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«
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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)