A remarkable series of repetitive flashes , show you the famous DiMaggio swing and follow-through all in this one picture above. Below, at the left, you see Joe enjoying a Camel. For with Joe DiMaggio, when the game is over, it's "now for a Camel." Yes, Camel-the milder cigarette with less nicotine in the smoke. The~ of slower-burning Camels contains
than the average of the 4 other largest-selling cigarettes testedless than any of them - according to independent scientific tests of the smoke itself!
DiMaggio sizes up the pitch
ball
Maggio,
He starts that devastating swing
Joe follows through in a tremendous release of driving power.
Squarely solidly bat meets ball.
THE MESSENGER
UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND
Editor-in-Chief
MARY GRACE SCHERER
Richmond College Editor Westhampt on College Edit or
ALLISTER McKENZIE FRANCES ELLI S
,-1.ssistantEdit ors
JANICE LANE LILA WICKER
Edit orial Staff
ROSE KALTUKIN
NANCY MASTER S
ERNEST MOONEY
ED LUTTRELL
B11sinessManager
ROBERTS. BLACK
Art Staff
ANN BYRD TUCKER
MARIANNE WADDILL
LOUISE WILEY
FRANCE S BEAZLEY
Assistant B11sin ess M anag er
THOMA S J. CuRTI~
VOL. XLIX APRIL , 1942 No. 4
Your Current Events I.Q.
What is your current events I. Q? Your very patriotism can be measured by your answer to this question. A small census recently conducted on our campus speaks unfavorably for the student body. Current event tests distributed equally among the four classes brought the following averages:
Ques. Name the two leading labor organizations in the U.S.
Ans . W .P.A. and F.H.A.
Ques. Identify W.P.B .
Ans. Woman's Patrol Board.
These mistakes cease to be humorous in times such as ours when a well-informed people is a first essential to an alert nation. Who if not students should be the majority news-enlightened group?
We cannot be relieved of our responsibility by blaming the boners on the highschoolers. That may be true but the failing average still stares grimly at us. Such a record is a condemnation indicating laziness and negligence. We cannot say that we are not exposed to the facts when radios , newspapers, movies, and magazines are in everyone's steady diet. Perhaps we would score a better average on Baby Dumpling's daily activities, or Daisy May ' s progress with Li'l Abner. Maybe the newsreels seem just the right moment to go outside for a smoke; a slight punch of a button is a quick transition from war reality to a boogie beat; and maga zines are reserved for library shelves and doctors' offices. Such a passiveness is neither complimentary or worthy of college students - creators and leaders in thought.
The same questionnaire given in high school showed these results:
These tests consisted of twenty questions, each valued at five points, and pertained directly to headline news. Anyone who limited his reading merely to front page articles and who is attentive in news reels would obtain a passing grade. Yet startling ignorance on the part of high school and college students is evident from a number of the answers.
Some students were unaware that our president is commander-in-chief of the United States armed forces. The bombing of Pearl Harbor \yas dated anywhere from its correct December 7, 1941 into January, 1942. There were even such boners as:
The diagnosis being pronounced immediate cure is urgently demanded; on it depends the strength of our nation. As an attempt to precipitate recovery THE MESSENGERinitiates with this issue current events tests whose information and much more in addition should be general knowledge . (They will include not only events from war headlines but als o fine arts since their importance cannot be overemphasized . We must keep them alive-they are the reflection pools of free thought.) The answer s will be found on another page . We strongly suggest that you consult not only newspapers but current magazines to secure thorough information It is not enough that we know bare facts; today w e must be familiar with all the circumstances as well. Our service at the present is not active combat. For some of us it will never be. We have a dut y however, and though it be of a different nature w e can not be indifferent Disinterest for a singl e day is disloyal evidence-a step toward def eat. The part allotted to each of us today, along with other activities, demands an intelligent understanding of events deciding your future-the future of the world.
[ 2 J
Non-fiction Contest
Never before in ou~ generation have we been bombarded with so many ideas. It is to crystallize th ese ideas into written form that THE MESSENGER is conducting a non-fiction contest. Not only will we hear from the winner in publication but the win ner will hear from us in terms of a ten dollar ($1 0.00) award.
The selection of a subject does not limit since it may relate to the arts or the sciences, and may extend no farther than our campus or to the world scene. The length may vary from approximately 1,000 to 4,000 words. Any student is eligible except members of THE MESSENGER staff.
It is requested that the manuscript be typed, dou ble-spaced, and with wide margins. The name of the contestant should be included in a sealed envelo pe and attached to the article. Such precaution will avoid any prejudice in judging .
Manuscripts must be in THE MESSENGER office or in the hands of a member of the staff on or before Friday , May 15th. They will be judged by mem bers of both the Richmond College and the Wes thampton College English departments, a representative from another student publication , and the editor-in-chief of TH E MESSENGER. The winning article will appear in the final issue of the magaz ine.
Writers, here is your chance . . . Remember the deadline May 15 , 1942 !
A:1 Explanation
. . .
Not with despair , nor with joy , but in explanation we call your attention to the surprising lack of humoro us material submitted in the past month. We bring the fact to you in answer to your constant plea for more variety. Such was and is our purpose, but it must come from you.
In stressing this we are in no way suggesting tha t the contributions of a serious nature are not valuable. They are altogether necessary for they are thought-provoking as well as examples of good writing. Contrary to some opinions it is not insincere to think and write in times as ours in a lig hter vein. Cartoons are humor at its best; in the very center of the war theater occur incidents , whic h properly penned bring a laugh to the reader; and not to be forgotten are the smiles that come fro m our own campus happenings.
We are most certainly conscious of the criticism, and explain here that you may know the reason. We d? not intend to give up, but with your help can yet make the final issue of the year a selected collection of well-rounded material. That alone will show the diversity of student thought which we earnestly seek to present in your magazine. We want to be well-balanced, but it's up to you.
[EDITOR ' S Norn: Hannah Jaccobsen , a native of Ge rmany tra ve led extensively before she made America her home two and a half years ago.]
I love America
Freedom, justice, and right. These three things cannot be found in "that" country over there. It seems impossible that one should hate one's former country, the country in which one was born and reared, the country in which one learned to love his neighbor as himself; but such is the case. One does not live his own life over there. One is a prisoner confined by bigotry and hate. How can one still love his neighbor . as himself, if that neighbor only tries to convert one's every action into an offense against the government, which he can report to the secret police so that he may become a hero through his treacherous actions? It is unbelievable and heart breaking, but still it is an everyday occurrence over there. Is it possible that there is a country where there is neither justice nor right; where one man and his ministers pass judgment on their fellowmen; where this one man dictates to a nation what to do and what not to do· where even when one knows that he is wrong and his way is not the right one , he does not have the freedom to say so? This is a tragedy. A country with high culture is now without culture, without freedom , without right, without justice.
But there is still one country in the world where freedom, justice , and equality prevail. A land of liberty is the United States. There, where nearly everyone is happy and has reason to be so, is justice and right. There everyone can love his neighbor truly and without any fear of him. He can speak the truth without fear, and he can do what he wants to do. The native American is friendly and helpful, and he tries to give a stranger a new homeland , where he can "love" his neighbor as himself. That is why I love America.
[ 3 J
Fast-BallFantasy
By BEN ROUZIE, '44
IT was the penitentiary demon of Suicide and two grease-padded , very material guards that walked up from solitary confinement with Connie Darnell. Monotonously he mounted the drear prison stairs while the unsympathetic turnkeys snorted with boredom and blood pressure, and at each sodden stride Suicide mounted ever higher in his consciousness . Suicide, he decided , was not unsympathetic.
Suicide, it seemed to the prisoner, was indeed the only sympathetic entity in the Big House. It was the final expression of Nature's sympathy, this privilege of self destruction, and after three weeks of solitary confinement Darnell was not one to reject any final relief from the thought-gnashing darkness of the dungeon. His nerves were hard-woven like prison cloth , as he reached the familiar cell block and the guards swung him into the cube that for twenty-three years had been his home. Enthusiastically they pushed his shoulders
The men with the big sticks left him then, and Darnell pressed the length of his spine hard against the concrete wall. He sat aimlessly on the floor and then arose. He clenched his toes and fingers and thought intensely for minutes and then, obsessed by a fear of self destruction, impulsively he mashed himself to the bars of his door.
"Ah, Jeez! Somebody talk to me! " He gripped a cell bar and, discarding reality with clenched eyes, swung it wide like a nightstick or a fungo bat. Then he sat down on the bunk in the striped sunlight and awoke
With eyes reopened wide and nerves bathed warmly by the free man's sun, Darnell saw that the bars were intact; for there had been no violent motion, no rending of metal-only the spread-mumble of the cell block and the confining passage of prisoner's time. And Darnell pleaded: "Talk to me quick! Just talk to me "
The prisoner was begging for conversation before the laughter came-the hysterical laughter that tumbles through a man's mind from the black brain of solitude. Up from three weeks of chill purgatory that laughter had followed him, the dementing odor of solitary confinement a component part of it and loneliness pounding it into his ears. And now D arnell knew that he must ta l k, must
talk and listen and talk to any man in the cell block. He shouted again.
Darnell shouted once more , and then from the next cell there came a drawl : "What d'you want to talk about?" He gripped the bars of his door. "Baseball ," he said. "Tell me about baseball. Tell me what ' re they doing in the majors? " His respiration was settling-now as deliberate , as taut as his grip upon the bars .
For a score of seconds the man did not answer , and then the drawl came again from beyond the concrete. But like a child with a rare lollipop Darnell held his opportunity of mental escape and failed to taste of it as the informant began to review the major-league possibilities, and the listener heard only:
"In the American it looks good for the . . . pitching, you know but the draft And in the National. ... Few guys up from AA ball look don ' t know about the National , though still got pitching class there but it all depends draft. " Darnell was hearing only scant fragments which blew through the net of nervous counteraction.
Then he was talking again: "What about Markton? What's he doing? Tell me about Markton. What's he doing? "
The other sat noisily on his rusty prison bed. " Markton," he said, "got caught up with. Markton ain ' t around any longer. "
"Ain ' t around! What happened to Markton ? Why ain ' t he around? Why ain't he pitching now like he's been pitching since-since ' 35? Wasn't he winning? "
The occupant of the adjacent cell chuckled on the chuckling springs of his bunk . "Markton ain ' t never won ball games," he tantalized
"What's wrong with you, Bud?" Darnell's query was high, like the uncertain guitar string in the process of being tuned in a distant cell. "What's wrong with Markton? He was winning. He ' s the best pitcher in any man ' s league " He paused. "Say, you ain't been down there in the Hole. Where do you get off being stir-zaney ?"
The other rose and came back to the cell partition. "I ain't stir-zaney, I just got here. And I
know what I'm saying. That guy Markton ain't roughing the ball, and all those old ones. Well never won a ball game." Wingy had some new ones. If he ever got a chance
"This ain't no place for you," Darnell deto- to pull any of them, you could lay odds that stinker nated into the corridor. "You' re crazy!" would do it. Well, he did all right in the
The partition blocked the man's smile from majors, or so it looked like from the grandstand Connie Darnell's eyes, neurotic eyes pressing now and in the sports sheets. But Markton didn't fool with the indignation of the loyal. "Oh, yeh, the all the umpires and managers and ball players. It's drawl came back. 'Tm in the right place." hard to fool all those guys for very long. And one Darnell was silent. Then, with the realization day this season an ump caught him fixing a ball that he was being chided, he rolled on his bunk with a sharp belt buckle. You've heard about and faced his private frame of blue infinity with them. A pitcher whets his buckle up on the under t he sunlight coming through it in straight, buttery side and then cuts the ball so's to do 'most anysticks. Darnell smiled. thing he wants to with it. Well Markton had a
"Okay, Bud, tell me what's wrong with Wingy special trick buckle all whetted so he could rip the M arkton ," he said, and his voice was quieter now ball just a little and the umps wouldn't see anyand challenging. thing out of line, but the batters wouldn't see much
But the answer was light: "Yeh, he's a snake." of the ball either 'cause they couldn't tell what it " A snake?" A slight fear-grasp lingered in was going to do. D arnell's larynx. "He's the best chunker in the "But that wasn't the big mess he was so proud majors!" of. That came in a tough series a few days back.
"You don't know him." You know that big green screen in the outfield, " Listen, Bud," said Darnell, "I don't have to the big boarded-up place that's behind the pitcher know a guy that wins twenty-five games a season. when you' re batting up? Well Markton hired a T hat guy ' s a good enough pitcher for me. . . . ground-keeper to get drunk and run into the Hey! "-Darnell was noting the conversational screen with a truck just before the game. Wrecked an g le as a stupid infielder notes the angle of a the screen. And when the guys came up to bat they d rive-"Hey ! Do you know Wingy Markton ?" couldn't see Markton's fast ball against the ce" Yeh, " the other answered. "I know Wingy ment out there It was bad. You're liable to M arkton." get beaned batting against speed like Markton's
" How good d'you know him?" Darnell asked. got when you can't see the ball.
" I know him good enough. I know all about "Wingy didn't care about his teammates. He h im- now." had a hitting team behind him, see, and he thought
" Okay, tell me all about him-now," Connie maybe they could see the ball good enough anysaid as he settled on the floor with his knees press- way. But he was doing better than the other pitching his just-curling beard and his forearms, re- er. He didn't even need to use any other tricks lax ed now, knotted about his calves. He bowed his while that screen was down, because they couldn't head. see a dern thing when he fogged his fast one in
Then, speaking slowly, factually, the stranger there. And he was looking good, like I said. They began: hit his stuff once or twice, scratch hits, and they
" Wingy Markton's one of these smart guys that got a couple of walks off him and a charity base come sometimes from small towns. They ' re some when the catcher couldn't see a thirq_ strike; but of them okay in the small burgs, you see, but they didn't score, and it looked like Wingy w .as when they get outside they don't go right with really slantin' 'em in there. But they just couldn't p eople,,. Wingy was a stinker even in his home see the ball against that white cement, that was town. all."
It seemed, from the mouse-noises which came The man seemed suddenly to become more through the corridor to Darnell, that the speaker earnest in his task. His voice became rocky, more was settling into the springs of his bunk for a de- dramatic. t a iled revelation. The listener heard from the cell "In the eighth Grip Henley came up with one a lengthy, speech-charging breath. on and two away, and he looked hard at Wingy "Markton," the neighbor continued then, "was like he was cussing at him. They'd been mad at t he kind of ball player that grabs all the breaks each other for a long time because Markton and then does everything he can to make crooked thought he was in love with Henley's wife, and ones. Take the old pitchers' tricks, for instance. he'd been taking her around some when the club You know the one about the ragged sleeve, and was anywhere near Cleveland and he could get [ 5 J
to her while Grip was away. Everybody knew they were m1d, and a lot of people knew why. Well, Wingy let a fast one go and Grip didn't quite duck it. That was all-right in front of the ear. They carried him off with his arms and legs dead spraddled out like you've seen 'em do when they carry a guy, and Henley died in the hospital.
Darnell heard a short chuckle, and more comment from the springs of the stranger ' s bunk. He was doubting the whole improbable story as he took the bars again and called into the corridor, half in jest: "What'd they do to him? They don't think he did it on purpose , do they? "
There was no answer.
Connie Darnell, all suicidal urge lost beside his interest in Markton, called again: "Whatinell are
they getting Markton for? If a guy gets beaned, he just gets beaned. That ain ' t murder."
Again there was no reply, and after calling once more through the scrubbed corridor Darnell summoned the guard. "See what's wrong with the guy in the next hole," he told .the turnkey. "He won't say nothing. "
The man of authority peered into the cell , then summoned from the adjacent cell block the commandant of the guard The commandant swore and summoned the supply manager.
" Your damfool clumsiness has disgraced the whole staff ," Darnell heard him tell the manager. "I told you to get a regulation suit on that man . Now look at that. He ' s gone and cut his throat on his belt buckle ."
To One Who NeverCared for Poetry
You never cared for poetry ?-and yetyou feel the glory of life ' s innumerable delights .
A morning-when the wind blows vistas wide before us
And we fancy
A ·future clear ahead
A flower-the petals formed in breathless symmetry
Are interlaced
Forever in our thoughts
A symphony-which sweeps us upward to another world
Where dreams are born
And others are fulfilled
A fire-we toss our hopes and fears upon the flame
And watch as they Ascend into the sky
A sunset-where colors play upon the clouds
And they appear
As we once thought in childhoodThe castles of God's Heaven
You care not for such simple things?
You cannot say you are untouched
By life itself
You never cared for poetry?
You dare not own it-but think and realizePoetry is life
FRANCES KENARD , '44.
Why PropagandaWorks
By H. EUGENE KING, '42
( EDITOR 'S Norn: Fi nding n o compl ete studies of this phase of pr op ag and a, t h e auth or d ed11cedthe f oll owing theories.)
66SPEAKING generally" says Raymond Dodge, "propaganda is the art of making up the other man's mind for him." One asks, then, why can he not make up his own mind? Why does he respond to the propaganda? It is the aim of this pap er to give some insight as to why propaganda is accepted and for what reasons men respond to it. We shall assume the techniques. We shall not be concerned with results-we are concerned with why it works .
Any study of why propaganda works must necessarily root back into motivation. In order for pro p aganda to be effective it must provoke individua l response - and this response is the resulting action of the motivation set up within the indivi dual by the propaganda methods.
Before we go into motivation as such I feel that it is ne cessar y to m a ke the g eneral statement that propag and a works through the ignorance of the peopl e for whom it was intended. Prop aganda in favor of one brand of a product over another will have no effect upon a scientist who is in a position to objectively test and weigh the merits of eachhe is de aling with known quantities . But prop aganda as we know it deals with our yet unknown quan t it ies, such as politics , war , and social v alues which cannot be measured In these phases of huma n behaviour our scientific pro and con treatment of knowled g e breaks down and we act in terms of our private philosophies or of our feelings. Feeling and emotional behavior is both the prod uct and the object of propaganda influences -w h en emotion knocks, intellect flies out the window. Is such ig norance avoidable? Apparently not, the problems of proper government , fair racial relati ons , equal footing for all things on the basis of m erit seem too big for man to handle. But we are not concerned here with this-the problems exist and so does the propaganda . The true circumstances are often unavailable, for example in our news reports, and so propaganda gets a footho ld when men , in their unavoidable ignorance of th e facts , turn to propaganda sources for their infor mation. Propaganda is education-even though one sided , thus the uninformed person is a fertile field for its influence since he is in no position to
judge. We also find, unfortunately, that men often want to be propagandized because they have been "culturally prejudiced" and this social training has instilled certain readiness to accept dictated attitudes-witness our racial hates, national affections and political affiliations
In direct relationship to ignorance we find propaganda effective because of its utter convenienceit is easier to accept the propaganda than to ascertain the facts. This is quite often unavoidable as our world is too complex for analysis of all of its components-but unfortunately the process has been carried over into matters where an intellectual stand on the basis of pro and con knowledge should be taken. I1;1decisionis very upsetting to most individuals but propaganda eliminates this by presenting a complete lack of conflict-men will accept an attitude because it saves them the trouble of seeing the other side.
Propaganda works through suggestion-constant bombardment at men at each of a thousand levels This is perhaps the most obvious psychological factor in propaganda acceptance. In advertisin g we find this especially evident-a trade name is thrown in the face of the public from every side through the media of visual and auditory advertising until the public comes to accept it. The same holds true of propaganda in general-if suggested long enough it will in time become accepted.
Propaganda works through a " solution theme " similar to that used in commercial advertising. A problem is given and a tension set up in the individual and then a solution is offered-the desired one on the part of the propaganda sponsors. The need is usually emotionally colored and the solution is more often than not illogical. If the problem-tension is emotionally set up the solution may be far from the logical one and yet be grabbed at-let alone accepted.
Propaganda works through short -circuited reasoning. As the preceding paragraph explained, it is often a jumped-at conclusion due to emotional set. It is the " easy way" of directing behavior-no real thinking is involved. Emotionality smothers the intellect-it helps to conceal the issue and promote illogical thinking simultaneously. As Walter Lippeman puts it "the word covers a mu l titude of sins and a few virtues." Obvious emotion-
ality, certainly not always desired by the propagandist, may be masked by hitching his issue onto a pre-believed concept and by tying his ideas onto those which have already been accepted.
Propaganda offers conclusions-it does not leave the individual dangling either emotionally of intellectually. As previously referred to, the average individual has a dislike for an on-thefence position. Action, based on knowledge, is more primitive than extended logic.
Propaganda often, in fact usually, assumes organization proportions. This appeals to the gregarious instinct of men-plays upon their feelings of mutual cooperation-collective security-and may, under certain conditions, induce feelings of a mob-mind nature.
Propaganda is seemingly personal-we select that which applies to our own particular case. Propaganda is so devised by its originators that it will have this personal quality. There is widespread propaganda appealing to all levels and we select that which appeals to us individually. Impartial knowledge or the stark presentation of truth may lead to a concept of smallness of the individual, but propaganda emphasizes each individual's importance to the "issue" as well as the importance of the "issue" to the individual.
Propaganda works through fear-though this may not seem a legitimate reason in itself I include
it as such because I believe that its consideration should be isolated from the other emotions, its presence may lead to such extremes of illogical thinking and reaction. Fear is contagious and popular action dominated by fear may be entirely illogical.
These statements are all reiterated by considering the psychological implications behind each of the succinct rules of propaganda. The implications listed as a corresponding psychologically explanatory table would read as follows:
( 1) Suggestion.
( 2) Reduction or elimination of conflict.
(3) Appeal to "audience" emotions.
( 4) Rendering thought in reproducible but not in understandable terms.
( 5) Child-directed for greatest lasting strength. Man is not the rational animal we are accustomed to think he is-a major portion of his life decisions and activity is dictated by his feelings. It is this element of emotion that makes him vulnerable to propaganda-which more of ten than not serves to create the emotional set as well as to offer suggestions for remedying conditions.
Propaganda is a necessary evil with civilization existing at its present level. Its elimination-or its confining to constructive purposes-will come only with the widespread use of the scientific method and logical thinking.
Recons t ruction
Who would believe that love like mine could fall
Shattered by a word, a look, an act?
Love that, as a fairy thing, had whirled 'Round my head in mad ecstacy, And now lie fragments at my feet.
Oh, Love, perhaps some saner thing will come. From up among the broken bits may rise
A strong and quiet feeling, reasonable and calm
To change with that that was so turbulent. Perhaps in place of that ideal so far
Will come a plant, a flower, a tree-a STAR!
LELIA GARDNER, '43. [ 8]
I Your Current EventsI. Q. I
question is valued at five (5) points
1. Who is Sir Stafford Cripps?
2. What is the \V.P.B., and who is its head?
3. Where is Murmans and why is it important now?
4. Who is Toyohiko Kagawa?
5. Who is Chief-of-Staff of the United States Army?
6. Where and what is Port Moresby?
7. Who is Eric Raeder?
8 . What is the R .A.A.F.; the A .E.F.?
9. Where is Corregidor? Cebu? Ceylon?
10. What are the two leading labor organizations in the United
s ;>
tates
11. Who are their heads?
12. What are the A.B.C. powers?
13. Who is the president of China?
14. What is the O.P.A., and who is its head?
15. Where are the Aleutian Islands?
16. Who is the Russian Ambassador to the United States?
17. Identify: Dorothy Thompson, Norman Thomas, Elmer
Davis, Cecil Brown
18. Who is John Steinbeck? Antoine de Saint Exupery?
19. Identify : John Gielgud, The Terrys, Rosamond Gilder
20. Who is: Yeheudi Menuhin? Jacha Heifetz? Josef Hofman?
(Are you proud of your average?)
IsDeesDerPattersonBoos?
By HUGO P. LEAMING, '45
PASSENGERS
ON THE PATTERSON bus that night noted a young man or an old boy, ,depending upon one's concept, seated among them. He wore a dark grey suit, highly shined but slightly scuffed brown shoes, a blue shirt, and a dull red tie. No hat covered his bushy black hair, and below the hair were two widely set brown and bespectacled eyes, a short nose, and slightly thick lips. In his lap be carried a blue leather-bound volume. It was not his rather average, if slightly homely physical appearance that excited attention, but a positive inner light, an etherial glare that would have delighted Master Messmer or Madam Blavatsky.
Oscar Brown's heart overflowed, as William Shakespeare had said in English last year, with "the milk of human kindness." No school was tomorrow, it being Saturday, no Latin homework for Monday, due to the Magister' s oversight, and best of all , tonight was Friday, the night devoted to his girl, Ctessie. Thinking of her, his eyes twinkled, the corners of his lips turned up.
It was the first day in German I at Thomas Jeff er son High that he met her. The teacher called the roll, and suddenly he heard the amazing name "Seleucia Smith." Then he heard a golden "here," and turned to the seat to his right, and there she sat. She was what !tdi Shicklgruber would term a "perfect Nordic type." In other words her coloring was the exact opposite of Herr Hitler's. Her wide eyes were as blue as the famous grotto at Capri, her hair was as yellow as the Rhinegold and bobbed like that of the earlier Ginger Rogers (Ginger had always been Oscar's favorite movie actress) Oscar's heart dropped to his feet, then bounced back into his mouth, and had remained there.
At lunch that first day of school Oscar had eaten with Seleucia, and she learned that a kindred soul dwelt beneath his unprepossessing exterior. She told him that her great-grandfather had come over in '48 from Germany and that her grandfather had changed the family name from Schmidt to Smith.
"But say," said Oscar, "where did the name Seleucia come from ?"
"Well," she answered, " Dad heard it somewhere and liked it, I guess."
Oscar puckered up his brow, then a smile broke on his face. ''I've heard it somewhere too, and I know where! Ctesiphon-Seleucia was the ancient capital of Persia! Ha, ha, ha! And if you don't mind, I'm going to call you Ctessie from now on!" And so he did.
During the next two years Oscar's and Ctessie' s friendship ripened into something nobler and finer, called by the iconoclastic "puppy-love."
One night a few weeks after Oscar had met her, and after he'd been over to visit her at her house several times, he and she were sitting on the front porch of her house.
"Say, Ctessie," Oscar spoke, "what do you and your family think about Hitler?"
"He's the lowest thing thrown up out of Europe for ten thousand years, that's what we think. Nazism is nothing in the world but old brute autocracy with certain refinements outGenghing Genghis Khan and out-Attilling Attilla. "
"Yes, you' re right of course. But America should take pains not to confuse Nazism and the good things of the German people-love of home and children, cleanliness, music, literature ."
Oscar and Ctessie agreed on hating Hitler and loving the old and good Germany. They both , during the two years, continued German, and even after German classes were discontinued at high school where Ctessie, now 16 was a Senior, and after Oscar, who was a year older, had become a Freshman at Richmond College, and temporarily ceased taking German, nevertheless the two continued reading once a week some poetry or prose in German without benefit of pedagogy. A movie two or three times a month, an occasional dance , evenings spent listening to Oscar's phonograph, and their German nights completed their nonscholastic lives. Mr. and Mrs. Brown and Mr. and Mrs. Smith were quite contented, nay, pleased with the leisurely and, to certain "modern" acquaintances of the pair, old fashioned friendship
The bus roared forward, bearing Oscar with Goethe's Faust in his lap , to Ctessie, through the stygian night broken only by street-lights, light s shining from behind curtained windows, neonlights, head-lights, and lightning bugs.
Oscar looked around at the crowded bus It was [ 10 J
about 7, and late workers and down-town diners filled the bus, not to capacity, for there were sevtra l empty seats, including the one by Oscar, but to the maximum for comfort. The riders in the bus seemed a chill bourgeois lot, and Oscar gazed out into the aforedescribed darkness. This seemed also too empty of interest to engage Oscar's happy mind, so Oscar began humming. Oscar was addicted to bus humming to pass the time, regulating the volume to the noise of the bus, never wishing to give a public concert. His repertoire always consisted, for some strange psychological quirk, only of national anthems. By Meadow Street he had completed Belgium ' s La Brabanconne by Robinson Street he had swung through La Marseillaise from "Ye sons of France awake to Glory!" to "M arch on, march on, all hearts resolved, on victory or death!" and by the time the bus had reached the Boulevard , he had finished in solemn state, Britain's hymn, even to
" Long to reign over us, God save the King."
Here a man got on the bus and sat down by Oscar. As the bus lurched around the corner , Faust dropped from Oscar ' s lap and fell to the floor. The man leaned over to pick it up, and Oscar noticed that he was gross and lumpy , with great rolls of fat over his florid neck, and a square head As the man handed the book back, Oscar saw that he read the title. Oscar said "Thanks" and the fat one grunted. Then Oscar began humming "Die Wacht Am Rhein ." "Es Braucht Ein Ruh Wie Donnerhall Wi e schwert Geklar und Wogenprall Zurn Rhein , Zurn Rhein, Zurn Deutschen Rhein."
Suddenly the man spoke.
"1st dees der Patterson boos?"
"Y es, this is the Patterson bus," Oscar replied, thinking to himself , "Hmm, a foreigner. " But then the strange accent and words caused other thoughts to pass through his mind. "Gadzooks" thought Oscar, "that question could be good German as well as broken English. '1st dees der Patterson boos?' That's a coincidence , that he would ask a question understandable in both languages. But is it a coincidence? ·By gum, no! I bet I know wh at it means: that fellow heard me humming 'D ie Wacht,' saw my Faust, and then asked me tha t question as a test! If I had said "Jab, dies ist der Pattersonbus," then he would have concluded I was a German. He must be a Nazi spy, or at least sympathizer, wanting to get in touch with me if I were German."
The German got up and pulled the bell-cord
"Good Lord," thought Oscar, "he's getting off. Well, patriotism comes before Ctessie. 'To Lucasta Going to the Wars,' and all that rot." With that Oscar leaped out the back door of the bus and the German exited through the front. Quickly Oscar dashed across the street to avoid his eyes.
The German walked on for several blocks, and Oscar followed on the opposite side. Once the shadowed one gazed intently in Oscar's direction, but Oscar jumped behind a car, and apparently the man did not see him, for he turned around and walked on.
At length the German entered a drug store, and Oscar crossing the street and peering through the glass darkly saw him making a phone call. He came out after a few minutes and Oscar, emerging from the shadows, took up the chase, imitating Sherlock Holmes, Ellery Queen, Poirot, Reggie Fortune, Father Brown, Philo Vance, and the rest of their ilk, to the best of his ability, keeping a good half block between them.
Suddenly the German disappeared around the corner. Oscar ran forward to catch up with his prey lest he lose him, dashed around the corner andinto the arms of the German!
"Get in there " the German rumbled, and pushed him toward a car waiting at the curb, with motor running and a man behind the wheel. Oscar deflated, meekly entered the car, and the German got in with him, saying "Let's go" to the driver, a tall, thin, dark person. "Say-" ventured Oscar. "Shut up" interrupted the fat one . Off they drove, down town.
Finally they stopped in front of a partially darkened office building. Oscar saw it was the Post Office. "Say-" began Oscar excitedly, but the thin one broke in. "Shut up. In here, you ." Oscar entered and walked up three flights of stairs, escorted by the two men. They stopped before an office door, and the fat one fumbled with a key. Oscar saw on the door the words "U.S.A. Department of Justice-Federal Bureau of Investigation. " "Say-" eagerly ejaculated Oscar, but both men in unison shouted "Shut up."
Within was a comfortable office, and at the G Men ' s insistence, ( for it was ridiculous still to think them Germans and this just an elaborate front) Oscar sat down. The two men remained standing.
"What's your name, Bub?" the florid federal agent asked.
"Er-Oscar Brown," Oscar answered.
"More likely Oskar Briin," the thinner, dark agent said.
The embonpointed officer frowned at his aide. [ 11]
"Look up his name, will you Ike?" Ike retired. The clock ticked. Minutes passed.
"Here he is!" excitedly called Ike, and reentered the room with a card. "His name was in the German Library of Information's files-Oscar Brown, Richmond, Virginia."
Oscar felt faint. He remembered a year before he had written to the German Library of Information in New York City inquiring where he could buy a phonograph record of " Die Wacht Am Rhein" and "Deutschland Uber Alles" for his collection of national anthems By the time he received an answer , recommending a dubious firm , the "Deutsches Irriporthaus, " war seemed so imminent with Germany that Oscar took no more steps. A few , months later the Department of Justice took over the German Library's files
The next hour Oscar spent reiterating his ex-
planations and reasserting his innocence, while th e Federal Agents reaffirmed their doubts. At last at Oscar's suggestion, Oscar ' s amazed parents, professors, and preacher were sent for , came , and by their unanimous testimonial of Oscar ' s good cha racter cleared him in the eyes of the suspicious g overnment men . Home went Oscar to another thir d degree, this time with his parents officiating.
The next night Oscar again sat on the Patterso n Bus, speeding toward Ctessie , again with hi s Faust. And again Oscar hummed.
" Th<:>rabbits rush around the brush , (clap-clap-clap-clap)
Deep in the heart of Texas . . . . "
No more national anthems for Oscar.
The Old Order
FELICITY APPERLY, '45
So many years it seems Since I went barefoot On hot sand, And felt the burning Pebbles 'neath my feet And coarse-blown grass Against my legs
So many years since I Went hunting crabs Among the rocky pools , And laughed to see The gulls clip on Their slim White wings.
So many years Since I last stood By that blown sea And on that sand
That now lies, heavy trod Beneath long Sombre guns [ 12]
TwoHoursBeforetheMast
By WILLIAM SIMMS, '44
(EDITOR'SNorn: The following story is based on the news story of the sinking of the U.S.S. Jacob Jones.)
Joe Tidwell, Gunner's Mate, Second Class, U. S.N., lay awake in his gently swaying hammock in the forecastle of the U.S.S. Jacob Tones , a destroyer. He stuck his brawny left arm out from under his blanket, and frowned at his wrist-watch in the dim light of the room. "Four-thirty," he muttered almost aloud. "Wonder why I waked up so early?" He did not have to go on duty until five-thirty, or eleven bells, as he had been calling it for the last three years. Usually his chief petty officer had to yell at him the second time, "All right, Alabama, hit the deck."
As Joe lay there listening to assorted snores he began to think back over his three years in the Na vy. He had joined in January, 1939. "I haven't done bad," he mused. "Times were tough in Tuscaloosa when I finished high school in '38. Never thought I'd be in a full-grown war when I joined -n ot that I mind-just wanted to earn myself a little stake and open a service station at home when my four years were up. I certainly would like to get that place on East Broad Street. Never thought I'd make second class gunner so soon. I've got the stake now-could get that place all myself, no partnership, but now that I have the money, we have a war, and if those Nazis keep sinking those tankers, we won't have any gas to sell. It's a funny world. If you've got one thing you want, you can't get anything else.
" I wouldn't mind this war if we could just see some action. 'U's' all over everything, and do we get a crack at one? We don't even smell one, the devils. Depth charges are all right, I guess, but guns are better. Now if I could just get one of our five-inch guns trained on one of those sharks, with me at the detonator, oh boy, I could bust one wide open. That's the good part about being a gunner; you can see what you're doing. Oh well, might as well hit the deck; can't sleep any longer."
Joe's big bare feet hit the steel floor of the forecastle. It felt good; it was warm, warmed by the "Jakie's" big furnace.
" What time is it, Joe?" asked George Pantall, one of his buddies.
"Ten minutes to," yawned Joe. "Think I'll get some coffee---can't sleep-must've eaten too much of that steak I had last night."
"Aw, you're thinking about the women again, that's all," George chuckled with half of his mouth buried in his pillow. "Which one you in love with now-that broad in Norfolk?"
"Aw, go to hell," Joe came back in a goodnatured mumble as he laced his shoes.
Joe put all his clothes on, including his peacoat, before he doused his face and curly brown hair in cold water in the wash room. Then he brushed his teeth.
When he reached the topside and went on deck, the icy Atlantic air felt good to him, ~ut he had to brace all of his six-foot bulk against the northern wind. He was warm except for his legs; they were always cold when he was not in the forecastle. The flapping of his bell-bottomed trousers seemed to fan the cold wind up his legs.
He entered the galley, and left the icy elements to their capers. The large pot of hot, black coffee which is every sailor's birthright was in its place on the big range. He reached for a china mug and tipped the pot. Only hot water came out.
"Say, what kind of a ship is this?" he said aloud.
He opened the cupboard door, and reached for the coffee tin. His hand was about to touch it, but at that moment there was a terrific yet muffied explosion forward. The deck under him vibrated rapidly and his legs jarred his spine up and down into his head as a paddle dribbles a ping-pong ball when it is pressed down on it.
"What the hell is going on?" he yelled.
Oddly no thought of danger occurred to him. He had felt somewhat the same vibration of the deck, though not nearly so violently, when the guns were fired. He thought all three guns must have been fired simultaneously, but he couldn't · imagine why.
His impulse was to start for the galley door, and he did. Just as he put his hand on the bolt, there came a head-splitting explosion from aft. The ship heeled sharply to starboard, the lights went out, and the floor of the galley came up and pommelled him severely all over his body, but especially about the face. As he started to get up, all of the pots, pans, and skillets in the galley began to
fall, and they all seemed aimed, as though by an enraged housewife, at his head.
The last pan fell, and Joe got on his feet. His head throbbed like a whole saloon of hangovers, his ears were playing one shrill note, and his face felt just like it did that time he got in that fight with the drunken marine at The Shamrock in Norfolk . He stood there in the darkness, motionless , stunned. Then, like a frozen fish put in warm water, he came suddenly to life and shook his head. " Damn, " he yelled at the top of his lungs, " it's the Nazis. "
He burst out on deck to see a handful or men launching rafts He looked forward and aft. Both ends were blazing hells, and the " Jakie" wallowed like a great sea monster in torture with its head and tail ablaze. " Where are the rest of the men, " Joe shouted, foolishly. A quartermaster who had been amidships at the time of the explosi on iooke d up from his task .
" There ," h e shouted , as he pointed to the forecastle which no longer seemed a part of the ship " Here , lend a hand. "
Somehow, Joe felt no reaction of grief He couldn't at the moment realize that all his shipmates were burning to death. He was a good lad, and he was religious, yet he felt no sorrow or danger for himself or his buddies . He had always thought that he would be praying to himself at such a time, yet he felt nothing; the excitement was too great.
" Jump , lad," old Jacobsen shouted to him through chattering teeth from a raft which knocked against the side of the " Jakie. " Without a moment's thought or hesitation Joe climbed to the rail and jumped As he went through the air , he thought of the old days at Gill's Lake before - he learned to dive. The shock of the cold water was petrifying . He immediately let out all the breath he had taken before he jumped. Down, down he seemed to go gurgling and spluttering the brine like an old woman who had never been in water deeper than a bathtub The life jacket which he
had donned when he put on his clothes seemed to weight him down rather than give him bouyancy . Suddenly his head popped out of the icy water int o the icy air. He had been coming up and hadn 't realized it. There was Jacobsen's raft just a fe w yards from him He struck out for it , and th e middle-aged man helped him aboard
He looked at Jacobsen . The man was chatterin g and shivering as if he would shake apart. He, lik e all the others , had been forced to jump , there being no ropes or davits over the side Then suddenly, Joe reali zed that he was shivering and chattering himself , and he thought he was going to shak e apart, too. He never knew a man could be so cold , but Jacobsen was telling him to paddle for hi s life if he did not want to be sucked under wit h the ship. Joe looked back as he paddled. Wha t was left of the ship was going under fast. "Po or 'Jakie', " he said , and he began to realize that practically all his shipmates were going down wit h her. He said a silent prayer for them, and thanke d God for his deliverance . Then suddenly he mad e out the dark silhouette of a submarine ag ain st the grey of early morning . " Look, " he cried to Jacobsen, " the dirty scum! " "I just wish I coul d get a five-inch gun trained on you Sometime I will, and when I do
Joe was in the hospital of the Naval Base a t Cape May , N J He whiffed ether a nd carboli c acid. They always made him think of the time h e had his tonsils removed. He was utterly exhauste d , but it seemed impossible to go to sleep smellin g the stuff. Besides , everythin g was just too cle an , and the sheets were just too smooth . " Well, gu nner," a pharmacist's mate all in white was saying , " You will have a good lon g rest - plenty of shu teye-week maybe. "
" Shuteye, hell ," Joe mumbled feebly, " Just g ive me one shot at a 'U' , that's all I ask. Just give m e a five-inch- -."
Joe slept.
[ 14]
fl etween /he flttttlc-End~
The Moon is Down. By John Steinbeck. The Viking Press, 1942. 188 pages.
Reviewed by Nancy Davis.
"Fo r the first time since he wrote his first novel, twelve years ago, Steinbeck has gone outside of America for his setting. Yet this book, more than any other he has written, is of our times and of our hearts today. Its people are men and women like ourselves, and its hero, Mayor Orden , will stand with George and Lennie, Tom Joad and Jody Tiflin, among the immortal characters of fiction."
The Moon Is Down like Of Mice and M en is another of Steinbeck's short novels which continues his experimentation in writing with the time and space requirements of the modern stage in mind and I think that this in itself shows that the author feels that this book above some of his others, must be heard. Not only brought before the reading public, its message has been put in dramatic form and is being presented on the stage as a play at the present time. Steinbeck is showing simply and forcefully through his characters, Mayor Orden, Dr. Winter, Joseph, Annie , and Molly Morden, simple folk like you and me, just what war can bring in its path. By his clear and vivid characterization of the six enemy officers who take over the Mayor's home , he depicts the blackness and weakness of Hitlerism and its results. Besides Colonel Lanser who has a depth of emotion lacked by his fellow compatriots, there are the two Captains of the group, Bentick and Loft. Through these two men as well as by any characters he has ever drawn, the author shows his fine ability for contrast. Bentick, who is too old to be a captain, is one because of a curious lack of ambition. He is a family man, a lover of dogs and pink children and Christmas. Loft, who is too young, has attained his rank because of his aptitude for military ways. There is not the slightest movement peculiar to him that is unmilitary. He has risen through the ranks like sour cream to the top of milk. Major Hunter is the engineer of the for ces who would never be given a command over men except in case of war. He is an arith-
metician rather than a mathmetician and can not see why his several wives became very nervous just before they left him. To finish the picture of the enemy Lieutenants, Prackle and Tonder enter. In these two men are presented the pathetic results of Hitler's movement upon youth as they accept his philosophy unquestionably just because it is all they have ever known. They believe so completely in the great new system invented by their guiding genius that they have never bothered to verify its results. "They are sentimental young men, given to tears and furies." "These are the men of the staff, each one playing war as children play Run, Sheep, Run ."
By 10:45 it was all over. The town was occupied, the def enders defeated, and the war finished. Into the peaceful little slumbering town had marched a hungry animal which satisfied its hunger by devouring unsuspecting simple people whose Mayor has the hair on his ears thinned while he waits for the conqueror. Into these surroundings intrude the mechanical men of the military who can see nothing but stupidity in the flesh and bloodless of their captives. Colonel Lanser wishes his staff under the Mayor ' s roof because in such cases the people remain more tranquil. He says to Orden, "But you will try to cooperate?" Orden shook his head . "I don't know. When the town makes up its mind what it wants to do, I'll probably do that." "But you are the authority." Orden smiled "You won't believe this, but it is true; authority is in the town. I don ' t know how or why, but it is so!" Lanser cannot understand. Neither can he see what the Mayor means when he says, "Some people accept appointed leaders and obey them. But my people have elected me. They made me and they can unmake me. "
Just what the Mayor means is brought clearly to light by the evolution of events in the story. The people are the authority and the first step is taken by the husband of Molly Morden who kills an officer who said he must work-he, a free man, must work. Shooting Alex Morden in the public square does not stop them. His was the first clear act. His private anger was the beginning of public
[ 15}
anger. His deed was to light the torch.
From one act to another the people go on unheeding reprisals. They must go on until all of them or the enemy is dead. Lanser says, "Orden, these things must s~op." The Mayor smiles helplessly . "They can not stop, sir."
When the worst deed brings the arrest of the Mayor as a hostage his people carry out the sabotage which will mean his death, for as he says, "The people don't like to be conquered, sir, and so they will not be. Free men can not start a war, but once it is started, they can fight on in def eat. Herd men, followers of a leader, cannot do that, and so it is always the herd men who win battles and the free men who win wars." Orden, himself, can be killed but not Orden, the Mayor. "The Mayor is an idea conceived by free men. It will escape arrest." It will escape death. And so as the Mayor goes out of the door to his fate, his friend, the Doctor, says for Steinbeck, "The debt shall be paid.''
Free men can be killed, but there will always remain more free men to die next. Freedom can never be destroyed by the threat of destruction. On such threats it grows stronger in the hearts of free men.
Thumbnails
'Xfe always like to see new by-lines, and we take the opportunity here to let you know what's behind them Frances Kenard's qualifications are many. She is a musician of much esteem and quite active in campus organizations.
Gene King, a senior, is on his way to graduate work in psychology. His article demonstrates his ability in his chosen field. . . . "Two Hours Before the Mast" is full of lively navy jargon. Billy Simms in this way effectively adapts a news story, which method is incidentally an excellent device for writers. . . . We are indeed grateful to Hannah Jaccobsen for her contribution. It speaks for itself. . . . After contributing generous ly of her talents to other campus organizations, Nancy Davis includes the MESSENGERon her list before she graduates in June. . . . "Pepper" Gardner, we find, is good not only in leading the song contests and on the stage. . . . That concludes all \the new by-lines. We couldn't get along, however, without those names that appear of ten with our stories and articles.
Ben Rouzie writes this time a story especially for baseball weat her. Hugo Leaming, a fresh-
man, always gives a humorous twist, delightfully bringing his characters to our campus. . . . Another freshman, Felicity Apperly has a notebook full of poetry. She let us look in it and we let you see some of what met our eyes. And we want to thank Ann Byrd Tucker for compiling so efficiently the information on the Current Events test. It is what we need to know.
Answers to Current Events I.Q.
1. Recent British envoy to India.
2. War Production Board; Donald M. Nelson.
3. The Arctic port of entry to Russia; the object of present German attack.
4. Most famous Japanese Christian leader.
5. General George C. Marshall.
6. United Nations' base on New Guinea in the Dutch East Indies.
7. Commander-in-chief of the Ge.rman Navy.
8. Royal Australian Air Force; American Expeditionary Force.
9. Corregidor: at mouth of Manila Harbor. Cebu: one of the larger Philippine Islands. Ceylon: large and important island of the Southeastern coast of India.
10. Congress of Industrial Organizations and American Federation of Labor.
11. C.I.O.-Phillip Murray. A.F. of 1.-William Green.
12. American, Britain, China .
13. Chiang-Kei-Shek.
14. Office of Price Administration; Leon Henderson.
15. Southwest of Alaska, south of Bering Sea.
16. Maxim Litvinoff
17. Outstanding news columnist; Socialist Leader ; Radio news analyst; Foreign war correspondent.
18. Modern American novelist. Modern French writer.
19. Famous contemporary Shakespearean actor. Outstanding theatrical family. Contemporary drama critic-editorial staff of THEATRE ARTS magazine.
20. Famous young violinist. Outstanding contemporary concert violinist. World-famous pianist.
[ 16]
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