Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012, May 20, 1923, Image 1

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The Sunday Emerald
In the warp and the woof
Of life, here’s the proof
Reginald Simpson de Bawl was a goof
In college life, through college years
He made the girls weep salty tears
by playing on tlieir love and fears
He held great fame in women’s hearts
but far ahead he saw the tarts
At auction in political marts.
Alas, alack, poor Yorick lost
His fame was to the breezes tossed
hearts and tarts he paid the cost.
* * » * •
Friars and "Mortar Board are fast
coming to mean to Oregon what Wolf’s
Head, Scroll and Keys, and Skull and
^ Bones, three senior honor societies mean
to Yale. As the years pass, too, stu
dents and older and younger generat
ions who have cultivated the habit
of insight will see that the hanging of
the Scroll and the pinning of the flow
ers means more than appears on the sur
face. It is sometimes a pertinent ques
tion whether the honor of such elec
tions is appreciated more by those who
chsen or by those who are not.
- Minnehaha
Kissed her papa
“1 ’m going to college,” she said.
—News item, six weeks later—
Girl of Hehohaha
IVas married today,” it read.
(A play in one act.)
(After St. George B. S.)
Ever since we have been a child
(speaking of our University life) we
have heard much about the “Colonel.”
Like the headless horseman of Sleepy
Hollow, he belongs somewhere else,
but he has been so much with us that
we cannot let him go from us. It would
be the same if Villard hall lifted its
Virginia Creepers and Boston Ivies out
of the mud and decided to take a trip
to India. The “Colonel” is indigen
ous and his frequent “homecomings”
are symbolical of memories of the
“good old days at Oregon.”
—Directions for character—
Found ’em on the hack
Squeeze ’em ’till they yell
(Speaks .)
“ Why there’s the same old railroad
Eh, glad to see YOU, Nell.”
(Stage setting ...)
Villard Hall
Ft al.
(Speaks again *.)
“Dally fine,
Lot’s of time—
To see the meet—”
(Second party speaks.)
“Ouch, my feet!
Life’s too tame,
Duel ya’ Colonel,
With my cane.”
f (Third party interropts .)
“Colonel, my name—”
Fourth party interrupts.)
“Colonel, my daughter—”
(Fifth party interrupts .)
“COLONEL, you’d ought ’er—”
(Chorus chortles forth, led by the Yell
Leader as the curtain falls.)
li t humbly petition
That you take your position
The End.
And yet after seeing the Varsity
leading our rivals, Friday by almost
two feet in the bar vault,,not to men
tion all of the rest of the track meet,
there are some on the campus who say
that intercollegiate athletics are a det
riment to a university. Why, of course
it would be a dirty shame for Oregon
to break a w.orld’s record, on her own
campus, at that, wouldn’t it? Varsity
athletics have done a big part in build
ing up American colleges. We do not
ordinarily favor suppressing the Bol
shevik by throwing bombs at him, but
in this case we are tempted to gently
but firmly drown these people in the
Race. If we merely- showed them the
gate, they- might do more harm else
• * * • * •
I'll shed big tears,” the Ifalrus said
“Exams are cornin’ fast”
“Too bad,” the Carpenter shed a tear.
“‘Jhc Dean’ll get you at last."
—C. N. H
You Know That Cleo’s
Pose Won Caesar?
By E. J. H.
BUl>i is a body; the .Lord gave
-tV it to us; we have to go through
this everlasting vale of half-fair days
with it; we are born in it and we die
with it; no single act of our while
career but is influenced by it. This
being so, who do we not take some sort
of pride in it?
It is a strange thing that a woman
will be careless of her posture; that she
will powder and tint, marcel and kal
somine, all with a skill worthy of a
Rembrandt, and then, being fully slick
ed up for the evening, step out with a
carriage which would not do justice to
a broken-down truck horse.
It is strange that the average man,
who has far less to gain or lose by
his appearance, will slave in the gym
to pull out his chest, narrow a waistline
or put on a more rotund bulge in biceps
and deltoids.
The average girls actually seems to
be slovenly in this one respect.
The stoop and the slouch are physical
attitudes indicative of the weary, the
infirm, the aged, and the professorial.
In the first three states the body bends
from weariness of muscle; in the last
instance, intellect seems to have gotten
out of kilter with every other part of
the anatomy, either as a matter of lazi
ness, professional disease, or from sheer
scorn for the more corporeal aspects
of listenee.
We might say that the sloueliy pro
fessor had a case of desk rickets; again
it might be swivel-chair spavin.
But lets’ get off the faculty. It is
not to them that our attention is turned
anyway; and as a matter of fact, any
amount of correction would not be ap
preciated by these people if offered.
What they seek is only to be left alone,
forever and for ay. Whatever that last
phrase means.
So( in our salvaging of broken arches
and slipping spines let us turn to the
pliable victims-—the students who walk,
dance and sit wrong. For, says ,the
Woman’s department of the P. E school,
too many women go mooching around
the campus as living and breathing
specimens of “How not to do it.”
By the way, if any men have read
this article thus far, stop here. It is
intended for women only. At ease,
fall out I Sorry to have bothered you.
Slinkers and leaners, hipped and
sway-backed, ewe-necked and cricked—
there are entirely too many of our
sweet, 'but nevertheless intriguing,
maids whose frame work is tortured
into some one of the before mentioned
outlandish shapes without the least
justification therefor.
It is a far remote cry from the days
of the Greeks to now; in those days
they had no derby hats, no doughnuts,
choker collars, corsets, French heels,
or vests. A fried cheese sandwich, a
piece of apple pie, and mug of java
would probably have killed Agamem
non, or any of their stoutest warriors.
And in those days the body was some
thing akin to a sacred temple. A sac
red temple as it once was. Today we
(Continued on page four.)
Goose Step and Oregon
By Van Voorhees
LEST Mr. Upton Sinclair be cheated
of the notoriety he so patently de
sires, it is just and fitting that every
university daily in these United States
should burst out in a tirade of aspersion
and vituperation, calling down the curse
of Allah on his head.
For Mr. Sinclair has taken some rude
cracks at our universities. In his own
delightful way Mr. Sinclair swings a
wicked broad-ax, lopping off a Deady
here, there a Yillard, smashing windows,
hamstringing the scenery, and pausing
at last to gaze with mingled pity and
disdain upon the tangled wreckage, flee
ing students and abashed professors.
Mr. Sinclair says the universities are
outposts of conservatism, maintained and
operated by bloody-handed capital.
Hisses and cries of “shame.”
Our friend could well have listened in
on our modest sociology department, be
fore he wrote the “Goose-Step.”
It is easy for an eye delicately at
tuned to nature to observe the ivy creep
ing up over the wall, enveloping it, throt
tling it, ever^ binding it more firmly
down. Our minds, thinks Mr. Sinclair,
may represent the wall, and capital’s con
servatism, the ivy. But he must realize
that walls, so differed from yollthful
minds stay put.
Universities are presumably engaged
in educating thinkers, not landscape
Like a good Samaritan, the income tax
discussion come along to refute our Mr.
The Oregonian, assuming a thoroughly
capitalistic attitude, wishes to defeat the
income tax. Making the widest appeal
it brands the tax as a joy-crushing bur
den on the little fellow. In news, cartoon
and editorial it puts across the theory
that the income tax was foisted on us
all by capital.
Jimmy Gilbert takes the stand and
says the income tax is ailing since it
doesn’t hit the little fellow hard enough.
Sinclair would say that with the twen
ty ftiillion dollar fight upon its hands,
and knowing that the sum must come
from capital, the faculty would take a
reef in Jimmy, and call him back and
make him depose and say that somehow
he must have been mistaken.
And does this come about? Nay, nay,
the university is solidly upholding Jimmy.
One of Upton’s failings is that he
is not content to paint a thing as dark,
or a rich chocolate brown, or anything
but the most extreme jet black. And it
must not be pink or rose color, but a
vivid crimson.
He would say about the regents:
“Let’s see, one timber broker, capital
ist, one judge and one lawyer, ditto,
since the courts are run by capital, one
realty broker, as above, two bankers,
shocking, one stock man, an employer
himself, one editor, supported by capi
talistic advertisers, one minister of a
property-owning church and one house
wife, influenced for capital by her hus
Then he would glow with pride for
having so eliminated every one.
If Upton were a titian blond, which
he is not so far as I can tell, to him the
world of all mankind might be divided
into red-haired people, and everyone else.
His complaint is, most of us are out
of step with Upton.
In Reply About “Friars”
By Kendall Allen
<<rT"'HE PLEDGING of the Friars
was very startling to me,” said
a student on Friday evening of Junior
Week-end. “I also got a great wallop
out of it. Lo and behold, I suddenly
saw these black-robed figures coming
along the path towards me, with old
King MacGregor at the head, carrying
a piece of brass.
“And then pretty soon I came around
again and saw that they had chained
I the brass to a tree. Ye Gods! You
; would thirfk the thing was gold-plated.”
And so the cynic spoke. “It made me
i think of fetishism,” he said.
The question in the mind of the lis
tener as the cynic orated upon the
i prominence played by fetishism in hu
man events was whether or not the
man saw anything more in the semi
annual election of the Friars, than the
black robes and the brass scroll. Ap
parently he did not.
In that case he should have discarded
for the moment his cynical man-of-the
world attitude and have read Mary
Kaymond Shipman Andrew’s little book
entitled, “The Courage of the Common
place.” In that small volume the
author draws a vivid scene of the “Tap
Day” at Yale where each year in the
spring the Junior class gamers under
the trees of the old campus at five in
the afternoon. Solemnly, with honest
intent, the members of the three sen
ior societies, “Skull and JBones,”
“Scroll and Keys,” and “Wolf’s Head”
\ r
pick their way among the crowd of
tense anxious Juniors to “tap” the 45
outstanding men in the class who are
to “carry on” for the societies during
their senior year. A hand is laid on the
Blioulder of the first man as the chime
on the campus clock tower booms five
o’clock. One man has gone—Skull and
Bones—two, now three, four, ten—
twenty—thirty two, forty two, forty
three. Only two men are left now to
be pieked and the great crowd of Jun
iors and visitors always attracted for
such an affair wait in silence. There’s
one—forty-four, and then the last man
feels a hand on his shoulder and the
order, “Go to your room.” It is all
The 45 men have been picked; the
retiring members have made in the
main, a wise choice, choosing to honor
the men who have shown “the most” in
their college life. Youth is an antonish
ingly good judge of character, and such
societies are not useless. The “Tap
Day” at Yale as often ha3 proved a
! turning point in the life of the one
hundred and forty-five Juniors who
were not selected, as it has in the lives
of the forty-five “fortunate” men.
One thousand miles of prairie, across
three great ridges of mountains, the
I “backbones” of the continent, settled
in a little river valley in western Ore
gon, a young University is developing
the same sort of a tradition. Long
may that tradition live and thrive!
(A Preface to a Biography of
Christopher Columbus.)
The sky ’s golden dome is asleep.
Over the blue Mediterranean, lulled by
the haze of summer,
The yellow sails of the ships hang limply.
Heat waves, the little gods of golden
Dance over the water.
A light breeze stirs the uppermost sails
And as evening falls a cool wind is
Plowing from the blood-gold sun up
to Genoa;
Plowing up to the dock at Genoa
The wind bears the yellow-sailed craft.
An hundred ships in the bay
Pallid in the moonlight,
Lie awaiting the morn
When the little carriers, dashing madly
From shore to boat and from boat to
Lighter the cargoes ashore.
The little lights on the ships glare yellow
The beacon light on shore is the eye of
a golden god.
Morn, and the sun breaks bright over
the blue Genoan bay.
A thousand rays of light dart over the
To the horizon’s furthest edge.
With the morning comes the sound of the
cargoes shifting.
All the varied cargoes of the world dome
to Genoa.
The Orient has sent her spices to Genoa;
The Northlands have sent furs to Genoa.
2ieona is a fat man lolling in his gold.
Et is a golden sun that gleams over
But the shadows which lie in the streets,
The shadows which follow every boat as
strong arms skillfully row toward
Are black.
Pull on the oars with straining back
Muscles taut and strong hands set,
Pull to the shore with varied stack
If merchandise for the fat man on shore.
Dash through the waves with gleeful
Bring in tie cargoes from the ships
ro the shore, and turn about.
Into the lap of the fat man pour your
dn the furthermost edge
3f the furthermost dock }
Stands a youth.
['•yes aflame with the light of the sun,
Hair tossed in a wave of fire by the
wind from the sun,
Sand a-tremble with the excitement of it,
iVatching the lighters that scurry and run
Prom the gold sailed ships to the old
gorged town . . . v
And his dark shadow lies restles on the
—A. J.
(NOTE: “Irvie’s Place” is one of the
;ypical small town pool halls inhabited
by the high school youth.)
Phe air grows hotter.
Irvie’s Place is crowded,
Anci between the fast-diminishing
Bottles of soda water,
And the mutterings
3f the dice,—
rail: flows about last year’s
And its “wild woman.”
At the first groan
Of the imported negro band,
rhe rendezvous is emptied.
‘I Used to Call Her Baby—
Endeavoring to emit
Its occupants jostling one another,
To the main street;
"> hence the sounds of agony
The age of each successive lady
Cage'l with the various animals,
Is taken and recorded,
And cnoices made.
The validity of Prinfte Mongo
Is judged,
And not passed upon.
Questions are hurled
At the passing clowns;
The answers lost
In other queries.
Then when the calliope appears,
Seeming to drive
The straggling procession onwards
With the lashes
Of its hideous shrieks,—
The physics of its how and why
Are discussed.
Until the advance misery
Of the parade,
Can again be heard.
This time to moan,
“How Dry I Am.”
Now the adherents
Of the little ivory balls
Pome go to their second home;
(Which is Irvie’s.)
Others are drawn to the next street,
Again to review,
The “One and Only—”
And to make second choiee;
And repeal and appeal,
Past judgments.
They grow hungry.
It is high noon;
They are gone.
Flagstones, Art Panels,
And Stained Glass
ff^'^REAT ART is collaborative in its
essence,” is a truth expressed by
Ellis F. Lawrence, dean of the school
of architecture and allied arts, and
architect of the new arts building
which is nearing completion on the cam
pus, replacing the old gymnasium des
troyed by fire in the summer of 1922,
which at the same time housed the de
partments of sculpture and normal
The new arts building, with its work
shops and studios has been tied to the
old architectural building by a simple
ambulatory about an internal court
yard, as a practical application of the
unity of the arts. The school has been
founded and developed upon the con
ception, that the isolation of the arts
is suicidal, and the students themselves
have collaborated in undertakings in
design and execution.
The entrance to the court from tht.
campus has been the special task of the
architectural students, whose work is
seen in the twisted colonettes ,witl.
capitals decorated with Oregon grape
and pine-cone motives. The class in
applied design has contributed charm
ing colored cement tiles as inlays to be
used around the University entrance to
the museum, just to the south of the
court. The tiles give a inosiac effect
in soft grays, greens and blues. The
class of Miss Maude Kerns has thus
opened up an unexplored field of arch
itectural decoration.
The lobby pavement will be a special
problem for next year’s classs in ap
plied design. Spaces have been left
for other decoration so that for many
years to come the home of the school
will be made even more interesting
by the contributions of student, work in
nil the arts, just as in the Gothic per
iod the cathedral was the art school
of the time and the workshop of the
goldsmith in the Renaissance. Outside
the simple stuccoed walls, a new type
on the campus, give excellent oppor
tunity for further embellishments in
the way of bas reliefs, mosaics, scraf
fitto and cartouches. The windows are
embellished by colonettes in soft warm
grays, while the windows and doors
are gray-green.
“Art Serving Truth” is the idea car
ried out in a relief panel to *be placed
above the door of the museum. It is
being executed by the advanced stu
dents in sculpture. Truth, the central
figure—the goal of art—is being done
by Kate Schafer, assistant instructor
in sculpture. To the left of the panel
is the spiritual side—a man and a wo
man uniting to hold up the torch of
knowledge which casts its light on
truth. The masculine figure is being
executed by Paul Walters, and the fem
inine one by Margaret Skavlan. The
right side of the panel is the material
side—the various arts joining, to aid
truth with materials. A seated figure
above an architectural capital typifies
architecture, while ho holds in his hand
a pallett of the artists. Mildred Heff
ron is the originator of the figure.
Leaning over the shoulder of the seated
figure is another masculine one holding
an hour glass, symbolizing time as an
element in work—done by Alicia Ag
new. At the feet of the figures will be
a sphinx, and representations of the
crafts. Beatrice Towers is modeling
four separate heads of painter, sculp
(Continued on page two.)
All Lemon---No Punch
By Bobert F. Lane
1EM0N PUNCH is out again! There
has been a change of staff, so
it is said, though it seems to have made
little difference with the material pub
Ever since freshman days it has been
my wonder why so many colleges pub
lished “humorous” magazines like
“Lemon Punch.” The advent of the
Hammer and Coffin seemed only to nail
up and bury what facetious enterprise
survived, and in one university very
recently the hoinorous magazine went
far enough to be suppressed by the fac
ulty committee on publications. Not
that suppression by any faculty board
of publication is usually anything but
high commendation only this suppres
sion was occasioned by the continued
publication of a class of joke apprecia
ble only by male students.
This sort of material creeps into
Lemon Punch. In many quarters it
passes for humor, but it can scarcely
be called clever, and it might be bet
ter if it could be left out. Still, it is
illustrative of the college Btudent’s
outside interests, and inasmuch as Lem
on Punch has no firm backing and no
other resources, it publishes what it
has for those who ’ll buy.
If the matter were not so distaste
ful and so much a matter of opinion,
or so prolonged, I could go through the
present very impoverished number and
point out the references to kisses and
lost clothing and marriage and divorce
by example and statistic. From only
one “joke” did I get a laugh, and that
joke was a first class one, not of the
kind just considered.
Lemon Punch does not make me
laugh. It does not make me smile. Its
effect is always like that of some fatal
disaster, a mawkish show of stupidity
resulting in a faux pas.
Lemon Punch has not yet been good
enough to make me buy it. All this
year there has not been an issue which
in my opinion was worth a quarter. As
for subscribing to it; that act is un
thinkable, and each month grows mor'b
Perhaps it is because others have the
same feeling about Lemon Punch apd
are not anxious “just to support a legit
imate activity” simply because it is an
activity, that Lemon Punch wants to
get under student control. Certainly,
the magazine is a Lemon and Tacks the
Punch, and is thus true to its title.
There is'- not a drawing or picture in
this month’s issue worthy of comment,
not a drawing one can look at and ad
mire. There are not even good car
toons, when the drawings may be even
so classified. Barring the pictures on
page seven and less so the one on page
12, and the half tone on page 13 and the
well drawn clothing advertisement pic
tures, Lemon Punch is as devoid of art
as 90 degrees north latitude is devoid
of heat..
The fact seems impossible. With
2400 students in the University and
with as much attention to art as is
given by the art department, it is griev
ous that Lemon Punch exhibits no more
talent on its pages. There must be
(Continued on page four.)
First Junior Week-End
By Florlne Packard
<<TT WAS the last year that President
•*- Strong spent on the campus, on
the Friday which the juniors had always
set aside for raising the flag bearing
the class numerals to the top of the tall
flag pole in front of Villard hall that the
sophomores decided to stop the proceed
ings and a general rodyisin followed,
breaking up the whole day,” said Dean
John Straub.
“The next year, President Campbell’s
first year at the University,” he contin
ued, “the same thing happened, so Presi
dent Campbell decided that as long as
the day seemed to bo broken up it should
be made a day for construction rather
than destruction.
“On Junior day of the next year,”
(continued Dean Straub, his eyes dreamy,
ibut his conversation hurrying on, “the
boys tore down fences and cleaned up
things in general and then had a big
bonfire. It became customary after that
to serve a campus luncheon under the
trees to the boys who were working, and
| for the girls, too, until it grew into a
I regular annual campus gathering.”
These, explained Dean Straub, were
i the early beginnings of the annual Jun
ior Week-end, for the raising of the flag
! flaunting the class numerals about eight
|or nine o’clock in the morning was, as
he said, “All there was to it.”
1 “No matter what else may go the cam
pus luncheon ought never to be abolish
ed,” ho went on, “for it has always been
an occasion for the whole campus to get
together and have a good time.”
There was a time, too,explained the
dean, when the only homecoming for
former students at the University was
the general homecoming at commence
ment time, when there really was very
little incentive to come back. Since few
of the former students had many friends
on the campus at that time, a week-end
of the fall term was finally set aside for
all graduates and formor students.
One of the oldest traditions on the Ore
gon campus, the hello tradition, origin
ated on the campus in about 1900, said
Bean Straub, when all the students were
urged to say hello in passing from one
building to another in order to keep alive
i the Oregon spirit. Hello Lane was in
itself not a part of the early Oregon
[“hello,” for the library was not ofected
! on the campus until 1904.
“The hello tradition,” declared Dean
I Straub, “ is one which must not die out
no matter how largo the University may
: become. But, it will never die out while
I am here,” he declared, “for I shall,
every fall, urge my freshmen to say hello
to everyone and try that way to keep thq
old tradition al»-e.”