And Everybody Went on Drinking
‘Winnie' Offers Old Formula—Courage and Iron
By Hal Boyle
NEW YOR — (AP) — The
vaudeville act ended, and the
face of a war veteran flashed on
the television
screen in a
small sidestreet
bar.
The voice was
as before. But it
was the first
time they had
seen his face as
he talked. The
cruel television
lights wiped out
any wrinkles in
the plump face but Winstou
Churchill showed his 74 years.
“He looks old and tired,” said
a man at the bar.
("Even in this darkling hour
T have faith . . .” said Churchill.)
And as the old hero blew a triple
bugle call—a hope for peace, a
warning against Russian aims, a
stand-ready for action—they
talked of him, these men at the
bar.
They spoke of him, probably,
as men were speaking across the
sea in the pubs of England. They
spoke with affection, old loyalty
and fresh doubt. For they had
hoped he would bring up an easy
formula. And all he offered was
the mixture as before—courage
and iron, morality.
(“Life is a test and this world
a place of trial,” said this blunt
est-spoken English statesman
since Shakespearean times.)
“He is the one guy in the world
who is trying to get me back in
a khaki suit," complained a cur
ly-haired veteran of the Pacific
war. younger than his mustache.
“I love him for what he did in
wartime. But the world has
An Old, Old Story
She Was S-o-o-o Very Sorry
Should Have Told Him Before
By Hank Kane
The best girls are taken first,
and the laggard admirer hears
“Sorry, but I'm going steady . .
lor me i 1 r s i
man stakes his
c 1 a i m against
all trespassers.
The first
good - natured
smile changes
the passive, dis
j tant admiration
: to first - name
friendship. He
makes a mental
note to some day
toll tno niuiuai menu
tance of what she considered a
1 '■ routine introduction.
I He discovers with excited won
* der tliat she is not merely anoth
' or lipstick-smeared, sweater
stuffed coed, but the gentle per
sonification of everything com
mendable in women.
But he doesn't tell her in emo
tion-paced words his sense of
idealized desire and humbleness
at his good fortune.
* * w
> Instead, he cautions himself:
"Go slow, this may be a false
alarm. Her smile that tears you
apart may be but a compliment
freely given to every new friend,
and nothing more. Yet the way
she seemingly hangs on your ev
■' cry word, the smile of pleasant
anticipation . . ."
' With difficulty ho continues
the small talk by which two
. young people learn to know each
(' other the first time they meet.
' He speaks with seeming casual
' ness, meticulously polishing each
phrase before delivery to arrive
1 at a balance between self defeat
ing eagerness and overdone dis
( interest.
Whn he overstays his time in
1 the lounge, the understanding
and indulgent housemother puts
him at ease by telling how she
always has to explain the rules
to the boys the first time.
He thinks that she expects him
to spend many future evenings in
the lounge. The thought is com
forting. yet disquieting, for he
wonders if he has unintentionally
revealed his secret to her expe
rienced observation.
"Oh well,” ho rationalizes, "It's
an old story to housemothers.”
After they agree to a coke date
for the following evening, he
plans the schedule as precisely
as an army officer drawing up
orders for a troop movement.
First, there would be the actual
part of the coke date. They would
sit in a booth and try to hear
each other over the noise of the
blaring juke-box and the chatter
and laughter of other couples.
Then, after a suitable interval,
he would suggest that they get
away from the crowd, and she
would be willing.
* * *
The cool evening air would al
low him the excuse to draw her
close to sense the perfume of her
presence, the touch of her knee
and her hand resting in his.
They would park near the cam
pus about an hour before closing
time and continue the innocuous
conversation that conceals what
people would like to say but as
yet could not.
She would be compliant and
yielding when he finally drew her
to him and rested his face against
her cheek, his lips barely touch
ing her neck, and his hand strok
ing her hair.
They would then kiss, not in a
sensual desire for wet, ardent
lips, but in unvoiced understand
ing of mutual respect and awak
ening affection.
Promptly on the hour he ar
rived at the house, pretending to
ignore the automatic appraisal of
the couples in the lounge.
She soon descended the stairs
and in reply to his offhand ques
tion as to whether she was ready,
motioned him to an unoccupied
corner.
* * *
The strained conversation that
followed left him with a feeling
of psychic nausea. She had been
dating a boy for some time who
had disliked learning that she
had been seen with someone else.
Therefore, she would have to
break this date and was sorry to
have caused this misunderstand
ing by not telling him before.
"Forget it, I should have asked
in the first place." ,
Cutting her short, he leaves
the house, his face a pleasant
nonoommital mask.
Alone in his room, he stares
into a mirror and says: "it serves
you right for losing your head.”
“WINNIE ARRIVES in Boston
for his speech. (AP Wirephoto)
An Editorial
SOAR
A student, Stephen Talbot,
proposed in a letter appearing
on this page yesterday that a
chapter of Students’ Organiza
tion for Academic Rights be
formed on this campus.
We agree with Mr. Talbot
that the recent firings of pro
fessors at the University of
Washington and Oregon State
indicate the possibility of a
serious wave of “witch-hunt
ing” on American college cam
puses.
However, we question seri
ously the wisdom of bringing
SOAR to the Oregon campus.
SOAR and similar organiza
tions have a habit of attracting
mostly persons of left-wing
views, often end up being “cap
tured” by communists, and
rarely stick to their avowed
purposes.
It is our belief that the prob
lem of academic freedom is
one which must be studied
honestly by all intelligent stu
dents, professors, and college
administrators; not just a few
members of the “lunatic frin
ge-”
Therefore, we suggest that
the problem of academic free
dom be presented instead be
fore the various discussion
groups already established on
the campus, at informal living
organization “bull sessions,”
and in classroom discussions.
In this way, we feel, the
problem can be given ade
quate hearings without the
danger of becoming a weapon
whereby a small group could
foster bitterness and hatred at
S time when American educa
tion needs cooperation, under
standing, and unity.
passed him by.”
(“War is not inevitable,” said
the white face on the screen.)
“Yes,” said a veteran of the
north African campaign. “He
stands for an age that is dying.
He's a medicine man—the last
orator. But at least he looks dif
ferent from Joe DiMaggio on tel
evision.) That’s something. If tele
vision had more entertainers like
him the movies would die quick
er.”
(From the screen came the
sound of applause. Churchill had
scored.)
“What’d he say?” mumbled a
drunk. “What’re they clapping
for? I missed it.”
“Ask my wife,” said the man
next to him. “She’s a commun
ist.”
“Oh, I'm a communist, am I?”
the wife shrilled. “I am not! What
is freedom? The important thing
is tolerance, and Churchill isn't
preaching tolerance in this
speech.”
(“We seek nothing from Rus
sia but goodwill and fair play,”
said Churchill, and there was
more applause—from the screen.
from the
mor applause —
screen.)
The husband and wife didn’t
hear him. They had forgotten the
war, Russia, and world peace.
They were arguing about the us
ual things married people argue
about—themselves.
The young Irishman behind the
bar, a combat veteran of Pearl
Harbor and the Pacific jungles,
moved toward the television set.
“I shouldn’t have turned this
program on,” he said. “Where
there’s smoke there’s fire—and
there’s smoke at this bar. But
I’m a Churchill fan, and I wanted
to hear him.”
He nodded toward the young
man with the moustache at the
end of the bar.
“I believe in this hands across
the sea stuff,” said the barkeep.
“And I’d rather wear a khaki suit
again than a red suit. Russia
breeds on guys afraid to fight for
what they believe.”
He twisted the dials to a new
program. It was a roller skating
derby. And everybody went on
drinking. And some may have
been thinking.
One World or Jwor
Churchill's Speech, Atlantic Pact
Complete Rift With Russia?
By Bud Hurst
The split is final, complete and
absolute. It seems a shame to
start a brand new type of col
umn with such a statement but
there is no other news of recent
weeks which is so important or
will affect so many people. What
then, does this statement mean?
We refer to the rift between
the Communist people of the
world and those who believe in,
and live by, the doctrines of so
cio-democracy. It is a chasm
which has widened by fits and
starts over the past five years.
The last two bridges have col
lapsed in the last two weeks.
THE ATLANTIC Pact was
made public on the 19th of March
and Winston Churchill spoke in
Boston Thursday night. The na
tions of the “West” are solidly
aligned in a mutual defense
agreement and the most percep
tive statesman of our generation
has made it known that- he sees
no chance for reconciliation with
the Soviet Union.
The next question is, “Where
does that leave us?” It’s hard to
say but a few things are obvious.
At least the picture is clear and
a good many people are a lot less
indecisive than they were last
month.
In other words, we all know
where we stand and can go on
from there to either war or peace.
At last we have found a working
base on which we can construct
effective counter measures for
the actions, teachings, edicts and
philosophy of Russia and the
Cominform.
THAT BASE is unity of pur
pose and unity of ideal and un
like 1914 and 1938, it is a solid
one.
Oregon c# Emerald
The Oregon Dut y Emerat.d, published daily during the college year except Sundays.
Mondays, holidays, and final examination periods by the Associated Students, University of
Oregon. Subscription rates: $2.00 per term and $4.00 per year. Entered as second-class matter
at the post office, F.ugene, Oregon.
BILL YATES. Editor VIRGIL TUCKER. Business Manager
Associate Editors: June Goetze, Boblee Brophy, Diana Dye, Barbara Hey wood
Advertising Manager: Joan Mixmaugk
Does it mean war or peace?
It's hard to tell. It reminds us,
however, of a fable they are tell
ing all over the world.
Once upon a time there; was a
little boy who lived near a big
forest. The little boy heard that
on the other side of the big for
est there was a land where no
body got into fights with each
other and everyone had plenty of
everything. The little boy was
afraid, deathly afraid of the dark
forest but he decided one day to
try and walk through it to the
wonderful land on the other side.
Off he went, apprehensive but
eager.
WHEN HE WAS about half
way through the forest a big
snake bit him and he turned
around and ran home as fast as
he could go. Home was safe at
least, even if it wasn’t as nice as
the land on the other side of the
forest. So he stayed there for the
next twenty years.
As he grew into manhood he
couldn’t keep from dreaming
about that peaceful land beyond
the forest, nor could he could for
get the fierce animals that lived
in the forest. He resolved to try
the trip again, however, and this
time a big tiger jumped at him
and instead of going on, the
young man ran back to his home.
He was still afraid of the forest.
AFTER HE had been home a
few year he became a little
ashamed of himself. “Why was I
afraid?” he asked himself. “I
was stronger and smarter than
the tiger and if I had gone on I
would be living in that wonderful
land right now.”
So he set cut on the third trip
and when he met a big black bear
he stood his ground and showed
that he wasn’t afraid and the
bear looked at him for a minute
and then ran away to hide and
the young man went on to the
peaceful land. He has lived there
happily ever since and is not
afraid of anything any longer.
On the 19th of March, 1949, we
started our third trip through the
forest.