Oregon W Emerald
ALL-AMERICAN 1946-47
The Oregon Daily Emerald, official publication of die University of Oregon, Published
daily during the college year except Sundays, Mondays, and final examination periods.
Entered as second-class matter at the postoffice, Eugene, Ore.
Member of the Associated Collegiate Press
BOB FRAZIER, Editor BOB CHAPMAN, Business Manager
BILL YATES JUNE GOETZE BOBOLEE BROPHY
Managing Editor Co-News Editors
walt McKinney, jeanne simmonds, maryann thielen
Associates to Editor
WALLY HUNTER
Sports Editor ___
PHYLLIS KOHLMEIER
HELEN SHERMAN
Assistant Managing Editors
VIRG TUCKER
Advertising Manager
Editorial Board: Harry Gliclunan, Johnny Kahananui, Bert Moore, Ted Goodwin, Bill
Stratton, Jack Billings.____.
Office Manager .Maree Huston Foster
A Fine Old Tradition
This is Homecoming week, and the campus is honoring all
the fine old traditions. Observance of these quaint ways is one
of the finer features of University life—one of the features
that makes a University different from a factory. I he Em
erald recognizes their importance in the social picture.
Thus it is that the Oregon Daily grows a little mossy this
week, and blazes forth to do its part in keeping another fine
old tradition, to wit: the annual traditions editorial.
A perusal of the files shows us that each year some crack
pot on the Emerald has sat down to his typewriter and lam
basted the fine old tradition of enforcing traditions. These
people have had the temerity to suggest that the Order of
the O was a fine organization for letterman, but that the
group had no business hacking the pants off strangers who
chose to smoke in front of Fenton hall. They have been even
more unreasonable in suggesting that sometimes people might
be suffering hangovers or mid-term headaches and might not
feel like saying a cheery "Hello” to somebody they met on
a strip of sidewalk arbitrarily known as VHello Walk.”
There have been years when the man behind the typewriter
has become real dogmatic and pointed out that by nature a
"tradition” doesn't have to be enforced. It’s observed because
people want to observe it. Isn't that a naughty thing for a
scribbler to scribble?
That’s the way it’s been going for these many years. It’s a
tradition—a tradition that doesn't need to be enforced. It’s
kept up because the Ivory Sewer boys over at the Emerald
Shack want to keep it up.
So this year the Emerald does its part. The Emerald says
a simple “Amen.”
Now, that's over until Junior Weekend.
While They Are Here
It seems to be a favorite pastime of universities and colleges
to speak fondly of the graduate who made the grade and be
longs to the school. He is the school’s painter, the school’s
writer, the school's actor—after he has been discovered in the
world of competition.
Such are many of the "names" who now belong by fame to
the University of Oregon. We speak of the authors, Ernest
Haycox, Victoria Case. We speak of the actor, Edgar Bu
chanan. We speak of the “undiscovered voice,” Marie Rogn
dall. All were Oregon students—who now belong to Oregon.
Undoubtedly much of this talent was present while the
student was here. How many were applauded during their
college days? How many are here today who will be dis
coveries of the future?
Each year, the University presents a student creative art
program, Odeon. It includes the creative efforts of students
as artists, writers, musicians, dramatists. With more than a
surface glance at the work presented at Odeon, students and
faculty could find the discoveries of tomorrow.
It has been a habit for spectators of the spring Odeon to
look no farther than the surface. It might be well for them to
begin now, as the work on Odeon begins, to find the undis
covered and make them known.
It's an early start for the Odeon show, but it would be more
creditable to find the "undiscovered" while they are here, than
to claim their fame after others have discovered them.
—Gloria Billings
The modern paper-making industry in the United States
began in 1867 with the use of wood for pulp and the instal
lation of the first wood grinder in Curtisville, Mass.
16 1946 the Xt^v York City fire department put out 44,764
fires, an average ot 122 per day.
Where a Few Million Count
Down on the Stanford farm, we noticed im
mediately what a great difference a few million
dollars can make. Not that we’d trade Oregon's
hallowed grounds and it's beautiful millrace
for the towering piles of granite and colored
tile we saw at Palo Alto, but it is sort of a
shame that we were never blessed with a
patron saint that owned a lot of railroads.
We learned that there actual^ is a town of
Stanford. It is run jointly by the student coun
cil and the University trustees. While sitting
on a stack of empty Acme cases, we learned
further that no liquor may be sold or pos
sessed in either Palo Alto or Stanford. We're
greatly impressed with their sincerity.
House bills at Stanford average about $80
per month. All the houses on the “Row” are
enormous, but the granddaddy of them all is
Phi Kappa Psi, a gigantic, five story structure
built in 1890. It's members pridefully explain
that it was the only building in the bay area
to survive successfully the great quake. The
sawdust-floored “Sin Inn” in the basement
defies description, or at least what we saw we
can't print.
Stopped in at the St. Francis to return Dick
Strife’s typewriter. While making a dgal for
delivery with the bell captain, Old Oregon
editor Bert Moore playfully shouted “Hi
Blondie” across the lobby at our date. We
thought that was right friendly of him. Lent a
cheery, provincial atmosphere to a place that
isn’t particularly provincial.
Goes International
We hit the International Settlement and a
moderatly famous bistro called "Genes” that
caters almost exclusively to the newspaper
men of the bay area. Painted caricatures of
the “guns” on the staffs of the four leading
papers lined the walls. During the meal the
m.c., (a hopelessly jolly creature) instigated
a cummnity sing where everyone had to do a
solo. Ten minutes later he stopped the show
and to our horror, played back the recording’s
we’d unwittingly made. It was probably the
greatest collection of monotones ever assem
bled in one spot.
Hit Chinatown after dinner and was duti
fully impressed. Ordered an Oriental Passion
By LARRY LAU
at the Dragon's Lair that tasted like purfume
on toast. The occasional couples strolling the
streets gave the impression of being in a for
eign country. Tubs and boxes of garbage oh"
the curb lent aroma to the atmosphere.
Visits Madhouse
Fisherman’s Wharf was next. Gorged our
selves on fresh crab. Tried hot buttered rum
with crab sauce. Experiment not too success
ful. Walked from the Wharf to the Lido
theater and cabbed it downtown to a joint*
called “Coffee Dans” about 2 a.m. What a
madhouse!
When you order, they give everyone a little
wooden mallet, the idea being to beat time to,
the music and singing on the crockery and
tables. Sounded like a riveting factory when
we walked in, and we thought they were alb
a little off. It was catching though, and a
little later we rather sheepishly succumbed u>
temptation and pounded away idiotically like
the rest.
The place opens at 1 :30 in the morning and
stays open until 5. We gathered it was a hang
out for all the second-rate entertainers in San*
Francisco. The m.c. kept calling on the cash
customers to do a number and they’d leap to
their feet and usualy do pretty well. One old
biddy crowding 70 weaved her way to the*
stage, went through several songs, a la Sophie
Tucker, and nearly brought down the house.
Makes Last Stop
By 4 a.m. the joint was filling up with Ore
gon students making their last stop before be-‘
ginning the long trek home. The waitress (a,
sour old tomato who said she was “sick and
tired of them damn collich kids”) told the m.c.
of our presence (as if he couldn't tell). He
stopped the show, told the people where we
were from, and had the music-maker rip
through a rousing chorus of the Oregon Alma
Mater. Everyone joined in except a couple ot
Stanfordites who were sulking in the corner.
Loyal to the last drop, the Webfoots stood at
attention during the song; stiff attention that
is! *
We think one San Franciscan summed up
the new Oregon spirit rather nicely when he.
shook his head and asked, “What’s got into
you people up there?”
_ r
Let Us Consider Now the Critic
Relatively few people go to or stay away
from motion pictures because of what some
reviewer says.Much of the Fidlers, McCartens,
and Parsons would like to claim a large
amount of influence over the paying public,
their power is rather small.
Most people go to pictures because it's the
easiest form of recreation yet devised. Some
go to see certain stars; others want to see
favorite books depicted; everyone goes for
some kind of emotional release. That includes
those who go to sit in the back row and neck.
But very few go because a reviewer recom
mends a certain picture as being good, fine, or
excellent. I'm certainly no exception. Fll be
lieve what some critic says about a film, per
haps, especially when all his fellow critics
agree with him. Usually, however, a judge
ment of very good or very bad just intrigues
me; makes me want to go and form my own
opinion.
But Some Don’t
That's going to be the case this week. To
night is the last night for "Odd Man Out,”
recommended artistically by film critics work
ing for The New Yorker, Time, and other
fairly reliable sources of opinions on movies.
These men say it's good; Bob Frazier savs it
smells ("First movie I've seen in three
months; last one I'll see for a least three
months"); so out of curiosity I'm going to
have to go and see for myself.
It’s almost the same thing with “Forever
Amber." So many people have said that "Am
ber" is the worst big budget picture to come
By BERT MOORE
over the hill in many a moon that I’ll have to
go, if only to see if it's as mad as all that. '
Somebody Likes It
It s unusual for everyone to be down on a
picture. Take any recent punk movie and you’ll
find one voice at least raised in praise, albeit
not ecstaticly. "Dark Passage” is a recent
fine example of that: Time’s reviewer liked
it very much—and he was very much alone in
the granting of kudos.
Remember "The Outlaw?” Nobody liked
that one except, surprisingly the sophisicated
lily of journalism, The New Yorker. It seemed
to think that the picture was a great big bur-,
lesque of,westerns, using its knowledge of the
fine talents of Walter Huston and Thomas
Mitchell and these two actors performance
in this picture as a yardstick.
Maybe the magazine was right, but I don't
think anyone in Hollywood has the combina
tion of brains and brass necessary to produce
a mammoth satire.
W ell, no one has given “Amber” any kind
of a break so far, and because of that I might
like it. Don't be surprised if next week’s
column contains a fervent urging for all read-,
ers to grab a car. plane, or pogo stick and hig
themselves to whatever theater is currently
screening what might be titled “How Darryl
F. Zanuck Spends His Money.” If no one
reacts, then I'll know what I said earlier about
reviewers' influence is true.
About 10.000.000.000 pounds of whey are
produced annually from the manufacture
1.000.000,000 pounds of cheese.