LITERARY PAGE
Paging
You
By Adele Hart *
It is the intention of thin column
to indicate what is current and
vital reading in our University of
Oregon library. As in a hotel, the
page only calls you in the lobby,
and you go to the telephone to re
ceive the message, so we will only
briefly call and suggest books to
you. Whether you answer the page
is strictly your business! We hope
your appetite will at least be
whetted by these book hors d’oeu
vres.
What are Russia’s aims in this
post-war world ? Edgar Snow
gives us a clear picture in “The
Pattern of Soviet Power.” Mr.
""Snow, one of the most seasoned
foreign correspondents, has spent
much time in Russia and is well
equipped to throw this revealing
spotlight on our powerful brother.
He outlines the reasons for Rus
sia’s insistence upon making her
European and Asiatic borders se
cure. He describes the Russian
plan for extinguishing all traces
of Nazism in Germany. He shows
us what Russia is doing to soften
Polish antagonism; what kind of
programs it is setting up in the
Balkans and on its Mongolian
frontier.
Rise of Ukraine
Snow tells of the amazing rise
of the Ukraine, hardest hit terri
tory during the war, whose indus
tries and farms have grown over
its ruins as fireweed covers the
—e'narred ground of a totally-burn
ed area. He tells of the fitness of
the Russian women after years on
a black bread and cabbage soup
diet. We see the new Russia, a
Russia which is casting its lines
back into the familiar and stable
waters of strong marriage ties,
strong religion, and the demand
for morality and honesty in men
of public office.
His gathering of brilliant little
details which light up the ignorant
corners for us in our study of
Russia is fascinating. For instance,
it is surprising to read that the
Russian press didn’t know until
days later of the marriage of
Stalin’s daughter. How far could
Margaret Truman get on a honey
moon without the American press ?
Stalin Worship?
What is Stalin worship? This
book tells us why the Russian na
ture requires a man, symbolic of
perfection and greatness in gov
ernment and leadership, whom
they may honor and adore. Stalin
is that man.
Above all, “The Pattern of So
viet Power’’ shows us that Russia
fought a frontyard war and is not
so anxious to forgive and forget
all the cruel and haunting sacri
fices this involved. Russia’s homes
were destroyed, her families taken
as servants by the Germans, her
men gone by the thousands. She
had to destroy many of her own
great factories and burn her rich
crops, so that the Germans would
not be strengthened by them.
Through this book, we feel the
strong will of Russia, which al
ready bends over the future with
a silent and tremendous scope.
(The Pattern of Soviet Power is
a severi-day book and may be found
on a shelf near the big circulation
desk at the library.)
Mai! Call
The administrative office of the
Veterans' Administration center
announced that mail for John R.
Nolan and Julia A. Kallak is being
held for them at the office.
A Drink on the House
By Rex B. Gunn
Grandpa Shelton belched audibly
and looked at the heat waves
shimmering off the pavement.
“Dammed Hot,” he muttered.
“Always gets hot this time of
year. Wonder if it’s- this hot in
them. South Sea islands?”
"Darnm sight hotter according to
the papers,” replied' his grand
daughter.
Gramps cackled in appreciation
and launched into a discourse on
the situation at Gettysburg;
“Well, you can bet it was plenty
hot when them rebels came charg
ing across that level piece
o’ground,”
(Babs knew this one by heart
but she weathered it again figur
ing that maybe she could catch
him in a lie.)
“Men was failin’ all around me
and if I hadn’t been so busy I
might have been plumb scared.’’
“Now, wait a minute, Gramp,”
she cautioned, "you said once be
fore that your outfit only lost three
men during the entire battle.”
Antietam or Gettysburg?
“Dadgummit, I did not. That was
Antietam where we only lost three.
It’d have been more like 300 at
Gettysburg.”
“No, I think you said Gettys
burg; in fact, I know you did.”
“It's a gol-durned lie,” snorted
Gramp rising from the chair. “Why
should I sit here gabbin’ with a
pesky female that never done
nothin’ in her life but cook hard
batter biscuits.”
He straightened his 83-year-old
spinal column and grumbled his
way down the porch steps.
“Now, don’t stay past supper
time,” she said.
“Go to blazes, he yelled and pro
ceeded toward his favorite bar with
his little goatee quivering in
righteous indignation.
The widow Norton was watching
from her window only half a block
down the street. Spotting Gramp,
she hastily laid aside her needle
work and ran out into the garden.
By the time Gramp was parallel
to her garden fence, she was busily
puttering among the flowers as if
she’d been there all morning.
Gramp grunted, stopped and
queried: “What ya doin’?”
Tea tor Two
Hardly five minutes later, the
widow had him drinking tea in
the living room.
They drank tea for exactly 14
minutes, at which time the widow
grabbed her umbrella (the one old
man Norton had given her on their
16th wedding anniversary) and
started for the door.
“Where ya goin’?’’ he asked.
“I’m going to a meeting,” she
replied.
“What kind of a meeting?”
Gramp persisted.
“A woman’s meeting on female
business, she said. “You won’t like
it.”
Gramp was determined to go,
then, and the widow wanted his
company, so she protested and he
insitsed as they protested and he
civic auditorium on Twelfth and
Izard Street.
Of all the gatherings Gramps
had ever seen this one was the
payoff. There were 84 females of
all sizes, shapes, ages and accents.
They twittered and jabbered and
filled the walls with a constant
jumble of sound. Up on the plat
form there were six chairs, three
of them filled with the excess flesh
of corseted colossus’ and the other
three punctuated with the very
sharp haunches of Mrs. Alworthy,
Mrs. Dooley, and Mrs. Ferber.
Behind the chairs was a large
poster showing a dishevelled hel
lion brandishing a walkingstick
over the cowering figure of a lit
tle girl. On the poster were paint
ed the following words: “This man
is a model father WHEN HE IS
SOBER!”
Gramps felt eyes boring into the
back of his neck and turned to
see Babs watching him in much
the same way an engineer looks at
a short fuse on a dynamite cap.
The secretary called the meeting
to order and introduced the first
speaker. This was Mrs. Alworthy
of the spare shanks, a power in
the community by virtue of 17
years in wedlock with a state sen
ator.
The Deadly Evil!
“Ladies, she began, “we’ve
gathered here today to discuss a
plan of battle against one of the
most deadly evils in this country.
In fact, so deadly an enemy that
it has victimized more American
men in the past year than the en
tire Japanese army. Our enemy is
DRINK!”
Some of the ladies twittered,
others clapped their hands and still
others jabbered about the feather
on Mrs. Alworthy’s cap.
Gramps couldn’t as yet figure
out whether they were for or
against whisky.
Mrs. Alworthy continued: “Drink,
ladies, that’s the enemy we must
conquer from international mur
derers and thieves. We owe it to
our boys to have the enemy swept
into the sea when they return.’’
Gramps cackled out with his
little goatee bristling slightly, “If
ya throw the liquor in the ocean,
they'll all join the navy.”
The widow Norton rapped him
on the shins with her umbrella
handle and a wave of giggles
swept the audience.
Mrs. Alworthy pretended, she
hadn’t heard the interruption, and
proceeded: “When you fight an
enemy, ladies, what is the first
thing you crush?”
“His source of supply,” chirped
Mrs. Ferber. (She and«»Mrs. Al
worthy had arranged that before
hand. )
“That is correct,” beamed Mrs.
Alworthy, “and in this community,
where are the sources of supply?”
Little Brown Jug
“Brady’s saloon on East 16th
street, the Moosehead bar on
Twelfth and State streets, and the
Little Brown Jug on Third and De
Lancey street,” chanted Mrs. Fer
ber.
Correct again. Now, ladies, with
the kind cooperation of your hon
orable chairman (she, bowed to
Mrs. Dooley) I have drawn up a
government sealed certificate
to—”
“What’s the matter with a little
whiskey?” boomed Gramps.
The audience giggled a little
louder this time, and Mrs. Alwor
thy got red in the face, but she
attempted to answer his question
without acknowledging it.
“Whiskey makes a man get un
reasonable, it makes him grab the
nearest pistol, it makes him shoot
at his neighbor—”
“And it makes him miss,” bawl
ed Gramps.
The meeting dissolved into a
madhouse and gradually quieted
itself again.
“I,” screamed Mrs. Alworthy,
“will not utter another word in
this meeting unless you get that
man out of here.”
Gramps rose majestically and
made his way to the aisle. “When
you’re talkin’ against drinkin’,
Miss Prissy, jest remember this.
If Jim Alworthy hadn’t been
drunk as a skunk the night you
married ’im, he’d have probably
had more sense.”
After that, the old man did well
to escape with his life. He dodged
the murderous umbrella of the
widow Norton and ran out of the
hall with surprising agility, paus
ed when a safe distance from the
screaming females, and took note
Ashes
Clouds,
Dying with the birth of rain,
Cannot stop the spiraling speed.
Nor lessen the intensity
Of the fire which burns inside my heart.
It is too late. The robins have taken wing.
The air is bitter, raw . . .
And the cool dampness which descends like tiny rain-drops
Upon my cheek, finds only ashes, softened and gray with age,
Where once a brilliant flame of red and gold emerged from
unseen depths
Into conscious pools of blue.
Radiant blue eyes, who once knew love, how is it that your
color
Now reveals only the faded gray of dusk?
JEANNE WILTSHIRE
of two huge basins full of punch
beside an open window on a table
covered with sandwiches. This,
figured Gramps, will serve as the
ladies’ refreshments.
He made his way down to the
“Moosehead Bar” only two blocks
away on Twelfth and State streets
and cornered the proprietor, one
Amos Lieblic.
Only 20 Minutes
The old man whispered a few
words into Lieblic’s ear. Amos con
sulted his watch and pursed his
lips. “I can have it for you in 20
minutes, Gramps.” He made two
phone calls, one to Brady’s saloon
on East Sixth street, and the other
to the Little Brown Jug on Third
and DeLancey street.
At the civic hall the ladies got
themselves quieted down once
more and got on with their meet
ing.
As Mrs. Dooley tearfully related
the decline and fall of her first
drunken husband, an aged hand
stole furtively through the open
window and emptied a quart of
bourbon whiskey into one of the
punch bowls.
Twelve times the arm went
through the window and twelve
times withdrew, and when Gramps
quit his post there were six quarts
of whiskey in each punch bowl.
■Centerville Legend
What followed now constitutes
a legend in Centerville. The meet
ing ended at seven P. M. and the
drinking began at 7:05. The ladies
were intrigued by the delicious
taste of the punch. At 7:45 Mrs.
Huntsberger, the butcher’s wife,
called Mrs. Schultz a dirty, narrow
minded old cat.
At 7:46 Mrs. Huntsberger was
lying on the floor and Mrs. Schultz
was standing over her (in exactly
the same pose as the villain on the
poster) swinging her umbrella for
the second round. *-|
At 7:49' the Widow Norton ob
served the fate of Mrs. Hunts
berger and decided to apply the
same treatment to Mrs. Alworthy.
By 8:02 P. M„ 46 of the 84 fe
males were screaming their lungs
out, seven were disgorging on the
front lawn, eight were guffawing
uproariously, eleven were sobbing
most pitifully and the remaining
twelve were indulging in a free
for-all, during the course of which,
Widow Norton in the blue dress at
114 pounds had undoubtedly scor
ed a knockout over Mrs. Alworthy
in the pink dress at 102 pounds.
At 8:04, the riot squad arrived.
If you should drop in at Brady’s
saloon on East Sixth street, the
Moosehead Bar at Twelfth and
State streets or the Little Brown
Jug at Third and DeLancey streets,
you’ll see a little silver plaque lo
cated above the full length mirror
with the following words engraved
thereon:
“ANY MAN WHO IMBIBES
AT THIS BAR MUST DRINK
THE FIRST ONE ON THE
HOUSE AND DO HONOR TO
THE NAME OF PETER A.
(GRANDPAW) SHELTON IN
APPRECIATION FOR SERVICES
TO THE MALE POPULATION
OF CENTERVILLE.”
And Gramps often quenches hia
thirst to lead the toast.
STOP AT THE SPOT
WHERE YOU'LL GET
THE BEST IN . ..
Deluxe Hamburgers
Chile
Milkshakes
Hot Fudge Sundaes
DUTCH GIRL
OF COURSE
1224 Willamette Phone 1932