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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (April 29, 1923)
TJ of O Library The Sunday Emerald VOLUME XXIV. UNIVERSITY OP OREGON, EUGENE, SUNDAY, APRIL 29, 1923 NUMBER 141 ROUND and BOUT - I (I 1 ■' THE ARMY OF LIFE FACES GEN ERAL DISASTER The human race began With the birth of Father Time When the first primeval cell Crawled out of the oozy slime. Father Time is old now The Face still goes strong If Father Time dies before we do Won’t that make things go wrong? SHE’S STILL CAPABLE OF THAT IN THIS COUNTRY! “Mrs. Heard in Europe”—Headline in The Oregon Daily Emerald. THE MUSE IN MUSIC We have a woman near our house that screeches Uer voice would freeze the summer peaches. * • • • * * We have a fraternity near us that yells The boys they sing like fifty bells. There’s a trombone player near our house He handles a tune like a veteran souse. * * * * » • There is a mill-race in this town From bridge to bridge it still flows down. Our patience we’ll lose sometime and go the rounds With a gunnysack To hold these people while we drown them in the stream. WHY WASTE SPACE WITH THIS? What did the President mean the other day when he referred to two of the deans as Young and Hale? DAY-DREAMING Say, boy, why aren’t you married To a princess with golden hair From the diamond blue waters of Venice With the heart to love you there? Why don’t you own tall Gothic towers Where money grows like wild flowers And cars run down the silver shutes Like giant veins from a big tree’s roots? Why don’t you own the whole she-bang Of this old world—it would give a tang To life—but here you sit and dream away The silver hours of life’s short day. OUR CAMPAIGN Every now and then we get so en thused over our own particular arrange ment of the world and the universe in general that we feel that we would like to grab the reins of affairs for a short time and steer things our own way. Probably we will run for Dicta tor of the University in the coming elections on the following platform: Put varsity athletics, on a sound basis and give the University a nation al reputation, in football, baseball crew, track, and one or two of the minor sports. Boost, doughnut sports even more than is being done , but with less em phasis on house prestige. Shut up all poets in the allied arts court and keep them there. Raise the frosh on water and a wick ed willow, instead of maintaining the tradition that they are raised on such. Prevent the Editor of the Emer ald from talking as if he represented the whole campus. Present some of these advanced music students with sound-proof prac tice cells at Salem. Cease to regulate University conduct entirely and subserviently by “what the people of the state will think.” Wake up to the sterling worth of President Campbell. Subordinate the policy “for the gen eral good of the University” to the' motto “for the present manliness of the members of the University, as well as for the co-operative good spirit of the institution with the state.” Provide comfortable lounging chairs about the nicotine tree for smokers, | and overstuffed davenports here and there on the campus for the benefit of the piggers. See that lights on the campus are put out between 8 and 10 o’clock on spring nights for the sake of the pig gers. Wherefore, then, after having sub mitted my platform, I publish the fol lowing questionnaire which I would ap preciate if it were answered by as many of my readers as possible, and returned to me: Name . Mean Average Temperature! . Nice Average Temperature? ._. One lump or two? . What’s the matter with Arkansas? - Whither are we drifting? ....... (With thanks to prize-ante posters.) “HELP WANTED” If any of you have a hunch Before breakfast or after lunch Write it down while you’re still inspired And mail it to this colyumist who’s aw fully tired Of working So he’s going to take to shirking And round each comer lurking Bold up a sign, “ Contributions wanted.” C. N. H. Students Sign Petitions By Ep Hoyt 'HE BOHLER-BOVARD controversy is at a standstill apparently. Dean Bovard of the school of physical educa tion is playing his hand pat and since he is the dean of a school on the Oregon campus, the administration, or more per tinently President Campbell, is backing his play. This of course is as it should be for it is obvious that unless the ad ministration was prepared to dispense with Dr. Bovard’s services as the dean of the school of physical education he would rate a backing. To put the case mildly it is unfortun ate that Bovard deems it necessary to rid himself of a man like Bohler. For this man Bohler has the stuff, has it as few coaches have. With the stuff he instills pure sportsmanship into his play ers, sportsmanship that has won respect for Oregon from Tia Juana to Vancou ver Island and a ways east. Men like George Bohler are not picked up in a day, they are men who grow more popu lar and justly so as the students come to know and appreciate what is being put over. Furthermore he has instilled sports manship into the student fans, they have quit their razzing tactics. At games two years ago when George Bohler told them simply but earnestly to cease their bickering and ragging, there was per haps a little resentment on *he part of some of the personal rights exponents, but the thing ceased and is today not inflicted on visiting teams. As to the prospects for keeping Boh ler at Oregon, they appear rather slim. The dean of the school of physical edu cation has definitely committed himself to a definite act. He will make no state ments on the case. Bohler it appears is passing, he is charged with lack of co operation by the head of his depart ment. He is passing and Oregon will lose. Of course the petition is out but the petition is expected by students thor oughly conversant with the .iicuation to do little save to give the students a chance to show their appreciation of George Bohler’s work and to be by its very nature a protest against what is considered the untimely and unjust ac tion of the dean of the school of physi cal education. The petition which is now being free ly circulated on the campus is expected to be signed by practically all the stu dents, but even the warmest advocates of Coach Bohler hope for no direct bene fit from it. It is held rather by the students who framed it to be an op portunity for Oregon men and women to go on record as consciously appreciat ing what he has done for Oregon and to further register a protest against the conditions that made it necessary for the dean of the school of physical-education to turn him off against the wishes of the entire student body. H ot el—Pullman—F arm By Art Rudd WHEN the new student and execu- ] tive councils take office next fall one of the problems which they will probably have to solve is that of hous ing glee club orchestra members while on tour. It has been the policy in time past to “farm” the musicians out in the homes of the various cities visited. Except in cases where the host is a personal friend of the man entertained this practice is often a source of irritation to the people in the towns, to the students and espec ially to the student manager of the group, who usually has to make arrange ments. John Stark Evans, director of tihe men’s glee club, objects strongly to “farming” his men out at places where they do not hive personal friends. He declares, and is supported by the club generally, that the practice often makes the men appear as “objects of charity.” “The boys enjoy visiting personal friends or friends of the University when on their trips,” Mr. Evans says, “but we do object to going into homes where people have invited us simply to comply with the request of a committee.” He declares that several instances of un pleasantness resulted from “farming” the boys out during the recent trip into eastern Oregon but that these were all in places where the host or hostess had no personal interest in the club or the Uni versity. Eex Underwood, director of the Uni versity orchestra, believes that musicians should accept invitations to stay at homes only in instances where the in vitation comes spontaneously and not as a result of a “campaign for rooms.” During recent trips of the orchestra Mr. Underwood has always followed the policy of having the manager, the di rector, and the president live at a hotel. George Hopkins, who directs the girls’ glee club, believes the singers are better off at private homes when it is possible to arrange it without too mueh of a “campaign.” He believes, however, that a Pullman car is the most satisfactory solution for the housing problem, as op posed to living at hotels. The main argument in favor of “farm ing out” Oregon’s musical organizations is the financial one. Experience has shown that unless the musicians are en tertained by their friends or friends of the University that the musical groups are fairly sure to lose money when on tour. It has been suggested that a Pullman car be chartered for the trips thus avoiding the problem of finding places to stay overnight. Student managers re port that less difficulty is experienced finding meals for club members than beds. In fact people generally are glad to entertain folks at meals but often are unable to entertain them further. To support a University musical group entirely out of student body funds would be a heavy burden on the A. S. U. O. finances unless the prices of con certs are raised considerably, is the be lief of those who know. The situation presents a problem that undoubtedly must be considered before the next sea son of musical tours. Hayseeds and Knickers By Hiram Hay Hicks IALLUS hankered fer some o’ this here higher edikation and so I sells the old farm and the old gray team and goes down to this yer college town. Wal, I gets off the train in this here place. Now I didn’t know nuthin' about the town so I goes over to a boy standin’ by the depo. “Say Sonney,” I say’s, “Where might the college be hereabouts? “He looks at me kinda queer, with a sneerish-like look on his face. “Where do you get that sonny stuff” he says. “Wal,” I says. “When I was a little boy I wore pants like you got there, and I persumes that they still wears them.” “I want you to know that I’m a col lege man,” he says sorta snippish like, an I almost felt like laffin’ right out. “I’m a man. If you don’t believe it feel the whiskers on my face.” Wal, I rubbed my gnarled old ham over his chin and woudja believe it? They was enough there to make a good mop and it was stiffern’ the bristles in a wire brush. “So y’are,” says I. “But what is the idee of wearin’ them breeches like that? I alius lowed that when a boy grew up he left them little breeches home for his little brother. Did you fergit this mornin’ an’ put on your little brother’s breeches?” The young feller got kinda red an’ I thought I was gona get punched. “No, these aren’t my brother’s breeches, if these are what you refer to.” He pats them breeches on the knee and twists a Bock which was much too long an’ looked like some granma nit me when I was young. “What kinda pants be them there?” I asks. “Those are golf pants, and all the boys in college are wearing them. They are the natty things now. They use them on the golf links.” “Oh, them are the kinda breeches you use to hunt them there golf in,” I says, beginnin’ to see the light. “Don’t none of them creatures ever git scared an run when they see you with that rig gin?” He laughed kinda ridiculus, but I went right on. “Say sonny, you sure that ain’t a seminary where you go?” “No indeed! It’s a real dyed-in-the wool college.” “All woolen breeches like them, eh?” “Why, these are the latest cut in men’s clothes,” he says, kinda indig nant like. “Yes,” I says, ’’one more cut or so an’ theyed look like the clothes of them there Fiji islanders.” “I sure wish the other fellows could hear you rave about these pants.” “Yes,” says I. “I wish I could see some of the other fellows. I believe I’d get so ravin’ that theyed have to put me in a cell by inysef. Les’ us go up there and see some of them other fellers. I alius did hanker fer seein’ curiosities an’ things like that.” So we goes up to this here college an’ we stands near the corner of a bild in’ where we could see ’em as they flit ted by. Then they starts cornin’ along. Jumpin’ snakes! what a grist of ’em, and lots of ’em had on these short breeches, which the college boy says, was knickerbockers. If they was as long as the name, they’ed be the right length. Anyways, they was little breeches of all colors an all sizes. They was one big skinny fellow, which was bilt like a whip handle. He seemed to think (Continued on page three.) Poetry SPRING RAIN The rain is the sweetheart of the wind. He calls— She comes, Light-hearted, Gaily tripping Across the mist-curtained Rose garden. H. L. S. APRIL A dainty flirt Of her saucy head Sends silver beads Flying from her Shining hair, So straight, So black, So lovely. Smiling, She beckons me— I come. Retreating, She waves me Farewell. A flutter of Wind garments, A twinkling of Her flower feet A half blown wish— A kiss; wild rose petals in the rain, And April Has passed away. H. L. S. THE OLD GYPSY Ah, could I fling me down in this cool grass And close my eyes and let the dusk pass Into me. I am tired, so tired of roads— So tired of Autumn’s flushing trees and lands, And vivid sky, the sun is dragging down Beyond the hill-line blue. But cryptic hands Tug ever at my heart and on through town And lane my unrelenting feet must walk. Ah, could I lay me down and pray for talk Of footsteps on a hearth. Yet onward! Cry the toads Through the wet peppermint. Full throated larks Slide up the curve of sky; their wild, mad' whistles Spin like spheres of color; pine-fires scatter sparks Upon the dusk; aslant drift ghosts of thistles Into nothingness. Creek-crickets wake and prick The earth with chirps. My heart, my heart replies, Ah, onward! White paths call; and bright trees nick The wind with falling leaves. The open skies Lift over. Soft the dusty—feel of trails, And wild the breath of loam where mottled snails Chart their slow way in silver. Onward! Far As gypsy eyes can see, and long as gypsy eyes Can cling, the pleasant world is mine; The silver mist, broad lake and slip pered star, The quiet field where moonlight pours like wine; A trail that leads into the distance— black My feet must follow—there’s no turn ing back. Walter Evans Kidd APRIL FROM A FACTORY WINDOW Though a city lifts the factories high, And vomits smoke across the sun, April brings a song to squalid yards Where ragged children play and run. In a push-cart, fly-speckled pears And figs that long for Syrian skies; In an orchid-box still colors flame Like wings of vivid butterflies. By a dark and nauseating street Where traffic scraws and whistles scream, Silken-blowrs a tremulous cherry tree Like a white, immortal dream. Walter Evans Kidd. LILITH Once Cain the child of Adam played With gold-fish in a little pool. The demon-woman passed the cool Embowered glade. The baby roundness of the child, His curls, his gurgles of delight Drew Lilith’s eyes, and at the sight She stopped and smiled. She smiled again, then nearer stepped. Wind tossed of hair, strange, amber eyed She stood. Eve’s son fled terrified. And Lilith wept. Margaret Skavlan WHY, WHEN I WAS IN FRANCE—” •We dug into the back files of Life at the Library, the other day and read the , American-Franco number, July 1922. Listed there under popular mis conceptions of the French by Americans was the fact that one hundred and fifty wronged working girls of Paris do not jump the Seine, nightly. We repeat it here for emphasis. Philosophy of Leisure By Van Voorhees >HIS balmy air with all its scent A of Springtime puts wanderlust into a man again. While the earth warms and skys grow more serene the act of studying acquires a new distaste unknown a month ago. The joy of leisure urges thoughts along a pleasant wav where lesson books seem asinine and fairest fancies play. Spring is when Walt Whitman comos to bat! Now you might think the faculty would proscribe this follow Whitman and order his creed to be forgotten and his books burned in the senior foun tain. Dangerous business for a chap to preach the doctrines of loafing, upon this campus in the month of April, you might say, yet there is one among us who dares to do it. And shades of Stoics, he’s a phil osophy prof! Dr. E. S. Bates of the Philosophy de partment is this joy-bringing individ ual and he is perfectly sincere about it, too, only his theory is not half so joyous as it sounds, once you look into it. For where Walt used the word loafing, Dr. Bates would substitute lei sure and that is something else again, yes indeed. Dr. Bates would not have you loaf with your leisure, he would have you assimilate with it. As an antitoxin for the turbulence of student life, don’t you see. Most of us skim through the text just before we dash for the eight-o’clock and then scurry around the campus un til time to rush home and cram down some lunch and fortify the flesh for the afternoon grind in which wo plunge into the gym and scuttle out again, taking, day in and day out, classes and athletics and committee meetings and social gatherings at a gallop and leaving our minds as messy as dyna mited featherbeds. And when philosophy steps in to sift and arrange and tabulate things it finds it mighty hard going. Dr. Bates means that leisure should assimilate the varied information, but Dr. Bates means something more, something nearer far to Walt’s own heart. He means to indicate the value of vagnbondry itself. Now may I here intrude my humble self. For I put in twelve months of wanderlusting not so long ago, and in the course of time I turned a critical eye inward. While not a paragon of virtues now, I lay claim to having been the prototype of worthlessness before. My point is this: we learn when we assimilate, of course, and we assimi late those things only for which we have a need. We find no needs in high school and few in college. It does no good for anyone to tell us what we need; a need is something we must feel. When the wind is chill and the sto (Continued on page four.) Oily Oil HocasJPocas By M. B. AND IT came to pass in the age we live in, while rattling over the highway in some remote part of the universe (Oregon say) in our old chug wagon, the old thing stopped, snorted, gave one last grunt and died— no oil. What did we dof Simple. Got out of the bus, fished out our “swaliusa phizz,” and went prospecting for the flectar of the oil tank, inasmuch as the tank was empty and we were many thousands of foot beats from the near est filling point. You don’t need to cater to the oil magnates any more. There is oil some where under the peripheral crust of the old sphere—somewhere, and they are perfecting gadgets to find that oil. Someday all we’ll have to do is hop out of the bus, jab the gadget into the terrain, holler “Ookum Skukum” and the oil will come up in great gobs. No doubt the “Ookum Skukum” rouses Vulcan, the Greek tin-smith to rise up and smite the old earth in the midrift and cause it to belch oil. Without doubt the hubs of the earth are fairly reeking in oil—so much of it in fact that the old thing is getting sluggish, and it may be a good idea for us to relieve it of a copious quantity of the oozy fluid. It may be well for us to drain the earth of the lucrative substance and roll in wealth. Why, right here in our little valley we have oil. Bight down under us somewhere there are gobs and gobs of oil, waiting for us to say the magic word and it will then come to the sur face in showers. The fertile plains to the south may suddenly become a vir gin forest of oil tanks and derricks. The little basin may bo converted into a great reservoir for the lifeblood of the earth. Why, the pipelines will lead in every direction, to all parts of the universe. The thrifty housewife of th Nile will fry her hubby’s waffles on Oregon oil. Abber Dabber, up in the tops of the Himalayas, will run his snow refining machine on Oregon oil. Why we will bo noted the world over for our fair women, brave men, Hood River apples, Sandy River smelt and Oregon oil from the fields of Eugene. But we have only been theorizing. We must hark back to the beginning of time when the old earth was but a mere speck, which bounding back from the pillars of Hercules, gathered unto itself many stray fragments and so be came the earth. Now when these frag ments came together they inhaled air and this air turned to oil. Now this oil sloshed around in there, sloshed from side to side. Then the old sphere began to contract and the oil began to be squeezed and in some places it was squoezed tighter than others and it was squeezed out of these places into other parts. Now by the looks of its surface, this little valley of ours looks as if the planet Mars had come down and batted it in the solar plexus with his mace (Continued on page three.) Olson Versus “Ology” By J. W. A. EVIDENCE seems to indicate that there is little possibility of a com mercial supply of petroleum being found within the limits of the Eugene Quad rangle ,” says Hubert G. Schenck, a graduate student in the University de partment of geology who this year is making a detailed report of seven year’s study of this region as the the sis for his master’s degree. The state ment was part of the report issued yes terday morning of the Condon Club, which consists of members of the fac ulty, and graduate and advanced stu dents. The report was made in answer to criticisms of Univorsity geologists made recently by Dr. David Olson, of the Olson Syndicate, which has taken leases on 3000 acres of land near Eu gene. Schenck points out that the struc ture of this area is “a monocline of sedimentary rocks and interbedded rhy olite and basalt.” Monocline means level. “At no place has an anticline or syncline been observed,” he con tinues, which means that the underly ing strata do not lie like furrows in a plowed field. Geologists say that com mercial oil is always found in the lat ter type of formation. “No oil seepages have been observ ed,” he says. “Not even has any oil shale been found.” Dr. Warren D. Smith, head of the department of geology and former head of the Philippine Bureau of Mines, said that if the work of geologists was not reliable big oil companies would not be hiring them. “Dr. Olson’s statement that oil mig rated by means of veins from South America to Alaska, by way of Mexico, California and Oregon is confusing, to say the least,” says Homer A. Wise, an advanced student in the department. In the first place geologists do not be lieve that oil is found in veins, such mi oven if it is found in veins, such mi gration is highly improbable because of the fact that the Siskiyou Mountains in southern Oregon, a huge mass of granodiorito, would probably act as a barrier to such hypothetical veins of oil, and it is hardly reasonable to sup pose that such veins could exist for so great a distance. Volcanic action would make such a thing impossible, it is pointed out. Dr. Olson in a meeting recently branded the Darwinian theory of evo lution as “foology” thereby arousing the ire of University geologists. Ian Campbell, graduate student Recently awarded a scholarship at Northwestern University, answered this attack. “It is evident that in spite of his many degrees Dr. Olson has never had a good course in biology or historical geology or he would not be confounding Darwinism and evolution,” says Camp bell. “Evolution is an accepted theory —scientists from Huxley to Henry Fair field Osborn have accepted it. Darwin ism was only one of many scientific attempts to explain the mechanism of evolution. “Evolution does not undermine reli gion, though it may wreck a supersti tious theory. Only an evolutionist can fully appreciate the glory of the Crea tor and the grandeur of Creation.” Dr. Olson’s attack on evolution was characterized by Campbell as “un christian and unscientific,” and points out Dr. Thomas Condon, first professor of geology at the University, as proof that science and Christianity do not clash. “Dr. Condon was not only a great geologist and paleontologist, but he was a minister of the gospel aa well.”