Behindthe Byline
WHEN Ex-sergeant William Davis Mizell entered the University of Richmond, he thought he had left bursts of flak, German prison guards, and foodless me~ltimes behind him, but by frequent, determined special requests he has relived the moving story of his Air Corps career in this issue's featured article, "I Was a Kriegie." He still modestly claims that he cannot write. Bill also modestly neglected to mention in his story the Distinguished Flying Cross he received for his part in the Wiener-Neustadt raid, his Presidential Unit Citations, and his air medals for fortyeight combat missions. He also forgot to describe the romantic Isle of Capri where he dated an Italian belle who decorously took her mother along when she went out with the Yankee flyer.
Bill is taking a pre-law course at Richmond College, but it is rumored that his favorite class is "hockey appreciation," which he takes without credit during Westhampton games. His reconversion from military to collegiate uniform will be complete when he dons the bright yellow sweater which is in the process of being knitted for him.
"A Soldier Speaks" stemmed from a bull session one morning between veterans Gordon Conklin and Harvey Cooley. Conklin took time off from plotting the course of Student Government to write down the results for THE MESSENGER,but he says that the ideas are strictly Cooley's. The article does not try to speak for the average veteran, but just for Conklin and Cooley.
Harvey Cooley was in the front line long enough to know that there must not be another war. As a Medical Corpsman he participated in the Battle of Normandy, the Battle of the Bulge, and the drive across the Rhine into Germany where he remained for two months. After four years in the service he has returned to college this fall in his home town.
In the past two years, since his discharge from the army, Conklin has made himself an institution on the campus. He will doubtless be missed after his graduation as much as the Student Shop if it were suddenly transported away. Everyone has learned that when there is something to be done Conklin will do it.
THE MESSENGER
UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND
1 114
Editor-in-Chief
ANNE MARSHALL SKINNER
Richmond College Editor
FLETCHER STIER, JR
Westhampton College Editor JACQUELINE BARNES
Westhampton College Staff
MARGARET C. BOWDLER
PEGGY HARRIS
VIRGINIA WAGSTAFF
ANNE YOUNG SETHDARROW MARYLOUMASSIE
Richmond College Staff
Roy WYATT TOMMY FLETCHER
Business Manager RUTH SCHIMMEL
VoLUMEiii( OCTOBER, 1945 NUMBER1
Approximately thirty-five entries were received in the limerick contest, some good, some bad, some indifferent. Several did not conform to the conventional limerick stanza, but they all showed a good sense of humor, which is the essential requirement for a limerick, and the staff thoroughly enjoyed picking the winners. Every entry, however, was from Richmond College. We wonder if the ladies across the lake are pondering deeper problems or if they were just asleep regarding this contest? The winners can collect their financial rewards by contacting the business manager. The results of the contest show that the Freshman Class has its share of talent.
I Was a Kriegie
By BILL MIZELL
WHEN I was selected in January of 1943 to take my place in the ranks of the United States Army, I was assigned to the Air Corps. At Miami Beach , Florida I received a very thorough basic training , consisting of eighteen days ; from there I was sent to several technical schools in order to qualify for flying duty. Upon my graduation from gunnery school at Laredo , Texas , I was put on B-24' s for a period of three months after which I was sent overseas. I reached Italy via South America and was sent immediately into combat over Europe and the Balkans
Our crew became a kind of " sore thumb " crew When we reached Italy , the crew with which we had started out was split up-some were put on B-17' s while others remained to fly as replacements on B-24 ' s. I became a spare gunner, usually in the ball turret. Li£e settled into a routine of flying and waiting to fly. In these waiting periods we often sat around the base located in an orchard but more of ten went into town to the Red Cross for doughnuts and coffee. After two months of this, we went on a mission to Wiener-Neustadt which is slightly south of Vienna. As we sighted the target , our ship was badly hit causing us to fall out of formation and into a partial spin. The co-pilot recovered the ship , and we turned toward home. Our bombs had not been dropped, and it was necessary for us to release them as we were losing altitude. The pilot gave instructions for everything loose to be thrown out in order to lighten the ship. As we approached the field , we realized that there were no flaps, no brakes , and the wheels would not lock . We circled the field for several hours , but finally decided to land. As we hit the ground, we let our parachutes out of the waist windows , thereby braking the ship so that we could land safely. Unfortunately, the bombardier and nose gunner had bailed out and were captured by the German troops.
Another time we were not so lucky. On August 10 , while returning from a successful mission, our ship was hit again by flak causing the "number one " engine to catch on fire. A mountain range loomed in front of us. We were losing altitude so we were forced to bail out over a small Albanian town called Tristinia. By a stroke of ill fortune our navigator wa~ new and inexperienced. He directed
the plane to be banked to the left while to the right lay Tito ' s Partisans and freedom.
All fliers are supposed to review their lives in the few minutes that it takes to land, but I began to sing because I was so happy that my 'chute had opened. It didn't seem to be opening very fast when I pulled the rip cord, so I helped the chute unfurl. As I came nearer to ground, there was an unearthly stillness over the whole world as if it were waiting tensely for me to drop down-and to be captured. After I landed in a tree and destroyed all my papers and photographs ( I regretted that later), I was captured by the German Storm Troopers and became a prisoner of war. They escorted me under force of a gun into a valley below where a German fraulein spoke the first English words which I heard in enemy territory. She said, "For you, the war is over. ''
I was taken to a German garrison where they relieved us of our watches and trinkets. We slept that night under one blanket with shoes for pillows. The next day we were marched to the depot and were marshaled into the train. On the way to Skoplje, Bulgaria we stopped at several towns, where the guard fed himself magnificently while we went without food. In Skoplje we were put into jail-six enlisted men and three officersand were kept there for five days without food. On the fifth day, we became desperate, and I was elected to climb to the only window in the cell, in the ceiling, in order to obtain directions with which to escape. However, the Bulgarian guard saw me through a "judas" window and beat me unmercifully. Soon afterwards , the Germans brought us a huge meal which we ate with gusto The Bulgarian returned later and beat me again while my cellmates looked on, unable to help me in any way.
We rVere taken to Budapest the next day and put into solitary confinement which lasted for seven days. I worked out a simple routine for each day. Upon awakening when the guard brought around water, I did calisthenics after which I played chess with myself. I had molded chessmen from bread and water and had marked a chess board on my table with a piece of glass from the window. Then I napped, awakening in time to do calisthenics and eat. After that I went back to sleep for the night.
[ 1]
The meals consisted of three kinds of soup, in the morning, water with a bacon taste, at noon, cornmeal mush, and at night, grass stew. On Sunday, if we were good, we received a small portion of meat in our soup. Like many of the other boys, I spent much of my waking time in prayer-especially as the air raids became more frequent.
The purpose of our stay in Budapest was to be questioned. I gave them my name, rank, and serial number, according to the rules of the Geneva Convention. An amazing thing happened when I had finished. The German officer told me where I had been to gunnery school, when I had left the "States " -in short, everything pertaining to my Army career.
On August 29th we arrived at our permanent destination, a prison camp, by boxcar. Upon our arrival, we were searched and taken into the building set aside for the Red Cross. There we were given indoctrination talks on what would be expected of us by a leader voted upon by the former residents. I saw my nose gunner, the boy who had bailed out on the Wiener-Neustadt raid, .and also came across several boys from Richmond. Thus I became a "Kriegie," the prisoners ' name for a POW. Since the barracks were filled to capacity , they had erected huts between the barracks to which we were assigned. The compound was very well organized with a leader, an athletic committee, a library , a kitchen staff, and workers to do the chores for extra food , all of whom were composed of Kriegies who had been elected to the job. This was democracy coming out in us.
A miniature world series was going on when I reached the camp. There was a great deal of betting; the boys bet parts of their food on the teams. Then the days settled into a routine. We had roll call twice a day, but nothing else was expected of us. Therefore, we helped in the kitchen a great deal since each room or hut had to peel its own potatoes . There were various other activities, football , reading, the organization of a band, embroidering ( I became an expert seamster), soap carving , and the giving of shows . concocted by the yankee ingenuity. News came to us from some unknown source at different times; we called this "gin " If a German guard was approaching, the word was spread by yelling "Timber " or "Goon's Up."
At first, there was practically no mail, but by October it began to trickle in, getting better by December. We should have received a Red Cross package every week , but we usually got a half of
one or, more often, a quarter of a package . The food was badly distributed, tasting very good when we did get it. It consisted of dehydrated carrots, cabbage, potatoes, and a fifth or sixth of a loaf of brown bread per day.
Christmas was very nice considering our situation. We received Christmas parcels from the Red Cross without which we would have been lost. We were locked up, however, from four o ' clock that day until seven the next morning as usual.
Things continued in this manner until the beginning of February when we were told that we would be marched out of that camp in order to prevent an early liberation. The week before was spent in deciding what to take and how to take it. As we left the camp , I received two of the precious parcels which the Red Cross was distributing. These were especially appreciated because they enabled us to concoct delicacies of " Kriegie " candy, etc. while on the march.
During the next few months we were marched around in circles between the Russian and American lines , the guards being careful to keep us out of range of both armies. I believe that the Germans reali zed then that they were beaten, but that did not influence their treatment of us. We were marched sometimes for a week and only given a rest then because the guards themselves did not know what to do next.
On the march we came in cnntact with civilians. The Poles were very nice to u:i A nation of swappers, our talent came to our rescue at this time , and we bartered soap , cigarettes, shoes, and clothin g for food. On one rest , we had obtained some flour and syrup, and we cooked pancakes which brought home very close to us As our cigarettes and soap became scarce , we lived off of the land , diggin g and eating raw potatoes. If we spent the night in a barn; •we would often capture a stray chicken or so We became connoisseurs of potatoes , cooking and eating them in every conceivable form Once I traded a cake of soap for a loaf of bread, but the German woman would not give me the whole loaf , only a slice. While her back was turned , I sn a tched a knife from the table; this knife served me well in the days that followed used as a shovel , saw , hammer , and in various other capacities. · We marched through all kinds of weather , on all kinds of terrain , and slept wherever we happened to be. There was a great deal of sickness Many men were taken to hospitals. ~ome tried ro (C o n ti n ued on p age 14 ) •
[ 2]
1.
SomeLikeIt Hot
By F. STIER, JR.
SAMMY first saw him at Al's Hot Jazz Palace where any and every disc could be bought. He stood there listening to a record that featured the drums, trying to keep time with his gum.
Sammy walked over and spoke first. "The handle is Sammy, Sammy McGuire."
"Me, I'm the Kid. Just call me the Kid. They all do." He turned the record over.
"You go for that stuff?"
''Right up me alley." The Kid closed his eyes and began to chew faster.
"Me too, I tickle the keys every n1ght and most of the day. It's in me blood. What's yours? I mean, what do you play?"
"Nothing, I just sweat it out." He began the record again.
"If you really like that, come over and put your ear to a real jam session some night."
"And where do I find this heaven? "
" At Bennie's, corner of Forty-third and Hogan, three flights up. If you keep your ears open you can't miss it. If I ain't there just say that Sammy sent you. They ' 11 treat you right, 'cause I'm somebody."
" Sounds solid. I'll pop in some night soon." The Kid put on another record. He didn't like it and took it off.
"Well, don't come 'til late, say about midnight, because things don't start getting hot until about then. See you, Kid."
"Yeah, Sammy, thanks for the invite. See you. Fare thee well."
"A dios." Sammy left the Kid keeping up the pace. 2.
It must have been a week or more before Sammy saw the Kid come into Bennie ' s. The room was smoking and about a half a dozen guys sat in the center grinding out the jazz. The Kid took a seat in the corner of the room. Sammy watched as he slowly moved his chair closer to the music. When be had a chance, Sammy left the piano and went over to the Kid.
"Sure." He took a long one.
" Hope you like it. If you want anyt~ing, just give a yell. You got here a little early tontght. The regular gang won't be here for about an hour; then things really will get hot. Here, keep the bottle. Make yourself to home."
"Okay. Thanks, Sammy. Say, who is that dame over there in the red qress ?"
"That ain't no dame, Kid." Sammy's voice became hard. "That's a lady."
"Okay, don't get yourself sore. Who is that lady in the red dress?"
"That is Lil. She has a voice too. You can meet her later if you want. I gotta go now. They need me to sit in for a while."
Sammy went back to his place at the piano and began to play something that was sweet and soft. Soon Lil came over and stood by him. Sammy had strange ideas as to what makes a lady.
"Who's that one?" she asked.
"A pal of mine. They call him the Kid. Why?"
"Kid is right. Why did you give him a bottle? He don't look as he could take but so much of that booze."
"Who can, Lil? Who can?" he laughed . "Aw don't worry about him. He can take care of himself. If he can't take care of himself he should have stayed away."
"Y QU asked him, didn't you?"
"Sure, sure, ah quit the worrying, Lil. You get on my nerves. He's okay. I'll look out for him." He stopped playing and took her arm. "He wants to meet you and I promised. How about it?"
"Well, I guess you gotta keep your word, ain't you? Come on, let's get it over with."
At the table Sammy said, "Lil, this is the Kid."
The Kid tried to stand. "Kid, meet Lil."
"He llo Kid." She smiled. "Got a cigarette?"
"Sure. Sit for a while."
"Thanks," she answered. "Run along, Sammy, they must need you somewhere about."
"Yeah." And he was gone.
"Let's talk, Lil."
"What about?"
"About you, beautiful."
"Hi. I saw you come in but couldn't get away k h bottle " Have before this ." Sammy too out 1s a drink. It's good stuff."
(Continued on page 6)
[ 3 J
Deathofa Flyer
By PEGGY HARRIS
I never could quite fathom How much they let you know Of people and happenings Here on earth, and so
I was sitting here just thinking, Couldn't get you off my mind. When it dawned that it might help If I dropped you a line.
At first I couldn't imagine How I could send it up, But I took a little water And put it in a cup.
Then I asked the sun If she'd draw it to the sky And give the letter to you As she passed you by.
And, please, when the water Cornes back to earth as rain, Write a little postscript And send it down again .
[ 4]
A Veteran'sViewpoint
By HARVEY COOLEY AS TOLD TO GORDON CONKLIN
IDO NOT know exactly how to express this feeling which has suddenly gripped me. It is rather hard to say in words what has so many times been only felt, but now as I stand on this ship which is taking me back to the land that I long to see, I once again cast my eyes skyward; my thoughts cover space and time in a second. The sea and the horizon disappear and I see the contrasting worlds of my life side by side. So close they seem and yet so far apart, these two worlds of war and peace.
It has been a long time since I last saw Richmond, and now with the memory of the days from Normandy across the Rhine and on into Germany clouding my mind's eye, the thoughts which so often captivated my entire being in England return, and I keep wondering, wondering, wondering. What will it be like? Has the city changed? Have the people changed? How will I feel? And in my questions I find only uncertainty and bewilderment. They say that we shall be home in thirteen or fourteen days. That is a marvelous word, home, yet as I think of the job of war behind, I simultaneously think of the job of peace which lies ahead. No, my job is far from finished, for I have only begun to make this world a decent place in which to live.
It truly is good to be home again, to be in school again, to be working on that job started over there, a job to make this a peaceful world for all mankind. Many of the questions that I asked myself that night have been answered, but many still remain. All of us have our own ideas about what type of future we would like to see, about what changes we would like made, because we feel that a better world is a necessity.
We hear a great deal concerning the educational opportunities which are being afforded the veteran. Why can we not make it as easy for anyone who is willing to put the time and energy into it? It takes the educated mind to reason, while superstitions and prejudices thrive on ignorant minds. We do not need to go very far to see many grade and high schools which are handing out education on a low level because they do not have enough financial support to enable them to obtain the necessary equipment for an accredited school. Our own back yards need this ugly woodpile cleaned up.
[ 5]
And while I am walking around my own home I can see many things which I have, but which I know belong to only a very few of us. We prided ourselves on being the greatest military country in the past war, when science and the inventive American mind made our might. Why can they not come more closely to the home life of everyone, working together to make our standard of living higher for the "don't haves" as well as for the "do haves"? We do not want more and more buttons to push, but some means of extending our high social living into the lowest economical and intellectual brackets. Science made this idea 0 work in war. Now let us see it make it work in peace. It can be done.
The other evening I attended one of the picture shows, and as I sat there I began to wonder if I would like my children in the years ahead to have their minds cluttered with such nonsense. The motion picture industry helped us greatly during those months away from home, but now it seems that a lot of this educational uplifting which is talked about is nothing but talk. They have produced some magnificent dramas, but they also are instilling into the minds of the people some very obnoxious ideas. What we see sticks longer than what we hear.
I noticed the other day that the United Nations Organization had actually become a living being. Will it now die in birth pangs, or will we be willing to give it some of the mysterious sovereignty which we claim, so that it may have the power to actually protect the countries under its charge against aggression and to propel them toward peace? Every clear-thinking person knows that in order to gain we must give. While I am speaking of this, let me also mention compulsory military training. It is nice for armchair strategists to talk of yanking seventeen-year-olds out of civilian life and teaching them for a year "the manly art of self-defense," but I wonder if it is truly a wise way of going about it. Why can they not take them during the summer and "educate" them? I think we should have a reserve corps, but a year of service just does not seem quite right to me.
Many people have asked me for my opinion con(Continued on page 14)
Some Like It Hot
(Continued from page 3)
"You don't waste any time getting into your line, do you?"
Sammy came back. "How about a song, Lil?"
"Don't go, Lil. Stay ,here with me."
'Tll be back in a moment."
Lil went to the center of the room and began to sing. Her voice was deep and mellow and good. The noise in the room stopped and everyone listened to Lil. Lil was Queen. The Kid liked it, so did all the others.
She came back before long and sat down again. "Well?"
"Well what?" he asked.
"Well, ain't you going to pick up your line? You was throwing it sort of hard a little while ago. You " was saymg ....
" I was saying that you are a lovely gal. You got a voice too, just like Sammy said."
"Sammy said that?"
"Yeah. You' re really going places, Lil."
"Say, you ain't telling me anything that I don't already know." The Kid took another drink. "Hey, can't you lay off that bottle for a while. I'm a lady."
"Okay, lady."
"Where did you meet Sammy?"
"Around."
"Okay. If that's the way you want it I'll take myself somewhere else and find someone who wants to talk."
"I want to talk."
"Well, if you don't lay off that bottle you'll drown."
'Tm drowning all my sorrows."
"You got troubles?"
"Nope."
"You' re drunk."
"So what."
'Tm going."
"No you ain't. Just sit still where you are. I like to hear you talk. We' re just getting to know each other."
"Is that good?"
"It could be. Come on, have a drink with me."
"Mind if I do?"
"Wouldn't make any difference if I did, would it?"
1 "No."
"So long Kid. I've got to go now." She got up
before he could stop her and went over and stood by Sammy. The Kid let the empty bottle fall out of his hand and roll across the floor.
3.
About midnight things really got going. The music was downright solid, and the Kid had had too much to drink. "Aw hell, I'm sick." He tried to sleep, but the blare of the horn and the noisy rhythms kept him from doing so. He heard Lil sing another song, but he didn't think that he liked it. He was too sick to know or care. The music and noise kept ringing in his ears and playing on his brain. Noise. Blare. Song. Noise. More music. Sammy at the keys. "Have another drink " There was laughter and singing too, but most of all there was noise. Noise, noise, noise until it put the Kid to sleep.
The Kid slept. The party went on, ignoring him, growing louder each second. Trumpets and sax, drums, piano, and bass. All of it danced vaguely across the Kid's mind, but he slept on.
Quiet.
It was all over. The Kid woke as sick as he had been when he had fallen to sleep. His head pounded and ached. Everyone else was gone. He was alone in the room. The noise and sound of the music of the night still pounded in his head. He wanted to get out and get some fresh air. I-:le wanted to go home.
He got out of the room and down to the street some way or another. He was too sick to care. He knew that his head would split and let his brains spill upon the sidewalk. He found the subway and went through the gate. Soon he was in a half empty coach. He rested his head on the back of the seat. He heard the hum of the subway on the rails. It was steady and soft. It reminded him of Lil. Lil! He hated her. He hated Sammy too. He could kill them both, but he hated Lil the worst. Her name seemed to ring in his mind with the noise of the night. Lil. Lil. Lil.
The sound of a woman's laughter behind him made his hatred grow. He heard her laugh again. He turned and saw her. She was young and pretty. She smiled at him. He hated her. Her laughter was the noise and the music that he heard, blended with the roar of the subway. The tune he heard was but one. The rhythm was the same: kill, kill, kill.
The girl got off, and so did the Kid. He followed her slowly, but when she became conscious of it (Continued on page 14)
[ 6 ]
WinningLimericks
First Prize - M. LEONARD SEGAL
A chemistry student, we guess, Flunked five subjects; that's quite an excess. Said he didn ' t comply, For he'd rather die Than to go thru life a B.S.
Second Prize - F. LAWSON PANKEY
I've heard of a man in this college, Who thinks he has oodles of knowledge. The trouble I find Is not in his mind, But in his definition of knowledge .
Honorable Mention - SCOTT HUTTON
I once knew a fellow called Pankey. He jumped in the river and sanky. Now he is gone And as approaches the dawn, I begin to cry in my hanky.
Honorable Mention - M. LEONARD SEGAL
A fell ow who came to this college Was sent home, and he missed all this knowledge. • He was witty and bright, But spent most every night Over at Westhampton College.
Reverie
·By EDWARD T. CLARK, JR.
Far below, the wooded valley Threads its way thru the rolling waves of hills, And as I look on down this ocean I see the majesty of God, Reflected by these woodlands.
And there above, a mighty summit, Topped by a stately oak, Raises its head into the heavens
As if to say to God, "I' h · h " m ere wit you.
Far in the distance, The mountains stretch on endlessly. And all around, As far as human eye can reach, I see God's glorious majesty.
There amid the evergreens There rise the bare, gnarled limbs Of weather-beaten monarchs, Reaching high into the heavens In everlasting reverence.
As the sun drops behind a rocky peak, As clouds pick up the last pink rays, A purple hue is cast On the serene forests, And earth lies down to sleep.
[ 8}
With Tonguein Cheek
By RUTH SCHIMMEL
PARDON me, but is your reconversion showing? America must resume again the complexities of peacetime society. Infinity could not house all the problems confronting us . Man y of these have been discussed over the radio and on the editorial page Polls have been taken of the ov er -all opinion of our people, for only by discussion, criticism , and public awareness can a society meet a problem squarely and master it. " Will the Balkans go Communistic?" "How does Geopolitics affect lower Mongolia?" et ad infinitum.
With this in mind the MESSENGERStaff has turned its collective attention to a problem it feels h a s somehow been overlooked in the melange on the Congressional docket-a problem which if not discussed frankly , intelligently , thoroughly, and respectfully will in the next ten or fifteen years atrophy our educational system , lower our birth rate , hamper free trade, and might even mess up William and Mary's backfield in time for the Thanksgiving game. (We pondered and pondered and pondered. Well , anyhow, we slouched around looking very wise , which is as much as some Senators accomplish )
" Oh ," you blurp , " Stuffandjunk like the industrialization of Abyssinia and the influence of Beow ulf on Econ o mic Principl es, Problems , and Policies by William H. Keikhofer, are important issues, worth y of note , but what so-called problem is that one pertinent to at the U. of R. ?" Cast thine eyne about , lads and ladesses. Does your Student Shop look different lately? Natch, for the tremendous glacier of Reconversion has swept relentlessly o ' er our campus and left an utterly changed scene in its wake ; i. e ., no mo ' V-12. Dewy-eyed freshmen who grew up never knowing that civilians could be hatched from their blue or khaki cocoons befor e the age of thirty-eight now view live, young, redblooded, available men stalking Thomas Hall grounds clad in mating ornamentation ranging from vermilion shirts to plaid socks. How can they hope to cope with their dope when they have not been conditioned to a peacetime college love life? Although this article directs its argumentation to freshmen of both sexes (pore innercent lambs-it sez here ) we realize that upperclassmen have had their trials and tribulations too. For the last
three years men of Richmond College carrying on their persons minute scraps of cardboard bearing the symbols "1-A" eked out their tasks under severe mental depression, whilst femmes at Westhampton suffered from extreme emotional repression. Things were tough all over Those Men In Navy Blue had a nasty habit of dating hunks of femininity (simultaneously) and then at the end of four months' time gathering each hunk ( individually) into their arms and whispering tenderly, "Farewell, love-the clarion blasts and I needs must answer its call to war for tomorrow I'm to be sent to Pre-Pre-Pre-Midshipman ' s School." Obviously, such relationships had no stabilizing effect on Westhampton social life .
But the "moving finger writes , and having writ, moves on, " and replacing the mercurial men in monkey suits are the more venerable and vincible veterans who are anxious to resume normal amatory activities. To supply data from which each type mentioned above may cull the answer to his or her particular enigma THE MESSENGERhas conducted a poll among the student body of the U. of R. In this way we now present a clearinghouse for the exchange of confidences and ideas on our common pressing problem, to wit: " How may one get the most out of what college has to offer-in an academic sense , in a social sense, or in a hastening of maturing and polishing processes-by 'going steady ' or by ' playing the field ' ?"
[Eo. Norn :-Ah hah ! After three and one-half paragraphs of dribble she ' s finally making a point.} [Schimmel's note to Ed.: Lissen, Ed., don't for one minute imagine that the dribble ends here I hereby offer a slightly used slide rule direct from Physics Lab. to any reader who claims this article is intelligible J
The first victim queried was Handsome ( I promised ) Veteran Charles Niedermayer: "Definitely play the field unless that 'right one' comes along and then it should be interesting. " When asked if he had anything more to say Mr. N. languidly raised his left eyebrow in a Ray Millandish gesture and crooned, "What more is there to say?" Ammonium chloride salts quickly revived your repor ter.
After regarding the interrogator suspiciously [9}
Miss Helen Chandler drawled: "Play the field until you can find a steady-and they' re doggoned hard to find."
M. M. Powell said, "Settle down with the right person of course." ( Could his wife be prejudicing his view, we wonder?)
The Misses Martha Edwards, Barbara Rock, Marylou Coghill, Betty Brown, and Sarah Frances Young were mercilessly interrupted while slaving over a hot bull session to chorus: "We're much too settled-so we refuse to discuss the question." Miss Coghill did, however, slip away to tug shyly at the reporter's skirt and murmur sweetly: 'Td play the field-if there were any field to play ... "
The more serious-minded Mr. Robert Doss · stressed the academic aspects: "It all depends on the person involved. As for studies, going steady 1s the more preferable choice for you can always study with your girl, if necessary, and she'll understand."
Likewise, on being accosted, Jackie Lee Jeter and Betty Hickerson had some impressive points to emphasize. Said Miss Jeter: "Well, I dunno. You' re probably a better student if you play the field cuz you've got less worries, but then I flunk everything and I play the field." Miss Hickerson added: "If you were going steady though , you could spend the time you now spend worrying about dates and flirting with all the boys in guod hard studying."
PROFESSOR PLEASE NOTE THE ABOVE.
For a biological point of view we tu.med next to Dr. Smart. We got fooled. Instead of a detailed account of hormonal and endocrinal variations under each circumstance, the Doc issued a statement comparable to the admonition voiced every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday to Sociology 303 by Dr. Rolvix Harlan. [Note:-Read this if nothing else, chillen that is if you've stuck with us thus far. J The following words were strained through a massive pipe: "There are lots of angles to this If I knew the background and situation in each specific case I might make a dogmatic statement, but there is a tremendous personal element to the question. To some going steady has a leavening effect. When more interest is taken in a person and his work and more is expected of him, his wort definitely improves. For others, however, falling in love becomes their major field of concentration and studies just an evil •accessory. Much depends on a student's social adaptability. If they wax jealous-No; if they are of a friendly a~d generous
nature, O.K., go steady. I firmly believe a girl cuts her throat by putting on a fraternity pin in her freshman year, for if she is pretty and popular tl;erc will always be house parties and social gatherings to which she could have gone but for the 'hands off sign on her sweater. She limits her circle of companions to the one in which her boy is a member, and she definitely misses out on a lot college has to offer, aside from a scholastic sense. Spats, if you are in love or infatuated, upset you. Result, your studies and associates suffer. Love makes them go haywire! If they look the field over long and hard they'll have less heartache when they do take unto themselves a steady .... "
This sentiment was applauded heartily by Marie Peachee: "Personally I don't intend to let my fraternity pin cramp my style ... ("Me neither!" gurgled Brother Charles) I'm going to play the field if I have anyone to play it with."
Apparently the Odds are for playing the field. (The Evens are for it, too.) Could this be a reactionary national trend? We think so. The arts and sciences are in accord that postwar America will see a new cultural Renaissance, that the war precipitated scientific and aesthetic progress by twenty-five years. Let us examine the Renaiss;i nce of the fourteenth century and see there if any theories were advanced on this "going-steady-playing-the-field" conundrum. But, of course! We find:
"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying."
Robert Herrick said that.
"What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come and kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure."
Willy Shakespeare said that.
"Vive, si m'en croyez 'n'attendez a demain; Cueillez des aujourd'hui les roses de la vie."
Pierre de Ronsard said that.
And you know what Schimmel always says, doncha? Says she,
"We-e-e-e-1-1-1,if you're busy, have you got an older brother?"
[ 10}
SecondSight
By JEAN SAPERSTEIN
JUST a bit of his sun-streaked hair was showing over the edge of the khaki blankets. He slepl securely and free of fear as if all the horror and uncertainty that he had lived through had never been. His sleep transported him from this hospital and all the memories of the noises of w :1.r to the quietness of New England. Once again he heard the shrill chirp of a cricket and the sound of rolling water on the rocks
He seemed to dream of the hot sultry days wh en he walked along a dust-dad road, a road with a little center line of pebbles that had been thrown together by the wheels of the cars and trucks. The sun seemed to beat down and dry the dirt on the road, until it flecked into dust and was pounded into infinitesimally small bits that flew into his face and nose as he scruffed along . When he heard a car and saw it zigzagging toward him, in front of the rising stream of dust , he would stand still and cover his eyes to keep the dust away Then when he looked up he saw the raspberries, the ripe , red, soft berries at the edge of the road , covered with a film so that they had to be rolled between the thumb and forefinger before they were eaten. He never picked many berries as he walked along. It was too hot and dry.
Every now and then he would cut across a rockladen field, first climbing the crossed-poled fence and then hopping over flat sprawling junipers. In and out, past many rocks he would go , along a path that cut now across a hillside and now down to a gullet where a stream must be hopped. He would not bother about the method and often he would let his feet slop into the oozing green moss that lined the bank. It was cool and wet and felt like heaven on a dry day Through fields of waist-high reed weeds and around a grove of birches and he was out on the road again.
On this day he was headed toward town to set in the week's supplies as usual. He walked along the road and now turned a corner that placed him in the heart of the town. He knew it well, the boating supply store, the hardware , the antique shop, the grocery , and the station. This was about the bulk of it and it didn ' t take him long to cross ana recross the narrow streets in performance of his errands. He seemed to speak to everyone and smile
even before they reached him. He seemed to sense all the little things about the town. He could run his hand over Mrs. Carter's fence and tell that the new paint job meant a good profit on an antique. He could walk by the boating store and run his hand over the signs outside as he counted and tell whether business had improved. He could sit on the curb outside the grocery, sucking a plucked grass , and tell that there was a new tourist here from the sound of his step as he carried away his supplies or at the wondering tone in his voice when told that he couldn't buy 'taters, "cause the folks round here grows 'em." He could tell the current play at the stock company's barn by a tune whistled by a girl and he knew when elections were coming because paper was thrust into his hand, "to vote for Webster."
Yes, he knew all this , and yet as he started back home along the now dew-soaked dustless road he knew even more. He knew that the sun was setting and the sky was a cherry color that faded into splotches of purple and then black as night clouds covered the sky. He knew that the moon was bright , so bright that its rays were reflected from the white-barked birches. The lakes that lay at the foot of the hills were still now. They were like glass and when the bow of a canoe cut their glassy blackness it was like a giant dressmaker parting the threads of a piece of material with one swift cut. Concentric circles were sent from both sides of the canoe only to meet again at the stern where they seemed to come together to fill up the gapping hole.
Yes, he knew this, and as he walked homeward the fireflies were lighting and flitting over the many hills, the same stone-ridden hills that he crossed during the day. The grass felt cold to his feet and the bristles of the green bushes cut him.
Now he was nearing his home, a flat white frame house with barn attached . Inside there was a homey smell, but maybe this was just the smell of freshly baked bread. This bread was soft and warm when eaten just after baking, and he often made a meal of the bread alone. That night he was tired so he fed the calves and carried the water and then went to bed. He fell asleep and soon buried (Continued on pa ge 14)
[ 11}
Reflections
By VE RDA SLETTEN
Never weep for gently smiling Shelley, Impractical and unsuccessful dreamer, Nor Rupert Brooke, that goldenheaded youth, Who died just when the sun had climbed so high He cast no shadow.
Shed no tears for Shakespeare's last dark lady, Nor Keats who died with "Beauty" on his lips, Nor for the poverty of dying Whitman, Nor even for Abe Lincoln-that tall tree Which fell too soon.
If you would weep, then weep for Poe, Weep for the dark, thin dying Dunbar, Those young men who lived too long, Whose song died on their lips long after The dream had died in their dark eyes. [ 12]
TheFabulousMonster
By JACQUELINE BARNES
THERE are very few lukewarm feelings about the magnificent extro v ert, Alexander Woollcott. Biographer Samuel Hopkins Adams in A. W o ollcott* says that his affection for his subject was often admiration , " sometimes complicated with shudders "
W oollcott was a strange man with the soul of a leprechaun and the brain of a slightly muddled genius He had a great and deep capacity for friendship , but it had to be on his own terms. He had a penchant for publicizing his most obnoxious and unfortunate traits and never missed an opportunity for notoriety; any mention of his numerous charities or praiseworthy characteristics infuriated him He made himself the dominant member of any group , no one else being able to get a word in with a sledge hammer-but he was of ten well worth listening to His style was witty but saccharine and his topics were sentimental. He was cha ra cteri zed by someone as " the sob-sister ' s boo-boo brother. "
As a youth he was precocious, with a love of theatricals and an amazing appetite for books, lamenting at the age of twelve that he had read all there were Of his high school days at an academic centenary, he said, "It is a tradition of the old alumnus , tottering back to the scene of his scho o l days, to speak with great affection of the school. I must be an exception here tonight. During the four yea rs that I attended Central High School I had a lousy time."
After graduating from Hamilton College, he lived with a friend and his sister in a very impecunious state, which led an older friend to remark: " I don ' t see how you manage to live!"
"Simple enough," said Aleck airily. "We borrow. "
"But of whom? "
" Each other ," he replied.
He realized his dream when he became the first-string drama critic of the New York Times. He was very fond of the stage and its actors and actresses, and, as Winchell wrote, "he always praised the first production of each season, being reluctant to stone the first cast." Nevertheless, the people were reading Woollcott's columns and by
*R eyna! a nd Hitchcock Publi s hing Comp a ny , 38 7 pa g es
the age of twenty-seven he was probably the youngest drama critic in America of importance since Edgar Allan Poe.
On his return from World War I, he brought out his first book, The Command Is Forward , which brought no flurry in the literary world, but a friend prophesied that some day his first editions would be worth a lot of money. " Don't fool yourself," was the sour response. "Nothing is rarer than a Shakespeare first except a W oollcott second."
Back on Broadway, his always acidulous and rapier-like tongue took on a new edge with such pronouncements as, of an actor or actress:
" . knows not the A. B. C. of his art."
" . . . a palpably imitation rough diamond."
" should have been gently but firmly shot at sunrise."
Of a play:
"The suffering of the audience was beyond words."
" . . . left a taste of lukewarm parsnip juice."
Prosperity and success followed until 1929. Left minus $7 ,000.00 , he remarked that "a broker is a man who takes your fortune and runs it into a shoestring.''
The radio commentator and free lance writer now emerged. He was one of the best known men in America and his number of friends was legion, including celebrities like Noel Coward, the Lunts, Harpo Marx , Frank Lloyd Wright, ad infinitum
Although money meant little to him, he began to ex ploit himself with advertising testimonials and to get a certain variety of publicity with stunts like standing in the door of a party until there was a lull and then saying "I see all the riffraff of New York is here tonight," or, in an elevator, falling on his knees before an elderly gentleman in an attitude of adoration. W . Somerset Maugham did not appreciate it.
Tiring of New York, Woollcott decided to visit Russia. Before leaving on the trip he greatly heightened his popularity by inquiring among Russian acquaintances "as to what simple commodity or luxury was most in demand in Moscow and Leningrad . It must be light of weight, not too bulky , inexpensive and easy to transport. Having [ 13 ]
acquired the necessary information, he stocked up on the product, and upon arrival established himself as the social hit of the season by distributing his largesse and in some small measure appeasing a famine. To every house where he was socially indebted he gave a roll of toilet paper."
As he walked the streets of Moscow in his fur coat and seal cap, swinging a gold-headed cane , he noticed that everyone turned to stare and grin at him, chuckling and pointing He discovered tlie reason for this attention when a gentleman showed him a government poster on which there appeared "a monstrous but unhappily obvious caricature o f himself, even to his apparel. Feverishly seeking a translation, he discovered that the bloated figure represented the False God of Capitalism."
A W oollcott is a deep and understanding p o rtrait of a man whom Arr..erica will long remember. He was not an easy man to portray , indeed Adams remarks that many times he wished that iv: were writing about someone as dead and uncontroversial as Caligula. Nevertheless the author b as done a pentrating and carefully written work which is well worth reading from a desire to know ab o ut Woollcott , from an interest in psychology , or from an inclination to laugh over the innumerable higlilv spicy anecdotes with which it is generously salted
I Was A Kriegie
( Co n tinue d fr om p age 2 ) escape, but they were captured soon afterwards. We were marched close to the American lines and the German major and one of our leaders surprisingly enough made negotiations for our liberation. The next day we were liberated at Bitherfeld , Germany, the twenty-sixth of April. Words cannot express our feeling at seeing the Germans, who had g uarded us, subjugated by Americans with guns in their hands. Brute force was all that they understood, and it was with brute force they were taken Now the Germans are the Kriegies . After living through the grim days in a prison camp in Germany, I can only say that it is great to be home again.
Some Like It Hot
( C o n ti n ued f rom pa ge 6 ) she began to walk faster. He matched her pace and quickened it. The streets were empty and quiet. Now she ran. He too . Now he gained on her.
He gasped for breath, and ran faster. Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!
He was almost upon her. He caught her arm and held it. Her face was terror-stricken. She did not struggle or cry out. His hands found her neck and were ready to squeeze. Then it was over. His haq.ds dropped to his sides and he fell to his knees. T-he girl was loose and ran madly down the street and into the house He was sober. He stood there for a moment, sweating in the cold morning air. Now his mind was clear. He didn ' t hear the noise , or music. The Kid was · tired and wanted to go home and sleep ·
He turned and walked down the street, saying to himself, "Wonder what happened to Lil and Sammy? Boy, that music was hot!"
Second Sight
(Con t inued from pag e 11) him self under the covers and dreamed of the day 's pictures.
This is ho w he lo o ked to m e no w, b id d en by the khaki blankets- - he seemed t o be drea m in g And n ow I would w ake him , rem ove h is ba r:.d ar;~s a nd let him see.
A Veteran's Viewpoint
(Con t inued fr o m pa ge 5)
cerning the labor situ a tion here at home I do not know exactly how to reply It is hard for a man not to have the privilege of standing up for his rights against oppression , but it is bad when an inch is stretched into a mile. Perhaps some type of law could be placed upon the statute books outlinin g the ma x imum and minimum limits for both capital and labor. It is possible if we will work together and not try to outdo the other fellow , and in attempting to beat him, in turn be doing an injustice to humanity. When it comes to jeopardizin g the health, happiness, and general welfare of the whole nation , then I think such acts should be punishable by law.
I was surprised to learn that the folks back here were rather worried about the soldiers ' religious views They are not particularly upsetting In fact , I have noticed a tendency in some of the churches already towards our idea. We realize that there exists the mystical side of religion , but it is not wholly that. The church and religion should be the central attraction in social life and not just an [ 14]
added side show. It was a meaningful part of life in the past. It was that for many of us over there, and I know that it can be that over here.
I have been interested in the racial feeling between peoples both here and abroad. It seems cruel to me to tell any race of people that they must not have a national home of their own, but must become assimilated wherever they find themselves. That is like telling me that I must not come home after the war, but must make myself one of the people wherever I might wander. Human decency expects and demands that there shall be a national home for all races of people.
Perhaps by now you have begun to think that all my thoughts are very serious. But they are not really. I laugh and play and even think of getting married. I hope that I shall have the opportunity to take a class in marriage before, because I would like to know, before getting to it, a little something about the road upon which I shall spend a large part of my life. I think that all young people
should have a period of educational instruction before they marry so that they may be able to adjust themselves more readily along those lines to which through necessity they will be moulded.
Since my return I have begun thinking about my future life not only as a civilian but also as a veteran of World War II. Right now we are living in almost a dream world, but now is not the future. My hope is that the nation for which so many gave their lives will continue the present set-up for veterans even when the glowing sun of heroism and soldier worship begins to set in the evening of tbe peaceful years ahead. Perhaps I expect too much of this old world, but I do not think so. In 1920 and 1921 we knew nothing of atomic power. Now we have opening up before us a whole new era. Let us not forget what has gone behind and resolve now to make America a wonderful place in which to live.
But there is no place like home, even if it can stand improvements!
SnowPatterns
By JULIA WILLIS
White drifting flakes the heut can underst1nd. They touch in rare, strange geometric form
The lonely branch-the barren waiting land.
Strange peace they brought, those offspring of a storm. Then shapeless rain came where the snow first fell, A damp wind blew from wme malicious place. Now only tattered strips are left t'.) tell.
Our love like snow along the path has gone. Like perfect crystals it was hard to hold.
Cruel hands have twisted in the heart a thorn, And other voices whispered things untold.
Too m2.nytears, too chill the ,;-;ind to ear.
Like fragile snow it could not last, my dear.
[ 15]
Editorial
THE Class of '46, the first to enter college after war was declared, will be the first to graduate after the Day of Victory This Class, which knows better than any others now 111 school what college life -was like under normal con • ditions, took part in its conversion to the demands of war. Many students who remember the stirring ceremony under the flagpole as Dr. Boatwright bade Godspeed to the Army Reserves, the first large group of Richmond College boys to be calleLl into the service, were present at the same flagpole when the Naval Unit gave its last review as the University was presented a citation for a war job well done. It is this Class which has the greatest responsibility for re-establishing the best of the prewar traditions which were laid a~ide in the time of world crisis.
The fraternities, which suffered more than any other campus organizations, are regaining strength this fall because of the large Freshman Class and the many returning veterans. They are exerting every effort to make this year of transition a big step in reassuming their former eminent position in college life . The Westhampton Song Contest , revived last year, should receive cooperation from all as a promoter of school spirit and fellowship among the classes. The scrappy Spiders are still hampered by manpower shortage, but the old football enthusiasm is returning to the campus , an enthusiasm which could be heightened by the formation of a band to play at games and pep rallies. Already there is a trend toward more Friday night social activities as apprentice seameu in Navy blue are replaced by civilians with a gnld button in their lapel and social life returns to its prewar swmg.
It is important, however, that there should not be a great reaction against the seriousness of these past years. The world demands that college students of today be informed mature thinkers, and although social life contributes to the making of a well-balanced personality , the balance is lost if intellectual development is overshadowed by too many hours devoted exclusively to fun.
Surely during these war years there was no one who failed to stop to ponder his relationship to the world situation, to reconstruct his spiritual conceptions, and to consider again his own life purposes in what is becoming the atomic age. It is thi s
sort of thinking, founded in a background of factual knowledge, which will add most to world security and to the satisfaction of the individual himself. Organizations on the campus must provoke such thought to supplement formal studying if we are to develop the flexible, informed minds that the times require, and students must reali ze the value of these organizations, selecting those most in line with their interests in which to make a two-way exchange, giving and receiving ideas.
Literary societies at Richmond College have survived the past four years, but they have necP.s sarily been weakened by the small wartime enroliment. Now it will be possible to bring them up to, and then above, their former influential position in shaping college thought. At Westhampton the International Relations Club, the National News Council, and the Forum have combined into I.R.C. to cut down competition between overlapping organizations and to present a wider program. This club, in its first year on the campus, invites all University students to participate in its activities which will include speakers, debates, and open forums designed to enlighten the campus on news of current interest and importance.
University vespers on Wednesday night are planned to round out the spiritual side of college life. Short devotionals each night in the Westhampton dormitories, renewed this year after a lapse, are being enthusiastically received by those who participate, for they bind classmates closer to each other and to God.
Campus publications are clearinghouses of student thought. THE MESSENGERopens its pages to all who would speak through their creative writings, and the staff welcomes letters to the editor from those who have ideas they want to present , though not in literary form. Constructive criticism of those who have experienced most and thought deepest during the past years should result in the progress of the whole university and an ever-increasing maturity of individual thought and action.
Our age is an era of opportunity. Our college years are the opportunity to give the most to our age. It is folly not to grasp all that college is offering for developing a balanced twentieth century mind in factual knowledge, thought, studied relationships and world-consciousness.
[ 16]
The renowned Flame-Grain Kaywoodie, inlaid with Turkish Meerschaum, $12.50 ;,hape No. 07. "Billiard."
A rare old photograph, with authentic colors added, of Lower BROADWAY, NEW YORK CITY, as it looked to our founders when they were making pipes nearby. They began this business in 1851 at No. 59 The Bowery, and in 1860 moved to No. 121 William St. A reproduction of the Broadway illustration in colors, together with booklet illustrating Kaywoodie Pipes, will be sent on receipt of 10¢ to cover costs.
~o/ato£J.dt:e f?JJ#,eo are well known to pipe smokers in all parts of the world. Each Kaywoodie is the product of 94 years of pipe manufacturing experience. The qualities that make pipe smoking more enjoyable will always be found in Kaywoodie. Kaywoodies may be had at your dealer's for $3.50, $5, $7.50, $10, $12.50, $15, $20 and $25. Kaywoodie Company, New York and London. In New York, 630 Fifth Avenue, New York 20, N. Y.
Only IMPORTED briar is used, in making Kaywoodie Pipes.
Not all imported briar is suitabl e, but only the c hoicest. Before it becomes ing and curing.
MILDER . . . BE"TTER -TASTING ... GOOLER
Yes, when you remember your A B C's of smoking pleasure you remember the three important benefits that Chesterfield's Right Combination World's Best Tobaccos giv es you. Here they are: A-ALWAYS MILDER, B-BETTER TASTE and C-COOLER SMOKING.