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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (May 8, 1943)
Oregon H' Emerald
ROY PAUL NELSON, editor
MARK HOWARD, news editor
TEX GOODWIN, associate editor
RUSS HUDSON, art editor
STAN WEBER, society editor
FRED TREADGOLD, sports
CIIAS. rOLITZ, associate editor,
KEITH JANDRALL, associate
LYNN JOHNSON, ditto
JEFF KITCHEN, not much
LEE FLATBERG, a little
TED BUSH, went to Portland
JOE MILLER, he’s married
FRED KUHL, clamdigging
JACK L. BILLINGS, copy boy
Vic “Bow, Wow” Huffaker set most of the heads.
The business staff operated as usual.
Published daily during the college year except Sundays, Mondays, holiday* and final
examination periods by the Associated Students, University of Oregon.
Entered as second-class matter at the postoffice, Eugene, Oregon. —
AHEAD and gripe. So today’s Emerald looks like it had
been written in a straight jacket. So what?
Okay, so it is a little different from your routine copies.
[Yeah, we’ve chucked ethical journalism to the wind, and this
issue has set its own style. We have informality. We have
flashy make-up. We have—what’s that? Listen brother, you
can’t insult our integrity like that and get away with it!
Maybe you don’t know who we are. Allow us to introduce
We are members of Sigma Delta Chi, Men’s National Pro
fessional Journalism Fraternity. We know more about jour
nalism than—well, a lot of people.
Sure, you could never tell it by looking at this paper. But
you don’t understand. You see, this paper is an escape.
A ND WHAT ARE we escaping from? We are evading the
realities of war, maybe. Or maybe it is just that we are
tired of studying. We arc tired of hearing how to write, and
how to make layouts, and how to set heads. We are tired of
conforming to set principles. In fact we are tired.
'Y'OU KNOW, this journalism is an interesting business. \ ou
have such wide boundaries for originality. And you meet
such fascinating characters on the sidelines. They all congre
gate around the shack—the old faithfuls who do all the work,
the old faithfuls who do none of the work, and the sundry indi
viduals who drop in to get some publicity.
Sometimes the methods employed by the latter are a bit un
orthodox. Take-4 lie-case of Steve Bristol, for instance. There’s
a character who is no Emerald worker but who comes down
to the shack, writes a story on the merits (questionable) of
Steve Bristol as a softball player, and then stamps “must” and
the editor’s name on it and brings it over to the University
• • •
* * *
* * *
Kollie “ 1 ombstone Cable, acting as sports editor for the
dav, sticks the story in with a Steve Bristol by-line. Arid when
Bristol sees it in print the next morning he has the guts to com
plain because they didn’t put his name in the masthead as a
That isn’t the first time instances like that have occurred.
Remember when Joe Miller used to write about Joe Miller in
intramural sports stories? The sports editor used to put “by
Joe Miller" on the top of the story.
1 KRE ELSE BUT in the Emerald offices would you find
characters who write stories all afternoon, set heads half
the night, play poker the rest, retire at dawn, and get up in time
for lunch, but not quite in time for morning classes.
Where else would you find a thin girl who writes poems
praying to lose weight, a high school kid who comes down and
wolfs co-eds from University operators, and a character who is
not satisfied with seeing his column in print, but must post it
in front of the College Side?
"'HAT'S W HY MOST of us Sigma Delta Chi members are
regular workers on the Emerald. We have found that the
shack is probably the most unusual meeting place on the cam
pus. We like it.
So today we are putting out our own paper. We couldn't
expect every issue to be like this...It is the novelty of technique
that makes this issue a good paper...It is a good paper, you
know. And if you don't believe us—just ask us.
* * *
R. P. X
I Cover the Campus;
By FRED BECKWITH
It takes a Sigma Delta Chi edition to bring this goo back
into print. That’s enough build-up, so down to the dirt ....
We wonder what would have happened in the campus po
litical battle just concluded if Helen Angell’s airplane had not
been grounded at Chicago, when she was en route to Oregon.
. . . Phyliss Heber stepped out with a new man and new reso
lutions at last night’s Mortar
Board affair . . . M. A. Jackson
just sniffles this week, cuz the
Dee-Gee freshmen showered her.
. . . One of the better known en
tertainers on campus is some
what tangled up in a mystery af
fair with a newly initiated Phi
Bote . . . Probably the best lit
erary collection of thoughts,
poetry, prose, fiction, plays, etc.,
is the paper clipped sheaf of pa
pers belonging to “Spider” Dick
son. Some of the matter is a bit
tepid in nature, but good reading
. . . “Iowa” Lindley has taken to
wearing that morbid green jacket
again, despite the advice of fel
low Emeraldites . . . Most sensu
ous eyes on campus probably be
long to Karolyn Koepke . . . Cute
li’l Mary Bush is scheduled to pen
a new volume, “The Art of Tak
ing Pins.” (Good-lookin’ Warren
Smith take notice!)—What would
Joan Woodward’s number one
thrill has returned from overseas
to Los Angeles. She’ll finish out
the rest of the term up here, how
ever . . . Two nights before Bar
bara (Betty Hutton) Bock took
a pin, she fell down and gave
herself a bad knock on the head!
. . . Such is life . . . Betas Ted
Loud and Curt Lindley (riyacou
sin!) got into a little mix-up over
the same woman . . . Ray Far
mer evidently gave that luscious
Kappa the breeze, much to her
astonishment. . . .
What would Dick Smith do
without those dark glasses?
What would Ai Larsen do
without Westminster house ?
What would the campus bar
ber shops do without that blond
Theta Chi’s business?
What would Virginia Bryant
do without letters from Whitman
Just Chatter and Patter: I
know where there is a brand new
pair of men’s saddle shoes with
red rubber, sellihg for the re
markably low price of $4.95.
(Anyone interested ask the phone
operator for 703) . . . Les Ander
son’s beauty sleep was not inter
rupted the other night despite
the fact that Merrit Kufferman
and his entire troupe of'Mothers’
Weekend performers were re
hearsing their skit under his nose
. . . New combination on campus
might be the Reba Nixon-Bud
Putnam duo, although the young
lady was escorted by Spider Dick
son’s drummer at the Junior
Prom . . . NEWS FLASH! Jo
Hemenway moves to LA. Dr.
Bryant may go further south to
San Diego . . . Anyone desiring
a pair of bruised arms, see C. F.
Powers for the fascinating new
(Please turn to page seven)
By TEX GOODWIN
Dr. Lesch (Edward Christian
Allen Lesch, Ph.D., Associate
Professor of English), never
talks for publication. In fact, he
once declared that the Emerald
stinks and that journalists were
a bunch of poltroons.
Assuming that a poltroon, a
very nondescript one at that did
interview Dr. Lesch, this is about
the way it would sound.
Poltroon: “Dr. Lesch, what do
you think of the Emerald?”
ECAL: “It stinks.”
P: “What do you think of vic
ECAL: “They st . . . well, no,
they are just useless. Why plow
up a nice flower garden to plant
carrots even if the mortar board
women do want to use them for
P: “What do you think of the
ECAL: I agree with Sherman.”
From there the conversation
would drift to the U of O libe.
Dr. Lesch becomes again human.
His voice quavers with tender
emotion. He is a man who loves
books and other beautiful things.
He is a man of profound thoughts
and in books he finds the escape
he needs from the insipid, the
mundane, the paltry ... in short,
every thing that is typical cam
pus coed and joe college, even
He tells how he helped secure
the University’s extensive col
lection of rare books, one of the
finest on the coast. In fact, the
professor didn’t say so but we
know that some of these books
could now be sold for many
thousands of dollars.
The libe houses a magnificent
collection of rare volumes, both
incunabula and post incunabula.
Dr. Lesch was one of the boys
Linoleum block by .
that rounded up this pile of leath
er and cloth bound gold.
If there are any words here
that you are not quite sure about,
look them up. I had to.
In spite of his love for books,
Dr. Lesch is not bibliomanicai,
he once said as much. He loves
the simple things of life, putter
ing in his flower garden. He has
one of the most attractive homes
in Eugene because of his work
with plants and shrubs.
We came not to either bury
ECAL or praise him, we merely
turn him over so we can look at
him through the eyes of a pol
troon. We are safe, too. for Dr.
Lesch never reads' the Emerald
and were he to gripe about this,
it would be an admission of hav
ing read and taken notice of a
Catsup should be exterminated
from the tables of the earth.
This sickening red drool of
tomato tears, demi-god of .the
living organization table, (£ as i
done more than any one thing to
undermine the good intentions of ;
In campus cooking, where good |
intentions have for centuries
been non-extant-. catsup has set
out to blanket [everything from
peas to prune whip, and to pro
vide a steady inaome for Sal He- i
Without catsiip no housewife
would dare to serve burnt, damp
toast, slightly sooty scrambled
eggs, disgruntled “this is my
sixth appearance” meatballs.
Gone would be .the hash Rover
refused to stoop to inhale,
creamed corn that neither
creamed nor corn, and mashed
potatoes slightly damped by that
trip to the Johnstown flood.
But Utopia is still reserve/^ .or ;
people who believe in classroom
cocktail bars, think that draft
notices are invitations to the
President’s birthday ball and that
Hedy La Marr is Mrs. Santa
Catsup continues to engulf the
living organization table.
It is the house-cook's darling.
.With a quart of, catsup to the
man she can get away with mur
der (the literal sense may well
be applied here).:'
She can continue burning toast,
cut up old shoes! to - mingle with
the hamburger in the “spaghetti,” ;
substitute shredded test papers
for lettuce salad, or broil FDR's j
old fishing hat fo)r salt mackerel.
Why will know the difference
Who cares (choke) ?
Finnan haddie ‘tastes like cat
sup under catsup. Roasta beef J
tastes like catsup under catsup.
Mac the Roni tastes like catsup
Why the hell use food!
* * J
But the saddest result of King j
Catsup’s rise to infamy and o’er
blanketing success has been the
emergence of the catsomaniac. ;
This pitiful creature, so well j
known to Greek, chapter houses,
is the tragic result of the degen
eracy of 20th century boarding
house cookery. He has been given
lip as hopeless by psychiatJS'-ts j
from Bellevue Annex to PitSnrn
Island. State hospitals have re
fused to even grant him weekend
privileges. There.is no remedy for
his insatiable lust so long as the
red plague glubbers forth under
(Please turn to page seven)