ON RIDERS
Ride to Eugene Eventful
BY BOB FUNK
Emerald Columnist
Jan. 4. 1935
When she emerged, radiantly
from the front door of 114839 SE
Chattahootchee Gulch Place, she
was smiling; but when she no
ticed his car. her mouth snapped
back into its customary position
“That’s an awfully small car."
ahe said.
‘‘But you said you'd only have
one suitcase. We'll have plenty
of room." It was a good thing she
only had one suitcase, he thought:
he hadn’t realized she was quite
ao large.
“Well. I like to ride in big cars,
on account of you don't get so
•aick going around curves and you
feel so much safer.”
He pawed at the turf with his
foot. “Well, let's get loaded up,"
he said, with what he hoped had
passed for heartiness. She went
back into the house: for a minute
he heard some vague rumblings:
the house buckled slightly, and
then the door crashed open.
She was carrying the one
suitcase; in her other hand
she had a package of assorted
breakfast foods, a cage with a
small skunk in it: a combined
television and phonograph con
sole; seventeen garment bags,
three slightly soiled formals, a
pair of beige pumps, three
sorority sisters in a duffle bag.
and a party hat.
“There’s some other little
things inside,” she smiled nerv
ously. “I'll just hold these things
on my lap." .He knew she had a
large lap, but it w asn’t that large.
The "other little things" proved
to be an army cot. a set of the
Encyclopedia Britannica. ami a
pile of assorted clothes which
: reached to a point in the front
; hall just below the chandelier.
First, he tried loosening body
bolts, but there still wasn't
enough room. Then he discarded
the spare tire, his tools, and
finally took his luggage back
home to be sent to Eugene by
railway express. The seating or
der resulted in the following:
Front seat, from left to right:
door; driver (somewhat squnch
ed); large trunk: cage full of
skunk; sorority sister; two-suit
er: party hat: second sorority
sister (sort of sideways); assort
ed loose clothing: door.
Back seat: door; she who had
procured the ride in the first
place and had come radiantly
j smiling from the door of 114839
Chattahootchee. etc.: soiled for
mats; sorority sister (mixed with
garment bags, but still breath
iingi; breakfast food; and then
! a large uncharted wasteland'
holding everything else, horribly
mangled: door.
They started off, overloaded
but running: there was a hor
rible scraping sound where the
car bounced on the highway.
“I wish you wouldn’t go around
corners so fast." a voice cried
from the back seat, “I'm trying
to write a letter." He bit his
1 tongue three times and said
! nothing.
They had just left Portland
when Smiling Radiantly thought
she was maybe going to be sick.
“It's these small cars," she said,
"I always get sick in small cars.”
Since she was sitting directly be
hind the driver, he was some
what alarmed.
“Maybe I should stop."
“No,” she said. “I guess I can
stand it. I think maybe if we ■
played bridge to take my mind;
off of everything. I'd feel better.” j
The sorority sister who was 1
writing the letter refused to play
bridge, so the driver had to play;
he couldn't see the roadway over
the beige pumps, anyway.
"Three no," the first sorority
sister said.
“Pass," a distant voice shout
ed, presumed to be the second
sorority sister.
“Double," said Smiling Radi
antly (this was an error, but for
get it).
“Redouble." said the driver.
“Four no."
“Pa-a-a-ass" called the distant
voice.
“Pass." said Smiling Radiantly.
Meanwhile, the driver had nar
rowly escaped going over a cliff.
“Well, I really can’t see how
we can play If George won’t
bid,” said Smiling Radiantly.
George, having forgotten where
the bidding stood, guessed wild
ly (he had also lost his cards
somewhere along toward the
skunk) and hid seven spades.
This proved to be unwise, and
he and his partner, the distant
sister, went down several.
“I wish we could stop,” the
ON WOMEN'S RUSHING
Eta Eta Eta Eta Rushes
BY BOB FrXK
Emerald Columnist
Sept. 30, 1954
They could see them coming up
•the sidewalk. There was one
'wearing gold epaulettes and a
chartreuse shangtung afternoon
dress gathered sort of at one
•side with seed pearls and a yel
low lawn border printed with
sanskript characters. There was
another one that was ten feet
tall and was wearing her high
••school letterman’s sweater. And
‘there was another one with heels
•so high that she slanted for
ward at about a forty-eight de
cree angle. From behind the cur
•tains, the si3ters gulped nerv
ously.
The rushing chairman tapped
•one fingernail imperiously
•against the ritual tambourine,
fend the door of the Quadruple
;Eta house opened upon the rush
Ces. Or rather the rushees opened
’upon the door, because it gave in
with a small crash just before the
•rushing chairman finished her
‘business with the tambourine.
The house president lurched for
ward giggling insanely. She
-grabbed the first rushee.
“I’m so happy to meet you,
■or, whatever the hell your
name it, I keep trying to re
member the names but all
week it’s just names, names,
‘names, you know.”
“You must be real clever, be
*ing house president and every
thing,” said the rushee, scratch
r*r.>g herself.
“It was nothing," said the
‘president. “I was Third Vice
ipresident in charge of dead
•nights, and I said, just casually,
‘probably you girls will want to
vote for me or nobody is going
•out for the rest of the year, of
course.” The house president
’•laughed charmingly.
“You have such a real good
•(personality,’’ said the rushee, I’ve
found that that’s the thing I like
about this house, everybody has
such real good personalities.”
“We have no choice,” the
house president explained. “We
have this rule, either you’re
good-looking, or you have to
have personality. It's the soror
ity motto—‘Enos Chi Suromo
moin Blorbum Glugger’—
dazzle them with your person
ality and maybe they won’t
look at your legs.”
“Such a really lovely motto,"
the rushee said. Suddenly the
song chairman threw a brick
through the window, and said
that was the signal for the sis-.
ters to spring (or in the house;
president's case, hoist herself
slowly) to their feet.
“One!” the song leader shout
ed. At one, everyone spread her
mouth into a natural smile.
“Two!” the song leader rasped.
At two, everyone inhaled deep
ly
“And a three!” And at that
they began singing “Anchored
in Quadruple Eta,” which was a
very sad song about how one of
the founders had fallen into an
old abandoned quarry one rught
after a house dance at Alpha
Chapter, and had been lifted out
the following morning by a der
rick. Everyone was crying by the
time the song ended.
“Beautiful,” the rushee
sighed. The house president
collapsed back into a chair. A
young woman was passing
among the multitude, and she
stopped before the house presi
dent.
“Hold that stomach in,” she
snarled.
“The rushing posture chair
man,” the house president ex
plained. “She’s really—uh, lovely
—but she gets this way during
rush week from having to hold
everything in all the time.”
“What I think about this house
is." said the rushee, ‘‘that I real
ly feel *at home here."
“Say, said the house presi
dent, her eyes narrowing,
“aren’t you the one we dropped
yesterday? Are you sure you’re
supposed to be here? I thought
the standards chairman dinged
you because of the funny way
your ears hang down.”
“I could have them lifted,” said
the rushee hopefully.
“An imposter!” sputtered the
house president. “Girls, hustle
this wench out of here!” Several
brawny sisters approached omin
ously.
“Don't drop me!” sobbed the
rushee. “I want to be one of you.
I want to be anchored in Quad
ruple Eta. I want to shimmy up
the rainpipe to the sleeping
porch. I want to feel the ritual
istic incense in my nostrils. I ■
want—”
But she was out on the side
walk. On the outside, looking in.
“It’s those dirty Greeks,” she
muttered, “all the time looking
at yqur ears. If it hadn’t been
for that springer spaniel on:
mother’s side—” and she sat
down on the curb and sobbed.
“They’ll dearly regret this,”
she hissed through her teeth,
“Hi be back, I’ll join the Na
tional Association for the Ad
vancement of Persons In the
Improbable Predicament of
Having Springer Spaniel Some
where up Their Family Tree,
I’ll come back a thousand
strong and break this house.
They probably have a clause,
I’ll get their clause first and
then I’ll get them.”
And she ran, barking, down
the street, while from within the
Quadruple Eta House’s latter-day
Parthenon could be heard the
house president rendering second
tenor on “Anchored in Quadruple
Eta.”
second sorority sister said. “I’m
getting all stiff.” George started
to turn into a service station.
"A Standard station, please,"
said Smiling Radiantly. “They
have prettier restrooms." They
finally cited a Standard station
off across the beige pumps, and
scraped to a halt. Everyone
rolled, giggling, out of the car.
There was a long wait while the
second sorority sister.put up her
hair so she could go out imme
diately upon arriving at Eugene;
and then, after some careful re
loading, they scraped out onto
the highway again.
“I'm thinking of a vegetable,"
Smiling Radiantly said.
"Dead or alive?"
“Dead," Smiling Radiantly
said. “George is an old partv
pooper, he's not playing the
game.”
“Man or woman?”
asked
George desperately, passing mi
raculously between a send and a
tanker.
"You didn’t HEAR me the first
time." Smiling Radiantly com
plained, "it was a vegetable."
"I wish we could stop,” the
third sorority sister said, "I got
ink on my hands."
"A STANDARD station."
When Smiling Radiantly and
her three sorority sisters came
out of the restroom twenty min
utes later, there was no sign of
George, or George’s car. But.
next to the gas pumps, there was
a line of personcl effects rang
ing from a duffel bag to a pack
age of assorted breakfast food.
And down the highway there was
a trail of blood and perspiration.
"Well," said the second soror
ity sister, the philosopher of the
crowd, "it didn’t really matter
anyway. He was dummy."
ON SEMINARS
Madagascar Since
Seminar Held in SU
BV BOB FI NK
Fnieral^ Columnist
Jan. 29, 1953
It was some sort of semlnas or
something in the Student Union.
It had quite certainly been a
seminar earlier in the evening,
and it probably still was, al
though the conversation had
veered rather radically away
from the course under study.
The course was Madagascar
Since; they had determined this
without any doubt during the
first half of their session. It
was a history course, they
thought, Miss Lymph, the sole
female member of the seminar,
insisted that she had sigqed up
for textiles.
The seminar group was
brought together through a hap
penchance of geography. They
all sat in the fifth row of the
Madagascar Since class. Other
than this common bond, the
group held little in the way of
unity. In fact, from time to time
there was some regrettable bick
ering.
For instance, during the sec
ond cup of coffee, George had I
presented the opinion that the!
professor who plotted the course
in Madagascar Since was Mr.
Ghutful, head of the department.
Miss Lymph had procured a hot,
fresh cup of coffee and flung it.
steaming into George's face.
They had finally brought the
issue to a vote, George voting
that is was Mr. Ghutful, Miss
Lymph voting that it was not I
guess I know, and the other
members abstaining.
Since then everyone was
supposed to pe looking in his
notebook for relevant notes, and
the conversation topic had j
changed to How Wet I Got Com- j
ing Over Here: Subtopic I: He-j
member That Time Two Years
Ago When It Rained So Hard
We Almost Couldn’t Go Home
For Lunch* (Footnote: I was in
Friendly Hall and Pete he was
with me and I said, see it was
raining so hard outside, and I
said to Pete he was with me,
I think I’ll call a taxi, we should
be wearing swimming suits I
said. Hahahahahahahaha.)
George was trying to find his
note in his notebook. He had
been to class only once so far
this term, not being one to glut
himself with good things. The
only note he could find was one
saying “Lectures are stimulat
ing; so is coffee. Have you ever
considered cold showers?” It
was not the sort of note that you
proudly flung out into a seminar.
Maybe it was for the wrong
course, he thought. Although this
seemed to be the wrong course.
"The trouble with this sem
inar,” Miss Lymph was saying,
"is that nobody knows nothing.
The last seminar I was at we had
this Phi Beta Kappa and he had
this outline in this little blue
book from this outline series "
"Yeah, I heard about those Phi
Beta Kappas." someone broke in.
"They got all those little out
lines and test files in their house,
and all they have to do is go
to the file and get the test, and
besides that they have alums
in every department and you
can't tell me they don't send
advance copies of the tests over
to the house.”
"Phi Beta Kappa,” Miss Lymph
said coldly, "Is this national
group for being smart.”
"Yeah, I could be smart too
if I had a big teat file and a
member in every department and
two graders in the history de
partment." Miss Lymph offered
no rebuttal.
As hour followed hour and
cup of coffee followed cup of cof
fee down the assembled gullets,
the seminar members wilted In
their chairs, and half-closed eyes
peered dismally through the
thickening cloud of smoke. Pe
riodically everyone would shuffle,
with some show of interest,
through their notebooks.
“What do you think about it?"
one would ask.
"The way he lectures, you
know that day I mean he talked
so fast, tlfe way he lectures you
can’t possibly get it down and he
never makes anything clear any
way.” They would stumble on to
the next point, blissfully ignorant
of what the last one had - been.
Finally George went to sleep,
and awakened by Miss Lymph,
and decided to go home, his note
tucked under his arm. Miss
Lymph left with, the next con
tingent, her voice fading in a
last "this last seminar I was at,
see, this other girl—”
The two remaining members
arose slowly and walked toward
the door. It was raining with the
constant and unconscionable
quality of Oregon rain.
"I remember one noon last
year, or maybe it was two years
ago,” said one as they went out
the door. "I was in Friendly Hall
and Pete he was with me, and I
said—’’