Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 17, 1950)
THE DAILY ' . . . goes undoubtedly to Student Union Director R. C. Wil liams—known campuswise as Dick—for his job-well done on the corner of Thirteenth and University. THE OREGON LEMON ... to Colliers magazine for almost ignoring the Webfoot ball team when picking leaders across the country. (Idaho was mentioned ahead of Oregon.) (Ed. note: Our choice for outstanding contribution to the University of Oregon will receive The Daily “E” with each publication of the Emerald. In some cases, the winner will be obvious. Other times, an unknown will receive the “E” for his contribution. But each will be considered worthy in the col lective eye of the editorial staff. The Lemon title, which will not be granted daily, is self-explanatory . . . let the lemon fall where it will.) If Trivia Wins - You Lose You newcomers on the Oregon green might ask yourself the question answered by Bryce Decker elsewhere on this page. (An oldtimer wouldn’t be amiss trying it either). What are you seeking at Oregon? Why did you come here instead of working in the bank—or department store—or ser vice station after high school? Decker wants an education that will help him “find a useful and satisfying place in society." He thinks maybe the key to world calm lies hidden on college bookshelves. He looks for new associations—athletic, social, and cultural activities. If this young man is typical of your class of ’54, you seem to be thinkers—more than the play-kids long deplored by sincere educators. So advice from this Emerald editorial page may be your re motest need. But we’ve been told a formula that isn t in the chemistry books or math tables, and you may find it useful in the future. Ask yourself the question Decker faced. Not just today—ask it after dinner Thursday night, before that English comp, mid term, on the way home for Thanksgiving vacation. Set down some good answers on a mental memo. And—above all—don’t let the detail, the trivia, the shavings of life at the University of Oregon or any other college black out your answers. There it is, Freshmen—come back in four years to tell us the formula worked. You Name It — Cub, SU, Erb After 27 years of hollering, shouting, fund raising, planning, and just plain working hard, the student union is. It opens to day with all the color and speeches and roaming around and ogling that such a structure deserves. The freshmen can look forward to a student union for all four years of their college life—which makes the class of 54 about the luckiest class ever. And now that we got the building—what are we going to call it ? It is unlikely that you will often hear someone say, “How about going over to the Donald I'.rh Memorial Union for a cup of coffee? And we can’t very well call it the MU—a distinct steal from Oregon State. You might try SU—hut that’s a little tricky to pronounce, particularly late at night or early in the morning. Tt could he a name will develop, like WSC’s “Cub. We might even try calling the building “William's Palace,” after Student Union director Dick \\ illiams who is King of that particular castle. It has even been suggested the building be called “The Big IT." Or just plain “Union” might be all right, unless you're a civil war veteran. But it does seem a pity we can’t give some credit to the man who the building was named after—Donald Erb. 1 his has the added advantage of being short and easily pronounced. So, how about a cuppa coffee at the Erb this afternoons—D.S. The Or re. on Daii y Kmkrai.o. published daily during the college year except all Saturday! hut |umt>i Weekend, Sundays, holidays. final examination periods, and the Monday pieced inn |unier Weekend in Max In the Associated Students of the University of Oregon. En tried as second class matter at the post office. Eugene. Oregon. ... Opinions expressed on the editorial page are those of the writer ami do not pietend ti represent the opinions of the ASl'O or of the .University. Initialed editorials are written In the associate editors. I nsigned editorials are written In the editor. Anita Hoi mi s, HJitor Don Thom pson , /? usincss ^! I.orna Larson, Managing Editor Tom King. Don Smith, As.^ociate Editors Harhata Williams, Advertising Manager N. w > Editor: Norman Amin son Assistant News Editor: Jackie Pritzen Chiet Vp.ht Editor: Mary Hall Wire Editor: John Barton Sports Editor: Pete Cornachia AsM>tuni I)utiiucks .Manager: Shirley Hillard National Advertising Manager: Bonnie Birkemeir l.ayout Manager: Martel Scroggin Portland Advertising: Karla Vail loam Zone Managers: I'ran Neel, lean Huffman Virginia Kellogg. Nancy lVllatd Circulation Manager: Jean Lovell Robert Funk Philosophizes When you write your first column for the Emerald fall term (traditionally) you start out “we remember when we BOB I were fresh I men” and then I go on to say I how odd it all I was when we I were fresh ! men, and end | up by saying | that we imag £ ine the new Freshmen are rinding new things just as odd (here we interject a paternal chuckle.) And it is customary to end such columns with some brave and snappy little statement such as “don’t worry, you’ll ad just.” The “you’ll” in this state ment refers to the freshmen who you innocently assume spend their leisure moments reading such crud. This “don’t-worry-you’ll-ad just” business is strictly un true. Some people adjust. One time we heard about some peo ple who did. But for the most part no one adjusts—they just get more un-adjusted (and if there is no such word that’s all right, because we made up lots of words in last year’s column and no one complained very much). There is another subject^that you traditionally mention in your first column, and that is what you are going to write about in your column for the rest of the year. There are many draw-backs to saying what you are going to write about for the rest of the year. You forget v/hat you said you were going to write about, and can’t find the paper you said it in, and people stop speaking to you at breakfast because they think you’ve been trying to mislead them. And besides you never have the slightest idea what you are going to write about. Now that we have talked about freshmen and what-we will-write-about and all the traditional things we will be come rash and say something un-traditional. Wow. Just before we came back we went to a circus in our town, Ukiah, California (we never heard of the place you’re from, either). Circuses aren’t what they used to be. There were only two or three different things to eat, and we didn’t even come near getting indi gestion. We always have liked cir cuses. Like a lot of other peo ple, we used to want to join a circus, but we were not hard to dissuade. Parents of would-be tight-rope walkers and lion tamers may have had to use many arguments, but our par ents had only to point out a few rather hard and fast rules of na ture. Because, when we joined the circus, we wanted to be an elephant. Editorial luj, invitation * He Came to College - But Why? By BRYCE G. DECKER (Editor’s Note: Bryce G. Decker is a lanky, good-looking freshman, entering this fail from Creswell High School. He was a high school editor, but comes to Oregon with an eye to chemistry. When asked what he expects to obtain from the University, Decker answered in this feature fashion:) His clothes are brand new, his shoes sparkle, and he is strangely conspicuous as he walks down Thirteenth street on the University of Oregon campus. Occasionally he pulls a worn piece of paper from his pocket and scrutinizes it for a moment. Who is this stranger? He’s a new freshman on the campus,, and the piece of paper he’s holding is a map—a campus guide. Let’s stop him right here on Thirteenth and ask this one: , What does the new freshman at the University of Oregon ex pect to get out of college? We’d like to know just what you, as a new student in the U. ! of O. expect to get out of your college career. j “That one covers a lot of territory,” he answers, and goes on to say . . . “First of all, I’d say that anyone who enters a college expects to get an education. That’s the big thing, and by far the most important. “To get the most out of an education will mean a lot of hard work, but if we stick to it, it will be worth it in the end, if it helps us to find a useful and satisfying place in society. \ “We are also concerned about the unsettled conditions as they exist in the world today. Possibly here we can firtd some method of solving these problems and help avoid them in the future. “Of course, we don’t expect it to be all study, and classroom, and lab. We expect to get a kick out of school here at Oregon. We look forward to the athletic, social, and cultural activities that the University offers, as well as the many satisfying asso ciations we hope to have with our friends.” THE WORD By Stan Turnbull r Undoubtedly you’ve all noticed that a new sc hod-1 year is' starting, so we won’t bring that up. As a matter of fact, a lot of magazines have also noticed that a new school year is starting, (; and they’ve already brought it up. Like Flair, the new humor magazine, vve’ve only seen one issue, but it must be a humor magazine—million laughs. The issue we saw, of course, was the “college review” issue. Get this, for example : “Among Western coeds an especially liberal interpretation of (late) permissions is . . . noticeable.” Has to be a humor magazine. In case you haven’t seen the issue (Aug ust) here’s the word on it. Mouton-collared topcoats are definitely “it”—“eollegiansf find these coats recapture the rah rah of flash-era raccoon with out as much weight.” (Enabling the rah rah collegian to carry more flasks, we assume.) Don’t think we college students'll wear the same thing, though—we got variety. One young# >1, inevitably a ‘Bi‘g Man on Campus”—has anyone ever heard this term used, outside of magazines?—wears, inevitably a tail gabardine slipover windbreaker, “while golfing, to classes, wherever and whenever he likes.” Another penniless you i i collegian owns seven suits, “rather conservatively cut.” ! case you've never seen an Eton cap, with backstrap, thei one on page 36. We really eat, too. The average college student g; pounds during freshman year. And travel! Particularly us westerners—“Thin of a seventy-mile motor trip for dinner and a students at the drop of a Stetson are off on a that poky Easterners would save for a weekend rhin^ 4 id.’^ 1 hat s far from all. "Western men, many of whom”„“^ own planes, show a marked preference for folding money, and are frequently seen hightailing it in the direction of Reno or Las \ egas. 1 hen there were the "two California students who went home to Alaska in their own sailboat.” And of course, the summer is alive with bicycles in purposeful fleets,” thanks to something called Youth Hosteling. but don t worry, parents—your children are not going to perdition. Rot according to Flair, which has these words of re assurance : "Not that the kids are cutting classes, betraying school, home and country, going to hell (quote) or over the hill. It s just that a couple hundred miles now seems to be akj’jSF ■ the shortest weekend dash you can discuss over a Coke $!A keep your social standing.” ' I