• For those who prefer cigarettes, give Camels and you can be sure your gift will be appreciated. For more smokers prefer slower-burning Camels than any other cigarette. They are the cigarette of costlier tobaccos that gives more pleasure in every puff. Your dealer is featuring Camels for Christmas in the two handsome packages shown above. Easy to get-perfect to receive. Yes, there's nothing like Camels to say: "Happy holidays and happy smoking."
PRINCE ALBERT
• No problem about those pipe-smokers on your gift list! You just can't miss when you give them a big, long-lasting one-pound tin of the world's most popular smoking tobaccoPrince Albert! (Or a one-pound real glass humidor.) Pipe-smokers call Prince Albert the National Joy Smoke. They say: "There's no other tobacco like it!" Your local dealer has Prince Albert's Christmas-wrapped "specials" on display now! Get your Prince Albert gifts today!
I THE MESSENGERI
UNIVERSITYOF RICHMOND
THE MESSENGER
UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND
Editor-in-Chief
PHYLLIS ANNE COGHILL
Richmond College Editor
MURRAY BARR
Westhampton College Editor
JEAN LOUISE NEASMITH
Assistant Editors
LEANDER SAUNDERS, JR
STRAUGHAN GETTIER
JOHN DECKER
HELEN HILL
KIRA NICHOLSKY
Associate Editors
THEODORE TURNER
WILBUR SKINNER
ED LUTTRELL
Business Manager
SIMPSON WILLIAMS
MARY GRACE SCHERER
PAT ABERNETHY
JANICE LANE
Art Staff
BOB CARTER
LOUISE HALL
Assistant Business Manager
ROBERT BLACK
VOLUME LXVIII DECEMBER, 1940 No. 2
" and on earth, peace-"
For this issue we wanted to write an appropriate editorial about brotherhood and peace on earth. So we turned to our Bible to get the exact wording of the much-quoted Christmas precept. What we found set us wondering, and we decided to look at another version of the Bible. This confused us still more and so we' re passing it on to you for vour interpretation. The King Tames version says. " ... and on earth peace, good will toward men. " Whereas, the American Revision states, " . . . and 6n earth peace among men in whom He is well pleased."
* * *
The most all-inclusive topic of conversation these pre-holiday moments is one concerning how occupied we are. Term papers-tests-Web pictures-rehearsals-deadlines in everything from publications to assignments-Christmas shopping -all these and even more seem to add to the misery of already prominent personal worries. Of course, too, there still prevails the problem of getting a sufficient amount of daily sleep. and nourishment without depriving ourselves of the health that is necessary to carry on. Each year from the freshman to the senior we find our duties and obligations growing. and with them increases the time necessary to fulfill them adequately. Proportionately with these should develop our ability to plan time, to cope with situations intelligently
and with a certain amount of reserve and maturity. All this conversational complaining: how troubled we are, how much we have to do, how inhumanly rushed we found ourselves-is this the talk of sensible college students? Could we not take advantage of the time we spend verbally complaining and worrying by getting down to work?
* * * *
Our editorial in the October issue of THE MESSENGERsuggested a department called "Letters To The Editor." We expected to find our mailbox brimming with comments and constructive criticisms from the campus. But we were sadly mistaken. Days passed, weeks passed-but not a single piece of correspondence from our student body. We were sad indeed.
And then it happened; the long-awaited letter arrived! The very first words stunned us: "Hurray for THE MESSENGER!"We were flabbergastedbut pleasantly so. The results of the letter were terrific-it boosted our faith in people and an atmosphere of brightness once again pervaded our 8' x 8½' cubby-hole. As for the letter itself we are going to frame it and hang it in THE MESSENGER office; it is our brain-child's first Christmas gift.
* * * *
We knew man needed food to live by, but we hadn't been told of the great struggle required to get that subsistence. We have learned through painstaking research that Richmond College is truly unique in the food-getting characteristics of its men.
Nowhere else are refectory lobbies so full or so subtle in their odors as Richmond's just before a meal. Nowhere else are the dining room doors nearly torn from their supports as stampeding crowds surge forward. Nowhere else have such swift sitters been discovered, and nowhere are the reaches more elongated or the grips more tenacious than across the tops of our own red mahogany tables.
The new radio blends magnificently with the uproar. "For-why don't you pass the dog meat (hamburgers)-sling me the grease (gravy)how about some more dough (biscuits)-who's got my dessert ?-the Catbirds really took a beating today-No, I can't go, I tell you-The meeting was postponed-from the looks of this stuff (food), I should have stayed in bed." Suddenly, a shattering clang is heard and someone calls for quiet, and shouts an announcement that is being ignored by everyone.
The food is gone in something under twelve
minutes and again the pathway to the dorms is thronged. Someone still loudly maintains, "That was a mighty poor meal."
We note that Richmond College men not only manage to live but for some unaccountable reason actually thrive on those meals. The human body is truly a great machine.
* * * *
We were extremely fortunate in attending the Virginia Intercollegiate Press Association Conference at Blacksburg several weeks ago. For a long time we have been wondering what editors on other campuses in the state were publishing. We learned that The Tech Engineer's primary concern consists of dissertations on positive electrical ions, and whether or not they are here to stay. The editor of The Royalist , who looked like a football player, told our particular magazine group that the William and Mary folks enjoyed the fashion article on the longevity of chiffon pleats and the practicality of muslin this year. At Farmville the contributions to The Colonnade are so scant the editors depend on material that is submitted by the English Department. A usual and typical article is: "The Influence of MacPherson' s Ossian Upon the Pseudo-Romanticists of the Following Decade."
Now that we have been enlightened, we have decided that we'd rather work for THE MESSENGERanyday It's our first love, and besides that, we never did care for electrical ions, chiffon pleats, or Ossian.
Letters to the Editor
DEAR EDITOR:
Hurray for THE MESSENGER!At last the campus magazine has made a turn for the better. Instead of being a poor imitation of Etude , Best Fiction Stories, and a few others combined, the magazine has successfully started a pioneering venture for the unquestionable literary talents which are around the university.
Looking over the first issue, I am reminded of the fact that humorous verse which is humorous, a satire which is satirical, a real romance which is romantic, and so forth, had never before appeared
in one single issue of THE MESSENGER.When such material is published, there seems to be a better reason than ever for reading the publication, and indeed it is being more widely read.
But, there are some additions I would like to see, which, I think would add to the general reading interest and yet not destroy its object of being a literary magazine. I would like to see more humor:-witty jokes, amusing verse, and the like -as there are too few laughs in college life in these times. May I suggest more illustrations? The reading eye tires easily, no matter how interesting the article; also, a magazine is enjoyed more than once if there are illustrations scattered throughout.
Congratulations to you and your staff for editing a readable college magazine. May you continue with your good efforts.
Sincerely,
JACKC. KERVAN.
December 2, 1940.
DEAR EDITOR:
The Citadel literary magazine, The Shako is going to run a feature, called for the present, "The Parade of Southern Beauties." It is our aim to make this feature a unique one in that we hope to show a typical girl of each Southern college. This is not a beauty contest, but more of a parade or exhibit of Southern girls. We are sure that this feature will be interesting not only to Southern colleges, but will arouse the envy of other sections of the country. We want to show some of the beauty for which the South is so famous.
If you are interested in contributing to this feature, please send us snapshots ( full length) of some of the typical girls of your campus. We will leave to your discretion the pose and dress for this picture. We want a girl that you consider typical for her beauty and charm.
I hope this feature meets with your approval' and I will appreciate your cooperation. Please answer this letter if you are interested The Shako will be glad to cooperate with you in any way we can if we have any material or information that we can supply
Sincerely,
C.
W.
CANNON, Feature Editor, The Shako.
WhileBethlehemSlept
By ELLEN MERCER CLARK, '44
]CVI, with his servant Namon following, was jogging along on his way from Jerusalem. The hoofs of their asses clicked rhythmically on the pavements of one of the three main roads of Palestine, the one built by
the Romans from Damascus, southward through Hypos, a city of Decapolis, over the Jordan on a bridge south of the Sea of Galilee, then along the central ridge of the country
good profit." Levi nodded his head, well pleased with his plans, and continued to instruct his servant. "To the east there is the Sea of Judgment. You can see it between the hills. Those mountain ridges ahead are those of Tekoa ."
The staff of THE MESSENGER extends " Yes, master, and it was there that David pastured his father's flocks, was it not?"
to you their heartiest wishes for a .Jv1erry Christmas and a Happy 7\[_ewYear " Yes. The land in the
through Bethel and Ramah to Jerusalem and still south to Bethlehem and Hebron. Levi was thinking as he rode toward Bethlehem, " I hope the caravan makes better speed with that last consignment of goods from Damascus, Namon. I have a bargain almost made with Asa, who will pay a good price. I "
He pulled his ass to the side of the road and drew his bright colored robe closer around him as a group of hard-riding Roman soldiers thundered by. "Gentiles!" All the hatred and contempt of centuries of self-satisfied Judaism was in the word.
"If it were not for this census, my business with Asa would be concluded. But no, the emperor wants a record in order to exact more taxes, and so I must ride to Bethlehem to be enrolled."
"The road is crowded today, master; we must hurry if we would find lodging for the night."
"Aye, Namon. Let us hurry. It has been some time since I was in Bethlehem-a restful place after Jerusalem with its throngs. We should be seeing Herod's castle on the highest hill southeast of the village soon."
Riding more quickly now, but not neglecting to return the customary "Peace be unto you" of the travelers who drew aside to let the prosperous merchant pass, they reached the rich fields that surrounded the ancient " House of Bread ," passed through the valley which swept up to the two heights along which Bethlehem, a place of about fifty houses, lay, and began to ascend through the terraced vineyards and gardens.
"The road here to the west goes on to Hebron where the best grapes of the country grow. I mean to buy my annual supply of its wine soon. It is always worth the price I pay, and I can sell at a
highlands is a wilderness fit for little else. Ah-h-h. " He sighed with relief.
"We will soon come to the inn. The houses will be full by this time of day. You have the food?"
"Of course, master. Enough and to spare ."
"Good. Hold this ass."
The merchant, dismounting slowly, bowed with dignity to the small crowd in front of the inn . His corpulence in a poor man would have brought him jibes, but it somehow gave an influential man of affairs great dignity; so, at least, those who wished his friendship said.
A tall man advanced with a bow. " Peace be with you, Levi."
"And with you, Ishmael. "
The friends bowed to each other and shook hands in the exaggerated style of the East with the customary profuse inquiries about the health of themselves and their families.
The requirements of etiquette satisfied, Levi turned to the more practical. "You pass the night here also?"
"Yes. It is fortunate that you arrived no later. The inn is almost full."
"It is indeed fortunate. The road was crowded, but I believe in keeping my animals in fit condition to make good time. I often say that if I led my caravans they would not be so late. Those rascally drivers always have some excuse. Ah, Namon, prepare the meal, will you. Will you honor me with your presence, Ishmael?
" I was about to ask you to join me in my humble meal, Levi. Surely. . . . "
" Oh, I insist that you accept my invitation. We have much of which to talk. How is business in Hebron?"
"So-so " Ishmael shrugged. " The Gentiles and [4]
troubled conditions-you know yourself how it is."
Levi nodded, drawing his friend toward the inn. It was a typical Eastern khan, just a large unfurnished building constructed for the convenience of travelers who always carried with them their own food. The two merchants sat down cross-legged in one of the partitioned rooms that were scarcelr more than stalls.
"Yes," said Levi. "I know how business is, but since you are an old friend I think I could arrange to take a few barrels of wine from you, not many you know-my last caravan was preposterously slow-but I might take a few."
Ishmael stroked his beard. "That is indeed kind of you, Levi. Of course, Hebron wine being what it is, I usually have my production contracted for many months beforehand, but what is that between friends? I hesitate to name such a low price for such excellent wine-you must taste it, I have a skin with me-but then what is a matter of two hundred danarii a cask between you and me?"
"Two hundred denarii ! Ishmael, my business has not prospered like yours! I might pay twenty denarii, but two hundred!" Levi shook his head ruefully, then turned as Namon brought in the common dish with the evening meal. "Come, join me, friend; we will speak no more of business now. I always like to take advantage of a good opportunity, but when matters can not be arranged I like to forget business."
Namon smiled to himself as he went outside where the fires, footlights to the dark shapes that moved about them, were beginning to shine brighter as the swift curtain of an Eastern night dropped. "As surely as I know that David killed Goliath," he murmured, "I know that those two will bargain half the night."
The young man paced slowly back and forth thinking of David, of Jesse, and of Boaz, secure in the knowledge that he would not be wanted for some hours; that rather, he would be in the way inside. Levi was not a hard master, but he did expect obedience , a willingness to listen to his discourses on politics, business, and anything else that held his attention, and an inclination to know about the requirements of being a good businessman.
Suddenly Namon stopped. Out of the deepening
dusk a man was leading an ass, on which was seated a woman.
"Peace be unto thee," Namon saluted him.
"And unto thee, young man. Is there room in the inn for two weary travelers."
"I am sorry, but there is none."
"No room!" The man's voice showed his concern. "But my wife is tired with the journey, and we are of the house and lineage of David. Surely in the town of our ancestor we should be able to find lodging."
Namon was troubled. "Perhaps, sir, you might stay for the night in the stable."
"It must do. I thank you."
Namon looked after them for a moment before beginning to pace again-a sorry day this when a man from the line of a king must pass the night in the stable.
Within, Levi and Ishmael continued to bargain. Turbanned heads close together and voices lowered to keep from disturbing the others in the khan, they followed time-honored ways, one laboriously lowering his price, the other slowly raising his.
Levi was well pleased with the course of affairs; soon matters would come to the point where only the last details would remain to be settled and these could be arranged in the morning. This census was bringing some good after all. He would make a profit from this deal, yes, enough profit to be able to contribute a good sum to the temple. He was about to say the words that would conclude matters, when his servant Namon burst in, babbling something about the report of a group of shepherds.
"Shepherds! Do not be foolish, Namon. You know that shepherds are as rascally a lot as camel drivers. A light? They were neglecting their work and dreaming. . . . The Messiah in a stable! Absurd."
"There, there, boy. Go see if you will, but one does not grow prosperous following every rumor. I come with you? Of course not. Surely you see that Ishmael and I are discussing a transaction."
"But, master, "
"No, Namon. I have more important business on hand."
I'm ForQuietus»»>»»>»»
By MARK WILLING, '42
S winter settles over the campus, and as the holiday spirit begins to pervade the atmosphere, Richmond College men are pondering the problem of freshman "Ratting." They are wondering if the Quietus System is working, and if it is not, why not. They are seeking ways and means of either improving or abolishing it once and for all.
Realizing that in the very near future we may be called upon to decide the fate of the system, believing wholeheartedly in the theory of it, I shall attempt to answer these questions as well as to defend the system itself.
In its essence the plan of ignoring a man, disdaining to speak to him, and the evincing of a general desire to have nothing to do with him, as punishment for a misdeed, is an effective one. The Service Academies, West Point and Annapolis, have proved this beyond the shadow of a doubt. For years, in fact ever since the founding of these two schools, the Cadets and the Midshipmen have been "silencing" their classmates for infractions of the Academy rules and the Service's code, as well as for ungentlemanly conduct. Every man in the school cooperates, even though the "silenced" man may be his own roommate, for he holds a respect for the system and at the same time realizes that one man alone can defeat the whole purpose.
For three months, now, we have been working with the plan of Quietus. In some respects it has left something not to be denied, but this is not the fault of the System. Rather the fault lies with us, for we are the ones who have the power to make or break it. We can break it if we refuse to support it and if we put personal friendship above loyalty to the school. On the other hand, if each and every man in Richmond College really believes in and cooperates fully with the System, it will soon become one of our traditions.
This fall we may consider as a testing period for the Plan. We have seen that, in the beginning, it commanded the respect of both upperclassmen and freshmen, but because of the fact that it was not supplemented by penalties for minor misdemeanors, it was not efficient. Thus we have learned to use it only in extreme cases.
[6]
If we were to supply a series of perhaps two or three intermediate penalties for minor infractions of the " Rat Rules" and were to "silence" a man only after he has shown that he has no intention of contributing his part to school life, we would have a truly effective system. Under this plan only a very small number of freshmen would be put on Quietus. Then if the names of the "silenced" men were posted, along with their offenses, in a conspicuous place, the matter would be brought much closer to the student body. The net result of all this would be that students would recognize the gravity of the offense and the importance of Quietus, and there would be a trend toward more complete cooperation.
There are many who say that the students are not sufficiently interested in the school to make the system work. For an answer to this we have but to survey the extra-curricular activities of the college. We see many large smooth-running groups. Certainly this proves that no lack of interest in the University and no want of spirit among the students exists as some would have us believe. In addition to all this, it is important to remember that when dealing with the Quietus system we are experimenting with a new idea, a new plan. We are attempting to establish a new tradition on the Richmond campus. This cannot be done in a week, a month, or even a whole term. It takes time. As has been mentioned before, we have learned much about the workings of the system during the past three months; next year, if we allow the system to remain, it will work more effectively than it has this year. Its effectiveness will increase each year until after three or four years it will be a firmly established phase of our University life .
In the final analysis, I repeat that the success of the plan lies with us, the students of the college. If we are willing to lend it every ounce of our support, we can establish a new tradition. If we are not, "Ratting" will disappear forever from the campus. The decision must be made by us. If we honestly want the plan of "si lence, " we can have it.
»»»»»»»»»I'mAgainstIt
By TOM WARRINER, '42
RICHMOND COLLEGE was dissatisfied with the old system of manual punishment. The student body and administration were at odds with a set-up which was conducive to wholesale spanking. It didn't want to support a plan of "ratting" which resolved itself into weekly meetings when more belligerent upperclassmen satisfied their pent-up emotions by putting them into the kinetic energy of a swinging paddle. The college was "fed-up" with the old plan but it did advocate some form of freshman training.
Recognizing this fact, the Richmond College Planning Commission worked for hours last spring to devise the present system which substitutes the Quietus for the paddle.
The Commission advocated certain restrictions, the violation of which would subject a freshman to punishment. The haphazard method of imposing sentence for "grossness" or "cockyness" was in that way eliminated. In addition, the commission, believing that "ratting" was a Student Government job and thinking that it should not be controlled entirely through the Sophomore Class, asked for a committee composed of the presidents of the various classes, the President of Student Government and the sophomore senator.
The administration, although disapproving of any form of "ratting," believed the Quietus superior to the manual punishment plan.
Richmond College voted and adopted the system advocated by the Commission. Most students said -"It probably won't work, but let's try it." That was the first blow against the Quietus. Very few believed it practical. The old plan was thought juvenile and foolish, but, on the other hand, it was deemed practical-it got results. The Quietus absolutely has not. In spite of its potentialities, in spite of its possibilities, in spite of its record at other similar institutions, and in spite of the soundness of its policies on paper and in discussion, the Quietus hasn't worked.
Those who cling tenaciously to the plan, trying to cover their eyes to its failure, tell us about this school, that school, and the other school where it operates to perfection. But these individuals are far in the minority. And the fact that it is successful at other schools doesn't alter the situation here.
[7]
The Quietus has not been successful for one reason in particular and that is the fact that a considerable portion of the student body are commuters. Naturally, most of these commuters are residents of the city of Richmond, went to elementary and high school together, played football together, attended dances together, belonged to the same church. It is unreasonable to suppose that these same men would observe the "silence rules" of the Quietus if one of their friends failed to comply with the Freshman Rules. In the first place, they will certainly consider friendship above any system established by an impersonal student body; and, in addition, they are not on the campus enough to appreciate the necessity of freshman training.
Almost anyone can judge by a consensus of opinion; and the opinion at Richmond College is that the present Freshman Class is just about as uninterested, as uncooperative, as lacking in schoolspirit as any Freshman Class within the memory of the oldest five-year seniors. The consensus of opinion also is that this attitude is the result of inefficient freshman training.
The Quietus under the present committee setup ties the hands of the Sophomore Class, which, in my personal opinion, is more capable of and more interested in fostering the training than any other group. There are too many individuals controlling the system. The adage, "Too many cooks spoil the broth," certainly holds true here. A "rat system" in order to be a success must resolve itself into a virtual dictatorship by the sophomore leaders. Only in that way can we get results.
Not only is the system hampered by the Student Committee but the administration comes in for a large share of the blame. They have not considered the issue of sufficient importance to offer their suggestions and assistance. As far as the student body is concerned, the administration is extremely uncooperative in this regard and until that situation is altered, any "rat" discipline will meet with only mediocre success.
Although I do not like the paddle as a means of enforcing regulations, it is the only alternative unless we follow the administration's recommendation that the "rat system" be abolished altogether.
No Placefor Dreams
By KIRA NICHOLSKY, '41
TONIGHT I dream because it's Christmas Eve, dream the vision that I've had since my early childhood-the wistful story of my star-child. They tell me it is a world of reality; with no place for unyielding, futile dreamsdreams which have no material outcome. They tell me that to live in a sphere of cloudless azure is almost insanity with chaos reigning in the world. But let me enter the quiet niche of a high cathedral and devote calm and serene thoughts to dreams of unuttered longing-painted with melancholy and sweet sadness, but not with brutality, crudeness or bitter harshness. As the tanks move across the fertile soil of Europe, crushing poppies and entering the very echo of their heavy tread into the earth, I will dream-simply, since there is no such word as peace. Let there be an exultation within my mind, and a lightness, an ethereal quality with which I can fly-fly for the endless beauty of it, not for destruction. The wings of my mind can stretch far out and soar away and above, into a semi-world of uncertain shadows, of trees of memory and inanimate beings. The faith of the world is shattered. In many places that word does not exist-only mass terror-a belief in the ultimate good; but not faith, a quality of tender pathos and fragile delicacy, not to be touched eagerly or ruthlessly, but to be cherished with the cupped hands of humanity, to be held with a butterfly touch as a mimosa leaf, or it will shudder, curl up and waft away on wings of transparent hope.
f f f
When the star-child first appeared, the night enveloped the earth and the stars held out their crystal tears in shadowy caress, because one small star-child had fallen, and the futile search had begun. It was in a small village of V-- north of the plain. The houses huddled close together against the icy shore because the cold was sharp and bit with vicious teeth at the nose, cheeks and
ears, and laughed a crackling sound in the icebound, snow laden trees. But the pines were happy and flaunted their arms reaching out to the dim sky, reaching for something, they knew not what. They were softly arguing with each other in mellow, wistful tones. And suddenly, as a sweep of swift wings, the star-child dropped below, below the highest, the oldest and the most knotted pine which swiftly lowered its branches, making a soft bed downy with snow.
f f f
Tatiana had no Christmas. They had it no more in this country, and to her it was only vague memories of many lights, curious music boxes and glittering angels. But even as a baby she had been held breathless by the star on the top of the tree, because when she half closed her eyes its rays spread out in all directions into a misty blackness. But they had taken Christmas away, and only within the hearts and minds were there visions, dreams and longings.
And now it was Christmas Eve. She looked outside and watched the pines, looking up and placing one of the sky's stars at the top, decorating the tree with her dreams. She saw the star-child fall. She thought it was the star she had placed on the height of the tree in her imagination, and she started to run out. No, it could not be. She looked back-at the base of the pine lay a tangle of gossamer wings and shimmering silver. She came out wonderingly-and there was the star-child who could weave endless silver webs of intangible dreams, transport her to a world of star rays which radiate into semi-darkness-and he was her Christmas. She had a gift beyond all material desire, had found an illusionary being, and had been given her first glimpse of the face, brushed with star-dust which was to fashion her destiny, rule her fate and to follow her in timeless space and infinity. This star-child was to make her life beautiful in the ugly face of reality and to give her [ 8]
a stillness of spirit, turn her thoughts from restless whirlpools.
That night the star-child found his home within the heart and mind of the little dreamer, and he became her world because she had to create a world in which to live. The past was dim, the future uncertain, vague and frightening. She could only live day by day, and had but one choice, that of Eternity; that was the only tie that could combine the past, present and future. That was the star-child. It was the thing which held her life together, gave it a meaning, an everlasting and new theme. It was something that she had always needed, a hold upon which to fasten her wavering faith and dangling hope, a sense of security, peace and happiness; a belief in Nature as the ultimate end of everything - and Eternity, the mystical aloof, unknown-the beginning and the endresurrection and hope.
All through her childhood it was the star-child who remained as the one redeeming hope; for her country was chaos, destruction. And the factions of materialism had trampled the idyllic wings of the nation; and so one day also the starchild was lost. Her dreams had ceased; she could no longer formulate a wall, a protection, a fortress within the harbor of her imagination , and she was lost , besieged on all sides by ghastly shadows of a half-starved nation, the men turned into beasts, because they had no dreams.
But Tatiana was lifted from the heart of a ravaged country and could again start a life in a new land. And always she was haunted by the memory of a wistful ethereal quality of the starchild, and as she grew it was to her a poignant memory , a memory cherished and unforgettable.
Grey skies over New York, and flaky snow, the ringing of the chimes to herald Christmas Eve, lighted shops and street vendors selling pines. Tatiana found herself a part of the last gay crowd. She had taken the great city into her heart, because in its clumsy, inarticulate, brittle way it had shown her love, comfort and peace. She walked to the river, looked at the deserted park, at the lights glimmering across the way, at the bridge and the shadowy outlines of ferryboats. She listened to the church chimes-the Christmas carols, which meant so much to her now, into whose happy clear tones she could read all the wonder and beauty of Christmas, all the fantasy of her young being. Into them she could put faith and hope and know that they would bring her comfort. She looked up at the tall cathedral, at the domes outlined in new-fallen snow, up to the top, to the chimes, and to the light there. She half closed her eyes, and it radiated and broke in myriad stars. She walked into the cathedral filled with flickering candles, casting fantastic shadows. Lifting her head, she saw there above the altar a shining star, and she knew that she could find the lost star-child again, because the harbor of her dreams could no more be shattered, and her mind could grasp again the wondrous beauty of her lost illusions.
f f f
And so as I sit and think on Christmas Eve, and enter the quiet niche of a great cathedral and dream again-a web of dreams, a sustaining hope -an ethereal, intangible quality-and I am transported into a world of untold peace-a world of endless imagination.
A Green Tree Dips Its Leaves
Arbor flucticulos viridis tinget folia alte Stagni frondorum efligiem dare retegentis. Si tempestas verrat silvam, bracchia .flectant, Et crinita salix caput attollat cubitum almum.
A green tree dips its leaves deeply into the ripples Of the lake showing clearly the image of the foliage.
If a storm should sweep through the forest, the branches would sway,
And the flowing-haired willow would bear on high her bowed and yielding head.
-MARY BUXTON, '41.
(EDITOR'S Norn: This Latin poem is written in the perfect dactylic hexameter of Virgil's Aeneid.)
WhereDo YouTake YourProblems?
By PHYLLIS COGHILL, '41
W e possess an instrument almost unknown to past civilizations , an instrument whos e values are only dimly r ecognized at present but which will one day , I believe , become our most powerful preventive against human disaster. This instrument is mental hygiene. -Edward Lindeman, New Republic.
TODA Y'S youth faces the almost overwhelming problems of political and economic upheaval, magnified more each day by the most chaotic international strife the world has ever known. This youth has strength and courage. Can it grow to the maturity and stability necessary to answer its challenge? Our concern should be " centered upon a point far beyond these fateful warring years."
For a large number of young American men and women the college years are the last period in which they have the opportunity for guidance in making a successful emotional adjustment to life. If we consider that education, viewed in its fundamentals, is especially concerned with developing habits of thought , emotional responses , and behavior basic to the successful operation of cooperative living, then we see that a college curriculum should pay as much attention to the student's emotional development as to his physical and intellectual development. Every college whose aim is to train youth to meet the responsibilities of adult living can benefit by a sound mental hygien e program , adapted to its own needs.
This phase of the curriculum has a very definite and valuable place in the university. Dean Thompson of Vassar College has said, "It is no longer considered p rogressive to have an expert in mental hygiene on the staff , it is reactionary not to do these things. "
The emphasis placed here upon the need for a mental hygiene program in colleges does not mean at all that there are more problems in student days than in other times of life . But such a program provided for the individual in the developmental
years will often prevent mental and emotional maladjustments later in life.
The results of a recent questionnaire on mental hygiene in American colleges and universities show the lack of and desire for this type of program in the curricula. Of the 479 institutions (in the United States, Canada, and territories) which answered the questionnaire, 93 % felt the need for attention along mental hygiene lines to be an important one for college students, which shows that an appreciation of its importance as an aspect of student welfare is general. As to provision of courses in mental hygiene, only 39 % answered in the affirmative , and only 4 2 % had any sort of consultation service for the students.
Now anyone who with open eyes watches college life, on the campus, in a dormitory, fraternity house or sorority house will recognize that the student is frequently aware of his need for counselling. If his problem is serious of disturbing him enough to inter£ ere with his required activities, the student may need professional counselling Most faculty members have too many responsibilities to take time to give students this necessary advice at the time when they most need it. So the unfortunate youth must turn to an inexperienced roommate or upper-class advisor , or else repress his difficulty for the time being. His case may not be at all abnormal, but because he has no one with whom he may discuss it spontaneously and no one who has the wisdom, understanding, and training to help him, he builds up the situation by repression and misunderstandin g until it is magnified beyond normal proportions . In many colleges where there is no experienced and professionally trained person whose job it is to keep in contact with the students and their problems, the faculty and student body may be unaware of a boy's or girl's difficulty until it reaches such a stage that the problem comes to a judiciary student body or to the administration. In other colleges this situation is avoided by an intelligently planned mental hygiene program.
[ 10]
Listed below are situa- an invalid part of her life, tions out of which arise How do you feel about Quietus? was naturally very close a number of problems And have you anything to contribute to her parents and very decommon to college stu- to the discussion of the college student's pendent upon them. With dents. For the most part need for counselling? a great effort, she was able these situations, while not If so, we will welcome your responses to make a happy adjustintrinsically serious, are in letters to the editors. ment to dormitory life distressing and handicap- s.------------------1 during her freshman year ping at the time, with dan- in college. But on the last ger potentialities if not adequately handled. night of one vacation she unintentionally overLloyd Thompson gives some factors that bring heard her mother and father bitterly quarreling about these problems. and planning divorce It was the first time she
1-The rather acute and sudden emancipation had ever realized that there wasn't perfect harfrom the home that occurs in many cases. mony in her home. This unexpected blow
2-The adjustment to a large number of new knocked the bottom completely out of her acquaintances who are on an equal or su- world. Always, the security that she had felt in perior plane in many ways. the knowledge of their peace and happiness as
3-Keener competition scholastically and in a family had helped to keep her balanced in the athletics. difficult adjustments she had to make. It was
4-The question of making a fraternity or club . obvious that they had no intentions of discuss-
5- The necessity for developing in a short time ing their plans with her, but preferred to keep the ability to stand on one's own feet. up a front until she left. So Stephanie returned Typical case histories will help to illustrate the to college bewildered and heartbroken. working of these factors: Where could she turn? Who could help her?
I.-A doctor's son had grown up with a high The emotional tangle that she found herself in sense of honor and a complete trust in his own was too complex for her to unravel alone. What integrity In college, "W" met stiff scholastic would become of her? competition for the first time. Not understand- The same answer fits this problem that will fit ing this, his family complicated the situation by others of college students. Girls and boys in their bringing pressure to bear and urging their son developmental years need to know that if ever to make Dean ' s list grades. Under a strain from they are unduly upset over any difficulty, they have this pressure, " W" cheated on an examination an adequate person to turn to, and they should and was publicly expelled from the college. feel a security in the hope of a solution. This is Neither the Honor Council - a group of boys, not a crutch which will make the youth weaker the same age of the offender, who judged him than ever. It is quite the opposite. With our future and gave the sentence - nor the faculty recog- as uncertain and forbidding as it is today, this nized the cause of the situation or perceived the younger generation deserves every available instrusignificance of the developments As a result ment that can act as our defense against disaster. of their treatment , " W" underwent a marked Having pointed out the results from inadequate personality change, becoming bitter and cynical counselling, let us consider an ideal plan that has and led a wretched , secluded life. proved successful in several leading colleges and If there had been in the set-up of " W ' s" uni- universities in this country Perhaps, the most farversity a sympathetic, professionally-trained per- sighted set-up h a s been that used at the University son whom the students recognized as their friend of Pennsylvania. In describing a suggestive plan and counsellor , the outcome might have been en- we shall combine a few of the outstandingly good tirely different. Then if " W" had been aware of features of several programs. his emotional stress, he would have known where A sound program recognizes the dynamic factors to turn freely for advice. If not, there could have in the instructor-student relationship. It hinges been another course. Quite often through the on a keen appreciation that consists in the self-decooperation of observant students and professors termined development of the student. It includes with the college psychologist or psychiatric social an attitude of " historic realism" as to the age in worker, a problem such as " W's" or even more which we live, social pressures, etc. And this preserious ones can be recognized at an early stage, supposes a growing understanding of and accepand unhappy results can be prevented. tance of the role of mental hygiene in the colleges II.-Stephanie T., an only child who had been by faculty and students. The professors are in an
advantageous pos1t10n for observing the early symptoms of emotional stress and strain, and if they are trained in mental hygiene, they may help prevent many nervous and mental illnesses.
As for an ideal staff to carry out a successful counselling plan, the size of the institution will largely determine that. The one suggested here has proved satisfactory at the University of Pennsylvania. First of all, there is a well-chosen personnel officer and a freshman faculty advisor. When the faculty recognizes a difficulty, the student is ref erred to the personnel officer who is able to handle the minor cases. Those which are more serious and are in need of a more fundamental psychological investigation are referred to the psychiatrist ( a well-balanced, broadly educated and cultured, humanly understanding individual, not an extremist in any way, and of a type compatible with the college situation and milieu) .
In order to reach the whole student body and to have a sort of case history which will reveal the student's personality and emotional integrity, the University of Pennsylvania student health experts have compiled a detailed questionnaire, called the Physical Examination Form of the Student Health Service. The questions answered by every freshman as a routine phase of entrance into the University are designed to detect personality difficulties, neurotic tendencies, unwholesome trends in symptomatology, etc. This questionnaire is sponsored by the regular medical department of the University, so that the students are not aware of giving a psychiatric history and are, therefore, not on the defensive. The data includes some family history, the past medical history, the circumstances under which the student lives, how he uses his spare time, and the regularity and correctness of his dietary and sleep habits. The completed ques-
tionnaires are evaluated by members of the psychiatric staff. Those students found in immediate need of care are seen within the next few days, while those less urgent are sent in for regular check-ups on their general health condition.
Even during the consultation the doctor is careful not to mention the psychiatric significance of the questionnaire, for unfortunately, some people are still wary about the fields of psychology and psychiatry. As much as possible all feeling of the psychiatric examination is eliminated. The student is made to feel that the consultation is on a voluntary basis, and that it is merely a routine part of the program for student welfare.
Of course if the patient has a real problem, the psychiatrist eventually leads him to discuss it and brings him into a confidential, friendly, natural relationship. The majority of the students accept these interviews and periodical check-ups graciously and appreciate the interest shown in their cases and the advice and treatment given them. Their response certainly indicates their approval of the mental hygiene program.
In several colleges there is a separate clinic for one of the most important departments of the program-that of vocational psychology. This clinic is a valuable ally in helping the students to find a real occupational goal. Fitting round pegs into round holes is the work of this psychological clinic, and they have found that the lack of a definite educational goal is one of the most frequent causes of mental conflict and emotional stress.
Not only will an adequate mental hygiene program help to orient the student in a vocation, but it can have a more far-reaching effect by furthering a greater orientation as to human and life values which is the goal of mental hygiene and education alike.
All night I searched to find who stole my heart And soul away and left my golden bowl, Where now my tears are heaped like crystal stones, The empty echoes of this hate and fear. There once life's perfect things I used to store, A sapphire, jasmine, chimes, deep down inside. "Oh, God, this night renew again my life Or show me now who filled me with this pain." I saw its gold was dimmed by splintered bones, And rotting flesh, the screaming shells, and flames For mirrored in my tarnished bowl was Mars, Who blotted out my soul, the world, and stars.
-LOUISE
[ 12)
ELLYSON WILEY, '43.
HONOR FOR SALE
By JACK H. MANLEY
RALPH was awakened by the ringing of the bell at the head of his bed. He raised up on his elbow, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the clock on his dresser. It was one o'clock. The bell rang again. He got out of bed, slid his feet into his slippers and took his robe from the back of a chair as he crossed to the door. He made his way down the stairs, switched on the light, and smoothed his blonde hair back with his hand as he crossed to the door.
The gold letters on the door read-"Ralph R. Wingfield, Jr., M.D."
Wingfield had been out of medical school less than two years and was finding it hard to build up a good practice in the small town of Blaketon. Doctor White and Doctor Carter had both been in the town for years, and people don't change doctors rapidly.
Ralph was the only child of a poor family and his father was now, as for the past nineteen years, a night watchman. In spite of the fact that he had worked hard in college, Wingfield was keenly aware of the sacrifices which his father had made in order to keep him in school. Now that he was beginning his practice, the boy's one desire was to be able to earn enough money to take care of his aged father and mother. They had endured privations and had often known actual want in order to give him his education, and now-both past the age of sixty-five-they eked out a scant living on the small salary which Mr. Wingfield earned as a night watchman in the Chase City National Bank.
Ralph opened the door and was confronted by a little pale, round shouldered man who spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Are you the doctor?" he asked timidly.
"Yes," replied Ralph as he eyed the little man curiously, "I am. What can I do for you?"
"A friend of mine's been hurt and needs a doctor quick," answered the little man anxiously.
"Come in where it's warm," invited the doctor, opening the door a little wider, "while I get some clothes on." He pointed to a chair, closed the door hurriedly, and went upstairs.
He answered the sleepy questions of his wife as he dressed, and called a hasty "Goodbye" over his shoulder as he left the room.
It was a cold night and he pulled his coat closer about his face as he closed the door.
''I'll drive ahead. You can follow," volunteered the little man. "It ain't far."
As he drove through the narrow streets, Ralph was thinking about his parents. It seemed so terribly unfair that a man should have to work hard all his life, and have nothing when old age overtook him. He knew, however, that it wouldn't always have to be that way. Once he was established in his profession he would bring his parents to live with him. Then his father could relax and enjoy life.
The car ahead slid to a stop in front of a dilapidated apartment house. The doctor pulled in to the curb behind it.
"This is the place," volunteered the little man as the doctor got out of his car, ''I'll show you."
He crossed the walk, opened a door, and led the doctor into a long hallway, lighted by a single light in the rear.
"This way, Doc, he's upstairs," advised the stranger, mounting the stairs.
The doctor followed him up the stairs and down a drafty hall, to a door where the little man knocked slowly, three times. At first there was no answer. The man knocked again.
"Who is it?" called a voice from within.
"It's Al. Open up the door. I've got a doctor," replied the little man impatiently.
Presently the door opened-a small crack at first, then wider-and the doctor entered.
In addition to the large man who had opened the door, there were two other persons in the
room. A young man lay sprawled across a sagging iron bed. At the foot of the bed stood a pretty young girl, smoking a cigarette. Each, in turn, eyed the doctor carefully as he entered the room.
"That's him, Doc ," asserted the little man, pointing to the figure on the bed.
The doctor removed his hat and overcoat and crossed to the bed. The man was conscious and winced in pain as the doctor touched him to remove a bloodstained towel which covered the wound in his back. The doctor examined the wound carefully, frowned, and turning to the two men said, "This is a nasty wound. How long since it happened?"
The two men eyed each other carefully. Neither of them spoke.
"Will he be all right, Doctor?" asked the girl anxiously.
"We'll have to get him to a hospital at once," added the doctor. "Unless that bullet is removed immediately, he hasn't a chance."
"We can't do that, Doc," explained the big man as he came nearer the bed. 'Tm afraid you'll have to fix him up right here."
"Why that's ridiculous; it's impossible!" asserted the doctor emphatically. "He'll have to be removed to a hospital at once."
The man advanced to the side of the bed, drawing a revolver from his pocket. His steel gray eyes bored into those of the doctor. His chin was set firmly. He pointed to the figure on the bed. " That's my kid brother; he's hurt bad; you' re gonna fix him up whether you want to or not. He ain't goin' to no hospital, and if you know what is good for you, you'll go to work on him."
The little man eased across to the door, locked it, and pocketed the key. The doctor realized that he was on the spot. He realized that he was dealing with criminals. The only sound in the room was the heavy breathing of the man on the bed. Ralph glanced first at the big man, then at the girl, then at the little man. No one moved or spoke. He must do something. He must think quickly. What should he do? What could he do? He thought about his wife; about his parents. Then, summoning every ounce of courage in his system he looked the big man straight in the eye and said firmly, "I won't attempt it. It would be plain murder."
ment, "five grand, that's a lotta dough, Doc , you could use that kind of money."
"It's insane," echoed the doctor, shaking his head, "he wouldn't have a chance in a thousand."
"You got to do it, Doc, " said the big fellow, almost pleadingly. 'TII tell you what I'll do-I'll make it ten grand, cash."
Ralph thought for a moment. He thought of his mother and father and of his oath and his honor as a doctor. That's a lot of money, he reasoned. It would put father on easy street. It would fix everything up. Should he do it? Could he perform the operation successful!y? Yes, he'd attempt it.
He turned to the girl, "Get me some hot water and clean rags. And you two wait in the hall."
Two hours later the doctor opened the door. "A ll right," he said wearily, "it's all over. He'll be all right."
"Great work, Doc," said the big fellow enthusiastically, offering the doctor his hand. "I knew you could do it."
He crossed the room, pulled a suitcase from under the bed, took out a bundle of bills and handed it to the doctor.
"There 'tis, Doc. One hundred century notes. It's all good and all yours."
Everything's all right now, thought Ralph as he drove back toward home. Ten thousand dollars -tomorrow he would go into the city and tell t.l'ie old folks that they could come and live with him. No one need ever know how or where he got the money. After all, it wasn't anybody's business He went to bed thinking of the trip which he would make to the city in the morning.
At breakfast, while he enjoyed his coffee, Ralph was reading the morning paper. His attention was attracted to a headline on the front page:
LOCAL BANK ROBBED, NIGHT WATCHMAN SLAIN
The Chase City National Bank was robbed last night of between $500,000 and $800,000. The robbers escaped after a gun battle with policemen, and one of them is believed to have been wounded in the back by an officer.
The night watchman, R. R. Wingfield, Sr., was killed by one of the robbers.
"Look here," offered the big man when he realized that the doctor meant what he said, He read no farther. His head began to swim. "we're willin' to pay you well, say two grand, for He became nauseated. Perspiration popped out the job. All we want is to get the kid fixed up so on his brow. The room spun dizzily about him. we can travel." The doctor shook his head. It wasn't possible. It couldn ' t be possible! It
"Make it five thousand, Chuck," put in the girl. mustn't be! That man . . . last night . . . his "All right," added the big fellow after a mo- father's murderer.
[ 14]
RADIO EXPOSED
By BOO T H U ZZ LE, '42
UzzLE: It's
CROUCH : . Friday
UzzLE: . .. at . ..
CROUCH: Five!
UZZLE: Again good afternoon to you from the University Radio Guild's studio in Cannon Chapel at the Universi ty of Richmond. This is the weekly broadcast period of the students' radio organization on the campus known as
CROUCH: the University Radio Guild
UZZLE: Now this afternoon we have a really different program-different in its daring and delightful in its disclosures. We've named it " Radio Exposed , "
CROUCH: or " What Makes Radio Tick in One-Syllable Words ."
UzzLE: Perhaps I had better introduce my educated echo here since he seems so very cooperative Fellow "radialists," may I introduce Frank Crouch, o f Richmond , Virginia . . .
CROUCH: . . . class of ' 4 0 ,
UZZLE: in Richmond College of the Univ ersity of Richmond. Frank is an ardent member of the Radio Guild; as a matter of fact, he ' s a very g ood right hand man , and he ' s also a . . .
CROUCH: and may I present to you unsuspecting listeners your announcer, Ted Booth, o f Petersburg , Virginia ,
UZZLE: class of '4 2 ,
CROUCH: also in Richmond College Ted Bo oth is the director of the Radio Guild, as well as a staff announcer of " The Station in the Middle of Your Dial," as well as a very good looking
UZZLE : whoa, halt , cease , intermit, discontinue! We ' ve a program to present here! Now seriously , folks, Frank is going to explain radio broadcasting, and he ' s going to explain it in simple language; starting with the sounds that our voices are producing here in the studio, right directly t o the ears of you listeners. O.K ., Frank , " open fire! "
CROUCH: Right , Ted, and here we go: As we speak to each other here in the campus studio, we do so by muscular action upon the vocal chords in o ur throats. The vibrations of these pairs of fibrous tissue are transmitted through the air in the form o f sound waves.
UzzLE : And what are sound waves?
CROUCH:Sound waves are invisible and consecutive variations in air pressure. When these air pressure variations come into contact with the delicately sensitive diaphragm contained in this little microphone, a magnetic coil of wire beneath that diaphragm is subjected to variations in pressure Being arranged within a larger magnet, variations in actual pressure on the coil immediately set up a very weak electrical current of varying power.
UZZLE: I remember Dr. Robert E. Loving explaining that in full in his physics classes.
CROUCH:Well, these minute electrical impressions are so sensitive that merely bringing another current in another wire near them will react upon them in the form of a hum Therefore in the short distance that they travel between microphone and studio controls, they are carefully shielded in a special live-rubber and woven steel surrounded cable .
UzzLE: . .. And which sells for over five cents a foot!
CROUCH : Now then , we've traced the origin and initial transmission of sounds from the performer to the studio controls.
UZZLE: Now there's some apparatus, Frank , that looks as involved as a Hitler speech translated into Chinese!
CROUCH:As complicated and involved as they may appear, the studio control board's switches and dials are actually simple in purpose. Regardless of how many separate microphone cables may be plugged into a control board , each is treated separately and has its own volume control knob and cut-off switch
UzzLE: I happen to know that the one that's controlling this broadcast has five . . . er . . .
CROUCH: so-called channels
UZZLE: and on it there are five switches , and under each a knob that acts as
CROUCH: a volume control for that separate channel. Regardless of the exterior appearance, which always varies with the different manufacturers, studio controls remain simply an amplifier for the little electrical impressions conducted to them by wires
UzzLE: Hold on, Frank! " Amplifier." What's an " amplifier"?
CROUCH:It is simply an arrangement of trans[ 15]
formers and radio tubes for strengthening the minute signals that come to it. Now in addition to microphone cables that are plugged into the studio amplifier, there may also be telephone wires connected in. The telephone lines originate at points outside the studio, and conduct broadcasts in from remote points.
UZZLE: A " remote control broadcast," I betcha
CROUCH: Well, more about that later. The studio control board, then, regulates the volume of the various microphones Directly from the control board, the impressions go into still another amplifier for further strengthening, and then through a repeat coil for adaption to the telephone wire to the radio station's transmitter building.
UzzLE: Say, I've noticed that the majority of radio stations have their transmitting equipment away from the heart of cities.
CROUCH:Yes, here in Richmond, for instance, there are three commercial radio stations. Their respective transmitters are located in swampy regions or on the banks of the James River. Now there's a perfectly good reason for such seemingly undesirable locations.
UZZLE: You know, I've seen radio engineers spend months in searching out the prospective location of a new station's transmitting tower and adjacent building.
CROUCH: To fully understand this, we must get a clear understanding of a transmitter's workings. But first, let's lapse back to the studio and pick up those electrical variations that have been amplified and adapted to the telephone line. Linking studios and transmitter is one-and of ten two -telephone lines rented from, and reserved by the local telephone company for the exclusive use of the radio station.
UZZLE: Say, telephone wires play a very important role in radio broadcasting . . .
CROUCH:Indeed they do. Now then, when the transmitter receives our little electrical impressions, it has to again strengthen them with an amplifier, for some measure of their intensity was dissipated as they went through the wire. One phase of the transmitter's work is to create a " Carrier" wave. We're all familiar with what a wave looks like: in water, it is a rising and a falling, in air it is a series of rarefactions and intensifications of the air itself. This carrier wave that the transmitter sets up varies in the number of waves per second according to the station's kilocycle assignment
UzzLE: What?
CROUCH: or we may say, according to the
station's location on your dial. When this powerful carrier wave is established, the other phase of the transmitter's job is to superimpose those electrical impressions on that wave; which in turn acts as a carrier, or primary medium of conduction of the broadcast to your home receiving set.
UZZLE: Well say, Frank, don't forget the towers, with their winking night lights to keep stray airplanes at a respectable distance . . .
CROUCH: Yes, those towers-or it may be a single tower-are interesting structures; for did you know that those towers are not unlike icebergs, in that actually more metal is connected to them beneath the surface of the ground than you see piercing the sky!
UZZLE: Really ?
CROUCH: Right! Beneath the surface of the ground under every radio tower is buried thousands of pounds of heavy copper wire. The copper wire is in the form of a spider web, with the tower rising in the exact center. By being located in a swampy region or near a river, this copper network makes per£ ect connection with the earth, which thereby for a limited range of miles, acts as the best of radio wave conductors. Most local stations are received in large measure through these ground transmissions. The waves being radiated from the tower, however , carry the greatest distance. It is a natural phenomena, that · we all recognize, that more stations at a greater distance can be received at night. This is due to an area of electrically active atmosphere that settles over the earth. It is called the Heaviside Layer, and it acts as a very effective "roof" from which the radio waves bounce and deflect to the earth and back again. This deflection from earth to sky and back again allows the signals to encircle the globe literally.
UzzLE: You're right about that Frank. About four years ago when I was working for Station WPHR, we received notification revealing that my voice had been heard quite plainly in New Zealand.
CROUCH:Ah! The voice that calms carnivorous cannibals! The antenna or aerial wire on your receiver is quite important. It is this wire that simultaneously picks out of the air the carriers from every radio station within reasonable distance from it. By turning your dial you select which wavelength you want, then it is up to the tubes and other complicated apparatus within the set to interpret what is coming in on that wavelength. One or more tubes called "detectors" attend to this. Then those same electrical impressions that the radio station has superimposed upon its carrier
16]
wave are conducted through several stages of amplification. When they've been sufficiently strengthened, they go to your loudspeaker. Now here we find in operation the exact reverse of the process going on inside the microphone here at our elbow. The electrical impressions act upon a coil within a magnetic field. This coil is fastened to the center of a pasteboard cone. When the coil vibrates back and forth, the center of the cone does the same thing. The cone being anywhere from four to twenty inches in diameter . . .
UZZLE: depending upon the size of your set ...
CROUCH: the cone displaces quite a bit of air. Its vibrating causes respective intensifications and rarefactions of the air. And this, as we've seen, is sound, the very same sensation that is caused by your vocal chords, by musical instruments, and so on. It is interpreted by the eardrums-as in this case-speech.
UzzLE: And a speech that will have to be concluded in another very few minutes. But before you go, Frank, how about enlarging upon a word that you skipped rather lightly over about five minutes ago: what I want to know is, just what are "kilocycles"?
CROUCH:Well, first let's break the word itself down. "Kilo": now that's a perfectly legitimate prefix meaning "thousand." A "cycle" is a complete round, or in the case of a wave, it is one rise and one fall. Thus it follows that the word "kilocycle" means a thousand complete vibrations. In radio it is employed to identify the exact wavelengths of stations. Thus when the Federal government assigned to radio Station WRNL a frequency of eight hundred eighty kilocycles, it meant that its carrier wave had to vibrate at the rate of eight hundred and eighty thousand times a second. Fortunately there are no other stations likewise on eight hundred and eighty kilocycles close enough to this area of the United States to greatly interfere with WRNL's waves.
UzzLE: It's the Federal Communications Commission that looks after all that. But say, Frank, here's something that's a lot easier to talk about than it is to get rid of: and that is static. Tell us, just what is static?
CROUCH:In almost every case static is a local electrical disturbance. For instance, simply turn-
ing on a light in the same room with your radio will cause a pop to be heard. As a matter of fact any occasion on which electricity is allowed to jump through the air from one conductor to another will provide a transmission of sound to your radio both through the air and through the light current wires. Amal-adjustment of any motor -on your own or a neighbor's electric refrigerator or in a passing auto-will cause a series of sputters and pops in your set. New headaches for radialists came into existence just a couple of years ago when electric razors appeared on and around men's chins. The razors are of the vibrator type which very effectively provide all the elements necessary for static.
UZZLE: . . . As call to witness any college dormitory. Now up comes a subject about which you promised us more information. What is a remote control broadcast?
CROUCH: A remote control broadcast is any broadcast originating outside a station's studios. But speaking more definitely, let us consider the arrangement of t;he University Radio Guild's . campus studio. Linking this studio out here at the University of Richmond with the main studios of this station, is a telephone line reserved for us by the local telephone company. Just across the room there is a simplified model of WRNL's main control board, and it acts as an amplifier to send the signal down the telephone cable to Fourth and Grace Streets. In the downtown studios the line is treated simply as a microphone cable, and some
UZZLE: and some unfortunate engineer right now is regulating the volume of this broadcast, and also wondering whether or not we' re going to wind up this broadcast in another fortyfive seconds. Indeed we will, for we wish to say only that you've been listening to the University Radio Guild's weekly "Friday-at-Five" broadcast from our campus studio in Cannon Chapel. You have heard Frank Crouch, a member of the Guild, discussing the technical aspects of radio in layman's terms. We should add that data for the program was compiled in conjunction with Mr. Walter R. Selden, chief engineer of "The Station in the Middle of Your Dial." And now, your announcer Ted Booth bids you good afternoon, and calls on Frank Crouch to say:
CROUCH:We return you to the main studios. [ 17}
Pastoral
By HENRIETTA SADLER
THE broad highway leads on to the town and the sea. A little winding road turns off the concrete. Deep ruts hold last week's rain. A two-horse wagon rumbles along loaded with lumber.
The farmhouses were once the homes of proud families-now they are occupied by tenants. The irrepressible sons went to Richmond to open filling stations and work in A.B.C. stores; daughters taught school and went to Washington to become clerks; old folks died. And then the tenants moved in- undernourished, tow-headed children, with noses continually running, pick tomatoes, their bare feet stained green. Women, tubercular and broken with constant child-bearing, feed the chickens. All the eggs and butter are sold, so the children develop rickets Clumsy, adolescent boys with pimply skin and solid muscles tell dirty jokes behind the barn.
Down the road and over a hill flows the salt water of the Rappahannock. Fishing boats bob over the slight swell. A man with a cancerous nose stands on the wharf trying to catch bait crab with a long net. The putrid odor of dead fish and decaying water grasses fills the air. Off shore the tall shell pile , the little oyster house, the oyster beds, and innumerable tongs tell of the winter's occupation. In the bitter cold of gray November mornings men in boats tong long hours for oysters. Chapped hands, weary backs, and a few cents-all tell of the business In the house thick calloused fingers push a knife between the shells, and the bit of flesh is dropped into a quart can.
In the summer the wharf is idle except for fishing groups and moonlight parties. Under the moon the river takes on a magic garb. The adolescent farm boy and his girl in a catalogue dress find romance, looking over the water to the other shore . Here whispered words have a hushed meaning, and silence is breath-taking.
There is an autumn mist on the river, putting a lacy touch to the far shore line. The bluffs rise and fall in rhythm; the pines stand green; the naked
oak and elm form a filagree background. The gulls fly screaming by, drop to the water's surface, and soar again.
A huge man, broad shouldered and stooped , leaves the oyster house, walks down the wharf to the shore. Keen gray eyes calculate the worth of the boats tied to stobs just off the shore. His mind is filled with the complexities of life-its failure and its surprising success. His hands are gnarled; the finger-nails are broken off and dirty . A face deeply lined and burned to a brick red looks with tolerant sympathy on the lazy negroes calking a boat with leisurely motions . His shirt is torn , mended and torn again; the heavy smell of sweat follows him. He lifts his battered hat and scratches his head, spits , and turns to a car , worn and muddy.
Up the road he turns into his gate . A deep mud hole makes the entrance almost impassable. A bony bird-dog rushes out howling. The house is of typical shoe-box architecture, square, upright , with a porch back and front. Carefully nurtured rose bushes grow in the conventional places. His wife is mowing the lawn-a tiny shrivelled woman with a mushroom straw hat. They have seen much of life together - poverty, death, love, and five children. Theirs is a stern pride born out of hardship. Their heritage is one of battle-battle with soil and circumstance
" Dinner's ready, been ready an hour ."
There is no other greeting . Years and comradeship make that unnecessary. The man silent and tired goes into the kitchen.
The big wood range stands against the wall freshly cleaned The cold food on the table is covered with flies. With a swish of his hand he brushes them off. He rinses his hands in a dipper of water in a dirty wash basin, combs his hair with a greasy comb, and mumbles a grace . His wife with a mighty sigh gets him a cup of warmed over coffee. Her feet hurt-nevertheless, in a stoical existence rest is only for the sick. She sits opposite him and pecks at bits of fat meat and milk-softened biscuit because of her false teeth. Her water-blue eyes contemplate her man, and she worships him. A great love envelopes her soul , for this is her god! It is .a silence of habit and discontent and disillusion, yet a bit triumphant for they have four hams in the smokehouse and her cream was marked Grade A.
"Did you get my chicken mash, to-day? "
"No, forgot it."
"Did you tell Miss Jenny that she's to bring the lemonade for the circle meeting Tuesday?"
"No, forgot it." [ 18]
The silence with a heavy hand weighs upon the whole atmosphere. Pushing back his chair roughly and rising to his feet, the man stretches yawns and scratches. He reaches for his hat.
"Where are you going?"
"Store."
"What for?"
"Got to see Jeb about that hog."
"Then get me ten pounds of sugar-canning this afternoon. I'll get the eggs to pay for it. If there's any left over, get a bag of coffee."
The ancient car rattles out the drive-way struggles through the mud hole and disappears.
The damp mist settles around the little house. The wife moves about the dining room and across the cold hall into the unheated living room. An old upright piano-out of tune-stands against the far wall. Over the mantle hang the family pictures. The musty smell of company use fills the room. She moves about pushing a pillow here, a book there. Feeling the cold, she goes out, carefully closing the door behind her.
From behind the door in the kitchen she takes a
heavy coat and fastens it with two large safetypins. She takes the water bucket from its shelf and goes into the yard. Her chickens scurry to meet her. They gather in a cluster before her-hens and half-grown chicks with ugly feathers, biddies, and tough old cocks. She scatters the grain and calls the babies to their separate trough to feed them their meal.
The plow horse lumbers by scattering the chickens. She indignantly flings a corn-cob at it. The horse shakes off the blow and muzzles the empty water trough.
She looks around her-the barn, the chicken house, the smoke-house, the chickens at her feet, the horse by the empty trough. Across the sky streaks a bird. A cold wind tugs at the pin fastenings of her coat. The chickens' feathers are ruffied the wrong way. The dog's wail sounds as he hunts in the woods. The air smells of hay and manure.
Along the concrete road cars speed to town and sea. The wagon load of lumber goes into the building of a ship. But down the deep rutted road a woman feeds her chickens.
Cft.1to11.icle!o'tDemoc'tucies
Little Boy Blue come blow your horn
A terrible thing has just been born. It isn't a man and it isn't a beast
But, stalking from out of both west and east, A Monster, shaking its two-faced head, Marking its passage with thousands dead, Roars with a thunderous cry of scorn, 'TU smash and crush 'til you too are torn
From all of those things that you hold most dear!" And, waving aloft a stained red spear, It pauses a moment and turns its ear
To the mouths of men for a cry of fear --But there is none.
Turning from tasks that are big and small, Moved by the threatening battle call, Out of the mountains, out of the hills, Out of the cities, out of the mills
Hasten the millions of little men
Each to the other strength to lend. Massed together, the living wall Suddenly seems to grow more tall. Rising, towering still more high, Until, from its place against the sky, Its shadows across the Monster lie
Strong with the strength of those who die --'Til there is none.
Into the east and into the west
The Monster frantic'ly looks in quest Of a place to hide its two-faced head, But all it sees are the thousands dead Lying on backs with arms out thrown
To snatch at its feet, while a hollow groan ·Echoes the cry of the moving crest, Joined by the voices of those oppressed.
Slowly the Monster turns to fight, Faces the men of welded might Hating and fearing the very sight Of those who tower before the light --'Til there is none.
Great was the struggle that tore the soil, Great was the energy turned from toil.
Great were the groans of the bones which held, Loud were the sounds of the mountains fell ed.
Over the land turned red with mud, Into the ocean stained with blood, Causing the surf to seethe and boil
As over the Monster it seems to coil. Slowly the ocean grows more still, Men go back to their towns and mills, Back to the war scarred plains and hills And slowly the blood on the sea distills --'Til there is none.
[ 19]
ROBERT J. MARTIN, III, '41.
WasThisTraditional?
By WILLIAM PARKERSON, '41
LEX V ANLINDINGHAM came from one small creek, the only means of access was a small of the oldest and finest families in all South boat tied to a stob. Carolina and, therefore, the Phi Xi's had "Well, fellows, here we are," said Alex. "What been quick to pledge him. He was a quiet, preoc- do you think of Manoring ?" cupied boy and during the three years that he had The two boys sat in the car for a moment withbeen at Furman no one had gotten to know him out moving. very well. Consequently, George Aldridge and "It's swell," finally replied George. "Do you Raymond Topping were rather surprised when he have many visitors?" invited them to spend the Christmas holidays with "No," replied Alex laughing, "everybody him at Manoring, his country home. around here seems to find Manoring a trifle deThursday night they packed and early Friday pressing and gives it a wide berth." morning were ready to leave school. Alex was in "I can understand that. That is, I mean-," unusually high spirits as they began the trip, tell- stammered Ray. ing them of the history and background of his "Nonsense," interrupted Alex, "before you family home. He seemed nervous, however, and leave, you'll love the place." narrowly missed several cars on the road. "Let's jump in the boat and go on over. I want "It wouldn't do to get killed now," he told them you to meet the folks and have a look about." in a rather strained but altogether happy voice. "That's a fine idea," replied George, relishing "You're darn right it wouldn't," replied George the thought of action. nudging Ray and giving him a quizzical look. "Just leave your things here and I'll send Sidney At any rate they met with no accidents and by back for them. Sidney's been with the family for noon were nearing Manoring. As they turned up years." the long winding drive leading to the house Alex They got in the boat and rowed over to the landsaid, "As I've told you, the land around Manoring ing. By the time they had arrived, the servant was is practically all marshy and threaded with small there to greet them. creeks. That accounts for the cypress trees that "How you, Massuh Alexander?" said the aged you see all about." George and Ray looked around • Negro, his wrinkled face wreathed in smiles. "Sho with interest. The tall cypress, low hanging moss has been a long time since you was at Manoring." and the steam that seemed to be rising from the "Fine, Sidney. How have you and the folks ground, all added to a sense of evil and mystery. been getting along?"
The entire setting resembled the bayous of Mis- "We' s all doin pretty well. Yo folks is all in sissippi. The drive itself formed an arch, the trees good health but they done gone to Columbia to and moss excluding nearly all of the sunlight. The tend a wedding. They left a note splaining all sight caused both boys to give an involuntary bout it."
shudder and they eagerly awaited a view of the At this news Alex appeared downcast. "Well, house if for no other reason than to counteract the Sidney, get our things for us." dismal atmosphere of the approach. "Yassuh, Massuh Alexander."
Ray turned toward Alex to ask him how much "Come on, fellows," said Alex, "let's go to the farther they had to go, and as he did found him- house. Wish the family could be here, but they'll self looking into Alex's eyes. Alex glanced away be home in a day or two." immediately and Ray dismissed it from his mind
Entering the house, the two boys felt again that as just then the house came into view. same intangible shroud of mystery was hanging
Manoring was built along Georgian lines and over them. The high ceilings and the furniture gave the impression of being slightly dilapidated. were relics of a generation past, and massive Settled back in a grove of trees and having a gray - candelabra adorned several of the tables. Alex ish tint, it served to add to the general air of took them from one room to another, pointing out gloom. Another interesting feature was the im- objects of interest. "This belonged to my grandmediate approach. Cut off from the drive by a mother," he would say pointing to some antique
[ 20]
or, "That chair is over one hundred and fifty years old." He paused when he came to the fireplace in the drawing room and said, "The sword that you see hanging over the mantlepiece belonged to grandfather. He used it in the War Between the States." After they had seen many of the family's prized possessions, Alex said, "I guess you would like to wash up a bit before lunch."
"That's a fine idea," said Ray, "I feel pretty grimy after riding all morning."
" All right, you two go spruce up and I'll read the note the family left me."
After George and Ray had gone upstairs, Alex read the note telling of the marriage of one of his cousins and when his folks expected to return. When the boys came down, Alex joined them .
"Be sure to eat everything," Alex whispered on entering the dining room, "or Sidney's feelings will be hurt. "
After a half day's drive, that warning was unnecessary to George and Ray. When they had finished the meal and had lit their cigarettes, Alex told them that he would have to go to the county seat on some business for his father.
" I hope you won't think me too ungracious a host."
"Don't be silly," answered both boys together. Then after glancing · about for a moment, Ray asked , "How long will you be gone? "
" Not long , I'll try to be back by tonight. Make yourselves right at home and if there ' s anything you want, just call on Sidney ."
The servant followed Alex to take him across in the boat, leaving George and Ray alone in the house.
" This isn ' t exactly the way I had pictured a Southern mansion, " said Ray who came from Delaware.
"I was thinking the same thing," replied George who was also from the North, but we' re here and we might as well make the best of it. "
"I know, but Southern belles and mint julips and- ." The rest was lost in a dreamy sigh .
The visitors spent the remainder of the day rummaging about the house, as a slight drizzle had begun. Sidney, acting as guide, took them through the rooms on all three floors and then led them down into the basement which turned out to be a wine cellar of quality as well as quantity.
At eight they had dinner , served in the traditional Southern style, and afterwards sat talking over their cigarettes and coffee. Finally Ray remarked that he was rather tired.
" Well," said George, " there really isn ' t much to do; so let's hit the hay ."
They called Sidney and he took them upstairs. "Would you all like separate rooms?" asked Sidney when he reached the head of the stairway.
" No, Sidney, I believe we'd just as soon use one room together."
Sidney prepared the room for them and on the way out said, "If you wants anything during the night, just pull the cord by the bed."
"Oh, Sidney," Ray called, " when Mister Alexander gets in explain to him that we were tired out and decided to turn in early."
"Y assuh, I'll do that, " and he shuffled away.
George and Ray lost no time in getting to bed.
"I didn't realize how worn out I was ," yawned Ray as he stretched out in bed .
"Same here," replied George, and in a few minutes they were both fast asleep.
Several hours later George awoke with a strange feeling of being watched. How he knew that there were eyes watching him, he couldn ' t tell. As he lay there in bed, the feeling grew stronger and stronger. The room was partially light, with the kind of light that makes even the most familiar objects unrecognizable. He looked about the room and could make out pieces of furniture, but they looked ghostly and unreal. Then he looked toward the door and there standing in the doorway was a huge black shape. He felt his flesh prickle. Two gleaming eyes in the black shape could be seen staring, staring. The THING did not move, but stood there motionlessly watching. When he cquld finally move, George nudged Ray. Ray moved slightly and that was all. Panic seized George and he began pulling and shaking him, calling and begging him to wake up. Finally Ray sat up in bed. "What's the matter? " he questioned sleepily.
"Look in the doorway," quavered George.
There was nothing there
" It's gone, it's gone," laughed George hysterically
By this time Ray was fully awake and beginning to be frightened too. George told him what he had seen.
The black, motionless figure with the blazing points of fire. The boys' nerves had shattered so that further sleep was out of the question. They put on their robes and lit the candles that Sidney had left them. Badly shaken, they spent the rest of the night awake, nervously smoking and talkmg.
Never were two people more glad to see the first streaks of dawn approaching . They dressed, went downstairs and out onto the porch. They had decided during their long vigil to say nothing
[ 21]
of the eery happenings of the night to Sidney. Daylight seemed to make it all too fantastic, and George himself, was beginning to doubt the whole affair.
"Good, Lord, I'll be glad when Alex gets back," said Ray fervently, looking up at the overcast skies. Just then, as if Nature herself were trying to mock them, it began to rain. And rain it did, for in no time the creek in front of the house was overflowing. They heard footsteps behind and turned to find Sidney.
"Did you all sleep well las' night?" solicitously inquired the old Negro.
Lying as best they could, the boys answered, "Yes, thank you, Sidney." Then George asked the question that was uppermost in both their minds: "When do you think Mister Alexander will get back?"
Sidney looked at the downpour and said, "If it stops raining directly, he might make it back by tomorrow."
"Lord," groaned Ray, "and there isn't any sign of it letting up."
After breakfast, they read and played cards, repeating the performance after lunch. By five o'clock, it was raining as hard as ever and George threw down his cards. 'Tll swear I can't stand this much longer."
"Pull yourself together, old man," soothed Ray holding him by the shoulders; "it isn't as bad as all that."
"But, Ray, you didn't see the thing."
"You're just all worked up, old fellow. Now come on and let's eat. Sidney's calling us now."
All through the meal, Ray was trying to think of something to divert George's mind through the long evening ahead of them. Suddenly an inspiration came to him. "George," he asked across the table, "haven't we forgotten something?"
"What?" asked George puzzled.
"The wine cellar," was the reply.
For the first time since they had arrived at Manoring, George's face lit up.
"Why hadn't I thought of that myself?" he exclaimed.
They finished their meal and went into the drawing room. George was eager to visit the cellar at once, but Ray prevailed on him to wait, and after a suitable time had elapsed following dinner,
they proceeded to the basement. George loaded up with bottles of a rare vintage and in good spirits returned to the drawing room. Opening a bottle, George said, "Here's to you," and began drinking. He drank with the express purpose of getting drunk while Ray drank in moderation. By ten o'clock, George could hardly hold his eyes open, the wine acting as a sedative. Just before he fell asleep he took the sword from its place over the mantlepiece and laid it in his lap. Then with a smile at his friend he fell asleep. Presently Ray began to doze and before long, he too fell asleep. Then it happened. George awoke, feeling again that something was staring at him. This time he looked straight at the door and there it was. The black hooded figure with the piercing eyes. The THING was watching him. It began to move. To move toward him, staring all the time, never wavering, staring, staring. A horrible fear held him powerless to move. It was moving steadily toward him. Then George felt the sword in his lap and the touch of the metal restored his power of movement. Without uttering a sound, he woke Ray and as Ray stared in mute terror, the THING came to a halt in front of them. With a wild insane yell, George leaped and plunged the sword into the robed figure. A choked cry was forced from it as it sank to the floor.
George staggered back until he felt the wall behind him. He kept pushing backward, seeing the mass lying on the floor with the sword standing erect in it. Then without a sound, he sank to the floor in a senseless heap. Ray ran to him, circling the cloaked figure. He shook George who with a groan regained consciousness. The two of them sat there, thinking the same thoughts, neither saying them.
Finally Ray got control of himself and said, "We've got to take that cloak off." They slowly raised themselves and walked hesitantly over to the black heap sprawled on the floor. With an effort, they removed the sword. It was bloody. The THING was of flesh and blood! They pulled off the cloak and there lay the body of Alex V anlindingham.
The newspaper account of the tragedy included this statement: "Mr. Valindingham was a psychology major, already well-known for his research in the field of fear reactions."
-
HowManyHaoeYouRead?
Fifty Greatest Southern Books*
UNCLE REMUS (UNCLE REMUS AND HIS SONGS; UNCLE R EMUS AND HIS FRIENDS) Joel Chandler Harris GONE WITH THE WIND ............ . . . ... ........ ...... . . Margaret Mitchell POEMS Sidney Lanier
STORIES AND POEMS
Edgar Allan Poe R E LEE
OLD CREOLE DAYS
Douglas Southall Freeman
George W. Cable IN OLE VIRGINIA
Thomas Nelson Page LOOK HOMEWARD , ANGEL.
Thomas Wolfe SO RED THE ROSE Stark Young A SOUTHERNER DISCOVERS THE SOUTH
Jonathan Daniels THE YEARLING
Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings TO HAVE AND TO HOLD Mary Johnston THE CLANSMAN ..
Thomas Dixon UP FROM SLAVERY
Du Bose Heyward
Booker T. Washington PORGY ..
SCARLET SISTER MARY Julia Peterkin
COMPLETE SHORT STORIES
0. Henry (William Sidney Porter) TRA I L OF THE LONESOME PINE John Fox, Jr. TOBACCO ROAD
A HISTORY OF THE DIVIDING LINE
Erskine Caldwell
William Byrd " AND TELL OF TIME "
Laura Krey
BARREN GROUND Ell en Glasgow THE STORY OF THE CONFEDERACY
Robert Selph Henry THE YEMASEE ...
William Gilmore Simms RED ROCK
Thomas Nelson Page KENTUCKY CARDINAL. James Lane Allen THE OLD VIRGINIA GENTLEMAN
Dr. George W. Bagby
GEORGIA SCENES Augustus Baldwin Longstreet
LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI. Mark Twain (Samuel L. Clemens)
BIRDS OF AMERICA
John James Audubon LAMB IN HIS BOSOM
MAN WITH THE BULL TONGUE PLOW
AENEAS AFRICANUS
A HISTORIE OF VIRGINIA
POEMS
Caroline Miller
Jesse Stuart
Harry Stillwell Edwards
(Captain) John Smith
Henry Timrod
LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME John Fox, Jr. THE ADVENTURE OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN
SURREY OF EAGLE'S NEST
Mark Twain
John Esten Cooke THE TRAGIC ERA
Claude Gernade Bowers IN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS ... Charles Egbert Craddock (Mary N. Murfree) THE R I SE AND FALL OF THE CONFEDERATE GOVERNMENT Jefferson Davis LIFE AND LABOR IN THE OLD SOUTH Ulrich B. Phillips OL ' MAN ADAM AN ' HIS CH I LDREN
Roark Bradford THE CHOIR INVISIBLE James Lane Allen THE RA VEN (Biography of Sam Houston) Marquis James MRS WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH Ali ce Hegan Rice POEMS
Paul H amilton Hayne
ANDREW JACKSON Marquis James THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS Charles Egbert Craddock MO H UN
John Esten Cooke
*EDITOR ' S Norn: This list was compiled by T he S ou th ern Literary Messen g er.
Soft sounds within your throat
Betray your love: Your love for me. When I caress your face-Smoothest of faces-
A slow flush tells me: You serve.
I know you love me: For that dull, subtle flush Is from your heart, Your glowing soul. And ah!
That sweet, narcotic scent, Compelling scent of noble ages, Kept at the fingertips Of TimeUntil your coming! Work of the gods you are; Or of some craftsman Who drew you from the earth and air. Your warm, firm body Rests now against my heart. My lips are burning. I whisper: "Ah, my meerschaum pipe!"
-BEN Rouzrn,
'44.
LINEPROFILES
Ellen Mercer Clark's Christmas story comes from a typewriter already worn from use. Inheriting talent from both her grandfather and father, she served as Assistant Editor of the John Marshall Record, is a member of the honorary Quill and Scroll, and has published before.
Bill Parkerson (youthful and blond) , reveals in "Was This T raditional ?" an unusual imagination and an ability for writing vivid description. His journalistic interests have hithertofore been centered along business lines, but we are glad to see him turn to the literary.
Booth Uzzle, who as a radio announcer goes under the name of Ted Booth, presents a 100% original radio script which was actually presented by the radio guild from our campus studio.
Kira Nicholsky, turning from the medium of poetry, expresses her idealism in an ethereal Christmas fantasy. Although she has been known more widely for her poetry, Kira has also shown that her prose style is fascinating.
Jack Manley is a sophomore ministerial student and an able debater. He now turns to his pen, presenting "Honor For Sale" as his first contribution to the MESSENGER. We believe that he acquits himself well in his short story in this issue.
Henrietta Sadler, in commenting on "Pastoral," said: "It was written in a mood that has come to me every one of the nine summers that I've spent in the Tidewater district. It is not meant to be a treatise of sociological significance. But the background is very real."
T. E. Warriner, who prefers to be called "Tommy," took time out from selling personality and Bibles to write a resume of an angle of campus opinion on the all-important question of this "ratting" seasonthe Quietus.
Mark Willing, president of the Richmond College Junior Class, turns from leading figures to leading public attention to the affirmative side of the prevailing "ratting" system. His journalistic stature is quite in keeping with his towering physique.
Louise Wiley is a sophomore by year and a pacifist by nature. She has shown her ability early as a leader on the Westhampton campus, and she now brings forth a talent for poetry that breathes of her oriental background.
