Monday Morning Blues
A bright and cheery good Monday morning to you!
And if you’re surprised to see the Emerald soaking up the
syrup on today’s breakfast table, you can be no more startled
than the staff.
The staff that used to work five days a week to put out a
five-day-a-week paper, and now works seven days a week to
put out a five-day-a-week paper.
But why the change to a Monday through Friday publica
tion? Two reasons—financial and public service.
Financially, Saturday papers were a bust. The ad solicitors
couldn’t and/or wouldn’t solicit. Monday should sell better.
In the way of service, most staff members feel a Monday
paper can give the students better coverage. Saturday events
won’t be Tuesday-stale by the time they are reported. They’ll
be Monday-stale, instead.
And Sunday events will be reported rapidly. It’s a shame
so little happens on the campus Sundays.
As you can see, we do not jump with wild joy into a Mon
day edition. Rather we reluctantly approach it, hoping, that in
time, all the lovely things we expect from a Monday issue will
bloom forth into a beautiful panorama of dollar signs and ser
vice, and all our ugly fears will drop dead.
That a Monday paper is of value in relation to reporting the
news, there is no doubt. Whether it is of more value than a
Saturday issue we won’t be able to answer until we have tried
Mondays. There is some evidence to indicate that it will be
more worthwhile in this respect; there is some evidence to
show that it may not be.
Lying underneath the mentioned reasons for the change,
there is the determined spirit of the Emerald staff. The staff,
from night staff workers to editors and from office help to
business managers, that will try anything, that will sacrifice
their time—Saturday morning sleep and Sunday afternoon
loafing—to keep the Emerald coming out five times (or more)
a week; the staff that used to relax Saturday and Sunday, but
must now always be under the pressure of knowing they have
a paper to put out.
So, be a pal, will you? And handle today’s Emerald with
just a little more care than usual? Wipe that jam off the corner;
when you sleep on the couch,—put The Oregonian under your
feet; and use the Register-Guard to line the garbage cans to
day.
And if you have some Emerald workers in your house, hall,
or class—let ’em sleep in this Monday morning, they earned it.
Any Wolves Around?
It looks like the most unsightly building on Thirteenth
Avenue East is here to stay—at least for some time. The men’s
pool is a bad thing. A virtual eyesore. We’d like to see a new
pool in the area provided for it behind the PE building.
A new pool would cost approximately $70,000 according to
I. I. Wright, director of the physical plant. Such a project is
included in the long-range building program of the University,
but more essential building has top priority.
The BA school, the largest professional school on campus,
needs additional classroom space; journalism labs are scat
tered in various buildings; and a new science building is a
must.
So the much desired but not-so-easily gained appropria
tions should be spent for classrooms and labs. But the prac
tical approach leaves the brown blemish too long.
Realizing that it is not even economical to improve the
present men’s pool (a reliable source even told us that it leaks),
we have considered various means for destroying the building.
It isn’t likely that it will soon crumble from decay. But an
organized procession as Joshua used in the Battle of Jericho
might cause the walls to come tumbling down. Or we might
find the three little pigs’ big, bad wolf who could huff and puff
and blow the place down.
Then there could be fine landscaping around the new sci
ence building. And the men’s swimming classes and teams
could use the women’s pool, seemingly with interesting re
sults.—H.S.
Oreaon Daily
EMERALD
The OREGON DAIRY KMERAI.D, published daily during the college year except
Saturdays, Sundays, holidays and final examination periods hv the Associated Students,
l 'niversity of Oregon. Subscription rates: $.1.00 a term, $-t.0l> for two terms and $5.00 a
year. Entered as second class matter at the postoftice Eugene. Oregon.
Don A. Smith. Editor Than Mmvuir.w. Pws'not yrornroer
Barbara Hevwood, Reus Sherman, Associate Editors.
Glenn GiLLEseiE, Managing Editor
Xt‘\vs Editors: Anne (ioodman, Ken
Assistant News Editor: Mar> Atm
Assistant Managing Editors: Hal
Tom King. Hill Stanfield, Stan
Emerald Photographer: tiene Rose.
Women’s Editor: June Fitzgibbons.
Metzler
Pelstnan
Coleman
Turnbull
Sports Editors: John Barton. Sam Fidinan.
Desk Editors: Marjory Bush, Boh Funk,
Gretchen Grondahl, Lorna Larson, Larry
Cony Editor: Marjory Bush.
Chief Night Editor: Lorna Larson.
Qnxuf cMguAA
College Students Get Their Share
By BARBARA HEYWOOD
Writers of young romance tales frequently
miss one thing in their descriptions of rosy
cheeked, downy-faced collegians. They for
get that not only do coeds and their accom
plices have bags and wrinkles, but often they
are well on the way to having fine heads of
gray hair.
One would think that the advent of gray
hair, whether early, normal, or late would be
a matter-of-course or even a hush-hush thing
surrounded by no circumstances worth re
counting. This isn’t so. The coming of a gray
hair seems to be a dramatic event, creditable
to everything but the hand of God.
The most pathetic repprt of the graying
process comes from an ex-student who now
works for a bank in Portland. He told it this
way:
“Well, my father was a chemist, and he
wanted me to be one, too. I didn’t like the
idea. Bubbling beakers always gave me the
creeps. I had a feeling someday one would ex
plode in my face—or that the whole building
might blow up.
“Well, I took chemistry anyway at the
University. I worried all the way through; I
heaved a sigh of relief every time I walked
out of a lab in one piece. Furthermore, stud
ies didn’t come easily to me. I had to grind
more than I think anyone should have to
grind.
“Well, to make a long story short, I stuck
it out and it finally came time for me to grad
uate. I walked across the platform in my cap
and gown to receive my diploma, and when
my hand closed around it I felt' a cold shiver
go from the bottom of my spine to the roots
of my hair. When I took off my cap after the
ceremony I found that every hair on my head
had turned gray in that one tingling instant.”
Many students admit to pulling out the
gray hairs as they come—they go so badly
with sweaters, cords, and antics—but the
most outstanding case of yanking was told by
an antique, semi-bald semi-gray student.
Said he, “My first gray hair came at the age
of six mbnths. I was in a bar, and I didn’t
know which bus to take home. This was such
a problem for mjibaby mind that I got gray
hair. I pulled it out, but it was followed in
rapid succession by others. I pulled them out j
too. That accounts for my present bald con- v
dition.”
9to Ute> H a*},
Despotism in
the Browsing'Room
To Don Smith, Emerald Editor:
Mr. Editor, something has got to be done!
Despotism, tyranny, bureaucracy, have
ruled this campus too long. It is time for the
students to arise, and assert their will.
I was diligently applying myself to my
studies in the Library Browsing Room Thurs
day night when, at 9:45 p.m., a loud alarm
bell set up a terrible clamor, whereupon all
the residents of the room picked up belong
ings and betook themselves elsewhere.
“What’s this,” I say to myself, surprised,
“Is it 10 p.m. and closing time already?” And
me with another chapter to go in Gibbon’s
“Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.”
So I carefully check my timepiece, and it is
only 9:45 p.m. I reusme reading.
I am soon approached by an officious look
ing individual, who says:
“The Browsing Room is closing.”
“How can that be,” says I. “As it is only
9:45 and the Browsing Room does not close
a m a
t
until 10 p.m.” \
“I am sorry,” replies Officious One, “But
the Room is closed. You must leave. We al
ways close at this time.”
And he turns away in a huff.
Before making stronger protest, I, to be on
the safe side, step outside to check the time
schedule. Just as I thought, it says, ‘Thurs- !
days—7 p.m. to 10 p.m.’ And it is Thursday.
I turn with a cry of triumph, to re-enter the
Browsing Room. But it is too late! Officious
One has locked the door, and is thumbing his
nose at me. I am not permitted, as is my right,
according to the sign, to study in the Brows- 1
ing Room until 10 p.m. The door is locked—
mv evening of study is over.
I repeat, Mr. Editor, something has got to
be done. My books are still in there.
Yours truly,
Fred Taylor.
We are sure the student body will appreci
ate your contribution to the Browsing Room
collection.—Editor.
4
MOdbesitt iSiviUfyalian
Parking Meters Add to Life's Frustration
By BILL ROGERS
Parking meters, a tribulation of complex
modern civilization, are coming to the camp
us area.
Human beings while having adjusted their
lives to the clock, are having trouble in get
ting conditioned to both the clock and the
greedy, demanding, parking meters. The law
has made it possible for the cop, arch enemy
of the private citizen, to promote a mass
frustration neurosis by issuing parking tick
ets.
A typical example of slavery to the meter
was observed at the corner of Broadway and
Oak recently—a barber who was busily at
work on the head of a customer suddenly
dropped his clippers and sprang to the door.
He whipped across the sidewalk and fever
ishly began to feed coins to the little neurosis
engine set in the curb.
This scene, which is probably repeated
hourly by the barber during his work day. is
a small counterpart of the anxiety, energy,
and money consumed by the vicious parking
meter. It is a rare driver who has not parked
his car and fumbled through a pocketful of
keys and ticket stubs in a vain search for
change.
The result is inevitable—the mad dash to
the nearest store for pennys in a race against
the traffic cop. Looking at the situation in its
ultimate form, parking meters tend to lower
the moral standards of society. For unwit- 1
tingly or not. the motorist who does this is .
for a time cheating the government of reve- j
nue. And at the same time he is trying to out- i
wit the law.
There is yet another aspect to this. Hot rod :
pilots invariably ignore the meters, thus '
starting early upon a life of crime. Or it may j
be that with the elasticity of youth they have •'
made the adjustment to meters in the only
way possible. Consider also the effect on small
children, who may frequently be treated to
the verbal outbursts of enraged parents.
If and when the neurosis builders are in
stalled near the campus, the students, already
hedged about with restrictions, may find
themselves subject to new rules made by the
administration in an attempt to protect them i
from the menace of the meter.