Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 25, 1946)
Oregon W Emerald MARGUERITE WITTWER GEORGE PEGG Editor Business Manager * JEANNE SIMMONDS BOBBIE FULMER Women’s Editor Advertising Manager TED HALLOCK, MARILYN SAGE Associate Editors JACK L. BILLINGS Managing Editor MARYANNE THIELEN Assistant Managing Editor HERB PENNY News Editor JUNE GOETZE Assistant News Editor BERNIE HAMMERBECK Sports Editor BILL STRATTON WALLY HUNTER Assistant Sports Editors ROGER TETLOW DON JONES Chief Night Editor Staff Photographer EDITORIAL BOARD Tom Kay, Byron Mayo, Bea King, Billie Johns Faculty Adviser—Dean George Turnbull Published Daily except Sundays, Mondays, holidays, and during the final exam periods, by the Associated Students, University of Ore gon „ Entered as second class matter at the postoffice, Eugene, Oregon. Housing Available Hampered by numerous difficulties, shortages, and red tape, ^University housing officials have nevertheless done an outstand ing job. “We are trying to give students the best living quarters |we can,” Executive Secretary E. M. Pallett said, and this promise fs being carried out. The latest ray of hope for students living in unsatisfactory fejmergency quarters comes from Dr. Pallett s office. Some room jifi University dormitories for men and women is now available to students already registered. Those desiring room in the dormi tories are asked to contact Mrs. Genevieve Turnipseed for further Information. This announcement does not apply to students living in com fortable rooms especially arranged for them by cooperative townspeople who answered the urgent appeal for housing made |>y the University last spring. However, there are students whose Quarters are temporary or for other reasons not desirable. For these persons University officials are most anxious to provide better housing. The rooms in the'dormitories are now vaacnt because prospec tive Students who reserved them have either moved into frater nity or sorority houses or have failed to claim their reservations. A' Homecoming We have been here for a day or a, week after three months or jtlfree years of absence. And yet it seems already that we have freen here always. One step into a classroom erases all the actuality of the period {when we spoke of Oregon in absentia. One look at the blue air of - ithe Side on a sunny day and we wonder how we could have for gotten the names of the fellow who sat next to us in econ, the man >vho ran the drug store across from the Kappa Sig house, or the Jittle beer joint out on the highway. They all come back to us so easily now. The undergraduate state of mind comes back to us too—the Routine and the rebellion against it, the knowledge that we are old ienough to vote and yet must conform to schedules, hours, and jenusts. We know that people must always conform to a pat tern—but there’s a difference between conforming voluntarily Jand being told to do as the Romans in large or small black letters. ’[Yet we do not fight that state of mind because it’s part of being Jaack at Oregon—the place we never really left. We know that this feeling only lasts until the day when we gQ up the risers at the Igloo for our final piece of paper. Alums return to reminisce and things are not the same, they say. But while we are here with graduation still a forecast, whether lour days between terms were few or hundreds, we know that Thomas Wolfe was wrong. The length of interim makes no differ ence; without much effort we have “come home again.” ■t *Y '< _ © ESQUIRE. INC., 1SM8 ^ [Reprinted from the October issue of Esquire *i?ake ft easy, noui~remember whose side you*re on!* Is It So Important? The Emerald’s dive into a situation which some have inter preted as political last week was questioned by a number of persons on grounds of timing. Why bring campus politics into the light before school even starts, they asked. Are politics really so important, they implied blandly. Why not let things slide along for a while, they suggested. First, let this be re-emphasized: as regards the existing poli tical parties on the campus—Greeks and Independents—the Emerald is impartial; the Emerald is a neutral observer. The welfare of the students as a whole and of the University is the criterion for the Emerald’s judgments on all controversial issues. However, though this student newspaper as such must of necessity consider itself as a neutral, the Emerald regards cam pus politics and all political action as the most important part of student life, second only to academic pursuits. The Emerald will not take sides editorially to the extent of supporting certain condidates, but reserves unconditionally the right of fair com ment and criticism. And why is this so important? Why are politics so important? For most of you your participation in student government on the campus is your first real contact with political activity. Here, you will receive your first and very important training. Here you will form habits of political thinking which will mean- much to you and to politicians who later will attempt to guide or coerce you through the many devious methods practiced on the campus and throughout the nation. Liberal democratic government, with its ethical concept of the worth and dignity of the individual, cannot survive unless each individual is well-informed about the social, economic, and political trends, and acts accordingly—with reason, not emotion, a guide to his political action. This goes for national, state, and campus politics. This campus is no utopia when it comes to politics. The same reactionary and fascist elements which are undermining liberal democratic government nationally are in ferment here. The cam pus politicians are not high school boys playing games—they are men getting their basic training. You, the students, are their raw material. Either you will be apathetic—a cinch for coercion, a member of the masses willingly and blindly following your self appointed elite—or you will apply practically the principles you are learning in the classrooms and think for yourself. The time for half-hearted participation in politics is past. The United States, Russia, the Arabs, the Jews, Britain are all fight ing against time; the game is getting expensive and no one nation has a full house. The situation applies to the campus—either side may have an ace in the hole and there’s a lot at stake. The time to think politics is not winter term or spring term. The time is today. The Emerald cannot tell you which issue to side on when issues arise between political parties as they exist now. The Emerald urges you only to begin to think politically, to talk politics, to discern for yourself the temper of situations, to reason. Is it so important? Reason THAT out, too. TRIAL BYLAU By LARRY LAU “Tell me son,” I said, pouring my self another vial of benzedrine, “how are things at good old Ore gon?” • "They expect a record enroll ment of 62,000 this winter,’f^ny son Morphine told me excitedly. “Things have changed si£®& you went there in ’46, Pop. Tbte belles of yesterday are the bagi^pf to day,” he giggled. I bloodied his nose, afte^l*#hich he continued. “Kieth Fenn&l has a 104-story combination (^pthing, grocery, drug and sporting goods store; they moved the lidijafy to make room for it,” he added. <• “Don’t mention that namaforne,” I exploded. “I walked in tj^ere-to buy a stamp once and ca^ne out with a suit that turned vejdriillion every time it rained!” 4?' “He sells used cars on the side,” Morphine explained further. I whacked him a lusty blow on the mouth and settled back disgust edly to thumb through a jpile of bills Dean Mayo had sent. £; “I fail to see,” I said, stroking my seeing eye dog, “why it ^should cost you almost $3500. per term. I went through on $65. in ’46.” “Really now!” Morphine'splut tered. “It costs almost that much for a cup of coffee at Taylor^.” “Hah! I see the old skinflint is still at it,” I snorted. “Coffee up an other % cent per pound?” ; “Mr. Taylor is a good guy,^Mor phine protested. “He told me/so.” “Good old college days,” I sighed resignedly. “Where is the old Biji house now?” “They’ve moved it again4’ Mor phine reported. “It’s astraddle the millrace now.” f' y . ■ “Probably the first time they’ve had running water for fifty $rpgrs,” I chuckled. Morphine licked his lips- and leaned over with a confidential air. “Last week three old women, were running around town telling every body they’d been held prisoner in the Die Sigh house since the, end of the 2nd World War!” jk-:,;: I felt a twinge of conscience. “I knew the tale would leak out some day,” I told him . . . “nurses are such blabbermouths.” Morphine gave me an exasperat ed stare. “All this chit-chat |s fine, but I’ve got a date tonight vath the Vicks twins, and I nee<L some money.” “Money . . . money . . . money: I stormed, “That’s all you think about. When I was your ape . . • that’s all I thought about J, . . at least you could be original.? Morphine was caught between defiance and shamef He hung one head low . . . threw the other back proudly. “I’ve cracked a steady 1.3 for the past two terms; whit more can you ask?” he demandejd. I had to admit that I had rip com plaint on that score. “O.K. son, I’ll write you a check. Spend it wisely now. No more of this buying books . . . understand?” £;■ Morphine wrung his hands in de light, and bobbed his heads in agreement. “Say Dad,” he said sly ly, “just what are your dirties as president of the American\Porno« graphic Society?” ; (Pledge Turn to Page Seven) ^