THE MESSENGER
UNIVERSITY OF RICHMOND
Editor-in-Chief
ANNE MARSHALL SKINNER
Westhampton College Editor
JACQUELINE BARNES
Rich1110nd College Editor
FLETCHER STIERS
Assistant Westhampton College Editor
PEGGY HARRIS Staff
RoYWYATT
MARYLOU MASSIE
Business Manager
RuTH SCHIMMEL
VOLUME LIII
THOMAS FLETCHER
SETH DARROW
Art Editor
DOROTHY ANN FISHBERG MAY, 1946 NUMBER 4
Behindthe By-line
Buried somewhere in the middle of each issue for the past two years has been a short story by Fletcher Stiers, a story buried only because he is a member of the staff and modestly draws up the dummy of the magazine with his own material at the back. The rest of the staff, believing that Fletcher has one of the most promising as well as prolific pens on the campus, in this issue features on page one a story by its steadiest contributor.
Short stories are by no means his only literary vehicle. Having already completed the second draft of a novel, The Wasted Years, he is now at work on an epic poem about Joan of Arc which runs over 6,000 lines. Fletcher's talent extends to painting as well as writing, to composing music "which nobody plays," and to winning stalks of bananas on Harvey Hudson's "qu ickie quizzes."
"Co me on down to convocation today and watch me be an usher. "
"What do you do being an usher?"
"Oh, I just stand at the door and when people
come in making noise I say 'Ush,' " quoth Langley Wood, the Stuart Ragland of the biology class. Humor like this, the hand at perpetual halfmast in psychology 102, the inquiring mind which must make Professor Ball wish he had stayed in the Army, the deep voice caressing the air waves announcing WLEE's "Romantic Rendezvous," expert information regarding the life and habits of bees, all these are Lang's. Also a past including a civilian career as life guard in a summer camp and a naval career in underwater demolition. An extra ten dollars now belongs to him too , the ten dollar pri ze awarded for the MESSENGER short story contest.
Calley Goode in one of her more depressed moods turned poetic. The results on page 4 show that she could have presided over student government meetings in blank verse or iambic pentameter had her talents been discovered sooner.
[Editor's Note: Since writing the poem she has cheered up.]
When Jack David wrote "The Case of William Collitch," with shades of Gilbert and Sullivan, he intended it only as a script for a pep rally. In answer to many requests by those who saw the performance and wanted to read it in print to get all the lines , and by those who weren't there but wanted to catch up on the fun they missed, and by .several members of the administration who want it preserved in print for future college generations, the original script is included in the MESSENGER, without, however , the color given to the oral presentation by the Thespian ability of J. Vaughan Gary and Freddie Gantt. The moral of the jingles is still obvious.
Anne Bowie Clark, the younger member of the literary Clark sisters, makes her debut into college publications with an essay on the implications , and they are varied, of being a preacher 's daughter. While Peggy's medium is lyrical poetry, Anne Bowie writes poetic prose. Another member of the family, Peggy's husband, Bill Bowdler, was also a consistent contributor of poetry to the MESSENGER before he found himself transplanted to the shores of Okinawa from whence 'tis said he now writes poetic letters
0 PromiseMe
By FLETCHER STIERS, JR.
0PROMISE ME" died rible mistake. The damnedest thing that he had somewhere within ever done. He felt her standing beside him. He the Chapel and the couldn't go through with it. It was wrong, all sound of Wagner burst wrong. He must not go through with it. It from the golden throated wouldn't be fair to either of them. He had to stop pipes of the organ. The it. smell of fresh flowers was ". Wilt thou have this woman. " everywhere. It made him Not on your life, bud. I don't love her. Now quite sick. It was then that was his chance, he thought. He must wait until Huston came back from the the right moment. He had to be calm, take his half-opened door and took time about it and then tell all. It would hurt, but him by the arm, saying: the truth is the truth. It would shock everyone, "That's our cue, Johnny. but it would be best to get it over with now and Ready?"
save her a trip to Nevada in a couple of weeks. He
"I guess so. Hus, I feel had to tell. terrible. I don't think that " . . . to be thy wedded wife, to live together I can go through with this." after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matri"You'll be okay. You' re many? " just nervous. That's all it Matrimony, he thought again. He realized the is. It won't take but a few moments. Come on, folly of it all. He knew that he couldn't live with Johnny. We can't keep them waiting." Together the same woman for the rest of his life. How could they left the anteroom and began their descent to anybody? The minister went on and on. He must the altar: answer at the right time. He must admit the truth.
"One two, one two, Be calm. Take your time, Johnny, take your time. "Slow-ly please, slowly. ". Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor "Smile, Jona-than, smile." her and keep her in sickness and in health; forHe could hear Mrs. Vixon still chanting it. He saking all others. . . . " could feel the eyes of two hundred guests burning Love her? He didn't. How c;:ouldhe. Norma into him. Their smiles made him all the sicker. wasn't even beautiful. Ugly in fact, she was ugly. Would they never reach the altar? This was his How could he have ever made this mistake. What last mile. Why was he doing it? At last they were about Neville? He had loved Neville. Neville there and in a while that seemed years Norma was had loved him. Yes, it was Neville that he really there beside him. Dr. Owens stood before them loved, he thought. Neville. Neville. He and with his best pasty smile on display. He began: Neville. Neville. Neville. He loved Neville, not "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here Norma. He should be marrying Neville now if in the sight of God. . . . " anyone. This was all a mistake, a horrible mistake. Quickly, as he heard the words, he thought, and ". keep thee only unto her, so long as ye it was then that he suddenly realized that he didn't both shall live " love her. Not in the least did he love her. How Now! did he know that she loved him? How did he His mouth opened and fought to form the words really know it, and what difference did it make, that would be the truth. Tell the truth. Tell the for he didn't love her. truth, he told himself. Then the words came, "I " and in the face of this company, to join will." Fool, fool, fool. They are the wrong ones. together this man and this woman in holy Matri- Now you have really fixed it all up. · Fool, fool, many. " fool. How could you be so dumb. Johnny, Matrimony! Hell, he didn't want to be married. Johnny, what have you done to yourself. DamnaHe didn't love her. It was all a mistake, a big, hor- tion ! Hell fire and damnation! But no, it wasn't [ 1 ]
too late. There was yet time. Time! Fool, fool , fool. Again he heard the minister speak, this time to Norma He heard her answer, " I will. " Her voice was small, hushed, almost a whisper. He wanted to look at her , tell her that this was all wrong. She would understand, Norma was the understanding kind. He understood that it would be hard for her, but she must realize it was hard for him too , but it was the best thing to do. They should not make a terrible mistake by going through with it.
" . . . Who giveth this woman to be married to this man ? . . . "
"I give this woman to this man." It was old man Doylle who answered, her father. How had he, Johnny, ever gotten mixed up with this no-good Doylle clan. He hated her , he hated them all, they hated him, he knew it. Give your ugly daughter to some one else , old man Doylle , I don ' t want her. I wouldn't have her on a Christmas tree Take her back. The minister then charged at him again:
" . . . Then say after me: I, Jonathan, take thee Norma . ... "
" I, Jonathan, take thee Norma " The words came uncontrollably from him. But it was a lie. He didn't want her.
" . . . To be my wedded wife, to have and to hold "
"To be my wedded w ife , to have and to hold " Why was he saying it if it wasn't true? They had pounded it into him . That was it. A trap, he had been trapped, but he would get out of it, it wasn't too late yet. There was yet time.
". for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer , in sickness and in health . . . . "
" For better or for worse , for richer, for poorer , in sickness and in health. . . . " He was sick now, and poor too , and he doubted if he could be much worse. What was he getting married for, and to her!
" . . . to love and to cherish, till death do us part. "
"To love and to cherish, till death do us part.
" Why wait that long? He didn't love her now, why wait for death. Now! Part now!
". . . according to God's holy ordinance and thereto I plight thee my troth , "
His voice all but failed Why didn ' t it? Why d idn't he faint. "According to God ' s holy ordiance and thereto I plight thee my troth. " He had done it now, he thought. Fool, no-good fool. It was all a mistake. They had to understand it. They
must! He saw the minister smile and then turn to Norma. He heard him speak, not listening to what he said He heard Norma repeating the answers. They must be the right ones, he judged, because everything went off smoothly, and the minister kept on, the same pasty smile upon his face. Again he turned to him, this time thrusting a ring into his hand.
" With this ring I thee wed, with all my worldly goods I thee endow "
No, he couldn ' t say that, he could not. He must not. He had to tell the truth and say it now before them all. It was a mistake, one horrible mistake. He must tell the truth. " With this ring I thee wed " Tell the truth, tell now. " I "
". . . with my worldly goods I thee endow " whispered the minister.
"With all my worldly goods I thee endow." He took the small damp hand that was held out to him and placed the ring upon the correct finger. God ' s in his heaven, all's right with the world! Damn , but all is wrong with me . I'm not telling the truth. It's a mistake. I'm not good enough for her. I'm not telling the truth, he kept telling himself.
Then the minister's voice went off as if it were climbing up and down dark, damp stairs He was praying. What was he saying , what did it all mean? He couldn ' t understand. He didn ' t want to understand. This was all wrong. The truth would come out sooner or later. He didn't want to get married, not to Norma anyway The minister kept on and on and on as some ministers will do on certain occasions. On and on. Johnny tried to hear him and understand him, no use. He couldn ' t. He heard the words of the prayer, but they fell on unready ears , on ears tuned only to the brain which repeated over and over: mistake , mistake, mistake , mistake , mistake , mistake , mistake . Fool, fool.
Fool , little fool.
Mistake!
Suddenly there was quiet except for a cough somewhere behind them. The prayer was over. He saw the minister ' s eyes. They were freezing his. Stop it, stop it.
Seconds, minutes , moments, hours, days , weeks, years, decades, centuries, all time went by He was old, dead, married to a woman he didn't love. All because he had been a coward. He had made a mistake.
(C onti nued on p age 20)
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Preacher'sDaughter
By ANN BOWIE CLARK
MOST people think of preachers' children as saintly blue-eyed cherubs who sit at home and do nothing but piously fold and unfo ld their grubby little hands . For some that may be the case, but for me the life of a preacher's child h as been a conglomeration of laboriously learned catechism questions, of Mrs . Jones' great-grandmother' s custard pie ( eaten with many facial contor tions and digested with rumblings and grumblings) and of a motley pageant of people coming to the preacher with their many and varied troubles and moods as well as with the joys they would shar e. This irregularity of tempo has made me m ore than a mortal shell of quiet concern. It has given my life the intoxication of a wine that spa rkles and bubbles with a perfumed exuberance inst ea d of that which dulls the mind and supp resses the senses with its dry, flat bitterness. For to even the rhythm of our lives is to stagnate the min d and make it as an algae covered pool, no long er nourished by the silver stream that rushes p ast i ts receded course. The link between the two is g one until the melting winter snows create a tho us and little freshets that will trickle over the rocks, w hispering as they go their song of early spr ing The simile is logical, for a mind, dulled with the sameness of routine, has lost the creative inclinations of its birthright. I realize deeply my fo r tune of a prelude to fuller living that is vibrantly unrestrained.
Fr om the first , nature didn ' t deal too kindly w ith me I never did have the golden ringlets, w id e blue eyes, and rosy cheeks typical of devout li t tle preachers ' children. I was robust and healthy, befr eckled and pigtailed. I had high-water marks on my neck and arms and I wore round goldrimmed glasses that continually slid down my nose. Besides that, my face always shone like a scrubbed onion and the soap that was never completely rin sed off gave me a scaly appearance that persisted the year round. My socks pulled down in my shoes and my short dresses revealed scabby kne es that never healed due to recurreflt tumbles on th e parsonage sidewalk. I had the unfortunate kin d of look that made the members of the congr egation peer at me out of the corners of their eyes and click their tongues dogmatically out of
the corners of their mouths. I just wasn't their idea of a proper child because I drew pictures in church, sang the hymns in an expressionless soprano, and i;nade earsplitting noises wi th my warm bare legs as they slid reluctantly over the varnished church pew.
As children will do, I soon passed over those first years of innocence when the merest of events is like a prolonged drama and the tempo of life is still even with only an occasional quickening burst that is soon afterward slowed down into obscui;ity. I began to assume an air of sophistication and become more conscious of the vibrant world about me, pulsating with moods of a million different humans. I began to want to go places and do things that conventions made taboo for a preacher's daughter. I longed to see the inside of a roadhouse , where the pouting nickelodeon begs for nickels and, once satisfied, mingles its music with the noise of coarse laughter and women's high ~ pitched voices I wanted to hear the plank of the pinball machines as the spring shot forward, to see the languid shadows that slow dancers make in a dimly lit room. With the new desires came a wonderment at the stream of people who rang our doorbell , asked for my father , and with him went into the dingy study where a picture of Christ praying in Gethsemane hangs over the old and cluttered desk and the walls are hidden behind rows of heavy theological volumes And as I wondered I began to observe. I soon found that I was able to type these people into relative groups and single out their problems without ever hearing them .
The people that always interested me the most were those whose faces were marked with the furrowed lines of inward distress, these people who live a life that is not completely their own. The tempo of their existence beats relentlessly under the farce that they must live, and though the game can never end for most of them they relieve their burdened souls by bringing it to the preacher. Time and again they will come and each time they will go away with a heart comforted onlv momentarily , for the inward song will soon bt suppressed by the ever-present weight of reality . (Continued on p age 14)
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By CAROLINE GOODE
J Thoughts and sorrows hold my mind
I In hopeless misery.
i Gladness and joys of future years
I Bring countless ecstacy.
J Yet looking back
1 That which was hard and brought much more
I mental pain
i Takes on an air of gladness when relived o'er
. i
agam.
= j Th h d b
1 oug ts an sorrows- old and free
i With time are changed in memory. I I Gladness and joys of future years j i In time are changed to pain and tears. I I Look forward then, when day is young,
I A backward look when day is done.
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1
t
I
i
Anomaly
By GEORGIA KILPATRICK
f Above blue clouds, the stars in anger burned i l And hid from earth their vehemence and hate I i I i_ When lightning screamed and thunder wakened, turned i I And growled annoyance at his frightened mate. I
j The winds from heights unknown came tearing down Ii To clash and wrestle in a mad, bewildered flight j I That shook the moon and flared her sullen frown I ! . Into a countenance of fierce, belligerent light. i i
i
Rain, long nursing grudge and hurt
j Flashed her resentment across the dark l I i And a ghost of a star dared to desert
And fell to oblivion in one short splendid mark. ! I =i'
The sky watched it all, and smiled that man j With pride could think he mastered strife . I When she alone would somehow have to span I
• This night and bring angry elements back to peaceful life. j ! I I I I i +
RosesAreRife
By LANGLEY H. WOOD
WELL , pal , it all started back in thirty-nine , when this guy named Jim Duncan finished high school. He graduated about eleventh or twelfth in his class, and he had won letters in basketball and track. Me? Oh , I was just a no ther guy that thought the world of Jim Duncan. Jim was a likely looking lad, a s I remember , with crisp , w avy hair , a white , plea sant grin , and eyes that just h a d too much mirth
Fact is, that was just about Jim's only real fault. He was enti r ely to o playful for his own g oo d Seemed as though he d idn ' t have a serious bone in his body. Nope - that's w ro n g Jim did have one serio us side, and that was Ma rth a Peters. Martha was a year older than he was , but t hat didn ' t seem to matter to o m uch to that pair. The y w ere ev erywhere together , t hose two, and I reckon they w ould have been married right off then and there if Jim ' s old man , who w as t he president of our bank , back home, h adn't wa nted Jim to go off to a college to get an educa t ion Well , like in most everything else, pal , J im D u ncan didn ' t take this ide a of college too much to heart. Fact is , the only reason he picked out Sta te College as the pl ace he w anted to go to w as beca use it was only twenty-five miles from Bren tv ille, and he could come home to see Martha every n ow and then.
T h a t boy went off to college that fall , in the year o f thirty-nine, as I said before , and from then on , the only time I ever saw him was when h e an d Martha would come into the drugstore d owntow n for a coke. They was a mighty finelookin g couple, pal! Jim always smiling and
handsome, and Martha standing up beside him straight and pretty. Don ' t reckon I've ever seen a pair that looked any better , side by side.
I'd ask Jim how he was doing in college , and he ' d say, "Oh fine!" I don ' t reckon he was working too hard at educating himself. He had been tapped for one of those social fraternities, and I reckon he was doing a lot of playing around in that Gamma Bater, or Batter, or something like that , if I remember correctly . And then , soldier, one week end Jim brought home a friend of his with him to spend the week end . Well , this fellow was a Jap. I mean he had come over from Japan , and was studying at the government's expense up at State College, where Jim was going to school. Seems that he and Jim had sort of formed a liking for each other-they belonged to the same fraternity , and so forth. Funny thing about this Jap-he didn ' t look like the ones we were seeing in the newspapers those day~. He looked more like us , you know . He was pretty tall, with a shock of black hair, and real pale skin He didn ' t wear glasses, either, like most of 'em do.
Well , pal, this Jap feller-Kajuro Mitzuki was his name , but we all called him Charley-was a pretty good Joe . He was mighty nice to everybody in town there , and that was way before any of us was thinking much about war. Even the ones that were expecting it just talked about Germany, and nobody ever mentioned Japan I reckon we were all kind of half asleep, in those days.
But when Mitzuki started to coming down there to Brentville about every week end or so to see
Martha, the whole town started buzzing with evil rumors. Don't know how that little affair started, pal-just one of those things, I guess But, anyhow-it didn't take long for Jim Duncan to get word of it, and sure enough , the very next week end, he was down there to see about it . Mad? Man alive! That was the first time in my life, pal, that I'd ever seen Jim Duncan when he wasn't laughing about something or other. He walked into the drugstore without even speaking to me. Me, who was his best friend from the cradle on up!
Pretty soon, Martha came in · One look at her , and I knew she was going to try to laugh the whole thing off, woman-like . So she sat down there beside Jim, and starts talking to him, in that low , persuasive voice of hers . I could hear what Jim said to her, and it was none of my business None of yours, either, pal. But whatever it was that he did say, it didn ' t make her very happy, because that gal got up and went flouncing out of the store like she was plenty mad. ·
Martha was a mighty pretty girl, too Had a fine face Looked like they had cut her features out of real expensive marble, like what they buried old man Winthrop under. Prettiest coloring you ever did see, too-kind of copper-painted hair, with little nuggets of gold shimmering through it. Real pale-white skin, with a pair of the greenest eyes that God ever let loose on mankind But the thing that people raved about was her voice-son, that voice of hers was just a definite pleasure to listen to!
But , pal, she was a holy terror when she was angry! She stalked out of that store like she was an insulted queen , and she didn't look one way or the other. And poor Jim just sat there, looking madder and gloomier and more lonesome. Hated to see that happen , too-Jim was always just such a happy cuss.
Well , the next thing I hear, Jim is back up at college , working like a Trojan on his books, and making everyone believe he'd forgotten all about his Martha. Well, maybe he had-I've got no w ay of tellin g . But this Jap feller, Charley Mitzuki, kept coming down there to see Martha. It just makes me boil to think of it, pal. I wish I could have shot him, but it wasn't legal in those days. One Saturday night, I remember, Martha and this Jap came into th~ drugstore to get a coke . I reckon I made a pretty bad mistake, sticking my nose into that affair , but I just couldn ' t help it . I
[6]
called Martha over to the soda fountain , and told her just what I thought of the way she was carrying on Well, right then and there I realized that she wasn't the same Martha that I had known since she was a baby. She told me, kind of coldlike, to mind my own business I'll never forget the expression I saw in those green eyes of hers , soldier. There was all the greed in the world there . Thinking back over it now , I reckon this Jap had been telling her a lot of tall stories about how Japan was going to run the world
Well, I kind of lost all interest in that little affair right then and there I figured that any woman who just didn ' t know which side of the world her bread was buttered on could just take the consequences .
Fact is, I didn't see any of them much after that. About two weeks after that incident in the drugstore , I received my call to go into the army for a year's training . To tell the truth, I didn ' t have much time to .think about the troubles of others. I had enough of my own on my mind . Then one day , pal , I got the shock of my life. Got a letter from my brother, telling me that this Jap feller had come back there to Brentville one week end , and the next thing everybody knew , he and Martha had been married and had disappeared . Nobody seemed to know where they had gone , and her folks was all just worried to death about her.
Well , pal, that was in June of 1941 , and the next thing I knew, war was declared on Japan , and off we went! Yep, soldier-five years of the toughest war anyone had ever heard of , and your sarge was right in the middle of it out here all the time! From time to time , I'd wonder what my friend Jim Duncan was doing, and how he ' d taken the news of Martha ' s elopement with that Jap feller. But I didn ' t see him for six years-until just the other day.
You see, I was up in Tokyo with a clean-up squad. We were assigned to look for any stray prisoners of war. We weren ' t having many results , mainly because Yanks who have been prisoners of Japs fo r two or three years don ' t hav e any desire to stray off where they might not be found by the liberating forces We were pretty tired , so I ordered the patrol to take ten I walked on down the street, and I saw what looked like an American headquarters of some kind. There wa s a couple of MP' s standing outside. I figured the y might have some hot joe on hand , so I went inside
( Con ti nu ed on p age 10)
LonelyRiuer
By LOUIS D. RUBIN
He came into the house and sat down in the living room. " Where've you been?" his father asked.
"Out on the river," he answered.
(There had been spring tide along the marsh banks that day; the rich green-yellow pastels of reed bristled rhythmically out from the flat mirror of water and there had been a singing gurgle when the current lapped greedily through the stalks. Now and then a snipe plummeted down to the water in a breath-taking splash , and rose slowly in broad circles to the sky again.)
" Anything doing?" asked his father.
"Nothing much," he replied.
(He had walked out across the marsh to the sand banks along the river, crossed the moist hills of white channel sand, and found a spot by the edge of the bank . There he had sat down and watched the tide send rivulets glutting against the shore while the river flowed steadily on to the harbor and the sunlight cavorted on the moving crests of the swells.)
"See any ships?" asked his father.
"Only one," he answered
(Down the river, gliding smoothly on the flat surface of water, had come the great grey ship, its decks pressed low against the water by the cargo in its hold. He could see the seamen leaning over the rails watching the shore. The rhythmic thump-thump of the propeller threw a churning corkscrew of water out from the stern. The ship flew a foreign flag , and there had been a mournful loneliness in the sound of its whistle, blowing for the drawbridge to open and let it pass out to the sea. When the sound had ceased, a foreboding stillness lay along the length of the river.)
"Cool out on the banks? " his father asked.
"Not particularly," he answered
(He looked across the wide stream and watched the shadow creep ominously across from the other side. A vague and icy awareness of time and the mystery of existence had choked in his throat as he watched the sunlight retreat . The white of the wave crests had become pasty grey and the green of the water had been an angry green. He felt the cool breath of spaq~ and the silence of vast regions of nowhere.)
"I can't imagine anybody getting much pleasure out of just watching the river," his father said .
He did not reply.
( And then, far across the river, he had caught the sudden glint of sunlight on the crest of a swell. Eagerly he watched as the light came danc(C on t in21edon page 25 )
Quiescence
By SETH DARROW
Softly o'er the lake's smooth surface, Softly 'mong the stately trees, Pushing clouds, and whispering gently Came the morning's quiet breeze.
Violets sprinkled 'round the woodlands, Leaves and grass of emerald hue, Jasmine in a lacy pattern, Reveled in the morning dew.
Wakened from quiescent meadows, Birds of grey and birds of red, Each rejoicing, each exultant, Sang from branches overhead.
Forget your cares and pessimism. Forget that life affords you pain. Look outside-think of tomorrow, And the world is yours again.
Prayerfor EternalYouth
By MARY BURTON HASKELL
How pitiful the waning youth of some Scarce in their teens, whose lightless eyes reveal Cold thoughts, pale dreams, acceptance of a calm Whose heart is dead. She who has lost the joy Of queenliness with violets in her hair, Who cries for orchids, only to remain A beggar, hungry and unsatisfied, Is old, too old for life, yet spurned by death, A moth unworthy of the gift of sleep.
How can some hearts cast out youth's golden moons, Minted for them; all-giving, singing seas Dashing against the ageless dangerous shores? Go blind and stroke mad Mammon's gaudy coat; Deny the loveliness which can be earthThe miracle-divinity in men.
We AreThree
By HAR RIET KRAUS
i: UNDOUBTEDLY the most unappreciated 11 creatures in existence ( in their own opinl! ion) are those unassuming, all-important 1 an d unforgettable general nuisances called brothII ers. No female who has ever possessed one of these specimens of humanity is ever the same as ! , one who hasn't. They simply revolutionize life in any family. In our family there are two. They r, are fourteen and fifteen, and they are such a pair 1 ·; as has never existed anywhere.
I can't remember a time when they haven't been aro und . At first they were tremendously interesting, but I soon got over my early enchantment. Wit h the new found dignity of the teens, I became certain that I was unexcelled in superiority and they became mere chattels to dispense with as I saw fit. Now, however, I am resigned to fate; ' there fore they are once again becoming interest, ing, although in an altered manner. No longer are they puppets who must obey my every childish whim , or my fancied authority No longer are they nuisances to be endured with exaggerated suffering. They are people; but they are also adolescence personified, and therein comes the rub.
O ur life as a family takes place in the few hours befo re , during, and after dinner, because that is the only time when we are all together. A lot of living can take place in this short interval, especially w ith two lively boys around to lighten an otherw ise routine existence
D uring the peaceful before-dinner hour, Frederick, the older half of the pair, usually puts in an appea rance, ominously tootling on a small object which turns out to be the reed for his oboe. I may say here that in my opinion, the oboe is one of the most unpleasant of all instruments; its high pitch is no t in the least conducive to concentration. Applying the reed to his instrument, Frederick begins to pra ctice in earnest. When he plays the Scheherezade, we expect at any moment to see snakes come waltzing up on our front porch from the neighbor's ivy patch. His rendition of "On the Trail ," from the Grand Cany on Suite sounds like an oboe with the hiccoughs. During the practice period , members of the family must shout to make themselves heard, because nothing can persuade him that he should tootle in his room; being a
sociable individual, he naturally appears in the room where most of the people are lounging, and settles himself carefully, preferably between two who are attempting to carry on a conversation.
Frederick has more than once given his mother cause for concern. At a very early age he began to display a rem'arkable gift for expressing him" self, completely oblivious of time and circumstance. One morning a friend of Mother's came for breakfast. She was a strikingly plain woman, with a nose like a beak, and she was wearing a bright yellow sweater. There was an ominous silence. Frederick was fixing the newcomer with a penetrating stare which usually preceded a devastating observation While his mother held her breath, wondering what it was going to be this time, he continued his examination of the lady. At last he exclaimed cheerfully: "My goodness, Miss P--, you look just like a canary this morning." Fortunately , she assumed that he was referring to her sweater, and the two carried on an informal conversation while mother recovered her composure.
Anecdotes like this have become well-worn with use in our family. Such tales are legion in any household which revolves around children; their flavor increases with the mellowness of age.
When both boys struggle for the floor, dinner is apt to be an ordeal. I recall one evening when we were being informed about a new friend of John's and at the same time learning about the care and feeding of goslings, which happened to be on Frederick's mind at the moment. "I have a new friend out at school who came over from China," volunteered John. The rest of us asked one or two questions, which was all the encouragement he needed to display all . his new found knowledge about China, and he proceeded to do so. Since he was in an extravagantly loquacious mood, nothing could stop him, and he was, of course, shouting. We couldn't help marvelling at his breathless performance, simply because he was talking so fast that it was fascinating just to watch his mouth open and close. At last he began to gasp for breath, and during these short intervals Frederick attempted to say what it was he had in (C o ntinued on pag e 21) [9]
Roses Are Rife
(Continued from page 6)
Well, pal, who should I see sitting behind an old, beat-up desk? None other than my old friend, Jim Duncan! Soldier, it was just like a miracle. It was that coincidence that only happens one time in every sergeant's life. There was Jim Duncan -but it wasn't the same old smiling, carefree Jim, but a real man. He had railroad tracks on his shoulders, and crowtracks around his eyes.
I almost knocked over a couple of spare MP's trying to get to him. Remember-I hadn't laid eyes on him for over six years, and I was never so glad to see anybody in all my life! Well, pal, we must have sat there for a half an hour, just shooting the breeze, when the impossible happened. They walked in through the little door, bending over a trifle to keep from hitting the dirty, smokestained walls. He hadn't changed a bit-still as smooth-looking as ever. Martha? Well, I can't exactly describe it. She still had that beautiful copper-colored hair, the pale complexion, and those haunting green eyes. But somehow, pal, she looked almost Oriental now-'-kind of like she belonged in this Lotus Land She looked fifteen years older, too . Maybe it was because her face was dirty, though .
I looked around at Jim. He was frozen there by the table, his eyes glued on Martha, like he had seen a ghost. I reckon that was about the worst shock he'd ever gotten-he looked like a mule had kicked him in the stomach
"Jim," Martha said-and she still had that beautiful voice, " can you help us? We've just got to get out of Japan! Will you help us? We'll pay you everything we have-and Kajuro is one of the richest men in Nippon! Please, Jim!"
Well, pal, Jim didn't even answer her. I'd been watching him, and when she had first started talking, Jim's eyes had sort of snapped, like he was just remembering something. I don't know what he had recognized, or remembered-or at least I didn't then, but when he spoke to me, his voice was like death itself.
" Sergeant, take Mrs. Mitzuki to the airport and wait for me there. Don't let her out of your sight!"
Well, soldier, I didn't know why he wanted that thing done, but I've been in the army too long to question orders like that. I took Martha by the arm and led her out of the door. On my way out, I told my corporal to take over the patrol and
continue. Then we started the walk to the airport, which wasn't very far away.
Martha didn't say a word all the way out there, and I wasn't going to question her. Figured it was none of my business. But after we arrived at the airport about twenty minutes later, and we were waiting for Jim by the hangar, she spoke to me.
"Will, " she said, and brother, her voice was like smooth honey, "has Jim changed much? He seemed a lot older in there, but I guess it was just the uniform. You know, Kajuro and I went to find Jim because we knew he was the only man in the American army who would try to help us. And it does look like he's going to, doesn't it? I mean, he's getting this plane for us, and everything."
Pal, what can you say to a woman like that? I didn't know, so I just kept my mouth shut. That female didn ' t have any idea of what she had done to Jim-not the slightest little conception. Can ' t figure women like that out.
Well, soldier, it wasn't more than ten minutes later that Jim was there, and we got into the plane that was waiting for us. He wouldn't even look at Martha, he was hurt so much. Just sat up there in his seat and didn ' t say a word to me or anyone else.
The trip to Osaka wasn ' t a long one, and when we got here, the place was swarming with MP ' s. Jim must have radioed ahead to get them. They didn't make any fuss , but quietly lifted Marth a out of the plane, and into the waiting jeep. She wasn't very nice-looking now-just as cold an d hard as an icicle.
Just as Jim got out of the C-47, I whispered t o him and asked him what had happened to Kajur o Mitzuki. "I shot him, " he answered. I whistle d through my teeth. I'm still afraid he's going t o get into trouble about that. Seems that after peac e was declared, it's not legal any more to shoo t Nips without a trial.
Well, soldier, that's the end of my story. Wher e is Jim now? Well, do you see that guy over in th e corner at the last table? Yeah-I know he look s good and drunk. He is. I would be too. Yep, pa l , there sits Jim Duncan, drinking his heart out over a woman. The only female he ever loved, and she had to treat him like dirt. You see, that voice of hers-I thought it sounded pretty familiar-u s guys used to call it Tokyo Rose. Yeah, I knew all along who it was. You can't fool your sarge, pa l. Lardy, how I hate to see Jim looking like tha t !
(Continued on page 14)
[ 10]
Freshman
By JEANNE CARLTON
My high heels clicked importantly on the sidewalk as I approached Dixon's, where I was to meet Marian for a mid-afternoon snack. I paused dramatically in the doorway and g lanced around. Marian hadn't arrived yet, but t hat was to be expected. She was always late.
I settled myself in a rather conspicuous booth, a rranging my furs, and lighting a cigarette. As t he smoke circled lazily over my head, I prepared to wait.
Suddenly a group of high school girls burst in, g iggling and shrieking at each other. High school -I was certainly glad I was in college now, and beyond that adolescent stage! (There was · a moment when I wondered uncomfortably if I had a cted like that when I was younger, but I quickly p ut the thought out of my mind.)
They tumbled into chairs at a table directly opposite me, and I gazed at them scornfully. The first thing I noticed about them was that they all ha d on dark lipstick-every kind of dark lipstick fr om "Black Cherry" to "Dark Night." Their long, claw-like fingernails ( not counting the broken ones!) were painted in matching "ten-centstore " shades.
One little girl I noticed particularly. She seemed to be the most popular one in the group, and did, I a dmitted to myself, have possibilities of someday being quite attractive. But now she was a little overdone. From the general conversation, I gather ed that her name was Sue.
Sue's auburn hair was long, except for a cluster o f brightly peroxided curls which "fell," purpo sely, I was sure, over her flirtatious eyes. "My Go d! " I thought. "The child has on mascara!" I smiled pityingly. "Youth is a silly, vapid state!" Sue ' s lipstick was smeared, in "movie-star" fashion , beyond the line of her mouth, and her small n ose was obviously a victim of dark pancake. ( I vaguely wondered what her mother must be like I was sure I had never been allowed to cheapen myself that way!)
Sue was draped in a long, baggy green sweater, fr om under which a wild plaid skirt peeped br iefly. Her ankles were covered with white socks, reaching almost halfway to her knees, and a pair of dirty saddle shoes protected her feet. I looked
down at my own gleaming pumps and then stared with a certain amount of self-satisfaction.
I was a little startled to find that she had noticed my observation of her, and from behind her chewing gum, was whispering something to her companions. I threw them all a rather contemptuous look, and hastily lit another cigarette. I find that smoking helps one remain sophisticated and poised
It was at this point that the "men" came in. They sauntered over to the girls' table, where they were being painfully ignored, and sat down. Their long limbs wrapped awkwardly around the table legs, and the boys themselves draped nonchalantly on the chairs. I smiled, crowded memories of days long past making my eyes bright.
· Such a commotion I had never heard! Blaring music! Flirtatious giggles! I watched their frantic jitterbugging-the swinging skirts and the flying feet-with my left eyebrow distinctly raised. (I had practiced for weeks on this accomplishment.)
As the "hot" music subsided and a calmer tune issued from the juke box, the party sat down and the boys generously ordered banana splits all around "Like a group of monkeys," I thought -and then smiled to myself at my own wit.
Sue obviously had her eye on Bill, the tall blonde lounging in the seat beside her. "He is rather cute," I mused. But I soon became absorbed in her "tactics," and forgot my own thoughts.
At times she seemed to completely forget that he was anywhere around, and concentrated on the boy on the other side of her. But when she wasn't ignoring Bill, she flirted with him disgracefully! She blinked her "mascara-ed " eyelashes; she giggled and gushed, listening attentively to every word he uttered. When he placed a casual arm around her, she paused in her efforts long enough to decide whether to leave it there or whether to slap him. She left it there-but when he enthusiastically pinched her, she did scream, jump up, and halfheartedly hit him. But there was a gleam of triumph in her eyes-she knew she was winning him, and with a renewed vigor she pursued the attack. "Crude, but effective," I thought.
Just then the banana splits arrived, and the en'(Continued on page 18)
[ 11 J
Editorials
Dean Keller
WITH the resignation of Westhampton's first and only µean a tinge of shadow has spread over the hearts of all those whose thoughts of Westhampton are ~o interwoven with memories of Miss Keller that she and the colle.ge are synonymous. To recall the pines in the late afternoon is to remember her slight energetic figure -out for a walk with her cocker spaniels bounding about her feet. A gathering of any kind cannot be pictured without a scene with a majority of those present clustered about the dean listening to her reminisce in witty, philosophical vein. And those who took her drama course, the most popular advanced course at the college, and the one requiring the most outside work, will remember the intensely interesting and stimulating approach to drama whenever they see anything in dialogue form. Miss Keller's resignation cannot separate her from all this in the minds of her students. Merely severing her connection with the college in an official capacity cannot dissolve the ties and relationships of thirty years.
And if we will always link Dean Keller with Westhampton it is largely because she has made it what it is. Her principles of intellectual honesty and earnest scholarship have been the model for what Westhampton has tried to achieve. Her standards have been high, ofttimes higher than Westhampton could reach, and where it is strongest is where these ideals have been most closely approached.
She has insisted, frequently in the face of dissenting student opinion, that the school adhere to the liberal arts theory of education, based on history, English literature, Latin, Greek and the modern languages. As other universities dedicated themselves to science or the utilitarian view of education, she remained adamant, and taking the long view we are glad. Those who said, "We want to learn to do something which we can use to earn a living after we graduate," have found, as Dean Keller prophesied, that a liberal arts education is a background for any training that a specialized po: sition in the outside world may require. Liberal arts students from this college are making room for themselves in almost every possible vocation. In
, technical fields they are more valuable to their employers and to themselves because, as Dean Keller asked them what they wanted to take, she wrote down Virgil, ancient history, and English, and to balance the schedule in the scientific direction, mathematics and physics. Though the math majors accepted the cultural subjects ruefully, trying not to be "uneducated scientists," and the English majors protested at great length over having to submit to a whole year of physics formulas, both groups found new vistas and horizons expanding before them.
In her official capacity as administrator, and unofficial capacity as friend, Dean Keller remained a scholar. In never-ending research, in trips to New York to keep abreast of current dramatic techniques, in her intellectual attitude, she has shown by example that for true students educatfon is not completed with a doctor's degree. Her self-education continues to increase her alreadydeep well of knowledge and experience. Through her inspiration, an exceedingly large number of our alumnae have gone on to advanced work and research in graduate school, carrying wherever they go something of the spirit of scholarship imbued in them by Miss Keller and associates sharing her ideals.
Being freed of her administrative duties Dean Keller will have more time for her work in translating and in writing, a labor which will enable intellectual circles everywhere to profit from her great abilities. Because she plans to continue living on the campus where she will be close by to lend a helping hand and the fruits of years of experience, our loss will not be as great as it first might appear. She will still be here as Westhampton's friend.
The class of '46 is proud to count Dean Keller a member of its graduating class, for, since she has been a scholar and student as well as dean and professor, she is in a sense graduating too. While on the campus the memories of the rest of us will be transitory, to be awakened only if some few should achieve fame, but the memory of Dean Keller will live as long as there is a W esthampton. And when those who knew her are gone, the first dean of the college will live on in tradition and legend.
[ 12}
Vacation
WE are now approaching those coveted summer months which our professors have so gaily and summarily disposed of for us w ith a cooing, "I know the class is longing for v acation so that they can read the definitive, and simply fascinating, eight-volume work on the econ omics and metaphysics of the thirteenth Presid ent of the United States, Millard Fillmore." The cl ass, of course, sighs with rapture at the prospect. T he library is immediately swamped with reserva tions for the tomes.
Or are we thi;1king of The Egg and I? Still it d oes seem a pity to spend nine months in the year try ing to absorb a little of what is laughingly re f erred to as education, and then to spend the ot her three pretending we are salesgirls or delive ry boys the year round Education is not really something to be wrapped around us like a cloak. It is something to be absorbed as through osmosis. Something to become part of the warp and woof of ou r lives. Something to make our lives more easy, mo re pleasant, and above all, more rewarding. Let us then make the most of the summer months. Let us use them to relax our tautened nerv es, to tan our tired bodies, to swim and play an d date , to thoroughly rejuvenate ourselves And the n let us think a bit, let us organize the factual ma terial which we have poured into our protesting mem ories all during the year. Let us smooth the roug h edges of our newly acquired knowledge wi th practical experience, using information which othe rwise might as· well remain in the textbook.
-f -f -f
For those who are graduating, the summer mea ns a new beginning. There are new tasks to be fa ced, new friends to be made, new worlds to conquer . Education is not ceasing; it is taking a new form. And as they trudge around the bend in the road, it is a good time to turn around and survey the part of the journey already accomplished , and evaluate what has been completed. How much has been covered is an indication of how much farther there is yet to go-though the
goal too moves. But that is only right, for there is so much work to be done in this world. There are children to be fed, wars to be stopped, governments to be cleansed, books to be written. For each person there are a dozen tasks, and each must choose one, doing it with understanding and wisdom so that the world is richer for the contribution and the ones who come after will say "Well done," as they take from our hands the ideals and standards which we have eagerly carried.
Spirit of' 4 7
RARELY has a class at Westhampton worked as steadily in integrated effort for unselfish causes as the Class of '47. In their sophomore year their project was to completely maintain a war orphan for a year, a goal accomplished successfully through the contributions of time, effort, and ingenuity of every member of the class By making beds, carry~ng books back to the library, washing sweaters, shining shoes, they brightened the lives of their schoolmates and accumulated enough, mostly in nickels and dimes, to care for the orphan they adopted.
This year instead of devoting themselves entirely to the Junior Prom, they are raising a " back to school" fund for a classmate who was struck during the summer with infantile paralysis. Proceeds from class functions went into the fund to enable her to pick up her education where she was forced to drop it. Money collected by the raffle recently conducted by the Juniors went far toward realizing the total.
Behind these two examples of unselfish class labor there has been a spontaneous spfrit of cooperation and a voluntary desire to follow the class leaders. The results show what division of labor can accomplish. As we paused on Jeter Day to salute the unconquerable will of a brave and determined girl we are glad to call Westhampton's, and to look forward to the day when her class can welcome her back into the college life she loved more than most, we pause to salute the spirit of '47, Westhampton spirit at its best.
Roses Are Rife
(C onti n ued fr o m pa g e 10)
He always used to have a smile on his face, and they were sure a wonderful pair. Too bad, eh? Well, drink up! We've got some more occupying to do tomorrow . . . . Lordy, what hair she had like burnished copper! And, soldier, her voice was like a low-pitched fiddle in the middle of the night!
Preacher's Daughter
(Con t inued from p ag e 3 )
The young couples who come together are easy to analyze. They are baby-faced blonds with round red lips and tall uniformed privates, cold impassionate brunettes and proud first lieutenants. They are in love deeply, and the poetry in their eyes and on their lips is lyrical and sweet. Then there are the older couples, each of whom is tired of a single bed in the corner of a boardinghouse room, of the silence of ca£eteria breakfasts unbroken but for the clatter of dishes against aluminum trays. And there is always a smattering of those who come with cold determination in eyes that once cried the warm tears of passion but are now dry and distant. All of them come to repeat the same vows, some falteringly and tearfully, yet all with the spiritual solemnity that accompanies a promise made to God.
Many others fill in the spaces in the unending pageant and knit the whole into a unity that is life itself. Efficient housewives who find a moment of their crowded days to devote to church matters, poorly clad country folk who in embarrassed need
seek aid from the God who breaks bread with even the lowliest, balding businessmen who enjoy a friendly debate over a cloud of cigar smoke, saddleshoed collegiates who must make a duty call on the preacher-
These people who crowd to the preacher's doorstep are seeking that reed of spiritual expression that comes sometime in every life. They wish for that burst of spiritual song that can better express. the flow of unrestrained emotion, can free the tight nausea of uncontrolled passion, can mold into reason the abstract contemplations of the mind. But when they try to catch the mystic cadence the notes, . like the fairy-frail umbrellas of the autumn milkweed, float away too far to be recaptured, leaving only an echo of the strain. The failure to catch the melody suppresses the mood and dulls the spark that first lent to the desire. It is then that they must go to the preacher and with his help finger out the intangibles.
Outwardly there is little to remind people that I am a preacher ' s daughter. I smoke when I am with people who do, because it gives me satisfaction, that feeling of worldliness that nourishes. verdant youth. I swear mildly and only on occasion, but when I do it is with savoir faire But even though my background is not obvious it i s certain that it has left an indelible mark on me I have seen life while it is yet embryonic, I have seen it in its maturity, I have seen it taken awa y and the last traces returned to the earth from which it came. And I have cried and laughed in turn as the people I have known have shared wit h the preacher and his family their sorrows and happiness
My KingdomCome
By GEORGIA KILPATRICK
When men can know and see
That here is God upon this lonely earth of ours
That His is not a kingdom grave that towers In a foreign sky; when men can be Friends with God and recognize the blessed face-
For He lives and laughs and loves with us
As did once the Young Son He gave to usThey will not ask, for they will have, God's grace. [ 14}
On the Spot
By JAMES E. HESLIP, JR.
OTS and lots of little western towns had their king cattlemen and bankers and even pool parlor Joes whose dollars sometimes came easy and sometimes came hard. In those days and times unfit men had more money than was decent for them. When there was a mad stampede for watches with precious stones set in the case so large that it hurt the ribs, and a California saddle wit h silver nails and Angora skin, and a few madhouse bars lying around tempting the soul of man -what else was there to spend money for?
Not so was the case for those who had womenfolk to their name. At least that's what lanky E. E. Carter thought. He was a wife-driven man who came to taste the urbane joys of success. Something like half a million dollars he had, with an income steadily increasing.
Lanky E. E. was a graduate of the campfire boys and knew the trails. Thrift and some luck along wi th a cool head and a telescopic eye for that stuff they call money had raised him from a trailblazer to a real cattleman. Then came the boom in cattle and Mr. Carter was anointed with fortune and success.
In the little frontier city of Santa Rosa, Carter bui lt a costly residence. Here he became a captive, bound to all the social conditions of the settlement. He was doomed to become a leading citizen. He struggled for a time like a mustang in his first corral, and then hung up his spurs. Time hung heavy on his hands. He organized the Santa Rosa First Federal Savings Bank, and was elected the bank's president.
One bright sunny western morning a dyspeptic man, wearing thick-rimmed glasses, passed a little card between the bars of a teller's window in the bank. Three minutes later the staff of employees was hurrying about wide-eyed, playing the "yesman" game of service to the call of a federal bank examiner.
The examiner, Mr. J.P. Powell, proved to be a thor ough one.
At the end of it all the arrogant Mr. ~owell put his hat on in a cocked position, and called the pres ident, Mr. E. E. Carter, into the private office.
"W ell how does everything suit you?" asked Car ter, in his slow deep toned western speech.
"Any dogies in the roundup you didn't like the looks of?"
"The bank checks up all right, Mr. Carter," said Powell, "and I find your loans in very good shape-with one exception. You are carrying one very bad piece of paper--one that is very bad, and I think you probably underestimate the serious position it places you in. I am ref erring, of course, to a loan you made to William A. Thompson. Not only is the amount in excess of the maximum sum the bank can loan any individual and stay within the law, but it is absolutely without indorsement. You have doubly violated the nation's banking laws and laid yourself open to criminal prosecution by the government, and I am bound to make the report."
E. E. Carter was leaning back in his swivel chair. His hands were clasped behind his head, and he turned a little to look the examiner in the face. The examiner was surprised to see a smile creep about the rugged mouth of the banker. If he saw the seriousness of the affair, it did not show in his countenance.
"Of course, you don't know William Thompson," said Carter, almost genially. "I know about the loaned money and the fact that it hasn't anything but his good word for security. Somehow, I've always found that when a man's word is good it is always the best security there is. I know the government doesn't think so, and I'll see Bill about it at once."
Mr. Powell's dyspepsia seemed to grow suddenly worse. He looked at the gentle banker through his thick-rimmed glasses in amazement.
"You see," said Carter, trying to explain the matter, "Bill heard from a friend of his near Red Rock on the Rio River who told him that he had 2,000 head of two-year-olds down there he could have for $8 a head. I reckon it was old Tony Garcia's outfit that was kind of hot around the heels. They' re worth $15 on the hoof at Kansas City. Bill knew it and I knew it. He had $6,000, and I let him have the $10,000 to make the deal. Bill's brother Ned took 'em to market two weeks ago. He ought to be back 'most any time now with the money."
The examiner was a little shocked. It was his [ 15}.
duty to cable Washington at once on the matter, but he didn't. But he finally succeeded in making the banker understand that he stood upon the border of catastrophe. And that he was offering him a tiny road of escape.
'Tm going to Mason City tonight," he told Carter, "to examine a bank there. I will pass through Santa Rosa on my way back. At twelve tomorrow I will be here again. If this deal hasn't been settled by then I will have to do my duty." With that the examiner bowed and departed.
The president of the bank lounged in his chair half an hour longer, and then he lit a mild cigar, and went over to Bill Thompson's house. A ranchman in brown duck, with a contemplative eye, sat with his feet upon a table, cleaning a set of spurs. A small, black cigar hung from his mouth.
"Bill," said E. E., leaning against the table, "you heard anything from Ned yet?"
"Not yet," said Thompson, continuing his cleaning. "I guess Ned'll be along in a few days now."
"There was a bank examiner up to the bank today," said Carter, "nosing around and he bucked a sight about your note. You know I know it's all right, but the thing is against the banking law. I was pretty sure you' cl have me the money before they came to examine the bank again, but the son-of-a-guns slipped in on us, Bill. Now, I'm short of cash myself or I'd let you have it until Ned gets back. I've got to show the cash in place of the .note or "
"Well, I suppose it means be jumped on with both of Uncle Sam's big feet."
'TH try to raise the rnoney for you on time," said Thompson, interested in his plaiting.
"All right, Bill," concluded Carter, as he turned toward the door. "I knew you would if you could."
Thompson threw his spurs down and went to the only other bank in town, a private one, run by Jones and Wilson.
"Jones," he said, to the partner by that name, ''I've got to have $10,000 today or tomorrow. I've got a house and a lot that are worth about $6,000 and that's all the actual collateral. But I've got a cattle deal on that's sure to bring me in more than that in profit."
Jones had to cough.
"Now for gosh sakes, don't say no," said Thompson. "I owe that money to a very good friend. The friend has been called on and told to
produce the money and he jes t can't do it. He's in a devil of a Well, he needs the money, and I got to git it for him. You know my word's good, Jones."
"No doubt of it," came back Jones urbanely, "but I have a partner, you know. I'm not free to make any loans. And on top of that we couldn't get that mud~ money for you in less than a week. We're just making a shipment of $15,000 to Mayo Brothers in Little Rock, to buy cotton with. It goes down on the narrow gauge tonight. That leaves us short. Sorry."
Thompson went back to his little bare office and cleaned his spurs again. About three o'clock in the afternoon he went to the First Federal Bank and leaned over the railing of Carter's desk.
'TH try to git that money for you tonight-I mean tomorrow."
"All right, Bill," said Carter quietly.
At nine that night Bill Thompson stepped cautiously out of the small frame house in which he lived. It was near the edge of the town and few citizens were in the neighborhood at · that hour. Thompson wore two six-shooters in a belt, and a slouch hat. He moved swiftly down the lonely street, and then followed the sandy road that ran parallel to the narrow-gauge track until he reached the water tank, two miles below the town. There he stopped, tied a black rag around the lower part of his face, and pulled his hat over his eyes.
Ten minutes later the train from Santa Rosa pulled up to the tank.
With a gun in each hand Thompson rose from behind a little group of scrub and headed for the engine. But before he had taken four steps, two long strong arms clasped him from behind, and he was lifted from his feet and thrown face downward on the grass. There was a heavy knee pressing against his back and an iron hand grasping each of his wrists. He was held thus, like a child, until the train had moved down the track and out of sight. Then he was released, and rose to his feet to face E. E. Carter.
"It never needed fixing up this way, Bill," said Carter. "I saw Jones this evening, and he told me what you and him talked about. Then I went down to your shack tonight and saw you coming out with your guns on, and I followed you. Let's go back."
"It was the only chance I saw," said Thompson (Continued on page 20)
[ 16]
Jazz Daze
Program Notes for a concert my grandson may hear. by
Louis D. Rubin, Jr.
OVERTURE, "MARRIAGES ARE MADE IN HEAVEN"
by Harry fames Manville (1945-1999)
The op~ra, from which the overture of the same name is taken, was termed by Manville "a slight tribute on the altar of connubial bliss," and was written in 1998, during the period of the composer's eleventh marriage.
Guide to Listentng
Made up of some of the major themes from the opera, the overture opens with an orch~stral arrangement of the aria, "At The Pawn Shop," as the nervous lover buys the engagement ring for his fiancee. The stately chords of the wedding march, "Hooked For Good," are next he;i.rd, and they in turn are succeeded by the first innocent calls of the newborn babe, born the next month. The overture ends as violins take over in the thrilling "Pursuit To Reno."
ISYMPHONIC POEM, "THE ICK-ACK-OOKY WITH THE BOW-WOW-WOW"
by Gustav A. Sinatra (1946-1993)
One of the first compositions in the modern school of symphonic jazz which happily succeeded the crudities of the outdated, pre-Atom Bomb school of music, Sinatra's "The Ick-Ack-Ooky With the Bow-Wow-Wow" was premiered in the Carnegie Hall Dance Pavilion in 1963 under the baton of Arturo Dorsey conducting the Clambake Fifty Symphony Orchestra.
Sinatra, whose father was a music hall singer of some contemporary renown, explained of the work that "It came to me one day while I was sitting in a cocktail lounge reading the new novel, Forever Amour. Why not an orchestral work to express the soul of the modern-day artist? · At the time, I was sitting near a poet who was drinking soup. The musical gurgles he was making as he drew the thick soup from the spoon into his lips took form in my mind as a theme, and from this theme I conceived the work."
Guide to Listening
The symphonic poem opens with the rhythmic beat of a mop against a washbucket, and continues in this vein for several minutes alone. Gradually, the other instruments take up the chorus, and a wild dance of ashtrays and used cigarettes ensues. Through it all the mop continues the beat, the heartbeat of the modern artist-creator. Finally the tempo grows in intensity until the breaking point. The sound of bass fiddles being broken is heard over the music when a sharp chord suddenly intervenes, announcing the arrival of the washwoman, who takes the washbucket and the mop and begins scrubbing. On this charming domestic scene the composition ends.
SYMPHONY, "HALLS OF HIGHER EDUCATION," INE-FLAT
by Goodman Krupa Kyser II (1951-2013)
Called "the most sublime work since Chickory-Chick" by the Italian music critic, Luigi Armstrong, Kyser's "Halls of Higher Education" symphony was [ 17]
written in 1992, and was inspired by the graduation of the composer's second son by his fourth wife.
Michaux Clancy, famous restaurant proprietor and spiritual adviser to Kyser, wrote what is probably the best literary guide to the enjoyment of this symphony. Too long to quote, these notes are given here in free translation.
Guide to Listening
First Movement- 11Serene Impressions Awakened by Arrival at the College Campus and Being Met by My Son at the Tap Room." The happy song of students tripping gaily to and fro is sung by the woodwinds, to the accompaniment of- the muted tympani. The academic atmosphere prevails, and the old college song, "I useta woik in Chicago in a Department Store" provides the theme.
Second Movement-''By the Biology Lab and the Pleasant FormaldehydeScented Breezes." The sound of dissecting knives and scissors cutting into the pickled fish is heard in a rhythmic chorus. The main theme of the movement then introduces itself, consisting of a slow funeral march for the souls of the fish, not unmixed with an ancient air to commemorate the antiquity of the fish. The movement ends with a sudden burst of bells; the period has ended.
Third Movement-"A Merry Gathering of an English Class Discussing Jack London's novel, 'The Call of the lf/ild.'" All the controversy of a round-table discussion is portrayed by Kyser in this movement, with trumpets, French horns, and ocarinas singing back and forth ceaselessly. The youthful seriousness of the students as they discuss the one great masterpiece of early Twentieth Century literature is reflected in the insistent call of the flutes. An occasional cat, meowing in the distance, is heard in the background.
Fourth Movement- 11 T he Valedictorian's Song-Glad and Thankful Feelings after the Semester." The semesfer has passed, most of the students have not, and the sky is rapidly clearing. It is morning. From afar we hear the singing in the fraternity houses, to the mellifluous accompaniment of steadily dissolving Alka-Seltzer tablets. A troupe of coeds pass by, discussing in charming chorus the morning's adventures of Dick Tracy and Nilan Hoze. In a celestial chorus of full orchestra, the entire student body and faculty join in a joyous anthem, and then march off to catch the streetcars home.
Freshman
(Continued from page 11)
searched frantically for my "Deep Secret" lipstick. Throwing my things back in my bag, I picked up my cigarette, and, looking away from the door, astire crowd "dug in" happily. I realized suddenly sumed my bored expression. that I was hungry myself. Glancing at my watch I heard him come in, and I held my breath and I saw that Marian was already twenty minutes said a silent prayer. I was rewarded when I heard late. I sighed and leaned back to smoke another his footsteps approaching the booth. cigarette. (I felt rather sick from them by now, I looked up as he arrived and flashed a surprised but I refused to let my "sophistication" be men- and delighted look across my face. "Jake!" I aced.) cried. "Sit down! Where on earth have you been _Suddenly I leaned for:"ard toward the la~ge keeping yourself? I haven't seen you in simply :"mdo":'. I~ ~as Ja~e Elliot and he was commg ages!" I turned the full effects of my dazzling mto. Dixon s, Gettmg out my huge com~act, I , smile upon him. hastily ran a comb through my blonde hair and (Continued on page 25)
[ 18]
By LANGLEY WOOD
IHAD arrived home , after a try1ng morning in school , and had paused to reflect on the evil g enius of those who are in a position to assign a to pi c on which to write a theme . In this particula r case, we had been granted, with true sergeantic g enero sity, a choice of two possib le subj_ectswith which to wrestle. They were, 10 their proper order, " How I Spend My Spare Time," and " M y H obby." Both smacked reminiscently of bygone pr ep school days , when the only othe r topic e:er assigned was " How I Spend My Spring (Chnstm as o r Summer) Holidays "
T hen it hit me, right between the eyes. In a blindi ng flash (that's a nice , well-used phrase) of compr ehension , I realized that the entire situation cons isted of a vicious circle. The pursuit of one's ho bby is directly dependent on an abundance of spare time, and the former is impossible without th e la tter.
Tru ly, a vicious , vicious circle. In the first place, certa in opinions notwithstanding , I have no spare time. Definitively, " spare" time is that which has no p r edetermined use , and during which one takes hi mself to task and mutters disconnected phrases like, "g otta find something to do " " can ' t stay idl e like this forever " . . . " must amuse myself wi th something. "
Tha t hasn ' t happened to me since I was discharge d from a Naval Hospital , emerging from servility into civility
The n , let's throw out the " spare time " subject. I think I'll do far better with a discussion of my hobby, especially so if I ever find any time to enjoy it. I'll save the theme on " Spending Spare Time " until such a date when I can find some to spend. My hobby , to get earthy about the whole thing, is flying. My personal conception of a truly delig htfu l a fternoon is one in which I can mount my t rusty a ir-flivver, give it a thirst-quenching taste of hig h-octane , and soar off into the wide blue yonder, w herever that is Incidentally, I once tried to find it , but in the midst of my chase , a recalcitr ant cumulus persisted in placing itself in front of me. I became irrevocably lost, and had to land
in a strange field . They on the ground informed me that I had been almost in sight of the wide blue yonder. It's a shame that I didn ' t see it, because it has such a damned poetic sound!
But I digress. When I arrived home on a thirtyday convalescent leave-shall I tell a war story?I found, to my consternation, that my father , an aging, doddering male in his early dotage , had learned to fly. I was astounded . Here was mon perequite inconceivably deserting a safe , landlocked desk to take to the sky. Quite properly , I considered it a challenge to youth .
My instructor considered it a challenge to the profession of flying instruction After ten hours, however , of grueling practice and immeasurable patience on the part of my harrowed instructor , I soloed . It would be well to go into that experience in some detail. It was a bright, Sundayish Sunda y morning , and my private _pilot, pater, and myself arrived at the airfield at the stroke of eleven We had escaped my mother ' s vengeful eye, and had ducked out of the ordeal of church.
W o rd had spread, as only word can. There were at least a hundred people massed around the hangar, as I shuffled up to my Cub My flying instructor, a phlegmatic young gentleman with an amazing lack of interest in anything outside of his world of aviation, was waiting for me. He wore a definite " D-Day " expression on his face; he had the air of one who had tried his best , and is now putting matters in the hands of God . The gathering crowd seemed to be waiting for the first blood to spatter.
Nothing daunted, I climbed aboard the Piper, emitted a feeble " Contact!" and the mechanic ·spun the prop. Contrary to the usual procedure , the engine caught , and roared a way in its best small-puppy fashion
As we taxied out to the end of the runway , the instructor turned around in his forward seat , and issued before-the-game instructions .
"We ' ll go around once just to check you out, [ 19}
and then I want you to take 'er around three times ... alone!"
Just like that. Alone. All alone in an abyss of atmospherical nothingness with not much more than a rather sporadic oil pressure meter between me and the yawning crater I'd make if I struck the earth. My mind searched thoughtfully through my little circle of friends for one who would make an appropriate Requiem at my funeral. I could see the headlines on the obit pages of the newspapers proclaiming, "PUBLIC BREATHES SIGH OF RELIEF AND REMOVES COTTON FROM ITS EARS AS LOCAL RADIO ANNOUNCER PLUNGES TO A FLAMING DEATH."
We made the first circuit of the field's traffic pattern with nary a mishap. I coasted up to the hangar apron, and the instructor climbed out. His face was as granite. He grasped my jelly-like hand, and placed an almost friendly arm around my shoulders. "Stout fella," he breathed. "Chin up, and all that!" With all that, he turned on bis heel ( can't lieutenants, spies condemned to be shot, and pilots ever turn on anything but their heels?), and with a shudder, walked toward the congealing mass of humanity standing in front of the hangar. I had a misty glimpse of my father, standing with his legs, fingers, and eyes crossed for luck.
I extended my chin. With no trouble at all, , it led me down the runway, and up, up, up, up , up, up, up into what I know now to be the wide blue yonder.
My first landing was the best I have ever made, before or after , and was followed by a series of gyrations not found in the instruction booklets. They were simply a pre-planned manifestation of my joy at being alive and whole.
The two subsequent landings were uneventful, and after the last one, I taxied up to the hangar and sinuously leapt out. I soon discovered that I leapt more convincingly when I had unfastened my safety belt. My instructor and father ran toward me, loping with unfettered joy The crowd turned away, obviously disappointed, and went back to its normal pursuit of the macabre .
"Great-going-son-I-kn~w-you ' d-make-it !" My father was pumping my hand enthusiastically. They were filled with congratulatory zeal.
My reply was one destined to go down in aviation annals as a classic. "Hah !" I hah-ed. " 'Twas nothing-nothing at all!"
W 'ell, there you have it . From that memorable day forth, I became increasingly avid on the subject of aviation. Today , I am an Aviation Enthusiast , a Birdman, a Hi-Flyer, a Stalwart of the Skies, and a member of the Hop Harrigan Club.
If I could only find a little spare time, I might devote it to flying, but I have no spare time. See what I mean? A vicious, vicious circle.
On the Spot
(Continu ed fr om p age 16) presently. "You had to have the money back, and I tried to get it for you. Now what'll you do? "
"What would you have done if you ' d been caught?" was the answer Carter made.
'Tve got to raise those greenbacks somehow . Maybe. . . . Great guns, do you hear that?"
They broke into a run, hearing only a rather pleasing whistle somewhere in the night rendering the lugubrious air of "On the Lone Prairie. "
"It's the only tune he knows," yelled Thompson, as he ran.
They were at the door of Thompson's shack. He kicked it open and fell over an old shaving bag lying in the middle of the floor. A sunburned , hard-bitten youth, stained by travel, lay upon it puffing on a small black cigar.
" What's the news, Ned," gasped Thompson
"So , so," muttered the youngster. "Just got in on the 8: 30 . Sold the lot for fifteen straight. Now , buddy, you want to quit kicking a bag around that's got $30,000 in greenbacks in its parts."
0 Promise Me
(C on t i n ued fr om p age 2 )
"I now pronounce you man and wife. "
Johnny turned and faced her, his wife . She smiled slightly, nervously She whispered to him : " Hello, Johnny. I'm glad it's all over. "
"Hi, yourself." He kissed her.
They turned and went down the aisle with Mendelssohn gently pushing, edging them out. He knew then.
"One two, one two, "Smile, dear ones, "A little quick-er now. "
No, there had been no mistake. This was right! [ 20]
i I I : I ,
We Are Three
(Continued from page 9)
mind about goslings. As John slowed down, his brother began to gather speed, and for a time they were both talking at once. The impression gathered by any outsider would have been that the boy from China was upset because his goslings h ad taken a swim in the Pacific Ocean, and now that they were in Virginia the cold and windy weather bothered them, and they wouldn't eat anything but Southern fried chicken. Untangled, a ll this meant was that John had asked his friend fo r dinner and wanted to have fried chicken and t hat Frederick had gone for a stroll in the park one windy day and had observed a flock of goslings swimming on the lake. After the confusion h ad subsided, each boy for some mysterious reason collected a quarter from his father.
Last August we had a house guest for a week, and one evening she was looking a trifle haggard and worn after surviving a meal accompanied by such mental gymnastics. The boys were behaving in their usual buoyant manner. One volunteered: "I met a new boy today." "Oh, really?" inquired th e other. "No, O'Reilly," corrected his brother. Amid the groans of despair, one remarked, "Well, I g uess I'd better o-pun the window." During an int erval of rare silence, John observed the baffied expression on the face of our visitor. "Don't wo rry," said he in his most roguish manner, "we give all our guests the Purple Heart when they leave."
After dinner, the chief conflict revolves around John's homework. He won't study upstairs because he is so afraid of missing something exciting, so in the living room he spends most of the evening teasing Frederick into helping him with his algebra or Latin. For a short time silence :·eigns. Then suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere of the room is shattered by the "skatting" of Danny Kaye or the political philosophy of the senator from the deep South, Senator Claghorn, tha t is. The new batch of quips and puns is added to t he repertoire of Danny Kaye's admirer and impersonator, Frederick, that is, and to that of the junior senator from the south, Frederick's brother John.
T here seems to be an unwritten law of teenage
boyhood which prohibits speaking in a normal tone of voice. "When in doubt, shout," is apparently the maxim. During the periods when John is distressed and in a frenzy of excitement over his homework, he raises his voice loudly in anguish for all to hear, interspersing his woeful remarks with a brand f profanity excelled by few. John's amazing ability to thus express himself in a spontaneous stream without repetition has long been a source of wonder and chagrin, because he became adept at it at a very early age. Usually in the same room with John who is so loudly and unabashedly holding forth upon the shortcomings of the modern educational system, Frederick is getting warmed up on a subject near to his heart. Without the slightest provocation, he will launch into a discussion about why metal gets red-hot, or will explain a technical mathematical formula, or simply speak at random about stars. As he proceeds, his helpless listener becomes so confused and lost in a maze of detail that the point of silent suffering is at last reached. Undaunted by any apparent disinterest, the lecture continues until Frederick has exhausted the patience of his listener. He needs little encouragement; an occasional murmur on the part of his victim is all he desires.
In playing the role of the long-suffering sister, I have not been too impressed by significant incidents told and retold by proud parents. As a teenager, I was all too busy endeavoring to make the young rascals behave. When my friends came to our house, the boys suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and with all the enthusiasm of youth immediately began to dominate the conversation. Such monopolies of my own pals were the despair of my days, and in vain did I plead, bribe, entreat, or otherwise beg them to desist; but little demons that they were, the more exasperated I grew, the more vociferous they became. At last I would depart for more peaceful haunts with my friends, or try ignoring them. The latter treatment works better in theory than in practice, for both excel in the art of conversation, and are not disturbed by a temporary cold shoulder. Recently I have come to the conclusion that it is better to grin and bear it rather than to try and make them come to terms. Only time and age can produce the refinements required by civilized society.
[ 21]
TheCaseof W.M. Collitch
Place: A COURTROOM
Cast: BAILIFFJUDGECLERKPRISONER-
BAILIFF:
By JACK DAVID
PROS.Arr.DEF. Arr.WITNESSJURYCttORUS
Oyez, Oyez. The Honorable Judge is sitting, Innocent cases acquitting, The guilty to prison committing.
All those who have charges to bring, Come forward to have their hearing.
CHORUS:
All those who have charges to bring, Come forward to have their hearing.
JUDGE:
We must not let time go to waste.
Clerk, what is our opening case?
CLERK:
The first case your Honor, to acknowledge, Is the University versus William M. Collitch.
CHORUS:
The University versus William M. Collitch?
William M. Collitch must soon be abolished
CLERK:
William M. Collitch is charged with stealing The School Spirit, the crime with which we are dealing.
JUDGE:
Bailiff, bring the accused to the bar, To tell his side of this complaint bizarre.
BAILIFF:
William M. Collitch, take the prisoner's place,
And understand that you are in disgrace.
CLERK:
Prisoner, what is your plea?
PRISONER:
My plea, Sir, is that I'm free Of guilt of the crime I'm accused. If doing nothing ' s a crime, that is news. I've done nothing but attend my classes. I have not joined with the masses.
I did not know Of the interest I should show In extracurricular doings.
[ 22]
PROS.ATT.:
With a_sense of deep emotion, I approach this painful case, For I never had a notion That a man could be so base.
Your Honor,
This person is fairly and justly charged with a crime so base
That to call his name is a near disgrace. The fair spirit of the school he would steal or destroy
While hiding in the guise of an honest schoolboy.
To further his nefarious end, Not one rally would he attend.
CHORUS:
Not one rally would he attend!
PROS.ATT.:
When meeting a friend upon the campus, William stares as if he sees a grampus. No friendly smile or word of greeting Lights his face at these brief meetings. His visage, like that of an iceberg, Should be seen only in places like Williamsburg.
In campus affairs he will not participate, Or, if he does, it's too little, too late. He did not vote for the prewar constitution ' s restoration, Pref erred spending his time in some pinba ll dissipation.
In short, your Honor, he destroyed that pric eless heritage
Of which we are all proud-our school spiri t.
DEF.Arr.:
This poor lad, your Honor, Is the victim of an ungenerous donor. No one has kept him abreast of the time, So he roams the campus in ignorance sublim e.
CHORUS:
A creature of ignorance in our fair school? It will hold us all up to ridicule!
D EF ATT.:
His faculty advisor has never urged That the old administration needed a purge We shall prove, your Honor, that if William is covered with guilt, The entire school spirit must be rebuilt.
PROS A TT. ( calls first State witness):
Do you call a friend this man accused, Or would friendship be abused
To include the name of a person whom shortly we
Shall prove guilty of larceny?
W ITNESS:
I know this man, he is no friend of mine. Of interest in campus activities, he has shown no sign.
I invited him to a football rally, His answer was a stupid sally About "wasting my time when it gives no credit toward my degree."
A bad end for him is all I can foresee
PRos. ATT.:
Thank you for your evidence, friend.
' Twill help bring this man to his just end. His just end, you will all agree, Is to be burned in effigy.
Now the Attorney for the Defense May examine the witness when he cares to commence.
DEF. ATT.:
Can you say, with freedom of mind, Y ou did your best not to leave behind F rom your campus frolics
T his man abandoned to melancholy?
Did you do your best to see
T hat he was urged to join the school activity?
If not, then how can you despise
A man you've really no right to criticize?
If you did not urge and persuade, you cannot condemn.
T he guilt is in you and not in him.
WITNESS:
To answer these questions, I must confess, My efforts were not really my best.
But William M. Collitch must take personal p ride
To put himself in the college stride.
DEF Arr.:
T he witness may be dismissed,
But in his efforts he should further persist
To urge the wande r ers to be loyalist.
PRos. ATT.:
The next State wi tness is a fraternity brother . He spoke to William, and perhaps to others. Witness , did you ever try
To get William M . Collitch to signify His interest in things fraternal?
WITNESS:
The accused was given several chances To accept fraternal advances. His attitude was apathetic. He was never energetic. He showed no inclination, Even displayed some irritation, At each and every interrogation, Regarding future membership .
PROS.ATT.:
Your Honor, the accused Every privilege has abused. His interests are self-centered ' Therefore, he has never entered Into the spirit of the campus. The Defense may have the witness.
DEF. ATT .:
You realize your charges of the accused's lethargies
Can be traced to the fraternity's lack of democracy , Which nearly reaches hypocrisy. You must always keep in mind
The fact that you must bind Every member of the school Into a social pool.
In .charging this man with rugged individualism
You may have put undue emphasis on your order's ritualism.
For if William's conduct is shameless ' You cannot hold yourself blameless.
Your Honor, perhaps William failed to seize his opportunity
To join himself to the school community.
Think well before you sentence William M. Collitch to do his penance
For a crime of which the whole school is guilty
CHORUS:
Let us burn this horrid creature '
And erase the final feature
Of this blot upon our school's good name.
[ 23]
JUDGE:
Has the Defense any witness to call, To clear Collitch of the charge that hangs like a pall?
DEF ATT.:
William M. Collitch will appear in his own defense .
It does not make good sense
That he should stand idly by
While others his good name decry.
BAILIFF:
William M. Collitch to the witness stand, To defend yourself as you have planned .
DEF . ATT. :
Mr. Collitch, tell the Court why you came To Richmond because of its fair name, And the disappointment you met.
W . COLLITCH:
I came to the campus expecting to become a member of many associations.
To say I was treated like an orphan child
Would be an expression mild ' Twas a desperate situation.
The classes were large, they grew larger still. Every room had its complete fill
Of persons such as I.
The sophomores were lucky, they had their friends.
I didn ' t know where one begins
To make contacts or a personal tie
The time passed by and some were tapped.
Not I, no one on my door rapped.
Not many men my name even knew.
I was not outstanding , my accomplishments few.
The lucky ones were all atwitter.
In the midst of this , I grew bitter
I minded my own business and walked alone.
I didn ' t feel wanted I was prone
To be a bit of a cynic. If I spoke, I'd say, " How are you, " to them
But never would I crawl to them
The Student Body yielded no inch
I was bitter, I cared not a pinch
For the pleasure of being in their good grace.
And now today I'm in this place, Charged with a crime which is not of my making ,
Faced with a jury whose attitude there's no mistaking.
I can plainly see
They ' ll be rough on me
My only defense Is ignorance.
I realize my time is short, So I put myself at the mercy of the Court.
CHORUS:
The lad may have something there, Can we be sure of treating him fair?
PROS ATT.:
Ignorance, your Honor, this person pleads. A plea of ignorance before the law never succeeds.
Ignorance in school we will not tolerate. He cannot use this excuse to vindicate His lack of cooperation, his antisocial ways. That he should dare use it leaves me amazed. Such a plea could be expected from Herman Goering.
Across our path of justice, it's merely a herrmg.
We just fought a war for the four freedoms. If this attitude prevails , we ' ll surely need ' em
Such a lack of initiative is a boulder in the path of advancement.
To cash in on this person is what Japan meant.
To erase this menace , your Honor, you see, We demand that Will be burned in effigy.
CHORUS:
We demand that William be Burned at once in effigy.
DEF . ATT.:
Your Honor, y0u have heard my client's case .
Remember, when you c0ndemn him, you blame the whole place
His position is like that of many m.:-n.
He just hasn't been fitted into the present plan.
You judge not only William Collitch, yo•1 see, You ' re judging the whole University. So think about William and others like him Before to a horrible death you condemn.
With this the Defense feels its case may be now rested.
It's the whole University that is here being tested.
JUDGE(to the Jury):
There's something wrong we must admit, But will burning William remedy it?
(C ontinu ed on p ag e 25)
24]
Lonely River
( Con ti nu ed fr o m J1age 7)
ing across the waves, and the boundary of the shadow retreated nearer. A tremendous excitement throbbed inside of him; his heart pounded in anticipation . Closer , closer drew the sunlight, sweeping rapidly over the wide river )
"Why didn ' t you go out and play baseball?" asked his father. " I didn ' t feel like it today ," he replied .
(The sun was upon him , and he sighed with a vast joy as the heat flooded down into his body , spreading sensually throughout his frame in golden pulsations of content Lazily, lethargically, he felt his muscles relaxing in the somnolent luxury of the warmth.)
"You ' d be much better off enjoying yourself with the other boys , instead of being by yourself all the time , " his father said He did not answer.
(Suddenly , with a slow , dreadful horror he would feel a cold breeze , look out with a numbing apprehension , and discover that the shadow had come again )
The Case of W. M. Collitch
(Co n t i n u ed fr om p age 24)
Consider the case well , when you retire, Before you sentence William M. Collitch to the fire
JU RY (retir es and th en re turns):
We've considered the case from every turn . William at the stake must surely burn.
But the College too, its ways must mend , Or everyone here will deserve such an end.
Finis
Freshn1an
(Contin11ed f r om J,age 18)
" Hello, Angel. "
I sighed and giggled slightly, movin g over to m ake room for him (He was tall, and so goodloo king !) Skillfully , I drew him out and started h im to talking of his experiences on Okinawa. I l i stened rapturously to each word, gazing into his d ark eyes
" But, suppose you had been killed! " I shudde red , and horror was reflected on my small , upt urned face. "You' re so brave!" I breathed .
He smiled and shrugged his broad shoulders. I f elt faint. "But I'm safe now," he said. "So why
worry? "
I grinned weakly.
"Say , " he suggested, "what are you doing tonight?"
My heart leaped eagerly! This was what I had been waiting and working for! I was nearing the goal I had been striving for and yearning for.
"Well," I said slowly , " I don ' t know , Jake. " (One should never seem too anxious , you know.)
"Could you call me about five?"
"Sure , Sweetheart. You try to make it! I'll call you ."
I waved as he left and lit a cigarette. " Ha! " I thought, " I hooked him!'' I couldn ' t keep a little smile off my face , and I looked around with a superior glance Those high school kids were just leaving-noisily banging out of the door.
Marian had the misfortune of being caught in the attempt to enter , and the poor dear looked like a wreck when she finally flopped down opposite me.
"Those silly high school children! " I sniffed sarcastically.
" Marian, let me tell you what just happened! " I giggled in my excitement. ' TU buy you a banana split , and then we can talk. Have a weed?" My victory over Jake had made me feel exceedingly generous
