- KHAKI CLIPS
Mo*tot(mQ4iA
By Dick Murway
The second "academic break”
for the air corps detachment is
drily that. This time no furloughs,
no family and girl friend at the
train station, no brief moment in
old haunts. The soldier who had
counted on seeing the hometown
^#eetheart this week has to con
tent himself with her picture on
his dresser, or with "the perfect
sight picture.”
The rifle range at Camp Adair
filled the schedule for Monday and
Tuesday. After eight hours on the
range and the tiring two-hour
each way trip in army trucks, Eu
gene looked mighty good Monday
night. Even the engineers — the
G.T. handkerchief kids — didn’t
look too bad as they marched to
evening study. (Which shows to
go what, the range does to one.)
Tuesday it was up again at five,
breakfast, pack into trucks for the
same jolting, jerky journey. The
-hoys in our truck tried to resume
tneir sleep. Butkus and Pecotte
found a comfortable and affection
ate position in each other’s arms.
Kirby curled up on the floor. Niel
sen sat on the edge of the seat with
his eyes closed, rocking forward
[ back with the truck’s motion.
' juads one and two went back
the “pits” on the range. The
concrete was cold, rich brown mud
caked shoes and leggings. We had
a lot of fun marking hits for the
flight leaders and coaches. Their
scores were kept in the pits and
later we asked them what they
made and then had cause to won
der if a course in the psychology
0^.wishful thinking shouldn't be
substituted for arithmetic in
American education.
In the afternoon we tried the
Thompson sub-machine, found
why Jimmy Cagney and Edward
G. Robinson like it so well in the
gangster movies, and decided it
was the ideal gun for the post-war
Y Kid. Every family with its heli
jThsir and sub-machine—.
The boys have been trying hard
WANTED
We have an opening for stu
dent agents in several living
-S^anizations on the campus.
For details phone 75 or call at
office. EUGENE CLEANERS,
245 East Broadway.
STAFF
Co-Editors
Shaun McDermott
Warren Miller
Scribes
Thomas Guidera
Dick Mur way
COMMUNIQUE
For the interest of those soldier
students not studying for the G.I.
tests tomorrow (and who can
study after a Thanksgiving din
ner) the ASITO is sponsoring a
dance in Gerlinger hall from 7 p.m.
to 10:15 p.m. with music by Owen
Bailey and the orchestra. At first
announced as free, plans were
made to charge a fifty cent con
tribution to the WSSF. However,
due to the fact the orchestra
couldn't play if an admission
charge were made, the dance will
be free.
According to the latest word
from Virginia Wright, who is in
charge of the dance, dates will not
be necessary, thus accommodating
all students.
As a special feature, the Cam
pus Serenade last Sunday intro
duced the ASTU glee club for the
first time. With the ice broken,
this organization plans to aug
ment their present group and offer
something entirely newr in the line
of soldier - student entertainment
next semester.
To v/ind up the week's wash, the
magazine ASTU will finally make
its appearance tomorrow; and to
all who may be unawrare of it, the
ASTP students here will start
their furlough at 1150 Saturday,
December 4.
And W’ho is there that still says
the air corps doesn’t have nerve,
as well as quite a few other
things ? That 1045 reveille of Wed
nesday morning really showed!
Incidentally, it was just introduc
ing the wreek of relaxation and
rest that the air force men have
worked three months towards.
to forget about the screening tests
of last weekend—an understand
able desire after two days of “That
49th was a killer”—"What did you
get on the 15th?” — “I couldn’t
find any answer for that. .
Thanksgiving won’t be so
strange this year. Always a day
of lying about, quietly digesting
turkey dinner, sluggish conversa
tion, and cranberry sauce. . .
Say it with flowers
for that certain one
58 E. Broadway
i 'hone 4240
Heaven to
The South
Since arriving here in Oregon,
we have been so overwhelmed by
an unending spiel concerning that
province to the south of us that
we took it upon ourselves to find
out first hand just what one of
those voluntary- members of the
California Chamber of Commerce
really thought of the place.
We drew one of those characters
off to the side one day as he was
standing in the rain on Thirteenth
street screaming something' about
his beautiful suntan washing off.
It wasn't hard to get him started
—just the mention of California,
and he went off like a bottle of
warm beer.
“Say, are you from California?
Glad to see yuh, pal—glad to see
yuh—ain't this weather hell?’’
I recovered my hat and got back
on my feet, and somewhat reluc
tantly admitted that I was from
New York.
“New York?” he screamed.
“Why that rat-ridden-stop on a
milk route—where do they get this
stuff about being a big city? Why
L.A. would make you think that
Manhattan was a juke joint. L.A.
is wonderful—marvelous—stupen
dous—why, if they didn’t happen
to print the geography books in
New York, that refuge for old Hol
lywood productions would never
rate over our L.A.!”
As he stopped for breath, I in
jected a weak question. “Well
what does California have that is
so good ?”
That was evidently the wrong
thing to say. My assailant stared
at me wildly. He sputtered and
gasped — then bellowed, “What
does Cal have—How could you be
so dumb ? Why, why everybody
knows that California is the big
gest state in the union— that is,
everyone except that flea haven,
Texas. There’s Yosemite, which
makes Yellowgtone look like a
park fountain. And the weather
in California. . . Why I was ten
years old before I ever saw a
cloud.
“We’ve got everything down
there. Did you know that U.C.L.A.
has twice as good a law school as
Harvard, three times as good an
English school as Oxford, and just
as good a football team as Notre
Dame—and they’d be four times
as good as N.D. if it wasn’t for the
Irish first and second teams—yuh
can’t beat ’em, hardly!’’
Then he stopped and began vio
lently to pull travel folders and
maps out of his pocket — “Here,
read these”—he ordered—“they’ll
tell you!” •
I grasped them and looked. Then
I proffered the final question. -
“Do you think that Florida
will—?’’ I got no further.
“Florida! Florida!” he screamed.
“That moldy sandpile—that sum
mer home for mosquitoes—Flor
ida -— why, I’ll slaughter some
body.”
Evidently, the man was going
mad, so I left him ranting and
tearing his hair. Still, if St. Peter
isn't standing on the California
state line, and Gabriel isn’t chief
of police there, I’ll be very dis
illusioned. Thomas Guidera
BONDS
F
lust the thing
for that evening
Fireside meeting
i
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