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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 28, 1923)
OREGON SUNDAY EMERALD Member of Pacific Intercollegiate Pr— Awoclatlon_ Kenneth Youel Lyle Janz Editor_Manager Official publication of the Associated Student* of the University of Oregon, issued daily except Monday, during the college year.__ ERNEST HAYCOX, Sunday Editor___ George H. Godfrey, Managing Editor. Marvin Blaha, Associate Editor Features: Jessie Thompson, Earl Voorhies, Katherine Watson, Arthur Rudd, Edwin Fraser, Ep Hoyt, Margaret Skarlan, Francis Linklater, Katherine Spall. _ _ General Writers: Clinton Howard, Eddie Smith, Rachael Chezem. Gumption There is, at the present time, a heavy attack being made upon activities; this is evidenced by the number of Big Berthas now being j trained from the parapets of Fort Johnson toward the scores of little j gun pits out on the students’ No Man’s Land. Now, of course this is all right—we must have conflict or life would get rather monoton ous, but we must not allow the roar of the big guns to press out the value of these activities. For activities have a value, more of a value than most professors and pedagogues are willing to admit. And the nine-pinned man is, oft-times, the possessor of more hard, solid gray matter than the prodigy of the laboratory, or the child of the library and the seminar. The very fact that a man has nine pins indicates, perforce, that he is the possessor of some kind of uncommon ability. What is that ability? It is the quality of being a good mixer. It means that the man knows how to get along wtih others; that he knows how to put an ear to the ground and list to the rumblings; it means that he knows how to express himself; it means that he can bluff, that he can persuade, that lie can compromise, that he can get things done. Heaven crown the fellow who can get things done! Don’t let us be understood as disparaging the scholar. He is the chap who is going to keep the small, frail flame of truth alight in a mighty windy, tempestuous world. We need more scholars, no doubt, and anything we may do to produce more scholars is commendable. But let us never forget that it is not the scholar who is to negotiate the daily transactions of the world. It is not he who is to roll up his sleeves, get out in the middle of the street and deal with ornery peo ple, inexact and prejudiced emotions, erroneous facts, and warped ideals. It is not the scholar who must roughly strike a balance and go forward. The scholar’s mind is too delicately tuned, too finely balanced to compromise or to deal in subterfuges. Above all things he must be exact, he must be faithful to truth, he must forever dis regard the clamor of the mob; he must not heed that journalistic spirit of the modern American which cries out for a popular, rough and ready intei'pretatiou of all things under the stars—and of the stars themselves. It is not the scholar, we repeat, who is to rough out the work of the day. It is not simply because the scholar’s nature can rarely ever be robust enough to accept inaccuracy and still progress. And after all, if we wish to get anything practical done while still outside of the small pine box we must base a large part of our work on inaccuracy, misconception, anil prejudice. It’s a wicked world. Here, then, is the value of honorary societies and of the ten dozen minnow-sized activities of which the school boasts. They school us in the rough, approximate, rule-of-thumb method of procedure. They give us a hard, practical shrewdness of the way to work people, and the way to work with pepole. They knock a lot of silly notions out of a man or woman’s head quicker than any formal class could ever do. Once upon a time we Americans prided ourselves upon being a shirt-sleeves democracy. We do not hear that term used as much in these late years and perhaps we are not so proud to admit that our past history is largely the conflict of a raw country upon men in red flannel shirtsleeves. And it is certainly true that the rule-of-thumb solutions which once were sufficient to take care of our problems will no longer suffice; we must have here the scholar and the scientist. But nevertheless there is a tremendous lot of the old, pioneering work to be done. People must still be cajoled and we .must still ride rough shod ahead to practical goals. It is here that the activity in college justifies itself; it gives us a fund of common sense that the scholar does not get while adventuring among the stars, or among the rest tubes. Let’s not be rabid over a good thing. The world would just as soon go to pot if we were all Newtons or Aristotles. Now that the tide has once more risen we stand on siyne isolated hump in the pathway and yelp for the ferry. But no ferry comes. Durn it no ferry comes! We commend that as a next object for a Y. M. C. A. drive. The Y likes to conduct drives anyway. Let’s raise enough money to buy a couple small ferries, to be used when the pre spring freshets sluice the water around our feet and send us toward the infirmary with the sniffles. There was supposed to be a hazing party at the University of Southern California. A shell-shocked war veteran wouldn’t w'ear the conventional green cap. A party of husky paddlers lined up at the ex-soldier’s door. He whipped out a revolver. Four shots were fired, and one of the greedy grinuers was carried home, not dangerously injured, however. Oh, the long while this stone-age act must last! Ain t nature wonderful! A fellow puts on winter underwear in the gym. runs down the street and goes out to the track; he’s an ath- , lete. A fellow puts on winter undefwear and stands out on the porch of his house; he’s a lunatic and a menace to the morals of the com- i munity. Ain’t nature grand! Poetry REFLECTION OF A OEAD Oh, times have changed Bince once we ranged Grene frosh upon this campus— New walls of brick Have sprung up thick, New co-eds seek to vamp us. New shacks abound Where open ground Once met our sight and vision And classes meet Where once our feet Trod o ’er fields Elysian. But ne’ertheless I must confess It seems like days of olden When Dean Straub says, “Why, hello Des— iNo, no, your name is—Bolden?” SONG I sang of immortality. I sang; and lo! from off a tree A leaf there fluttering came And fell to earth, whence it had grown; Fell, soon to lose itself, unknown, And be but earth again. I sang of greater life to be; and lol A leaf fell from a tree to soil below. Then turned I to my singing heart; “Thou seest how the separate part Once more absorbed must be; It is immortal here below In new life which from earth shall grow; The same sufficeth thee.” Thus did I speak unto my heart. But lo, My heart, with song unbroken, answered, “No!” SUNLIGHT You loved the sunelight of a winter day Bright—sharp as the spiteful wind Over the crusted snow. I love the sunlight in brown crimson patches On fine old lace and yellow candles, On the waves of incensg that steal along And lose themselves in the warm dark ness. —F. S. COQUETTE She touched him lightly with her lips | And thought no more of it thereafter. | ’Twas then he rent his dream in twain 1 With mocking, soul-disturbing laughter. His Unattainable had kissed Full lightly and without confusion. ’Twas then he thought, “A cynic’s an Idealist kissed by Disillusion!” —Margaret Skavlan. IN THE GAEDEN In grandmere’s garden I sit And dry my hair in the sun. The world I see Through its tangle of bronze Is all a-simmer. There’s a jade like gloss on the cab bage leaves And the beets are veined with ruby, One of the white potato flowers j Is floating away— But no—its a butterfly. Against the hazy blue of atmosphere A row of doves on the shod appear ! And from them issues a liquid gurgle j Like water eddying 1 Into a pipe. Aside from that i It is so still— I can hear the tick-tiek-tock— Of the silver Big Bon ! On grandmere's window ledge. But out in the world | All is trading. Wars. ! But in the garden is Time— Unending. Sunshine, And peace j.In grandmere’s garden I sit, in grand mere ’s chair, And in the sun 1 dry my hair. —Patricia Novlan. NIGHT i. am a tired traveler Riding Time, The minutes, like weary caravans of camels I Move so slowly. 1 grow impatient ! 1 beat upon them i With impotent hands But their hides are thick j They do not heed, j And still they crawl Into noon Then after noon Bearing me through infinite desert stretches Towards night j And the green oasis | Of your Love. —Patricia Nofflan. SPRING Is it a daffodil— Swaying? See the breeze Hus snapped it From the plant. It whirls— Around— Around— Up OH! It is coming down Tired—torn—drooping. It has dropped, Crumpled, still. Shall we pick it up? Why, it was a girl! Dancing! Pavlowa! —Patricia Novlan. Wouldn’t it have been a Grand and glorious feeling if this thing had happened to you, just like in the story book of the Prince Charm ing—or was it some other line of bunk. At any rate did it ever hap pen.. It sounds like a nice fairy story to us. Oh, girls— Supposing you had reached your junior year At college, i And there was a lottery for The big Junior annual dance, And with your number You drew a nice man. And girls— Supposing al the time you had been at college, You ha«l missed every chance to attend A big college dance, „ 'Because the man you drew For the Sophomore dance Had ditched you, And the man who was to have taken you To the Frosli glee had excused himself, And now you were a junior And you had drawn A nice good looking fraternity man IFor the big Junior dance; And supposing he had called you up And told you he was glad, i That he could take you, And that he could take you, And that he would come for you at 8:45 And you. were so very happy, Because at last you were going to a Big college dance, in costume, ’And you had a cute little costume all fixed, And he came for you, And you went, And he was so polite and thoughtful of you. With all the devoted manners Of the ideal college-bred man; And he took trouble to see that you Had the best time You had ever had Since coming to college And when he brought you home , He said: “This has been one of the Happiest evenings of my life And I was surely lucky to draw you For my partner.” OH G-I-R L43! Supposing all that really had happened! Wouldn’t it have been A GRAND AND GLORIOUS FEEL ING! U. OF W. FROSH HAND OUT STARTLING INFORMATION Dardanelles are Syncopated, Oliver Twist is Tobacco Brand, and Heifitz is Mistaken for Heifer U. of Washington, Seattle, Jan. 20.— There is very little about modern or an cient personages, places or characters that Washington’s freshmen do not know, as revealed by answers to a questionnaire recently given the English composition class by W. R. Gundlach. “Who was William George!” Why, he is “Lloyd George’s little brother,” ran one of the answers. Equally startling is the fact that Mustapha Kemal Pasha is head of the Japanese navy; “Oliver Twist” is a kind of tobacco and Mozart a brand of cigars. Other samples of freshman intelligence are: lago, “Japanese rice”; Sir Roger De Coverly, “an old-fashioned square jdance”; Becky Sharp, “a music writer”; Heifitz, “name of a cow”; Demosthenes, “Russian writer”; Dardenelles, “name of a song”; and Ronald Amundsen, “paint er.” Use Emerald Want Ads BELL Theatre Springfield, Oregon Sunday, Jan. 28th First show starts at 6 and runs continuous They wanted Bulldog Drummond dead or alive. It was a hundred against one—but did they get him. See “BULLDOG DRUMMOND” Action, Thrill. Suspense At BELL THEATER Sunday, Jan. 28th SCHOBLE—The smartest hat you can buy—we sell them! MORE MEN! MORE VALUES! Every purchaser of any article here in 1922 received a good, fair and abundant money’s worth! We are proud of our past record as it stands in the mind of our customers, but for 1923 we are going head-bent for election in an intensive campaign that will give us more men and give the men more values! In brief—this city is going to see the biggest value spec tacle that it has ever witnessed and these figures are going to be quoted on merchandise of the highest type. We want more men—men who want to save more money! Society Brand Suits ■ . $35 to $55 Earl & Wilson Shirts .... $2 to $9 Schoble Hats ....... $4.50 to $9 Lewis Unionsuits .... $1.50 to $8 Green Merrell Co. men’s wear “One of Eugene’s best stores” MONDAY NIGHT Jan. 29th MAY PETERSON Prima Donna SOPRANO of Metropolitan Opera Co. in CONCERT Prices $1.00 to $2.00. By special arrangement personally with Miss Peterson, all students attending the Universities and pub lic schools will be admitted for $1.00, any seat. Seat sale now. PHONE 452 FOB LUMBER, LATH, SHINGLES AND SLABWOOD The BOOTH-KELLY LUMBER CO. Phone 782 Slabwood—Coal—Cordwood ANDERSEN FUEL COMPANY 39 East 7th t Candles and Oil Lamps Imagine yourself attempting to wade through a few chapters of Taussig under the unsteady glow of a candle, or the dim flickering light of an oil lamp. Modern schol arship has been made easy by the possibility of good lighting. Are you giving yourself the benefits of all that science has done for you in the way of better lighting? Come in and let us help you “electrify” your room. White Electric Co. 694 Willamette. Phone 254