's daughter.. .1 think her name is Karin, and your daughter went out together last night. Mrs. Braun called me a couple of minutes ago and said that Karin didn't make it back. I checked, and Penny isn't home, either. I was wondering if your daughtei got home. Would you mind looking to see?

Maybe they’re even all at your place. I'll hold."

Nichols’ revelation seemed to spark the drowsy woman. With an "It’ll only take a minute,” she hastened off on her errand.

Faster than the weary man could believe, the feminine voice had returned. “No, she'; not here, Mr. Nichols!” It was not difficult to perceive that she was balancing on the edge of that same cavern he had recovered from moments ago.

Attempting to calm the near-frantic female, he began to throw questions at her. "Do yoi know of any place they would've stayed las* night? Does Terri have any good friends she might have taken them to? Are there any close relatives nearby? How about a boyfriend? VVho drove last night? Do you have any idea what bars they might have gone to?”

Mrs. Remter, sobered by the flurry of in terrogatives, strove to answer them, “I’m sorry, but there is no place she could have takei them. We don’t have any relatives in the vicin­ ity, and she doesn't have a steady boyfriend.

I can’t tell you who drove. Terri's car has been parked at the curb since yesterday, so it wasn’t her. I'd guess they went to the Chandelier-they talk about it all the time on the phone.”

“Okay, Mrs. Remter. Thank you ver> much. You’ve given me a couple of leads to track down. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.

Right new I’ve got to call Karin’s folks and tell them what news you’ve given me. I’ll get back to you when I uncover something. Thank again.”

Aging faster than ever, Nichols hung uj the phone sharply. He wished he was as confi­ dent as he had tried to sound. It had been a put-on. Exactly like the face he wore at the office, it was an attempt to conceal feelings of long-hidden fear. Doubts now assailed him doubts mingled with fear. Nevertheless, time, was not a commodity to be wasted at present His apprehensions were cut short by the diai tone.

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By the first ring, Mrs. Braun was on the line, sounding much more nervous than before.

“Have you heard anything?” she queried.

“I just got finished talking with Mrs. Remter. Terri is missing, too. Mrs. Rcmter didn’t know any place where the girls might have spent the night, how about you? Do you know of any relatives or friends she might have taken them to? Karin drove, didn't she? My Penny doesn’t have a .car of her own, and Terri’s car hasn’t been moved since yesterday.”

“No, Mr. Nichols, we haven't any relatives around here and as for friends, those three stay pretty much to themselves. I’d say it’s an ex­ clusive group. And, yes, it was Karin’s car-a brand new blue Camaro.”

“I thought as much. Do you think they would’ve gone to the Chandelier? Mrs. Remter said they liked to go there.”

“I suppose the girls would’ve gone there.

From what little I hear, they seem to go there rather frequently.”

The housewife now posed a question that struck at the heart of the businessman's worries, “You don’t suppose they could’ve run away, do you?”

Anxiety renewed swirled in the head of Mr. Richard Nichols. It was not the first time the question had cropped up for him. Yet, it was hard to believe Penny would do something so thoughtless. He expressed his opinions perti­ nent to the subject, “No, I doubt it. Things have been deteriorating here lately, but not that much. Besides, she wouldn’t have enough money-she can only withdraw funds from her savings account with my counter-signature. The most she could possibly have with her is thirtv dollars.”

“I know what you mean about things deteriorating,” the woman replied. “We’ve had the same problem here. But, what about an accident? The police or the hospital would’ve called us, wouldn’t they?”

“They certainly would’ve, ma’m. The girls are most likely spending the morning hours sleeping off a drinking bout. Don’t worry, we’ll get word soon.”

The grey man hoped that the words of comfort he had spoken had assuaged her wor­ ries more than they did his. Thirty dollars was enough to escape on. All they needed was gas money. Once in the big city, methods for pick­ ing up extra cash abounded. The ways weren’t particularly moral or tasteful, but they did

exist. And, what about an accident? Perhaps no one had discovered them yet. That was a possibility also. He may have soothed the party on the other end of the line, but his hands were still trembling.

“I’ll call you in a little while—I’ve got some clues to work with now. You’ll hear from me as soon as anything breaks.”

He slipped the receiver back into its waiting cradle. An apartment-sized emptiness seized him. He slumped into his chair for an unful­ filling respite. A name scared into his mind already months ago emerged as if to flout him.

ANTHONY ANTONELLI. The length of the name seemed too great for him to decipher this early in the morning.

First of all, there was Nichols' natural

aversion to Italians; a distaste instilled by years of parental prejudice. The small, darkskinned body, the coal-black hair, the similar­ ly dark eyes. . .these traits all spelled Italiano.

He even smelled of old Italy. In addition, the boy had never cut much of a Figure to Mr. Nichols. Penny deserved better than him—so her father thought. Mussed hair and sloppy jeans which had inevitably slogged through the mud were his only distinguishing characteris­ tics. This was a fatal flaw in the eyes of Mr. Richard Nichols, the head of the only homeowned men’s store in Sandoval.

That young fellow will be getting up a mite early this morning, the aging businessman thought as he manipulated the dial to match the number in the directory. Get your lazy carcass out of bed! Nichols’ mind screamed. At length, a hesitant voice answered.

172

The explosion which Hew off the man's lips revealed itself as an “is Anthony there?”

The clatter of little Italian feet pounding up a staircase resounded in the receiver. The fatigued man warned himself to be tactful. An attempt to retrieve some inner strength occupied him until a stuporous Anthony grabbed the phone.

“Were you with my daughter last night?” a strained voice demanded.

Caught off-guard, the boy inquired, “Is this Mr. Nichols?”

A pseudo-calm “yes” shot back to the young man's ears.

“Yes, sir, I did see Penny last evening.

Why?” “Well, Anthony, she never came home last night. Now, where did you see her last? Was it at the Chandelier? Did you happen to notice if Terri Remter and Karin Braun were with her?

They didn’t make it home, either.”

“I left when the place closed at two, sir, but 1 think they might have been invited to a party later on at the owner's house. I’m not in with that group, so I can’t say for sure. I imagine the other girls were with Penny-they always are. Couldn't say I really saw them, though.”

“One more thing, Tony, do you know what the owner’s name is?” the man requested in a mellowing tone.

“Sorry, Mr. Nichols, I think they called him Bill, but like I said I’m not in that clique.”

“Thank you, Tony. You’ve at least given me something to look into. Sorry to give you such a hard time. . .getting you out of bed and all,” he proclaimed almost apologetically.

“That’s all right, sir. You must be very up­ set.” With those closing words, the Italian hung up.

Left alone in his own world, Mr. Richard Nichols pondered the meaning of the call.

Maybe Anthony wasn’t a dirtball after all. He had been polite and helpful in response to ill manners. He even sounded a bit worried him­ self. Snapping back to the job at hand, though, he let his fingers do the running. Chandelier...

Chandelier. Ah, here it is.

Rejuvenated by this tiny ray of hope, the dialing did not prove as toilsome as it had previously. He let the phone ring loud and long.

Seventeen. . .Eighteen.. .Nineteen rings. Noth­ ing. Not an answer.

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Once more. Try it again. There must be a night watchman—ajanitor—someone-anyone!!!

BRRRNG.. .BRRRNG.. ad nauseam. Another twenty rings and still no answer.

One last try. Numbers dialed carefullymethodically. No mistakes allowed. Please answer. PLEASE. Again the precisely-timed buzzing droned in his ear. With despair in his heart, he began to set the receiver down, . suddenly there was a click on the opposite end. “Hey, man, what the hell are you trying to do??? The phone is ringin' off the wall.”

“Hello, sir? This is Mr. Richard Nichols.

Yesterday night my daughter spent the even­ ing there, but she never made it home, I just finished talking with her boyfriend and he thinks that she went to a party after closing at the owner’s house. Could you PLEASE tell me the owner’s name?”

“Sure. His name is T. Robert Sheppard.”

The blow of this unexpected revelation rocked the worn-out man.

“But the boyfriend said his first name was Bill!”

“Oh, you mean ‘The Owner.' You want Billy Farrel. Yeah, he's in here every night pickin’ up some chick or other He’s got a place over on the south side.”

“Thank you, you've been vc.. .

Nichols did- not know whether he should be joyful or glum over his hard-earned dis­ covery. The prospect of having Penny spend the night with some “Don Juan” did not appeal to him. Disconcerting thoughts flitted through his head as the phone book pages Hew by. Farrel-William Farrel. The search did not take long; momentarily he was dialing the number.

Another eternity passed before the man on the other end responded to the complicated circuitry of the Bell System. A fuzzy voice came to Nichols’ ear. It was not the telephone company's fault; obviously the man had spent his anorning in over-indulgence. Patience was wearing thin on the nervous businessman. He barked, “Are you Bill Fairel?"

“Yeah, whadya want?” Farrel snapped his s retort.

“Is Penny Nichols there? Or Terri Remter?

Or Karin Braun?”

“No, buddy, they left a coupla hours ago.

Why? What's the big hassle?”

“Penny happens to be my daughter, and

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she isn’t home yet. Do you know where she or the other girls are?” A demanding tone in­ flected the tone of an equally commanding man.

“I wouldn’t sweat it, dad. They’re prob­ ably sleeping it off somewhere. They were pretty well out of it when they left.” ‘‘Then why didn’t you have them stay over till morning?” Nichols raged furiously. ‘‘Are you kiddin’, man? And ruin my reputation?”

Nichols slammed the phone down in dis­ gust. That smug, self righteous.. .! How would he be reacting if this was his daughter?

Ah, who cares? He doesn’t have as much sense as a ceramic frog.

Slowly the realization of what his disgust had done seeped into him. Farrel had been the last lead. He had been the last one to see the girls and he had no idea where they might be.

It was a dead end. There was nothing left but waiting. Waiting for what he did not know. A phone call? A key in the door? A note?

A glance at the clock revealed it was 8:15.

How fast the time had slipped away while he had performed his vain detective work! A thought-long forgotten-came to mind. Better call the other parents to fill them in on the futility of his search. He performed this sad duty as quickly as the others would permit him. Having concluded his dismal dialogue, Nichols slunk down into his chair and waited.

Two other parents did the same, knowing full well their daughters might waltz in the next second or never.

Although Mr. Richard Nichols appeared to be a man defeated, he had one course of action remaining. Bring the police into the case. A call to the desk sergeant confirmed his considera­ tion. A missing person’s report could be filed, and they would be happy to accommodate him.

The first questions were basic. They took but a moment to reply to. Then they became more difficult. What was she wearing? The clothing store executive wracked his mind to come up with that answer. Gradually he gave the sergeant what he thought she had been wearing. Next came the questions which nearly broke his heart. Would your daughter run away? Has she ever done it previously? Is she mentally unbalanced or has she ever been under psychiatric care? Does she have any 174

suicidal tendencies? The broken skeleton of a man croaked out a “no” to each. The re­ assuring sergeant added his words of comfort and then the ordeal was completed.

Once again Nichols’ task was to wait. On a normal Sunday, he would have been readying himself for the 10:30 service at St. Martin’s.

He did not think much of religion as a whole, church attendance was basically a habit, not a meaningful experience. It gave him a feeling of semi-security to sit in the same pew surrounded by the same friends on Sundays. Today St. Martin’s would have to do without him. There were more important considerations than the Sabbath. Nevertheless, a snippet of a sermon reverberated in his head: the mystery of God’s simultaneous love and hate.

A powerful beacon flashed on in Mr. Richard Nichols' mind. He finally understood it was happening to him right now! Me was so angry at Penny he could have taken her over his knee and paddled her bare behind till it was red, but also, at the same time, he would do anything to bring her home safely. . .any­ thing.

Minutes passed slowly. Hours were days.

Still there was no word. Good or bad, he had to find out what had happened to Penny. Yet, he was incapacitated. Hope dwindled as the

time passed. Hope turned to doubt, doubt to apprehension, and apprehension to fear. Mor­ bid thoughts again took possession of his mind.

With the advent of these thoughts, he did not even want to find out. The idea scared him.

What he wanted was to awake from the night­ mare and know that was exactly what it was... a nightmare.

As if to taunt him, there was a rap at the door. He hesitated, but understood he had no choice. He must answer it. Gradually he made his way to the door. Mr. Richard Nichols checked the identity of his unexpected visitor through the peephole.

It was a blue-clad policeman. He seemed to be fascinated, his gaze engaged by the floor.

The last shred of hope clung for life to the spent man. He turned the knob and confronted the man in blue.

“Arc you Mr. Richard Nichols?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Nichols, I’m sorry...”

Hope’s final glimmer slid obtrusively away in comprehension of the words. His shaky knees buckled; the had-been man collapsed— a wretched heap. The shards of his shattered world crushed the life from his hollowed heart.

DAVID PAYNE

On A Midwinters Time A WINTER NIGHT'S WALK

And explode into millions of Little shimmering sparkles.

The air is fresh and cold and still.

Snow is falling straight down.

And yet so slowly— Like a million tiny parachutes, Touching the ground so silently.

With each new step, The light of one sparkle Jumps to another.

New flashing twinkles Glimmering and glitteringA life-size kaleidoscope.

Looking at a light, one sees The little crystals floating downward, An endless stream as from A fountain on high.

The fallen crystals cover all, Glazing the branches with white shadows, Whitecapping the watertowerMaking it into a giant acornBlankcting the fields, the house roofs,

Walking near that light, One sees its rays hit the ground 175

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but now the spirit reigns

Feeling leaves with a shudder and my body grows a thousand cracks and drops from my soul a shattered crust crumbled by a breath of the new air

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All senses are free and every flaming nerve is bared and swelling in the wind gathering around it a new form that swallows its limits and is in turn consumed by a greater flame

MID-WINTER THAW Winter’s opening his February coat unbuttoning the snow sprouting short-sleeves everywhere Fetch me sunglasses, Sport

Again a womb but a womb of light * The expanse the white rolling expanse that mixes with the sky keeps flowing forever

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Perspiration drips from his brow with the warm sun bathing his hoary body swiftly regaining its emerald tan But soon the coat’s back on again for he hears his mother’s call nipping at his ears reminding him spring's not yet come

No longer tethered between horizons I see beyond life through fire and ice to the ever-burning sun the unsinking spirit always fell and lost now grasped and held high

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No longer chained between past and future I mount the point of time where now and eternity arc gathered into one and drown dreams and memories

RESTLESS BLUE Winter has laid the valley to rest

Winter surrounds me with an absence of summer a hole where life used to live gone are fantasies and sweat and walks through the green humming woods

In the cold clear air I feel its stare on stiff cheeks and toes curling in my boots 177

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Its face once fresh and smiling now pale and lifeless the skin colorless and chilling each feature drawn stark with lines and shadows

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The river alone open and flowing retains a spark of color a restless blue glaring at me between its banks of frozen flesh

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Why couldn't the same hand that stilled its limbs have closed its eyes and made its sleep complete?

BILLIARDS

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Deep drifts are heaped on its grave yet sheets of ice still flow slowly on the edges rasping on the shore hoarsely crying for spring

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A SNOWBIRD CALLED OUT ON THE WING A snowbird called out on the wing.

Below, blue-green water was glistening.

Waves rolled into the Empty shore, Engulfing their feet. Standing. Listening.

SALICK Jewelers WATERTOWN

Sorrow’s tears mingle with the sea.

Salt to salt. One to one. What's done is done.

Hopes are drawn Away with the tide.

Cool of night begins to shade warm sun.

SINCE 1853

178

What seemed so right had gone so wrong.

A life must be carried on separately.

Without warning one is Let Down.

To comprehend a Harsh reality.

The Crashing sea again Recedes Toward horizon’s Sunset: the Death of day.

One Final glimpse. A Sighing breeze.

A young man turns and walks Away.

Hesitation to Break the ties: Resurrected Hope brings desperate Plea.

Deep Emotions are touched, aroused.

The tongue sheds Light where the eye can’t see.

A snowbird called out on the wing Over the same spot where they’d stood before.

Below, a Breaking blue-green wave Engulfed a Ring on the deserted shore.

RANDY MUELLER

t#t escape all recognize est as one of those irregu­ lar forms of sum in Latin. But in today's escapist society it has a much deeper meaning.

Est stands for Erhard seminars training. Est’s teachings are a distillation of every self-help technique from Dale Carnegie to Zen. In its seven years of existence almost 100,000 people have entered its ranks. Its magnetism is much the same as was TM's. It is a method to escape the pressures of the world and feel more spiritual. In reality, est overlooks the world's pressures and profanes religion.

Its founder. Werner Erhard, does not have a laudable past, lie was born John Paul Rosen­ berg. He has sold everything from encyclopedias to used cars. He changed his name in order to escape the search of his wife and three children whom he abandoned.

In 1971, as he drove along a California highway, Erhard received his enlightenment.

There he learned, “What is, is. What ain’t, ain’t." He elaborates on this cryptic revelation by revealing that his own innate evil con­ fronted him. He realized that his own attempts to become “spiritual" were dismal failures. He knew that as he stood now he would never be right with the world. But instead of relying in the saving grace of a loving God, Erhard turned his attention inward. He modified his own definition of right and wrong. He then became perfect and sinless in his own eyes. He became his own redeemer, justified his own sin, and made himself his own god.

Erhard now peddles his revelation to any who can pay his $250 fee. The course of in­ struction stretches over two weekends, en­ compassing over sixty hours. During these periods the inductee's life is highly regimented.

He may eat only once, and even his trips to the bathroom are restricted. In addition, trained orators harangue the people, administering ver­ bal abuse. The process is designed to break down the individual’s self-defense mechanisms.

When he becomes weary, the est instructors pump him full of their doctrine. Passivity exercises are taught, and the inductees receive instruction in meditation until they finally "get it."

This “it" of est is concerned largely with emotion. Erhard and his followers preach that emotions arc “hindrances to real experience.”

They, in fact, distort reality. Est, in tum, teaches methods of meditation which allow the individual to rise above emotion. For instance, in an emotional situation one should imagine himself rising above that scene to a new en­ vironment where everything is peace and serenity. Consequently, the hallmarks of the est movement are stone faces and mechanical smiles without life or warmth.

Est similarly is concerned with reality. It teaches that everyone distorts reality. Further­ more, it stresses that due to emotion there is no objective reality; everything is an illusion.

Hence, if everything is illusion, one is able to choose his own illusion and thus control the 179

events in his own little world, ordaining his own morality, ethics, etc. One becomes his own god.

Est then teaches its pupils how to live in a fantasy world where they may do as they please. One need not conform to social or religious opinions. He does not worry about the past or the future consequences of his actions. He is concerned with the then and now.

He is not interested in anything or anyone who does not affect his comfort. Inside his little world life is blissful. He is captain of his destiny.

Erhard claims to support religion, which he feels is another mode of escape from this world to a fantasy island. He commends the clergy for revealing this escape to men. But his religion is devoid of Christ. There is no sin in his world, no need for a savior, no god but one’s own mind.

Est claims to give people freedom from this world. Psychologists too are questioning

whether it does or not. Some claim that est training destroys the defense mechanisms which are necessary for mental well being.

They point to several examples which seem to link est with psychosis. One man attempted to breath under water after est training and had to be institutionalized. Another suffered from such severe paranoia that he armed himself with a gun, arrows, and a bow. These psychol­ ogists believe that est is harming more than helping the mental health of its inductees.

From a Christian point of view we can clearly see that est does not relieve the pressures of the world. It merely causes the people to put them out of their minds. What is more, they are overlooking their own sinfulness and their need for a savior. Est eliminates God from religion. It replaces Him with the humanistic picture of man. Erhard and his esties are in for a shock when their fantasy bubble breaks into nothingness.

MARK RIEKE

S

pringtime is right around the corner; we all know that even a terrified groundhog on February 2 won’t stop the eventual progression of warmer weather. It is a joyful time of the year for everyone except a special group of zealots, namely, Cub fans.

You can always distinguish Cub fans from normal people at this time of the year. They are stocking up on cotton wads for their ears, so that they won’t hear the insulting ridicule of “knowledgeable” baseball people or, what's worse, the incredulous remark, “YOU’RE a Cub fan?!” These fans are also developing their tough hides, which must be as thick as rhino’s by midsummer in order to withstand the scavengers that lurk around the friendly con­ fines ofWrigley Field.

The reason that these fans get so much abuse is, of course, their beloved team, the Chicago Cubs. Few teams, if any, can match the record that the Cubs have compiled in the

last several decades. They have lost 2,735 games since their last pennant in 1945, the year that everyone else that wasn't halt or lame was fighting fascism.

The Cubs could always lose games effort­ lessly, often a hundred games a year. They would try countless ways to reverse this trend by hiring psychiatrists to analyze the players, or military sergeants to get them in shape.

Sometimes these far-out tactics seemed to be working, and the Cubs would get get off to a good start in April; but their famous collapses would always come. This prompted one wag to say that the Cubs should move to the Philippines, where they could call themselves the Manila Folders. Their most famous collapse came in 1969, when in the space of a few weeks they went from 9VS games in front of the New York Mets to %Zi behind. It should have been surprising that this collapse surprised so many people.

180

The summer of 1977 was a bit more en­ joyable. The Cubs were the best team in the majors through July, playing with a mixture of young players (trade throw-ins) and old players (trade throw-arounds). The good people of Chicago responded by packing in the crowds at Wrigley Field. When Phil Wrigley, the long-time owner of the Cubs, died, some fans found even this to be a good omen. They pointed to the fact that the Cubs had won a pennant in 1932, the year that Mr. Wrigley's father had died. The success of the Cubs, linked with the equally surprising success of the cross-town Chicago White Sox, made some people even predict an

intra-city World Series.

Of course, most people knew that this success couldn’t last, so no one was too dis­ appointed as the Cubs slid to fourth place by the end of the year. The fans simply went back to their accustomed seclusion, to wait it out until the relief of the winter recess from base­ ball came.

Columnist George Will, himself an incur­ able Cub fan, summed it up best when he des­ cribed Cub fans as '‘feathers on the breeze of life, lonely sliders down the banister of Eter­ nity.”

MARK WILDE

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CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

W

In the UMOC campaigns we saw articles from various newspapers, including the Warsaw Polack Times, the Uranus Dispatch, and the Northwestern Yesterday. One nonsensical paper that was noticeably absent from any campaign was the Black and Red. One con­ testant said he would have used it, but he had already emptied his circular file before he thought of it. After a week of fun, though, the UMOC candidates became normal againGrizzly hung up his gun, Der Krieger got rid of his horns. Aquaman peeled off his mask and fins: now we’re waiting for Nas' to take off his nose.

The tug-of-war and broom hockey contests were unusual this year compared to last year because there were no frostbite casualties. In broom hockey Jon Voss deserves attention for scoring the only goal in the Sophs’ semi-final game against Tertia. The only problem was that Jon was the goalie, and his team lost 1-0.

For next year, the Dorm Council is already working on a new contest for Winter Carnival.

Tliis contest, however, will extend into the week following Winter Carnival. It will be a contest to see which class has the most work piled on by its professors. Points will be awarded as follows:

inter Carnival '78 is over. Yes, that nice mid-winter break that we all waited for with eager anticipation is over. It is always a great relaxation to have an easy week with nothing to do in between those other busy third quarter weeks. The Seniors, of course, repeated as champs in the Challenge-of-theClasses competition, by virtue of their first places in three of five contests.

There were some rumors floating around about some behind-the-scenes news concern­ ing the individual contests. In the Snow Sculp­ ture competition, the Sextaners had the most practical sculpture. We heard that Gullywhumper lived in it for a few days before he came out and saw his shadow-which, of course, indicated that it would be another six weeks before the bell tower would be worked on again. The Juniors won the “We're Not Dumb” award for building their sculpture right over the sidewalk- luckily they made a hole in it so guys could sit on top of it and hawk the butlaloes. After looking at their sculpture in broad daylight, though, they decided they should have left their hundred buckets of snow on the ground, instead of filling up that one wastebasket and passing it around. The Sopho­ mores won the “Most Improved Sculpture” of the year award by making the big step from Snake to Bug. Where do they get such origi­ nal names, though?

4 6 181

for a major test for a term paper

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1) Routine by the college pompon guys.

2) Routine by the college pompon girls.

3) Faculty-student stare-down across the gym.

4) Mark Krause plays Hogan's Heroes on his mouth (if it was written before 1905).

5) Play Steve Martin album.

6) Dean Biebert reads shut-down letters from old girls.

7) Invite everyone from the gym over to count Tutor Kuerth's books.

8) Grease.

9) Watch 12 profs' kids cram into two feet of space on the top row of the bleacher.

10) Have Wally the janitor put on a sweeping exhibition.

for an unannounced quiz for an announced quiz for a normal translation assignment for a translation assignment over 40 lines for any Schroeder translation assign­ ment for the entire class staying awake through a history class for the entire class not getting yelled at in Shakespeare class for a free hour

There would be two incognito judges from the janitorial staff. These men would sit in on all the classes. If either one should reveal his identity to anyone, he will be forced to sweep the halls and clean the bathrooms in all the dorms.

:

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Ever have trouble getting excused for classes? Here are some sure-bet ideas: !

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1) I had to talk to the Dean really late, so I didn’t get much sleep.

2) Deer hunting season (March).

3) Had to go to court.

4) Had to get my hair styled.

5) Had to call home from a downtown pay phone.

6) Funeral a week from. Friday.

7) Cone-head convention.

8) Slept through-thought it was Satur­ day because someone changed my calendar.

9) I’d like to go, but it interferes with my full-time job.

10) Got so wrapped up in C & C that I couldn’t make it to class (z-z-z-z).

This may be hard to believe, but there was a time when you're present C & C writers weren't died-in-the-wool, natural, and funny comedians. In the years before we made it big in the pages of the B <6 R, we had tried our hands at the movie industry. Needless to say, we wouldn’t be slaving away at this job if we had made it. Here were some of our endeavors: Luncheon Counters of the Worst Kind Keith Freebie and the Dean Looking for Mr. Wunderbar Semi-Prepared Pete’s Not Draggin' World's Greatest Student The Touring Choirboys They Call Me Turk The Late Great Pep Band H*A*S*H* The Last Remake of Arnie's Test Blazing Report Cards Who’s Afraid of West Virginia Wolf?

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As most of us know, a new copyright law was put into effect in January, which has affected all musical performers throughout the nation. The exact words of the law are not known to anyone, but then neither is the meaning. In general, it forbids music (since 1905). With the absence of the pep band, we definitely n6ed something to pass the time during halftimes. Here arc a few suggestions for pep band replacement:

Beware, fellow Trojans! That big, black 40,000 gallon tank may not be just an ordi­ nary, everyday, big, black 40,000 gallon tank.

Take care lest it may be a trick gift from DMLC! The Lancers could be seeking retalia­ tion for the stealing of Helen of New Ulm. 182

V

Some night when we are sleeping, many Lancers may crawl out of it, and pillage and ransack our campus. Beware of the Trojan Tank!

Funeral Service / Furniture Quality and Sendee at Reasonable Prices RAYMOND DOBBRATZ

JERRY EWINGS and DAVID HUEBNER

607-618 Main Street

Phone 261-2218

THE UNDERTAKER It startled a mouse.

The ceiling was cracking, And so was the hall.

Some pictures were hanging In dust on the wall.

Silently watching I listened for him.

I rapped a faint greeting.

Wait! Sounds from within!

Was there something moving.

Or was it just the wind?

Have you had the feeling When strange false fears begin?

The old man was wrinkled, His hair had turned grey, His hands years were krinkled, His left leg was lame.

The coat had holes sprinkled From its collar to tail, And his spine now was twisted From age, hard work, and pain.

I stood there still thinking As raindrops came down.

White light'ning was winking.

Claps thundered around.

Bass knockings were coming.

They banged boarded ground.

Was it still worth waiting?

What a house had I found!

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The cane that he carried Hit the floor with a bang.

He should have been buried, But death never came.

Though deep scars he carried, And though cruel hate had rained, Yet he never wavered, He lived just the same.

The door opened slowly, A hand crept outside, A voice asked me coldly, “What’s your business inside?”

“I’ve come for the body Of an Edward McBride.”

This I said boldly Then my courage died.

He saw me turn, cringing, And beckoned me, "Please sit.”

Though my stomach was churning, Yet his voice made it quit; For his speech was of learning, And his tone was of love.

His soul now was yearning For the rest up above.

“Come in, I’ve been waiting.

It gets lonely alone.

Besides that it’s raining, And you’re soaked to the bone.

Come in now, you’re freezing, Come into my home.

Here’s the tea I’ve been fixing Yes, you’re welcome to some.”

I heard this man speaking: I listened for hours, It never got boring— His voice had strange pow’rs.

I now began crying As I heard all his plight,

I must have looked white As we entered his house.

When he turned on the light.

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He said, “I’ve been waiting, For years I have tried By all rights to living Long ago I have died.

Alone now I’m living, And son, I am tired.

I’m the cargo you’re carryingI’m Edward McBride.”

Yet though he was dying, He showed me no fright.

"The time has passed quickly,” He told me at last.

"Don't think that I’m sickly, For I’ve had a hard past.

There's no need to hurry But you must leave here soon.

For your cargo is ready; Bury it tomorrow at noon.”

With that I stopped seeing, And then I passed out, Next thing I was waking, I heard someone shout.

It seems I was lying In fresh dirt, on a grave; They said I was mumbl’ing: “The old man is sale.”

He saw I was pond'ring The words that he said.

And I soon started wond’ring If this cargo was dead.

He answered my questionQuite quickly he did— The answer was shocking.

It made my head spin.

MARK KRAUSE

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Death comes stalkingthe Unseen Conquerorbrandishing his shadow shield; unforeseen, but not unreal, ready to pounce

Darkness eclipses the skittering Giantstecl-toothed Furyof bony claw’s crunch; soul-rending rage, the heart is crushed, so He is gone,

ON YOU.

AND YOU.

DAVID PAYNE i*

IACTIVITIES entering into the heart of the Christmas season.

j irst, let’s take care of some important un1™’finished business from before Christmas.

On December 4, the dedication of the reno­ vated Music-Auditorium took place. The Rev. Kurt J. Eggert, chairman of our Commission on Higher Education, addressed the assembly, using as his theme “The Song of the Christian Heart.” Immediately following the dedication service was the joint College-Prep Christmas Concert. High points of the concert were the Male Chorus’ singing of Praetorius’ “To Us Is Born Immanuel,” and the Band’s tackling of “Christmas Festival Overture (Ukranian Noel)”

by Nicolai Berezowsky.

Another beautiful evening of praise to the Christ-child was enjoyed when the Forum Society presented “The Christmas Festival of Hymns” on December 10. An annual concert, the Forum Christmas Service is a student-or­ ganized event, with Professor Quam acting as advisor. This year’s speakers were Seniors Bruce Becker and Mark Schulz. Director of the choir for the second straight year was Mark Freier. I’m sure that everyone who attended would agree that it was a very pleasant way of

The Trojan basketball and wrestling teams have been extremely busy the last two months, beginning with the DMLC Lancer Classic on December 2-3. With the lower weights pulling a large share of the burden, the matmen sur­ prised DMLC by a 27-25 margin. We didn’t fare quite as well against the other opponents, however, falling to Bethany and Pillsbury by the respective scores of 28-14 and 29-24.

Since then, Coach Pieper’s men have suffered some pains, which can best be summarized in four words: Waukesha County Technical In­ stitute. In two dual meets WCTI has emerged with 36-10 and 35-15 victories. Besides that, in a triple dual at Carroll College, Waukesha beat us 35-16, while we lost to Elmhurst by only a 24-19 score and to Carroll, 23-21. The same thing happened at Ripon College on January 19, when we were pinned by Ripon, but were smashed again by, you guessed it, Waukesha County Tech. And there was also another time, at a seven-team invitational at Lawrence University. It was bad enough that we finished 185

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in sixth place, but, what's worse is that Wau­ conference wins in the last two months: kesha Tech won! A certain reference to a thorn DeSales, 98-77, and 98-38, Gateway Teach, in the flesh conies to mind. But all is not lost.

80-71, Milwaukee School of Engineering, At the Maranatha Invitational on Winter Car­ 98-78, Maranatha 81-75, in an extremely nival Saturday, we ended up in fourth place emotion-packed, action-filled game, and Cardi­ out of five, but at least somebody else wonnal Stritch 72-70, on Mac's 30 foot jump shot as time ran out. Continued consistent play is Lawrence. which isn’t shabby competition a must, but if all goes well, keep February 24 either, by the way. Key individuals have been open on your calendar-our rematch with Greg Dorn, who took a 1st place at Maranatha, a 2nd at Lawrence, and won all three decisions Madison Edgewood just might determine the conference championship and a possible post­ at Carroll, and John Beck, with a championship at Lawrence, and, in general, some, very con­ season tourney bid!

Winter Carnival ’78 was a fantastic success! sistent wrestling.

The weather was perfect and spirits ran high as Fortunately, the buckets team has been en­ all eight college-prep classes struggled to obtain joying a little more success than the wrestlers — |^, class supremacy. The Juniors seemed to be in I'VTVr H 1 1 j i i i ( Oil perfect position to put it away as they bulled < \ t t I \ i '-yTTf.-Ltheir way to wins in both the tug-of-war and \ \ J- broom hockey competitions, but the ingenious 'i — Seniors, with men working in the snow till all fi/af f v r »• ill ^ hours of the morning were making a last ditch i i LIU psai u.i iTi L effort to stay afloat. Well, as it turned out, the t i -J-rf (£ Senior sculpture of Frankenstein in the basei l I—nient (in concurrence with the WC theme, ^ “Science-Fiction"), rated a strong 1st place, ahead of the Frosh's massive robot from Lost ft in Space. But the Seniors didn't settle for just , I it-.*« V..// ■SlrMvf that, and decided to try to win the Ugliest Man ^ on Campus prize also. And as luck would have s?

Mi*** h, they picked a winner, “Die Nasc,” Mark Freier. Some reports indicate that the voting have. Again, back to the Lancer Classic. In an was unanimous, but I will try to be charitable extremely hard-fought game with DMLC in and merely say that, at last report, “Die Nasc” the opening round, it took Bruce McKenney's ran (away with it). This assured the Class of 33 points to lift us to a 72-68 victory. The 78's Winter Carnival victory. Congratulations, intensity wasn’t quite the same the next night Seniors! against Bethany, however, and the champion­ The Seniors didn’t have it all their way, ship was theirs, 82-71. These games, plus two though-they had to settle for a tie in the losses to tough Midwest Conference foes, annual Senior-Faculty game. Senior coach, Dan Beloit College and the University of Chicago, Schmelzer, felt that the key to the outcome have helped the Trojans to be better prepared occurred five minutes into the game when four for their own conference games. As of this Senior teammates blocked Marcus Neuman's writing, we're 7-2 in WCIC play. One of those shot into the stands. It was all downhill after losses was to a run-and-gun Marian College that.

(Fond du Lac) team, 95-89. The other was a The week of frolicking and sleepless nights came to a close with a very enjoyable talent more bitter pill to swallow—an overtime loss to Madison Edgewood, 77-74. Failing to hit program on Saturday night. M.C. Don Scheuerclutch free throws at the end of regulation play lein kept this moving expertly, and first-rate sealed our doom. But, on the positive side, performances by all who participated brought powerful rebounding by Jack Beck and Paul an exciting week to a pleasant conclusion.

Zell, and the consistent outside shooting of Mac and Timmy Lindloff have led to six key DAVID KOLANDER

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186

ALUMNI ^^ontrary to popular belief, the alumni ^^column has not sunk into extinction. No, rather, it is suffering from a malady which is on the opposite end of the spectrum an over­ abundance of news. Woe to the Alumni Editor who bemoans a shortage of material: he shall be drowned in a tidewater of correspondence!

Little did I know that an innocent remark about a lack of information would precipilale such response from all over the country ... even Hawaii. Thank you very much, con­ tributors, for all the mail. My apologies to you if there was not sufficient space for all of your material to be printed.

accepted a call to St. John of Libcrtyville, IL. The date for his installation has not yet been set.

-Rev. Gerald Hintz (’69), accepted a divine call to the new mission congregation which is being established in Clinton, IA. His previous ministration included the St. Paul congrega­ tions in Ridgeland, WI. Rev. David Gosdeck (’65), has accepted the pastorate of Salem parish, Stillwater, MN. Installation was on December 4, 1977.

He had formerly served St. John, Lake City, MN. -Rev. Dennis Valleau (’72), has taken a divine call to serve St. John of Allegan, ML He was installed on February 19, 1978. His former congregation was the mission congregation in Lehigh Valley, PA. -Rev. Theodore Sauer (’37), has taken a call to become Executive Secretary of the World Mission Board. He had served as the pastor of St. James, Portage, ML Installation will take place after Easter.

-Rev. John Lawrenz (’65), has accepted a call to serve as the fourth president of Michi­ gan Luther Seminary. His former congrega­ tion was Zion, Gainesville, FL.

CALLS -Rev. Wilbert Neumann (’51), formerly serving Cross congregation of Rockford, MN, has accepted a call to serve Divinity of St. Paul, MN. He was installed on October 16, 1977.

—Rev. Cleone Weigand (’56). accepted a divine call to Redemption, Milwaukee, WI, and was installed on November 27, 1977. He had previously been at Fountain City, WI, where he served St. Michael congregation.

—Rev. Patrick Bell ('70), received a call to Grace, Eau Claire, WI, and was installed there on December 4, 1977. His former church was St. John of Allegan, ML —Rev. Robert Hartmann (’57), previously serving St. Paul, Lake Mills, WI, has accepted a call to be the District Mission Counselor for the Michigan District. His installation service took place on November 27, 1977.

-Rev. Frederick Mutterer (’49), has taken a divine call to administer to the St. Michael parish of Fountain City, WI. January 22, 1978, marked the date of his installation.

-Rev. Orval Cullen, Jr. (’68), who had been the pastor of Hope, Belvidere, IL, has

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ANNIVERSARIES —Rev. Daniel Malchow ('49), celebrated the 25th anniversary of his ordination on October 30, 1977. He has served as president of Northwestern Lutheran Academy, Mobridge, SD, since 1968.

-Rev. Paul Wilde (’49), also observed the 25th anniversary of his ordination on Octo­ ber 30, 1977. He, too, is currently serving Northwestern Lutheran Academy.

-Rev. Gerhard Geiger (’34), of St. Paul, Roscoe, SD, observed the 40th anniversary ol his ordination on December 4, 1977.

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-Rev. Gerhard Schaefer ('29), celebrated the 45th anniversary of his ordination as well as his 45th wedding anniversary on Novem­ ber 6, 1977. Rev. Schaefer is pastor of Trinity, Neenah, WI. -Prof. Irwin Habeck (’24), recently cele­ brated fifty years in the ministry. He currently serves at the Wisconsin Lutheran Seminary where he has taught since 1966.

-Prof. Paul Nitz (’48), observed his twentyfifth year in the ministry recently also. He is a professor of pastoral theology at the Wiscon­ sin Lutheran Seminary, where he has served since 1974.

-Prof. Gerald Hoenecke ('18), has recently observed his twenty-fifth anniversary as a pro­ fessor at our seminary.

-Bethel congregation of Bay City, MI, celebrated its 125th anniversary on Octo­ ber 16-23, 1977. Rev. John Kurth ('61), is currently serving the parish.

-Reformation Lutheran Church of San Diego, CA, observed its 15th year of existence on October 31, 1977. Rev. Lowell Smith (’59), is their pastor.

-Peace congregation of Livonia, Ml, ob­ served their 25th anniversary on February 19, 1978. Their pastor is Rev. Karl Vertz ('61).

BIRTHS -Rev. and Mrs. Kenneth Kolbert ('73), were blessed with a son, Kyle, on November 20, 1977. Rev. Kolberg serves St. Luke congre­ gation of Jackson, MI. —Rev. and Mrs. Frederick Adrian (’71), were blessed by the arrival of a daughter, Alicia Ann, on November 15, 1977. He is serving at Living Word parish in Mobile, AL. -Rev. and Mrs. Eugene Kock (’63), were blessed in a double measure when twin sons were born in December.

-Rev. and Mis. Elroy Conradt (’70), were happy to receive into their home Jeremy Wade, born February 13, 1977, and adopted by them on October 31, 1977.

-Rev. and Mrs. Gene Durfey (’69), were blessed by the arrival of a son, Karl Adam, on January 21, 1978. Rev. Durfey currently serves Calvary, Dallas, TX. RETIREMENTS - Rev. Hans Schultz ('31), who serves Zion, Chesaning, MI, will retire from the active ministry after Easter.

DEATHS

DEDICATIONS

a

-St. Bartholomew, of Kawkawlin, MI, dedicated a church addition to the Lord’s service on February 19, 1978. Rev. Howard Henke (’44), serves the congregation.

-Zion congregation of Osceola, WI, dedi­ cated its new school building on October 23, 1977. Rev. Roger Woller (’65), administers the parish.

-Peace Lutheran Chuich of Cape Girar­ deau, MO, consecrated a new church and pastorage to the Lord on October 9, 1977.

Rev. Carlton Palenske ('54), is the pastor.

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MARRIAGES

-Rev. Gerhard Press (’20). formerly of St. John, Westland, MI, and a former president of the Michigan District, passed away on January 9, 1978. He received a Christian burial in Detroit on January 13, 1978.

-Prof. Walter Schumann, ein. (’12), died in Watertown, WI, on November 14, 1977.

-Rev. Waldemar Weissgerber, cm. ('24), passed away on January 30, 1978. He had served the congregation of Zion, Van Dyne, WI. prior to his retirement. Funeral services were conducted at the church on February 2, 1978.

MISCELLANIA

Rev. Bruce Aiders ( 72), who presently serves our congregations in North Kansas City, and Liberty, MO, was united in marriage with the former Barbara Pilsner on Novem­ ber 26, 1977.

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-Trinity Lutheran Church of Aberdeen, SD, is opening a new Christian Day School this fall. Rev. Douglas Weiser (’66), serves the congregation.

188

DAVID PAYNE

WHEN EXPERIENCE COUNTS

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The Blood of Martyrs

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The red orb of sunlight sat on the rim of ■ the Colosseum, bathing the storied amphitheater in its roseate glow. Hours earlier, the white marble behemoth had been filled to capacity with over forty-five thousand Romans.

Fired by the cheap stimulant contained in their wineskins, the ravening crowd of spectators was buzzing in anticipation. It was rumored that today Marcus Regellus would be set before the lions. The city was alive with the informed report; attendance at the marble stadium was phenomenal.

Marcus Regellus was a Christian. In fact, a spokesman for the Christians.. .the famed “forum” orator. A low-born Roman who had embraced the religion of the ichthus with a vigor accompanied by verbal pyrotechnics, he had summarily been arrested, tried, and con­ victed. The court has pronounced him an enemy of the state. Such a radical could not be tolerated or allowed to foment further un­ acceptable theories. His sentence was death-a terrible death, a death in the amphitheater with the beasts. It would be interesting to see how the speaking flame-thrower would deal with opponents of a non-intclligcnt nature.

The guards led the Christians out onto the floor of the Colosseum. First they shoved the women into the pandemonium. A cry went up from the masses. Truly these women were a motley lot. Their hair was greasy and straggly from the weeks of imprisonment. The clothes they wore were tattered rags, seemingly held together by mere threads. The guards man­ handled them over to the center, pummeling the wretches with their fists at the slightest

provocation. . .to the throng’s raucous approval.

The men followed close behind. They did not appear to be in much better shape. Clad in rough, perspiration-stained tunics, they bore the marks of many a beating. The Christians seemed to be broken-in outward aspects, at least. The guards herded them out like cattle, prodding them on.

One man alone stood strong and tall. In­ deed he was the poorest physical specimen.

Both eyes were blackened and his extremities bore a multitude of bruises. Yet, he retained a noble air about him. He seemed unbroken in a terror of oppression.

As the expectant crowd caught sight of the figure, they unleashed a flurry of rocks on the man. The guards, attempting to escape the deadly missiles, scurried off to the sides. How­ ever, the man remained erect—weathering the blows without flinching.

Invective spewed out of the foaming mouths in the stands. Swiftly the “herdsmen” departed to the safety afforded by the stone walls.

Simultaneously, flesh-starved lions were loosed upon the miserable beggars on the sandy floor of the amphitheater. Screams issued forth from the Romans in response to the gory spectacle.

The lions lunged after their prey.

Marcus Regcllus stood erect before the women and younger ones.. .a pillar of faith.

As his fate approached, he cried out, “Lord Christ, remember us!” He was accompanied by the singing of hymns and prayers from his brothers. Their words were swallowed up by the tumult of the throng.

Regcllus was the first to be mauled. One continued on page 198

THE BLACK AND RED 7

MARCH 1978, Volume 81, No. 6

The Blood of Martyrs .

Cover Story

A Part of the Whole. . .

199

New Prospects for Prep

205

Poem..............................

207

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

207

Lndless Dawn............

21 1

March Shower...........

212

I arly C hristian Luster

213

Mary............................

215

ACTIVITILS

216

A Message to Future Translators

217

ALUMNI.......................................

220

ESTABLISHED 1897

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

. Gregory Schulz

MANAGING EDITOR

.Don Scheucrlein

STAFF WRITERS

Jeffrey Schallert Mark Rieke

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Entered at the Post Office at Watertown, Wisconsin, as Second Class Matter under the act of March 3, 1879. Second Class postage paid at Watertown, Wisconsin.

David Payne Brian Dose CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

. . . Jerry Ewings David Huebner

ACTIVITIES

. David Kolander

ART

. . . Mark Wagner

BUSINESS MANAGER-----

. . Rick Johnson

CIRCULATION MANAGER.

. . Timothy Kant

ADVERTISING MANAGERS

Greg Otterstatter Mark Wilde

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: : i: ■

printing by Mark Kckert

Published Monthly during the school year.

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continued from cover

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hungry lion tore away his right arm with a swipe of his clawed paw. The leader let an agonized scream escape from his lips, but it was soon silenced when his head disappeared into the beast's maw. At the sight of the martyr's blood, hysteria swept through the masses. The Christian had remained faithful to the last. His strength put a damper on the feelings of the viewers. Another hail of rocks fell upon the hapless innocents. The Romans cheered as the animals did away with the remainder of the believers.

That had been some time ago, though. The cries had died away; the thousands had long since found their ways home. The poor had retreated to their free bread; the rich to their wine-soaked banquets. The keepers of the Colosseum had even wended homeward after herding the beasts back into their cages and cleaning up the remains of the Christians.

One solitary figure remained. He wore the purple-trimmed toga of nobility. Sitting in the front row-a position of honor- alongside Caesar’s special box, he was hunched over, his head in his hands. The smile of the sun was lost on him. Although the evening air was already becoming cool and damp, sweat beaded on the man's tanned forehead. The salty moisture formed pools in his palms and occasionally dribbled down the side of his face. The Roman nobleman did not move. An eerie stillness had invaded the deserted stadium as well as its single inhabitant. He seemed to be under the influence of some evil trance.

The time passed. Dark shadows-squeezing in between the arches-lengthened. The sun began to disappear over the horizon. Still the figure did not move. A lone shadow in a blackening world, he remained stolid, im­ movable.

Then slowly he arose. In a burst of energy which contrasted radically with his previous behavior, he bustled toward the archway which would lead him out of the famous amphitheater and into the rowdy haunts of the eternal city. His ample toga flowed breezily behind him. Suddenly he twisted around and looked

away into the (Jeep blue skies. He bellowed: “Jupiter, you are a hypocrite! You are no more a god than I am Caesar! O Lord Jupiter, your city-your nation - is rotting. Its stench pollutes the air unceasingly. Its foundations are decayed and collapsing upon themselves.

Where is your power? Where is your strength?

Do you lift a finger to help your children?

Justice no more lives under your heavens.

These Christians- the ones who die daily at the whims of your barbarians-are the only upright

citizens who remain. They are slaughtered un­ mercifully, though they be the sole hope of our nation. The immoral and licentious domi­ nate our country. How can we survive? Is that justice? You are no god, Jupiter. You are a curse-the death of our nation!

“The God of the Christians is the only true God. Indeed, they die. But they die strong and faithful. Unafraid. They die, not with the pollution of wine on their mouths, but with the incense of prayer on their lips. O God of the Christians, 1 do no know your name. Do they call you Christus??? I know you are the one and only true God. Look on me with your 198

merciful eyes, I beg you, and pity me. I mourn for the brothers who died in the arena they were not deserving of such a death. They did nothing to warrant death. I have. I stood mute as they screamed for mercy. When they died in misery, I watched unmoved. I should be the one to die. Lord, have pity on me, I follow in the footsteps of my brothers in the arena."

With that, the nobleman reached into the folds of his white-chalked toga and pulled out a dagger. One simple motion and he had driven

it through his heart. He pitched forward and fell onto the waist-high stone retainer which ringed the arena. There he lay sprawled over the cold white marble, as the sun dipped below the rim of the Colosseum. Darkness obliterated the one-time rosy glow. A puddle of blood formed beneath the body and began to drip down, staining the wall. It ran down the side of the wall where it mingled with the martyrs’ sand.

DAVID PAYNE

t

A Part Of The Whole ^wash with a waning April moon, the Atlan­ tic sped silently beneath. Inside the jet's pressure cabin the conversational hum of several hours before had diminished into the fitful sounds of weary travellers fast asleep.

At the outset of this flight these refugees had been exchanging news of the long weeks just past, tongues freely chattering in their native American English; a few infrequently inter­ jecting popular phrases in broken Russian dialect.

Luggage racks down the cabin's length easily accommodated the few portable treasures of the slumbering families. Finally, homeward bound! Still clutching one another’s hands, intimate ranks of reunited friends, families and countrymen retained, even in their slumber, the peaceful miens of persecuted foreigners un­ speakably glad to be home among those loved and loving.

Toward the tail of the States-bound jet, though, a solitary figure lay. Several rows of seats in front of him offered their worn, blue vacancies to anyone who might care to wander

199

the dimly-lit aisle in search of a more com­ fortable bed. Until then they served only to enhance the isolation of one restless figure from the rest of the people in this small, tran­ sient world.

A nondescript khaki raincoat served as a blanket over his rumpled white shirt and loosened black tie. Throughout the night the raincoat had been alternately clutched for its warmth and brushed aside for its oppressive­ ness. At the moment, it was tucked closely under a darkly-bristled chin. Above the soiled edge of the coat lolled a man’s face, bearing wrinkles and a frame of greying hair which quite belied his twenty-nine years.

His name was David, this dreamer. This night his face was a study in paradox: Pro­ nounced alterations following so closely on one another displayed contentment and misery in too-close succession. And, from time to time, his pale lips fondly framed the name of some­ one very dear to him.

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"Christie, hey, Christie! Still okay for the game tonight?” David nearly sprawled head­ long in the hallway in his eagerness to chase her reply through the middle of all his classmates right now tearing between classes. That made her smile—the loss of her boyfriend's compo­ sure was a rare event indeed.

Her smile and nod of assurance were answer enough for David, who proceeded to demand her books for safekeeping on the way to Christie’s American history class.

The countless awards he had received for music, sports and student leadership during his high school years had pretty conclusively demon­ strated his competence. Captain of the debate club, vice-president of the student body, lead bone in band-David was richly blessed.

He very seldom occupied himself with any­ thing else than with a great deal of thankful­ ness.

Mostly, he'd been giving his prayers over lately in gratitude for a mighty special girl-

“Yes, I know, chivalry or chauvinism just so we get there before the bell.” And, with a flurry of timechecks and shared lamentations over a common teacher, they arrived at Room 10.

“See ya later,” the two chorused as Christie entered the lecture hall.

Quietly confident in the unquestionable license of his senior and honor role status, David meandered thoughtfully upstairs to his trombone and pep band music. It was a com­ fortable place to be, and he knew it. Gradua­ tion, with its gleaming promise of (finally) beginning college, was fast approaching.

friend. He was sure that for some time Christie had been watching him from the sidelines, just hoping he would wake up to the friendship she wanted to offer.

"Pretty self-confident too. Old Man,” he chided himself as he hunted around for a music stand. He still thought it true.

Well, she was the greatest thing ever to be handed into his rich life, the tall, quiet beauty who was fast becoming- "just about is already,” he noted the VP's steady. Pretty soon the whole student body would be echoing the (practically true) taunts of the fellows in his fourth-year Latin class about a certain class 200

ring changing hands.

“It wouldn't look too bad on her hand either.” came the reasoning while David greased the bone's slide. Fond thoughts of holding that same hand during the night’s entire varsity game effectively eliminated any significant progress with memorizing “Colonel Bogey.”

The night's game—and many more eagerlyanticipated dates—came, went and metamor­ phosed into graduation parties and summer parades. But .somehow the ring never did gain new ownership. In fact, David gradually gave over all his prayers and affections exclusively to the new college life and its rigorous course of study.

In its cabin seat the worn figure began to shove off the warmth of his raincoat and assume a deeply-set frown. His head strained backward against the stiff blue plastic of the headrest.

Promises of an exciting and enriching college career dwindled into fears of failure.

David had known it would be difficult, but these classes! Horribly wearing hours of study just to manage low C's and D's. ..

Doubt grew at an even faster pace than the letters from classmates and formerly close friends stopped arriving. The trombone still rested near at hand (so did a stack of grammars and vocable lists), but the friends were fading away and it was far too early for new ties.

Hearing local marching bands practice that fall was enough to call forth tears for a lost cameraderie grown more intimate, despite the distance. Weekends at home were for home­ work and short-lived attempts at bumming around with the high school buddies.

Once, though, there was a basketball game on one of his freer weekends, and after­ wards there came an invitation to an impromptu reunion downtown over pizza.

Christie was there. Her chuckle across the table at his abortive attempt to recapture a 201

wayward piece of sausage brought up David's gaze.

“Napkin?”

“Ah, thanks.”

“So how is college going?”

Two pitchers of rootbeer later, Christie had related her more noteworthy experiences at the university. David reciprocated with a sketchy report on a couple of his classes. An uneasy silence reigned as he debated whether or not to offer another pitcher.

She watched him mangling his napkin.

“Pretty rough, huh?”

Now how did she guess that? David was about to pour out his troubled soul when Christie's ride had to leave. He thought she looked pleasantly surprised when he offered to help her on with her coat. They agreed to write to each other and to go out at Christ­ mas.

Four letters and three weeks later, vaca­ tion arrived. Although they met at several parties, David procrastinated until the day before they both had to return to school. The promised date over Christmas vacation, on the eve of Vacation’s End, turned out to be a dis­ astrous arctic documentary; it had been billed as a block-buster premiere. A ritzy night at McDonald’s followed.

Something had happened, David realized after he had driven back to campus the next day. That night he began a letter. “I've been so unfair, Christie, but somehow I’ve got the feel­ ing you understand. Soon as you’re home again could we talk?”

She hurried home the very next weekend, listened patiently and answered soothingly.

David twisted uncomfortably onto his left side, the coat falling around his ankles. Alone in the dim cabin light he dreamt now with a look betokening a lesser burden of pain. But still he frowned.

That summer the class ring finally had to conform to a much smaller finger. For three

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summers after, the cut blue stone dominating Christie's small hand pleased David immensely.

The stack of letters from his dearest correspon­ dent outgrew a capacious desk drawer while his heart overflowed in its own fashion. Several crises were weathered by letter, by phone and by many weekends together. Christie made her­ self an avid fan at every collegiate event David played for. Another milestone was gained when the two again graduated.

David remembered little of that firs! year of graduate school, except for long hours of study and that wintry Thursday night when Christie overrode his stumbling, hard-learned speech with an excited hand on his shoulder and a delighted “Yes!" Thereafter the bluestoned ring was consigned to the depths of a dresser drawer, to be replaced with a more appropriate symbol.

The succeeding years afforded a wealth of precious memories, but David cherished one setting perhaps an iota more than most.

An impossible weight of homework lay on his shoulders as he lay slumped over his make­ shift desk (a sturdy oak board across two file cabinets) in the “study corner" of their tiny first apartment. In his frustration he was on the verge of ripping out a chapter of Hebrew text.

Year after year he'd been working and fervent­ ly praying for the skills to be a competent pastor, and here he was, still unable to remem­ ber a single verb root from one chapter to another.

“Good Lord, how can you just keep on ignoring me like this?" David muttered aloud.

“How can anyone be expected to... " A pair of gentle hands came to rest on his shoulders. A light-bringing voice said simply, “Okay, Hon, enough is enough. Time for bed.”

As he turned to gather her up, patched blue housecoat and all, the curse melted into a blessing for the Joy that was his.

Again and again she would be there. His Christie was ever an undeniable reminder that he daily enjoyed his God’s favor. Especially when he was facing doubt of the most debilitat­ ing sort, she was there. The love David felt for

his wife could only deepen with their shared dreams, prayers and partnership through days, months and years.

Now the figure’s head started to the right.

A look of immeasurable sadness washed over his face, eddying into backwashes of deep-set wrinkles at his mouth and eyes. With dreamy persistence his hands clutched now and then for the security of the raincoat out of reach around his ankles. Unwarmed, David dreamt on.

The lean times of married graduate life passed quickly. The last months of seminary

virtually flew by for the young man soon to begin his ministry. At long last, news of his first assignment arrived, news of a missionary internship in the uniikeliest of frontiers: Soviet Russia.

An unprecedented upheaval in world affairs, a determined young theological student: The hand of God placed David in the heart of Mos­ cow.

It was an entirely new existence. He and Christie carried on a nomadic life, moving from 202

one cramped cubicle to another while David earnestly studied the people and their language.

Throughout three years of cultural acclimation David wondered just what shift in international politics might tomorrow wrench them from this unfolding harvest of long-starved souls.

Meanwhile, Christie was always there, making even a twelve-foot square room into home.

They bolstered each other during the most trying days and together kept up the gatherings of seven determined families, their congrega­ tion.

Problems of language and cultural obstacles were slowly being managed. David was making some headway with such ingrained un-Chris­ tian practices like the na leva philosophy even as Christie was getting the hang of successful queuing for their household shopping.

Then it happened. The Politburo sponsor of the missionaries’ admittance fell out of favor. David and Christie and several dozen exploratory missionaries and teachers became politically forfeit.

The hazy March afternoon when news first drifted down to them, Christie and David were at home, poring over potential instruction materials. A couple of brightly-covered Sunday School volumes lay on the multi-colored patch quilt spanning their bed. Precious copies of Russian New Testaments were crammed here and there among the shelves of two rickety bookcases at the bed’s foot. Christie looked as stunned as David himself felt.

“Hold me, please?” she entreated with wide-opened eyes.

As he held her close and tenderly stroked her hair, David prayed. For two hours of waning daylight they held fast to each other and awaited the inevitable.

The knock at the door that evening, how­ ever, brought friendship and shelter. The father from one of the seven families spirited the couple off to a relative’s rural cottage. Nine days missionary and wife were hidden away by their faithful parishioners until plans for flight to West Germany could be completed. On the ninth day David and Christie were obliged to

203

separate. Each would travel with a different family through the treacherous route of pass­ port checks and visa surveillance to a safe country.

“You know we're in the best of hands, Hon. I love you.” Christie whispered that and, with the greater portion of David’s self, she was gone.

Embracing her quiet confidence, David too fled hours afterward. As his plane taxied into the bustling West Berlin airport, David breathed a thought of gratitude at being safe and a prayer of thanks that he would be seeing his Christie again.

!

He never did. Somehow the first family had been discovered enroute. Whatever the immediate cause, David discovered his great loss a few days later. His wife was dead.

“Lord, how could you?” During the aim­ less days following his discovery David almost longed for death himself, hesitating to seek it out in earnest only because he feared coming face to face with a God he now was accusing of unfaithfulness. The loneliness was unbearable.

David could only plead “How?” for the longest

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time while memories of his beloved Christie haunted him unrelentingly.

Ultimately, though, it was the memories of Christie that seemed to infuse a measure of hope into his bleak mind. The Resurrection Chapter of First Corinthians—he’d read it fre­ quently, verse for verse with her when her father had died that spring. Psalm 23, which he’d had her memorize long ago. The instances of her faith holding him up.. .a night seven years earlier when he'd wanted to curse, but for her.. .long talks in early morning hours over his pastoral unworthiness.. .the closeness of so many years. . .the Love who had given him such a love. He came to remember with the certainly of saving faith that he would perhaps soon—be joining his Christie again and forever, after a life infinitely richer for having shared part of it with her.

David woke then, tired brown eyes taking in the narrow length of the luggage rack over­ head. He cried, and as the tears coursed wetly down his cheeks, the dream again filled his mind. He had owned the same painful dream for years-that’s all it was. he knew: a dream.

The marrow-deep yearning for the wife who could never be his had again wrought the anguish-laden vision.

In its place now lay the cold, wrenching memory of the high school sweetheart who had suddenly died somewhere far away with whispered forgiveness for the aspiring Chrysos­ tom who had spurned her love the better to attend to his studies.

Alone for years and long slavishly obedient to his calling, David mourned anew the wretched emptiness in his soul and fervently petitioned his Lord’s forgiveness for so long ago having scorned the most blessed gift he would never know.

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WATERTOWN 204

New Prospects for Prep ^^nly recently has the name Campion become x"^a relatively familiar neologism in our synod, for it is the title of property which may become the site of a new synodical prep school.

Information about this plan was supplied by Prof Jerald Plitzuweit, who is a member of the joint-faculty committee presently studying the proposal. Basically, the new plan for this school includes two proposals: I) that MLA would be relocated to the new campus, and 2) that the general and teacher courses no longer be offered at NPS, with the idea that the teacher-training students enrolled in them be amalgamated with the new MLA school.

This proposal is not the consequence of some hastily concocted design. Rather it is the result of months of work, calculations, and research by members of the Commission on Higher Education. Already at last summer’s synod convention a version of this recom­ mendation was presented for consideration, and it struck like a bombshell because of its unexpectedness. But it was determined that before the proposal could even be considered, additional data concerning construction costs, anticipated growth in the need for pastors, and concentrations of synodical populations would be mandatory. The product was a supple­ mentary report compiled by the CHE which convincingly indicated that the growing need lor ministerial students would soon crowd NPS from the NWC campus. It demonstrated that, should the demand for pastors increase at the 2.2'.* rate, which is conservative in compari­ son with the present 3.2/* rate, by 1980 the Senior class will require 64 members and the

Freshman class 103: by 1990 the figures will expand to 103 and 162 respectively, with a total college population of almost 500. If the Lord should bless our campus with that number of workers, there would certainly be no room for the prep school on it. Consequent­ ly, the concern for a new campus in the future arises.

Presently, though, the need for more room is already critical for New Ulm’s schools.

The population of DMLC and MLA, which numbers almost 1,050 collectively, shares a campus not a great deal larger than ours.

Students who would prefer to live on campus in the dorms are forced to find off-campus housing. And the athletic facilities simply cannot cope with such a large student body.

The only feasible solution to this overcrowd­ ing without further construction lies in the relocation of its prep school.

The obvious task confronting the CHE was to find an area, possibly even a completed school, where the two schools could be shifted.

The proposed solution was found in the form of the Campion property in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin. The Jesuits, who were the original proprietors of Campion College and later Campion High School, were forced to abandon the school because of enrollment difficulties.

The campus itself is quite a large one, includ­ ing 99.4 acres. It incorporates highly adequate facilities with two gymnasiums, an olympicsized swimming pool, and enough dormitory space to house 500 students easily. Although the institution stands in a town with a popu­ lation only a third of that of Watertown,

205 i

excellent recreational facilities lie within a few minutes’ drive in Wyalusing State Park along the bluffs of the Mississippi. A ski area is also situated not too far distant from the town.

In several respects. Campion appears to be the likely answer to a searching CHE. To begin with. Campion is centrally positioned between the two prep schools. The housing problems at DMLC would be totally resolved on the spacious campus, and, should the need arise, an abundance of land exists there on which to build. The plot can be acquired for a compara­ tively attractive price; the initial asking price is S4.8 million, and an extra $200,000 is expected ' ' -

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to be needed for refurbishing expenditures.

Both teacher and pastor courses will still be offered, so that the prospective ministerial students have the option of attending either NPS and MLA. Before any action can be taken on the proposal, it must first be reviewed by all the districts, and then, if the districts should recommend the purchase, a special synod con­ vention could be expected this summer, be­ cause of the large expenditures involved.

Passage of the proposal is not certain, however;

opinions vary significantly. The faculties of NWC-NPS, for example, harbor reservations about it for several reasons. First of all, the new school would not lie in the prime recruit­ ment area of southeast Wisconsin. Secondly, NPS, which would gradually phase out its teacher-training program, would inevitably suf­ fer a character change. Beginning with the 1979-80 school year (when the Campion school would first begin to function), the prep school would no longer accept teacher and general applicants, with the result that by 1983 NPS would have become an all-male school; that condition might alter a student’s decision to attend the institution. Let it be noted that the ministerial portion of the prep school would remain on this campus until the needs of the college forced it to be moved.

(If at that time the school was a productive feeder for the college, however, it would not be a foregone conclusion that it would be removed from this part of the state.) A third drawback to the consolidation at Prairie du Chien would exist in the difficulty of administering the school; a combined student body of 500-600 students might not lend itself to easy management.

Nevertheless, whatever the synod decides, its resolution must be made soon because of the time element involved. Besides the factor of spiraling construction costs (at a minimum, a new campus would now run between $6 and S8 million), its bid on the Campion property will expire in August, '78, after which time the campus may no longer be available. The decision will be difficult, one which will de­ fied many hours of consideration by repre­ sentatives of the entire synod. We pray that the consequence will benefit the worker-training program in preparing future disciples of the Word, KURT EBERT

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Running. loo I the wind on your hack as you try to hide.

Away, out on the road and novor come back.

Forever* a lifetime away and still too short.

Nowhere, circle-bound and never stop running,

such a pity, day is done, light is gone, but my work, still before me. is always, and never fades with the sun, to be forgotten in the light of a new day,

! one more short poem, and 1 am done, since I don't like the rules.

I've quit playing the game.

ANDREW NITZ

i

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM their ability to concentrate. Some nice, easy mental calisthenics yre in order. This is the sure road back to mental fitness. Here is a pre­ scribed mental workout designed to get those rusty gears going again, and to get you into the rigorous spring studying schedule.

Caution; the emphasis in this program is

y this time of year many students have come to the conclusion that it's time to begin studying. This becomes imperative in the face of repeating all the favorite classes (e.g..

Latin, music) again next year. But there's the mb! Some students find the long layoff since the last time they studied has hampered

207

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not to proceed too quickly. Take each step slowly and don’t hurry on until you can do three repetitions of each exercise without tiring. Too much haste could cause irrevers­ ible damage.

Here are the exercises:

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Now that you’ve got the kinks worked out, it’s time to get down to the real studying. The following schedule is set up for those who have

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Try counting to ten (it may help to lie down before attempting this if you fatigue easily).

Take a book off the shelf, place it flat before you. and try opening it.

Repeat your name.

Remember your name (order of No. 3 & 4 may have to be reversed for those who are extra rusty).

Practice calling a professor to explain why your assignment is late.

Call over the housephone to see if anyone has a dictionary and write down the names of prospects. These names should be kept by your desk in case of emergency (mental con­ stipation ).

Practice buying books.

Make a few trial runs at erasing mis­ takes.

Locale a typewriter and see whether you can identify the letter "R.” If this is too difficult, point out the keyboard.

Ask someone where the library building is (also look for the new signs).

Recall all term paper specifications (extreme care must be taken not to strain your brain on this one).

Practice pointing the Hebrew alpha­ bet.

Practice printing the English alpha­ bet (with the help of a bowl of Alpha-Bits, of course).

208

Li s trouble getting an> or all of their work done.

Many have used this schedule in the past with varying degrees of success.

7:57 am

get up, get dressed, take a siiower. put on dry clothes, head for first hour class.

8.00-12:00 be studious, diligent, wakeful, and have your knees removed.

12:00-12:30 chow down.

12:31 belch 1:30-3:15 sleep during afternoon classes.

3:15-5:30 horizontal breathing exercises.

5:30-7:00 eat, go to chapel, have free time.

7:00 BEGIN STUDYING 7:00-8:10 All languages should be done in this time. Priority list should be English Oral Com­ position (practice with room­ mate and friends), Greek, Hebrew, Latin, German. Be sure to allow plenty of time for the last four.

8:10 You've been studying hard, so go to the canteen for a break, 8:11 get on a housephone; yell at Jon Voss for not opening the canteen quickly enough, 8:30 read newspapers to catch up on the outside world, 9.45 come back from the pool room.

10:00 complain about profs for assigning so much, 10:30 see Dean about having your schedule reduced, 11:00 seek council with your friends downtown.

12.00 come back to dorm and lie on bed to study.

7:57 am get up, get dressed. ..

To help out the recruitment committee in its struggle to come up with new ideas for recuriting, we have prepared a list of new innovative methods that could be used: 209

1) OlTcr a full-ride scholarship* all the way ro Sliopko and back.

2) Give a slide lecture of our dining cuisine (Amber Lantern. Red Barn).

3) I*or the science-minded, let them have the opportunity to touch the valuable antique lab equipment.

4) Make a movie of the lively rapid-fire discussion which accompanies the translation of Terence’s Adelphoi.

5) Write letters to prospective candidates, showing what good penmanship is developed at NWC. 6) Recruit athletes by pointing out how many of our grads are in the pros.

!

h Don't you just love those super record club offers that keep your mailbox dusted now and then? This one just came last week.

WANT TO BUY 4 OF YOUR FAVORITE RECORDS FOR ONLY 5 CENTS!!

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It's simple! No catches! Simply pick your 4 records out of this fantastic variety of record­ ings, send us your nickel, and you’ll be a mem­ ber in our great discount record club for life!

Here's the selections (choose any 4): Thursday Night Fever, by John Trapuka Arnie's Golden Oldies, by AOL You Make Studying Fun, by Meet with Flac Hotel Minnesota, by Eagles (I Want You to) Throw Me Away, by Peter Franipton Terms of membership-you must buy 5 records a month at regular club prices. Tor those records you must choose from a small list of records that we may not even send you. You must pay all postage and handling, and we reserve the right to call you collect about any problems.

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Many people think that C & C editors have to be a couple of morons with no artistic talent whatsoever. Therefore, to prove these notions false we thought we’d contribute a little cultural talent to the B & R by quoting a Shakespeare passage from Richard //, Act III, Sc. 2: Come, let us sit up in the dorm And tell sad stories of the life of profs: How some have been ignored, some scorned in class.

Some mimicked by the students they have taught, Some laughed at by their wives, some dream they ’re killed, All unloved: for within the hollow brief case That accompanies the lonely prof in his sad life Keeps he his notes, and there the assignment sits.

That mocks the students and grinneth at their pomp; Allowing the prof a breath, a little scene.

To monarchize, be fear’d, and kill with books.

Infusing them with fear and great dismay.

As if this night alone were quite enough To write a twelve-page paper on “The Shakespeare in All of Us.”

INC. On the lighter side of artistic poetry, wc also tried our hand at a little songwriting. This first song is to be sung to the tune of ‘‘I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”

Michael Chandler, R.Ph.

Professionally At Your Service

I’ve been working on this term paper All the long, long night.

I’ve been working on it so long That the sun came up and it’s bright.

Can't you hear the first hour bell ring?

They’re closing the classroom doors.

Can’t you hear Professor shouting— You’re gonna flunk my course.

You are gonna flunk. You are gonna flunk.

You are gonna flunk my course.

You are gonna flunk, You are gonna flunk, And then you’ll have to take it again.

Someone's in the office with Dean, Someone’s in the office, I know.

Someone’s in the office with Dean, I wonder if he’s gonna go.

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Then there’s one more song, to be sung to the tune of ‘‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.”

Watertown

210

My G.P.A. fell in the ocean, My G.P.A. fell below C. I’ll prob’ly flunk out of Northwestern, If only I could get a B.

Now this year I write C & C. Refrain.

Oh, please don’t think that I’m a dummy, I don’t want to give you no jive, At least I get through here in four years, While some guys will have to go five.

Refrain: Latin, Hebrew, oh Greek doesn ’t seem to suit me.

Music, Science, oh bring back my Shop class to me.

Refrain:

My Frosh year I used to get straight A’s, My Soph year I managed a B, Then last year I was on probation.

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JERRY EWINGS and DAVID HUEBNER

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Though I’ve crawled through winter I’ll run through spring No wings yet but they’ll come

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Each day the sun steps higher on the heavenly stair dressed in the clouds I’ll too someday wear

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Though weak and small and so far removed his gentle strength pulls my soul eternity’s seed up through the rended earth once holding me whole but now only nipping at my ankles

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m 211

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Oh sun once set now risen I rejoice in the height of your love Many nights still lie between us but I’ve tasted of your endless dawn Give me strength to be there waiting when the earth unrolls to face the final morning which neither darkness or time can approach and all the children of the sun are freed to serve the father of light BRIAN DOSE

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£Matcli ^StpWer* This morning when I threw back the covers and stumbled out of winter kicking the chunks of sleep from my fenders I found March taking a shower

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SALICK

Her winter white wrappings lay in scattered mounds about her as she lingered in the soft rain and hummed a gentle melody with a wandering beat against the windows

Jewelers WATERTOWN

SINCE 1853

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I know I shouldn't have watched yet my thoughts were of loveliness and innocence as a history of winters melted back to thornless roses and unsullied glances when beauty wasn’t so hard to bear But then she turned and met my gaze with a blush at being seen and in the haste of modesty and grace donner her frock of blooming green and slipped away to her secret rendevous with spring

,

BRIAN DOSE

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ur knowledge of early Christianity and its customs is somewhat limited. Due to the Roman persecution, early Christians did not dare to write about their Church. This lack of information extends into the area of Easter traditions as well. For the most part, our knowledge comes from historians writing years after the fact. Two notable exceptions are Tertullian and Eusebius, who wrote during and shortly after the persecution. By combin­ ing these various sources, one can reproduce a sketch of Easter in the early Christian Church.

The epistles of Paul serve as the foundation for our knowledge about the early Church.

These letters, particularly I Corinthians, reveal that many Jewish customs still existed in the Church. Most congregations had a nucleus of Jewish converts. For this reason Paul could call Christ the Pasc/ia (Passover lamb) in I Corinthians 5:7. All knew what the Passover was. This verse leads scholars to believe

that already at this early date the Christians marked Christ’s death annually. In the same letter Paul indicated that the Church was gradually moving away from Jewish tradition.

Verse two of chapter sixteen seems to indicate that the Church now worshiped regularly on Sunday, the day of Christ’s resurrection, not the Jewish Sabboth.

Tertullian (150-225) Fills in more details of the Easter picture. He tells that the annual observance of Christ’s death was ealled Pascha.

He further indicated that the celebration took place on the same day as the Jews celebrated Passover, the fourteenth of Nisan. The entire week before was set aside for preparation.

Fasting and prayer were the rule of the day.

An all-night vigil and prayer service occupied the night before Pascha. But Pascha for the early Christians was not a time of joy. On the contrary, it was a time of sadness and grief.

The Christians mourned over their sins which

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The Quartodcciman Controversy arose be­ tween the Asian Christians and the Roman Pontiff during the last half of the second cen­ tury. Quartodecimanians were those Asians who celebrated Easter on the fourteenth of Nisan. This date was actually their Good Fri­ day. Three days later they celebrated the actual resurrection of Christ. But since the Jews used a lunar calendar, this day could fall on any day of the week. The Roman Chris­ tians always celebrated Easter on Sunday.

Pope Victor I (189-198) attempted to force the Asians to accept his view. The Asian churches, under the leadership of Polycrates, Bishop of Ephesus, refused to obey the command. There were hurt feelings on both sides, but no recon­ ciliation took place.

As this controversy spread through the Church, it was termed the Rome-Alcxandrian Controversy. After the bold step of the Asian churches, many congregations determined the

had sent Jesus to the Cross. Christ’s triumphant resurrection remained in the background for this festival.

Eusebius, writing c. 300, is the next writer to talk of the Pascha celebration. He traces the celebration back to the time of St. John. He too sets the date of the celebration as the four­ teenth of Nisan. By this time, the festival had become a joyful celebration. The resurrection was now the central theme of Pascha.

Writing somewhat later, St. Augustine adds a few details about Pascha customs. He stresses the symbolism of lighted candles in the Church. He further mentions that the days following the Pascha celebration were holidays in themselves, each one having its own worship service.

A sad note in the Easter traditions of the early Christian Church are the various contro­ versies which arose concerning the proper method of dating Easter.

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date of Easter individually. Various methods were employed to arrive at these dates, but no one was universally accepted. The contusion became so great that the Council of Nicea (325) took up the issue. They determined Easter to be the first Sunday after the first full moon in spring. But the decision was not universal. The Roman church used its own method of dating, independent from the majority of Christendom. As time passed, Rome discovered that her stand was untenable and backed down in the fifth century.

Rome's one hundred plus years of absti­ nence created still another controversy, the Celtic Easter Controversy. During these years, Rome had sent missionaries to the British Isles. They taught their converts how to reckon Easter by the current Roman method. When Rome backed down, the Celtic monks were reluctant to give up their tradition. Not until 664 was the date of Easter universally accepted.

At last the Church was free to celebrate Easter, concentrating solely on Christ’s resurrection.

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There you sit in sorrow weeping For your Savior dead and gone, Mary, in despair and anguish, Sad, bereft, and so alone.

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Can’t see signs of resurrection Through the flooding tears of pain; Just don’t sec the coming glory Of the Savior you saw slain.

8

Angels sitting there to comfort Pass unnoticed by your eyes, Gardner standing there behind youHow could he control your cries?

But this hurt can’t last forever; Where he’s gone you now can see; Sorrow vanishes completely When Jesus says, “Mary.”

MARK CORDES

215

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ACTIVITIES all you avid B & R readers who would A love to keep all your issues, but just don’t have the room, the Business Office has just the thing you need: a microfilm machine. Of a recent SI6,600 grant to NWC from the Aid Association for Lutherans, S6,700 was used for “institution support.” This made possible the purchase of a 3M Brand “3400” Cartridge Microfilm Camera and a 3M “500” ReaderPrinter. The camera can shoot out 2400 sheets of paper per each 100 foot cartridge film at a rate of nearly one shcet/second. When pro­ cessed, the film is put back into the cartridge and then placed in the Reader-Printer, which shows the information on a 2’ by 2’ screen.

A meter counter and color markings make for easy reference, and when the desired in­ formation is found, it can be obtained in sheet form at the touch of a button. These machines will help insure the saving of many old Alumni, Board, and Faculty meeting records, as well as many library materials, faculty reports, busi­ ness correspondences, and financial and academic records from possible fire or van­ dalism.

The annual spring Dorm Council Tourna­ ments are in full swing, with almost 175 entrants in competitions such as cribbage, sheepshead, chess, ping pong, pool, and foosball. Each winner receives a trophy and con­ tinued free use of the club room upon payment of his fees at the beginning of each semester.

While the guys in the dorms are working at the dorm tourneys, the basketball team is at a tournament of its own—the National Little College Athletic Association finals in Norfolk, Nebraska. No details are known at present except that the 12-11 Trojans were to open against Louisiana Baptist. To earn the Nor­ folk trip, we had to beat pesky Cardinal Stritch, and we did, by the shockingly easy

score of 64-44. As for the regular schedule, late season losses to Maranatha and Madison Edgewood, and an anti-climactic failure against Marian relegated Coach Thompson’s crew to third place in conference play. Special con­ gratulations should go out to Seniors Paul Zell and Jack Beck for their vitally important rebounding throughout the year, and to Dave Voss, who, though he didn’t gel to play an aw­ ful lot this season, set an excellent example for the team with his hustle and “never-say-die” attitude. Another gem was last year’s conference MVP, Junior Bruce McKenney, who continued his customary steady, heady play.

Though the wrestlers weren’t as success­ ful as the basketball team-they only won two of fourteen dual matches—they showed a lot of heart and class. The Trojans were plagued by illnesses and injuries all season long, and often wrestled against teams with three times as many troops, but we were very competitive in all the matches, nonetheless. The team was made up of only eleven members, and that just isn't a competitive enough situation to assure success. Fortunately, not one of the grapplers is a Senior, and Coach Pieper is al­ ready looking forward to next year, hoping to put this potentially fine nucleus back on the winning side of the ledger. The individual records follow: 118 134 142 142-150 150 158 167 167-177 177-190 190 216

Greg Ewald Jim Weiland Greg Dorn Dave Furno Steve Olson John Beck Charlie Gumm Paul Schulz Joe Dietrich Dean Biebert

6-11-0 5-9-0 17-4-2 0-4-0 9-7-2 12-8-0 4-15-0 2-14-0 5-11-0 0-8-0

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Jerry I:wings

Concert. The chorus sang a lengthy medley of folk songs from around the world. Among the band’s selections were P. 1). Q. Bach’s quite unusual “Grand Serenade for Winds and an Awful Lot of Percussion” and a very wellreceived repeater from the Homecoming Con­ cert, “A Tribute to Louis Armstrong.”

15-12-0

Culturally speaking for a moment, on Saturday, February 25, Professor Bruce Backer of DMLC gave a lecture in our chapel on the derivation and interpretation of Bach's ClavierUebungen. The following afternoon, Doris Kitzerow, assisted by Prof. Backer, provided a very talented and entertaining organ recital on the chapel organ.

Finally, on February 12, Dr. Lehmann’s Male Chorus and Band staged their yearly Pops

—Don't forget the Jazz Ensemble Concert on April 15 and the Forum Final, “A Mid­ summer Night’s Dream,” on the weekend of April 28-30.

DAVID KOLANDER

H fto&ip to fiituvt translators; n ancient Rome there lived a young poet ^ named Catullus. He was a moderately prolific writer (and often more than moderate­ ly pornographic), but lie was only one among the great number of youthful bravos who wanted to make a lasting name for themselves in the Eternal City. The only reason that he did, when they didn't, is this: In medieval Italy some obscure city clerk found a collection of Catullus’ poems lying in the road and decided to save ii from an oblivion that future generations of Latin students were to think well-merited. Some of Catullus' poetry is the worst Latin possible, when it comes to translating. Fate, however, is obviously no respecter of syntax.

Two conclusions can be drawn from this: 1) Anything at all that gets itself written down could survive its own time. Literary quality has nothing at all to do with it; it’s merely a question of dumb luck. Hence it is possible that this very article could, some two or three millenia after it has been written, end up as an exercise in ancient English translation.

Therefore, it is to those future translators that this article is addressed (of course, if anyone else wants to take a look at it, let him feel free). 2) Everything that has been written is difficult to translate into another language.

Catullus, Xenophon, Jeremiah, and Luther are all very difficult authors to translate from their original Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and German (respectively) into modern English, and there is no doubt that the same axiom will hold true for Hemingway, Steinbeck, and Bradbury in the distant future. There’s a dark, insidious reason for this. There has been and still is a conspiracy among authors of all ages and all languages to drive their future translators in­ sane. It is sort of an unspoken agreement among all authors that, once they have reached that rank, they will abide by an unwritten creed to madden posterity, unwritten, that is, until now. Here, for all ancient English stu­ dents, is a demonstration of the employment in English literature of “The Six Linguistically Legitimate Yet Etymologically Evil Dirty Devices.”

1.

OBSCURE, LITTLE-USED WORDS. Authors snicker with sadistic glee as they envision their victims paging desperately through their glossaries to find the meanings of such words as “didacticism” or “piover.”

The earlier the author is, as a rule, the more obscure is his vocabulary. Shakespeare, for example, uses words that most English-speak­ ing people don’t even know. The fact of the

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217

matter is that each author dreams of getting a “hapax legomenon” to his credit. A hapax legomenon is a word that is only used once in the entire literatue of a given language, and un­ less it is based on a recognizable word root it will cause no end of dispute among scholars of an age to come (and what author doesn't want to be talked about in coming ages?).

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II. FOREIGN LANGUAGE REFERENCE. This is a favorite among authors who have a rudimentary knowledge of a foreign language and want to show it off. (“Hapax legomenon,” if you didn't already know, by the way, is Greek for “only said once.”) Foreign terms are dropped into the writings of some authors like ants in a kitchen; you know they’re there, but you don't know what to do about them. If you’re lucky the foreign term is translated for you in a footnote. However, some editors who have rudimentary knowledge of other foreign languages often show if off in such footnotes, leaving the translator no recourse but an educated guess (or more often a flying guess).

MISSPELLING. Misspelling (misIII. pelling?) is an inordinately simple device for an English author to employ, because English is a language filled to the brim with homonyms, words which sound alike but mean something different. For example, a strict, literal inter­ pretation of the sentence “The rope was taught,” leads to the conclusion that a mere piece of hemp is capable of independent logi­ cal reasoning, and therefore educable. This mistaken notion could have been avoided entirely by a correct spelling of the word “taut.” Fortunately not many authors stoop to such a blatantly low tactic as this; maybe they think it’s two silly.

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IV. IDIOMS. Idioms arc perhaps the most perfidious of all literary evils. Is it mere coinci­ dence that the word itself has the same root as the word “idiotic”? Taken literally, idioms make no sense at all. Sentence: “Sarge, I just don’t have the guts for combat duty.” Logical conclusion: Combat duty requires a unique arrangement of the viscera, or perhaps even bodily organs in the soldier which are totally lacking in civilians. Unless you know what

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thought is being conveyed by an idiom, though, you're up the creek without a paddle.

*

V. REGIONAL DIALECTS. Mark Twain is a master of the regional dialect (that’s a nice way of putting it). His works abound in old Southern phraseology like “Wall, shore ’nuff, Huck, I’s gwine t’ do everything yuh says."

It's hard enough for a born English speaker to decipher such things; it must be sheer torture for the translators of the future. The facet of regional dialects that appeals most to the author who is writing for the future is that he doesn’t have to know if people really speak that way or not (in fact, such ignorance may be an asset to some more imaginative writers); as long as he's written it down that they do, future generations will just have to take his word for it. That’s a terribly dishonest attitude, but it does given an author a terrific sense of power.

VI.CONEUSING SENTENCE STRUCTURE. This is probably the most insidious of the six "Dirty Devices." Authors use this one to make translators wish that they had never been born (by the way, what's the antecedent of "they" in this sentence?). English, unlike many other languages, cannot change its basic structure around; it’s always subject before verb, verb before object, and so on. But the truly mean author can get around this by injecting a myriad of adjectives, adverbs, and subordinate clauses until the sentence "Dick saw Jane" becomes "Dick, the handsome and honest young son of J. H. Harrington, the millionaire fruit salesman who had made his fortune on the west side of Chicago during the Depression, saw, as he tended the flowers in front of their expensive yet simple Beverly Hills mansion, the bewitching Jane, a niece of the President of the United States of Brazil and Homecoming Queen of Riverbed High School the year that the football team took all-conference honors in the state of California...” This could go on for a page and a half, but the point has been made.

at least, is employed in almost every other sentence in the entire canon of English litera­ ture. As a review of these totally unscrupu­ lous devices, here is a very obnoxious passage; try to identity how many times each one is used as you muddle your way through: Tom's late Victorian home was lavishly decorated by the wurst of all interior decora­ tors, Mr. Jonathan. Mr. Jonathan was an entrepreneur whose work was simultaneously admired and scorned in the continental United States and Canada, although the French and the Paraguayans found themselves strangely drawn to it. In any case, as strange as it may seem to one who has heard strange things, or for that matter to anyone at all, regardless of whether he is conversant in paranormal phenomena or not. His lovely, ravishing, blonde-liaird and bright-eyed daughter, Lavinia, who had graduated with honors from to colleges in which she red many countless numbers of books about antidiscnstablishmentarianism often said, her quaint accent coloring her speech, “Why, ah dinna ken whot in bloody blue bla/.es the oF mon was up to.” She was a saucey lassy, and an old flame of Tom's from the year One. (If you're expecting an answer key. forget it.)

Perhaps now that "The Six Linguistically Legitimate Yet Etymologically Evil Dirty Devices” have been expesed in print, authors will refrain from employing them, if not out of common decency, perhaps out of shame at being caught in the act. Then again, they may just go along as they have been, smug and secure in the fact that they have been doing this for five thousand years, and nothing can stop them now. Of course, some city clerk may find this humble article lying in the dust of the road and decide to leave it there, thus defeating its entire purpose. (In that case, this writer has just blown an entire evening.) But I hope that won’t be the case, and future students will someday realize that translation is not just a game; it's a war of language students with their glossaries against ancient authors with "The Six.. .Devices." Good luck, soldiers.

Those are the six devices that authors love and translators thoroughly abhor. One of them,

JEFFREY SCHALLERT 219

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ALUMNI f

rom famine to feast; from feast to famine.”

That short phrase seems singularly descrip­ tive of the life of an alumni editor. Mind you, I’m not complaining-a short column is a blessing to my typewriter. The way I see it, everyone must be captivated by a Synodical pre-Easter blitz. So be it. Here are the slender gleanings of news which could be found.

(’69), currently serves as the pastor there.

BIRTH —Rev. and Mrs. James Seelow (’72), were blessed with the arrival of a son, Jared Phillip on February 7, 1978. Rev. Seelow is the pastor of St. Paul congregation, Mayville, MI.

CALLS DEATH -Rev. Karl Gurgel (’64), who had formerly served Messiah, South Windsor, CT, has ac­ cepted a divine call to St. Paul congregation of Lake Mills, WI. No date has been'established for his installation yet.

—Rev. Daniel Luetke (’69), the former pastor of St. John, Whitewater, WI, has taken a call to serve the new mission church in Harris­ burg, PA. His installation date also has not been set.

-Rev. Gerhard Schmeling (’26), has ac­ cepted a call to become a chaplain at the Wis­ consin Lutheran Child and Family Service. He had previously been in Edgar, WI, serving St. John Church.

-Rev. Kurt Mahnke (’67), formerly of St. Philip, Milwaukee, WI, has taken a call to First Lutheran of Prescott, AZ. His installation service has not been set.

-Rev. Otto Medenwald, em. (’15), died in Belle Plaine, MN, on February 22, 1978.

Rev. Medenwald served for many years in the Library here at Northwestern College.

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Fast Service - Reasonable Prices 514 E. Main Watertown Washington Hotel

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jBlanfjoob Hike a Uton ^f\and grabbed his video cassettes from his ^\lesk, slipped into his coveralls, and flounced out of his dorm room into the corridor. The hallway was deserted; this didn’t surprise him in the least, since he knew he was already late for nucleonics class. His fellow students had travelled the halls a good ten minutes earlier.

He hustled through the morning solitude, half-running to catch Treadway B. It would be his best bet to get to the Scientifics building quickly. The treadway was a moving sidewalk housed in a huge, transparent plexilon tube.

The plexilon tube was necessary to protect the pedestrians from the airless lunar atmosphere and from the prevalent meteor showers which pelted the miniature planet.

Sleep still obscured Rand’s eyes as he dipped onto the motive walkway. The well­ muscled youth pondered for a moment whether he should run to save time. The Scientifics building was two metras away, and even on the high-speed treadway, it would be another ten minutes before he could find his console in the classroom. He was forced to reject such an idea, even though the Guider would be overly distressed if he arrived fifteen minutes late. But it was a matter of economics. He simply did not have the twenty dollars worth of fine money should the campus policewith their camera-lens vision-catch him running the treadway. And he would never bring himself to beg his old man for the money.

Rand let his eyes slip down to view the barren lunar landscape below. It was powdery grey dust, rather dreary looking at this time of the morning. It fit the mood he was in, though.

He dreaded the thought of facing his Guider, particularly with his eyes still pasted shut by drowsiness. C35-II was regarded as one of the toughest Guiders in Luna University. Undoubt­ edly it would be up in arms about his “lack of punctuality.” That would mean a mark on his record tapes and a consequent bawling out when he got home next weekend. His father was not one to take these errors lightly. Rand pictured the lecture he was bound to receive.

It was looking to be a bad day. Maybe I should go back to the dorm and fake flu, he thought to himself. It was that time of the year.

■

The thought was pre-empted where Tread­ way B formed a juncture with the women’s dormitory. There a coed stepped onto the walkway several paces in front of Rand. Rand’s gaze was riveted to the girl’s maidenly form.

She was clad in clothes of the latest style-a form-fitting mylar coverall with tan leather boots which reached to the knee. The closefitting mylar accentuated every curve of the young lady’s body—which made it difficult for Rand to take his eyes off her.

Wrenching himself away, he attempted to compose his thoughts. She was really a mindbender! He had seen her before a couple of times. After asking around, he had discovered that her first name was Lyra. Not that anyone else much cared; everyone seemed to have their eyes on some other girl. It was strange that none of them considered Lyra much of a catch, but to each his own. Rand was sure he wasn’t making a mistake. He knew a goodlooker when he saw one.

But, alas for Rand, being the head of the Rads he didn’t have much time for women. In fact, he didn’t have any time. With classworks and the Rads, that left no time for extracur­ ricular affairs. The Rads.. .that was quite a story in itself. Rand—the bold experimenterhad founded them himself: that was why he was the leader. Naturally, the Rads stood for radicals. He had originally conceived of them as an underground subculture with a powerful voice in the control and modifying of the cam­ pus. His idea had been a good one. As on many campuses, there truly were needed reforms clamoring for able messiahs.

Yet, the group had never panned out.

Despite the strong leadership of Rand, his weaker cohorts balked at any positive actions.

What it turned out to be was a motley group of disillusioned idealists who met in Rand’s room every other Thursday night. Rand stood out from his compatriots as. the Sea of Serenity stood out on the moon’s surface. He was strong-willed and progressive, constantly urging the Rad members to action. However, his persuasion fell on deaf ears as they incessantly buried his urgings under the sludge of muddled discourse. Nevertheless, Rand was wise enough

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continued on page 230

THE BLACK AND RED APRIL 1978 Volume 81, No. 8

Manhood Like a Lion

Cover Story

C AMPUS & CLASSROOM

235

Thank f ou

237

We May Be Giants

238

Deceptively Simple

245

ACTIVITIES

247

Biking to Holy Hill

249

I an Delta Theta Award

250

Poems

250

ALUMNI

251

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ESTABLISHED 1897

Gregory Schulz

MANAGING EDITOR

Don Scheuerlein

STAFF WRITERS

.Jeffrey Schallert Mark Rieke David Payne Brian Dose

CAMPUS & CLASSROOM

. . Jerry Ewings David Huebner David Kolander

ACTIVITIES

Entered at the Post Office at Watertown, Wisconsin, as Second Class Matter under the act of March 3, 1879. Second Class postage paid at Watertown, Wisconsin.

Published Monthly during the school year.

ART

. Mark Wagner

BUSINESS MANAGER

Rick Johnson

CIRCULATION MANAGER

. . Timothy Kant

ADVERTISING MANAGERS

Greg Otterstatter Mark Wilde

printing by Mark lickert

continued from cover to see that if he should attempt these actions by himself they could only end in problems.

So he bided his time and tried to spark life into the Rads, and, if that failed, to disband them.

Now Rand had a suitable replacement for his disgusting group, namely, Lyra. Thursday nights could take on a whole new character with her around. He knew that he had to make his move now-the Fates had so decreed it.

Boldly Rand strode forward-the police couldn’t stop him for moving over to escort an old acquaintance. (He hoped.) “Hello, Lyra!”

The shapely coed looked up in surprise at the sound of the unfamiliar voice.

“Who are you?” she queried, with a puzzled look on her face.

Rand, drowning in the depths of her liquid blue eyes, responded dreamily, “I’m Rand.

Rand Hanely.” Her eyes reminded him of the fountains which showered water over the white marble statuary at the space port of the univer­ sity.

“How did you know my name? I’ve never seen you before in my life!” the blonde-haired beauty exclaimed.

Rand, who was still luxuriated in golden complexion of his new found acquaintance, didn’t answer, but stared longingly. “Huh? What did you say?”

“I said, ‘How did you know my name?”’

“I have my ways.”

“Well, I suppose I should be flattered, but really.. .you’re something else. How often do they let you out of your cage?”

“Every morning, right before classes begin.

In this case, a little after classes started. I’m on my way to nucleonics class with C35-II. It’s going to be so mad at me when I show up, I hate to think.”

The girl giggled, “You’ve got C35-II. Boy, you’re really in trouble. Don’t you care?”

“Sure I care; my parents will plasticize me for this, but what good will it do to get all excited?”

“I guess you’re right there.”

“Right. Tell me, where arc you headed at the moment? An errand of utmost importance, no doubt.”

“I’ve got to get some research done at the library. Not that I want to but..

“Well, you’re in better shape than I am. I was kind of hoping you might be late for class, too. Then we’d be a matched pair. But, I guess

'

I’m not that lucky. That’s the way this morn­ ing has gone, though. Say, would you do me a favor so today doesn’t turn out to be a com­ plete loss?”

“I suppose. . .if it’s nothing spacy.”

“No, don’t worry. All I want is for you to say that you’ll let me see you again.”

“Guess I got suckered into that one. I should have known. I’ll stand by my word, though. Name your date, I’ll try and work it out.”

“How about this coming Saturday night.

It's the day after my twenty-first birthday.

Wc can celebrate. I have to go home Friday, but you can bet I'll be back to see you. Meet you at your dorm about seven?”

“Okay, I’ll try and make it,” the girl re­ plied grudgingly. “But don’t expect much; I’m doing this strictly out of courtesy.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Rand beamed triumphantly. He had achieved more than he ever hoped.

“I’m afraid I have to get off at the next juncture. It was strange meeting you. See you Saturday,” Lyra pronounced as she prepared to debark.

“That’s okay. Thanks for living up to your word. You’re a good sport. I’ll be looking for­ ward to seeing you this weekend.”

With staggered good-bye’s, the two sepa­ rated. “Looking forward” was an understate­ ment in Rand’s case. He was much more excited than that. In only three nights, he would be going out with the greatest looking coed in the university. Entranced with the thought, he drifted through the day. When, five minutes later, he arrived at class, he hardly noticed the Guider’s chiding. His nonchalant attitude enraged the Guider all the more so that it ended up with his giving Rand a double demerit. Double trouble for when he got home Friday night.

Home was the only thought which pried him away from his daydreams of Lyra. Rand hated going home; it was always such a hassle.

Whenever he was home, he felt like a caged animal, pacing around until he could once again experience the freedom college life afforded. Actually, the home front hadn’t always been so burdensome. While his mother had still been living, the situation had been bearable. But after her death some ten years ago, matters had deteriorated rapidly. His thoughts of home were indelibly blue.. .a grey230

I

Rand too had a driving desire to experience his coming of age, but at the same time, he was repelled by the prospect of going home and facing his father. He had had an aversion to confronting his father ever since his second marriage. Though these thoughts bothered Rand, with his usual nonchalance he managed to force them to the back of his mind where they could do the least harm. He hoped to ignore the trip until the last possible sec­ ond. . .it was the only way he could cope with such pressure.

Friday dawned with expectation. Actually it didn’t “dawn.” One cannot equate dawn on earth with morning on the moon. There is

blue of indifference and despair.

The focal point of Rand’s aggravation was found in the person of Dyna, his stepmother.

Admittedly, he resented her presence in his mother’s home. . .an opinion he couldn't divorce himself from. However, there was more to his dislike than that. As a couple, Dyna and his father didn’t fit. She was over twenty years his junior: he dwelt in the graying fifties; she in the bloom of the twenties. To say the least, it was a strange match; others would use harsher terms. Sometimes Rand even felt that his father occasionally questioned their compatability, but Rand supposed that happened in every marriage at times.

little similarity. Shaking the nocturnal cob­ webs from his somniferous head, Rand breezed through a brisk shower and a quick, proteinsupplemented breakfast. Before he realized what was happening, Treadway B was whisk­ ing him to class. He hoped with all his powers that Lyra would magically appear to accompany him to classes. Yet, he knew the chances were slim-she didn’t have any first-hour classeslucky girl!

Characterized by unaccustomed ease, the day passed uneventfully. Rand was taken aback at how quickly the time went. Packing his anti-grav luggage, he anticipated his coming weekend. It looked to be one of his best ever— not only was he “coming of age,” but he was going to have a date with the girl of his dreams.

He hoped his visit home would come off with­ out a hitch so that he could be in the best of moods for Lyra, If it went as quickly as the

With such a negative view of his home, it wasn’t unexpected that he attempted to wriggle out of as many excursions home as possible. Excusing himself because of over­ stressed loads of classwork and of special weekend activities, he could go for weeks without an inevitable journey home. This was one time he couldn’t beg off. The law required all males to be at home on their twenty-first birthday-their “Coming of Age.” “Coming of Age,” that phrase had an austere, awesome, dignified ring to it.. .as rightly it should have. It was the day in a man's life. This was the time a boy was initiated into the role of a full-grown man by his father. To be sure, there was a mystique surrounding the entire rite. Secrecy was the rule and had been since its institution. Every boy yearned for the day when he would finally be an heir to the wisdom of his father.

231

school day had. it should be no problem, he thought.

At 7:00 P.M. Rand took “the tube” to the university teletron station. In the staging room he key-punched a ticket which would take him to Hanley Manor, New Terra, Penn­ sylvania, USA, Earth, round-trip. He paid the attendant and, staunching himself for the “jump,” he slid into one of the teletron booths.

It was the “closest thing to being there” as their ads proclaimed. Seconds later he heard the mechanical whirring caused by the complex circuitry. In another second he was standing on the white steps of Hanley Manor, his father's mansion.

The youth surveyed the familiar landscape.

The beautifully-manicured yard. The luxuriant greenery. The sculpture of a gigantic lion arrested the eye of the college student. The lion-there were only a few flesh and blood members of that species left scattered about the globe. It was a magnificent symbol which exuded nobility, courage, strength, standing and Stellar Enterprises, the company his father had ridden to wealth and prominence.

The Red Lion of Stellar Enterprises— painted on the side of every Stellar ore barge and crew ship which made the trip from moon to earth-had logged more space-miles than anyone or anything. What had started as a small-time lunar mining venture had turned into a blossoming multi-million credit corpora­ tion under the able leadership of Daniel Hanely.

Everyone had said it couldn’t be done, but Daniel Hanely had proved that the moon could be successfully mined. Profits had been slim in the beginning, but with time came exper­ ience, and with experience better and faster methods. Within five years Stellar Enterprises grossed more than all the other mining corpora­ tions combined. By the time he was forty-five, Hanely had made enough money to sell his company and retire back to earth. Now oc­ casionally looked to as a senior consultant and an acknowledged expert in mining practices, Daniel led a comfortable, if somewhat low-key life in the middle of Pennsylvania.

But indirectly Daniel Hanely had singlehandedly rewritten history in little more than twenty years. Before his success, the moon had been overlooked by all but a few nondescript stragglers who gladly sold out to Hanely. The moon became Hanely's planet, and he wrought progress on its unproductive soil. It was bene-

ficial that Handy was the man to control the moon's progress, lor he brought order to chaos and a method to a situation which could have repeated the mining rushes of previous history.

The moon was destined not to know “boom towns” or shanties but progressed evenly toward civilization and symmetry. Now there were several metropolises grounded on the lunar dust, one of which was the home of Luna University, Rand's alina mater.

Inhaling a deep breath to calm himself, Rand hit the door buzzer to let everyone know that he had arrived and then strolled into the spacious, vaulted entryway. No one could say that Daniel Hanely didn’t know how a mansion

was to be built A stiff butler stalked over to him, mouthing, “Hello, Mr. Rand. I trust you had a good jump. May I take your bag?”

“No, that’s okay,” Rand replied, with­ holding the bag from the grasp of the butler’s outstretched hand. “I’m going right up to my room to change and clean up, anyway. I can manage, thanks.” He abhorred the decadent formality of a butler. It reeked of wealth and snobbery: Rand thought of it as a gangrenous extremity which had to be hacked away to purify oneself. He couldn’t understand why his father kept the man.

Rand reached the staircase, mounted the first step, and flicked the switch well-hidden in the mahogany railing. The stairway lifted him to the second level of Hanely Manor, which contained his room. Once in the privacy 232

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The Red Lion of Stellar Enterprises— painted on the side of every Stellar ore barge and crew ship which made the trip from moon ^ to earth —had logged more space-miles than _ anyone or anything. What had started as a small-time lunar mining venture had turned • to a blossoming multi-million credit corporaunder the able leadership of DMid Hane ^ tion had said it couldn t be cion , Everyone 1 could had proved that the moon Daniel Hanely mined. Pro!its had been slim was be successfully wjth time came experin the beginning, ce better and faster jence, and with e P Steilar Enterprises methods. Within five y lY1jning corporaoutstretched 13 d clean updecadent grossed more than room to chang abhorred t j|aI1d .ions combined. By ^ money >0^ QC. had made back to C consultant and Hanely formality of tll0Ught "1 ked - senior ractices, company niinifiS P casionally ° d hat low -key an acknowHdt led a co had *£ l,S Rand Daniel iddle ifc in the m 1,1 indite etiynhU.oryi'-b«];?lSMd But hondedly << One®

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afforded him, Rand locked the door and changed into more casual attire. He didn’t know if such casual wear was appropriate for his “Coming of Age,” but no instruction had been given him not to do so. Having donned his leisure clothes, he sat down on his bed to replace his boots. The bed felt so good. He had been touched by this friend so often in his younger years. Once more it beckoned him to return. After all, he had just arrived from the moon. No matter what the experts said, inter­ planetary travel was not all it was cracked up to be! Though it only took seconds to traverse the thousands of miles, it still had a way of unsettling a person. Some maintained that a man wasn’t meant to travel that way, that such travel was detrimental to a person’s health.

Rand didn’t know if he’d go quite that far, but he surely wished his head and stomach would return to a semblance of regularity. It was his twenty-first birthday. He wanted it to be celebrated feeling good. He lay down on his bed, attempting to compose himself.

At 8:45 the grating voice of his father in the intercom roused Rand from his sleeping state. “How much longer are you doing to keep me waiting, Rand?” his father bellowed.

“You’ve been home a good hour and a half al­ ready. Come down to my study. Everyone else has been sent out, so now we can celebrate your birthday legally.’’

“Okay, I’ll be down in a second,” was Rand’s reply. It was nice to know that his step­ mother wouldn’t be around. It would only be Dad and he. He didn’t have to worry about keeping the peace too much with her out of the way.

Joy mingled with fear opened his mind.

For the first time, he realized that this was the time: this was IT, what hr. had awaited for those long, long years. Anticipation flushed his cheeks as he strode to the spiral stairwell.

His legs were shaky from the emotions surg­ ing throughout his body. Descending the auto­ matic stairs, he focused his thoughts on the splendor of the chandelier alight with the myriads of Venusian fire stones. Rand tried to deal with his emotions, tried to slow his heart­ beat. In a moment, he would know the secrets to life; his time had arrived. He was about to become a man.

Rand paced mechanically down the pillared hallway to his father’s study; his gait betrayed the excitement racing in his bloodstream. At the door of the study, Rand’s father greeted 233

him witn a glass oi golden hquo^nK^ffeTr ushered him over to an over-stuffed black leather chair. With exhilaration Rand drank in the gamut of feeling he was experiencing. Now he knew why every boy looked forward to this day so much. It was an adventure in itself.

His father closed the door and sat opposite Rand at his desk. Rand anxiously gazed at his father, hoping for some trace of the supreme knowledge which he was soon to impart to his only son. Rand wondered if the drink had any­ thing to do with it. He had never tasted any­ thing like it before. The golden liquor did taste fine and mellow; it coated his insides with a comforting warmth.

Rand’s father licked his lips to begin speak­ ing; his son stood on his every word. “Rand, this is a very important day in your life. In fact, it is THE most important day in your life.

I remember perfectly the day my father initiated me. I was almost as excited as you, and almost as nervous. Truly, the “Coming of Age” is a time to be cherished, a time to...”

Inside Rand, a voice screamed, Please get on with it. Don’t give me reminiscences. Get to the heart of it! Give me the secret! I waited long enough as it is. That’s what I’m here for, you know. “. . .and so I won’t bore you anymore since I know you’re so excited, but I’ll get right to the point. What your ‘Coming of Age’ means is that you are now allowed to take a wife. In your case, the computer states that you will marry Miss Lyra Donnylsen. I’m sure you have met her at the University: the com­ puter always sees to that. And as far as what this all entails-what the responsibilities are and all the other regulations, this book will explain the essentials.”

Rand stared at his father mouth agape.

Never in all his years had such a thought occured to him. He was being ordered to marry Lyra! It was unthinkable. This was a democ­ racy. A free government. Worldwide independ­ ence. They had no authority to perform such a tyrannical deed. He scanned the book his father was offering him. It was singularly un­ impressive—a tattered maroon copy with the words MARRIED LIFE emblazoned on the cover.

His father continued. “Of course, I must warn you to keep this book locked at all times.

Only you and your mate are allowed to see it, under the penalty of death: death in the exter­ mination chamber, where your atoms are

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scattered over the extent of the vast universe.

This is to be kept utterly secret. You are not allowed to divulge anything but what is written in the textbooks on the subject. Do you under­ stand that? Your life depends on it.”

Rand didn’t answer his father, but met his gaze face-to-face in disbelief. This is what he had waited for all those years, an order to get married??? “Are you telling me I don’t have a choice?” he shouted outraged. ‘T have to marry Lyra. NO WAY.. .no computer is going to run my life. You can’t tell me I have to. You can’t! You can’t!”

His father’s lips lapsed into a benign, sardonic smile. ‘‘The conjugal contract was made out yesterday and arrived by post today, son. If you don’t believe me, you can check. Lyra is yours, and you are hers. There’s no mistake.

The computer arranged it all. Your marriage has been legalized. Once the computer has printed it, it’s irrevocable.”

“But, dad. ..” Rand cried in anguish.

“How can you be so indifferent, so cold?

You’ve just signed my life away! I don’t even know the girl! Don’t you care? Don’t you care?” The words echoed ominously.

“Of course I care, Rand, but the computer doesn’t make mistakes. You and Lyra are husband and wife. You can’t fight it, son. It’s the law. Do you remember the terrible fights Dyna and I had when we were first married?

I loved your mother, Rand. More than I could ever love anyone else. I loved her so much I couldn't tolerate another woman taking her place...”

For one of the first times in his life, Rand felt a spot of admiration growing for his father. His father was a fighter, he wouldn’t let anyone force him to do something he didn't want to do. He would understand. “. . .but it didn’t do any good. No matter how much I opposed Dyna, I couldn’t get rid of her. Arguing didn’t change the situation: it just aggravated it all the more. Don't you see? You can't tight it. The laws were establish­ ed for a reason. Things got out of hand when the laws weren’t in force. If you oppose, you simply will be atomized.”

Rand listed to his father's pleadings with deaf ears. He knew he could never accept the proposition. Nobody and nothing would force him to get married. He would fight the system.

He would stamp out the dictatorial customs.

234

He wondered if the computer actually had caused him to meet Lyra three mornings ago.

The idea disgusted him.

“I'm sorry, dad, but I can’t do it. I can’t accept it. I won't be ruled by a machine. They won’t pressure me into marriage. They can’t.’’

“I knew you’d be a hard one to convince, son. You’re cut out of the same material as I am. Stubborn with a capital s. I’ll give you a while to think over your answer. Sleep on it.

I won’t give you the book till you’re ready to accept your ‘Coming of Age,’ otherwise you’d be under the death penalty. You have until you leave tomorrow.”

With that, Rand stalked out of the room.

He couldn’t stomach his father’s-his own father’s-unfeeling attitude. Rand tore through the hall and dashed up the automatic stairs.

Suddenly, a thought took possession of his mind and rooted itself at his very core. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to marry Lyra after all.

She was beautiful and indeed seemed very charming. They would make a nice couple.

Docilely Rand retraced his steps to the study and claimed the proffered book. To his father he fairly purred an apology. The next morning he teleported to the university to give Lyra the good news.

DAVID PAYNE

CAMPUS & CLASSROOMS W

ell, this is it-the last issue of Vol. 81 of the Black and Red. For our last venture in Campus and Classroom we wanted to do a kind of rerun of our funniest article of the year. However we threw out that idea after we polled the student body-and had to remind them which part of the B & R was the humor section.

Instead we thought we would help clear up the Prairie du Chicn-Campion arguments.

There is a very easy solution, and we’re some­ what surprised no one has come foreward with it until now. The first thing to do is buy the Campion property. Then for the 78-79 school year move all the professors from New Ulm and Watertown to Prairie du Chien to make sure there's enough housing for them when their respective schools occupy that campus.

Meanwhile the students may study Greek and Latin at their own pace using a recommended jimmy.

In the fall of '79, Northwestern Prep and MLA would make the first move onto the new campus. This would set up an instant high school football powerhouse, and it would keep the Trojan-Lancer football rivalry intact. For the winter months the two colleges could send all those interested in swimming to Prairie du Chien, while all piano players could use the music facilities in New Ulm. NPS would be temporarily shifted to Mobridge, so that the South Dakota enrollment could have a chance to improve.

For the spring months NWC would inhabit Campion so the golf and track teams could use the excellent facilities. (N.B. the baseball team 235

would have to be shipped to Alaska to make sure that they would have no outside practices at all.) MLA would join California Lutheran High School in Garden Grove, CA, while NPS would have only the coeds in Watertown under Instructors Woldt and Wessel. The NPS boys would prepare for NWC by spending the spring­ time in New Ulm. There would be ample room there because all practice teaching would be done during that last quarter.

The following year would be much the same, only provisions would have to be made for the NLCAA basketball finals to be held in Prairie du Chien, since our team will probably be a perennial participant. Now isn’t that a simple plan? ***** ** ***

It's spring!-the time when a young man’s heart turns to thoughts of love. A typical Northwestern man’s heart turns to things like: Booster Club Volleyball Tournament Mosquitoes Arbor Day Poison ivy Brewer’s opening day(s) Hay fever Buck’s playoff games Last C & C article Forum play Intramural softball HA R picnic NLCAA Baseball Tournament

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Camping Vesper Singers' final concert Pat and Glady's

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By now it is probably common knowledge that Ron Zank has been elected to the office of mayor of Juneau. We understand that he ran on the campaign slogan, “a Toro in every garage.” This led us to speculate what campaign slogans some of the other campus personalities might come up with. Here are a few: Dean Biebert-a shutdown for every letter Prof. Schroeder-a smile on every face Cigar smoke in every nose-guess who Chef Hanke-cold cuts in every pot Spud-/1 hair on every head Rick Scheibe-a snuff for every snort Tutor Brenner—a club for every foot Tom Smith-an unknown in every student body John Eich-a language for every day (of the week) Kurt Lueneburg-a suit for every day (of the month) Mark Freier-a nose in every crowd B & R staffs-an end of every year

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Many people have heard about New Ulmer Deutsch, a kind of colloquial German, and wondered exactly what it was. Here’s an example you could hear from an old man on any New Ulm street corner.

Dial 261-5676

236

Hallo. Ich bin ein old Mensch from New Ulm. Ich habe many years in dicser city gelivcd, und always habe ich den college, DMLC, geliked. Ich gche zu many football und basket­ ball games, und die best games always waren when DMLC spielt Northwestern. Ja, dann many boys kommen here herab und most pair up mit their Frcundinnen. Others gehen downtown allein urn ein or zwei Glas Bier zu drinken.

Aber some arrive um ein wife zu finden.

Diese kommen mit their shirts half-way gebuttoned, und smoking ein Zigarette, und mit ein little bit of hair auf their face-ich thinke it’s supposed zu be sideburns und mustache. Dann gehen they zu der Student Union hinein, und pretenden dass they ein good time gchaben

n March 22, twelve men, among whom this writer was privileged to be numbered, joined the southward trek to Florida; but the purpose of this group was not to soak up Florida sunshine or spend the Easter recess as beach bums. Their purpose was to do the work of the Lord in a canvass-witness program under the auspices of the Synod Board for Home Missions for the congregations of Trinity, Englewood, Florida, served by Pastor James Aderman, and Ascension, Sarasota, Florida, shepherded by Pastor John Huebner.

Both of these congregations, located on the Gulf Coast of Florida, approximately fifty miles south of Tampa, are mission outreaches of our Synod. The city of Englewood is a com­ munity of nearly 30,000, mostly retired per­ sons. It is significant to note that the potential for growth in this area is great for Trinity, seeing that many of the retired people have come south from the upper Midwest, in parti­ cular from Michigan. The community of Sara­ sota, on the other hand, numbers over 300,000 people and is one of this country’s fastest growing urban areas. Sarasota, like Englewood, has a great number of retirees, but unlike Englewood, they are in the minority in this booming and budding metropolis. Growth potential lor Ascension congregation is like­ wise tremendous.

The canvassers arrived at the TrinityEnglewood parsonage early Maundy Thurs­

sind. Ein of these war ein large-sized Mensch.

Er hat ein small mustache und schwartz hair.

Er hat wire-rimmed glasses und ein blue Wis­ consin Lutheran Seminary coat. Er hat ein brown Charger gedriven, und some boys haben him Tutor gecalled.

Sein only problem war dass er kept getripping just wann er mit ein Maedchen getalking war. Aber yet er hat ein couple times ein date gehad. Er hat ein good time auf dieser dates, aber each Maedchen hat in die next few months ein call zu Japan getaken. Ja. perhaps wann er gegraduated ist, dann will er also ein call zu Japan gegetten. Dann surely wic gehts zu his wedding, nicht wahr?

JERRY EWINGS and DAVID HUEBNER

day evening and from here were conducted to a home donated for their use by a member who maintains summer residence in the Mid­ west. Friday morning opened with devotion and then an orientation and instruction session.

The two pastors familiarized the canvassers with their respective communities as well as they were able and then discussed how they would prefer the canvassing to be carried out in the areas. Friday afternoon was the first ex­ perience with canvassing. This work was done in Englewood. The twelve young men celebrated Good Friday worship services that evening with their fellow Christians of Trinity congrega­ tion. The following week was a flurry of activi­ ty, canvassing in Sarasota on Saturday, Monday and Thursday, and in Englewood on Tuesday and Friday. Easter Sunday found the men at the beach with a picnic served by the members of both congregations; and Wednesday was a free day on which most of the fellows seized the opportunity to visit Disneyworld, near Orlando.

What were the results of this ten-day effort?

In Englewood, the canvassers knocked on over 2,000 doors, and in Sarasota nearly 3,700. But numbers alone don’t tell everything in terms of results. However, even if one family comes to know their Savior through the efforts of the canvassers, it would be • worth any expense that it cost to transport these men to Florida.

Even if not one family comes into the Chris237

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tian Church, and even if not one child starts Sunday School as a result of this year's efforts, perhaps through follow up efforts the seed of the Gospel which has been sown by the canvas­ sers will spring to life.

But the people whose doors were knocked on weren’t the only people who benefited.

Perhaps the greatest fruits were reaped by the canvassers themselves. What better encourage­ ment can there be for NWC students to con­ tinue their studies to prepare for the ministry than to receive a foretaste of what the Lord’s work is like? What a privilege and a blessing our Lord has given to us in allowing us to prepare for and do His work. How can we better pre-

pare ourselves lo talk about our Savior than to do just that, talk about our Savior! Mow can our faith be strengthened more than by our learning to profess it! This privilege of canvass* witnessing gave us all these things and more. To the congregations who requested our help, lo the Lutheran Collegians organization, and to the Board for Home Missions of our Synod, which paid our expenses and organized the canvass-witness effort, and to our Lord, who graciously called us to do His work, we express our thanks, although a simple thank you hardly seems sufficient.

RICK JOHNSON

We May Be Giants From personal correspondence of James R. Torrence, Milwaukee, Wisconsin: May 24 Dear Uncle Freddy, Thank you very much for giving me an ant farm for my birthday. I think it is real neat. Mommy says thanks a big heap too. I went out in the back yard and caught about ten ants and put them in it and put it in my room on the dresser. But Jilly came in to look at it and saw one of them crawl­ ing around outside of it and stepped on him. 1 got real mad and yelled at her, but she said that I was silly because it was only an ant. I bet she wouldn’t think it was silly if 1 stepped on one of her goldfish, ha ha ha.

Thank you again for the real neat ant farm very much.

Your nephew, Jimmy

From captured enemy intelligence files-translated by Col Donald S. Warren, USA F (ret.): 131.2-320 From: Ministry of Colonization To: Ministry of Foreign Intelligence Re: Ambassador Khor 119 Communication with Ambassador Khor 119 was suddenly severed as of one and one eighth time units ago. As you know, he had been establishing contact with a semi-primitive society on the third planet of star 183h-g94. He had been captured, during an unprovoked raid on the colony in which he had been staying, by a member of that planet’s dominant population, a huge, bi-pedal species of endoskeletal animal. His final words were that he had engineered a brilliant escape, but that one of the gigantic monsters had spotted him and was moving toward him with murderous 238

intent. Then his message was cut abruptly short.

His Imperial Excellency must be informed of this act of inexcusable violence against his own beloved cousin. It is the opinion of this department that it falls to your department to see to it.

Behl 439

131.4-320 From: Ministry of Foreign Intelligence To: Ministry of Military Intelligence Re: Ambassador Khor 119 Please find enclosed portions of communique dated 131.1-320 pertinent to the death of Ambassador Khor 119. We have determined that it is your duty to tell his Imperial Excellency of his counsin’s tragic and untimely demise.

Tahr126

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131.9-320 From: Ministry of Public Works To: Ministry of Sanitation Re: Ambassador Khor 119 Enclosed find portions of communiques received by this office from, in order, the Ministries of Colonization, Foreign Intelligence, Military Intelligence, Scientific Inquiry, Imperial Education, Urban Development, and Postal Service. As is so usual in a bureaucracy as ponderous and bulky as this one, the larger departments have, in a disgracefully cowardly manner, foisted onto the lower ministries the responsibility of informing his Imperial Excellency of his deeply-felt personal loss.

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Mehl 134, I lay it upon you to do so. You’re his brother-in-law; maybe he won’t slice off your head when you tell him.

Zohd 548 239

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132.2-320 From: His Imperial Majesty Pehq 228 II To: AM His loyal and loving subjects Re: War! A flagrant act of war has been committed against Our very person in the form of the cold­ blooded murder of Our dear cousin, Khor 119. This heinous and unprovoked crime perpetrated against a peaceful ambassador of the Empire cries out for swift and bloody vengeance, and Our ears are not deaf.

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As of this moment We are commissioning an armada of 50 warships and 123 troop carriers to conquer Planet 3 of Star 183h6-g94, a world whose inantian masters have already for too long cruelly oppressed our less fortunate brethren there. Let us be united from this hour forth under the banner of Liberation and Revenge!

Services in memory of Khor 119, as well as of Mehl 134, Our beloved brother-in-law whose unexpected and sad departure from this life has served only to increase Our already insurmountable sorrow, will be held immediately following the fleet’s glorious return.

His Imperial Majesty Pehq 228 II From Military Intelligence Files (declassified): the Pentagon, Washington, D.C. 19 August

From: Satellite Tracking Station If 319, Flagstaff, Arizona To: Department of Foreign Technology, USAF Gentlemen: On 17 August our radar telescopes reported a group of 160-200 objects moving in the direction of the Earth at immeasurable speeds. Satellite photographs received 18 August by this station confirm said objects to be metallic spheroids, possibly manufactured. Repeat, possibly manufac­ tured: it is our opinion that these objects are not natural phenomena.

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Said objects are lollowing a course undisturbed by gravitational forces in our solar system, lead­ ing to the assumption that an intelligence is guiding them. It is not possible at this point in time to discern whether their intentions arc friendly or hostile, but they are definitely heading in our direc­ tion for a probable rendezvous with this planet. Will keep you informed of their movements.

Major John H. Redfield, USAF From taped transcripts of an August 21 meeting of the President and his chief advisors in the Oval Office.

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Secretary of Defense General Marsh: Gentlemen, our tracking stations have confirmed that there arc 173 of these UFO's in a grouped formation and coming in our direction. ;

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Secretary of State Jonathan Greenlee: For Pete’s sake, Wayne, what’s with this “UFO” bit? We know what they are. The question of the day is, what do they want?

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President Hammett: I must agree with Mr. Greenlee. We have to find out what the intentions are of whoever is piloting those vessels. General Marsh, what can you tell us about that?

Secretary of Interstate Commerce George Henderson: Mr. President, if I may. I have here a report filed yesterday by Traffic Control Tower officials at General Mitchell Field in Milwaukee that states that at approximately 4:00 P.M. yesterday they were buzzed by two small metal balls which circled the tower for five minutes and then disappeared into the clouds. They didn’t know what to make of it, but perhaps it ties in here.

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Gen. Marsh: Could be Milwaukee is where they’re going to land.

Mr. Greenlee: That’s a hasty assumption there, Wayne.

Gen. Marsh: I suggest that we get a full military unit to Milwaukee as soon as possible.

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Mr. Henderson What good would it do? These spaceships probably have us outgunned. Why, technologically they could be as far above us as we are above the ants.

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President Hammett: You’re both assuming that these aliens’ intentions are hostile. How do we know that they’re not friendly?

Gen. Marsh: Mr. President, we’ve got to cover all the bases. They may be friendly, that’s true, but in case they aren’t, we should be ready for any aggressive activity. And as for our being out­ gunned, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I see from your report, Mr. Henderson, that the ships that buzzed Mitchell Field were roughly the size of baseballs. How much firepower could something that small pack?

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President Hammcll: Okay, here's what we do. General Marsh, send your troops to Milwaukee, and be discreet about it; I don't want any public outcry. I’ll send the Vice President along as a good­ will ambassador in case they are merely seeking to establish contact with us. They’ll have to make the first move. And Wayne, be careful! Don't open fire on them until there’s no doubt as to what they want. There's an election next year, and it won't look good if some friendly little ArtooDetoo gets shot down by this administration. That’s all, gentlemen, unless there are any questions.

Vice President Harold T. Snow: When do I pack, sir?

From captured enemy intelligence files: 154.7-325 From: Admiral Gahm 336 To: Commanders of all ships Re: Invasion tactics The two scout ships which I sent out four time units ago have returned, and their crews are debriefed. On their sweep through what appeared to be the enemy’s most concentrated area of air­ craft which could possibly pose a threat to our safety, they discovered that the enemy seems to have been taken completely by surprise; there were no fortifications or weaponry of any kind to be found. However, this situation could change drastically before our slower battleships and transports arrive on the scene.

When we arrive at attack positions, I will lead a detachment of ten ships to the planet's surface to discover enemy artillery emplacements and weaknesses. At my signal, the rest of the fleet will follow, if I deem their support necessary. Let us dedicate our lives and our ships to the glory of his • Imperial Excellency! Victory!

Admiral Gahm 336

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From The Milwaukee Journal, August 25: Air Force, Army, and National Guard units were moved into the area of General Mitchell Field today in huge numbers. They were accompanied by impressive amounts of war material, including surface-to-air missiles, tanks, and F-l 11 fighter planes. The reason for their presence, according to General Wayne Marsh, the Secretary of Defense, was to prevent threatened violence along the route of the proposed airport-freeway link-up between Mitchell Field and Interstate Highway 94, which has been the object of a heated controversy which has kept the three-mile stretch of highway from being completed for ten years. The troops will be stationed in the area indefinitely.

From Military Intelligence Files (declassified): 28 August From: Col. Mark Johnston, USAF, Commander, Task Force 41 To: Gen. Wayne Marsh Sir: This is my official report of the action here on the evening of 27 August. At 2140 hours radar picked up ten of the enemy craft heading for the control tower of the airfield. All troops went to a state of battle readiness, and our missiles were put on stand-by alert. The enemy ships could not be seen until they had reached a point fifty yeards from the farthest observation point. The largest was no bigger than a basketball, with small proturerances around its perimeter. From these there was emitted a ray of light, thinner than a pencil. The missiles were primed for Firing when the ray struck a soldier’s face, but he received no permanent injury. We held our fire, uncertain of whether the ray was being deployed as a weapon or a mere signal. The enemy vessels fired off a few more rounds of these light rays, then withdrew.

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At 2153 hours, three minutes after the withdrawal, the largest of the ships returned. After hovering for a moment in the glare of our spotlights, it settled to the ground approximately twenty feet from the airport terminal. I immediately had it surrounded by troops with flame throwers, and then allowed the vice president to approach the ship. A small hatch opened, and a ramp slid down to the pavement.

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Down the ramp there came a column of five ants.

The vice president and I approached the ramp and bent down to attempt communication with them. It was rather difficult to tell in all the darkness, but the ant at the head of the column seemed to be waving its front paws frantically in the air, and shaking its head. All attempts at communica­ tion proved futile, though, and after three minutes the column reentered the ship, which then took off and disappeared from the radar screens.

At 2203 hours radar picked up forty-four enemy vessels heading in from the east. All of them were emitting those light rays, causing some discomfort among the troops. I ordered one company to open fire upon the enemy vessels with their rifles. Two of the craft seemed to falter for a moment, then fell to the ground, and the rest withdrew. There has been no more action since then.

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A team of Army Intelligence men went to work on the two downed ships this morning but could find no damage to their hulls to account for their immobility. Then, at 0900 hours a hatch opened in the larger of the two, and down the ramp came a file of seven ants pulling what appeared to be a small computer console about three inches long by one inch wide and one inch high. They left it on the table on which the ships were being examined, then reentered the ship. Then both

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ships took ott, apparently undamaged after all.

The computer they left seems to be some sort of language analysis unit, and it is the opinion of the intelligence officers here that we may be able to decipher the aliens’ language from a study of it.

1 am sending it to the Pentagon immediately. Since the enemy vessels are, according to local obser­ vations, withdrawing from our planet on a heading that will take them out of our solar system, I am preparing to withdraw Task Force 41 from Milwaukee on your approval.

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Col. Mark Johnston From taped transcripts of a conversation in the Oval Office, 14 December: Gen, Marsh: Well, Mr. President, the boys in Intelligence tell me that it wasn’t too hard a language to figure out once they really applied themselves to it.

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President Hammett: Good for them. Have they translated anything yet?

Gen. Marsh: Just an introduction of sorts by an Admiral Gahm 336. I have it here, sir, if you’d like to read it.

President Hammett: You read it, Wayne, I've had a long day, and I don’t think I could focus on it without a microscope.

Gen. Marsh: “To the inhabitants of Planet 3, from Admiral Gahm 336, re: our invasion of your planet.

“Greetings! Please forgive us for any discomfort we may have caused you. We mean neither you nor your planet any harm whatsoever. The decision to attack you was based on a hasty and emo­ tional conclusion on our emperor's part of an event which I am sure you could not have possibly prevented or perhaps even have been aware of.

“After I had been assured that our weapons would cause you no harm, I led an all-out attack on you, not as an act of aggression towards you but rather as a cover for me. I may now return to his Imperial Majesty and tell him that your planet has been devastated, and he needs be none the wiser. The many commanders in my fleet who are blind in their loyalty to him realize what he will do if we return with a report of disgraceful defeat such as we seem to have suffered at your hands, and so they should be no problem to me.

“I can assure you that we shall not bother you again.

“Gahm 336” (Here there is a pause of approximately three minutes length.)

Gen. Marsh: Mr. President, I'd like to ask you something that has been on my mind for quite some time now. Why didn’t you tell the voters that we repelled an invasion from outer space? That’d have raised you up a few notches in the popularity polls.

President Hammett: You really think so, Wayne? I don’t. / think that this administration would have been the laughing stock of the world, probably of all history, if it were known that during my term of office the Armed Forces of the United States of American beat off an invasion of.. .ants, Wayne. Little insects that you step on in every kitchen in America.

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Gen. Marsh: Well, sir, I never thought of it that way. It sure would be a something the Republicans 244

would throw in your face in November. I guess the old weather-balloon-and-swamp-gas cover-up was a good ploy after all; although I still don't think there are any swamps in Milwaukee in the summer, Mr. President.

President Hammett: I wouldn't know. I've never been there myself. Anyway, there was more to it than just political convenience.

Gen. Marsh: What are you talking about?

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President Hammett: I guess it’s sort of a sense of.. .awe. We definitely are not alone in this uni­ verse, Wayne. There may be billions of intelligent species out there. We had an encounter with some ants from outer space, which sounds pretty silly when you think about it. But I’m beginning to feel certain that there are beings out there so far above us that, if they wanted to, they could reach out and swat us like flies. I just hope that none of them get mad at us.

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From personal correspondence of James R. Torrence, Milwaukee, Wisconsin: December 27 Dear Uncle Freddy, ■

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Thank you very much for the neat Venus fly trap you sent me for Christmas. Mommy and Jilly said uggh! when they saw it, but I like it. I already fed it three flies that I caught.

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Thank you very much again.

Your nephew.

Jimmy

JEFF SCHALLhRT

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Deceptively Simple been eclipsed by his monuments in engraving, painting and poetry. Today William Blake stands out as a genius of the Romantic Age, among England’s greatest men of all time.

He was born in 1757, the son of a hosier of modest means. At an early age he began to see visions, a mystical “talent” that he would exercise throughout his life. At four he was frightened by seeing God looking at him through a window. On another occasion he reported seeing angels fluttering in a tree and the prophet Ezekiel wandering through a field.

|U obituary in the Literary Gazette read in r 1Bpart’ *ias ^ no^1inS except some pic­ tures, copperplates, and his principal work of a series of a hundred large designs from Dante.”

So England was content to let William Blake die. At the time of his death he was penniless.

He had only a modest reputation as an illustra­ tor, a “designer,” and “artist.” Yet the work of this man has in the last fifteen years inspired more scholarly research and criticism than any other genius of his time. The talents which gave him a modest reputation in his own day have

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His parents refused to note his genius and with­ held him from school until the age of ten; even that was only a drawing school. At fifteen he began a seven-year apprenticeship to an en­ graver. At twenty-two he entered the Royal Academy Antiques School, but quickly rebeled against the classical injunctions. He opened his own print shop and supported himself with that income until his death in 1827.

Blake’s art had enjoyed renewed interest, particularly in the last year. Still, it was not appreciated at all in his own time. He criti­ cized the moderns of his day and advocated a return to the methods of Raphael and Michel­ angelo. Rembrandt and Rubens were his villains. His beliefs were taken up by the preRaphaeiitc movement and became popular years later. Much of his art expresses the mysticism of his mind. It is very wild in nature, expressing the visions of his imagination.

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representations to his lively imagination. In addition, as the obituary mentioned, he illus­ trated the poetry of other men. His most famous adventure in this area was Dante's Divine Comedy. Blake’s work has earned him a place in art history. The fact that this was not his sole talent makes his achievement all the more impressive.

The majority of Blake’s fame rests on his poetry. As was true of his art. so too his poetry was largely ignored in his own day. He was a romantic who lived in a classical age. He was bom forty years before the start of that nebulous period termed the Romantic Age. His poetry dealt with pastoral serenity, children’s innocence, and the evils of urbanization as did the Romantics like Wordsworth and Keats.

But even during the Romantic era he was largely ignored. It seems he was too weird even for them. He had more mystical ideas than they.

He was from the lower crust of society, not acquainted with the world of Oxford and Cambridge. Not until our own day has Blake’s poetry received its due.

Blake's radical tendencies spilled over into the area of politics as well. He was one who “drank the wine of the French Enlightenment and sang the songs of justice and equality.”

He resented England’s concentrated power and wealth and the festering poverty. When the French Revolution broke out, trying to create a free society, Blake wrote its praises. He broke out in prophecies echoing Jeremiah’s and Hosea’s proclamations of damnation to a sinful world. When the revolution became a tyrant, Blake came down off his soapbox and retreated into his inner feelings.

Alone with his feelings, he thought of religion and its manifestations in the world.

He despised the established church and tended toward individual religion. His religion became infused with the typical humanistic ideas of the Romantic Age. Blake saw God in every man. Man was perfect; only his institutions and environment were evil. He hated England’s industrialism. He condemned science as the “Tree of Death.” He cried out for a utopia of earthbound saints.

Blake’s name is closely associated with the theory of contrasts. “Without contraries, there is no progression,” he said. The functioning and conflict of opposites are necessary to any life. His poetry expanded on this doctrine. His 246

Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience are two such opposites. The poems in these two works are deceptively simple. They appear no more than nursery rhymes, but are tilled with underlying meaning. The two poems The Lamb and The Tiger manifest the conflict which Blake thought so essential.

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight.

Softest clothing, woolly, bright: Lillie Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?.. .

And what shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hands and what dread feet?.. .

When the stars threw down their spears And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

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“One power alone makes a poet: Imagina­ tion, the Divine Vision.” Blake with these words aptly describes himself. His mystical imagination has handed down some of the most beautiful verses in the English language.

Our generation, full of humanists and mystics, has been captured by his ideas. His genius lives today the way it should have a century and a half ago. William Blake wanted his reader:

Little Lamb. I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, He is called by thy name For he calls himself a Lamb: He is meek and he is mild; He became a little child; I a child and thou, a Iamb, We are called by his name.

Little Lamb, God bless thee.

Little Lamb, God bless thee.

To see a world in a grain of sand And a Heaven in a wild flower.

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.

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MARK RIEKE

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright

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IACTIVITIES One final note—Junior star ing margin. ..

Bruce McKenney was named to the Wisconsin Conference of Independent College’s All-Con­ ference team, and Senior Paul Zell finished out his career by being named to the second team.

Congratulations!

As for the spring sports, it's a little too early to say much for certain, except that the teams have begun practicing. Tennis coach, Professor Eickmann, is really putting his men through a strenuous program, hoping to keep the netters' fortunes at their usual high level.

Keith TuIIberg and Bruce Bitter return as the top two players. Though the trackmen have been working out for only a couple of weeks, they've already had one meet-an invitational at Carroll College. Senior Phil Heyer led the troops with high finishes in both the long jump and high jump competitions. The golf

I n the last issue all I could tell you was that * the Trojans had made it to the National Little College Athletic Association Basketball Tournament in Norfolk, Nebraska. Well, what happened there wasn't exactly run-of-themill. Our first round opponent, Louisiana Baptist, defeated us by some twenty points.

Coach Thompson and his troops, of course, thought the season was over. It came as no little surprise, then, when the tournament officials came into the locker room and con­ gratulated us on being the game’s winner. The Louisiana team had violated some eligibility rule and had been disqualified from advance­ ment already before our game had begun, but nobody decided to tell our players about it.

Norfolk's own Northeast Community College, our next opponent, played by all the rules, however, and trounced us by a rather convine-

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team has practiced even less than the trackmen, but most of Coach Sellnow’s men have beer, able to get in a few rounds at area courses.

Look for Don Scheuerlein, Mark Wagner, and Tom Behnke to lead the Trojans to an ex­ cellent season. Finally, the baseball team has a few scores to settle from last year, and with this year’s personnel, it could very well happen.

Back from a year’s absence are Mark Birkholz, Mark Henke, and Keith Free. These, plus pitcher Dave Voss, ten other returnees from last year’s squad, and several Frosh should make this season seem to go a bit faster for Coach Pieper than last year.

Turning aside from sports, on March 18, the College put on its first annual (we hope) Entertainment Night. MCs Jeff Carter and Dave Cooper kept the show moving along well, so Tom Rawerts, John Carter, Nate Radtke, Fred Krieger, Randy Mueller, Paul Schulz, Mark Wagner, and Kurt Lueneburg could put on a top-notch show. The night made for a very nice diversion from the usual attack of midwinter blahs.

On April 2nd, Professor Lloyd Thompson was privileged to celebrate his 25th Anniver­ sary in the teaching ministry in the College Chapel. The last eight of those years have been spent as Coach and Athletic Director here at Northwestern. With the people in attendance at your service, Coach, we students thank God for the mercies He has shown you in the past, and pray that He continue to give you the strength to endure the future.

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All you theater-goers, the Northwestern Forum Society has a treat for you! On the weekend of April 28th-30th, the Society will put on Shakespeare’s famous A Midsummer Night's Dream at 7:30 each night. Director of the play is Forum veteran, Bruce Becker, and the faculty adviser is Professor Quam. Here’s a list of the leading characters: Puck Joel Petermann Oberon Jeff Carter Theseus Brian Dose Demetrius Mark Cordes Lysander Allen Sorum Bottom Mark Schulz Hermia Eunice Steiner Helena Lori Thompson

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Torri Zoeller Titania One of the main difficulties in staging the play, according to the director, is the portrayal of the fanciful fairyland. In other words, how fantastical should one make the fairies in order to let them come alive for the audience?

Another problem was stage directions. Shake­ speare never used any, except some important ones like “Enter” and “Exit.” A “simple” thing like how, when, and where an actor moves can make quite a difference in the interpretation of a play, especially one as versatile as this one.

Perhaps the key to the understanding of A Midsummer Night's Dream is Shakespeare’s use of the “Three Worlds,” the Royalty, the peasant Craftsmen, and Fairyland. At the play’s beginning, these worlds are most separate and different from one another. How these three worlds are resolved into one unit by play’s end is what you, the audience, should search for and enjoy. In the process, maybe each of us will find out how true one of the fairy’s observations of humans-“What fools

these mortals be”—is! A Midsummer Night’s Dream, April 28th, 29th, 30th-go and find out for yourself.

Finally, a large April 15th audience wit? nessed one of the most talented arid enter­ taining “Activities” of the year—the fourth annual Northwestern College Jazz Ensemble Concert. Greg Schulz and his twenty member band played songs ranging from Dominic .

Spera’s exciting “Straight Ahead and Strive for Tone” and “Make a Joyful Noise” to the more sedate “Shadings” of Will Schaefer and Gilbert O’Sullivan’s “Alone Again (Naturally).”

The most memorable part of the concert, however, occured at the end when Greg moved the audience with his own “Song, My Song” and then brought down the house with the group’s favorite, “Bass Folk Song.” As evi­ denced by the crowd reaction throughout, the ensemble’s hard work and discipline paid off immensely. To attend was quite a treat. !

DAVID KOLANDER

BIKING TO HOLY HILL County trunk O a gray path of motion’s desire rising with nature’s pull and human dreams parallel to heaven but never touching always surging never touching County trunk O flying fast beneath my wheels endless line of hills rising higher gritting my teeth wiping away stinging sweat from my eyes Ears humming with the steady whir of tires chewing the patched asphalt spitting out gravel weaving cracks dodging potholes Old Lebanon blurring by with graveyards and barking dogs and Ashippun a chronic stop sign and high gear off the sweeping curve Beyond highway 83 and old Buick honking me onto the shoulder burning a quart of oil in my face kicking it down and flying by Shifting down I hit the hill Climbing Off the saddle into the spring rolling a mass of turning cranks and grinding knees pumping thighs Headwind always a headwind Climbing 249

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Rusting hulks of worn out machinery standing silently a hay-rake with its claws curled poised stilled Climbing A plow with a few broken decayed teeth grimly bared staring numbly at the unbroken earth Climbing Victims of transient illusion locked in endless ascent Panting with mortality burning with momentum and uncovered miles 1 wait for my second breath always surging never touching Climbinginginginginging

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TAU DELTA THETA AWARD This year the Tau Delta Theta Award goes to Peter Panitzke. The award was estab­ lished in 1965 by the Centennial class, and is granted on the basis of scholarship, athletics and campus activities. The winner uses money from a special fund to purchase books for the Northwestern College library.

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I strive not For the graceful blooming rose Which will wither in its day, But I reach For the lasting evergreen Which bends not to sin’s weather.

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RANDY MUELLER i

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We wander not.

We need not drown.

Our faith is strength To bring us to Paradise.

There is a path.

There is a bridge.

A way exists To find our destination.

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RANDY MUELLER

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ALUMNI S

o passes volume 81 of the Alumni News, and so another Alumni Editor melds into the obscurity and anonymity of his predeces­ sors. “Who cares?” you callously query. I do.

I’m the one being pushed into obscurity!

Contrary to what you may think, these aren’t tears of joy I'm weeping at seeing my last column slip off my trusty machine. They aren’t tears of sorrow, either. Come to think of it, they aren’t tears at all but rain drops spattering through the screen which our janies were thoughtful enough to replace during Easter vacation.

Seriously, however, in overview 1978 was a year of missed deadlines and abbreviated columns for Alumni News. Unfortunately most of the fault lies with said outgoing editor. It was a year of trial and error. I thank my faith­ ful correspondents and equally faithful readers, wherever they may be. You can hang me from our marvelously lighted bell tower by my toenails if you want in retribution for my in­ discretions, but a little compassion goes well with the Hying projectiles of incriminations. I am not a crook! Deal mercifully with your servant.

With hopes of better columns to come in volume 82 I relinquish the hallowed files which contain all the graduates since the be­ ginning of the school, the nifty B & R station­ ery, and the two folders full of miscellaneous junk (1 red, 1 orange) into the capable hands of Jeff Seelow. Use them in good health, Jeff, and GOOD LUCK. Now-in the tradition of volume 81-our quickie view of the Alumni News.

sionary stationed at Hot Springs, SD. He began his service there on March 1 of this year, but his commissioning service will take place after Easter.

Rev. Dennis Valleau (’72), who had been at the mission congregation in LeHigh Valley, PA, received a call to serve St. John, Allegan, MI. His installation took place on February 19 1978.

ANNIVERSARIES -St. John congregation of Dowagiac, MI, celebrated the twentieth year of being in their new church on February 26, 1978. Rev. Elmer Zehms (’37), currently serves that congrega­ tion.

-St. Andrew, Chicago, IL, recently cele­ brated its ninetieth anniversary. Rev. Amo Wolfgram (’64), is their pastor.

-St. Matthew congregation of Iron Ridge.

WI, dedicated a new gymnasium-fellowship hall complex for the work of the Lord on March 5, 1978. The church is served by Rev. Douglas Semenske (’72).

—The congregation of St. Matthew Spokane, WA, joyfully dedicated a school building to the Lord's service on February 26 1978. Rev. John Henning (’62), currently ministers to their needs.

-St. Bartholomew Lutheran Church of Kawkawlin, MI, consecrated a church addition for the Lord on February 19, 1978. Rev. Howard Henke (’44), serves the congregation.

DEATHS -Rev. Kenneth Vertz (’31), who had been serving Salem, Owosso, Ml. was summoned to

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CALLS -Rev. Loyal Schroeder (’45), formerly serving St. John congregation of Bowdle, SD. has accepted a call to become a district mis-

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Their marriage is planned for this coming sum­ mer.

his eternal rest on February 24, 1978. He received a Christian burial on February 27, 1978.

BIRTHS ENGAGEMENTS -Rev. and Mrs. Gary Richmond (’70), were blessed with the gift of a son, Michael James, on February 1, 1978. Rev. Richmond serves St. Paul, Faith, SD.

-Rev. Ronald Winter (’66), recently an­ nounced his engagement to Miss Lyless Lindloff. Rev. Winter serves St. Paul congregation of Monroe, MI, while Miss Lindloff is a grade school teacher at Salem, Ann Arbor, MI.

DAVID PAYNE

NORTHWESTERN COLLEGE ALUMNI SOCIETY Report of Income and Expenses From May 17, 1976 to May 17, 1977

Income: Bell Tower Donations Dues Interest

$ 5193.20 1535.00 70.69 Total Income

6,798.89

Expenses: Phone Calls Black & Red Donation Bell Tower-Architect’s Fee Bell Tower Mailing Homecoming Mailing Secretarial Help Envelopes and Printing Paper Alumni Research Expenses Canadian Check Transactions Total Expenses

$

18.00 20.00 108.10 254.37 83.35 160.00 168.00 452.56 5.43 1.269:81

Income over Expenses

S 5,529.08

CASH ACCOUNT Balance May 17, 1976 From Income

$ 7121.56 6798.89 $13,920.45

Disbursements: Expenses Balance Less Certificate of Deposit

1.269.81 $12,650.64 8,000.00

1 Balance in Bank 5/17/77 252

$ 4,650.64

INVESTMENT: Certificate of Deposit First State Savings and Loan

$14,936.93

Bell Tower Fund NWC Business Office

$ 1,706.60

MINUTES OF THE 1977 ALUMNI MEETING NORTHWESTERN COLLEGE May 17, 1977 The 99th annual meeting of the Northwestern College Alumni Society was called to order in the College Chapel at 3 p.m. on May 17th, 1977 by the President, Robert Voss.

The minutes of the 1976 meeting were read by the secretary and accepted as read. Roll call showed 88 alumni and 9 honorary members in attendance. All were welcomed by President Voss. Upon President Toppe’s recommendation, the 58 members of the 1977 graduating class were received into membership.

Honorary members received into membership of the society were Mrs. Anna (Wegner) Kiloh, Mrs. Carl S. Ekblad (Gertrude Zabel), Eric Hartzell, Arlyn Boll, and Wayne Zuleger.

Treasurer, Prof. S. Quam, presented the financial report of our society: (report included). With interest, the funds of the NWC Alumni Society are nearly $18,000. President Voss appointed William Hein, Paul Nitz, and Allen Zenker to audit the society’s books and these men left to begin their task.

The Election Committee, Edward Lindemann, James Fricke, and Myron Kell, presented a nomination ballot for officers which was accepted by the society. Elected for one year of office were: Robert Voss President Marvin Otterstatter First Vice President Donald Bitter Second Vice President David Sievert Secretary Sylvester Quam Treasurer Erwin Scharf Chronicler }

.

The Projects Committee Chairman, Prof. Paul Eickmann, presented several items which had been con­ sidered by his committee, but suggestions to our group included only the moving of the Sprinter statue to an area to the right of the gymnasium entrance, estimated cost $500. The motion to so bear the cost of moving the “Sprinter” was passed.

Alan Siggelkow reported for the Alumni Centennial Committee. May 22, 1979, has been set as Centen­ nial Day. Plans now are for the day to begin with a Thanksgiving service at 10 a.m. Vital to the planning of the Centennial Committee is the gift to Northwestern of audio-visual equipment that can be used by the school in recruitment. The cost of the audio-visual equipment and other costs estimated for Centennial Day were presented to the Alumni in the committee's budget proposal (copy included). The budget proposal of the Centennial Anniversary Committee was accepted by our group.

Prof. Erwin Scharf gave the report of the Mailing Research Committee. Six hundred and fifty prep graduates have been found by the committee and out of a mailing to that group only 20 - 25 letters were returned because of a wrong address. A list of those who responded and requested membership at this time with the payment of their dues follows:

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1953 - Dr. Vernon Rabbach 1955 - David Schumann 1958 - Roger Thusius 1959 - David Riedemann 1961 - Mrs. Marilyn (Toppe) Cole 1961 - Roger Weisflog 1962 - Mrs. Charlotte (Scharf) Wiley 1963 - Reinhard Puchert 1964 - Mrs. Helen (Scharf) Meyer 1965 - Mrs. Madeline (Scharf) Horton 1972 - Ralph Schmidt, Jr.

1934 - Meinhard Raabe 1945 - Hans D. Meyer 1945 - Mrs. Orma (Milbrath) Wildgrube 1945 - Paul Ziesemer 1946 - Mrs. Doris (Jungkuntz) Schumann 1947 - Edward Johannes 1947 - Mrs. Cynthia (Runge) Wilde 1947 - Roy Schneider 1947 - Ralph Schmidt Sr. 1950 - Wayne Schroeder 1950- Rev. Lawrence Ruegg 1951 - Mrs. Marilyn (Menke) Neumann

The above were then accepted into membership of the society. The committee report was accepted and the Mailing Research Committee was dismissed with thanks.

Prof. Scharf also reported for the Banquet Committee that dinner would begin at 5 p.m. with a punch being served from 4:30 p.m. A number of classes had requested tables.

The Campus Planning Committee report, given by Dean Lindcmann, indicated problems with a heating pipe and water pipe which can add from S500 to $2000 in extra costs to the Bell Tower planned by the Alumni. It was recommended that we proceed as planned in spite of the additional costs. The recommenda­ tion of the committee was approved. All the committees who have served the Alumni Society and North­ western College were thanked by the society.

The Centennial Committee, as part of its planning for the celebration, has asked Dr. Elmer Kiessling to write the history of the society. The society adopted this request as its own by motion and Dr. Kiessling will thus undertake this work at the request of the Northwestern College Alumni Association.

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The Chronicler reported the names of those whom the Lord called to Himself during the past year: 1908 - The Rev. Paul Iiensel 1910 - The Rev. Victor Schroeder 1911 - Prof. Elmer Sauer 1914 - Ernst Ave-Lallement 1916 - Benno Kupfer 1919 - The Rev. W. H. Lehmann 1921 - The Rev. Erdmann Pankow 1922 - The Rev. I. G. Uetzmann 1924 - The Rev. Walter Krueger 1924 - The Rev. Walter Schmidt 1925 - Arnold Domfeld 1929 - The Rev. Ewald Blumenthal 1930 - The Rev. Hugo Fritze 1931 - The Rev. Alfred Schewe 1933 - Adelbert Maas 1934-Curtis Hotlen 1937 - The Rev. Frederick Thierfelder All rose for a moment of silence in memory of the deceased. The auditing committee returned to report that the Treasurer’s books were found to be in order and their report was accepted by the society. The meeting was then adjourned.

David Sievert Secretary

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ACTIVITIES Feature Column by David Kolandcr...........

ALUMNI Feature Column by Dave Payne........................................................

CAMPUS AND CLASSROOM Feature Column by Jerry Ewings and David Huebner. . . .................

COMMENCEMENT ORATIONS "B. F. Skinner and Other Behavioral Psychologists".........................

•’The Question of the Clarity of Scripture"................ ....................

EDITORIALS "The Black and Red in the Northwestern Community"-Greg Schulz "A New School Year With Optimism"-Greg Schulz. . .................

"The Northwestern \MiIlenium'"-Grcg Schulz .................................

ESSAYS Deceptively Simple-Mark Rieke..........................................

Early Christian Easter-Mark Rieke.......................................

The est Escape-Mark Rieke.................................................

The Ghost of Christmas Past-Greg Otterstatter.....................

Literature: A Way to Salvation?-Greg Schulz..............

The Lord of the Rings: Tolkien’s English Epic-Jeff Schallert Madison Visitcd-Mark Rieke.................................................

New Prospects for Prep-Kurt Ebert.....................................

Reggae Music? What’s That?-Tim Kant................................

The Second Martin-Mark Rieke. ..........................................

St. Thomas Aquinas-Mark Rieke.........................................

Thank You-Rick Johnson . . ............................................

WELSand Communism-Bob Smith .....................................

FICTION: COVER STORIES The Blood of Martyrs-Dave Payne.

City-Jeff Schallert.......................

Fearful Symmetry-Jeff Schallert. .

First Kiss, Last Kiss-Dave Payne . .

Goal to Goal-Dave Payne..............

The Hazor Anomaly-Jeff Schallert.

Manhood Like a Lion-Dave Payne.

Wintertide-Dave Payne................

FICTION An Abiding Dwelling-Greg Schulz Caged-Dave Payne .....................

A Fancy of Love-Dave Payne . . .

The Lost Treasure—Dave Payne .

One Penney*s Worth-Dave Payne.

A Part of the Whole-Greg Schulz.

Whoops!-Dave Payne................

HUMOR A Message to Future Translators-Jeff Schallert.

We May Be Giants-Jeff Schallert.....................

POETRY Biking to Holy Hill-Brian Dose.........

Calvary From the Cradle-Greg Schulz.

"Death Comes Stalking-"-Dave Payne Endless Dawn-Brian Dose................

"In ancient times, o star,”-Dave Payne March Shower—Brian Dose..................

............14,38,72. 105, 151. 185. 216. 247 25.85, 119, 187,220. 251 . . . .12.44,81. 107, 144, 181, 107,235 Joel Fredrich Thomas Nass 2 34 66

245 213 179 147 24 69 40 205 III 9 139 237 103

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Mary-Mark Cordes.....................................................

Mid-Winter Thaw—Brian Dose.......................................

The Nights Grow Long and Cold-Brian Dose...................

Psalm-Don Pieper.......................................................

Reflections in a Department Store Window-Randy Mueller Restless BIue-Brian Dose.............................................

“Running, feel the wind”-Andrew Nitz.........................

A Snowbird Called Out on the Wind—Randy Mueller........

The Star's Been Pulled to Earth Again—Brian Dose..........

Summer Dreams-Brian Dose.........................................

Summer Shades—Brian Dose.........................................

There Are Only Ashes Here—Brian Dose.........................

The Undertaker—Mark Krause.......................................

Where Life Used to Live—Brian Dose...............................

Why—Philip Henselin SPORTS Fanaticism-Mark Wilde............................

Review: Sports in America-Greg Otterstatter.

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177 110 17 150 177 207 178 142 11 47 43 183 176 83

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EDITOR-IN-CHIEF............ . . Timothy Kant MANAGING EDITOR____ Greg Otterstatter BUSINESS MANAGER . . . .... Mark Wilde CIRCULATION MANAGER . Scott Spaulding FEATURES EDITOR___ . , . Jerry Ewings SPORTS EDITOR...___ .... Non' Kock POETRY EDITOR............ .... Brian Dose ALUMNI EDITOR............ . . . .Jeff Seel ow CAMPUS & CLASSROOM . . .Dan Balge & Tom Jeske STAFF WRITERS . . . Al Sorum Larry Olson Mark Cordes Tom Bauer Mark Albrecht ART EDITOR . Rick Scheibe ART STAFF . . . Tom Jeske Denny Himm ADVERTISING MANAGERS . . Kurt Ebert Phil Henselin

256

WHEN EXPERIENCE COUNTS • •

• ::

COUNT ON THE LUTHERAN HOME

A PIONEER IN CARE FOR THE AGING SINCE 1898 NOW PIONEERING IN COUNSELING AND RESIDENTIAL CARE FOR THE RETARDED

THE LUTHERAN HOME

BELLE PLAINE, MINNESOTA

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7/0annw'& FREE CHECKING 24 HOUR BANKING “We never close”

WISCONSIN NATIONAL BANK,' 1 04 W. MAIN BT. Watertown, Wisconsin

W

ROGER'S TV & APPLIANCES

ACCUTRON - BULOVA WATCHES KEEPSAKE & ART CARVED DIAMONDS 261-1671

111 Main St.

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American Motors

A. KRAMP COMPANY

MATADOR-CONCORD-GREMLIN PACER-JEEP 615 Main Street Watertown, Wis. Phone 261-2770

ffe%nrs

Hitachi-Sylvania Stereo & TV Norge, Gibson & Hotpoint Appliances Kitchen Aid Dishwashers Jenn-Air Ranges

Smart Clothes for Men

402 Main Watertown Phone 261-3385

Formal Wear Rental Dial 261-4174 107 Main Street

COMPLIMENTS OF

Your Walgreen Agency Pharmacy

The Busse Pharmacy go trojans a AL SHUMAKER

and andy McFarland

Electrical Contractors [Electric jWjlRING [SIervice

Oconomowoc 567-7566 Watertown 261-3755 Milwaukee 367-6008

iliamonds

$

RUBIES SAPPHIRES EMERALDS

ENGAGEMENT RING SPECIALISTS

CERTIFIED GEMOLOGISTS

Wagners Jewelers 119 E. Wisconsin Avenue DOWNTOWN OCONOMOWOC 567-3741

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BOWL-A-FUN LANES

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766 NORTH CHURCH STREET

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Invites All College Students to Bowl MON.-TUES.—WED.-FRI. 1 P.M. to 6 P.M. 3 Games SI.25 Phone 261-9866

Sxquisite ^Polittiaits Studio Qutdco*

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"WE'LL FRAME ANYBODY"

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261-6607 * 567-0525 .4 a^cAqc aqc AqcAqcAocAqc ■

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Swop^lt ttcauu&MjU&efdJUL Phone 261-5402

301 N. Third Street ATHLETIC SUPPLIES

—

LETTER JACKETS

HUNTING AND FISHING EQUIPMENT

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SCHUETT'S Radio & TV “DOWNTOWN IXONIA"

HOSE'S BARBER SHOP

— Your Headquarters For —

New Concepts in Haircutting & Styling — Wigs —

RCA - PANASONIC

Appointments — Closed Mondays Open Fri. to 9 p.m. — Sat. to 3:30 p.m.

Modules — Components — TV's

102 S. 4th Street

Phone 261-3646

Candle-Glo Motel & Restaurant Highways 16 & 109 1200 N. 4th St. Telephone 414 261-2281 :■

WATERTOWN, Wl 53094 MONA and DON THUROW

Duradean of Watertown “FLOWER FRESH CLEANING“ of Fine Furniture and Carpets Commercial, Industrial and Institutional Building Maintenance WAYNE STAUDE, OWNER

R. R. 4,

140 Riverview Lane Dial 261-3350

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FAST GATE INN FOR YOUR DINING PLEASURE East Gate Drive (Old Hwy. 16)

Co-Mo Photo Company Photo Finishing — Cameras Black and White — Color "We Process Films” 217-219 N. 4th Street

Watertown

Phone 261-3011

WARREN-SCHEY House of Music MUSIC-INSTRUMENTS PIANOS—ORGANS 261-8644

208 Main St.

WATERTOWN DAILY TIMES ★ A Daily Newspaper Since 1895

MSI Bank of Watertown "The Latest in Motion Pictures” 308 E. Main Street (414) 261-1692 WATERTOWN, WIS. 53094

Watertown DODGE

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"New and Used Cars” 301 W. Main Street ; i

Dial 261-3870

WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

Rikhltclfy fyloStfU, Slto^x .

Flowers — Gifts — Potted Plants

"We Telegraph Flowers” 616 Main Street — Phone 261-7186 WATERTOWN

"The Bank Behind the Town" at 205 No. Second Street Watertown, Wisconsin Phone 261-7102

MEMBER FEDERAL DEPOSIT INSURANCE CORPORATION

IttiUe* AUTO REPLACEMENT PARTS, Inc. 717 West Main Street

Dial 261-1850

WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

FIRST STATE SAVINGS

= KECK FURNITURE

complete home furnishers

COMPANY

FOR OVER A CENTURY

and Loan Association

I KM 12 Main St. - Watkrtown PHONE 261-7214

"Your Swings Insured up to 3*10,000"

Downtown or Shopping Center

FISCHERS

WTTN A M

THE DEPARTMENT STORE OF WATERTOWN

1580kc - 1000 Watts i

MEL'S GARAGE

FM 94.1 me — 20,000 Watts

AUTOMATIC TRANSMISSION and

SYMBOL OF

GENERAL REPAIR Tel. 261-1848

110 N. Water St.

adidas

SOUND SELLING

TRI-MART CORPORATION WHOLESALE DISTRIBUTOR

14 Styles to choose from Sizes: 3-16

Panasonic Tobaccos, Candy, Fountain

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CONVERSE-NIKE-PRO KEDS

’Rail's

SHOE STORE

212-214 Main St. Watertown, Wise.

261-2395

Chemical and Paper Supplies 301 CLARK ST.

WATERTOWN

PHONE: 261-4941

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KUESTER PLUMBING 222 S. First Street

Phone 261-2709

WATERTOWN, WISCONSIN

Compliments of

WACKETTS Service Station

FREEDOM WHEELS INC. HONDA

SUZUKI & CAN-AM

31 1 S. 3rd St. WATERTOWN

1423 W Wise. Ave. OCONOMOWOC

261-5930

567-9071

K M S E L (^ueMzJfae) IN. U O C L HOUSEWARES

HARDWARE

APPLIANCES

316 W. Main St. Phone 261-9941 GIFTS FOR ALL OCCASIONS

ZWIEG'S GRILL Fine Food

SINCE

1849

108-112 W. Main Street 261-7122

Open Daily

WATERTOWN

BREAKFASTS - SANDWICHES PLATE LUNCHES - HAMBURGERS . :

BROASTED CHICKEN & CONES MALTS & SHAKES

I 904 East Main Street Phone 261-1922

Piccadilly Smoke Shop • Paperback Classics • Monarch Notes Open Daily: 7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.

Fridays til 9:00 - Sundays til noon 406 Main St. — Dial 261-6027

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- FEATU RING -

Pizza and

Steak Sandwiches ' ORDERS READY IN 20 MINS. - CALL 261-0006 500 BERNARD ST WATERTOWN

SCHNEIDER JEWELRY

Art's Shoe Service

Student Gift Headquarters Accutron — Bulova

SHOE REPAIR

Caravelle Watches Columbia Diamonds Expert Watch Repair

Fast Service - Reasonable Prices

309 E. Main Street

Dial 261-6769

514 E. Main Watertown Washington Hotel

Milwaukee Cheese Co. MALLACH CLINIC PHARMACY i'

123 Hospital Drive

770 No. Springdale Rd., Waukesha, Wis. MANUFACTURERS OF

Watertown, Wisconsin Phone 261-0242 1

BEER KAESE & WUNDERBAR BRICK CHEESE COMPLETE LINE OF SHOP at SEARS and SAVE

Institutional Food Products

quality unsurpassed prices to fit every pocketbook

207 S. 3rd

Edward E. Hotter Realtor & Broker

//atitusuf'd SUPPER CLUB (/ 5-10 p.m. Daily 5-11 p.m. Sat. 4-10 p.m. Sun. PIPERSVILLE

Dial 261-2651

ftennetff

We know what you're looking for

IN WATERTOWN Fashion Headquarters FOR YOUNG MEN

Phone 261-3880

HOFFER REALTY

261-4654

FARMS - HOMES BUSINESSES GENERAL INSURANCE

428 South Church St. — Watertown, Wis. 53094

0C0N0M0W0C Savings & Loan "SAVINGS TIME IS ANYTIME" 808 East Main Street Watertown, Wisconsin

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POTATO CHIPS

diet pepsi SUGAR-FREE1

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114 W. Main Street — Watertown

OCONOMOWOC TRANSPORT COMPANY, INC.

Have a

Pepsi day!

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School Bus Transportation- Charter Trips 5021 Brown Street Phone 261-4905 OCONOMOWOC

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PEPSI-COLA BOTTLING COMPANY OF MADISON P.O. Box 8006 • Madison, Wisconsin 53708

For the Finest in Dining & Cocktails 700 E. Main St. PRIVATE ROOMS AVAILABLE FOR THE LARGEST AND SMALLEST IN BANQUETS AND MEETINGS

- OPEN 7 DAYS A WEEK BREAKFAST - LUNCHES - DINNERS

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THE STUDENTS CHOICE Our Greatest Asset Is Your Satisfaction YOU SAVE ON QUALITY CLEANING 412 Main Street — Phone 261-6851

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— Weekly Specials — WED. NIGHT - ROAST CHICKEN All you can eat FRI. NIGHT - FISH FRY SAT. - PRIME RIB SUN. - BRUNCH Watertown 261-0074

WHEN THE NEED IS SPECIAL A SPECIALIST IS NEEDED

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SERVING AMERICA'S CHURCHES...SINCE 1897

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