'Jhe1Jniverdilgo/ Richmond
EDITORIAL OFFICERS
Editor-in-Chief
Janice Elliott
Associat e Editor
James Hatchell
Busin ess Manag er Joe Mersel
E x chang e Editor Carmen Wong
Art Ed ito r Barbara Bull STAFF
Writing Staff:
Doug Clark , feature, Lois Reameay, Dick Keith, Margaret Logan, Dick Gage, Marjorie Maeschler , Charlotte Hen 1 e y, Felice Abram, Kay Severance, Paul Kirk.
Art Staff:
Ethel Smith, Dick Gage , Ann Woodall, Renee Gartner , Carolyn Neale, Ken Mace, Tim Pohmer , Eleanor Stosburger.
Ann
, F e 1i c e Abram, Ruth Owens, Marthy Glenn
PEABODY'S
PAGE
I glanced around the store looking at the decorations. My artistic, se cret soul was horrified. From the ceiling hung Donner, Blitzen, and all the rest in grand array. The little saint with the everforgiving heart was there, too. But someho w they looked more like the precise, soulless work of an expert decorator than like a beautifully simple belief that has survived for so many years. And suddenly I wanted to cry, for over the store float~d the hauntingly beau~ tiful notes of that ever-popular Christmas song, "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas." Hah!
I, P eabody, literary spider, without pee r in the realm of bugs, "fleas, snakes , tarantulas," am in a somber mood A few days ago I hooked a rid e downtown on th e hat of on e of the Westhampton ladies. To my dying day, I shall alwaysr e call this experience. For, dear rea ders , it is, as y ou must realize,that happiest season of the year-C hristmastide.
Wha t an experience! I tremble inevery joint of every limb when I think a bout it.
Our first stop after a very bumpy tr ip was in one of the lar g e department stor e s of our fair m etropolis (for obvious reasons this establish m ent shall g o nam eless). O:icein my literary wanderings I ranacross a poem by some Italian -Dan som ethin g or other-about a land ca lled Hell , Hades , the Inferno or w hat have you. Christmas shoppingth e se days is somewhat liketh at land.
Before we g o one word further letme sa y that I love Christmas ;Ywife loves Christmas, my do ~ ala loves Christmas -oh no' th ' at's a jo k e I use when I serve astoastm a ster at the annual litterary spider conference .... Well , anyway , my whole family loves DECEMBER, 1953
Christmas: holly, mistletoe, tinsel, bells -in s h o r t, everything (I mi g ht add that Christmas card r eadin ~ is one of my favorite pastim es. I have sp ent hours, in my in someone's attic readin ~ s to.cks and stacks.) But this is m ere digression; back to the point . The store was crowded beyond all telling of it. I peeked timidly ov er my chauffeur ' s hat brim and saw a ll around me for miles and miles - heads and hats (only the top s , of course) . And each one wa s fi ~htin g to get ahead of the oth er . I saw elbows seeking a pa ss in g rib , and feet seeking other f ee t. It reminded me of the Indianapolis speedway: each person trying to nud g e out the other, to get to the counter first, to squeeze into th e elevator, to get the last sw e ater on sale. . .. It was a horrible sight
P eopl e are funny. They celebrate the approach of the birth of the Savior by declaring, individually, war on every other individual. They show their love for one another by pushing, pulling, shovin g . A strange world indeed. Sometimes I am extremely glad to be a spider.
Then we went out into the street and I was very glad. Out there the people were differ~nt. Oh, yes, they were pushing , shoving, but somehow they had changed. When they were pushed they smiled, nodded, some said "Excuse me," some said "Quite all right," others said "Merry Christmas." Most of th e m stopped to give money to the Salvation Army. I don't know what it was, perhaps the good, clean air -it wasn't commercialized. I looked at the store windows and at the children with their noses pressed in wonder to the cold panes. Each little girl wanted a doll. Some wanted one that cried, or walked, or blinked its eyes, or had real hair-Rickey, Jr., Dennis the Menace, Sparkle Plenty, Bonnie Braids. The boys wanted space suit s , guns, bikes. All were looking with bright; shiny eyes and runny no ses. It was a sight to make any spider's heart happy. And so back to our den of literary endeavor from which we wish you all . . .
MERRY CHRISTMAS
PEABODY
Peace
f!,o,w often in our everyday lives we come across the heavily c h a i;-g e d words, "peace" and "war"? It is practically impossible to avoid overlooking them if we are at all living consciously in our time. Everybody is agreed now, that the United Nations, as it is functioning today, can stop everything except war. No one can be suspected of being captious on the subject of peace today. We are all in the same boat.
c, -. Al i my life I have been an enemy of th~ , experts and a friend of simplification. I shall not try to write here a trea t ise on how peace can surely be secured, for that is to be left to the experts, but rather to present in a short space what some of the best American minds of today have said on the subject of world peace Yet the question, as far as I can see it, can be very sim, I ply stated in one paragraph, When states quarrel, there are two, a~d only two, ways of settling it: by a fight or by the due process of law and order But in order that a question may be p eaceably settled, there must exi st an organization standing for law and order , which is above all its individual members and enjoys the confidence of the peoples, It must maintain the power to enforce its decisions against r ecalcitrants Thi s truth is axiomatic that it is clear to everybody, The public must become so used to the idea that it will n ece ssarily regard with contempt anyone who would think of defying the law and order thus represented, If such an organization exists, acquiescence in its decisions is easy for all, as it is in any civilized human community. If no such or g anization exists, or if it does not enjoy the confidence of the public, then every state, in obedience to the law of self-preservation, is in duty bound to look out for itself by preparations to
meet force with force. Unless such an organization is developed, any armed service of a nation would be guilty of criminal negligence in its duty to the st ate and to its citizens, if it did not take measures to place itself in the best strategical advantage in the event of war. The simple principle of law and order, which has proved efficacious in settling private quarrels inside a state, can settle quarrels among the states . Therefore, world federalism is, in my opinion, the only solution. Of course, the whole trouble with the UN is that there are no great and simple minds in it, like those of Abraham Lincoln and of Albert Einstein.
Is the world situation today really so confused? Human intelligence always should denote a capacity to see and meet a new situation; there is something doggish in mere stubbornness and love of old tricks. I am still in favor of simplification. The crux of the problem is whether or not distrust can be eliminated. Wilson touched the heart of the world when he announced the objective of World War I, as "peace without victory"; foul dog realism announced its objective in World War II as victory without peace, victory in full measure without discount, victory unconditional-a victory which has as little to do with Beethoven's Fifth Symphony as Hannibal or Genghis Khan had to do with the brotherhood of m a n k i n d. The world today is in the grip, not of war and the threat of war, but of this dog realism made manifest. Unless every man can drive this out from his inner soul, he must expect war. He does not deserve better .
What do some of the best American minds of today say? The following quotations are from E B. White's The Wild Flag, considered by many as the best contemporary writing (along with Emery Reves' Anatomy of Peace) on this most crucial topic in the world. It did
seem for a time that the N ew Yorker was the only serious ma gazine in the United States-taki ng the Hiroshima story seriously, besides editorializing on world government. That I ascribe to th e simplicity of humorists, who refuse to be confused or frighte ned or cajoled by prevaricating experts in political science and in t ernational affairs. I hope the rea der will not miss the message writ ten by E. B. White himself just before Christmas, 1945, which I have put in the almanac with his own selections. May posterity remem ber that this almanac was written only six months after the conclusio n of World War IL What a Christ mas piece for a man only shortly relieved from the six-year war!
December 8, 1945
A World Peace Almaruw
By E. B. White
Almanac to be hung b y th e wood box in the kitchen :
April 26-Doctor T. V. Soong addressin g the United Na ti ons Conference in San Francisc o: " If there is any message that my country . , , wishes to give to thi s Conference, it is that we are pr epared . . . to yield if necessary a par t of our soverei g nty to the new international organization in th e inter est of collective security ."
.Tune 13-Emery Reves in The Anatomy of Peace: "As the twentieth-century crisis is a worl d-wide clash b etwe en the social u nits of soverei g n na t ion-states, th e problem of peace in our time is the establishment of a legal or der to regulate relations among m en, beyond and above the nation- sta tes "
August 12-R ob er t Maynard Hutchins , Chancellor of th e University of Chicago, in a bro adcast: "Up to last Monday, I mu st confess, I didn't have much hope for a world state. I believed t h at no moral basis for it existed, t hat we had no world conscience and no sense of world communit y suffiUNIVERSITY MESSE NGER
cient to keep a world state together. But the alternatives now seem clear." ...
August 18-Norman Cousins in the Saturday Review of Literatur e: "Already he (man) has become a world warrior; it is but one additional step-though a long one-for him to develop a world conscience. . . He shall have to recognize the flat truth that the greatest obsolescence of all in the Atomic Age is national sovereignty." ...
September 1-Cord Meyer, Jr., in t he Atlantic Monthly: "In internat ional society there is no final aut hority to which the national sta tes must refer their disputes for settlement .... We should frankly recognize this lawless condition as anar chy, where brute force is the price of survival. As long as it continues to exist, war is not only possible but inevitable." ...
Octob er 20-Editorial in the Saturday Evening Post: "We have come to the point where nothing less t han world government will suffice to tailor international politics to hitherto undreamed-of resources of power "
October 22-Ralph Barton Perry in One World in the Making: "The one world of which we fondly dream is not designed to satisfy the exc lusiv e int er est of any, many or a ny group. It serves each interest onl y by s erving all interests. It re st s on this widest and all-inclusive base, and on nothin g else. It is n ot an idle dream. It is not a mere playful ex ercise of the imagination but a project to which tnen a r e driven by practical necessity ."
November 1-Professor Albert Einste in in the Atlantic Monthly: "Do I fe ar the tyranny of a World Govern ment? Of course I do. But I fear still more the coming of another wa r of wars. Any governmen t is certain to be evil to some extent. But a World Government is Prefer a ble to the far greater evil
DECEMBER, 1953
of wars, particularly with their intensified destructiveness."
November 24-Doctor J. Robert Oppenheimer in the Saturday Review of Literature: "It is a practical thing to recognize as a common responsibility, w h o 11 y incapable of unilateral solution, the completely common peril that atomic weapons constitute for the world, to recognize that only by a community of responsibility is there any hope of meeting that peril."
December 22-(Mr. E. B. White himself now-in The New Yorker) "We walked home in the cold afternoon past Franklin Simon's window s , where the children of all nations revolved steadily in the light . Most of the stores were concentrating on the gift aspect of the Nativity, displaying frankincense , myrrh, and bath salts, but Franklin Simon advertised the Child Himself, along with the procession a l of other children of assorted races, lovely to behold. We stood a n d watched passersby take in this international and interracfa scene, done in terms of childhood, and we observed the gleam in th e e yes of the colored people as they spotted the little colored child in with the others.
" There hasn't been a Christmas like t his one since the first Christm a s-the f e ar, the suffering, the awe, th e stran ge new light that nobody understands yet. All the t r a d i t i o n a 1 characteristics of Chri stmas are this year in reverse; in st e ad of the warm grate and the happ y child, in most parts of the world th e cold room and the starvelin g . The soldiers of the triumphant a rmies return to their homes to find a h e arty welcome but an unfamiliar air of uneasiness."
Certainly war is hell, we are fond of repeating; but so is rebellion a gainst war. If we think happin es s worth enjoying, we must think it worth defending. The achievement of world peace is possibl e if ther e is a will behind it. If
one is stranded on an island and knows for certain that no boat will pass for a while, o·r maybe a year, one has at least the comfort of certainty. One composes oneself and directs one's energies to making the island a comfortable place in which to live. Human life is such an island. Knowing what we cannot do, we must do what we can, and arrange ourselves accordingly. Within the limits of mortal existence, w e can work, we can exerci E: e our powers, we can arrang e ours 2lv es to labor happily, rest quietl y and live peaceably beside th e nations of the world. For what more should one ask? One need not ar gue whether God erea ted the stars for any particular man to look at. We shall never know. But we must realize that the same stars which shine above us cast their liGht upon other peoples. Look at them! The belief in one peaceful world is of tremendous strength. Let us not forget while we go about our living to pause now a nd then and look up at the sky-it reflects a universal spirit of peace on earth . C.W.
Have You Forgotten So Soon?
It's quiet now-save the lap of waves,
There breathes no more devastating fire .
The be ach is still-no more adaze, One questions oneself, 'This is a plac e of fire?"
Have you forgotten so soon?
The sand would turn to you it's side of red, Th e wind, with wild irony, would recall its war throb.
Yet y ou close your eyes and ears to the proof of men having bled; The scyth e of death swung and weeded, yet you cannot conceive that men renounced God in unconcealed sobs.
Have you for g otten so soon?
BOBBIE CRONIN
Wedthamplon al lhe Opera
margaret £ogan
As every Westhampton lady knows, our little campus is a veritable hotbed of culture. The city of Richmond being such a gigantic metropolis, great artists come from far and wide to appear in Richmond's great concert halls. Here, in this historic Southern city, a patron of the arts has access to such exhibitions as Sunshine Sue and the Old Dominion Barn Dance, featuring Grandpa Jones and Ramona, and on rare occasions, Richmond theater-goers are treated to the thrill of a decade-the Grand Ole Opry, or Eddy Arnold, the Tennessee Ploughboy.
Of course, it would be wonderful if all the available entertainment were up to this level, but it is the policy of Westhampton College to give its students a well-rounded education. Accordingly, a few days ago, approximately half of the student body succumbed to pressure
emanatin g from the dean's office and went to the opera.
Since there were too many culture-seekers to go in one bus, and not enough to fill two, there was a small number of art-lovers left to struggle to the Mosque unaided. Inevitably, I was in this group So fierce was our desire to soak up some operatics that, undaunted, we threw economy to the four winds and dialed the magic number, 5-4321, for a cab. Because of an unfortunate rule limiting the number of passengers to five, it was nece ::sary to make a few preparations before coming into the cab driver's view. It is r;ossible, with some maneuvering, to camouflage two people as one, with the aid of a size 44 raincoat. It took some talking to explain a two-headed person to the driver, but all went well, and we arrived at the Mosque in ample time to leisurely climb the
ten flights of stairs to the balcon y At the end of the climb, our composure was a trifle shaken, but we c o n s o 1 e d ourselves with t he thought that this was excell ent high-altitude conditioning sho uld any of us e\:er join the Wom en' s Air Force.
As the opera progressed, we applied all the good listening rule s we put in practice in our classe s at Westhampton. Through some oversight ,we had neglected to br ing along pencil and paper for dood ling and so were reduced to the elementary pastime of twiddling. For variety's sake, we periodic ally shifted positions, in the proce ss of which we kicked the seat in fr ont of us, rattled programs, and dropped coats over the hea ds of people in the next row. This proved an excellent way to meet people and we indulged in som e intriguing conversations with our newfound acquaintances.
The opera was an exhila ra ting experience and gave us suf ficient energy to battle our way th r ough the mob out into the fres h air
Our cab driver greeted us with a brave little smile, and we re tu rn ed to the seclusion of Westha mpton College even more cultured an d refined than we were when we left for our evening at the oper a
**With things settling down to a mild hurricane tempo for the Chr istmas holidays, the major concern see ms to be that of gifts. In the world of music and the theater t h ere are numerous suggestions in the record line which might r rove of assistance to prospective buyers. It seems that we are more fortunate than ever in th e selections now being offered in t h at they are for the most part varied and excellent.
Bein g a Toscanini convert it is only natural for the author to suggest thre e altogether remarkable re cordin g s which have been recently recorded under the director ship of the maestro. Probably the best of the three is the Beeth oven Ninth Symphony. Toscanini pulls from the singers in the last movement truly beautiful sounds and even discovers heretofore u nnoticed beauties in the score. The "Hymn to Joy" in the last movem ent is a soaring and beautiful treatment of Goethe's Poem ; and in the hands of such capable soloists as Eileen Farrell, Nan Merriman, Jan Peerce , and DECEMBER, 1953
Norman Scott it is a moving and completely satisfying musical experienc@.
In the same vein of praise, may I recommend also two operatic recordings taken from the tapes of two Toscanini radio performances. The first, which has been out for several years, is an exciting rehashing of Puccini's "La Boheme" featuring an outstanding cast. The fragile role of Mimi belongs to Lida Albanese, who is in excellent voice. Miss Albanese shares the laurels with Jan Peerce who is at an ever hi gher level of musical perfection than ever. Under the baton of Toscanini, Mr. Peerce seems to have achieved a greater depth of interpretation than he usually displays on the stage of the Met.
Though less popular than "Boheme" Verdi's "Othello" is, without doubt, that composer's masterpiece. It is rewarding to find that Toscanini has at length recorded it in its entirety . Ramon Vinay is a completely convincing psychoJordcal study of the jealous moor. Herva Nelli's Desdemona is well sun g (if a trifle less exciting than Eleanor Steber's rortrayal on the Columbia exerpts record), and the Iago of Giuseppe Valdengo is a case in point. Frankly, his characterization is somewhat short of a miracle.
In the world of the theater I heartily recommend the recording of Christopher Fry's "The Lady Is Not for Burning," a thoroughly charming work beautifully delivered by luminaries of the original Broadway cast: perse John Gielgud and Pamela Brown.
Two fine recordings have just been released by the new Angel Recording Company. From all indications these should be as enjoyable as the Fry play They are T. S. Elliot's "Murder in the CathP.dral" starring Robert Donat, and "The Importance of Being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde starring John Gielgud, Pamela Brown and Dame Edith Evans.
HERE
Laurels to the University Players for their recent production of "The Madwoman of Chaillot." It is a pity to waste such a beautifully written and performed play on an audience of ten or twelve. A suggestion from the author: Let's all try to support the next play which is to be given early in the second semester. I'm sure that everyone will enjoy the performance, particularly the cast, who are, I fear, a little tired of displaying their more than adequate talents to rows of empty chairs.
Laurence Olivier's production of John Gay's rollicking "Beggars' Opera" will be seen soon in Richmond theaters. From all reports, a film well worth the seeing.
A few simple words about a recent performance of Verdi's "II Trovatore" given on the stage of the Mosque, for that is exactly what the performance was-simple ! Both dramatically and musi~ cally it wavered between mediocrity and amateurishness with, unfortunately, no help from Papa Verdi. The singers were very young and did a fair job under the circumstances; however, the stage director should definitely find a new medium. His efforts bordered, for the most part, on the absurd.
AND THERE
Giuseppe, Distefano does some very outstanding work with Maria Callas on the Angel recording of "I Puritani." David Wayne set Broadway back on its heels with laughter with the sakini in the "Teahouse of the August Moon" which recently had a spectacular opening in New York. Josh Lo~n's n ew production, "Kind Sir," starring Mary Martin and Charles Boyer has reaped high critical acclaim and is sold out for its New York engagement. Unfortunately, Mr. Logan is at present ill.
On this happy note we wish you all a very MERRY CHRISTMAS.
Once upon a time in ' a · town called ·Christmas, there lived and reigned a spirit known as the Christmas Spirit. And whosoever entered . this realm of eternal Christmas should not leave until his desires had been fulfilled and the spirit of Christmas ruled within his heart.
Many people sought entrance to this place, but few gained it, for the requirements for entrance were two and surprisingly difficult: The seeker had to believe that there was such a place , and, secondly, know the password-but that must never be told, for it is something that people must find for themselves.
Helen came upon it in quite a curious way, she believed. She was standing before her mother talking and before she knew it she had been swept away in a green haze
When everything was clear to her she realized that she must be very many miles from her home, for nowhere ,in Virginia had she seen such barren white country-not in the mountains, at the ocean, or even in Richmond. '
The ground was made of snow It was similar at a glance to ordinary snow, only the peculiar thing about · this snow was that each flake had a distinctive shape, pattern and tune, andas ' she stepped on each one it tinkled the way Mother's crystal goblets did when she tapped them with a knife.
That ,vas all there was. Snow and more snow and music. Snow covered the little fir frees and the 8
big ones, too. It covered the mountains and it covered the hills. It did not cover the houses because there were none! · And after each step Helen took , it covered the tiny footprints that she had made. She reached up to tighten her red and fur parka about her and realized suddenly that ' she had come off without it.
"Why, how stupid of me," she cried. "I've come off without a thing and it's awfully cold. I wish I'd brought my red parka. Or even better than that, I wish I had the new one Susie got for her birthday!"
"What did you say, Helen?"
"I just said that I'm cold and wish I had something to keep me warm."
"Come with me, and maybe I can help you."
Now for the first time Helen turned and surveyed her companion. In stantly she recognized him.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Claus, but I'm not allowed to ride in car s with s trange men. Maybe when I'm older .. "
"vVe'll walk, then; come, Helen." Helen moved toward the old man and they began to walk.
"Tell me, child, what has brought you here? We have very few visitors in June. Many in November and December, but indeed fow in June."
"Well, sir, I'm not sure. I thought that perhaps you would be able to tell me."
"Mayb e I can. Maybe I can."
:'~h,. please try, Mr. Claus, for if J can find out what brought me
here, then I can find the way home."
"Then you'll have to tell mt-; dear, what you were saying ri ght before you left."
"Well," said Helen thoughtf ully, "I w a s getting ready to g o to Judy's birthday party-that's why I have on my good pink organd yand I'd said that I wished I didn't have to be me. Just plain little H elen, and Mother said who would you like to be? And I said lot s of people ."
"Go on."
"I said I'd like to be Judy ' cause it was her rarty and she would get the pr e sents , and Susie b ecause she had blonde curls and her mother didn't have to mak e pigtails, and Annie because her voice was so pretty and Carie b ecause h er eyes were blue and not brown like mine, and I'd like to have Bell e 's clothes and china doll and .. "
"My, m y , don't you think th at 's enou g h?"
"Well, anyway, sir, that' s what I was saying."
"Now I think I can help yo u."
Helen thought it mu st b e getting colder. But she did n 't mind as much now. S he knew th at her mother must be worried abou t her. That worried her. She won dered what time it was.
"Look, ni.isteF, if you're n ot too busy, could you look at th at old· fashioned watch of yours an d tell me the time?"
"Almost 10 o'clock."
Helen shook herself. Wh at had she said to this kind old gentle~ man? Or had she said it? The UNIVERSITY MESSE NGER
voice wasn't hers, it was soft and pretty, and surely the thought wasn't. But the words had come from her mouth. Maybe she'd bett er try again.
"Hey, buddy, see that ugly old brown log over there? Everyt hing's covered with this dreadful old snow, but that. Wonder why?"
"Why, I hadn't noticed a thing but the way the sun is making the snow sparkle, and I'm surprised t hat two big blue eyes like yours would!"
"Now, Mister Claus, if you're t r ying to tell me that my eyes ar e blue, just don't bother."
"Well, they are, you know "
Hel en looked down at her pink dr ess but in its place was a blue gingham pinafore and her arm clutched a new china doll.
"This may be your idea of a joke, Santa, but it's not very funny. I've got on one of Carie's old dresses and it's much too big. And this old doll will probably br eak."
" If you drop it, I'm sure it will."
" Stop it, stop it, stop it. I'm tir ed of playing this silly game,"
and the big eyes were tear-filled .
"As you like, Helen, but first let me explain it to you. You were a happy child with all the things you needed-happy until you began to wish for more. You wished for a beautiful voice, but it was controlled by evil thoughts and an unkind tongue. Upon acquiring it, a large part of your pleasant perso:1ality vanished.
"Blue eyes were beautiful to people who saw you, but your old brown ones saw only what was be autiful, and the blue ones censored from you all that was beautiful.
"As for material things, Helen, you have all that you need. Your mother and daddy give you the necessary things. Your clothes fit well and they're always clean. You have wholesome food. Do you really need more?"
"Oh, no, Santa Claus , no."
"Then I think you've learned the lesson that I had for you. You know now the barrier to a continuous spirit of good will-of Christmas.
"Selfishness is that barrier, Helen. We learn to overcome it in different ways. You've learned early that strength comes from learning to apply those things with which we are naturally endowed. If we can learn to respect and use what we have and not be constantly wanting everything for ourselves, then only can we say that we have overcome the first and biggest obstacle separating us from Christmas. For Christmas is a feeling of peace and contentment and gratefulness for what we have with no desire for more, but only for the welfare and happiness of others."
"Thank you, sir."
"Here, let me help you with your coat."
And suddenly they were standing in her bedroom and the big man beside her was extending the small fur-trimmed jacket to her.
"No, thank you very much, but really it's so warm I don't think I'll need it. It gets awfully warm here in June, you know."
When she looked up again he was gone.
THE WORD
CRAFTSMAN
I've ransacked Pope, Shakespeare, Cowper, Gray
For words: I catalog them , just so. You'll find me able, Sir. competent , capable And-may I say?-
Most skilled at my trade. I carefully play
My words against each other On this table
I place "blood-red moon," on that, "in night of sable,"
Perhaps, and combine ' em. A poem for your wife ' s birthday?
Certainly, sir. The women like this sort of thing.
Love's own stock in trade, you lmow, Indeed, sir,
If you'll pardon my saying so , those poets were fools: Why, they wrote for almost nothing, as if to sing
Of love were a gift granted by the gods! Not to cast a slur, You understand, but the money is to be made by following the rules. Felice Abram
QUESTIONS and OBSERVATIONS
Of Small Importance and No Title
Where do the people in the dreams go?
Do they vanish like the mysterious phlogisten?
Or do they slip back-
Back into the dreamer's personality-
On a wakening?
I wonder why we talk?
Are we entertaining , Or simply entertained?
Margaret Logan
THERETURN
The train stopped at the little station in the late afternoon. Faces of men, tired and happy, and most of them still in uniform, peered out of every window. They smiled and waved good-by to the soldiers who were getting off. The fat boy from Iowa laughed as he said, "Hey, Bennie, don't ya' for ':: get that dame from Paris and that little cafe!" Bennie jumped from the platform to the ground and grinned back at the fat boy. "Don't worry It'll be a long time before I forget that one!"
The train moved on as Bennie gathered his belongings . He wa s sorry in a way that he hadn't told his parents what time the train was arriving so that they could come to meet him. "Oh, well," he thought, "no use getting them away from the store during rush hour." The parents of the only other boy getting off at the station offered to ride him home, but he refused. After all, there were things he wanted to think about now that he was alone -things he would feel guilty thinking about after he was home.
As Bennie walked down a side street, he passed the Methodist church where he had sung in the choir before the war . The steps were new and made a sore spot of the dingy building behind them. It seemed so insignificant in comparison with the cathedrals in Europe, but yet there was a friendly atmosphere about the little church hat had always given him a feeling of belonging. Next, he cut over to Main Street, stopped, and glanced
up and down, but he turned a nd continued to walk along the side street. "I'll save Main Street t ill tomorrow. I'd better think no w ."
It was early evening now a nd the few street lights had b een turned on. The October air w as cold and it brought color to B ennie's pale face. It felt good to h im, though, especially since he h ad come to the little frame hou seHelen's house It seemed stra n ge that the thought of her still m a de his heart beat faster He could almost see her sitting in the pr och swing-just as she had don e so many times before. Then she h ad b een waiting for him Now she was married-to someone else. Bennie lit a cigarette and hur r ied on. "Could hardly blame her for not waiting-three and a h alf years is a lon g time and we were just kids. It was just one of th ose things--a damned unlucky bre a k."
Bennie turned his thought s t o Paris and he laughed to him self. He was not laughing at th e city or "that dame," but at what h e expected his parents to say when they heard about his gay exp er ie nces-so different from th e orderly and peaceful life he had once lived. He wondered what t hey would say about his appearan cethe three added inches-and a bout his personality, a little mor e polished and less carefree than when they h a d last seen him. He frowned, "Guess they will be sort a' disappointed when I tell 'em about my plans, but they'll just ha ve to realize I'm a man now." His frown deepened, though He k new UNIVERSITY
EdithJackso n
it would be hard, terribly hard, to tell them that he planned to leave the little town for good after Thanksgiving-that he was not going to work in their small grocery store-that he was sure he could get a job that had some future in it in an automobile factory in Detroit.
Bennie trembled as he turned down the street on which he lived. No, his parents would not understand, just as they had not underst ood his reasons for enlisting in t he Army in 1950 when he was only 19. He remembered his father saying to him the night before he had definitely decided to joinb2fore he had decided to see somet hing of the world: "Bennie, I hope y ou know how lucky you are gett ing that deferment so that you can finish business school. There's nothing like a little business training to help you run a grocery store t hese days. You'll be taking over t he store before too many years, Bennie, so it's a good idea to get t h is training in now." He could st ill see the hurt in his father's eyes when he had shown him the induction papers.
All during the war, first in the States, and later while in Europe with the Occupation forces, Ben-
1953
nie had thought of the store in disgust. Sure, it had fed and clothed him, but he could not imagine coming home to it and the sawdust-covered floor, and the s mell of raw meat. However, his father's words, showing his expectation of Bennie's taking over the store one day, had stayed with him, even after some of the fellows had told him about the auto factory in Detroit. He realized his parents were depending on his return to them, and then to the store, for they were getting older, but they would get used to not having him around. He would talk to th cr.1 and tell them about cities and Paris and cathedrals. He would show them that his heart had left his little own-maybe it had left when Helen had married -maybe with being away so long. Anyway, he would come back to visit them, of course, and even send money if they needed it. Bennie came nearer to his home. H e stopped and ground his cigarette beneath his feet. He straightened up and buttoned his jacket. H es itating, he took a deep breath. H ere was his home. It was very small and in great need of a new coat of paint, but somehow the sight of it affected him deeply. It
aroused the same feeling in him as when he had passed his churcha comfortable feeling. He noticed that most of the lights were on in the house, which meant his parents were there. Bennie smiled as he thought appreciatively that they must have closed the store early in order to be home if he arrived. Then, as he walked closer, he realized that he detected an odor coming from his house. "Probably roast beef," he thought, "that's Mom's best." Looking through the window, he saw his mother. She was in the kitchen bending over the stove. His father had just come in and kissed her on the cheek. They both looked happy and excited. Bennie took a last glance in the window and hurried up the front steps. "Guess I can wait till tomorrow to tell 'em about my plans. "In fact," he considered, "it wouldn't be a bad idea to think things over again before I say anything to them. I sure don't want to go into anything too fast. Yeah, I reckon I really have a lot more thinking to do. Hell, if the store can still sell beef that smells as good as what I'm smelling now, maybe I'd better stay a while." He stepped into the house.
EDITH JACKSON
NO TIME
"Beard of Beezlebub ! The streets of Bethlehem are darker and more crooked than ever tonight. Hurry, Simeon, or we will miss Solomon, the merchant, as he passes."
"Listen to me, Isaac, I tell you that I cannot do what you wish tonight "
"What! have you turned woman on me? Are you sick? What ails you, Simeon? This is one of the simplest jobs we have ever tried. As Solomon passes I'll jump from this doorway and strike him a good blow on the head. Oh, don't worry; only hard enough to put him to sleep Then you quickly take your knife and cut his purse strings. Now what could be simpler?"
"No. I tell you that I cannot do it. There is something about the very air tonight. Something that screams out against my hand's lifting in the night. Something that ... "
"Cease wagging your tongue, you superstitious fool. We must be silent, or we will frighten Solomon away."
"But, Isaac, suppose Solomon does not come this way. Suppose he does not have his gold with him .... Suppose we are caught."
"Hush! You know that this is the only street that leads to Solomon's house. You know, too, that the old skinflint never leaves money in his shop. He fears that someone will steal it. As to our being caught . . . who is to know in this deserted street if we both do our jobs quickly and well? I don't understand you, Simeon, you have never been afraid before. Why should tonight be so very different?"
"I don't know .. . only there is a stillness, a quiet in the air that I can feel. There is a cleanness that lights up paths that I have never seen before. It shows me how futile life has been for me; yes, for you, too, Isaac. Listen to the night. It pleads with us to be at peace this once, or else we shall never be."
"You have had too much wine. At peace, indeed! There is no peace. All men are trying desperately to get something which does not belong to them. We are thieves, yes. But we are so openly, not hiding b e h i n d merchants' cloaks, innkeepers' aprons, lawyers' robes, or priests' hoods. We are all fighting the same crooked war, the only difference being that if you and I are caught at it, we are hanged, while all of the world's honest crooks who help to hang us revel in having rid the old earth of an evil demon."
"Is that why I feel this futile emptiness? Is the world so black as that, Isaac? Surely it cannot be. There must be good somewhere. There must be men who live and die in honesty and goodness."
"Ay, there are good men; there are honest men, but they starve. Their wives wear rags and scrub floors with broken brooms, while eight or ten honest little children prance about in honest mud puddles. The honest men try to keep good jobs, but they are too honC'st. They feel it is their duty to report a dishonest act to the authorities. It is sometimes difficult to find an authority to whom
Dick Gage
one reports another authority. 0 , yes, you can find plenty of hone st men. You can even be one. Th e lodge is not exclusive and the du es are very reasonable. Go join all. the other honest men and spen d the rest of your life being toss ed about on the north wind of dishonesty.''
"Isaac, Isaac, if life is so blac k , why does not God kill us all? He would not allow so many vile cre atures even to exist."
"What are we to him? Sna ils crawling about on the slimy bottom of a muddy ocean. If he we r e to destroy us all, whom would it benefit except us? But suppo se that this force for good that you desire to find did exist, men wou ld destroy it because it would be different. It would not conform to their patterns. Man hates, abo ve everything else, differences. He weeds them out like thorns in a flower garden. He does not examine them; he simply kills th em blindly, because differences mi ght make him think and thought is t he greatest destabilizing force to man's neat little pattern of selfassurance. 'Don't think,' he sa ys, 'it does no good. Nothing ever came of thinking.' "
"No, no, Isaac, you are wro ng There is some force that can t a ke a totally useless man and m a ke him useful. There is a good somewhere that is above all your objections. I want to find it. I m ust find it, but somehow I am afra id."
"Yes, you are afraid; we are all cowards and that is why your kind of goodness and truth does not exist on this side of the mir r or.
We only see weak reflections of the real truth, which we can never r each. There is an insuperable wall. Call it human nature, the flesh, evil, sin; call it what you will, words mean nothing. It is t oo powerful for us to fight. It crushes those who buck it. There is no help . .. no help. Silence! I hear Solomon coming . . Ah, m y friend, the merchant; you are not sleepy? Here's a stone for a
pillow ... Simeon, hurry! Solomon's gold is too heavy for him to carry; relieve him of it. Ah! Good God .. hurry! Up this alley, we will be unseen here .... Hmm, nice fat purse ... good night's work, lad. We both deserve a drink and a rest."
"Wait, look, Isaac, there in the sky, that dazzling star. It is just over the inn. See how persistently it gleams! There is something un-
TO JOAN
A perfect night turns all my thoughts to love,
For like a rosary the heavens are.
My captured eyes induce my soul above
To run, yet briefly rest upon each star.
The stars, like beads within an endless chain
Designed to guide a lonely heart to ease,
Inspire the countless thoughts in which I gain
The blessed company of memories.
The stars spark off my memories of you.
With each I count there comes a moments bliss
By finding in the silver, red, or blue,
Some thoughtful act, embrace, or tender kiss.
To count the thoughts of you that bring delight
Would be to count the stars some perfect night.
Paul W. Kirk, Jr.
real about its light, something pure, peaceful. Yes, peace, there it is, Isaac. Peace is in that inn, I know it. Hurry, we must find it. Come, Isaac, we must discover the secret of this peaceful light."
"Shut up, you fool, we have no time for stars and inns. We must reach our homes and beds before Solomon wakes and discovers his loss ... . if he ever awakes."
"Yes, Isaac."
FORGIVE OR FORGET
By DICK KEITH
"Well, dig that crazy brainhitting the books on a date night. Has the guy gone off his rocker but good?"
"You know these would-be PhiBetes-rather hit the books than sleep-prove it every night."
"Know, Mike, we oughta fix the guy up. Not a bad Joe, just shy, I guess. Couldn't you get Helen to dig up something for him?"
"Come off it-I wouldn't do that to any girl. If a girl just looked at him, he'd just dissolve and flow away. What a creep! A senior. I'll bet he hasn't had date one since he's been in college. Make me a promise: Shoot me if I'm that bad off three years from now."
"Relax, kid-Big Mike'll always be around to keep his square buddies in circulation."
Through the half-opened E-15 door came a piercing white glow from a study lamp. Over the brightly lit desk slumped the figure of what the average college man would call the "average college man." Bloodshot eyes bulged from a head propped on an elbow made to order for its task.
On this squelching May night when the dateless were cursing exams, professors, hungry stomachs, and everything in general, including one another, Hal Marlowe directed his oaths at a somewhat neglected target-the lady who's known as Fate. She'd really done him wrong. If it hadn't already been tough enough converting from playboy to bookworm in the year tagged for play, Fate had to come along with a new dirty deal.
All the goo d times of his first three college years now seemed to deliberately compare themselves to the not-so-good times of the last nine months-nine months of Hell which would make Dant e add another circle to the inside of Had s.
It was the administration's fault -it had to be. Imagine not telling a guy that he was going to lack enough hours and QC's to even _ graduate, much less make it into med school-unless There's always an unless, and this one meant making a choice. Hal had two alternatives-to buckle down and snare forty hours and forty quality credits of tough sciences, or to continue for his fourth year the practice of habits which to a college man spell "living."
Hal's lifelong dream made the choice for him. He'd really had the course, but now he was over the hump. It hadn't been easy. "Living" had been forced to walk the plank-not a single date since S2ptember. Not dating was like going on the wagon at first, but after a while Hal had even thanked Lady Fate for sinking a loveboat already full of leaks. Sure, he'd been bitter for a while, but the letter from he med school dean telling him he was accepted cured most of his bitterness-but now Why did Fate have to do a double take?
Restin g upon the acid-scarred pages of his chemistry book were three letters -eac h addressed to Hal, each in a feminine hand, and eac h postmarked Hilton, Virginia Hilton, Virginia - home of beautiful Hilton College for Women. Three years of his life as Hal Marlowe, Playboy, had been spent camping on the rolling hills of Hilton. Although each was a happy year, all three years contained different brands of bitter memories.
And now - three tender letters from three thought-extinguished flames, three flames which had burned three not-so-tender scars in a heart that could stand no more than three. It was impossible for Hal Marlowe to completely for ge t how the Hilton lassies had treated
his heart like a tennis ball-banging it back and forth until it b ecame well worn, then giving it th e old heave-ho-Hilton style.
Three letters containing thre e invitations to the Hilton formal s. Could anyone be more than ju st another well-aimed boot destine d for a set of molars already prett y well kicked in? Maybe a might y hungry spider was suddenly remembering the fly who didn't sta y to dinner-maybe even three hu ngry spiders, mused Hal.
One glance at the top letter ha d undone a project that had require d almost three years to accomplis h Hal Marlowe had done the nea rimpossible - he'd forgotten Sall y Warren. Sometimes it takes only a few months for a man to amp utate his first love from his me mory, but if first love is like Sall y, forgetting becomes a lifetime job.
Even her handwriting glowe d. Ever notice how handwriting pain ts its owner? Sally's sure did. Ju st like her handwriting she was petite and vivacious. Memori es crowded Hal's brain - all tho se afternoons on the Hilton tenn is courts-and it seemed he was always slamming those gentle volleys everywhere exc e pt back to t he court always guarded by the impish gr in Sally wore co!lstantly. And all those nights when the sa me impish grin would turn into the angelic look of understandin g wh en Hal would periodically pour out a never-endin g pile of troubles. Wh at a should r to cry on! What m ere adding machine would dare to ta l the numb e r of lake-path safa ris Hal and Sally had made, or even the number of nickels they had coinvested in Montavani's the me from the movie, "Moulin Rouge " It had really happened fa st , thought Hal. Almost the same instant h e' d 1·eached down to tra nsplant his fraternity pin to softer UNIVERSITY MESSENG ER
surroundings he'd noticed the knife protruding from his heart. Why does the knife from the first love go in so painlessly as compared with those that follow?
Hal still remembered the fateful night Jane had taken his longdistance call that was supposed to tell Sally of big plans.
"Sally? Oh, she's over at Annapolis. Why? Why, because she's pinned to a Middie . Know of a better way to pass a week end, Kiddo?" Unquote roommate.
Never again, vowed Hal, but as F ate had it, a second Hilton girl crossed his path that following summer.
Margie was very different from Sally-a million times more independent and really equipped for t he part-sort of like the girl yo.u find in the last chapter of a Mickey Spillane novel. As for men, Margie cared not at all as to whether one would be around next date night. She knew there would b e a representative of the species handy, and t hus didn't worry about it -just went her merry way playing golf, swimming, having a good timeyou know the type. It had been re al with Margie, though. After mucho pesos had been spent on ga la dance week-ends and football ga mes and night clubs, Margie's little heart began to show definite signs of softening. But soon dolla rs began to run out-not as fast as Margi e , though. Maybe she re all y did care and was now repenting and b egging back. Hal wondered as he g azed down at Mar gie's letter. His eyes suddenly shift e d to the third letter Lightning didn't stop at two for Ha l Marlowe. Why hadn't he listened to his sixth sense and stayed clea r of Hilton for good? That blind dat e for Claude Thornhill did sound invitin g-and as if part of a great scheme to ruin his love lif e , Lady Fate had made his blind dat e one of thos e blind dates the ot he r fellow always gets. Phyll wa s beautiful. So li ght on her feet wa s Phyll that Hal had purposely DE CEMBER, 1953
squeal-just to make sure he was stepped on her toes to hear her not dancing with a dream. She really did turn out to be a dream, but not the kind that vanishes when you open your eyes. Sure, he'd heard the soft little voice that whispered of love; sure, he'd been convinced. Why not? The soft little voice should have sounded convincing after all the practice runs it had made on Hal's fraternity brothers. Maybe some day RCA would sign Phyll to say her little speech on record and then all he'd have to do would be to drop a nickel to hear the three little time bombs. Hal wouldn't have felt so cheated if it hadn't taken him three years to wise up.
Again Hal loked at Phyll's letter. What was she trying to prove?
Hal Marlowe simmered where he sat-not e~tirely due to the May heat. What should he do? Should he accept any of the invitations from the ··Hiltonites who'd really done him wrong? Hal wondered whether it would be a safer bet to spend his time giving Swedish massages to rattlesnakes, or some other safe project
Hal pondered the letter from Phyll which he now held in his hands. ''Dear little Phyll with her dear little line," muttered Hal. Rip, went the letter, and soon a crumpled mass of perfumed stationery came to rest in the black wastepaper basket next to the desk.
"And now for big Margie-independent Margie with a money sponge for a heart." The crumpled perfumed wad soon found itself no longer alone as two wads now adorned the depths of the can.
"Now to give Lady Fate her final trav elin g papers; now for sw ee t, innocent Sally Sally, dear Sally, with her littl e excuse that she'd gone to Annapolis that w eek end just to break off with th e Middie. Who'd believe that? It could hav e been true, but .. . girls ar e all alik e , or ar e they?" Hal was de ep in hi s mom ent of final decision, his m ental process e s in quite
a blur. He couldn't seem to think. No wonder-it was the radio blaring music from above.
"Cut the damned radio off up there," bellowed a furious Hal. "How 'bout a little consideration for a change, huh?"
"Bite my foot!" rang a clear voice through the night, and the radio blared louder
Hal had had enough. "If he wants it, he'll jolly well get it," muttered a steaming Hal as he stormed toward the door.
Before he reached the door, he suddenly stopped. After standing in the doorway for almost a minute, Hal turned and, as if in a trance, slowly walked back to his desk, reached for his writing box and drew out an envelope.
With the music still blarin g Hal began printing neatly upon t' 1e envelope-MISS SALLY ANNE .
More and more threats echoed through the halls, but on and on walked the tender strings of Montavani interrupted periodically by the sad voice that pleaded " . Darling, where is your heart?"
Soon a blanket of silence settled over the dormitor.y as the boisterous radio was silenced by the pressure methods known to the denizens of the dormitory.
On and on went the lett ering. Before the pen could complete its mission, it suddenly felt itself drawn aw a y from the envelope that now rested in the same hands which held another letter, too
Hal shoved his chair back and moved toward the window carryin g Sally's letter and his neatly addres se d envelope.
A cool breeze drifted in through the open window. How nice it felt to be alive, thought Hal-nice esp ecially sinc e his last bi g proble m was almost solved.
Iro n ical how the same cool br ee ze soon completely solved this same probl em of Hal's a s it tossed a nd pull ed the tiny bits of paper throu g h th e darkness. Down, down , down glid e d the small scrapssom e with tiny, p etit e samples of handwritin g .
ARIZONA
Hazy with dust ... shimmering with heat ...
A sky so vividly blue it is the origin of "sky-blue" .. .
There are no clouds ... the impression of a bottomless pit is heightened but at times the blue is oppressive. The horizon is farther away than it looks ... there is a small mountain there, but it is taller than any of those east of the Mississippi ... "the wide open spaces"-the mountain is fifty miles away, but it looks only one .. .
The mountain is a mass of stone ... there is no vegetation That one can see ...
In the valleys, though, the lurid red and orange of the earth is intensified by ... the bright green of cacti ... stately saguaro . silvery cholla ... eerie joshua trees ... many-armed ocotillo ... and the ever-present prickly pears ... flat green dishes -spiked with innumerable stinging needles. At night, the sky is black ... clear ... deep ...
a million miles away ...
The black of the mountain at night has disappeared into the black of the sky.
There is nothing but the sky-a campfireseen through a pin-pricked tarpaulin, And in the distance, invisible in the day, is a small oblong of light.
ANNE JEFFREYS dreamed of being an opera star, studied long and hard. BOB STERLING could have been a pro athlete, but chose the long , hard pull of acting. Both eventually won good pares on srage, radio, TV. They met on a TV show ... became Mr. & Mrs. in real life and "Mr. and Mrs. Kerby " in TV ' s brilliant new " Topper" program!