Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012, May 07, 1942, Page 2, Image 2

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    The 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
class matter at the postoffice, Eugene, Oregon.
FRED O. MAY, Business Manager
Ray Schrick, Managing Editor Betty Jane Biggs, Advertising Manager
Jack Billings, News Editor Elizabeth Edmunds, National Advertising Manager
Editorial board: Buck Buchwach, Chuck Boice, Betty Jane Biggs, Ray Schrick; Pro
fessor George Turnbull, adviser.
Lee Flatberg, Sports Editor
Erling Erlandson, Assistant Sports Editor
Fred Treadgold, Assistant Sports Editor
Corrine Nelson, Mildred Wilson,.
Co-Women's Editors
Herb Penny, Assistant Managing Editor
Joanne Nichols, Executive Secretary
Mary Wolf, Exchange Editor
Duncan Wimpress, Chief Desk Editor
Ted Bush, Chief Night Editor
John Mathews, Promotion Editor
Joanne Dolph, Assistant News Editor
Helen Rayburn, Layout Manager Lois Clause, Circulation Manager
Helen Flynn, Office Manager Connie Fullmer, Classified Manager
Editorial and Business Offices located on ground floor of Journalism building. Phones 3J00
Extension: 382 Editor; 353 News Office; 359 Sports Office; and 354 Business Offices.
Represented for national advertising by NATIONAL ADVERTISING SERVICE,
INC., college publishers’ representative, 420 Madison Ave., New York—Chicago—Boston—
Los Angeles—San Francisco—Portland and Seattle.
1941 Member 1942
Associated Golle&iate Press
*1he 2wee*t Shall Jlcuue ^Ihetn. . .
npiIE sun is a coquettish tiling. Deliberately and stubbornly,
she plays havoc with men's hearts . . . peeking in and out
through a rainy spring term. Most of the time this year she
kept to herself, while Junior Weekend heads worked fever
ishly to devise a method of turning her head, or earning her
golden smile. They prayed. They sought the weatherman, found
he had gone out of business “for the duration,” and with un
sure fingers wrote'reassuring letters to mothers who couldn't
decide whether to come for the weekend. It can’t rain, they
told themselves. And yet it rained on and on. The sun took a
two weeks’ holiday in April, and they could not for the life of
them find out when her return ticket expired.
■(ro • # * #
JgUT they needn’t have spent all that’worrying time. Any
body who had been around the University of Oregon very
long could have told them everything was going to be all right.
Why, it hasn’t rained (except for a sprinkle or two) for the
Weekend festivities since the first few celebrations, more than
a decade ago. Every year, the sun tries the same coquetry.
She flits her smile sparingly through the weeks just before
Junior Weekend, and the rain comes down in unfailing slivers
of silvjyt.f jJlflic!1’yef, as faithful as the Prom itself, the sun comes
out of 1 pd ljigy every year in ample time to bring copper freckles
to Her Majesty's nose at coronation time.
Sure enough, the sun came through yesterday. There was
no need to get excited. The queen shall have her freckles.
V ■ :.V ’ l
PatuxAe oJf GtUmatt
(By,Associated Collegiate Press)
Apparently having run out of words (other than superlatives)
for the first time in its history, unpredictable Hollywood has more
or less been waving a distress flag recently, bemoaning its surplus
of swivel-chair executives, and at the same time its comparative
shortage of writing talent.
As a resMlt, it remained for the Rev. Father G. V. Hartke, head
of the drama department of Catholic university, Washington, D.C.,
to advance an “improvement of the breed” program, so to speak,
which is aimed at the development of better scenarists.
Father Hartke advocates the simple but sensible plan of develop
ing young scenarists by proper training in our various colleges and
universities throughout the country. He suggests the sponsorship
by major studios of a number of $1,000 post-graduate scholarships
for senior drama students. These scholarships are to be awarded
strictly on a competitive basis, each contestant being given a story
synopsis to adapt into a screen play.
The winners, upon completion of their courses, are then to be
offered positions in the studio scenario departments as “junior writ
ers,” with salaries beginning at $50 a week. And from there on it’s
every man for himself.
For all practical purposes this system might seem the ideal setup,
were it not for the fact that writing itself, unlike engineering and
architecture, cannot be taught by the slide-rule method. Moreover,
it cannot be judged that way, so it hardly would be considered fair
to make the final analysis on just one piece of work turned in by
the young writer. This system places the plan more on a “contest"
footing, thus reverting to chance.
In addition, the steady influx into the studios of these scholar
ship winners would practically shut the doors on less fortunate col
leges and non-college writers who may be equally, or even more,
talented than those who secure the jobs.
But then, after all, perhaps we should let the writers bargain
with their own fate. Because, regardless of circumstances, Holly
wood, being Hollywood, will no doubt pursue its usual benevolent
course of taking the vest any day—and leaving the other fellow
tile arm hole.- Southern California Daily Trojan.
flam yosi
Unquestionably the finest time
of all was had by us in Portland
over Monday and Tuesday. The
finest time being Jackson Tea.
We start upstairs not even dar
ing to touch the Big T. cuff and
end up sleeping with Jack at
the Congress Mondav eve after
a very interesting evening.
Teagarden has much to say
about everything. Monday night
he said it till 7:30 Tuesday morn
ing. Which is a good bit of say
ing when you look at it clearly.
On Bix: “I helped Bix write
‘In The Dark.’ It was when I was
in the second Pollack band in
1929. Benny Goodman was there
and he played fine. Not like he
does now. Bix wrote the first
strains and I just sort of filled
in the middle. Bix could play easy,
but he couldn’t read at all. Was
sort of slow. But if he read it
about four times he was ready
to go. And man, he went.”
On Pollack: “Who was in the
brass section? Well gate, there
was myself, and Charlie T., and
some fellow named Bronson, or
Johnson, or something. But we
were a helluva lot better than
They Said “No”
On Casper Reardon: “I was the
first one to use Casper on a re
cording date. Everybody said,
‘You can’t use a harp with a jazz
band.’ But I did it. Casper was
sorta’ effeminate in his personal
manners. But man, when he
played that harp he wasn’t any
thing but jazz. He played ten note
left hand, just like the bass on
a piano. A harp is supposed to
get only whole tones, but that
Casper, why man, he got all those
fine half tones, just like a trum
On death: “It was just the
same with Casper and Bix. One
night, when I was in New York
with Pollack, Charlie T. had gone
with Bix to Princeton for a one
night thing at a frat house. And
then Bix was dead, just thirty
six hours later. We all were griev
in’, man. Then one day in Chicago
Casper started talking about a
bad liver. And then, just twenty
four hours later he was gone too.
Man, that's the way it gets them
On musicians: Bud Freeman
is the finest on tenor. Jimmy Mc
Partland plays, not just like Bix,
he is Bix, just as soft, and gets
around just as much. Charlie T.
has better range, and a little
more technique. They’re both
fine anyway. Art Tatum is jazz.
He is not showing off, but feels
all that big stuff that he plays.”
Jazz Only
On records: “Man, I want to
make nothing but jazz, but you
can't. That's why Jimmy has to
play ‘Bet Me Call You Sweet
heart’ in F, as a waltz. You gotta
please them people. I want a re
cording company of my own, so I
can do it right.”
On his own band: “This Betty
Van is fine, but Kitty Kallen—
man, she could really sing. She
would sing these Hebrew things,
and tears would start coming
down her cheeks, and we would
all start feeling as down as hell.
Ernie Hughes is leaving us at
piano for more money. Of all the
guys, Will Osborne, offered him
ten dollars a week more, and so
I’m looking for someone now to
play. I will use one boy on one
piano, my sister on another, and
am going to pick up Tatum when
I get back south to play special
ty stuff. Being half blind, he
can't read the spots. He said he'd
play with us for nothing.”
On his coming vacation: “Man,
1837 AND WAS
Lightening struck a
kigh&ghts from ofd. HARVARD
Crimson, toe
Faculty 'snooping'*
'Inode Jlait
Max Shulman, columnist for the
Daily Minnesotan, writes about
COLOR. . . . The reds and yel
lows and pinks and greens and
blues of the coeds’ dresses and
the brown and write of their
shoes. What did girls wear on
their feet before saddle shoes?
The bright blue of the sky and
the whitness of the fleecy clouds,
like a very bad sentimental paint
ing. The spring green of the
grass before the summer heat
yellows it.
ODORS . . . Best of all, the
green earth. Lunch bags being
opened—ham, peanut butter, egg
salad. Ice cream cones. Nothing
,in the world smells like an ice
cream cone. Ice cream has an
odor, but it is not like an ice
cream cone.
STUDY . . . Young men with
I’m going down to Mexico with
Eddie (his wife), and there ain’t
no phones down there. Nobody
can call you, and nobody knows
just where you are. I got me one
of those fine camp outfits. You
should latch on to one. When
you’re hungry or tired, you just
stop and make yourself a stew,
right there.”
backs propped against trees.
Coeds lying full length, heads
supported on crooked arms. Sun
light shining on open pages of
thick red history books, green too
—expensive psych lab manuals,
finely set poetry volumes, small
baffling mathematics texts.
* *
“Try This on Your Neighbor’’
It’s funny, but it works! Ta
your house number and double" it.
Add 5. Multiply by 50, then add
your age.
Add the number of days in a
year, and subtract 615.- T-he last
two figures will be your age; the
other will be your house number.
* * *
After this war is over, there
will be a slight pause for nation
—Mills College Weekly.
University of Wisconsin stu
dents who attended _the 1942 ^pi
ior prom went without corsages
to buy more than $500 worth of
defense stamps.
A 15-week course in aircraft
drafting is being offered at
Wayne university.
*7(4*l GoUefjiate 'WosUdl
Harvard wasn t so imivli different a century ago, to judge
from the diary of Jacob Rhett Mott of the class of 1832, who
“slept over prayers, disliked the food, and rejoiced unduly
when his professors ‘missed' lectures.” *
1 I>e diary was written when Mott was a 19-year-old junior
in the college in 1831. Chief change between 1830 and 1940
seems to have been the tempo at which college life was lived.
Mott walked when he took a trip to Boston, or else drove his
velocipede. The only excitement which he seems to have had
during his junior year was when he raced his machine with
the stage coach which ran between Cambridge and Boston.
Mott admits that his accustomed time of “retiring to court
the tavors of Morpheus was 12 or 1 o’clock, and that he
found it “the most difficult thing in the world to rise-at, a
proper hour in the morning."
1 this morning slept over both prayers and breakfast,-”
he records on one morning. “One advantage attended the
omission of the latter, namely an appetite at dinner sufficient
to relish Commons beef.”
On a few evenings, he boasts of “perpetrating his lesson
in eleetiieitj, but to balance these conscientious evenings, he_
tells of several occasions when he got through Latin class only
In a squirt, which was nineteenth century jargon for;a
good guess in an unprepared recitation.
—Get Sugar Stamps—• \