Oregon If Emerald
ALL-AME™CAN 1946-47_
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Entered as second-class matter at the postoffice, Eugene, O .
Member of the Associated Collegiate Press ___
BOB FRAZIER, Editor " BOB CHAPMAN, Business Manager
BILL YATES
Managing Editor
JUNE GOETZE, BOBOLEE BROPHY
Co-News Editors
DON FAIR _FRED TAYLOR
Co-Sports Editor _________________
JEANNE SIMMONDS, MARYANN THIELEN, BARBARA HEYWOOD
Associates to Editor_ _
"" DIANA DYE~
Assistant News Editors____
Crystal-Balling Education
Ever since the inauguration of the G. L Bill of Rights, the
government has had its silver-dollar eye turned toward the
problems of higher education. President Trumans fact-find
ing commission on higher education, unprecedented in this
country,indicated this governmental interest in universities
and colleges. This board, upon which President Harry K.
Newburn served on a sub-committee on finance, worked for a
year and a half, surveying educational problems from every
angle. Some of their proposals for financing schooling were
mirrored in an address by Dr. Newburn to the national con
ference of higher education held in Chicago last month. Dr.
Newburn’s address has been printed, and it was reported on
briefly in the Emerald this week. From the report «of the
commission which in the near future may effect us or our
little brother or sister entering college, here are a few ad
ditional facts.
Enrollments are going up, and 4,000,000 young people will
be ready for college in 1960. These figures do not show how
many students will desire further training, but merely how
correlation of army general classification test scores and the
many are capable of takling college work, as determined by
results of college entrance exams. As shown by the number
of veterans who availed themselves of the opportunity for fur
ther education when it wms offered them, however, it is safe
to wager that the majority capable of going on to school will
do so if given the opportunity.
So, if the costs of living, building, and tuition are going up,
as they are, how are these potential students going to pay
for bed, board, and books? The commission has that all
figured out. Of the barriers in the way of would-be students,
the economic barrier was found to be the greatest (as many erf
us know). To remedy this the commission proposed allocation
of federal funds to the states to lower tuition, and an exten
sive system of “grants-in-aid” or scholarships which involve
a large initial federal appropriation and annual increases until,
in 1950, federal aid would be available to 20 per cent of the
non-veteran students. At a glance some of these scholarships
seemed quite liberal.
It was recommended that this system of federal fellow
ships and scholarships be put into effect this year. But it seems
that it will not be. However, when subsidies under the GI
bill begin to fall off sharply, popular demand may bring the
bill before congress.
Among the financing plan’s bitterest enemies are the private
institutions who think they face ruin if the federal government
educates students on a broad scale. It was decided that they
should receive no financial help, and some do not want it.
Students will-be drawn away from them to spent their first
two years in tuition-free community (local) colleges. Small
institutions will not be able to provide equipment to equal
that in larger colleges. If you say “so what? it might be
noted that many private schools stand for a certain fieedom
of thought, action and choice in the very fact that they are
standing alone by the educational ideal which they feel is
not carried on in state schools.
But bad or good, college will probably be different in 1960.
B.H.
An Old American Custom
There appears on this page a letter, signed by three Univ
ersity students who desire to explore that rather vague and
unmapped forest known as “socialism.” this is a reasonable
desire for students whose years in college are (in part, at
least) dedicated to the search for truth. In this year of J. Par
nell Thomas it is also a brave gesture in defense of what we
had always heard was the American way.
These students have called a meeting for Wednesday night
at Westminster house. They may expect that a fair number
of left-wingers of various stripes will show up, ready to defend
the particular brand of left-of-center economic thought they
espouse.
The Emerald hopes they will also find a body of middle-of
the-roaders there too, and maybe even an avowed right-winger
or two. With such a group the evening should be interesting,
and should prove time well spent to anybody seriously inter
ested in tomorrow.
He Won't Be Here Anymore
He stood weakly at the door of the cham
ber, grey and dignified, wondering why he d
been brought to this evil-smelling place. Rain
drummed dully into the earth, relentless as
the years that had whitened his once black
hair . . . rain, strong and cold as the time that
had stiffened his legs and made him feeble.
Only faintly did he hear his last summons,
“C'mon old boy.” He didn’t recognize the
hiss of escaping gass. Dutifully, tiredly, he
walked inside, still trusting and believing.
Perhaps dreaming of days gone by when he
jumped and played, went on picnics, and
knew everybody; after 16 years on the Ore
gon campus, ‘‘Smoky was dead.
Who was Smoky? just a
dog, but a dog that had be
come a Webfoot legend. A
big, black and brown police,
mascot of Phi Delta Theta,
who came to Oregon as a
frolicksome puppy in 1933.
The first year of the New
Deal, the year a funny-look
ing, mustached man became
chancellor of Germany, the
)'ear many of us were being wide-eyed about
our first days in grade school . . .1933, and
Smoky was a pup.
Since the war he’d grown old and feeble.
His bark was embarrassingly high-pitched.
His step was slow and tired. His teeth were
dulled and yellow from 10,000 bones. He slept
a lot, sometimes with ears twitching, as he
remembered an imaginary chase. Canine in
tuition and respect made other dogs give him
a wide berth . . . Smoky, the elder.
The war was tough on “Old Smoke” . . .
he had to associate with girls. One of his best
friends was Mrs. Howard Boyd, Alpha Gam
house mother, who took care of him much of
the time. And he didn’t, he wouldn’t die.
Way past the age when most good dogs go
to their reward, Smoke lived on, waiting for
the men to return. Someone had to protect
these giggling females, although privately he
considered them to be worse than cats (wise
old dog). Every day tired old Smoky, a wor
ried frown on his face, patrolled and inspect
By LARRY LAU
ed his domain and, in his loyal doggy way,
wished for the end of the war like so many
others.
Smoky has audited every class the Uni
versity ever had, and some professors swear
he got more out of them than a lot of the
students. Contrary to Army regulations, he
was alloAved to live in the house when the
ASTP Avas on campus. Several times at the
beginning of the Avar, well-meaning friends
tried to take him arvay to the country. Each
time he’d come hobbling back in a few days
later, footsore and snorting indignation that
he’d been put to so much trouble.
Smoky was advancing toward old age in
1940 Avhen he Avas croAvned King of Dogs.
The Emerald and Register-Guard carried his
picture, and accounts of his manifold ex
ploits. He’d been on campus nearly eight
years then, and Avas already somewhat of
a landmark to visiting alumni. The year the
Nazi horde pushed the British back across
the English channel and steel-booted through
Paris; the year a gravel-voiced man stumped
through the country, winning over millions
with his talk of One World; the year our
president told American mothers their sons
Avould not be sent overseas . . . 1940 and
Smoky was 8.
He was 14 when, in the spring of 1946, the
campus began to look normal again; the
girls and Smoky both cut a ferv capers. Some
Iioav, by holding out until the boys returned,
he’d done his duty. Fall of the same year saw
him age visibly. In the spring of 1947, IS
years old, Smoky was shivering in the sun
Avhen a brash, floppy-eared St. Bernard
puppy named SnoAvbelle became the campus
SAveetheart, and more and more underclass
men Avere asking “Who’s Smoky?”. His long
reign Avas over; he brooded a lot after that.
The Phi Delts haAre a neAv dog iioav. A
three-months-old police pup they’re calling
Smoky II. He’s a cute pup, with a lot of
laughing years ahead of him. Still, there are
a lot of remorseful boys Avho kinda’ wish the
“old boy” Avere still around ... a lot of alums
Avho’ll feel older knorving he’s gone. Our
third Atomic year, a year of late spring, im
pending Avars, and presidential elections . . .
1948, and Smoky is dead.
Loretta Must Have Improved
When the Oscar winners were announced
the other day I was very sad. Due to a spec
tacular oversight I missed seeing Loretta
Young’s portrayal of “The Farmer’s Daugh
ter” which, according to the Academy of
Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, was the
best performance by an actress during 1947.
Having seen much of Miss Young’s past
work, I was naturally sorry to have missed
her in the role which allowed her to escape
her usual bonds of mediocrity
and to beat out such talented ]
performers as Celia Johnson j
and Rosalind Russell in win- |
ning the coveted gold statu- I
ette. |
“The Farmer’s Daughter” 1
will probably return to Eu
gene, luckily, and when it
does it would be nice if it
were billed as a single
feature. It's getting rather complicated, this
going to movies, what with having to call the
theater and find out when the feature you
want to see comes on, so you'll be sure to
miss “Charlie Chan and Tarzan at West
Point” or whatever the sterling second
feature is. Double features are hard on the
eyes, the base of the spine, and the amount
of time between the dinner hour and closing
hours. A pox on them.
Furthermore, the theater owners don’t use
any discretion in making up their double
feature programs. Last week “Treasure of the
Sierra Madre” was playing at the Mac, all
By BERT MOORE
two hours of it, plus the usual cartoon, news
reel, and scenes from coming attractions.
That adds up to more than enough show for
my money, but on Monday the management
added another feature and, I understand,
took the cartoon off the bill. I rather be
lieve that a poll would prove that 90 per
cent of the people who go to movies prefer
the program as it stood in the first place:
One feature, cartoon, and newsreel.
This year’s award for a supporting actor
went to much-deserving Edmund Gwenn,
who played S. Claus in “Miracle on 34th
Street.” He was great, but why he wasn’t
nominated for leading actor in 1947 I’ll never
know. Anyone who saw the picture can test
ify that Gwenn played the lead and was really
the star, even if he didn’t get star billing or
mention.
And while we’re on the subject of academy
awards, the Academy deserves a large thorn
for choosing “Gentlemen’s Agreement” as
best picture of the year. There’s little doubt
that “GA” was the best U. S. social docu
ment of the year, but there were half a dozen
better pictures. As some sort of proof that
even the Academy was a little ashamed of
its choice, note that a star-less Italian pic
ture, “Shoe Shine” received a “special
award.” The academy had to give the best
picture of the year something, and I suppose
that those who appreciate good pictures and
fair play should be happy with this condes
cending, minor Oscar.