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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 14, 1942)
Brecon If Emerald Published daily during the college year except Sundays, Mondays, holidays and final examination periods by the Associated Students, University of Oregon. Entered as second-claims matter at the postoffice, Eugene, Oregon. RAY SCHRICK, Editor; BETTY BIGGS SCHRICK, Business Mgr. Dune Wimpress, Managing Editor Jack Billings, News Editor Ted Bush, Associate Editor John Mathews, Associate Editor s Member ^ Pissoclded Collegiate Press A LI.-AMERICAN 1942 UFr’t.K NEWS STAFF Lee Flatberg, Sports Editor Marge Major, Women’s Editor Mildred Wilson, Feature Editor Janet Wagstaff, Assistant Editor Joan Dolph, Marjorie Young, Assistant News Editors UPPER BUSINESS STAFF .Advertising Managers: John Jensen, Cecil Sharp, Shirley Davis, Russ Sm^lser. Connie Fullmer, Circulation Manager. .Lois Claus, Classified Advertising Man ager. Elizabeth Edmunds, National Advertis ing Manager. “Extravagance in any form, by citizens or by gov ernment, imperils the war effort. Individuals are asked to reverse their habits of spending if inflation is not to destroy their substance. The same obligation rests upon the government. This can be done only if considerations of political advantage are put aside, only if government curtails its own activities as it expects citizens to cur tail theirs, only if the government makes its policies con sistent with each other.”—Dr. Henry M. Wriston, presi dent of Brown university, emphasizes the point that extravagance helps Hitler. (ACP) AtoHe Atuuufl the flapA scrap noise parade is not a restriction. It is not a “sac rifice for national defense.” It is not a curtailment for war. It is the signal to “attack” the axis with iron and steel. The time for this Second Front is now. The place is not “.somewhere in Europe” ... it is everywhere on the Uni versity' campus. It means all the noise of a peace-time parade . . . plus the drive for weapons which we can hand to our alums in fighting forces. * * * JpIND those old saws, those old springs, that wire, that hammer, the discarded lawn mower. Quiet hours are off Saturday morning. Beat that iron and steel so it echoes like the "shot heard ’round the world.” •'Pension of a war-torn campus will go overboard as we go “all out” in our Oregon drive. Men’s and women's houses will be paired today at 4 in the journalism building. Together they will dig for noise resounding scrap as they did in the peace of 1940. They compete Saturday—for noise—and to see who can bury the Jap deepest in scrap. Paint Hirohito’s head on one side of a saw blade, Hitler’s on the other. Beat both sides till their heads cave in at the noise parade. ^Jaa Miuuf, tyelli . . . r|^l IE SCENE: A large football stadium somewhere on the Pacific coast. I’odunk U. and Siwash college are bat tling it out for the championship of the conference. Let's go up into the Podunk stands. We sit down and look about. It s the last quarter, the score’s tied, and Podunk's on Siwash's 20-vard line—who wouldn’t be excited? Suddenly the Podunk coach makes a substitution. Wiu sakki goes in for Linovitch. The Podunk veil leader leaps to his feet. "Come on gang; let's give a yell for old Linovitch . . . Linovitch, rah! rah! rah! Linovitch!" * * * "Y^"E ^SETTLE back in our seats again to watch the game. There goes another substitution. Coral for Edison. "Come on. gang; three big ones for Edison. Edison, rah! rah ! rah ! Edison !" Boy, look at that run! Down to the four-yard line! Now We’re going! There goes Mikunning in for Jensen. Here comes the play—but, wait; here comes the yell leader, too. All right, we’ll yell—"Jensen, rah! rah! rah! Jensen!" . . . and so on far into the afternoon. * * * ■WTl'H the new multiple substitution ruling under which coaches can substitute as much as they want and as often, is it really practical to carry on this ancient custom of cheering each player as he comes off the field? Substitutions often come right in the most exciting, the most crucial mo ments of the game and it’s most disconcerting to have to follow an organized cheer for some tired player and at the same time watch an exciting bit of play. Why couldn't a general team yell he worked up and then cheers for individuals he given only when some exceptionally outstanding player comes off the field?—G.D.W. Between The Lines By HOY NELSON SOMEBODY stepped up to Fiji “Si” Sidesinger and inspect ed the chin of the lanky chair man of the Whiskerino. ‘‘Beard? Whisker?” whispered the stranger, stroking his lower lip. ‘‘Nothing stronger than double cola,” “Si” said. CANARD PREXY “Doc Par sons gglloped to an inmate and asked for a rag with which to shine his shoes. “Military today!” was his exclamation. “But you ain’t taking mili tary,” the rag-owner argued. “Yeah, but this is total war," waved the doctor, and he shined his shoes. SEEN AT THE RALLY in Portland Saturday breathing into a green and yellow pipe was a youngster from Alpha hall en titled Dick Landis. Dickie, a mite confused by the crowd, taxed his lungs with, “Let’s give six for New York!" Speaking of pipes— we hear the names Carolyn Blaine and Pat Aiken connected with same, and we don’t mean choral union. The Washington rooters were fascinated by the color com bination of Oregon lids, as were the Oregon boosters attracted to the Seattle hues, so there was a general exchange after the game. And all the time Gamma Phi Shirley Gasebeer was in Cor vallis for a house dance. Freshman Bob Lindstedt had a little trouble. A flat on the way down and a blowout on the way back, plus assorted engine erup tions. When last seen, “Lamp” and crew were pushing their det riment to defense just outside Albany. They are expected to ar rive in Eugene in time for mid * terms. PI KAP Chieftain J. Harrison had a little trouble with the fel lows next door. It seems that two houses shared the same scrap pile, and the Pi Kaps got there second. Hitler must go, tho, the two houses agreed, so trifling misunderstandings should be avoided in this all-out program. So Harrison took his paper clip, and left. GATHER AROUND and listen to the goodwill hour—that Sun day epic, you know .where the oppressed pour out their trou bles, and Mr. A— comes through with a solution. We take you to New Y—ah,, ah, please don’t mention any names: “Mr. A—, here is the case of Mr. J. C.,” the announcer hisses. The case blows his nose and unburdens. “Mr. A—, I am a stu dent at the University of Ore gon; I am in 4F; I've pledged the best house on the campus; I have (Please turn to page seven) \ .. ^ke Noma MabbUall' By MILDRED WILSON ■JT WAS fall term, 1914. W. F. Goodwin Thacher, teaching his first year of short story writing, had just read and criticized a bit pointedly, a story written by one of the new students. Immediately after class a friend of the student, Milton Stoddard, approached Professor Thacher and queried earnestly, “Do you know whose story that was you just read?” “Why, the name on the front was Marshall, I believe.” 4i.^rES, that’s Eddie Marshall. Why, he’s sold magazine stories. You shouldn’t criticize his stories.” « Which makes a story Edison Telsa Marshall, T7, chuckles ov J > today. Famous author, big game hunter and master at living, Mar shall today ranks as one of Oregon’s most famous alums—and one of the most fascinating. Expeditions into Alaska, Siberia, Indo-China, India and Central Africa have provided thrills, adventure and fiction background for the novelist. On returning from the African journey Marshall re ported to Professor Thacher by letter, “A leopard ate my gun bearer but left enough bones so that we could patch him together and send him to a hospital.” Ke added that the native recovered and he (Marshall) bagged the leopard. A LTHOUGH probably most famous for his recent best-seller ■*- novel, “Benjamin Blake,” which Time magazine praised as “the best novel of its type of the year,” Marshall has been selling fiction to leading magazines for over 25 years. Cosmopolitan, American and Good Housekeeping magazines have published dozens of his short stories and serials. Driving Energy “The most outstanding and characteristic thing about Eddie Marshall is his driving nervous energy,” Professor Thacher observed. “He has a great booming laugh and is completely unconcerned about conventionalities.” * * * )» A S TO his physical appearance, he is "short, thick-chested, with a mane of gray hair (usually disheveled) and intense glittering eyes, with something of the truculence of elephant eyes,” according to Profssor Thacher. Memorial prize of $750 for his short story, “The Heart of Little campus he was interested in dramatics, wrote poetry. Liked to either loaf and talk around the fireplace at the Delt house (he was a mem ber of Delta Tau Delta) or be terribly energetic and busy at some thing. There was no half-speed. He always has had an amazing mem ory for material useful to him. TN 1921, at the beginning of his career, Marshall won the O. Henry Memorial prige of $750 for his short story, “The Heart of Little Chikara.” Just recently, in the September issue of the Reader’s Digest, he contributes to the “My Most Unforgettable Character” section of the magazine. Last spring Marshall visited the campus, was awarded an Honor ary Master of Arts degree, and had a rousing evening with members of Ye Tabard Inn, men’s creative writing honorary, and Portland writers. A T PRESENT Marshall is settled, as permanently as is possibh* ^ ^ to one of his temperament, in a southern home, Seven Gablelf in Georgia. He is writing a novel centered around John Smith, tra ditionally associated with Pocahontas, which Professor Thacher prophecies will probably be his outstanding book. If he is working as he usually does, he is busy 18 hours of the day, pausing only for the sandwiches and coffee brought by his wife, and living and thinking in the world of John Smith. Parade of Opinion By ASSOCIATE COLLEGIATE PRESS Religion no longer is an "off the campus” subject for uni versities and colleges in the United States, a research study completed by Edward W. Blakeman, counsellor in religious education at the University of Michigan, has disclosed. Published in book form by the University of Michigan Press, Dr. Blakeman’s study shows there are 1.051 ner*nn« ^^HiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiHiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinii'niiiiiiniiHininniiiiiiiiiitjiiiiiijii.mini.... IflJi AIL. . . | Dear Ray: You really don't realize how swell it is to be able to go to school until you aren’t there any longer. Tell any of the kids that all of us that are in say, "Go to school as long as you can." Also you should see the gathering when we get hold of an Emerald ^-there have only been two so far. Tt seems like almost all of the kids I knew in school are down here. To name some: I ran into •lames Welles and Maynard Mc Kinley just before I left "boot camp." Also briefly had a glimpse of Dick Shelton who was recruit petty officer of his company . . . When I came to the hospital to work I ran into Loren Russell, a pre med at U. cf O., who left February, 1942 ... He is in X-ray work. Charles De’Autremont and Don Platt are here, and many more whom I can’t remember . . . If you write another list of fellows in the service you might be able to use the above. Inci dentally I move into lab work the first of the week. Jim Walsh, ’43 U. S. Naval Hospital, San Diego, Calif. on the payrolls of 726 university ties and colleges who are ifif charge of religious matters. This is in contrast to the popular be lief that the institutions of high er learning leave religion entirely m the hands of the various relig ious agencies operating off cam pus. Material for the study was ob tained from questionnaires sent to the 726 universities and col leges listed by the American Council on Education. Replies were obtained from all of the questionnaires. Five hundred eighty-six of the universities and colleges reported they offer courses of study in religion. Three Groups -- Dr. Blakeman found that "on the campus’’ functions of the universities and colleges which. (Please turn to page seven)