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