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'ITie Oregon Daily Emerald, published daily during the college year except Sundays,
Mondays, holidays, and final examination periods by the Associated Students, University
of Oregon. Subscription rates: $1.25 per term and $3.00 per year. Entered as second
ilass matter at the postflfice, Eugene, Oregon.
HELEN ANGELL, Editor FRED MAY, Business Manager
Associate Editors: Betty Jane Biggs, Hal Olney
Ray Schrick, Managing Editor Jim Thayer, Advertising Manager
Bob Frazier, News Editor Warren Roper, National Advertising Manager
UPPER NEWS STAFF
Jonathan Kahananui, Lee Flatberg, Herb Penny, Bill Hilton, Assistant
Co-Sports Editors Managing Editors
Corrine Nelson, Mildred Wilson, Joanne Nichols, Assistant News Editor
Co-Women’s Editors Mary Wolf, Exchange Editor
UPPER BUSINESS STAFF
Helen Rayburn, Layout Manager Alvera Maeder, Leota Whitelock,
Dave Holmes, Circulation Manager Classified Managers
Maryellen Smith, Special Issue Manager Jean Gallo, Office Manager
Peggy Magill, Promotional Director
Editorial and Business Offices located on ground floor of Journalism building. Phones
3300 Extension : 382 Editor; 353 News Office : 359 Sports Office ; and 354 Business Office.
Red Blood In the Drawing Room
|N spite of the fact that Oregon’s first two 1941 assemblies
brought spectacular crowds to Gerlinger hall, the hour spent
with Jay Allen and Clarence Streit lacked something.
It is not ouf purpose here to discuss agreement or disagree
ment with the'text of each speaker’s address, but to question
the suitability of the “before speaker” entertainment. With all
due respect for the excellent trombonist and the equally skilled
flute soloist, we wonder if such numbers show off to good ad
vantage on the same program with forceful speakers on current
affairs The situation is scarcely fair to the musicians, for an
assembly wi^i 2,000 pairs of tramping feet is not the place to
expect appreciation of a solo number of tlia ttype. the audience
simply is not in the mood for music better suited to a drawing
room.
# * #
rj'OR Jay Allen, one-time University student and in every
respect a returning favorite son, it seems only right that
the University band or some forceful type of introduction is
warranted. You just don’t think of red-blooded Jay Allen in
the same thought with a trombone solo.
It is not that the Emerald does not appreciate good music,
but we do believe that numbers should be selected in keeping
with the occasion. Either special entertainment in line with
the speaker’s background or interest, or better still, all-campus
singing, singing roll call of houses, or any numbers with
definite student “assembly” appeal seem better methods of
getting college audiences in a friendly frame of mind for the
talk that is to follow. It is better for Webfoots to get rid of
their excess energy before the speaker is introduced than after
lie begins.
It Could Only Happen Here
JF Mr. Hitler gets American newspapers in Berlin, and he
undoubtedly does as his Superman-in-reverse antics indicate,
he should have a headache this morning.
Here is Mr. Hitler, with his conquests to publicize, with his
winning battles to make known to the American people; here
is the darling little paperhanger needing to convince the Am
erican people that at heart he is Little Lord Fauntleroy in a
swastika-embroidered—and very pretty—uniform.
Here is poor Adolf, with his mustache drooping, anxious that
all good Americans should take heed of Senator Wheeler,
Charles Lindbergh,, and Herbert Hoover’s remarks that there
is no Nazi menace to America, anxious that all right-thinking
Americans should wait until he gets rid of the English and
Russians before the U. S. does anything rash like arming
its own ships.
Here is our benighted friend, the gracious and suave savior
of the universe, the kind-hearted Mr. Hitler, needing our front
pages to get his ideas across to the oppressed American masses
. . . and look what happens.
# * #
rJpilKl\E are hundreds of football games Saturday, and the
crazy game occupies the warped mind of the American.
And all the newspapers forget about Moscow and banner the
At
Second
Qlance
By TED HARMON
We received our first batch of
pan-mail over the weekend, and
almost forgot our sociology as
signment in trying to justify the
accusations made therein. What
a waste at three cents a letter!
A job like this, writing nearly
2,500 words a week on just what
we happen to see, isn’t an easy or
simple task.
As a matter of fact, we use
nearly twenty sheets of news
print a week to put these words
down, two gallons of glue to keep
the other guy’s mouth shut, and
two brunette wigs to scratch our
fingers on.
However, along with the pan
mail came one letter from a dis
tressed coed, worrying about our
printing her name in any issue,
because, as she said, “dad and
mother read the Emerald and I
don’t want them to get any wrong
impression.” Neither do we, so
we’re returning the letter with
three cents postage due.
But for a final word on the
pan-mail, we jot down in this
space just what we happen to see,
or know is well authenticated
(with apologies to Carl Little)
and always there is the constant
clamor of “why did you put my
name in the paper?” or “why
didn’t you put my name in the
paper? I pay my tuition!” or
even “why?”
COMMENT OF THE WEEK:
Pi Phi’s Mary Jane Simmons’ act
of breaking a house dance date:
“I’d simpullee love to, but, rally,
I don’t think that I cawn!” Dick
Schultz’s remark to the state
ment from a coed that she loved
blonde hair. “Well, honey, I’ve
got plenty of it!”
What happened to Sunday ?
After noticing tired expressions
on most of the students, we be
came intereste by asking two pro
fessors. For some unexplainable
reason, it seems that most class
goers slept through most of their
classes, which may be the logical
answer to solve Mammy Yokum’s
troubles. In fact, one freshman
in the BA school slept through
ihe bell, woke up just as the next
class was starting. Another
almost found himself locked up
in the library last night. In oth
er words, insomnia these days
. . . you’re going to miss that 8
singing on the second chorus,
please.
(Flcasc turn to page seven)
Crusader’s Cause Good; -
Messiah Lacks Stage Sense
By DON TREADGOLD
A crusader not eloquent enough
for his cause stood before the
University Friday morning in the
person of Clarence Streit. He of
fered a plan, which already has
6,000,000 supporters, according
to Fortune, seeming a bit too
revolutionary to win instant ap
proval. The first reaction of most
listeners was that Union Now
was a nice idea, but impractical.
The idea of uniting all the re
maining democracies into a fed
eral union of self-governing na
tions to face the axis menace
NOW does sound like an idle
dream; that is, as Mr. Streit says,
if you prefer a nightmare. After
mature consideration, many may
change their first reaction to
something like this: “The thing
has possibilities, AFTER the
war.”
France, a Pushover
We still quarrel with such a
conclusion. All too well we know
the story of the tragic destruc
tion of the little European democ
racies. Far too long we have
watched nations who knew the
meaning of human rights get
picked off one at a time. Not un
til France was in her death
throes, under the control of the
Vichymen who were all too glad
to sign her death certificate, did
Great Britain offer her political
union for all time. France was a
pushover, because Hitler had cut
her to pieces internally before he
ever marched. Taking shrewd ad
vantage of the internal division
and strife paralyzing each democ
racy and separating all the de
mocracies, Hitler has enslaved a
continent, and is not through yet.
Pitiful Allies
In union there is strength; but
in the pitiful union of ghost Al
lies who sit forlornly in London
today there is only helplessness.
United they might have stood,
divided they fell and are still fall
ing.
Must we wait until we are
alone on the face of the earth to
meet Hitler, with whom our
president has sworn never to
make peace until his final de
struction? Or can the United
States and the nations of the
British Commonwealth begin to
collaborate economically, mili
tarily, ideologically, in effective,
organized fashion? Can the Eng
lish speaking peoples unite for
common action while there is
still time.
Clarence Streit and six million
Americans say YES.
grid front instead. And those verdamnte Reds are nothing
more than Stanford Indians.
And in Oregon, Hitler is almost verboten as pictures of the
two Oregon teams beating Southern California and Stanford
are given anywhere from three to eight columns.
And big front page stories, where there are usually intelli
gent ravings of the peace-loving fuehrer who was forced to
make war on the whole world to save it from itself.
Poor Mr. Hitler ... he apparently doesn’t realize that the
most futile task in the world is that of a Dodger trying to beat
a Yankee.—B.B.
9am IfO-i
RteakjjoU
By TED HALLOCK
—
We will now look at the radio.
First, it is here to stay. Second,
there are some good band com
mercials on it. Third, there are
some good hand sustainings on
it. The good commercials are
Fred Waring and the other kind
are Glenn Miller. Waring’s pro
gram is truly tops in musical en
tertainment.
Fred has been kicking the dial
for seven years now and has a
ten thousand tune library. For
really full kicks dig his nightly
commie on NBC at 8 p.m. for the
same sponsor as the bad band.
Miller and crew have been going
like sixty for the past year Sid
have a library of 2,000 tunes,
which is too many.
Mad at Miller
The sustained (those programs
who wish like heck they could
get Chesterfield away from Mil
ler) are really fine this year. Fin
est of the late have been B. Good
man’s air shots from Meadow
brook, scattered throughout the
week, with “Matinee at M.” come
Saturday afternoon. He’s also an
NBC band.
Always listenable have been
Hotel Astor wires with Bob Ches
ter currently on the stand, and
Hotel Lincoln spots with Har^y
James and trumpet. More NBC.
A fine coast kick is the Palla
dium stuff which the same net
handles. Latesly it’s been kid
Krupa et tubs..
I know you all have been won
dering where Charles Delauney
has been of late. (Might as well
say you have and be a pseudo
jazz intellectual). Chuck is the
character from France whose
“Hot Discography” is the musi
cians’ bible. He was thought lost
with the Nastie onslaught through
Paris. But no, he’s safe. So now
we can all read our “Hot Discog
graphy” with a will, while drink
ing gin. (A Discography is a list
ing of jazz records, and don’t let
me hear any more of those absurd
questions).
(Ted Fio Rito was at the Park
Sunday night—I was in bed).
Looks like the major disc
■works are going to send me gratis
copies for review in return for
the sterling plugs I have ren
dered herein. May I extend sin
cere thanks to the two stray
characters that purchased J.F.B.
recommended waxes, my cousin
and my roomie.
Today’s record special for you
all to ignore is (here’s where I’d
like to give in to my Harvard
complex and say “Mamie Smitjj^s
Red Onion Jazz Babies,” but in
stead, as usual) Glenn Miller’s
(Please turn to page seven)
Abound the. tyJosdd eJlalL-Ou&i fyosi Qosiedt lAJehl&o-tl
(Editor’s note: The Emerald re
ceived the following letter this
week from two former students,
Maurice Binford and Robert
Sheets, who are making a world
tour “on their own.’’ Their ad
ventures will be published in three
installments.!
To the Editor:
Following is a narration in
natural sequence of a year’s
trip taken by the two of us,
Maurice Binford and Robert
Sheets. We think perhaps a
few of our friends will be inter
ested in our wanderings and if
you can use this article to fill
in, so much the better.
We both trod the walks to and
from classes ’37, '38, and '39
and truthfully we both became
bored. On the sly though, for the
two entire years, we were plan
ning a trip around the world
which would last from six months
to two years.
Now or Never
In the summer of 1940, with
conscription around the corner,
we decided it was “now or never.”
We left San Francisco on a Dutch
motorsliip the early part of Oc
tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit
tober bound for Manila and points
west. In our grip we carried one
suit and one tooth-brush, no pass
port l not required in US posses
sion) but we did have a lot of
jokers up our sleeve.
Our second day in Manila we
met Gordon Lowry (Sigma Chi
and Mr. Dudly's protege) and
with his help we took our choice
of five different jobs. Maurice
was sent south of Manila about
350 miles to a little town called
Iloilo located on the island of
Panay. He represented the Amer
ican Biscuit company as their
branch manager; however, we
both feel the job was merely a
subterfuge because he spent the
greater part of each day panning
gold and swimming.
Philippine “Tall Firs”
I was fortunate to work as sec
retary for the largest gold min
ing company in the Philippines
and my hardest job was teaching
the natives how to play soft ball.
The mine was situated a mile
high in the northern sector of
Luzon and the cool breezes from
the tall pines made me feel right
at home.
Well, we stuck with it for five
months, flew over the island in a
friend's plane and learned a
great deal about the Filipino’s
way of living. In North Luzon we
traveled over 300 miles by auto
mobile to view the famous Ifua
gao rice terraces and managed to
take pictures of the Igorot head
hunters who still carry crude
spears and head axes. In the
southern Philippines on the island
of Mindinao we visited the
hammedan Moro tribes reputed
the wildest in the Philippines.
(Please turn to page seven)