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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 11, 1936)
PUBLISHED BY THE ASSOCIATED STUDENTS OF
THE UNIVERSITY OF OREGON
University of Oregon, Eugene, Oregon
EDITORIAL OFFICES: Journalism Building. Phone 3309
Editor, Local 354 ; News Room and Managing Editor, 353.
BUSINESS OFFICE: McArthur Court. Phone 3300—Local 214.
MEMBER OF MAJOR COLT.EGE PUBLICATIONS
Represented by A. J. Norris Hill Co., 155 E. 42nd St., New
York City; 123 W. Madison St., Chicago; 1004 End Ave.,
Beattie; 1031 S. Broadway, Los Angeles; Call Building, San
Robert W- Lucas, editor Eldon Haberman, manager
Clair Johnson, managing editor
The Oregon Daily Emerald will not be responsible for
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requested. All communications are subject to the discretion oi
the editors. Anonymous letters will be disregarded.
The Oregon Daily Emerald, official student publication of
the University of Oregon, Eugene, published daily during the
college year, except Sundays, Mondays, holidays, examination
periods, all of December except the first seven days, all oi
March except the first eight days. Entered as second-class matter
at the postoffice, Eugene, Oregon. Subscription rates, $2.50 a year.
All advertising matter is to be sent to the Emerald Business
office, McArthur Court.
The Real Issues
[T is a sad concomitant of our material progress
^ that the rapid technical advance of the past
century has brought in its wake a plague of
problems, social and economic, that are almost
beyond the understanding of the common man.
In fact it is perhaps only a quixotic faith in the
level-headedness of the common man that urges
us to qualify his growing intellectual ineptness
with “almost beyond.”
As the Emerald editorially deplored yesterday,
men the world over are becoming increasingly
willing to withdraw from the headache that a
deep consideration of these problems entails to
attach themselves to the shallow slogans which
men of slothful or dishonest intellect, men of
demagogic flair, purvey.
It is the way that leads to dictatorship'When
men surrender the formation of opinions through
the determined use of their intellect to having
their opinions guided by catchwords, then democ
racy has failed.
It makes no difference if the slogan be “The
Constitution,” an approbrlous one like "Organized
Greed,” or “God Bless Dr. Townsend,” or “Nazi,”
“Aryan,” or “American”—when the people of a
democracy withdraw from the travails of
thought to the delusive haven of slogans, then
popular government is doomed.
And, speaking of slogans, apparently we must
expect a new one in disparaging reference to the
Democratic, $50 a plate, Jackson Day dinner.
Whole political campaigns have been built on
such a theme.
It recalls the comic opera campaign of 1840,
when the pressing problems of the tariff, the
land policy, and the stabilization of a skittish
currency were forgotten while the Whigs shouted
that Van Buren perfumed his beard, wore a
corset, and ate out of golden plates, and William
Henry Harrison was carried triumphantly to the
presidency simply because he had licked a hand-,
ful of Indians and boasted of living in a log
cabin quite a comfortable cabin, by the way.
Undoubtedly the coming campaign will have
its share of such stuff. But it remains to be
seen whether emotional catchwords and trivial
fol-de-rol will befog the real issues.
What the election calls for is a democratic
decision, on the one hand, of how fare the govern
ment of the United States in the light of present
day problems should enter the economic scene,
and, on the other hand, whether the economic
intervention of the Roosevelt administration has
been on the right track.
What will be decided depends upon how alert
the American people are to see that these real
issues are not covered over with demagogic
The Radio Is Great,
A WONDERFUL triumph of science it is in
deed to have music from Japan and bad
jokes from England wafted into one’s very own
loom at the very moment the program is being
presented in a distant radio station. 'Tis a delight
to the ear and soul to listen while distinctly
foreign gutterals mingle with a completely for
eign static and push their way through the loud
speaker in a fascinating “guggle waak bluck.’’
There can be little doubt, radio is here to stay.
We have no quarrel with radio, as you can
see. But there remains one little point. With
radios now a dime a dozen, every third student
packs one in his trunk when he leaves home,
and brings it out at school along with the tooth
brush and his one-and-only’s picture, setting
them all on his dresser, side by side. Thus far
the three have common properties. True, the girl
friend hasn’t the whiskery growth of the tooth
brush, nor yet the swarthy complexion of the
radio, but it's still a free couptry, and we all
have a right to be in some respects individual
The scene changes to evening in the house.
Outside a fine Oregon mist gently pours. Inside,
let us say, several students hope to spend a few
hours in study. (We put this in the form of a
hypothesis, else we be asked for proof.) Then
enters a subtle differentiation between the tooth
brush, Madeline's picture, and the radio. For a
while the toothbrush merely glowers and the
picture only simpers, the radio beliefs. And not
only one, not two, not three, perhaps four and
probably five radios are hollering simultaneously,
so that the din is inescapable, it pursues you to
the living room, it barks on your heels in the
house library, it hounds you in the sanctity of
your own little room, it shrieks, it stamps, it Is
How about a gentle plea for u few hours of
quiet, a few hours of immersion in the grim
business of searching for knowledge without be
ing tortured into a reminder that, while we
struggle with abstracts and contracts, life is a
bit liey-dey at the Hotrt Ambassador and music
goes ’round and ’round.
Just a suggestion. That's all.
The House of Morgan
Or German U Boats
BEFORE the senate munitions committee on
January 7, J. Pierpont Morgan, who, from
1914 to 1917 floated securities of foreign govern
ments worth over two billion dollars and spon
sored the issuance of over four billions worth
of domestic securities, blandly stated that Amer
ica entered the World War because Germany
marched into Belgium, and because German sub
marines sank American vessels at sea. He could
have said nothing more true and at the same
time more false.
The ostensible reason given by President Wil
son for declaring war on the central powers was
indeed one of morals. To be sure, a vigorous and
widespread propaganda campaign against alleged
German atrocities did much to inflame the
American people, and pamphlets were issued in
the hundreds of thousands with the backing of
extremely interested parties. It is difficult to
debate with Mr. Morgan on the probable state
of mind of the average impartially-inclined
American had he been given a fair presentation
of the problem from all angles.
However, there can be no denying that in the
summer of 1916 congress gave the president wide
powers permitting him to prohibit loans and to
impose embargoes; that Wilson must have been
influenced in his decision not to prohibit loans by
a letter from Secretary of State Lansing which
was only recently made public, and which de
clares, “If the European countries cannot find
means to pay for excess goods sold them over
those purchased by the United States, they musC
stop buying and our export trade will shrink.
The result will be depression and unrest.” There
can be no denying that Ambassador Page cabled
to Wilson on March 5, 1917, predicting a crisis
in the United States if the allies were unable to
meet their payments on a $400,000,000 loan made
through Morgan's. “It is not improbable,” ^rote
Page, “that the only way of maintaining our
preeminent trade position and averting a panic
is by declaring war on Germany.”
And certainly there can be no doubt that an
American holding a $1000 British government
bond, the value of v/hich would be destroyed in
the event of allied defeat, would be rather more
prejudieied in favor of the allies than if he did
not own it.
By Howard Kessler
^CAPITALISTS cap it all with capital enter
tainment in capitals.
And a queue a hundred yards long outside
the Trivoli, one of the finest West End theaters,
for a showing of George Arliss in “The Iron
Duke,” the first picture made by the star for
Gaumont-British, the new producing firm that
is stealing Hollywood's aces and trumping its
The customary appendages of any London
queue, a host of has-beens plays, sing and dance
for the bored waiters. Here is a cracked tenor
who boasts of having played in all the first-rate
music halls of England in his time, who quavers
out a popular tune and gratefully catches the odd
coin thrown to him by men escorting fiances,
anxious to appear generous and kindly. When
the line slowly moves along, he repeats the same
patter to those who follow. There are blind men
with accordians, old men with harps, callow
X'ouths with banjos, men who tear caricatures
out of paper, men who do acrobatic tricks, all
making a living outside the theaters wherein once
Inside, after the exorbitant charge of a dollar
for a seat in the gallery, one may be unfortunate
enough to sit between complacent gentlemen who
puff thoughtfully on cigarettes or pipes. It seems
to be an English idiosyncrasy, one which you find
in nearly every cinema of the country, but it is
no less annoying to him who must look upon the
screen through a haze of tobacco smoke. Ash
holders are screwed into the backs of the seats.
Regardless of what frightened Hollywood
producers will write or say, England is coming up
in the cinematic ranks. Gaumont-British is turn
ing out pictures of finer quality than the hyster
ical cactus town, and the English are flocking
to see them, innate patriots that they are. The
British film masters are uplifting the tastes of
their patrons white the Americans, by and large,
are catering to the baser urges of theirs.
West End cinemas are expensive, it is true,
but the suburban show' palaces are quite as
economical as ours. The Regent, the Euston, and
the King's Cross cinemas, which I relied on prin
cipally during the two months in London, charge
from six-pence to a shilling, or 12 cents to a
quarter, for double feature bills. Their movies
are a few weeks older than those around Piea
tlilly circus, and the same features will be playing
at a hundred suburban theaters at the same time.
This cuts down the imports of American films.
Unlike its sister metropoli, London has no
burlesques, and the censors keep the level of en
tertaitement much higher than in New York.
There are girl shows in the West End, at the
Prince of W ales theater, and respectable music
hall vaudeville at Holborn Empire, but you must
go below the street for excitement, in some Soli >
dive, where the tough mugs are not actors, as
The Trocadero is the elite dine and dance
establishment, but they have a huge flunky at
the door who intimidates all those who, like'my
self, have no trousers and coat to match.
If the girl friend is frightened by the Soho
dives, take her to the Cafe Royal, which is as
colorful as any eating place in the world and
has sheltered some of the world’s greatest
master-minds, beauties and eccentrics. She will
love the vast hubbub and tlie dazzling variety of
humans that assemble there any night.
But perhaps you would prefer Hyde park, only
one corner of which is monopolized with
“aginners.” The rest of it has benches. And pane
benches have histories.
Like for instance those in Paris,
HOPE. WE GET
By BARNEY CLARK
Oh, for a gondola!
;js * %
After yesterday’s sample o f
weather we can understand why
swimming is compulsory in P.E.
We saw Willa Bitz thrashing
around in high-heeled pumps and
kindly offered to buy her a set of
water-wings, but she said she
preferred to go barefoot, or prac
A lot of our females who cus
tomarily bare their beezers to the
breeze dripped into classes looking
like drowned rats. Betty “Bean
bag” Bean in particular looked as
if she had just come out of the
tank. We expected her to bark for
a fish, so sleekly seal-like was her
m » 3<
The other day we saw a herd
of Alpha Phi’s squatting hi a
booth at the Side and joined
them. It wasn’t long before Jane
fihapler began flipping water at
the Bystander Naturally, we re
taliated by striking her over the
head with a rolled-up newspaper.
While she was hitnched over,
trying to avoid the blows, one
of her sisters came to her de
fence (?) and poured a glass Of
ice-water down her neck. That’s
what we like about sorority life,
it builds up such a bond of sis
terhood. One for all and all for
one, as it were,
* # *
Lucas went tromping around the
shack last night all of a twitter.
It seems that he wanted a crew of
men to help him move a desk over
to the Press.
“Let it go,” says we, “you can
do it tomorrow.”
“Oh, no,” grumbles Old Brass
face, “It has to be done tonight.
Otherwise the Emerald can’t come
“Why,” we query?
‘Well,” he says, “I wrote an
editorial. Then I cut a couple of
paragraphs out and pasted the rest
of the copy together. Then I laid
Is This A Sound Idea?
W. M. KIPLINGER
\Y. M. Kiplinger edits a successful Washington newsletter.
He gradually discovered that he had invented a new literary style.
Appropriate to his uses; perhaps to other uses.
He challenges college students to experiment with it.
Dean Allen brings it back from Washington.
Here Is Kiplinger’s story in his own words;
This is a shop-talk to teachers—to teachers of journalism.
The talk is by a writer of utilitarian matter.
Purpose is to urge a new style for the writing craft:
Sweep-line style, one full line to a statement or a thought.
Brevity, brevity. Essense. Main point. Scant detail. Speed.
The sweep-line style: A sweep of thought in a single line. Your
eye moves left to right, to the end, and THERE'S the whole thought.
The mind is relieved of the burden of carrying over to the next line.
The mind CAN carry over. The mind CAN do anything you require of
it. But relieve the mind, and ease the eye. It’s a different writing style.
* fii ^
Other points of the style, beyond single-thought single-line:
Key word or key phrase first in sentence or paragraph. Guide.
Impression is enough. No need to fill in tedious detail. Reader
does this for himself. Not exact? No. Often no need to be exact.
Don't insist on full sentences, nicely rounded—grammar rules.
Omit subject, object, verb, predicate, if suits you, if sense is clear.
(Is sense of THAT line clear? It’s faulty grammar, but is it CLEAR?)
Emphasize with TYPE: Conversation is LIVE, print is dull. In your
talking you UP some words, down some words, and trail off—
You can simulate live conversation in type. Well, DO IT, then.
Meter, if you can, within your work time limit.
Try to avoid breaking words or thoughts at line-end. It's discon
certing to eye and mind.
In reader’s interest, be brief: Say it in few words.
All readers are overburdened. They CANT read what they
You writers: You write twice as much as your readers need.
Sometimes you try to show how much you know, forgetting readers’
You publishers: You find it CHEAPER to fill your columns with
expanded writings. Brevity takes more money, more man power. But
brevity, at higher cost of production, can be made to PAY. I KNOW.
(I have a staff of S men to turn out 1800 words per week. But it pays.)
You teachers of journalism: Is this cryptic style good?
No, not for straight new writing, not for bulk of reporting, because
of the urgencies of speed and mechanical make-up.
But for editorial writing, for policy writing? Yes perhaps. In these
there's need ot EMPHASIS, of gripping the reader’s mind. And
column width can be adopted to fit the chosen style.
How i.ir can you go in using this style? I don't quite know.
It s not a substitute for straight smooth writing of conventional type.
But it has its uses, mainly as a stimulant, antidote for stodgy style.
Urge it onto editors? No. Old dogs learn no new tricks.
Urge it onto edltors-ln-the-making? Yes. They will adapt it.
Your young men will grab the style when they feel the ned of VIGOR.
Readers don’t analyze or understand style, but they APPRECI
ATE. They vibrate, they feel. This makes them receptive, and they
There's plenty of compensation for discarding formal writing,
(This sample i* an L.V!R£ME illustration of the style.1
it down on a desk, and went to the
phone. When I came back I found
that the editorial was glued to the
desk. I couldn’t move it without
over to the linotypes. Now how
about four or five of you fellows
“If it’s al the same to you, Bob,”
we suggest timidly, “wouldn’t it be
a little bit easier if you would copy
off the edit on the desk and send
the copy over to the Press?”
“Yes,” he says sadly, “it would,
but I would have loved to see the
expression on Frank’s face w'hen
we staggered through the door
with that desk and asked him to
run it off on the machine. I never
“The rain is raining furiously,
Each lawn’s a lake,
Each street’s a sea;
And me, with gallons in my
Think longing thoughts of
“He thinks about suicide all the
By James Morrison
The Air Angle
Adele Astair, talented dancing
sister of Fred Astaire; Percy
Grainger, internationally famous
pianist, formerly of Portland;
Stoopnagle and Budd; the Pickens
Sisters, Frank Black's orchestra,
and La Kazanova’s Gypsy orches
tra form the array of guest talent
on the Magic Key of RCA pro
gram from 11:00 to 12:00 noon to
Rubinoff and his orchestra will
celebrate their fifth anniversary
on the air by featuring an original
composition, “Maestro Rubinoff,”
written especially for the occasion,
during the Chevrolet program this
evening at 0.
This brings to mind the excel
lent new Casa Loma song “Meet
the President,” introduced by Pee
Wee Hunt Thursday night. It is a
rather lengthy ballad which tells
of the founding of the Casa Loma
corporation and Glen Gray's tri
umphal election to head the group.
The last line of the song is, “Glen
Gray, the president of Casa Loma.”
It is written somewhat along the
iine of “Rhythm Is Our Business,”
and there is plenty of places where
the band has a chance to “take
* * e
While Lemuel Q. Stoopnagle va
cations in the West, the other half
of the famous comedy team, Bud.!
for reservations call ILL’S.
; Free transportation
The Marsh of Time »>
By Bill Marsh
Friend in Need
A friend in need is a friend in
deed. And such a friend is one
Howard Kessler. The other day
various worthies in and around the
Emerald office handed me some
thing in the nature of kidding for
writing with my feet on the desk.
So, comes it today the Kessler lad,
and approaches me with a pocket
battered clipping from his home
The clipping was an A.P. report,
and read as follows: “Justification
for the man who likes to work
with his feet on his desk was sug
gested today by scientific experi
ments at Colgate university. The
experiments showed that feet
higher than head posture speeds
Kessler, m’lad, you arc not only
a gentleman, a traveler, but a hero
as well. My undying thanks are
* * *
Humanity in the raw is a Hell
uva looking thing, isn’t it ? Funny
how thin our veneer of civilization
is, and how easily that veneer rubs
off and sends us back, thousands
of years, to the savage, brutal in
stincts of the fang and claw.
Take that poor devil Lindbergh.
He’s like a wounded animal, fight
ing, running to escape the persecu
tion of the publicity he both fears
and hates. And what happens ?
Every smart reporter in the world
wants to interview him. Why? So
he can tell them again how his
first-born was murdered? So he
can tell them again how he is con
stantly tortured with fear for the
safety of his other baby boy?
Lindy fled to England seeking
peace, rest, and the protection of
iron-clad British law. He and his
loved ones have the protection of
the British law all right, but no
peace or rest as yet. At Liverpool
he and his wife and baby were
practically in a state of siege when
Hulick, picked up a baton and
formed an orchestra. Not only
that; his boys won’t starve with
the rest of us for a while, anyway,
for he’s signed to play nightly at
Morton Downey’s new club, the
Trocadero in New York. The
team will start another radio se
ries in February.
* * . *
Forty-two years ago on Valen
tine’s day the Meyer Kubelskys of
Waukegan, Illinois, wanted a girl
baby, but they got Jack Benny.
Jack changed his name to Benny
when he started out in vaudeville
as a violinist.
1\BC‘CBS Programs Today
9:30 a. m. — A Half Hour in
Good Taste. KOAC.
5:00 p. m. — On the Campuses.
Your Hit Parade. KPO and net
6:00 — Rubinoff and His Violin.
Andre Kostelanelz’ orchestra.
6:30 — Shell Chateau. Holly
wood to KPO.
9:00 — Carefree Carnival. KGO,
reporters surrounded their hotel
room demanding personal inter
Civilized? Maybe. But when
wolves, human wolves, pick up a
scent, the civilization all rubs oft
and back we go, back to the sav
age, cruel law of the pursuing
* * *
Although vivacious Betty Grablo
and Jackie (the kid). Coogan have
announced their engagement, they
can't marry for at least two years.
Miss Grable's juicy contract at R.
K. O. will not tolerate matrimony
until she’s 21.
The University of Minnesota has
one of the finest, brainiest schemes
that I’ve ever heard of. Back there,
any coed found wearing a frater
nity pin is fined 510.00.
Falling in love is an expensive
proposition anywhere, but back
there . . . O-o-w, just think. On
top of shows, dances, flowers, gas,
etc., a nifty little item of $10.00
every time you spade up the Greek
jewelry and plant it in a new gar
Every Night 7 :30 to 10:30
Tues., Tliurs., Sat., & Sun.
1:30 to 4:00 p. m.
For your tux accessories—ties, shirts, collars.
BYROM & HOSELTON
02 East 10th Street
For Better Food
Try a tender, juicy steak or roast from
our market. You’ll be more
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