Before we are aware. It tiptoes like a thief behind usThen lays for us its snare.
Poor man! (who holds the atom's power) Can only stand and stare.
'1.'~X,~
URING the war shortage of cigarettes t hat's when your "T-Zone" was really working overtime.
That's when m ill ions of peop l e found that their "T -Zone" gave a happy okay to the rich, full flavor and the cool mildness of Camel's superb blend of choice tobaccos. And today more peop l e are asking for Came l s than ever before in history. But, no matter how great the demand:
We do n ot ta m per with Camel quality. We use o nl y choice tobaccos, prope r ly aged, and bl e nd e d i n t h e time - hono r ed Ca m el way! Your'T-ZONE' will
COVER BY L. WATSON .
DREAMERS, Patti Black
A MAN AND I, Langley Wood
PUPPY
Jo yce Parrish
Mimi Thalenberg. REFLECTION AT SIXTEEN, Pat Ballagh
ASTRAL, Barbara Freed
JOKES
Editor-in-Chief
FLETCHER STIERS, JR
IP esthampton College Editor
PEGGY HARRIS
Asst. 117esthampton Editor
VERDA SLETTEN
Art Editor
LAVINIA WATSON
Assistant Art Editor
SETH DARROW
Hannah Barlow Wilma Lum
Alice Macon
Frances Hix Hathaway Pollard
Acting Poetry Editor
BLACK
EDITORIAL STAFF
Georgia Kilpatri ck
James Ri c hman
CONTACT STAF~' Vivian Borton
Barbara Ann Rodewald Letitia Earll Cl audia Dorran
[ 1 ]
Richmond College Editor
ALBERT SALEEBY
Asst. Richmond Colleie Editor
PAT VELENOVSKY
Busin e rs Manager
FRANK WENTZEL
Assistant Business Manager
FELICITY MCDONALD
Walt Preston
Mildred Bellows
Marion Feiber
Kathleen Mallory
Editorial
The place of the campuspublication
THE campus publication exists to give expression to the voice of the students. In this the publication has a twofold duty: to give full expression to the various shades of thought on the campus., and at the same time to express the over-all campus life in such a manner that a true picture of the whole is given
The University of Richmond has three student publications to carry out this task. The Collegian has the duty of giving the week-to-week story of events of interest in college life; THE MESSENGER is a medium for the expression of the creative ability of students, and The Web sums up the college year and gives a true picture of the importance of events in relation to the whole. While these three publications cover somewhat different fields, they should be so integrated as to complement each other, rather than vie one with the other.
If the publications are to do a good job, they must have the support and interest of the students, for the people who do the work necessary to get these publications into print are students. They have no more time, or no less school work to prepare than the average student. If the work they do is to live up to the standards of good journalism, they must spend a major portion of their available time editing and planning their publication so that all active voices on the campus may speak in their columns of print. They do not have the time to do much more than this. Other students must write the literary pieces and do the things which make' the news on a college campus. When they have done this they must be sure that the event~ come to the attention of the proper publication.
When the publication has received the material from the students, it is its task to judge the importance of each piece according to the amount of space-the number of pages-allotted to the editors for that edition. This definitely sets a limit on the amount of material which can be carried in any one issue, and also limits the space that can be given to any one piece of writing or news story.
In deciding which pieces to print, and which pieces to shorten, the editors must weigh the liter-
[ 2]
ary or news value of each piece. That is not always the easiest task in the world, but there are certain standards to which an editor must adhere.
The Collegian, as the weekly newspaper of the campus, must print as many of the events of the week as space permits. For its news pages the selections must be made on the strength of the "news value" of each item. News value consists of many things, but perhaps most important are the number of people who will be interested in a particular item, and the intensity of the interest that item will arouse in the interested group. Thus it will be easy to see that an event which is of viral interest to a majority of the students should have the "lead" position, which carries the major headline on the front page, and runs in the extreme right-hand column. No newspaper is fortunate enough to have a story which completely fills these qualifications for each issue, but all stories are allotted space and position on this basis. When this is considered, readers may understand why item s of utmost importance to a very limited group ar e sometimes crowded out of the paper, or cut ver y short. In any case the person or group must d o something to be interesting.
THE MESSENGERis a literary magazine, and a s such assumes the role · of critic and mentor fo r those students who have creative ability. Its spac e is limited, and for that reason it is able to prin t only the best of the pieces which are handed in fo r publication. In selecting the material for each issue, the editors must see that they have a pleasing variety of styles and media, and that all branches of thought on the campus are given a n opportunity for expression. The editors make us e of the accepted standards of form and compositio n as a guide to their own judgment of the piece s most worthy of publication.
The Web, as the yearbook of the Universit y, must give the year in retrospect. For the individu al student, this is probably the most permanent re cord of his college years. Because of this fact, th e editors must strive for as complete a representatio n
(Continued on page 14)
He LaboredHard In His Vineyards
THE sun of the autumn morn bent its rays across the horizon, projecting long silhouettes of the grapevines upon the upland slopes. The old man, one hand resting on his ever pre sent cane, the other shading his eyes from the gli ttering sun, raised his head and, peering through his misty glasses and down his long Syrian nose, surveyed the vistas before him, first on the left and then on the right. A surge of warm blood coursed through his ancient veins as he meditated with pride his success in this new land. For a brief moment, enraptured, he closed his eyes and a prayer, like a restless wave of the sea, tumbled over him and he trembled. When it subsided, he smiled through his watery eyes-he did not know to whom he had prayed! Allah tended the prosperous vineyards in the East but there were no Mosques for Him here. Then he remembered a song that must have been written for him. He liked the way the organist at the church, where everyone stared at hi m , had played it-"Guide me Oh Thou great Jehovah pilgrim through (he was not certain of the words-was it 'through' or ' from'?) a barren ground." He sang the words in his mind's voice and was comforted.
T he old man passed among the healthy vines. Each one he himself had entwined, almost caressingly, in order that all the leaves would be exposed to the sun. The strongest branchings he nurtured and g uided that they might grow fruitful. Najeeb, who had visited him from the old country, had nodded with approval on the sight of the pliable vines, trained in arboreal fashion as is the custom in the East. "As the olive twig is bent, so is the branch inclined" is a favorite expression used there, and Najeeb, of much eloquence, did not hesita te to apply it here. The old man beamed with delight at this pleasant flight of thought. He worked and laughed. The air was sweet with the perfume of the ripening grapes. Is it not strange how things ripen and leaves curl, turn brown, and die? Is not man like a grapevine? This thinking stimulated an argument within him. It was, and it
wasn ' t. He finally convinced himself that indeed man
"Father! You crazy old fool! Come out of the sun."
The old man turned from his work and closed his eyes to the infamy that stood before him-a living thing incorporated with every weakness despicable to man.
"As the olive twig is bent, so is the branch inclined." No, he said to himself, that is not true. I have worked as diligently with iny son as with my grapes, and this is my wine--sour.
The chill of the afternoon fell upon the vine-
yard. His mind's voice sang to him but he was not comforted. He hated the sound of the organ at Diaposon. The sun plunged down below the horizon, casting long silhouettes that frightened him. For a brief moment a black curse like a restless heave of the stormy seas tumbled upon him, and he trembled. He could not see through his watery eyes and, as he groped his way among the gnarled and twisted vines, he cursed Mohamet for his seventy Houris long overdue.
ALBERT SALEEBY. [ 3 ]
Life's Cycle
Do we know that again life's garden Will burst in brilliant hue?
We know when Spring is gone And Summer lost, How distant the time That the skies will remain A so£t translucent blue?
That the seasons change too fast, That precious moments leave our lives, As petals fall From a flower of summer past.
But when your life has turned To Winter's grey, And you curse and detest your fate, Rejoice in the realization That they are incapable of love Who have never experienced hate.
SETH DARROW.
Dreamers
Dreaming is all very well, An integral part of life's theme. Yes, every carefully finished plan Began no doubt with a dream.
Dreamers may be very fine, The poets and prophets of men; But even the dreamer must come down to earth And wake up to live now and then.
PATTI BLACK. [ 4]
artd I
%ree times he ruled me:
IMy first clear memory of him was as my head- I master in an inexpensively fashionable preparatory school in Virginia. The man bore a leonine shock of sta rk white hair, and his face was as tanned as good leather. There was not a single scholarly aspect to his appearance. Rather, he looked as thoug h he would have been an excellent pugilist, or a North Bank fishing captain. His face was deeply lined, and I remember that once, one of the school masters compared it to that of a Sioux chiefta in I suppose that was apt. There was an immense power in his short, stocky body, and he moved about with an air of sheer, fluid confidence; each motion he made was complete , sure , and adequa te. Perhaps this was part of the thing that caused men to look upon him with awe . I ha d been in school for perhaps four months before I had occasion to speak with him alone. At that, i t was most impersonal. The reason for our meeting had to do with scholastic inadequacy on my par t. I suppose I had expected oratory; he was justly famous for it. In fact , a portion of his wide reputa tion was founded on his extraordinary use of the En g lish language before gatherings of his fellow men.
But I didn ' t get oratory Instead , I had the fear of God put into ,me, and he never raised his voice. It wa s simple enough When I entered his office,he was seated in his deep-cushioned chair, facing away from me. I closed the door and advanced to a po sition directly in front of his desk.
"Roge rs ?"
" Ye s, sir?"
"W ill you come over here and place another log on my fire for me?"
"Y es, sir." This surprised me because I knew that his own servant was well within earshot. I went over to the hearth in front of him and placed one of the heavy pine chunks on the fire . I could feel tha t he was watching me intently, and when I rose and faced him , he shifted his steady gaze back to the fire .
" D o you know why you did that?" As he spoke,
he nodded his head in the direction of the flames, his white mane rising and falling with each staccato movement.
"N-no, sir," I faltered. I had no honest answer.
" Then I shall add to your knowledge. You did the work of a menial , Rogers, because I desired that you do so. It's that simple, you see-you did it because I told you to Is that clear?"
His last words were punctuated by short jabs in the air of his stubby forefinger. I hadn't thought of any basic reasons for my obedient compliance with his request, but I saw instantly the point to which he was leading me . My answer was in the affirmative.
"Then, Rogers, because I tell you to improve your wQrk in school, you will do it! Do you understand that? You need nothing else as a motive, do you?" I nodded dumbly, and stood before him, waiting for him to continue. He had, however, turned his face back to the fire, and I knew that my interview with the headmaster was at an end. I turned and went out of his office, making for the outdoors as quickly as I could There, I began to breathe easily and relax. It was the first time in my life that I had ever been afraid of another person .
It was considered a thing of wonder by most of my classmates that by the middle of the last semester of that year, all of my marks had taken an upward trend. They hit the top brackets, and there they stayed until the year of my graduation. In spite of this academic improvement, I had not put forth one ounce of extra effort, nor had I studied an hour more than before. Yet, there were my grades : head and shoulders above any that I had ever received before.
I am not telling this to point out any scholastic aptitudes of my own; there was simply something about the man that enabled him to squeeze out every bit of potential ability from his associates, be they his subordinates or not.
The Sixth Form, of which I was a member, was graduated in June, nineteen forty-one. As an unfortunate coincidence, the "Head" was leaving. He [ 5 ]
had accepted a commission in the Naval Reserve, and his commencement speech to us was something to remember. Above all, I remember his final sentences. He had built his address to a fine pitch, and quite literally, he held us in the palm of his expressive hand. We were completely dominated by the power of his personality. Then, he hit his last words. I could never forget them.
He had been telling us of the niche we were to fill in the world-a world already broken and battered with war. With his voice as clear and strong as the bells of which he spoke, the thunder of him rolled down upon us: "Ring out, boys! With all the strength and vigor you possess, make your bell toll to every corner of the earth. Kill if you must, destroy if you must, but show every other living human that America will no longer tolerate unjustified poachings upon the peace of the world! Ring, and ring, and ring"-here, he had reached his peak, and, after a pause, with his voice as still and quiet as the hush between battles, he let his concluding syllables be carried out over the heads of the audience-"make your bell toll in war, until you have the right to ring out ... for peace."
There was no applause. He stood for a moment, tensely supporting himself on the speaker's table, and then turned and descended from the platform. When he walked down the aisle, no one turned to watch him. By the time we, the graduating class, had filed out, he had left the school. It was an odd farewell to the institution he had built, a leaving that was characteristic of him. He had remained to the last: solid, spectacular, and a challenge to our abilities.
And I was afraid of him; not so much for the punishment which he could have inflicted upon me, but because I knew he expected too much of his fellows. Possessing greatness himself, he looked for greatness in all.
II
Two weeks after I had arrived at his base, I saw him again. I was Lawrence W. Rogers, Seaman Second Class, and his sleeve bore the three broad stripes of a full commander. The gap had widened, but his influence on me was greater than ever before.
Nor was I alone. In the barracks, on the drill field, and in the wash houses, there was never uttered a disrespectful word about him. Some, especially those men whom he had upbraided for some breach of discipline, may have hated him with in-
tensity; but all of them had respect for him
The forcefulness of him seemed to cling abou t us, as though it were a blanket of power. It turne d a part of a dogma-clogged navy into an integrated , efficiently running, military unit. The sailors unde r his command were always ready to flog themselve s into everlasting allegiance to the man. Not to th e navy, not to the old school, but to the man.
There is one incident that I recall, which occurred just before I received my orders to leave th e base. There had been, in the preceding weeks, a progressive epidemic of petty thievery throughout the base. No one was free from suspicion; each man was forced to guard his possessions constantly. Consequently , the base began to suffer from a severe ebbing of morale. Soon it was evident that something haq to be done, since none of the culprits had been turned up. Navy men do n ot long tolerate stealing.
This something was attempted by the commander's assistant, a lieutenant who was round ly detested by all hands. This person called an assembly of the entire service school personne l. There were some three thousand individua ls present, standing, when the lieutenant stepp ed before the microphone on the gymnasium sta ge. Those gyms were huge, and the sheer enormity of the place seemed to reduce the lone man to pyg my size and ridiculous appearance.
His behavior was typical if the martinet ish brand of officer he represented. He ranted. He threatened. He mouthed swear words at us, and finally, in desperation, he said that he would restrict everyone for an indefinite length of time.
And they laughed at him. They sent forth w ave upon wave of derisive laughter into his youth ful, perspiring face! Some of the men had begun to stroll toward the exits, their shoulders quaki ng with mirth. The lieutenant, in a froth of ineffectual rage, was shouting imprecations into the microphone and out onto a heedless audience.
Then, a shroud of silence descended upon t hat immense, milling body of men. It began at the door and , spread out, fan-like, over their he ads until it had permeated the farthest corners. Th ere was not a sound. The commander stood on the stage.
It will probably always escape me-the me aning and explanation o_f what happened in that gymnasium that day Somehow, he accomplis hed in a few words the task at which the lieutenant had failed. I ½now he was mad, thoroughly angry, but [ 6]
the thing that to this day amazes me is that his wrath was felt by every sailor in the assemblage, as though it were of physical impact.
He might as well have stretched out a long arm and plucked from the mass those three men, because they walked forward-seemingly pulled along by some discriminating power. At a motion fr om the commander, burly shore patrolmen took the three men out of the gym.
No one asked questions. All knew that the thieves and their thievery had come to an end. He was a great man. Now that the end has come, I am too much aware of his greatness.
III
The destroyer appeared strangely serene in the stifling hush of a Norfolk noon. She was tied alongside Pier No. 3, and it was evident that the ope ration of loading ammunition below had been in terrupted by the more important operation of loading food into hungry naval stomachs.
I reported aboard in the midst of all this. I presented my orders to a bored, khaki-clad ensign. As soon as he had glanced at the sheaf of papers, he issued a rather surprising order.
" Rogers, huh? You' re the new signalman third. Captain said for you to report to him soon as you came aboard. Leave your gear here. You'll find him topside in his sea cabin." Then, as an afterthought, he a dded, "He always stays there."
" Yes, sir." I didn't know where the sea cabin was, but I dropped my gear to the deck and strode forw ard, following my lubberly nose up ladders un til I found the hatch cover which displayed the proper sign. I knocked, and then heard his voice.
" Come in." I opened the door and went inside. Once again, he had his back turned to me. "Have a seat, Rogers. Glad you're aboard. In fact, I arranged it."
" Thank you, sir. But-but why-?"
" Another lesson, Rogers-another lesson. AJthough we don't have a hearth fire here-."
"Do you remember that, sir?"
" Yes. Even without the fire, living aboard this ship with me will be your final lesson." Here he pau sed for a moment, looking out through the open port and frowning. "Rogers, you were one of my students. I want you to remain in that category."
" Yes, sir." I felt nervous and fidgety, at a loss for words.
'' Watch well, then, and retain all that you learn.
You may go." He turned back to the port. A harbor tug puffed out to sea in the distance, and I turned to leave. At the hatch, I stopped.
"Thank you, sir. I-thank you." I opened the hatch and bolted out of the captain's sea cabin. I never entered it again.
Months later, we were cruising in the Marshall Islands. Our radar picked up the four ships, and, two hours later, we were able to identify them as a Jap cruiser and her three escort destroyers. The squadron commander ordered us in for a torpedo attack.
Our ship was the last to make the run. We, with a sister vessel, picked the Nip cruiser for our target. The other destroyers in our squadron were engaged in individual battle with the big Nip's escort cans.
Going in, we made a small target for the cruiser's big rifles. When we were close enough, we released our port torpedos and quickly swung to starboard to veer away from the explosion that was to follow. Then we got it. The Nip had her five-inch batteries trained on us, and when we turned our port side to her, she let go with a terrible salvo. In an instant of hell, the entire after section of our ship was enveloped in flames. A few seconds after that, our torpedoes struck the Japanese cruiser amidships, and she disappeared in a debris-belching mass of fire, smoke, and steel.
The captain stood next to me on the flying bridge. I don't think he ever quite believed that his ship was sinking. But it was-rapidly, down by the stern. "Order all hands to abandon ship."
There was no trace of emotion in his voice. I spoke his words into the ship's inter-comm system. A moment later I looked over the bridge's steel parapet and saw that the order had been unnecessary. The crew was swarming over the forecastle, each man for himself, in a wild attempt to get away from the flames which were swiftly moving forward. There seemed to be no trace of the well-ordered discipline which should have been the result of numerous drills.
The pandemonium was short-lived. The captain picked up his megaphone and directed it forward and down. "Sailors!" That was all. First a couple of the men, then a few more, and finally each officer and man stopped in his tracks and looked up to the flying bridge. It was awful, unbelievable. The captain stood without moving, and then: "Abandon ship!"
Some of the men released the life rafts which [7]
were hanging from stanchions on each side, just forward of the well deck. A few more braved the flames and went as far aft as the well deck itself, there cutting loose the life rafts which were fastened to the side of the ship. Quickly, efficiently, and quietly, the men left the ship, taking with them those who were too badly injured to be able to fend for themselves. The Abandon Ship Drill seemed to be a success.
The captain turned to me. "Where is your drill station, Rogers?"
"Number one raft, Captain. It's already cast off."
"Then leave the ship and go to it."
"Are you com-?"
"You -have just observed a scene which should have taught you something. Now, you are going to have your last lesson. Leave the ship, Rogers." His voice was perfectly calm.
The flames were getting closer. I left the flying bridge, went out on the forecastle as far as I could, and jumped. Legs together, arms foldedwater cold and littered with battle-droppings. Swimming, tired, hands on my shoulders, ~aft Number One safety. Only a matter of time before we would be picked up. The fire on the ship
inched forward and upward, and I called myself a coward.
Back at Mare Island, California, a few weeks later, the crew of our ship was given a citation. And there was a personal one, too. The entire crew stood at attention as I paced forward to receive the medal. The admiral read it aloud:
"For heroic acts far beyond the call of duty, while engaged in action against the enemy in the Marshall Islands on 17 .December 1943. For causing the destruction of an enemy vessel, and for preventing unnecessary loss of life among the men and officers of his own command, the Navy Cross Medal is awarded posthumously to Captain Lawrence W. Rogers, United States Naval Reserve."
The admiral pinned the bit of bronze and blue to my jumper, and as he shook my hand, he whispered, "I knew your father, my boy. He was a great man. Good luck to you."
I saluted, thank-you-sirred, pivoted, and walked back to the ranks. My knees shook, and I felt sick inside. He had passed a part of himself along to me, but even unto his death, I feared and hated his greatness.
LANGLEY W 00D.
Puppy Love
NOW I ask you, just what can a fell ow in my shoes do? Here I meet the perfect exa mple of femininity, and not even a whimp er can I g et outa her. She's not an ordinary dame, n ow mind you. Oh, I know that ' s what every fellow w ould say about his dream g irl, but this is true. If you could get a look at her , you'd get what I m ean, but since you can ' t, lemme tell you ' bout her T here ' s somethin ' about those eyes of hers that really touches my heart. I guess it's the way they always look so sad. Her hair is as black as night , and I ain ' t never seen a strand outa place. Even the way she wrinkles her little nose would cause any guy's heart to make like a jumping jack. And talkin g ' bout class! Man, she holds that head of hers just like she can trace her ancestry straight back to the Queen of Sheba. Yup, this girl is a true thoroughbred.
But, golly gee, what chance have I got? I'm a nobody . I roam the streets and beg for my food. W hy, I don't even know who my parents were. Ju st an orphan , that's me. Still, I got good taste, even if I do say so, and I know what I like , and I liked her. The way she struts around in her front yard- so kinda graceful an' dignified-you'd think the whole world was hers . You should see her d ainty manners when she eats, and her voiceit doe sn't sound like nothin' you hear where I come fr om. They call that bein' cultured , I guess. Get tin' back to my story , no matter how hard or
how of ten I tried though, I couldn't even make her look at me . I guess I'm just not doggy enough for her. Oh, you needn't pity me yet, 'cause you ain't heard the worst.
Now the other day , I was standing on the corner , chewing the fat with a couple of my pals, and I happened to mention this gorgeous dame. It seems that one a them had a crush on her once too and knew all about her. Can you imagine how I felt when he told me about this other guy? I guess he's one a them high class jerks that got so much charm and come from the best a homes, but that don't get me. The thing that really puts the gravy on the meat is when I finds out that shaking hands and taking baths are part of his everyday routine . And they call that soft livin ' ! Brother, it's nothin ' but torture. Still, the final blow hadn't hit me yet , but I didn't waste no sleep waitin ' for it ·cause it did and soon. When he said this girl and this guy was goin' pretty steady, that ended it all.
Hey, don't worry, pal, I know my place and what I'm gonna do. I'll just go off and find myself another dame-one that's more my class. Sure, she'll never equal this one , but at least she'll think I'm somebody. Now look, you needn't be surprised ' bout how it's all worked out, 'cause, after all, what chance has a fox terrier, like me, . got with a cocker spaniel, like her?
JOYCE PARRISH.
Duayedidi v. Calhoun U.
KT was with a feeling of impending doom that I sorrowfully agreed to take Marge, my one and only, out to see a classic clash on the gridiron last New Year's Day, for I am wise to these football guys and all of their shenanigans with helmets and kneepads and such things. But Marge is a very insistent little dame, with plenty of zip and even more zippers , so when she tells me that her kid brother is going to be the star comeback, or drawback, whichever it is, and that if I do not take her out to see this mighty spectacle of colossal masses, especially her kid brother , who is the most colossal of all the masses, she will tell everybody in town what I do for a living. Naturally I do not want this to happen , for hustling hooch is hard enough as it is since the rationing goes "pfft," so I just smile pleasant-like and say that it will be a pleasure to take her.
Well, about an hour before game time Marge gets jittery and wants to get started. So, knowing that Marge is inclined to rip things up when she wants to get started, I bundle her up in an automobile robe and shove her into my Hupmobile Six, the wonder of the century After giving her a few cranks ( the car , that is), she starts running on three of her good cylinders, and when Marge wants to know what that clanking sound under the hood is, I explain to her that it is some garage mechanic I locked up in there to try to figure out a way to make the engine run on the principle of spontaneous combustion. Marge nods, knowingly, and I give her the gun up the street , feeling thankful that Marge is submerged in the automobile blanket and is unable to see the fog of exhaust hovering ominously behind us.
When we arrive out at the bowl I can see that however crafty I might be I am still going to have a bushel-barrel-full of trouble trying to find a place to park my Hupmobile Six, what with all the parking lots jammed full. Judging from the looks of these parking lots, I secretly suspect that a lot of people who own two or three cars have parked one and then gone home on the bus so that they might come back and park another. Being greatly mystified about the whole thing, I just keep cruising around the bowl at a gentle rate, pitting hope against hope that maybe I can get away with this until the game is over, but Marge pops up out of
the automobile robe like an enraged hen and d emands to know why I do not park in an alley, b eing as we are taxpayers and the alley belongs t o all taxpayers. At first I have hopes of evadin g this issue, but Marge insists on her constitution al rights to park in an alley, so I am forced to oblig e, even though I know that if a copper comes alon g and looks in the trunk of my Hupmobile Six h e will be bound to find the balance of a shipment I deliver in part to the local chapter of Delta Deu ce Fraternity.
After roaming around among the hot d og stan ds and stocking up for the long siege, I join Mar ge by the radio booth and we go scouting around for our seats. Naturally these are behind the easternmost goal post, where the sun da zzles in everyone's eyes, but I do not complain because I do not int end to watch what is going on anyhow. The bow l is overflowing by this time and I have a very uncomfortable feeling in the small of my back, so I decide to investigate the source of my discomfort. It is only necessary for me to cast one fretful l ook to the rear, however , for in that look I see m ore than I bargain for. It is a little co-ed, of the southern variety, sitting behind me with her kn ees propped up roundly in my back , chewing gum , as if she had not seen a square meal for a mont h or so, and cracking peanut shells in my derby hat. A loose woman, I say to myself. Probably dre ams of Frank Sinatra and bow ties.
I do not sit there long, however, before I h ear a band playing the " Star Spangled Banner " and "God Help the King." An appalling silence overtakes this place and some people even stand up at [ 10]
attention, doing helpless things with their hats. I cannot imagine what has come over these people so suddenly, and I begin to figure that maybe Argentina has declared war on us or something, for the last time I heard these two songs played was back in 1941 on a certain Sunday morning. But nobody seems very excited about things, so I decide that somebody has declared the war over, or at least called it off for a while anyhow.
Pretty soon the music stops and everyone sits down again, halloing loud and making catcalls a t the cheer leaders, and all the rest of the Johnny Rah-Rah people start singing their school songs, t he result of which sounds like "Joshua at the Battle of Jericho," and especially like the walls that came tumbling down. In fact this singing is so bad seven of the proverbially proverbial canine a spirants to the time-honored tradition of monopolizing the football field go completely berserk and chase the waterboy of Calhoun U. up a light colored goal post. (He was singing the Stein Song.) I rare back and laugh at this, but I suddenly realize t hat I make a mistake in doing so because I hear a gruff voice admonish me in no uncertain terms, telling me of a place where I can go and stew in my own juice, and that I had best be careful whose g irl I get fresh with in his presence. Being as this voice sounds like it has a large owner I pretend not to hear and bend over to tie my shoelace, which is no t even untied, in order to occupy my hands for the moment , but as I do so Margie gives me a wh ack on the baldest part of my noggin. Marge never explains this one.
When I recover from the effects of my latest scandal , I find that the teams are already in action, muling and mauling in a great way, so rather than risk another encounter with the character behind me I decide to watch the muling and mauling as best I can from behind the stovepipe hat of the sinister looking individual in front of me. I can see by the scoreboard that Calhoun U. is having a ver y rough time of it, being scored on three times alrea dy. Marge informs me that her brother is goin g to try out a new play which he invented himself, known as the "Disappearing Ball Play." She says her brother catches the ball and tucks it up under his hip pads, or wherever it is that football players tuck things, and away he goes toward his own goal post. This is to fool the other team, and it fools everyone else too for that matter, and Ma rge says sometimes it even fools her brother, but being as he is such a colossal mass he usually
gets away with it. Just when everyone is fooled the most he lights out on all fours for the right goal post, and Marge says that if he does not get there it is no fault of her brother's unless his pants fall off while he is running. Her brother's pants, it seems, have a petrifying way of falling off at the most unpredictable times.
Suddenly the crowd gets very excited about something. I do not know what it is, but I get very excited myself, just to be obliging. Someone starts a terrible yell and the crowd picks up the phrase, and pretty soon I hear them all yelling: "We want a Dauschound ! We want a Dausehound !" Although personally I still can not figure out what all those people want with a Dauschound, and besides, what would they do with one if they had it? Well, the next thing I know Marge's brother has the ball, and everyone is cheering him on. I join the cheer myself, partly for fear the lad's pants might decide to fall off if he does not hurry up and make a touchdown, and partly because that loose woman behind me is pounding on my back in her frenzy and I must give vent to my emotions in some way. It helps overcome the indignity.
Marge ' s brother leaps and lurches several times, and, with the speed of a Gazelle Boy, he crosses the goal line, but the kid is going at such a terrific speed that he cannot stop, and the next thing anybody knows he is up in the grandstand, bouncing the ball off the indignant head of a spectator who had the nerve to cheer for Duayedidi. All of this causes quite a stir among the fans, and referees are sounding shrill notes on their whistles, while cops are doing likewise, only more so. Now the confusion of things is entirely too much for the scorekeeper, an awestruck boy, by nature, anyhow, who relies solely upon whistles and gestures for his information when writing up the score, and this person, after passing through the inevitable calm that precedes the storm, utters a wail of def eat and makes a mad lunge for his chalk, with which he writes the first thing which comes into his wavering mind on the board, a naive observation concerning some guy named Kilroy. This overt act being completed, the lad makes _ a wild dash for the gate, and, needless to say, he is last seen entering the Navy Recruiting Station to sign away his birthright forever and anon.
When things quiet down, and the whole team of Calhoun U. has been duly warned of the dire consequences in case of a repeat performance of the last act, the game settles down to its normal gait, [ 11 ]
mauling and muling, muling and mauling, continual offside and offcolor plays, and frequent crap games prior to every play.
Several plays go off with very little action, so I begin losing interest in the whole affair. Being bored exceedingly I raise my arms to stretch and yawn, but this is the wrong thing to do, it seems, for the enemy (behind me) takes advantage of my off-moment, thinking that I am getting fresh with his dame again, and I suddenly feel an impact and then the shock of a bottle bouncing gingerly off my derby lid. Just exactly what follows directly after this encounter I cannot say for sure, for "I seem to recall only one thing, and this one thing is seeing Marge nimbly pushing a handful of hot dogs down my throat, inquiring, unreasonably, just why I do not sit up and pay attention to the game.
I figure I must have stayed out for a long time, because when I came to my senses I could see that the rookie scorekeeper has marked up another touchdown for Calhoun U., and the teams are right down on the Calhoun goal line, locked in mortal combat, and, while the Rah-Rah guys are yelling something about "Hold that wine, hold that wine," I take advantage of the situation and quietly remove the cold hot dogs from my highly protesting mouth. Then, as if moved by an unseen spirit, the fans commence to roar like lions in Daniel's Den, and by slick maneuvering to see around the stovepipe hat I catch a glimpse of Margie's brother running around in foolish circles down behind his own goal post, and the rest of the players on both teams are mauling and muling each other in a high state of confusion, wondering where the ball goes and why. At this point Marge tells me that everyone is now confused entirely and that it is time for her brother ( the colossal mass) to strike out for his winning touchdown, and sure enough he does. With a mighty lunge he sails off up the field like a schooner in full sail, trying desperately to dislodge the hidden ball from under his belt. The field is clear for him, but between running and fumbling around his belt the inevitable occurs, and somewhere in the vicinity of the Duayedidi one yard line his pants fall to the ground. Being highly embarrassed by the turn of events, Marge's brother snatches at a blade of grass, scoops up the ball from the ground, plunges over the goal line and up into the swaying oblivion of grandstands near by, seeking refuge from the prying eyes of the alarmed spectators.
Seeing no means of prudent escape; he turns viciously on a kindly old gentleman who is not even aware of the nature of things, being completely absorbed in a weighty volume of pornographic literature, and with a piercing shriek demands the use of the old gent's pants. That individual, still absorbed in his study, complies absent-mindedly without even considering the logic of such a demand, and Marge's brother sails back down on the field to join in an argument between the referees just as the electric horn blows declaring the game ended. The argument, being of no consequence now that the game is over, seems to attract many patrons and supporters, and the first thing I know there is gang warfare out on the field, with large groups of people attacking and defending the various goal posts, as is their wont. I take matters into my own hands at this point and drag Marge and her automobile robe out of the bowl and into the street, and as I cast one wary look behind me I can see the whole liberty section of the crew of the U.S.S. N eversail, which is anchored in the harbor near by, stoutly marching on the fraying, colossal masses on the field of battle, and leading this group of eager representatives of the briny deep-six is the ex-scorekeeper, who is a boatswain mate now, his mind having veered sufficiently, playing a mad tune on his customary bosun ' s pipe while the loose woman who sat behind me prances around in front of him in execution of her conception of the Ritual Fire Dance.
As if I do not suffer enough indignity for one day, I find to my horror that there is an imposing looking little card lodged neatly up under the windshield wiper of my Hupmobile Six, kindly requesting the honor of my presence before a small gathering at the police court on the next Saturday morning at ten o'clock.
Needless to say, I accept this little invitation with great displeasure, and when ten fifteen of that appointed day arrives I find that it is all over but the payment of the fine, which is, by some strange quirk of fate, "Thirty days or thirty dollars," and though I have many times more than thirty dollars in my dime bank I round! y refuse to pay, preferring by all odds to be confined to strict quarters for a while so that I can think things out, and, incidentally, be safe from the wiles of another contest in which Marge's brother is said to be the star flingback, or whatever it is they call them in the basketball world, which is now being promoted in , all of the universities.
[ 12} GORDON AMBLER, JR.
rite Wild1/ap
8. S. Wltite
THE book of the hour last year was Emory Reeves' Anatomy of Peace-the analytical presentation of the position of the man carrying the brief for world government. It diagnosed the malady of the world as an epidemic of national sovereignty and prescribed as the only cure "world government." It was a straightforward book; it didn't play around with any literary devices; it named the sickness, stated the causes, outlined the cure, and shut up. Mr. Reeves showed an understandable anger at the mess the world has gotten itself into, but he saw nothing about the situation provocative of laughter. Mr. White, on the other hand, can laugh. He isn't happy, and his laughter isn't happy laughter, but he laughs. Perhaps this means that the situation is so hopeless, all there is left to do is laugh. On the other hand, perhaps it means that the world is beginning to grow up to its problems, for surely satire is one of the most mature weapons in the literary arsenal.
Mr. White's book is a collection of editorials from The New Yorker, covering the years from 1943 to 1946, concerned, as the sub-title states, mainly with federal world government.
You can read this book in a few hours-a very few hours. And even if you read it when you should be studying for, say, a test, we maintain that it will be time well spent.
This idea of world government, not, you understand, world cooperation, not a union of sovereign nations, but world government under law, becomes very vital to you when you read this book. This isn't really a literary composition at all in the true sense of the word; it is a series of editorials ( although in their continuity of thought they make one coherent whole) which are written from day to day on the pressing matters of that day as Mr. White saw them, and they drive home, with their timeliness, the realization of the precipice upon which the world is teetering and the abyss into which it is likely to plunge at any moment.
In '43 Mr. White was hopeful that when the world came together to organize, it would organize a world government; but with each succeeding conference-the Yalta Conference, the San Francisco Con£erence, the London Con£erence-he lost a little hope. Here again he saw the world forming an organization of sovereign states powerless to do anything, an organization of "big states" and "little states," an organization of "peace-loving nations"-and who, as Mr. White asks, shall decide which nations are peace-loving ?-an organization where Molotov represented Russia, Dr. Yoong represented China, Stettinius represented the United States, Bevin represented Great Britain, and the people of the world were not represented at all.
But Mr. White has not lost all hope yet. The United Nations is, after all, a step in the right direction, one through which world government of constituted authority, with representatives who are elected by the people of the world to legislate for the people of the world on those matters which concern men in their capacity as world citizens, can be organized. This organization will come, Mr. White feels, when enough people are interested vitally enough to insist upon it.
Mr. White wrote editorials on the Bikini atom bomb experiments, on the D. A. R., on the use of the word "Fascist," on the death of President Roosevelt, and on many other matters, but at least all of those contained in this book are slanted ( and the slanting takes no obvious effort) to support Mr. White's first love, which is ( as you may have guessed) "world government."
Mr. White must have one of the most beautifully clear, concise, coherent, and pointed styles of all the editors in the United States, and he certainly has a great deal to say. The almost irresistible urge when trying to review this book is to call for some expert assistance and quote voluminously from the book itself. For example, Mr. White re[ 13 J
1ates: "It is in the Classics Library of the University of Chicago, by the way, that Drawer 346 of the index is labeled 'Sophocles to Spam'. Chicago has a way of putting things."
Or again, there is the dream in which a group of delegates came together after the Third World War to talk things over and arrange for a lasting peace. The delegates all brought their national flags with them except the Chinese representative who brought with him a flower. " 'That,' said the Chinese, 'is a wild flag, Iris tectorum. In China we have decided to adopt this flag since it is a convenient and universal device and very beautiful, ..and grows everywhere in the moist places of the earth for all to observe and wonder at. I propose all countries adopt it so that it will be impossible
for us to insult each other's flag.'
'Can't it be waved?' asked the American delegate, who wore a troubled expression and a Taft button.
"The Chinese gentleman moved the flag gently to and fro. ' It can be waved, yes,' he answered. 'But it is more interesting in repose or as the breeze stirs it.'
'I see it is monocotyledonous,' said the Dutch delegate, who was an amiable man.
'I don't see how a strong foreign policy can be built around a wild flag which is the same for everybody,' complained the Latvian.
'It can't be,' said the Chinese 'That is one of the virtues of my little flag .' "
VERDA SLETTEN.
Editorial
(C onti n u ed fr o m p age 2 ) of each year ' s campus activities as possible. They must give due weight to each individual and organization, and in that way try to catch the spirit, as well as the . facts, between the covers of their book. Those who would quarrel with these editors ' presentation must remember that their space is limited also.
The editorial pages of the publications are set aside for the expression of opinion. This keeps opinion out of the "news" pages, and reserves this page as a forum where all may take part. The .editors give their views in the editorial columns ,
columnists present their side of the questions in their signed columns , and the " Letters-to-the-Ed itor " section is open to any student who has an 1 thing to say
All three publications form a permanent record in the library of the University It is well for all of us, who have the responsibility of editing the material which will become a part of the history of the University , to remember that fact. We m ust see that the record is clear and all -inclusive for those who follow us
WALTER B HOOVER
Elopement
Beneath her window he drew rein, And took his lute into his hands
To sing to her of foreign joys, Of wondrous, distant, alien lands.
He sang to her of verdant isles Where shining, silvery mermaids play; Where dreaming, soothing dusk descends To kiss in love departing day.
He showed her unknown, far-off shores, And in the moonlight he could see Her heart caught in the web of love Spun softly by his ministrelsy.
He pleaded that she ride with him Into the starglow, far from home. In acquiescent love and trust She slipped her hand into his own.
He swooped her up and held her close 'Til she could feel his warm, sweet breath. Together they rode through the night, Youth and her lover Death.
MIMI THALENBERG.
Astral
Walk lightly through the heather. My child is near and he can hear The wind and rain, And-Oh the pain!They mingle all together.
Kneel slowly in this haven.
My child is nigh, his watchful eye Beams down in light Through darkest night. He is a star in Heaven.
E. BARBARA FREED.
Reflection at Sixteen
When I was young, When I was three, I asked a boy to marry me.
I'm older now, And cross from me
There sits a boyCute as can be.
And oh! I wish that I were three. PAT BALLAGH. [ 16 J
SO THERE!
JANE: "Nobody loves me, and my hands are cold."
JoE: "God loves you and your Mother loves you and you can sit on your hands."
PURPLEPARROT.
i i i
Overheard at Homecomings:
1ST OLD GRAD: "I married, prospered, had a son whom I sent to Richmond."
2ND OLD GRAD: "I married, prospered, had two sons whom I naturally sent to Richmond."
3RD OLD GRAD: "I prospered, had three sons whom I sent to William and Mary."
wAUTAUGAN ( with apologies).
i i i
A young theologian named Fiddle Refused to accept his degree, " For" said he, "it's enough to be Fiddle, Without being Fiddle, D. D."
COLONNADE.
i i i
A davenport held the twain. Fair damsel and her ardent swain: Heandshe.
But then, a step upon the stair! And father finds them sitting there: He and She.
COLONNADE.
i i i
Man is a noble animal. None is keener or brighter Until he tries at last to change The ribbon on his typewriter.
PATTI BLACK.
Difference between high school and college students: High school teacher says "Good morning," and the class says "Good morning." The college prof says "Good morning," and the class writes it down.
HE: "Please!"
SHE: "No!" i
HE: "Aw, come on!"
SHE: "Absolutely not!" i i
HE: "But Ma! All the rest of the kids are going barefooted!"
COLONNADE.
i i i
Any girl can be gay In a classy coupe, In a taxicab all can be jolly. But the girl worth while Is the girl who can smile When you' re taking her home on the trolley.
SCOTTIE.
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Love hasn't changed in 2,000 years. Greek girls used to sit all evening and listen to a lyre.
COLONNADE.
i i i
He was only a shy guy, and after she had thrown her arms around him and kissed him for bringing her the corsage, he rose and started for the door. 'Tm sorry if I scared you. Where are you going?"
"Out for a bouquet."
[ 17]
SCOTTIE.
~ H THE TOP STARS OF HOLLYWOOD CHESTERFIELD IS BY FAR THE FAVORITE CIGARETTE
