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By Schutz
Doors
A‘door’nments provide keys
to unlocking owner’s personality
I knew my journalistic career
had reached an all time high when
I was asked to cover doors More
precisely, what students and fa
culty put on their doors — humor
ous, perverse or profound.
Before I hit the big-time faculty
doors, I decided to warm up on the
ones in my dormitory. Cruising
down the hall, I came across a
door which seemed illustrative of
the feminist struggle. These men
hate woman," it read in a banner
headline But someone had cros
sed out “nate and put in "love.
But someone else had crossed
out love and put "need." To which
someone had added "Isn't it the
truth. Feminists haven't gotten
very far in doors, I decided
It doors are exemplary of their
owner s personality, there are a lot
of blank people running around
But then I came across an oasis of
ego. On a pink, glitter-studded
door were the words:
"INTRODUCING UNSUR
PASSED PERFORMANCE: DE
NISE AND JULIE. (To know us is
to love us)"
Below which was a collage in
cluding phrases such as "Size has
nothing to do with performance,"
"The softer you are the harder
men fall" and “Is there life after
19?" Indeed. Hedonism, existen
tialism and free thought all wrap
ped up in the philosophy of one
door.
Back to the desert. Oases fell
farther and farther apart as I
climbed higher in the dorm:
"From deep within my cranium,
I this prediction make. If you eat
Uranium, you’ll get Atomic ache."
Until, when I reached the
Oregon Daily Emerald
seventh floor graduate students,
door thinking had apparently died
Occasionally I would happen
upon a cryptic note left by a sur
vivor: "Babe, You turkey! You
have my bike key!”
I decided it was time to go after
the biggies — the faculty doors.
Faculty doors have overdosed
Doors were plastered with car
toons in an aimless hodgepodge
of humor on the fourth floor litera
ture dept. On one door, a man car
rying a 'doom sign and dressed
in a mourning frock is told by his
wife, “Have a nice day, dear."
On another a character in BC
looks up a tower and shouts, “Fair
Story by JOCK HATFIF.LD
and
Photos by TONYA HOUG
Of the Emerald
on Ph. D. Office hours, manila fol
ders and test results obscure their
historical significance. I began on
the third floor of PLC, philosophy.
The doors here were blank, in
some cases even the office hours
were missing.
As I walked down the hall, blank
door preceding bl^nk door, I
could almost see tumbleweeds
rolling toward me across the tiles,
and hear the wind whistling
through the door jams. It was a
veritable door ghost town.
Then I found whai had to be the
key, the lone door message on the
third floor: “If you think chemistry
is depressing, wait until you try
philosophy." It was 12 o' clock,
and I climbed the stairs.
The economics floor was
another desert. Cacti, in the form
of office hours and "the Key to
quiz #6" were the only growths
sprouting. Upper floor economists
did a little better. A headline read
on one of their doors: "Market
sinks to 20 year low under glut of
liver."
maiden throw down thy locks." In
the next frame covered by a pile of
fish he comments, "Who says
Jewish girls don t have a sense of
humor."
Why did the literature profes
sors decide to post these particu
lar cartoons? Is there meaning
behind their mad selections? Are
fish somehow connected to
doom?
I began to feel covering doors
was too much for me. Unlike stu
dent doors, five floors of faculty
doors had presented nothing orig
inal, nothing that was not clipped
from a paper, stolen from a circu
lar or written by Nietzsche. I had
seen seven Peanuts cartoons,
one "Boycott Grapes' bumper
sticker and a picture of the Fonz
saying "Sit on it”.
As I climbed the stairs to the
next floor, I asked myself, "What
has happened to our teachers?"
I was in no condition to plow
through another floor of cartoons.
Luckily cartoon doors gave way to
doors of political activism on the
seventh floor. Not all doors, I
realized, are anti-feminist:
“.. And so Cinderella told the
prince she wasn't falling for a divi
sive tactic like a glass slipper and
she stayed home raising the con
sciousness of her three sisters.
There was a strong sense of
people getting kicked around on
the seventh floor. A newspaper ar
ticle on one door told of an Irish
steel worker, Bob Finnegan, who
was hit by four different cars in the
space of two minutes. First he was
hit by a taxi, then another car
swerved over and hit him where
he was lying in the gutter, and then
"as a knot of gawkers gathered, a
small van ploughed through the
crowd, leaving behind three injured
bystanders and an even more shat
tered Finnegan.
Finnegan was hit by another car
before the article finished.
Did the person who put this up
identify with Finnegan or take
sadistic pleasure in him? Pro
found.
On the eighth and ninth floors,
doors became more radical and I
was beginning to have a restored
faith in the faculty. An article about
the Kent State killings was on one
with a sentence underlined in red:
“The guardsmen accused of
shooting four students were ex
onerated this year.'"
Posters advocating GTF or
ganization and unionization were
everywhere. "Albert Einstein was
no dummy. He joined the AFT.
Another door displayed a letter
with a CIA letterhead which read,
"We were unable to find any re
cord of your mail being inter
cepted.' Hmmm.
Before I left the building I asked
a passer-by what subject profes
sors and GTF s on the top floors
taught "Political science, she
said. "All right!" I exclaimed.
There really IS a connection bet
ween people, their personalities
and doors.
As I rode down the elevator I
began thinking of a lead for my
article: "The handwriting is on the
door, not the wall. An inspiration!
I thought to myself as the elevator
whined past the fourth floor to
ward ground.
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A celebration of the
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