Oregon W Emerald
ANNE CRAVEN
Editor
ROSEANN LECKIE
Business Manager
ELIZABETH HAUGEN
Managing Editor
FRANNIE MAIER
Advertising Manager
MARGUERITE WITTWER
News Editor
LOUISE MONTAG, PEGGY OVERLAND
Associate Editors
EDITORIAL BOARD
Norris Yates, Edith Newton, Carol Cook
Betty Lou Vogelpohl, Executive Secretary
Betty French Robertson, Women’s Editor
Winifred Romtvedt, Assistant News Editor
Darrell Boone, Photographer
Jean Lawrence, Assistant Managing Editor
Gloria Campbell, Pat McCormack,
Librarians
Betty Bennett, Music Editor
Published daily during the college year except Sundays, Mondays, and holidays and
final examination periods by the Associated Students. University of Oregon.
Entered as second-class matter at the postoffice, Eugene, Oregon.
Ca-edUtosiisi
Quij,, . .
“('.real oaks from little acorns grow.” And from a tiny, un
certain rumor a major catastrophe may occur.
It seems like such a small thing. What harm can it do?
“I got a letter from Bob today,” the coed exclaims excitedly.
“He says that lie’s leaving New Guinea now, but for me not
to worry because he’ll take care of himself.”
So small . . . so unimportant . . . repeated . . . built up . . .
added to . . . hasty telegraph messages . . . codes . . . and
finally, the lives of thousands of our soldiers and sailors lost.
All this the result of one unimportant remark!
Those coeds who carefully keep to themselves all military
information are doing a far greater service for their country
than they realize, a service which saves precious lives and
valuable equipment. They are helping every general and ad
miral who is leading men against the enemy to win the final
victory as soon as it is humanly possible. The rule which has
been set forth for everyone to follow is this: If the information
is published in the newspapers or broadcast on the radio, it is
perfectly safe to repeat it. Otherwise, keep small bits of in
formation to yourself.
Remember—Hitler and Hirohito have a million ears. Don’t
let them hear any information which might endanger military
personnel or equipment in any part of the world!—B.F.R.
• # »
Block *71*0.1 Stteeoe.
Whoop it up for Baker high, if you will, blit, please, take
care of that cold here at Oregon.
The rains haven’t come vet, but the usual siege of colds lias.
When ()rcgon weather begins to act a little more typical, the
situation undoubtedly will be worse.
Students have been known to pull such anti-Emily Post
tricks as barking bronchially into another student’s face. The
Kleenex shortage is pretty bad, we'll admit, but it’s not
that bad.
We can ward off colds in the first place bv observing such
“mother used to tell me” rules as getting plenty of sleep, eating
a balanced diet with an emphasis on fruits and vegetables, and
changing into dry clothes after a day of deluge.
Once the cold “bug” starts operating the infirmary should
be the first port of call. The nurses dispense cough syrup, nose
drops, pills to forestall colds, and capsules to counteract them.
They'll paint your throat or let you inhale some odiferous
steam to help you breathe again. If you have a fever, they’ll
put you to IkmI until you have fully recovered. The food is
good, and the Pill Palace has a campus-wide fame for restful
entertainment.
But we’re not conducting a Fill up the Infirmary campaign.
The main idea is to protect yourself and others around you bv
observing the rules of common sense and common courtesy.
With the onset of the rainy season Oregon can easily become
the land of chills, coughs, and germ-laden sneezes. One of the
Surest ways to lose friends and alienate professors is to make a
gift of your misery to other students in your classes and living
-organization.
A cold is like a military secret. It’s much smarter to keep
it to yourself once you get wind of it, and it's smarter vet to
avoid picking it up at all.—L.S.M.
Livingston hall at Columbia university, Xew York Citv, has
been given back to the college. Once again fellows will drape
out of windows and lounge around the lobby. Lights will no
longer go out at 10:30. Nobody will ever again get up at half
past five in the morning to do calisthenics. There w ill be radios
blaring, water fights, and penny-pitching. There will be com
plaints about all of them. Dorm life is on its wonderful wav
|back, as it is on many campuses throughout the nation.
^Jhnee jiili in a Shuttle. Ga/i
(This is the fourth in a series of articles
about a trip made to Mexico by three University
students, Betty Sailor, Dorothy Frideger, and
Peggy Faubion.)
By BETTY' SAILOR
As we neared Mexico City, we gained about 5000
feet of elevation, and the surrounding country be
came more alive with color. Taking the place of
the adobe houses, clumps of desert vegetation, and
obvious poverty, were pretty homes with red tile
roofs and patios, fences made of narrow flat stone
chips piled on top of each other, and hills covered
with beautiful green foliage.
The towns were prosperous in appearance. The
churches had an elaborate air, and many of the
bridges and buildings were made of a red stone that
blended perfectly with the blue sky and sunshine.
The heat became less oppressive. In short, we were
so impressed with the sights along the way that we
were almost glad when it was announced that we
were eight hours behind schedule, a fairly prompt
arrival for Mexican trains.
The Ladies’ Room
Finally the last hour of travel was at hand. As
we had changed from our more dignified apparel to
campus clothes when the mercury soared, the ob
vious procedure was to head for the washroom and
become hastily re-transformed into something re
sembling our former dignity before we pulled in.
With this objective in mind, I headed hopefully for
the end of the car, only to find that tumult reigned.
During our absence, the porter had taken the
opportunity to shove four immense laundry bags
crammed with towels, into the infinitesimal aper
ture. Approximately six members of the very young
generation, all prospective mountain goats, were
clambering noisily and joyously over the wreckage,
pursued by determined mothers laden with wash
clothes. Hastily shutting the door, I dashed in dis
illusionment for the next car.
Peace and Vegetables
All appeared peaceful. I had a few misgivings
upon seeing that both basins were filled with soak
ing vegetables, but, rising to the occasion, began
the clean-up routine. Suddenly, the door burst open.
Grabbing the nearest towel in sight, I watched in
horror, as the head and shoulders of one of the
waiters appeared, followed by a huge sack of po
tatoes. He dragged his burden forth and deposited
it in the middle of the floor, then turned his atten
tion to the vegetables, with as much unconcern as
though I were a coat rack.
Deciding that something had to be done quickly,
I adopted sign language in an attempt to persuade
him to evacuate for the necessary ten minutes.
Surprisingly enough, he departed. Taking ten sec
onds to pat myself on. the back, I plunged into the
task at hand.
Sir!
Hearing a noise, I turned quickly. In came the
waiter, brandishing a wicked-looking knife. He
calmly pulled up a stool beside me and proceeded
to peel the vegetables. That was too much! We
engaged in a lively discussion, but it soon became
evident that one of us was going to have to leave.
As his excitement mounted, he attempted to illus
trate his argument with both hands. The knife was
still firmly clutched in one of them. It cut the air
with a vicious swith. ’Nuff said—a clean facets
fine if you’re alive to enjoy it, so I returned to the
Pullman, completely vanquished.
The Eyes Have It
Before long, we w'ere passing lines of semi
lighted buildings. Groups of children could be seen
clustered along both sides of the track to watch
the train pull in. Grabbing our suitcases and re
trieving articles from under the seats, we threw
ourselves together.
Then the train jerked to a stop. We were in the
second car from the end of the train—just another
way of saying that it was a ten-mile hike to the
station. Everyone had told us to keep an eye on our
baggage. Allowing for the fact that we needed one
eye apiece to see where we were going, that left
us with three eyes, six bags, and the typewriter
between us. Caught in the mob of onrushing pas
sengers, we were shoved in the general direction of
the exit.
Yoo Hoo
Somehow we became separated. The inky black
ness was punctuated by the wavering beams of two
flashlights, coming from some unknown spot—a
huge pile of suitcases was on the ground—an assort
ment of unidentified hands, presumed to belong to
porters, were eagerly grabbing for them. In the
midst of the Spanish-speaking confusion, we began
to yell for each other, * * ,M tM
Suddenly Jorge, our guardian angel, emerged
from the crowd, with a battle-scarred Peg and
Dodie in tow. Leaving us together, he started in
search of the suitcases. We marched single file,
Indian fashion, through the station—Jorge at the
head of the parade, followed by a porter, then Doc^fB
and Peg, each keeping an orb on the porter, while
I brought up the rear.
Habla Ingles?
The Mexico City station seemed unusually large
to us at that point. Coach and Pullman passengers
each have a separate waiting room, and there is
also a fair-sized restaurant. There never seems to
be more than one English-speaking official in the
building at a time, and it takes a well-organized
manhunt to locate him. We immediately headed for
the restaurant and phone booths. There are two
phone exchanges in the city, Ericsson and Mexicana,
and they aren’t interchangeable.
Jorge had generously offered to take all of us
to the Tampico club, a restaurant well known
its sea food, to celebrate our arrival, but we politely
refused as befitted our collective appearances. As a
substitute measure, he then offered to call our
respective hosts, secured two taxis, and sped us
on our way—Dodie and I to Colonia del Valle, and
Peg to Las Lomas de Chapultepec. Two days later
Peg joined us because her friends were in the
moving process.
The taxi drew up before a low, white house,
circled by a high white wall, and the driver, with a
“Well, here-we-areP’ attitude, waited patiently while
we haggled over the still-strange Mexican currency.
Then we unloaded in front of our new home!
Next week: “Mine Host, and Our First Day of
Adventure!’’
SHOES ENLIST
FOR ACTIVE DUTY
If you are to be on your
feet for hours at a stretch,
be sure your shoes are in
good repair at all times!
Fatigue doesn’t have a
chance when you let us
care for your shoes. Bring
us your run-down shoes
today for expert, low cost
repairs.
Penney's Shoe
Repair
914 Willamette
BAKERY ■
TREATS
DOUGHNUTS
FOR HALLOWE'EN
Korn's Bakery -
Phone 71 14th and Mill
Dorothy Lamour in
'Moon Over Burma"
— and —
"Hudson Bay"