From where I SIT
By CLARE IGOE
The sepulchral quiet of the upper division reading room wa<
broken rudely Sunday afternoon by the sound of thunderous and
enthusiastic snoring from somewhere in the room. Dignified ur>
perclassmen giggled, stared to see who the happy sleeper was, but
his identity remains a mystery.
* * #
Members of the freshman class were enlightened during a re
cent meeting when Alan Kahn, swarthy freshman, rose during thr
heat of controversy and announced with firmness and conviction—
“I am not a member of any fraternity or a sorority . . Laughter
momentarily halted his further exposition.
Unhappy was the fate last Friday night of three Sigma Chis,
Chuck Eaton, Mel Rooney, and a third who, unknown, must remain
anonymous. The trio happened to be sitting at the table in the
College Side under which Newt keeps his supply of "stubbies.”
With mischief in their hearts, the three happy boys reached
under the seat, brought up bottle after bottle of the brew, downed
it with great secrecy, delighted over the fact that they had stolen a
march on unknowing Newt.
Disillusionment and sorrow came soon, however, for Newt ha I
been watching all the time and after all that trouble, the boys had
to pay anyway. And for the whole case, too.
. * * *
The Alpha Phis were pretty mad last weekend. It seems that
one of the girls had a friend who was a news cameraman. This
friend busied himself at the game, like a good friend should, taking
shots of the girls, but when the pictures came out in the papers, no
Alpha Phis were to he found, and all those flashing smiles were
wasted.
# *
if:
Hilarity and happy fun reigned at the extremely original "Foo”
dance of the law school lotharios Friday night, held, of all places,
at the fairgrounds. During the intermission a horse show was pre
sented by Dean Wayne L. Morse and the faculty. Dark-haired Belle
of the law school Reva Herns, who had never been on a horse before
in her life, was boosted, in fear and trembling, upon the back of one
of the parading Dobbins and trundled about.
Plugs and show horses were displayed alike with happy democ
racy , and a fine time was had by all, if we may be permitted to
coin a phrase.
After the dance a serenade was held about which, we hear, the
less said the better. Amazing and delightful to us is the exuberance
and youthful high spirits of the usually studious law school students
when they do go out to have fun.
Strange Land
By WERNER ASENDORF
German Exchange Student
II SEEMS NECESSARY to defend the girls against girls on
this campus. Amazed and startled, I read (he different and many
articles about coeds, all of which seemed to put the modern “susies”
in a tough spot. Types were designed of them and charm was
denied them. I can’t understand it. Why do male and female
writers blame the girls so much? Did it ever occur to the male
writer that the blame is to be put on the men, that they, by pooh
poohing at the coeds, cut their own throats? Or did it so happen
that some better competitor had cut the throat of the writer just
before he sat down to write his article. Here now may it be said
"by the voice of experience": Girls are what men want them to be.
If they are off the pedestal, men have torn them down and it
is no use for them to climb up again.
Some cracks have been made by me too. All right, who doesn
like to make cracks at girls just to show his superiority? But yo
girls shouldn’t make cracks at yourselves. Crack at the met
You have all the -beauty, all the loveliness, all the charm there i:
in yourself and if it doesn’t appear on the outside, blame the me
who ask you for dates.
x * v * *
THAT'S THAT. And now for the friendly poke. Yes. American
gills are typified. Maybe more than European girls. But what
of it ? You are smartly dressed. You wear pretty hats. You know
how to do your hair. You sometimes don’t know how to apply the
drug-store facilities ... I said sometimes.
You are in fact perfect products of the Americanization process.
You have a very high level of civilization as a foundation for your
cultivation.
Don t stop now. Make today the starting point of your self
education. Let the smart sayings be your tools but not your inside.
Develope your inside.
And if you don’t get ahead, blame those men who want your
lipstick and not your soul.
JtERSE TALES for TinyTotsI
j Or stories for the young college students—literary efforts from
nowhere about any where.
.........
By JOHN VALLEAU
(Note: Author Valleau declares any similarity between the name
of his hero, Moratz, and that of Terse Tales steadiest contributor,
Moritz Thomsen, is entirely coincidental. Thomsen last week made
a similar assertion that the tragic story of John the reformer who
came to be known as Scrappy was in no way a reference to John
\alleau, although, oddly, Scrappy's remains were (in the tale)
shipped to his home in San Diego which is also the home of today's
contributor. Since both men seem ambitious to write The Great
American Psychological Novel, their testimony can obviously be
to a great extent, disregarded.)
The Era of Moratz was roughly from September, 1930, to
December, 1937.
Moratz wasn t large, physically; he was just impressive. No
human mind capable of receiving stimuli and forming mental re
sponses could have failed to respond intensely if somewhat con
fusedly to the sight of his sturdy body, swathed always in clothes
"here were an unfortunate hybrid of Esquire's striking unattrae
tiveness and the most conservative English traditions. He paid
fabulous sums to achieve this acme of unimpressiveness.
But of course it was his Mind (capital M used advisedly) which
was the most intriguing and unpredictable element of his makeup.
Moratz read, and read, and read. His books were delivered on the
large flat-cars ordinarily used, in this great Northwest, for the
transportation of logs. Proust, and Nietzsche, and Saki and Mann.
Those around him always knew what he had been Wading last -
he became a Hemingway addict and his conversation became un
intelligibly stream-of-conseiousness-ish, am.1 he answered every ques
tion with the ambiguous statement: "You are all a lost generation
Gertrude Stein in conversation.” He succumbed to Faulkner and
every person and object immediately became phallic. He scorned
almost everything, and each time some unwary soul mentioned a
new campus interest, it was so .dashingly satirized that the poor
young boor slunk off in humilition.
Moratz was, even the dullest of campus sluggards could perceive,
an Intellectual.
*****
Now of course every student had heard of Intellectuals, but none
1
A Matter of Policy
yy ijlx euHies oi wi<* ease oi me miss
ing drum majoress, there should be no re
flection upon the character and ability of .Miss
Mary Ellen Williams, baton twirler deluxe,
■who offered her services to Bandmaster .John
Stehn for the Washington State game in Port
land Saturday and who was not allowed to
perform.
Miss Williams' failure to appear was not
of her own choice. Although the administra
tion and Dean of Women Hazel P. Schwering
frowned upon her leading the band, both
sources of official disapproval have made
clear that it was a mattpr of University policy
and not of personal discrimination.
The band performed well at Portland
without the services of Miss Williams. Mus
ically, it gave one of its finest performances
in years. In the field it lacked color. In part
this was caused by the drab uniforms which
it has little chance of shedding for some time
—it was also attributable to lack of a colorful
leading figure.
Director Stehn is apparently convinced that
he has at last found the solution to this prob
lem in a capable drum majoress. His “find”
is a capable showman and willing to perform.
The ASUO paid her way and that of a recog
nized University chaperone to Portland and
has expressed its willingness to buy her a
uniform. Because she is qualified in every
way, she could lead the band without subject
ing the University to accusations of exploit
ing its womanhood.
Nevertheless, Director Stehn s band will
go leaderless. ..
» #
Ih AWS council, asked for an opinion in
the case, last week voiced its disapproval.
Council members declared, however, that body
did not feel that its ruling should be binding
and that they believed it did not have juris
diction.
So, putting aside personal convictions as
to whether or not the duties of a drum ma
joress arc “proper ’ or any less legitimate
than those of girls in other activities, the
matter is squarely one of University policy.
As such it goes far deeper than the ques
tion at hand.
It illustrates a policy of extreme sensitive
ness to possible criticism, a “treading on
eggs” attitude which is highly regrettable
when found in an institution attempting to
maintain high standards—yes—but also lib
eral ideals.
1 he University, with a progressive repu
ration 01 iar-iooking ana broad minded educa
tional policy, has built up an enviable reputa
tion as a liberal educational unit. I Through
out the entire United States it has the name
of being abreast of the times in policy and
thought. It is this kind of a reputation which
strengthens its position and increases its
prestige.
This extreme self-consciousness to criti
cism is making inroads in its standing in its
own state, however.
* * #
^^"0 policy can ever please every taxpayer,
every father and mother, every citizen.
The policy of taking initiative out of student
hands and of handling the power thus usurped
to avoid all posibility of unfavorable comment
has been justified on the grounds that the
1 niversity must protect its enrollment and
avoid irritating the more reactionary groups.
This policy doesn't seem sound. Reaction
ary groups are not as numerous as those be
lieving a university should act within reason
as an independent institution. This seems the
best basis on which to conduct a college. If
it cannot survive on this basis in the long run,
education is a degenerate failure, its defini
tion and aims defeated by the conditions
under which it must labor.
Practically, it seems likely the student ra
ther than the elder chooses the school when
it conies down to the final choice—and that
the student is likely to choose the up-and
coming school which offers him the best op
portunity to develop under student direction
anil control and which will guide his develop
ment along modern lines.
* * *
IN reality but a minor issue, it seems regret
table that Oregon cannot have a drum ma
yoress. The problem has been likened to the
one of women smoking. Opinion seems to be
that the drum majoress will come to pass “in
due time.”
The analogy is a poor one. In the first
place, it is doubtful if any point of social
conduct is involved. The baton-swinging of
the drum majoress shouldn’t, in this modern
age, brand her as a social outcast or a violator
oi gooil taste or womanly prerogative. If it
does have any ‘‘breakdown of convention”
significance, it is certainly milder than that
hot issue of women smoking in public.
And if we must break down convention
to permit it, we re a bunch of mossbacks, not
the liberal Oregonians Ave like to think our
selves of being.
LEROY MATTINGLY, Editor WALTER R. VERNSTROM, Manager
LLOYD TUPLING, Managing Editor
Associate Editors : Paul Deutschmann, Clare Igoe.
The Oregon Daily Emerald, official student publication of the University of Oregon, published - t- J
except Sundays, Mondays, holidays and final examination periods. Entered as second-class mail matter at t e lost ce, Eugene,
Oregon. ^ ____ ^
Editorial Board: Darrel Ellis. Bill Peace. Margaret Ray, Edwin Robbins, A1 Dickhart, Kenneth Kirtlcy. Bernardine Bowman.
UPPER NEWS STAFF
i^iocri xiawKins, ^poris realtor
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bon Kennedy, Radio Editor
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Assistant Managing Editor Wen Brooks •
Copyreaders : Pat McCarthy Gordon
Night editors: Bill Rentz
DESK STAFF THIS ISSUE
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i
Circulation Manager:
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ADVERTISING STAFF
tiuuil.ll AUVl. .'Ifcl .
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Line Decew
Use Your Own Name Please, Mr. Kennedy II
i^INCE The Emerald “In the Mail” column
contained a notice not long ago that
“letters with obviously fictitious signatures
(such as Hamilton Kennedy II seems to be)
will not be accepted,” a storm of protests
(two) have flooded the editorial offices.
Letters from students are the most inter
esting and valuable feature which a college
paper can present. It has always been The
Emerald’s aim to encourage those letters and
to cultivate the spontaneous and unsolicited
expression of opinion which they represent.
That policy will be continued—the columns
of the daily will always be open to any stu
dent who has a suggestion or an opinion to
advance.
Any suggestion or opinion, that is, "which
is in good taste and which is offered in good
faith—and to which that student is willing to
sign his name or his initials.
The contributions of Hamilton Kennedy II
have been interesting—even after it had been
ascertained that no one of that name was
enrolled in this University they were printed
because of their sprightliness and value. At
least two persons, however, were using the
pseudonym.
The chief value in such letters is to be
found in the fact their authors have some
thing to saj' on matters large or small and are
sincere enough in wanting to say it to write
it clown and mail it in. This sincerity is lost
if anonymous letters and communications
bearing false names are to be accepted.
* # *
column in The Emerald is published
under a fictitious name or without the
identity of its editor indicated. Even the
editorials not written by the editor bear the
initials of those who contribute them, it will
not be the policy of the paper to in any
manner hide the identity of its contributors,
whether on or off the staff.
The full signature of the writer is pre
ferred. If he wants only his initials to be
published and includes a note to that effect,
his wishes will be observed. But anonymous
contributions cannot be accepted.
So sign your name and initials, Hamilton
Junior, and let us hear from you again.
MANNA FROM HEAVEN
News reels show Chinese going about their
business unperturbed by a rain of Japanese
shells. They pay just about as much attention
to the bombardment as the average Oregonian
does to the winter rain.
In the Mail
HKIJVtt HACK HAM
To the Editor:
We, the undersigned, have
read with great interest the ma
terial in a recent Emerald con
cerning the most loquacious and
prolific of Letters-to-the-Editor
writers, Hamilton Kennedy II.
We have followed Mr. Ken
nedy's epistles very closely and
are greatly disturbed to find
that no more of his worth while
contributions will be accepted
by the Emerald.
Kennedy, no matter whether
he be a figment of the imagin
ation or an inhabitant of this
world, has a message for the
students of Oregon which it is
shameful to stifle.
We do not doubt but what
Kennedy is deeply hurt by the
attitude you have taken and
will not likely offer any more
contributions for some time. In
view of thi3 possibility, we ear
nestly ask you to print any of
Kennedy’s letters which you
have held up because of this
policy.
It’s men like Hamilton Ken
nedy that make the world go
'round—
Yours for a column by Ken
nedy,
Clayton Ellis,
Jim Woods,
A1 Runkle,
Tom Atkinson.
was quite sure he could define the term, even mentally. Therefore
hordes of common students and professors, studied intensely, and
analyzed and classified by everyone. Being a good introvert, he of
course demanded a single room; but within a week he found it
necessary to study, read, and even sleep elsewhere, as there were
never fewer than 10 open-mouthed spectators in his room.
He was followed about on the campus by several of his more
persistent fans; and while he was never asked for autographs, (be
cause it was soon known that he considered this naive, or some such
definitely scurrilous adjective), his every word and remark was
seized upon as a gem dropped from the lips of Intellect Incarnate.
But it was for only a short time that he suffered this plague of
popularity, because his phonograph arrived from home. A music
maniac, he kept the infernal implement incessantly in action. The
classical music, operas, and such, in which he so delighted, soon
discouraged most of his public; but the full isolating powers of this
instrument were realized only when he discovered the possibilities
of volume. From that day on, he simply set the volume, dial at the
fullest peak, and his public dispersed very satisfactorily.
But a horrible thing happened. Through some weird psycho
logical process, Moratz became convinced that the only way to
savour the full flavour of Music was through this very Isolating
Volume. And when he found himself entirely alone in his tiny
cavern formed by the immense pyramids of books, this blasting, all
pervading Immortal Din resounded throughout the city. Although
he could not read, talk, or think above the sound, and although it
was absolutely impossible to distinguish one note from another
tit was simply one vast Noise), still he felt in his maladjusted,
Inhibited, thwarted, somplex-ridden soul that here, at last, he had
discovered true bliss.
He had to move several times, when noise-maddened landlords
finally ended up living in a trailer, about 10 miles up the Mc
him did not compensate for the timber-shaking phonograph. He
finally ended pu living in a trader, about 10 miles up the Mc
Kenzie, and was quite well satisfied with this arrangement despite
the inconvenient distance from classrooms.
Bc.t at the end of a year, Moratz began to encounter a certain
difficulty in finding things to satirize. Every single factor of his
environment he had long since classified as trite, naive, banal, hack
neyed. platitudinous, or depressing. And one day he suddenly real
ized that the only thing left to scorn was his own mode of life
And so it happened that he decided the only truly intellectual and
. uper-sophisticated life was that of common labor. So one early
December midnight, in the midst of a truly Nietzsehean rainstrom,
he poured kerosene over his trailer and library, and, with proper
symbolic rites, destroyed them.
Pollock's FOLLY
By BOB POLLOCK
THE KNIGHTS of the Blue
Garter, anybody know anything
about ’em ? Rumor of their ex
istence has percolated around
and about until it at last drifted
to this department.
According to responsible au
thorities, and a source that is
usually considered authoritative,
these so-called Knights are an
organization much like the
Black Legion. Unlike their il
lustrious predecessors, they do
not torture citizens to death
With fire, neither do they exe
cute by whip or bullet.
The ends of their victims are
just as painful, just as prolong
ed, just as horrible but they are
achieved by a new addition to
a long list of torture instru
ments which includes the Iron
Maiden, the rack, the thumb
screw, and the Oregon Boot. It
is, in short, the Serenade.
NIGHT MUST FALL, the
movies tell us and when it does
the Knights fare forth to the
nearest tavern there to tune up
their pipes. When night has fal
len as far as it can and is about
to rise they stride into the
world, flushed by the repeal of
what John Barrymore called
“The Blight.”
Sorority row is invaded. The
Knights gather ’neath a sleep
ing porch, listen with envy to
the raucous sounds issuing
therefrom and then burst forth
into alleged song. The gals sleep
on until the very timbers of the
old chapter house groan, then
wake to a world which appears
to have gone mad.
TENORS, horribly- cracked
and never entirely whole, rend
the sweet night air, baritones
bellow and basses sink clear past
the sub-basement. “Ah, another
serenade”’ the gals think joy
fully. But revelation* comes all
too quickly. It is the Knights
of the Blue Garter . . . presently
the serenade fades, the gals peer
forth and there are the Knights
. . . truckin’ . . . Suzy Cue’in . . .
Shag’in . . . Big Apple’in. . .
We don’t „ know anything
about it, folks. It’s just what
they told us—and anyway the
AOPi lassies swear to it . . .
Pretty soon we’ll tell their iden
tities — and then get out our
water wings and bathing suit.
And that was the last event of Moratz' career as a VVebfoot.
* * * *
Now W hy, true to his unfailing conviction that the life of
the mind lay in the work of the hand, Moratz got a job. For eight
hours a day he does odd jobs in the iron foundry in Salem, speaking
to no one. And instead of a salary, he has the privilege of spending
the other sixteen hours on a frail little platform in a spot entirely
surrounded by the massive Steam-driven machines. Everyone thinks
that he must surely be deaf by now, from the thunderous roar. All
night long he just stands on a little wooden platform, his face radiat
ing ecstasy, his eyes wide with the mental orgasm produced by the
noise, as he screams quotations from great authors, and waves his
_arms wildly as though directing the pounding, throbbing clamor.
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RALLY COMMITTEE
//. I
• Babe Binford’s Campus Orchestra
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FRIDAY, NOV. 12
PRE ORE.-CALIF GAME
‘•FESTIVITIES START 10 P.M.”
every morning. He will like to read
the University happenings.
CTIdTJ^J^feOEMr ' 'iSjW|,<iU^k
Send the Emerald homo to Dad
every morning. He will like to read
the University happenings.
1