MSGR 1952v79n1

The University

Vol. LXXVIII

EDITORIAL OFFICERS

Editor-in-Chief

JUNE M. PAIR

Richmond College Editor

JOHN DORSEY

Westhampton College Editor

ROSA ANN THOMAS

Law School Editor

CLIFF WARREN

Business Manager

DICK KEITH

Art Editor

BOB BEASLEY

Exchange Editor

JANE CATHER STAFF

Felice Abram, Nancy Baumgardner, Joy Brandt, Al Coates, Betty Dowdy, Myra Embrey, Peggy Gilman, Linda Goodman, Jack Hall , Jim Hatchell, Alex Hudgins, Lucia Johnson, Kenneth

Ma ce, Judy Potter, Byron Vincent, Seeman Warranch, Barbara Warren, Cos Washburn, Peggy Waxter, Carmen Wong ;

T ypists, Evelyn Hansen, Mary Hurt, Faye Kilpatrick, Barbara McCraw;

Art , Sue Bentley, Barbara Bull, Jackie Downing, Janice Elliot, M. Linfield, Carolyn Neale.

2

Page McCray and Charlie Wiltshire , our Jane and Joe College of the

pause near Thomas Hall to chat between classes. Page and Charlie are both seniors and look the part rn their

and Rhoads.

PEABODY'S PAGE

IPEABODY, who alone amongst the literary manage to get through this leaf-shedding season without indulging in autumnal sentimentalities (I renounce Jack Frost as a bit of credulity too long enforced upon us by the poetic and the superstitious), nevertheless rejoice at the forthcoming holidays. I Peabody, the literary spider, offer thanks for the approach of that season of pilgrims and turkeys in which the students, like a yardful of gobbling turkeys, make their mass pilgrimage homeward.

When one reflects that all such matters must be judiciously considered by seven deans and the Board of Publications, one is indeed thankful and not a little surprised that such an outmoded observance is allowed a few squares on our busy University Calendar.

With four noiseless days at my disposal, therefore, I shall light my pipe, hang my feet over the window sill, and pursue for once my study of Horace without the miserable echo of those wretched ping-pong balls clacking in my ears.

One is inclined to feel that there has been entir ely too much clamor of late among students and faculty alike. Now that the voting masses have once more expressed their unanimous approval of Pogo, however, and the victor and vanquished of more heated contests have retired to th eir respective corners for another four years, one can again venture out from one's crack in the mortar with reasonable likelihood of survival.

( Having directed some frank and much-needed words of advice to this upstart crew of pseudo~ editors last week, I almost became the target for a fortunately misguided missile. The blow succeeded in removing a good sized chunk from the wall, into which I promptly retreated, and in which I have since dwelled in reasonable solitude.)

There was a time when with Horace under one arm and my eighteenth volume of The Decline and Fall of Higher Learning under another, I could with my ivory cigaret holder retreat from the campus clatter to the hushed hallows of my woodwork. Gone are the days. Now even woodwork is outdated. It was not sufficient that I be ousted from my erstwhile abode-the venerable Playhouse-but I am relegated to the upper regions, the very garret, of this paint-smelling NOV EMBER, 1952

structure ,(SAB in the vernacular), this veritable cell of cinderblocks in which even the oldfashioned luxury of woodwork has been neglected. For purposes of undisturbed meditation the old woodwork can't be topped, of course, but what with one's odds for existence decreasing by the fortnight, one is fortunate to have a crack in the mortar. I ref er to that one-eyed vulgarism, video -or as the rabble will have it-teevee. Observing this edifice in archeological layers, I congratulate myself that the ping-pong layer is sandwiched between my own and the Mayo, i.e., Dry Dock, i.e., Video layer. Not only does this latter layer house the aforenamed appliance, but it furthermore shelters that other noisy device, which for a nickel will make a blaring effort to drown out its competitor. For all its clack-clacking, pingpong is more civilized. Would that the U. S. Governnmental Office for the collection and dispersal of correspondence and tax statements offered yet another separating layer. As things are, I must daily at 9:36 a.m. swing down eight flights of stairs on a precarious strand of silk in order to get my regular letter from Great Aunt Tilda and my copy of The Saturday Review of Literature. This, however, is a small inconvenience compared to the perils of reascending. More than once my cable has been broken by some frantic freshman. It seems that one must be around for a century

(Continued on page 18)

SNAPSHOTS OF A ,CLASS REUNION 1910

]EVERYBODY loves a class reunion. All the old grads get together to catch up on the latest-which has been accumulating from one to forty years, depending upon the date of graduation. Members of the old gangs find out about each other first, and thus armed begin to exchange tidbits with other members of the class. They haven't learned so much since the night before their last · exam, and they forget it just as q11ickly,but, my! this is great fun. The exchange of reminiscences continues through the week end; then the crowd goes home, and we suspect that each one secretly thinks how lucky he is!

THE PAR1Y GATHERS

Anna Quimby and Mary Hodson are sitting in the reception room. The slant of the sun through the rear windows would suggest tea-time, but the two ladies seem to be alone, and are engaged in animated conversation .

"Anna , how good to see you! These gatherings are nicer every year, aren't they?"

" Yes , it does seem so. But what have you been doing since our last meeting? That was five years ago."

"Well, my daughter got married . She has a little boy now. Carried on the family tradition, you know, and married a Richmond College man."

" A fine tradition! And one that was well established by 1910. But I just couldn ' t get Herbert to come. He says this institution got him into enough trouble; I think he means me!" Anna Quimby laughs good naturedly. "Ethel did get her George here, though. Have you seen them?"

"Have I, indeed! She used to be so slim, too. But after forty years a girl just doesn't look the same any more." Mary glances toward the door where some other early comers are entering. "Oh, look-speak of the angels! Y oo-hoo ! Ethel! Over here! "

Ethel looks, smiles, and perhaps struggles to uncover a name from the recesses of the past.

" Hel :lo, girls "

Anna and Mary chime in return, "Hello, yourself. Won't you sit down and join us? You're look4

ing wonderful! Haven't changed a bit! Have you heard ... ?"

"Gentlemen, it was good of you to drop by. On behalf of the school may I say that we applaud your forward-looking spirit and thank you for your generous gift in the name of 1910 to your Alma Mater. This is a donation you will never regret, and you will be able to regard its fruits with a sense of pride in the near future."

"But "

"The building plans are completed, and thanks to you, construction can get under way even sooner than we had hoped. Good day, gentlemen. Shall I see you at dinner?"

Five grey-haired men in double-breasted business suits file into the hall, closing behind them the door with PRESIDENT lettered in the corner of the glass. They stand staring, first at the floor and then at each other, in a sort of wonderment. Finally one of them speaks.

"How did he do it?"

"I don't know. But they always said he could talk money out of a stone."

"When are we supposed to make the presentation-tomorrow at the banquet?"

" Looks that way."

"I don't know about you fellows, but I didn ' t come prepared for this; I'll have to wire my secretary to have the bank send me that amount by five tomorrow evening."

"So will I."

And so will all of them. They chew down on their cigars, and with hands locked behind them , go to find the rest of the crowd.

THE BANQUET

The students have eaten and gone.

"Old grads" occupy at the round tables the seats which they long ago vacated. A constant murmu r of conversation rises above the feasting party ; student waitresses pass back and forth in th e candlelight bearing trays on their shoulders. T owards the end of the meal we notice little clatter s (C onti n u ed on p age 18)

UNIVERSITYMESSENGER

J. Letter from Dominic Patajkowsinkivitch (right guard) to his family. Deer Ma and Pa- October 20, 1952

I have been here at this hole for three weeks now and I don't think I like it so good. They didn't tell me when they gave me the car that I had to go to classes. You no sumpin? I have to get up at 8 oh clock to go to classes. If I want to eat anything I have to get up at 7 and that aint no fun. And the classes. Boy are they for the boids. They got these jokers in class, see, and they stand up and talk, talk, talk, and they don't never say nothin. Onct I went to sleep in class and boy did that old goat ever get mad. He said I was an incibil or sumpin like that. I don't like him so good. Then after they talk for a lot of days they ups and gives us a test. Boy. This is one of the things I got asked on a histry test. (I copied it down)-

"Discuss fully the social, political, economic, and military significance of the Renaissance in literature and thinking as revealed in the modern developments of the Medieval world."

I couldn't even read it much less answer it. When I got back the paper the professor asked me if I had been writin notes but I told him I knowed not to write notes in class. He called me that word again-icinbil or sumpin. I don't think he likes me so good.

Well, folks, I got to go out an play football now. After all that's what I'm gettin paid for and first things first. Love

Dom

Copied from Documented

Reports by James Hatchell

I arrived here quite early on the morning of October 1. I secured a hired vehicle to transport my paraphernalia to the university. I found the grounds keeper here a surly chap who kept up an incessant chatter the whole while that I was unpacking.

Yes, pater, as much as I hate to admit it I have to unpack my own clothing and even make my own bed on Sunday morning. Of course, it is all quite below my dignity but I suppose one must suffer somewhat for a higher education.

I had a rather interesting experience the other day. I went to a fraternity party. What a revolting exhibition! I was escorted into a smoke-filled room by a friendly moron. Upon arriving I was greeted by some other strange people who stuck a cigarette in my mouth, a drink ( soft, of course, pater) in my hand which they immediately tried to shake off. They then went back to their card game leaving me to fare as best I could. They were all interesting cases for psychological studies. Needless to say, I left early. Please send me $50. My shoes have become rather dusty so, of course, I must get a new pair.

By the way, I am taking Biology 107 and I must have a long talk with you when I get home because you have some rather incorrect notions which must be remedied.

Your affectionate son, Rodrick

III. Letter from Allan Bl ubberhead ( a senior) to his family . Dear Family-

Well it was great to get back to the old grind! Everything here is SNAFU. The food's lousy, my bed's lousy, my schedule's lousy, my profs are morons, my girl gave me back my pin. Everything else is fine. I was in the infirmary three days with a virus. I don't know what it is but everyone has them so why should I be different. Managed to get out of two tests that way .

Please send $35 for books, $45 for a class ring , $25 for back fraternity dues, $12.37 for some books I kept overdue this summer , and $15 for some poker expenses. Y ' rs Al

P S.-When are you going to send me my allowance? I never get any money any more.

HandyGuideto -.. , ..- the Student Center

L ESSON I

THERE has been a great deal of talk lately about a new building on the campus that seems to be called the Student Center , SAB, SS(Slop Shop) Building, and a variety of other epithets. The multiplicity of names is a direct result of there being no name on the building other than U. S. Post Office.

Before we decide whether the Student Center is worth worrying about , we must first of all establish exactly what and where it is. It is not a bus station nor a new county seat, but a building which is conceivably dedicated to the purpose of providing the students of the University with a place to play ping-pong. With this in mind we have only to find and explain the Student Center alias SAB, etc.

The building is very easily located , for, if the student is standing in front of Jeter Hall and looking for the Ad Building or Science Quadrangle , he will see that the Student Center is right in the way and thus cannot be avoided . Also, there are at various positions surrounding the building, little bushes planted in the ground Now, although these 6

shrubs looked dead and emb a lmed , they are a ctu a l1y alive and have real roots . Ask any garden er and he will tell you this . It is one of the thin gs that make our University great.

L E SSON II

When the student feels he has summone d enough courage to enter this building he will find that he has the choice of seven doors . This , of course , does not include the two that are m arke d " No Admittance " In theory, any one of the se doors might be entered without partiality. Ho wever , the two doors in front of the building ar e quite heavy and automaticaUy give you a boot in the seat when they close Thus, they are entered only with extreme difficulty by the novic e enterer. When the student becomes more exp erienced in the ways of the Student Center he m ay enter these doors without fear of impunity , bu t for the present , he is advised to choose one of the doors on the lower level. These are not onl y more easily opened but are also hinged to a stou t wall which lends an added feeling of security. Once the student has entered one of the door s UNIVERSITY MESSENGER

on the lower level he will immediately have no idea where he is. One door opens into a room about ten feet square which contains another door and a set of stairs leading up; two others open into the post office, and the last opens into another room ten feet square which contains a table full of two-week-old Co/legions and five more doors Four of the doors have no handles and are opened by simply pushing unless someone else is pushing from the other side, which makes things difficult and in which case we suggest that the student leave the building and enter by another door. The fifth door in the little room is of the Dutch doo r type, opening only at the top, and will be used presumably as an information station and /o r a good spot to place bets on the local raceway. If one of the students should happen to enter one of tlhe doors leading into the Post Office, it wi ll not be hard for him to recognize where he is. There are hundreds of little boxes with dials on them and they all contain glass windows which are used by the student if he wants to see how the post office works on the inside. If there is mai l in the box it will have to be removed so as to facilitate vision. Also , tihere are strewn on the floor old love letters to the students from the girl back home They are lying there because the boy is no longer interested in the girl back home since he is now dating one of those classy WC

girls. These letters make good reading, but we cannot guarantee credit towards the required 1,200 pages of parallel.

LESSON Ill

A glance at the ,sketch below wilil show that the Student Center is divided into numerous floors or levels, each containing a number of rooms. At first this system might seem confusing, but the student is advised that almost any room he might want to find is located on a level designated by either a letter or number . Thus, any part of the building is easily and quickly accessible from any other part-excepting the parts which do not connect with the rest of the building, of course.

Presumably the student has entered the Student Center so tihat he may find a place to sit down and chat with his friends. In this case he will find any number of rooms which will suit his purpose, all offering excellent soft chairs and sofas and all of similar appearance. The student is advised to remain quietly in one of these rooms until next month when a sequel to this article-entitled "A Handy Guide to Leaving the Student Center " -will appear in this magazine. Members of the circulating staff will be deployed throughout the building and will be happy to give a copy to anyone who looks like he is ready to leave

J .D.

STU DENT CENTER

They Call This Football,Sir!

IN 1823, at Rugby School, England, a chap by the name of William Webb Ellis defied every convention in soccer by catching the ball in his hands and running with it towards the goal. That started it! From this apparently insignificant deviation from the orthodox rules of English soccer came American football-and what a ridiculous and unworthy offspring it is. It can't be called a game, as it serves only to provide a means of letting off excess energy, obtaining broken noses, and admitting to a university students who otherwise would have to seek some lowly employment.

The "game," as it is laughingly called, requires roughly two and a half hours, of which the actual playing time amounts to a maximum of one hour. The remainder of the time is spent in planning various strategies, attending to fallen warriors, and indulging in other various and sundry activities that are not part of the actual game at all.

Immediately prior to the commencement of the game the heroes come rushing from their dressing rooms to the sideline and congregate around the coach, who awaits them with some hurried but well chosen words of wisdom. Then with the roar of the crowd ringing in their ears, the chaps are finally ready to take to the field. The band starts to play, the drums begin to roll, and a few of the more ebullient members of the student body, clad in white and chosen especially for the purpose, get in front of the crowd to perform the most alarming series of physical contortions that can be imagined.

Now the game is ready to begin. A referee blows a blast on his whistle; a line of men rushes toward the ball. The obvious idea is to see who can reach it first, the winner having the honor of kicking it as far as he possibly can into the promised land. As soon as one of the opposing team catches the pigskin, the players rush forward and descend upon him like a swarm of bees on a particularly attractive sunflower. From beneath the resulting shapeless heap of humanity a referee extracts the ball, while another directs the operation of disentangling the confused mass of bodies.

As soon as things have been sorted out a bit, and the players have regained their feet, we are ready to recommence the breathtaking action. But there's a delay: the players, a little tired of the 8

game, trot off the field. With much hugging and backslapping the coach welcomes them home as Odysseus was never welcomed, orders that they be ministered to by the managers, and invites them to have a seat while they rest for a moment. Meanwhile, he dispatches another batch of gladiators to take their places on the field.

When the new teams face each other across the ball, you would think that the game should start again. But no! First ' of all the team that is to carry must con£er. They form a neat little circle, put their heads between their knees, and listen while the quarterback speaks to them in confidential undertones: "Now, boys, let's use play number 146839a2. Butch can run down the left and trip up the right guard. Joe, you kick that big right tackle on the shins Let's go!"

Now the game is really on! The coach , obviously a highly strung individual, paces up and down the sideline casting furtive glances over his shoulder and chewing his fingernails. Every now and then he pours forth a tirade of rude remarks int o a small telephone which he carries around with him. (I have not yet discovered to whom the remarks are addressed, but I should imagine tha t the 'phone is connected with the coach of the opposing team.)

·

Football would not be football, however , wer e it not for the exuberant crowd of spectators tha t occupy the stands. They are the nightmare of the visiting team and the moral support of the hom e team. Goaded on by the efforts of the people in white who jump up and down, the crowd yells its advice to the team. The coach, with one eye on his job and the other on the alumni, is alwa ys quick to respond to the advice that is proffere d; consequently, he makes frequent alterations in the team throughout the game.

Nevertheless, I hasten to add that my days of watching cricket and soccer matches are over. Th is game of American football has me completely in its grasp. I surrendered to its magnetic attra ction long ago. Now every time the team pla ys at home, somewhere among the crowd of hap py and excited spectators you will find me--an Englishman as happy as any American and probab ly even more excited.

-KEN HODDER UNIVERSITY MESSENGER

JOECOLLEGE • • •

( As observed in his natural habitat for the first time by Joe Freshman. This is an intimate, closeup view of that famous species of anthropoid, spiced with excerpts from his glamorous, event- filled life-as told in the words of a campus neophyte.)

K.THOUGH a mere freshman ( well had I been taught _to hol~ to mysimple station in campus life during orientation week) Sunday afternoon found me standing idly in the doorway of one of the dormitories where I was engrossed in trying to learn the subtle way a freshman shou,ld act so a not to be identified as one of the large class of square blocks trying desperately to fit into the round hole of campus recognition. It was at this time that my celestial plea was answered; meandering down the walk was the pine tree deity, Joe College in the flesh. My heart commenced a double-time while resting nervously against my appendix, for here almost on top of me was the man who could save me from being branded as a "typically gross rat"- but what to say? How should I approach him? Should I try to look casual? Should I expel my burning questions, or merely use the strong indep endent approach? I had no choice for now stand- ing before me Joe College seemed to recognize my plight. Quickly I blundered out a salutation which ran together such spur of the moment phrases as hi!, how are you?, and I'm Jim Hangnale from Pinklace-but much to my embarrassment all of my utterances fused themselves into a greeting which might have passed between two separated emus meeting in a Swambesi burying ground for the first time since their mead:hall days. Setting me at ease in a cool, learned tone accompanied by the klinkle- klinkle of a collection of keys ( on his special col- legiate five-foot key chain) surpassed in number only by the personal collection of San Quentin's head jailer, Joe uttered the first words I had heard him speak. I immediately made note of them so as to start my vocabulary for College Jargon 101-102.

"Hey Mac-got a minute?" (How beautifully phrased, so casual, so apt, so awe-inspiring.)

"Yes sir-r-r," I snapped, recognizing the au- thority in my company.

NOVEMBER, 1952

"Just breezed in-sackin' up in C-84-stuff stowed in bag-bag in car-need a hand."

Realizing my duty and without further hesitance I volunteered my immediate, unrestrained, beyond the line of duty services. How happy was I when he consented to let me, an humble barracks ver- min, aid him-outstanding man of campus ex- perience-in a task so dear to his heart.

"Look, Mac," (how I relished with bated breath every syllable) "gotta trot-big date-North Court queen-back later-need help--sound the alarm."

Minutes passed as I gazed in an awe-struck amazement after my disappearing hero. How the many keys glistened in the sunlight-almost like the Balfour man selling class rings. Duty shook me to my senses, and right away I rushed toward Joe's car-a modest dual-exhaust Jaguar with a Holly- wood muffler, television special, leopard-skin seat covers, and of course a complete set of colored birds and fraternity decals for the windows. Joe's good taste was of course shown by the absence of the standard hub caps ( which everybody knows were deemed passe with the coming of the now conventional Hollywood spinning specials). After examining Joe's simple mode of transportation, I immediately started up to the tower abode of my hero with the first of his fifteen pieces of luggage. How impressing were the many seals on his steam- er trunks. My work completed, I could hardly wait to learn more college lore. Almost instantly the door burst open and again before me was Joe, panting like a winded rhinoceros after finishing the 10,000 metre Olympic walking race. Before I could conjure any good questions, Joe was speakmgagam.

"Gotta run, son-love-starved gal waiting out- side in her Coupe de Ville-wants to take me to supper-these females can't live without me- gotta blow, Mo, gimmee my uke, Luke, I'm off in a blue blaze saying here's tracks to you, Mac."

How my heart rebelled. Such fluent usage of phrases that only a literary Einstein could coin. I was in my glory as Joe so defoly slipped down the (Conti111tedon page 17)

general lee and the blackberries

IPAUSED in the middle of the overgrown path. Blackberries! There were the bushes, edging the fence of my grandmother's pigpen, the bursting plump berries fairly dripping from their thorny branches.

I couldn't resist, and deciding my straw hat would make a grand bucket, I had just taken it off when a rough voice behind me demanded, "And just what are yott planning to do?"

It was a Southern voice-no doubt of that-but with an educated ring I had not heard during my two weeks' visit in this community. Completely irked by its sarcasm, I whirled around to administer the perfect squelch.

"That would not exactly, I think, be any of your business, sir . . . "

Far from being squelched, the tremendous browned individual who faced me actually looked amused! His large gray eyes explored me with all the objectivity of a farmer sizing up a prize beef, then they crinkled smilingly, and he said in an exaggerated General Lee sort of a voice, "Well, now, bless mah buttons; a yamndankee in our midst! Ma' am, I feel it my duty to warn you

The Sottth's gonna rise agin!"

The last, seconded by enthusiastic and affirmative grunts from the pigpen, was followed by a broad grin and a good-natured voice, "But you're mistaken; it is my business."

He sat down on a log and unfolded his long legs. "You see, this is my property and you are a trespasser," he continued with mock politeness. "Now if you were a sweet-natured little thing, and could smother a good 'R' with that pretty little pink tongue like a real Rebel, it wouldn't make a powahful lot of difference." He was General Lee again. "But now seein' as you' re a yamndankee -and a pretty durn insolent one at that-I don't know as I care about having you pick my berries."

"That's the limit! You listen to me, General Lee .. . whoever you are this happens to be my grandmother's property, my grandmother's blackberries, and my grandmother's . . . "

"Pigs?" he suggested helpfully from around the straw he was chewing on.

Beyond the blackberry bushes the pigs grunted impartially and nosed through the wire fence to tickle the plump berries with their hairy pink snouts. I began to pick furiously, ignoring the sixfoot length of manhood behind me. The miniature thudding of berries against the bottom of my straw hat measured out the succeeding silence.

"So you're Mrs. Gordon's glamorous young granddaughter, queen of the Pennsylvania co-eds by winter, down slumming for the summer. " I realized suddenly that this was the first time his voice had not been teasingly good-humored.

"No, No," I wanted to say, but when I turned around there were those objective gray eyes laughing heartily.

"And just what would you know about glamour?" I smirked.

"Only what I've learned from you this morning, sweetheart." This time I gave up on crushing him with words and, turning my whole attention to the blackberries, I ignored him. I picked as rapidly as possible, stopping only to remove the thorns which frequently imbedded themselves in my flesh.

"Ouch!" This time it was lodged under my fingernarl. I grabbed the stricken finger and clutched it to me. My sun-browned friend jumped up and turned me around to face him. Was there actually concern in his gray eyes?

"You're hurt." He examined my finger-objectively. "Sit down," he commanded in a tone General Lee might have used, and as I didn't obey imUNIVERSITYMESSENGER

"He's nice-looking boy."

"Who, Grandma?"

"Pat, I believe you're homesick; you haven't heard a word I've said." I looked at her quickly before the twinkle left her powder-blue eyes. "Maybe you're already in love. I was just saying that Tom Blick would make you a nice boy friend. His brother is all right, but a little wild . . . not sweet and considerate like Tom. "

"Shoo! "

" Funny thing about Tom. He was just ready to go into medical school when they drafted himand where do you suppose they put him? "

"In the medical corps? " I didn't really care where they had put him .

"They slapped that boy straight into the kitchen and made a cook out of him! " Grandma was indignant, so I made a conscientious attempt to appear indignant also. " That poor boy works all winter whi-le he's in school, then comes home and works on the farm all summer. Now Jake-that's his brother-he ' s not worth two cents. Runs around in that old Ford all the time. Never does a lick of work he can get out of!''

"Grandma, did you say their name is Blick? Isn ' t that the name of the family that owns the blackberries down by the pigpen?"

"Still thinking about those blackberries!" Grandma laughed. "Yes, it's the same family."

Now I knew! General Lee was Jake.

"Grandma, does Tom look anything like Jake? " All of a sudden this Tom that I had never met embodied in my mind a:ll that wa-s good and right and just. He wouldn't have taken away the blackberries that I had picked. He probably would have helped me pick them. Suddenly I wanted to meet him. Jake was very nice-looking, though, as much as I disliked admitting it.

"Yes, they look right much alike-except Tom is better looking."

"Better looking? Why, that seems almost impossible."

"Oh, I didn't know you had seen Jake. When did you meet him?"

"It was he that walked away with my blackberries. I know it was. He said they were his, so he must have been a Blick."

Grandma snapped open the last bean shell, then took both pans and started inside. "Now these will be ready to cook tomorrow. It's time to fix supper; you can gather up the hulls."

I sat there for a moment trying to visualize Tom. 14

Without even meeting him, I had decided he was wonderful.

Suddenly the chickens clucked in alarm and scattered in all directions. An ancient Ford rattled up the drive and stopped in front of the porch with a jolt. Even before I saw the plaid shirt, I knew who it was. The old door flew open and long legs swung down to the ground . The boy carried something carefully in his hands ; he walked gingerly up the steps and grinned at me. There was no doubt about it-Jake was extremely good looking. You'd hardly guess from his expression that he was such a heel.

I turned my back on him, gathered up the bean shells in my arms and would have left him standing there if Grandma hadn't appeared at the door. "Tom! It's good to see you back again. Come on in; we ' re going to have a bite of supper in a minute-you must stay. I was just telling Pat that you two would have to meet."

My beautiful illusions about Tom Blick scattered like feathers from scurrying chickens. So this was not Jake after alt It was Tom-not Jake -that was General Lee. I felt very tired. "We've met, Grandma. Now if you'H excuse me .. . "

I did not look at Tom until he spoke my name, and there was no trace of scarcasm on his face.

· " Pat . . . Miss Barker . . . 'wait a minute . I brought you something." Shyly, like a little boy, he offered me the thing that was in his hands. I found that I was holding something very warm. I uncovered it-the most beautiful blackberry pie I'd ever seen!

t 1 Tom!"

"Pat, I hope you'll forgive me-I know I acted like a nut this afternoon. Anyway, will you take the pie, sort of as a peace offering?"

"Tom, it's the prettiest pie I ever saw-of course I'll take it, but I'm the one who should apologize . I don't know why I was so siUy this afternoon. "

"I don't think you were silly at all," he smiled. "I think you're kinda cute."

" Shoo, chick!" He took the bean hulls in one long arm, opened the door for me like a gentleman, and with the other arm lightly around my waist, he handed me into the living room. Hi s lips parted in the handsomest grin I'd ever seen, and the long look he gave me was not an objectiv e one .

"Put an extra plate on the table, Grandma! " I called. "General Lee is staying for supper!"

-J.M.P.

UNIVERSITYMESSENGER

What Price Femme?

THE PROBLEMS of recent weeks seem insignificant when compared to the heartache and worry forced upon the hundreds of Richmond College men who spend their lives and most certainly their fortunes in trying to date that Utopian creature known as the "Westhampton Lady." Little does the chosen young woman realize what a complex and frenzied system of planning follows her casual answer, "Why I'd be delighted to go-if a friend of the family doesn't come up from home."

I shall relate as briefly as possible the proceedings of this moving melodrama.

In Richmond College, the period followingfor lack of a more descriptive expression-Saturday night supper, is one of forced relaxation and rest. One is too weak to do anything else. This, how-complete his last-minute preparations. Back in his ever, is not the case for the hero of our story to room his clothes are already neatly laid out and whom we shall refer as "just plain Bill." Bill has his shoes are shined to perfection. He dresses carere tired to his room for the purpose of glancing fully and then calls in his roommate who must over his analytic geometry, but I fear that his give him a last-minute inspection. mind is far removed from the problems of geo- If, and this is one of the world's impossibilities, metrical curves-from the geometrical angle of it we were to see the inspiration of all Bill's endeavor anyway. Tonight he is thinking of the good im-at this moment, we might observe a limp figure pression he hopes to make on his date later in the draped across the bed, feet in the air and what evening. "Will she like him?" "Will she have a has all the external characteristics of a head gazing goo d time? " All these and a good many other raptly at the picture of some West Point cadet on "W ill she's" circulate in his muddled mind; he the dresser. Obviously we shouldn't intrude upon suffers untold misery as he patiently awaits the this moving scene-a fact borne out by the testi- appointed hour. mony of several former students of this college

Now, let's look in on our "Lady of the Lake." who tried that trick last spring, but I must note Is she excitedly anticipating his arrival or, perhaps , that even in this age of speed, woman is still the making hurried preparations for the date? Don't slowest creature on our planet. Someday, perhaps, be facetious! There she sits, hair up in curls, talk-an historian will uncover facts proving that Eve ing to her equally haggard appearing suite-mate. was the last person out of the Garden of Eden, Du e to certain censorship laws in this state we thus establishing a precedent that is still being ob- shall not record the actual conversation, but rest served by both the female population in general assured that Bill's name will not be mentioned and our Westhampton ladies . unl ess of course he might be referred to in pass-What about Bill? Well, our hero seemed a ing: "My date? Oh, he's one of those -ugh- little worried as he searched his room for his Richmond boys from across the lake." wallet; now, however, he has found it and stands

Without wasting more of our time in this quaint fondly gazing at five, crisp one-dollar bills nestled setting, let us return to the hero of our story as safely inside. It would certainly be too harsh to he dashes madly about his room . His well-planned say that girls are completely oblivious to the fact schedule has been abruptly broken by the fact that that men spend a great deal of money on them; his equally fiustrated roommate has gained posses-nevertheless, they fail to realize the hard work sion of one of the Thomas Hall sanitation facili-put into securing that "blood" money. Because ties which he had planned on putting to use, but Bill's allowance was already overdrawn, our hero after much argument just plain Bill is allowed to

NOVEMBER, 1952

(Continued on page 16)

Buy ChristmasSeals

Buy Them! Use Them! Gladly!

On November 17, all over the country, the fortysixth annual Christmas Seal Sale will open. Right here on the campus you will be given a chance to help in one of this country's toughest wars-the war against tuberculosis, the No. 1 infectious killer who claims a victim every 17½ minutes in the United States alone.

Christmas Seals are the ammunition you can use to wage your part of this battle. Christmas Seal money helps fight TB all year round. It helped pay for those chest X-rays you had during registration week-and all the other X-ray campaigns which search out those who have TB and don't know it-so they can be treated to protect their lives and yours.

As part of the greater Richmond community you should know that in your city 78 residents died of TB last year and 187 new cases were reported Health education and research and rehabilitation round out the battle plan of your Richmond TB association.

Christmas Seals light the way to better health for you and your community. Buy them! Use them! Gladly!

What Price Femme?

(C ontin ued fr om p age 15) has resorted in desperation to the "S" or starvation plan. For two weeks he has abstained from the worldly pleasures offered him at Mayo's Emporium. The money which he has thus savedobviously a large sum-has been put into his starvation savings for his date.

How will this noble example of physical endurance be rewarded? It won't be , although his date might remark how pale and thin he is beginning to look. But Bill is not thinking in terms of rewards now. He is hastening to get rid of 16

several of his friends, who as veterans of the Westhampton gauntlet, are pressing upon him their warnings concerning feminine behavior and tactics. Alas, poor Bill.

Parked in front of the dormitory is Bill's most treasured possession and one which places him among the college aristocracy. Maybe Antony did some fast talking at Cesar's death, but compared to the arguments most boys use to get the car it was mere pitter-patter. I'm willing to bet, however, that the girl won't compliment our hero on how the recent waxing has made the car shine. Quite to the contrary, she will probably say in the most sarcastic voice imaginable, "Why the radio doesn't even work," or possibly, "I notice you aren't using white side-wall tires. Is that because there is still a shortage of them?" Grimly our hero will have to accept these remarks as one of the peculiarities of womanhood.

Bill arrives at the North Court Barrier precisely on time. After presenting his country club card at the desk, swearing allegiance to the Dean, and positively identifying himself as a student of Richmond College, he will be allowed to "buzz" his girl. This buzzing in itself should be a simple procedure, but it usually turns out that some frustrated Eqglish major is put in charge of operating the switchboard, the complexity of which would no doubt tax the mind of any normal three-year-old Hours later, after Bill has picked out " You' re So Understanding" on the piano thirty-seven times , la femme arrives!

Descending the stairs, she sweeps into the anteroom in a manner which says to all, 'Tm here , you lucky child."

They will go on the date. Perhaps, through some strange twist of fate, the young lady will break down and admit that she had a wonderful evening; probably she will put on her sweetest smile , which you may rest assured has remained untouched the whole evening, and go tripping off to the sign-in room-fifteen minutes before th e bell is due to ring.

Looking at himself squarely in the rear-vie w mirror, our hero may ask himself, " Is it reall y worth it?"

I consider this a good place to close this cruel tale of sorrow and exposure; as far as I know, just plain Bill may still be found sitting in his car outside of Thomas Hall, weeping in his wallet an d trying to answer that question.

-BILL PEACH. UNIVERSITY MESSENGER

Joe College

(Continued from page 9)

stairs leaving me to pitch and roll in the wake of his skilled provincial tongue. ·

Many days were to pass before destiny again willed it that I meet face to face with Joe. I was resting quietly in my humble lodging place when suddenly the prevailing silence was rudely interrupted by the sound of my name ringing out through the dormitory. Someone was paging me for the phone. Without a second's delay I dived from the bed, raced down the stairs and rapidly approached the booth with wild expectations of a long-distance call from home. When I reached the booth, there was Joe.

"Hey Mac, dig me a dime, gotta call South Court, can't leave, expecting a call from North Court-hustle, wiH ya?"

The thought that Joe had remembered my name sent chills from my tibia to my tarsus, and without wa sting a second I said, "You bet, Joe!" and swiftly set myself to the hunt. Just think-me-knighterra nt to the big boy himself .

My next meeting with Joe came quite unexpec tedly. I was standing in line for supper, lording it over some rather na:ive freshmen, when suddenly from behind there came a sensation running up and down my spinal column which felt like a near-sighted water buffalo had just toppled from the top of the Washington Monument and had picked my back to be his Rock Creek Park wading pool. As my nomadic vertebrae slowly made the return trip from my cranial cavity back to their hom eland, my eyes ( now tired of playing yo-yo with my shoe strings) returned to their sockets and displayed to me the image of my friend Joe standing beside me smiling gaily.

" Hey Mac-big rush-gotta chow-up fastmake room for two."

What a privilege! Joe was indirectly inviting me to have supper with him. An honor such as this w ould make any rat throw away his rat hat cheerfu lly. I must admit that I was somewhat dismayed w hen Joe immediately admitted his fifty fraternity b rothers behind him in line, but I didn't mind w aiting the extra hour to be served ( after all, they say the last ones through get the most!) .

Alas, now comes the mournful part of my tale w heer, with tear-stained eyes, moist with voluminous passion, I must relate how my friendship w ith Joe was suddenly jolted into oblivion. It was NOVEMBER, 1952

a Sunday morning, and I had accidentally slept late; hoping to make the most of my time, I decided to Bendix a few clothes. When I reached in my closet for my soap flakes, the box was gone. The dime that I had stingily withheld from the telephone leeches was also gone from my dresser Setting out to investigate immediately, I headed for the basement. On the steps I saw Joe-then it came to me what had happened. Joe tried to explain.

"Big rush, Mac-dirty clothes-say, how about hanging these clothes on the line for me, will h ?" yu .

Then it happened. I saw the soap box that had the premium box top ( that I needed for my free set of toothpicks) stamped beyond recognition. Suddenly the Bendix went into high gear-the noise and strain were too much. I looked at Joe and clutched my slide rule tightly in my handthen everything went black.

How beautiful the rolling Virginia hills-lovelier nowhe:e than here in picturesque Staunton. The judge was so kind-even drove me up to this paradise. Well, guess I gotta trot now-see you around, Mac!

-DICK KE1TH.

Phi Kap: "Do you owe any back house dues? " Kappa Sig: "Naw, we have modern plumbing. "

Class Reunion

(Continued from page 4) and noises-a dropped fork, a laugh-which seem to disentangle themselves from the drone, only to be muffled in a light cloud of smoke which is gathering in the rafters.

Now there is a tinkle of glass. There are announcements, toasts, presentation of a fine gift of money from 1910, introductions, and the speaker ri'Ses. There is applause, sprinkled lightly with exclamations of "I remember him" and "He's a good fellow."

He says something funny and the speech is on. We don't remember what he · says, but we know that he's talking about our Alma Mater. Here we struggled for four years to discover ourselves, and now we've come back at our leisure to view the fulfillment of our efforts. Anna and Mary smile at Ethel, who, by this time having recalled their names, smiles back. The men in the doublebreasted business suits, as they light new cigars, become expansive and begin to congratulate themselves on having thought of donating a gift to the building fund.

The speaker is through now. He sits down amidst loud clapping and the reunion is over. The threads of lives which momentarily retouched extricate themselves and pursue their own paths.

The old grads leave their Alma Mater to the care of younger hands whose owners will some day come back and say, "Have you heard ?"

AFTER THE BALL Is OVER

Jane Harvey, pajama-dad, sits in her room filing her nails. A book lies open on the floor beside her bed and her hair is in pin curls.

"I thought they'd never get through eating. Nobody seems to realize we waitresses have to study, too." She looks at her roommate, who is not listenmg.

"Betty, did you hear what I said?"

''Vm-m."

"They were beginning the program when I left. Some men gave the school a lot of money. I wonder how long they've been out to appreciate it so well?" She carefully inspects the nail of her left forefinger.

Not even an "Um-m" from Betty.

"Some of them don't look like they ever were at school here. You know, talking about their grandchildren and business deals and all." 18

'Tm studying, Jane."

"Oh. Sorry. Just felt like talking. You know." Then she puts her nail file aside and stares at the wall. This time next year I'll b~ an old grad. I'll be thinking, At this time of year the fall leaves were pretty at school, or The roof always looked this way in the snow, or Buds would be popping out now, or It would be hot, or cold. Someday I'll be saying, "Dears, we' re going to show you where mother went to college," or "Honey, I think I'd like to go to a reunion and take a peek at the old place." Then when I have gray hair and have lost my figure, I'll come and sit at a table and talk about my grandchildren while--a waitress talks about me!

Jane sits silent a long time. Betty slams her book, cubs out the light, and climbs into her narrow bed. Darkness swallows everything in the room, and by morning all will be back to its usual pace. 1910 will be gone.

-R. T. I Peabody

(Continued from page 3)

or two before one is entitled to a letter box in one' s own office. However, since Alma Mater Appreciation Week, I Peabody have become resigned t o laboring sans recognition. Although the Alm a Mater has now been duly appreciated, thanks to my ceaseless endeavors, and even though the inspiration for this new tradition was my own , I expect nought in return. Having toiled diligentl y since the days of E. A. Poe in the interests of thi s institution of learning, one . grows accustomed t o going unappreciated. Tulloh may take the bows; next year I shall still, for seven days, dutifull y appreciate the Alma Mater. But just wait until he tries to declare a Student Appreciation Week. Th at is when I shall, without further modesty, institute a six-month Period for the appreciation of Peabody.

Yet, for all their grossness there is some small element of worth in students. Therefore, to demonstrate my tolerance for all fell ow creatures , I have allowed this uninspired lot of editors to devote a complete issue to Joe and Jane College. And while Joe and Jane cram themselves with turkey and other tidbits of the holiday tabl e, I Peabody shall feast upon the delicacies of t he intellect. Come, Hor ace!

-PEABODY UNIVERSITY MESSENGER:

CONTEST

SAY, gang, have you entered the new MESSENGERcontest for this month??? It's open to all eligible persons. (Sorry, this contest is not open to students of the University, their friends, relatives, enemies, or acquaintances.) But, the rest of you-do what your friends are doingfill out this simple contest blank and mail together with an old five-dollar bill, and the winners will receive absolutely free a crisp new one dollar bill. Hurry and do it today.

Name _______ Age Sex _ (yes) _ (no)_ (maybe)_ IF FEMALE,GIVE PHONE NUMBER _ ~-- -· IF MALE, FORGETIT!! do not write in space below _ ··

_ do not write in space above _______ _ IF FEMALE,GIVEHOME ANDCOLLEGEADDRESSES_______ _ Now-finish this simple sentence: I LIKE TWENTY-FIVE WORDS, MORE OR LESS, BECAUSE

All words become the property of the MESSENGERoverstocked word warehouse and will be sold to anyone wishing a few words. They come all bound in a nice little book by our editor, Noah Webster. ( All Entries Must Be Postmarked Not Later Than May 31 1918.)

-J.D.

Red Cross Needs Blood

N o longer is the man in battle the only fighting man to be shedding his blood in defense of our coun try Now all of us can make a truly direct contribution to the job of defeating the enemy and saving the lives of our combat soldiers .

Y OU AND I ARE BEING ASKED TO DON ATE BLOOD FOR THE ARMED FORCES!

Richmond has participated in the national blood prog ram since November, 1951. We have shipped over 5,000 pints of blood to the armed forces in this our first year of operation.

T he Bloodmobile visits Richmond once every month to colle ct 300 pints of blood . For each NOVEMBE R, 1952

visit 400 donors must be scheduled to fulfill our obligation.

Individuals who wish to donate a pint of blood are asked to telephone the Red Cross, 3-7451, for an appointment at the Blood center.

RICHMOND'S BLOOD DONATION DAYS December 17 and 18.

" General Lee and the Blackberries," a short story included in this issue, was the first prize winner in the prose contest sponsored last spring by the University of Richmond chapter of Pi Delta Epsilon.

No.17••• THE MAGPIE

"I don't get some of the chatter!''

He's a chatterbox himse1f - outclassed by no one! But the fancy double-ta]k of cigarette tests was too fast for him! He knew - before the garbled gobbledygook started - a true test of cigarette mildness is steady smoking. Millions of smokers agreethere's a thorough test of cigarette mildness:

It's the sensible test ... the 30-day Camel Mildness Test, which simply asks you to try Camels as your steady smoke - on a day-after-day, pack-after-pack basis. No snap judgments. Once you've tried Camels in your "T-Zone" (T for Throat, T for Taste), you'll see why ...

After all the Mildness Tests ...