Published Annually
Price: One Smile
TH6 GRIN GAZETTE
Motto: It’s all grist
that comes to the *
grin mill.
NUMBER 1
VOLUME I.
UNIVERSITY OF OREGON, SATURDAY. MAY 15. 1920.
Germs And Dew Drops
Go When Workers
Scrutinize Campus
Campus day is here! At dawn the
ardent workers begin to wipe the dew
drops off the grass. Even the robins
are house-cleaning. The rivalry be
tween those who are polishing the
pebbles in the gravel walk and those
who are merely trampling down the
grass has almost reached the point of
blows. Everybody works! Beware,
ye slackers, who are so slow in catch
ing Deady bugs. Water is still wet to
stir the spirit of such as you.
Sport fans are hunting microbes on
the baseballs. One zealous patriot is
trying to scrub the bricks of Johnson
hall white.
Only one accident Is reported. A
squirrel, pursued to the top of a high
tree by the brigade who are combing
the hair of the fir trees, became ex
cited and fell to the ground. He was
immediately seized, declared in need
of a bath, and washed in the Senior
fountain.
Campus day has come and gone.
The men who are in charge regularly
gather to gaze upon the campus beau
tiful. In envy they note the wonders
wrought and mutter under their
breath, “Doggone it! It’ll take a week
to clean up after them.”
GEESE RHYMES
Little Miss Muffet
Sat not on a tuffet,
But on a cold gravestone,
’Twas there I spied her
A young man beside her
She’d never have sat there alone
Little Frosh Horner
Went round the corner
To a sorority for chow,
He put in his thumb
And pulled out his gum
Under the table it’s sticking now.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How are your fraternity pins?
“I’ve a Sigma Chi’s, a Beta Theta
Pi’s,
And now I’m after Jim’s”
Old Father Hubbard
went to the cubbard
A pair of overalls to don,
But when he got there
He felt pretty bare
They’re not wool, but only cot-ton.
Sing a song of six pants
A pocket full of patches
Four and twenty buttons off
No place for my matches,
When a guy goes pigging,
His roommate’s sure to yell,
“Hey! Take my pants off,
And my shoes as well!”
Hickory, Dickery, Dock,
A mouse ran up the clock,
It was not fair
For him to run there
For the clock was on my sock.
What They Teach in Psychology
—to analyze a slice of the absolute.
Recognition is a quiver in the
stomach.
—to take a cross-section of a feel
ing of interest.
Embarrassment is no mental effect,
but a movement of the diaphragn.
NIGHTFALL
A break of oars in the water,
A scarf of mist in the sky,
The drowsy lap of the river,
The tired day slipping by.
Out of the mist and the waters,
The sweep of a lithe canoe,
Out of the weary daytime,
Night—and peace—and you—
—M. N., Pot and Quill. •
A world with blue trees
And a green sky—
Funny?
But why not?
E. W. H. ON THE DOLLAR
I
ONCE when I was nine
*****
II EARNED a dollar
* * * ' * *
I.T WAS the biggest dollar
*****
I EVER saw.
*****
IT was so big
*****
THAT it just fit in
*****
THE palm of my hand
****•'
AND TOO big to stick in my eye
*****
LIKE a monocle.
*****
YOU KNOW how big dollars
*****
USED to be.
*
* * * *
I THOUGHT and thought but could
not think
*****
OF ANYTHING big enough to buy
SO, I put it away
THAT’S twenty years ago
*****
AND I found it yesterday
*****
BUT something had happened to it
*****
IT HAD shrunk.
*****
THE BUTCHER, the baker, the can
i dlestick maker
*****
HAD all taken a piece off that dollar.
*****
IT MADE me sad to see
*****
HOW small it had grown to be—
*****
IT LOOKED like a dime
*****
I TURNED it over and read
*****
"In God We Trust”
* * * * •
AND I did
*****
SO I PUT it back to grow again.
*****
I THANK YOU.
A SHORT STORY
Brooks strolled homeward, through
the park at nine-thirty, with a perfect
cigar, and the expansive good humor
of a man to whom all things are pos
sible. In a dark corner, he saw a
woman’s quiet figure. He paused and
she turned her head toward him in a
gesture of invitation. With his Irish
wit and his free adventuresomeness
he had his arm around her in five
minutes.
“Listen, honey-girl,” he whispered
in her attentive ear, “I told my wife
I was working. Let’s you and me
have a gay time. I’m lonesome for a
good show and a nice hand to hold—”
He drew her to her feet and led her
to thei lighted path. They paused un
der a light, and he tipped her chin up
with one hand while his other drew
her head to his shoulder.
The light fell full on her middle
aged features.
It was his mother-in-law.
ODE TO A LIBRARY CLOCK
Somewhat close to the library steps
Youth and maiden linger,
Will they enter the hall of wisdom
And study and cram and Agger?
And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all,—
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!”
Half way up the steps she stands,
The moonlight is so luring,
“But French and chemistry,” she cries,
“Call me now to studying.”
The clock makes answer, alas,
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,
“Forever—never!
Never—forever!"
Forever pause but never enter,
Youth and maiden on the morrow,
Meet a quizz and fast repent,
Moonlit joy is turned to sorrow,
And like the skeleton at the feast,
The warning timepiece never ceased,
“Forever—mever!
Never—forever!”
IF THE MILLAGE BILL—
Stepped a Beady bug, slowly, grave
ly, down the wall and across the desk.
From the top of an ancient volume
he spake and professor paused to list
en.
“The last student is going,
And silence comes to our college,
As a blanket falls on and smothers,
An eagle in his flight.
The halls are as deserted,
As the graveyard on week-ends,
And Deady bugs alone
Are learning French.
The eight o’clock bell
Has gone on a strike,
And the Mill Race is as silent
As the tennis court in exam week.”
He paused and the professor whisp
ered sadly, “If the the Millage Bill—”
From the ancient volume the voice
made answer, “Then the Deady bugs
will inherit the earth.”—L. M., Pot
and Quill.
Howe We Love Him!
There is a professor named Howe
Who raises a deuce of a rowe
With his seven o’clock classes
Where no one passes
For that he would never allowe.
French Profeseor Wins Publicity
There’s another professor named
Timmie
Who is very fon dof the shimmie
He always speaks French
With an Irish accent
But he hasn't a voice like Jimmie.
BLUE MONDAY HYMN OF HATE
I hate the ground, I hate the sky,
I hate the students walking by,
I hate my hands, I hate my feet,
I hate the stuff I have to eat.
I hate my face, I hate my hair,
I hate the clothes I have to wear.
I hate to laugh, I hate to cry,
I hate to live,—I’d hate to die,
And here is something I’ll confess
I hate the whole blame blooming mess.
—A. Dyspep Tick, Pot and Quill.
• DENTISTRYACTION.
I was seeking some means by which,
as the ballad has it, “just to pass the
time away.” As far as appearances
were concerned, my time was being
well cared for. I was facing the pros
pect of spending an hour in the so
ciety of a most well-meaning dentist
Perhaps this is enough said on that
score. It may need no further demon
stration that I must And some amuse
ment. My experience has always
been that the society of the most
amiable dentist was inevitably bor
ing.
I took my place in the dentist’s
chair. I didn’t want to have my tooth
filled. All right, this wasn’t my tooth
that was aching. Let’s see. It was
my great-aunt’s tooth—my great-aunt
Arabella. Poor old Auntie! To have
such a tooth! I was very sorry for
her; but, after all, it was to be ex
pected that one’s teeth would not be
cound at such an age. I had forgotten
how old she was; people had usually
lost their teeth at that age, though.
She should be willing to put up with a
good deal, if she could keep her own.
Still, I was very sorry for her. It
was a very bad tooth—But—hang it
all—if that was Aunt Somebody’s tooth
—what in the name of the seven stars
was it doing in MY head! And oh,
how it hurt—
The dentist looked at me in slight
surprise, for I had been behaving very
well. Obviously, I must calm myself
again.
There began to drift into my mind
lines of poetry by which I had more
than once put myself to sleep at night:
“There is sweet music here, that
softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the
grass;
Or night-dews—”
—The steady internal grinding
seemed to penetrate the inner cham
bers of my very ego. I could hear the
turning of the wheel below—a soft,
purring note that might in some places
have been soothing, but could not now
possibly be quieting to the nerves.
“Music that softer on the spirit
lies—”
Oh, it was too much! Since that
day the “Lotus-eaters” has lost its
soothing charm for me. Firmly I
planted my two feet on solid earth,
and watched the dentist mixing things
up in a funny little dish. I acquired
some very interesting information
about the amalgamation of mercury
with silver, and about the difference in
the feel of an empty tooth, and its
ultimate capacity.
And then, at last, it was finished,
and the little stand was swung back
to allow me to step down to the floor.
I turned to the dentist, who was really
a very pleasant man.
"It. must be hard to have everyone
so glad to get away from you,” I said.
“It is,” he replied, wtih a whimsical
smile.
“I, at any rate, can thank you for a
' very pleasant afternoon.” But still, I
| know of better ways to pass the time.
I —E. V., Pot and Quill. 1
A PORTRAIT
She sat very still with one elbow on
the library study table. She did not
look up and therefore I did not know
for fully ten minutes that her
eyes were brown. The dark lashes
were provokingly long, reminding
me of rich draperies. Once in a
while she frowned, but in air in
stant the frown melted and left
no traces behind. Wavy brown hair
followed the head line closely, leav
ing behind two little neck curls, and
then rolled over in a loose coil on the
top of her head. The neck was partly
hidden because she rested her chin in
her hands, causing the white collar to
rise, on my side of her, almost to the
hair and chin line. It was tantalizing
and so I walked to the other side.
The neck was long and full and be
longed to an out-of-door girl. The tan
of her cheek matched the neck color
ing. The nose measured large and
on it I detected small freckles. Since
my change of position, her face tilted
my way and a large full mouth curved
toward me. Every muscle held its
place; she did not even turn a page.
Presently she raised, her eyes. She
moved one hand, then the other,
making queer little passes. Again she
looked at her book.. She took in little
gasps of air and again flipped her
hands in graceful curves. I walked
by her chair and looked care'lessly
over her shoulder. She was reading
“The Art of Swimming.”
Item: Women’s baseball is at
tracting a good deal of attention on
the campus this year. Nobody un
derstands who wears the diamond,
but they all know that freckles are
sun-kisses and not to be weighed
against home runs. Third base
sometimes offers opportunity for a
little touching up.
UPON BEING ASKED
FOR A CONTRIBUTION
Once upon a midnight dreary,
Did I ponder weak and weary
A biting of my fingernails and tearing
of my hair..
I labored not for money,
But to write something that’s funny
Not one single chuckling thoughtlet
came to lighten my despair.
Once all through the daytime, weary,
Did I scribble sad and teary;
And at noon that day I went without
my lunch.
But with all my bitter sighing,
There was just no use in trying
To scintillate in humor down the page
of Lemon Punch.
—L. B., Pot and Quill.
He Was Too Mique.
A pianist renowned for technique
Met a maiden who thought him a
frique <.
When down on his knees
Presenting his plees
She said “What’s Miat language you
spique?”
Probably a Member of the Band
There is a young man with a banjo
Who strums an eternal fandango.
With its plunkety plink
He nigh drives us to drink, .
This troublesome youth with a banjo.
Soph Is Treated Roph.
We have here a happy young soph
Who thought he could make a sneak
oph
His campus day work
He wanted to shirk
So they gave him a dip in the troph.
Strange that the pottery clay
Entrusted to my hands, should all be
£gray—and^coarse.
TRY TH15 ON YOUR PIANO
(Tune of “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder”)
When the trumpet of the band shall sound and feet start on the floor,
When the student body meets all brave and fair.
When they waltz and step and foxtrot and when time shall he no more,
When the jazz band hits the cowbells, I’ll be there.
Chorus—When the dance begins up yonder,
With a girl that’s getting fonder,
When our minds begin to wander,
When the jazz band hits the cowbells, I’ll be there.
(To a well-known tune—“Why Don’t You Try?”)
Do you think that you could love me,
If I had a job in view?
Do you think that you’d be angry,
If Dad had.some money too?
Do you think that you would kiss me,
In the sweet, sweet bye and bye,
Without thinking of Dad's million,
“Why don’t he die? Why don’t he die?”
(Tune of “Twenty Years Ago”)
I wandered in the graveyard, Tom,
I’ve stood behind a tree.
I’ve seen so many couples there,
Who thought that none could see;
But none can spoon like we can, Tom,
And few do even know
How close together two can sit
With dead men down below.
(This has no tune, but one chants it effectively.)
Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest—
Yo ho ho! and a stick of gum.
Grapejuice and raisins have done for the rest,
(Cider is good but grapejuice is best)
Yo ho ho! and a glass of some.
(Tune of “Cornin’ Thru the Cemetery”
If a body meet a body
Rising from a tomb!
If a body greet a body,
Need a body swoon?
\
(Tune of “Well, We’ll All Stand and Sing”)
Oh say, can you see by the dawn’s early light?
(I never can see till it gets really bright)
Where so loudly it hailed in the daylight's first gleaming,
(And when I got up it was just simply streaming)
In the sunrise’s red glare,
(I was doing my hair)
WhGn we saw In the yard that our flags were still there
Oh when will the students let flowerB still wave
In this town of the free (thinkers)
And the home of the brave (fiower-takere) ?
(Sung with mournful accompaniment of “I’m Coming—”)
Gojie are the caps
Once so verdant, bright and gay—
* Gone are the Frosh
From the campus walks away.
But when there’s paint
From the Senior bench to wash,
We’ll still hear gentle voices calling—
“Here, you Frosh!”
(“School Days”)
School days, school days,
Dear and costly fool days,
English and Latin and campustry,
Slipping one o’er on the faculty,
You were my Jane in georgette crepe,
I was your silk-socked, silk-shirted fake
And you wrote on my gloves
“J’aime vous, mon Jake”
And ruined a couple of kids.
A PHILOSOPHER
(To understand this poem, either read it aloud to someone, or look for the
translation further down the page.)
Ice it tin frun toff dee dee Anne dye wash these stew dints spas
Zoa appic ass tin chadoe sup ponth e’en gnuk cud gras
Wee awl oar merly esha doe sofa bee in yeton scene,
Eye ope e iss ass sap pie cass ting gossip ont thighgrene.
"EYE HATH NOT SEEN”—BUT “HARK, I HEAR A VOICE”
'Tis the wail of the night watch, I heard him declare,
“They have filled all the benches; they crowd the dark stair.
There is no place to sit on this campus at all
When I go round at night time to see that all’s well,
In the grandstand, the track shed, beneath each tall tree
There sit couples and couples who coo foolishly
And giggle and shuffle. I’m up on my ear;
How can I watch for burglars when they interfere?
I don’t like to tread on a fair lady’s hand. ,
I have no desire to walk over a man. a
And though trees may make excellent chair-backs, I vow IJ
That the same tree can’t serve as a rock-a-bye iul
cradle and an observation post for the campus ant
detective when he thinks he has some dope on a n°S
prowler and wants to dart back out of sight esw
to make further investigations; ow^’
And I register my most emphatic protest Ismt
against the existing order of things!”
—G. J. (Pot and Quill).
A PHILOSOPHER (A Translation)
I sit in front of Deady and I watch the students pass,
So happy casting shadows upon the new cut grass.
We all are merely shadows of a being yet unseen,
, I hope He is as happy casting us upon the green. . .
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