SECTION III
+ EMERALD EDITORIALS +
This Is It
ThatV you topping up to the platform—
somewhat -elf-consciously in the unfamiliar
«ap and gown to receive the insignificant
hp of paper which certifies that one Bachelor
of Art-- degree i-. being awarded in token of
work completed at the l Diversity of Ore
gon. ou are now a college graduate.
So this is commencement! So this is what
it tei l like to leave ()regon! So this is what
it is to realize that you are no longer a col
lege hoy hut a fully-educated man out on
his own! And all you can thing of i-, "Will
I trip on my way hack to the seat?”
Seated once more, you watch without
‘•ting the long line of similarly black clad
graduates receiving their slips of paper.
And you think of the kaleidoscopic events
that have marked your years at Oregon.
Sipping coke in the Student Union and
trying rather unsuccessfully how to learn
to play bridge. I he torchlit rally promot
ing some forgotten girl for some forgotten
title. A giddy house dance which briefly
followed an interminable cocktail party.
Stuffing napkins into chicken-wire on the
house's float until you thought you would
never be able to stand up straight again. The
uproarious picnic along the river when you
fell in the water.
"They had to carry Harry to the ferry;
they had to carry Harry to the shore ..
The monotonous drone of the professor
talking about the marginal propensity to
consume. Trying to appear inconspicuous
when the caustic English professor asked
some sarcastic question. A seminar in w hich
you learned ^>nly that you were horribly
unprepared for that midterm the next day.
I he campus enveloped in fog as you unwill
ingly walked toward the dim and hulking
fortress that is the library.
(letting soaked by endless rain squalls in
the ten minutes between class, and spending
the whole 50 minute lecture period trying
to dry out. The sun beating fiercely through
windows still water-specked from the morn
ing shower as you attempted to concentrate
on what the professor was sav ing about T.
S. Eliot. That term paper which couldn't be
due tomorrow, and you not even started
on it. The >ick, empty feeling in your stom
ach as you read the first question on the
final.
"Now what was that analogy he drew
between the immediate post-Civil War
era and the decade following the First
World War?”
The ridiculous farce of a committee meet
ing when no one seemed to know what was
going on. Fraternity initiation, and could
you ever live through it. The afternoon you
took up tennis and gave it up when you
could hardly get out of bed the next morn
ing. An exchange dinner when you didn’t
even learn the name of the girl sitting next
to you. The thrill of being tapped for an
honorary. Endless chapter meetings,
"No further old business; no new busi
ness. Do I hear a motion to adjourn?”
These have been your years at Oregon.
And they have been good ones; but C'.od
how the time has flown. Can this serious
young man listening intently to the com
mencement speaker be the same green boy
of four years ago? There is a physical re
semblance, of course. But there has been a
greater inward change, and that is more im
portant.
They call it maturity—this change that
distinguishes the incoming freshman from
the graduating senior. And you hope you've
reached maturity in the past four years. For
that is what commencement signifies.
“And so young men and women of the
class of 1955, as you go forth to face the
challenges of the world ..
Waiting for the draft to catcli up with
you. Getting married af the end of the
summer. C.oing into business with Dad.
Starting a new job in a new town. Working
toward Ji master's degree. Sure you have
plans. But you'll have to carry them out on
your own from here on in.
It's an uncertain world you face now.
I here - doubt, fear, hesitation, concern in
your mind. Third World War? Another de
pression? A family to support?
But you're glad you have this college edu
cation behind you. Clad you spent these
college years at Oregon. Oh, you won't be
prepared for everything that comes along,
l.ife is full of mysteries that will never be
solved, challenges never met, surprises never
expected. Yet, as a college graduate, you
will be better prepared for them, more able
to cope with the problems you know will
arise. You are among the fortunate few who
have had the advantage of a college edu
cation.
You’re leaving Oregon now. And how
many years will it be before you return?
The disjointed memories which serve onlv
to distract now will then come crowding in
to cheer, amuse, maybe even hurt. These
have been your years at Oregon—and you’ll
never forget them.
—Joe Gardner
/f Big Year
It was a big year on the Oregon campus,
any way you look at it.
As we sit here doing our last piece of writ
ing for the Emerald, we recall many things,
but first and foremost we think of what a
great year 1954-55 has been.
Go clear back to Fall term. The Journal
ism school moved from the shacks into its
gleaming new home. In a different realm,
students got a slice of the control of the
Student Union and Educational Activities
money with the establishment of the bud
get board.
In still a different realm—We beat the
Aggies on the football field! One of the out
standing impressions of 1954-55 to us was
the Shaw to Powell pass that proved the
turning point as Oregon whipped Oregon
State for the first time since 1948.
Winter term the new McArthur court,
opened. And it was back about that time that
people started talking about reviving Ore
gon’s greatest tradition—The Canoe Fete
on the Millrace.
This, too, with the help of friends and the
faculty, became a reality, despite the efforts
of Oregon's weather to dampen the occasion.
Spurred on by the success of the Canoe
Fete, students have started what looks like
the most concerted drive yet to restore the
Millrace. Plans for canoes, a boathouse,
and the almost-forsaken dream of a re
stored ’Race are going full steam.
Certainly this isn't the whole story of 1954
55. But it’s a big part of the story and, any
way you look at it, the story of ’54-’55 is the
story of a big year for the University of Ore
gon campus.
A PAY AT THE XOO
An Emerald Classic:
'The Sinners Graduation
fKd Note: “The
Ciraduatton,” paying a sort of
•riHuto to those strange pro
pl« around the cpi-ad who are
»oon to leave for the big out
aide world, was written In the
Spring of 1953. It now makes
Its third of what we hope will
he many appearances in the
Kmerald. Time has come
around, and the author is now
a “Sinner,” himself.)
BY BOB PUNK
Kmerald Columnist
Once in a damp but otherwise
rather pleasant forest located
somewhat south of Highway 99,
there lived an assortment of ani
mals, including a large, furry
animal called an Administration;
a small uncombed animal classi
fied as an Undergraduate, and a
strange belligerant animal known
as the Sinner. The Sinner had
originally been known as the
Senior; time and reputation had
altered the word.
These three animals lived in a
more or less neighborly fashion,
grubbing about under stones and
Jogs for small
morse Is of
knowledge and
Good Times,
which com
prised til e i r
diet. If one
could have
chosen which
of the animals
| one was to be,
; one would
have chosen
to be the Administration. The
Administration was the largest
and furriest, and was usually
thought of as Boss. Certainly one
would never have chosen to be
the Undergraduate; not if one
had ever seen the Undergiadu
ate, even from a distance.
And probably one would not
have chosen to be the Sinner.
The sinner was a great problem
to everyone, everyone being the
other two animals. At first,
everyone tried not to notice the
strange way the Sinner was act
ing. outrageous as it was. To be
gin with, the Sinner was refusing
to do its Part. Just what one's
Part was in this forest no one
quite knew, but everyone did
agree that one should do one's
Part. One morning the Sinner
refused to get up at seven. At
ten, it said a bad word to the
Undergraduate, who attempted
to rouse it.
At one p.m., it shambled over
to where the Administration and
the Undergraduate were just
finishing off a really nice snack
of Knowledge and Good Times
which they had gathered, and
complained about there not be
ing anything to eat.
"The early bird gets the
Knowledge’’ remonstrated the
Administration, gently.
"Early to bed and early to
rise,” began the Undergraduate
obnoxiously but before it could
finish the Sinner look its paw
and shoved it into the Under
graduates mouth. It was quite
impolite.
Later that week the Sinner had
some shattering experinece with
the opposite sex, and the Un
dergraduate and the Adminis
tration began to find empty
brown bottles strewn about, la
beled ’ Heart-balm.” On Satur
day night the Sinner sat up all
night, carousing, surrounded by
bottles of Heart-balm, singing
what only the Sinner could have
thought was a song.
Finally, it became Too Much
for everyone. The Undergradu
ate and the Administration had
a board meeting and the Admin
istration, as chairman of the
board, appointed itself a Stand
ing Committee to Investigate the
Unfortunate Behavior of the
Sinner, and Report tomorrow.
There was another board meeting
Tomorrow, which was as it hap
pened the next day.
When the meeting got as far
as Committee Reports the Ad
ministration rose grandly. The
Undergraduate clapped.
"I have been considering this
matter very seriously,” said the
Administration.
"Hear Hear!” shouted the Un
dergraduate enthusiastically.
"And I recommend to this body
that it is time to get rid of —er,
encourage the Sinner to go Else
where.” And at this time the
Undergraduate gave the Admin
istration a Standing Ovation,
which fairly shook the forest.
"Therefore, as chairman of this
committee I move that the Sin
ner be given a Diploma, in lieu
of an invitation to Green Pas
tures.” And after the Undergrad
l Continued on pay? seven)
Spring Term Grades
“I thought perhaps you didn’t know—there are three higher
possible grades besides “D” and “F”.”