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Showme November, 1956; by Students of the University of Missouri Columbia, MO 1956

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Showme "Homecoming was Greater In My Day" Issue New! Includes Story Supplement November, 1956 25 cents THE STABLES Puckett's letters Dear Sir, Enclosed is three genuine American greenbacks for a sub- scription to Showme. Your maga- zine will travel over Greenland icecaps to within 700 miles from the North Pole. I would say I am your northernmost subscriber. If your magazine is not printed in Eskimo, please send English copy. Thank you. Sincerely yours, Sp. 3 John K. Trainer Battery "C", 549th A.A. A. Battalion A.P.O. 23, New York John: Some people even ques- tion on our English and frown on our use of your name. Oct. 25 Dear Dick Noel, You mean that green stuff has already aged for two weeks? In wood? Sincerely, The Rev. Richard Ash Assistant Minister Calvary Episcopal Church If anybody knows what in hell this means, please tell me. Noel. Dear Editors, Just exactly what is this Thur- low bit! Definitely not Showme material. Jimmy Newman Columbia 2 Dear Skip, I've been wondering what had happened to SHOWME, so you can be very certain that I was more than pleased when your current issue fell upon my desk today. And what an issue! Usually the first issue of a college humor sheet comes out something less humorous than the editors intend- ed and improves with the issues that follow. But not so Showme! You guys opened up full bloom. Got a terrific honk out of your cartoons and what makes them all the more prized is the low esteem with which they were held with Major Morgan. Three cheers for the fact that you were later able to spit in the Major's eye. If you think this thinking might be that of an ex-GI, you're probably right. Sincerely, Charley Jones, Editor Laugh Book Magazine Wichita, Kan. P.S. For whatever it's worth, please pass this along to Bob Hughes. It is the version of "Dy- ing Hobo" that I learned as a hobo while touring the country in side-door Pullmans: It was out by a western water tank On a cold December day, And beside an empty box car A dying hobo lay. Beside him sat his partner With low and drooping head Listening to the farewell words The dying hobo said. I'm going to better lands. Pal Where everything is bright; Where handouts grow on bushes And you Sleep out every night. Yes. where handouts grow on bushes And you never wash your socks And little drops of whisky Come trickling down the rocks. Tell my girl back in Dixie. Whose face I'll never view, That I've caught the highball train And I'm gonna ride 'er through So long. Pal, here she comes! I'll grab 'er on the fly! After all, Pal, It's not so hard to die. The dying hobo's head fell back, He's sung his last refrain- His partner swiped his hat, and shoes And caught the highball train. Charley, you're a 72 pt. jewell Elbow-bending sounds great. You're welcome to any of the material, including Thurlow, (with credit). Skip. Dear Editors, Would like to compliment you on your fine magazine but I would also like to say that it hasn't been up to par for the past two or three years. Take a look at some of your 1953 issues and then compare them to the issues of last year. See what I mean? Hoping you will get back in the groove, Harry V. McChesney III Lexington, Ky. Greetings from the good ship Princeton, Got to thinking about ye olde University of Misery the other day and some of the fond - and then again not so fond - memo- ries of the four years I spent there from 1952 to 1956. That set me to compiling a mental list of some of the things I do and don't miss about life "around the columns". Included in the latter list are such things as: those frantic ten minute strolls from J-School to the drill field and back; midterms, finals and term papers; those madden- ing searches every morning at 7:39 for a slot to stuff my '41 Chevvie in; Spring parades; etc. etc. Now you won't believe this, but heading the other list was none other than (spreading it on pretty thick, huh?) the good old Showme. (Heralding trumpets.) Anyway, and I'm sure this means more to you than all the words of praise, you will find en- closed my check for $3.00 for which please get my tail in gear 1. and send me your filthy but fun- ny rag. Sincerely, Ens. W. A. (Bill) Schlapper Public Information Officer USS Princeton Oct. 23 Dear Editors, Add me to the statistics that show your mag is one of the best. I can offer only one criticism: hang last year's censor from the tallest tree on the hink. C. C. Corey Rolla, Mo. C. C.: Got any rope? Dear Editors, Hell yes, I want my Showme's Would someone please buy Dick Noel a crowquill or No. 2 brush? The poor fellow has ob- viously been sketching with mud- dy matchsticks for years - but good. Best wishes to your staff for a lecherous and laughable season. Sincerely, Lt. Bill Braznell Box 77, 61st TCS Sewart AFB, Tenn. October, 1956 Dear Editors And then there was: . the coed who found a fertile field by majoring in agricul- ture. . .Elvis Presley's breakfast of rock 'n roll coffee. . .the ill-reputed house that built its business on Green Stamps. . the schoolmaster's daughter who made a straight A student. . the policewoman who gave her boyfriend the green light. . the tobacco auctioneer who smoked sausage for diversion . the policeman's daughter who didn't know when to stop. . the fat woman who reduced on lighter fluid. . the maladjusted chicken who laid scrambled eggs. . the definition of a K. C. newspaper: A Star behind the Times. . the alcoholic marksman who called his shots. . .the J-School professor who quit because he had trouble with English. K. C. Barwriter Dear K. C. Barwriter, Got quite a charge out of the rest of your letter. Then someone swiped it, but we stole back what's above. How about sending letters . . . anything . .we like your stuff. Eds ROMANO'S ROMANO'S BOWL Missouri Store ANDY'S CORNER BROADWAY DRIVE-IN At Dusk McAllister's Editors' Ego The perplexing thing about writing this column is that at the time we're writing it, it's just started to be November and by the time it's printed, it'll be al- most December. So that elimi- nates completely any possibility of making weather comments. We'll have to leave them up to Noel, who doesn't care what time it is anyway. THE SAD TALE OF THE CANTERBURY. . Once upon a time there was a parody on The Canterbury . (See October Ego Column) writ- ten, bawdily, and wittily, by Ricnard Manning. (Who seems to have gotten lost or met with foul play - anyway we can't find him.) The first time we read The . . . we were most enthusiastic, but we realized it probably wasn't quite Reader's Digest material. When the first draft came back marked with Friendly Fred's blue pencil, the job of getting it cleaned up fell on the already- stooped shoulders of Noble Ron- ald Soble. Thus began his thrice-weekly trek from our office to the publi- cations office, each time The . . . being a little cleaner and a little less funny. With each revision, we wept at the degradation of a masterpiece. We wish we could print the original version, but as it is, you get it watered-down. Ron did a fine job of keeping the humor in it, but believe us, it was funnier when we started. Looking over some of the sto- ries turned in to us, we see that most of them are not SHOWME material under our present poli- cy of not going completely lit- erary. Many of these contribu- tions are quite suitable for a lit- erary college magazine. Previous rejection has been based not on "Sorry, no good," but rather "Sorry, not our type." So we've decided to put our- selves in hock and give you an addition at no extra cost and no loss of humor content in the magazine you ask for. We offer you a supplement of student fic- tion. Local work needs a publi cation break and if the supple- ment we've included in this is- sue doesn't make another break (our financial back), we intend to use more material of this type. If encouragement by way of the printed word is given by us, it means nothing if writers do not respond. It's up to you to bring in the material. (Sub- ject unrestricted, other than the completely vulgar.) We're sure the talent is here - and now here's the market. (Also notice the short story contest announce- ment in this issue. For money even!) Notice to illiterates and car- toon-lovers: If you buy SHOWME each month just to look at the cartoons, our January issue will be a real whiz-bang. Since No- vember is the tenth anniversary if our first centerspread, we de- cided to make themeless Jan- uary the anniversary issue. It's going to be juicy with the best spreads from the past ten years. (Did you know SHOWME was the innovator of the centerspread idea?) Besides originator Mort Walker, there'll be such familiar signatures as Bill Gabriel, Flash Fairfield, Bill Braznell, Herb Green and Pat Kilpatrick. All this for only the fourth part of a dollar!! We recommend the perfect Christmas gift for the man who has nothing: A subscription to SHOWME. Showme EDITORS Skip Troelstrup Nanci Schelker BUSINESS MANAGER Carl Weseman PHOTOS Dick Shoemaker Bob Garrett OFFICE MANAGER Pat Deatherage EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Dick Noel PUBLICITY Ken McWade SUBSCRIPTIONS Joanne Petefish FEATURES Ron Soble CIRCULATION Bob Clatanoff EXCHANGES Nancy Bales ADVERTISING Ed Minning ART Tom Watson JOKES Ginny Turman FEATURES HEY MAN, WANNA BUY A PARKING SPOT? 13 THE CANTERBURY _--- 16 I HATE MEN ------------------- 20 THE BIG GAME, centerspread by Mot Nostaw --- 22-23 I GO TO THE SUPERMARKET ON AN ELEPHANT --- -- 24 HOMECOMING - 1956 -----32 In Paris, it's frankness, In the New Yorker, it's life, In a professor, it's clever: But in Showme, It's censored. SHOWME is published nine times during the college year by the students of the Univerity of Missouri. Office: 302 Read Hall. Columbia, Mo. All rights reserved. Unsolicited manuscripts will not be returned unless accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Advertising rates furnished on request. National Advertising Representatives: W. B. Bradbury Co., 122 East 42nd St., New York City. Printers: Modern Litho-Print Co., Jefferson City, Mo. Price: 25c a single copy; subscriptions by mail, $3.00. Editors' phone numbers: G1. 24053 or 01. 2-9855. After the game is over, And if a loss is found, The only sporting thing to do Is let the coach Still hang around. Around The Columns Yea I say unto you this here month is that of November . . . the name 'November' got its name from a group of obscure trench-mouth surgeons who in the year nineteen ought six BC fm HiFi, acting as honorary members of the Commanche Indians Witchdoctors Association, said, as they noticed that all the leaves had fallen (or been stole-it was never decided) off the trees, quote: "It's getting colder'n hell." Thus, November. (I just figger you people like to know little items like that with which to astound your friends and be popular.) Yea, November . . . aye No- vember . . . big crawling month with hungry maw (how's that 'maw' grabya?) and cold toe- nails . . . November . . . great next to last month with 30 days . . . November . . . plenty thanks month with dead turkeys and cold cranberry sauce down your spine . . . November . . aye . yea . . oui . yes . . uh-huh yep . how . how? . .well, since you're interested, there's several ways . . there is the American way, which is considered pretty fair, then there is the . . . well . . yea . . November . . . huge grubby month with dirty ears . November. ring out wild bells . .it's November. The month. OVERHEARD: Say, let's go to the library tonight. Naw - can't make it. I got to study. CLOPITY-CLOPITY-CLOPI- TY - Clopity - Clopity - Clopity- clopity - clopity - clopity - clopity clopity - clopity - clopity - clopity clopity . . . clopity . . . clopity clopity . . . clopity . . clopity clopity . . . clopity . YOU REALIZE naturally James Dean isn't dead. He isn't. He is living in an abandoned mine- shaft in Frazer, Colorado, along with Adolph Hitler, Amelia Ear- hart, Richard Halliburton, and Ambrose Bierce, engaged in the only floating Run-Sheep-Run game in captivity. And none of them have been introduced. clopity . . . clopity . . . clopity. SAY THERE, CLEM, jest who is thet masked man, anyhow? THOSE OF YOU who have at- tended any of our home football games this year probably recall that during the half, there is an announcement made concerning a 'football' dance to be held that evening in the Stagnant Onion. Remember? Well, what it is is this. They make this announce- ment, see, saying that there will be a dance held that night with music by Don Roberts and dress is casual. Now you may not re- member all the details, but I know darn well you remember music by donrobertsanddressis- casual. Everbody remembers that. But here is something you might have missed. What they do is invite the whole student body, all the stu- dent body's parents and friends and relations, and then the oth- er team, and all their accomplices, and then the mascots, and the janitors, and everybody who came by mistake on the way to the Michigan State game, and a group of MotherSingers who thought they were attending an oboe recital, and Doc Shaw, who for a few feverish moments thought they sold beer there and was swept in with the crowd, and, in short, everybody. Well, I guess there are about 9 or 10 thousand people in this university alone, and no telling how many friends and relations there are. And then all the peo- ple from the other school, and to wind it up there is everybody who got there by mistake. That'd be a large group, friends. And they're all invited. What I'm getting at is what an interesting thing it would be if everbody showed up for the dance. (musicbydonrobertsand- dessiscasual). Thousands of them, streaming in the windows and coming down through the skylights, boring up through the floorboards, - mil- lons of them, yelling like Apaches and piling on top of one another like a layer cake, screaming and biting and pulling and tearing one another's casual clothes off, stomping and cussing and sweat- ing and carrying on all to music- bydonroberts, multitudes of them, swarming . . . well, you get the picture. It would be sort of interest- ing, wouldn't it? And just think, the whole orgy would be accom- panied by lilting strains of mu- sicbydonroberts. Zow. 9 YEW WANTA KNOW who thet masked man is? Wall, I reckon when ye see this ye'll know. YOU KNOW, FOR the last few weeks I have been wondering just who it is that they've got sealed up in the wall there in the first floor of Jesse Hall. You know dern well they've got some- body sealed up in there. I mean, hell, people just don't seal up walls in order to have something to do after dinner. They seal up other people, that's what they do. I have been putting quite a bit of thought to it, and for a while I figgered they've got that guy who was after all them casks of Amantillado in there, but now I'm not sure. I mean that guy was put in with all them casks of wine, and there's not much torture to that. Oh. he might have hollered and ripped around a bit. you know. but that was just put-on. Hell, he didn't mind. But I don't think it's him. I think it was one of them crimes of passion, that what I think. And you know what they are. Well. I just don't know. Maybe it's Eleanor Roosevelt. GREAT SCOTT! Hit's a silver bullet! Why looky there . . mumble . . . mumble . . . hit's a silver bullet . . . mumble . . oh my gracious . . . mumble . . yep, thet's what hit is, awrighty . . mumble . . . yessir, by dad, hit's silver . . . the bullet there is silver . . . say, I heard thet was a silver bullet. you know what's silver? Thet air bullet is, thet's what . . . you know, thet ain't a gold bullet . . . nossir, thet's a silver bullet . . . silver . hit's a silver bullet . . . sil- ver . . . bullet . . . mumble . . mumblemmmumble . . . mumble. THE JOLLY FRIENDLY Blue- birds recently elected their new president, vice-president, secre- tary, and treasurer. At the close of the meeting they released 2600 banded friendly bluebirds in or- der for them to fly south. How- ever, the maximum number of them to get there will be some- what less than 2600, because my cat captured one of them in his steely claws and ate it with much gusto. mumble . . . mumble . .mum- 10 ble . . CLEM! Jest whatayoudoin' with a silver bullet! Why you us- in' good silver fer bullets, any- how? Whatsmatter with you! You helping Hitler? You a by gum Slacker? Hay Fred, I think Clem is a slacker. What a you think? Well, hit shore looks like he's a slacker. Well, I know he is. He's a no good by dad sneak-theevin' side- windin' ungrateful communistic worthless by dad slack- SAY, TRIPOD must be older'n Methuselah, No kidding, he must. For the last three or four years I have been going along with the story that Tripod first came here in 1943, along with some Navy boys from Florida who came up here to go to radar school. Well, if that story is true, he is almost 14 years old, but recently I heard another story which holds that he was here in 1939. It seems that a woman who - up until this year - ran a rooming house for men out on Stewart Road told some of her roomers that she used to feed ol Pod during the winter of 1939-1940, and as I said, one of the boys who stayed at her place last year told me about it. 1939. Man, that makes him . . uh. . lets see . . 39 to 56 . hell, he's at least 17. And for a dog, that's pushing it. WADEAMINUTE! You jest wait a cotton picken' minute here, will you? Hit ain't my sil- ver bullet - hit's thet masked man's silver bullet. He give it to me. WELL, LET'S SEE. After a short, informal survey (entirely unprejudiced), I have found that Andy's Corner has got the loud- est juke-box in this part of the state and air-conditioned rest room facilities; The Italian Vil- lage has got the best pizza (they've got the only pizza, prac- tically); The Stables has got the best bowling machine and genu- ine singing bartenders; The Shack has got the Greenest Door; The Stein Club has got the best beer; the Bambi Club has got the best atmosphere; Collins' has got the most interesting clien- tele; Breezy Hill has got the best dance floor, and Bootchee's Pool Hall has got the most amazing hamburgers. So there you are. You pays your money and you takes your choice. WAL BY DAD, what's he do- in' with hit? He's a slacker, thet's what he is, a no-good sneakin' sidewindin'. . Say, Clem. Jest who in tarnation is thet air masked man, anyhow? AH YES, Small Orphan Annie. Let's see what she's up to today. Uuuuuh . . . oh yeah, here we are. In the first panel we see Small Orphan and three of her acquaintances standing in this room, talking. All of them have got on the same kind of dresses, so I guess they are in a reforma- tory of some sort or else they think they are quadruplets may- be . . . hmmmm . . . well, it could be they just had lots of material and didn't want to waste it . . well, no matter. There they are, talking. One of them, who looks sort of pained, you know, is say- ing: "Ma Licious says things are goin' to be dif'rent 'around here Now I don't know this Ma Licious personally, but I imagine she's somebody's mother. Of course that's just my opinion. But you've got to keep thinkin' with these comic strips, you know, or they'll get ahead of you. Well, anyway, you know that things are going to be different around there. You can't escape that. The next little orphan is point- ing her finger up into the air and she says: "Hark." No, that's what she says, really, "Hark! Th' new cook's come . . . " Now ol' Small Orphan Annie says: "Yeah! Let's go say hello ...." So they all go in to say hello to the new cook, but the cook must be having one of her bad days, because in the next panel we see her gnashing her teeth and snarling and saying: "Out o' my kitchen and stay out! Peel them spuds on th' back porch... catch y'in here, I'll break yer arm!" Well now. I guess you get the picture there, boy. This old cook is just itching to break someone's arm. She can't hardly wait. So the little girls go scampering out of the kitchen just ahead of the cook, who slams the door. BAM! goes the door. And in the next panel we see them going down the hall (still scampering) and Small Orphan Annie is looking back toward the kitchen and says: "Yep . . . things'll be different 'round here, all right!" So there you have it. You know damwell things will be different around there. You can just imag- ine the things that Ma Licious and that nasty old cook will per- petrate on them pore orphans. But never fear. Small Orphan Annie and her harking dog, San- dy, will triumph in the end. Yea. Him? Why, he's the . . He's the . .uh . he is uh . jest wait a minute . . he's the . .ahhh . . .the lone . . the strange . . the ahhhh . . . it's right on the tip o' m'tongue, here . . . he is the . . . what it is, he's the . . . range . . . the lonesome . . . the ahhhhh . the a.. ahhh. . ah . ah . . . ah . . I KNOW HOW MANY THERE ARE, now. I didn't before, but now I know. On page 11 of the Complete Works of Shakespeare (edited by Hardin Craig) it lists them: There are bull-beggars, spirits, witches, urchins, elves, hags,fai- ries, satyrs, pans, fauns, sylens, kit with the canstick, tritons, centaurs, dwarfs, giants, imps. calcars, conjurors, nymphs, chan- gelings, incubus, Robin Goodfel- low, the spoorne, the mare, the man in the oak, the hell wain, the biredrake, the puckle, Tom Thumb, hobgoblin, Tom Tumbler, boneless and many other such bugs. clopity clopity . . clopity clopity - clopity - clopity - Clopi- ty - Clopity - Clopity - CLOPI- TY - CLOPITY - CLOPITY - CLOPITY CLOPITY CLOPITY CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP. BAM! BAM! BAM-BAM-BAM! BAM! A FEW WEEKS ago, on the television program "You Bet Your Life", Groucho had as a contestant for the quiz show a young lady from England. They were shooting the bull the way they do, you know, talking about this and that, and Groucho was leering at the audience and chewing his seegar and carrying on, and somehow the discussion got around to the respective at- tributes of English and American television. "What strikes me as strange," said the young lady, "Is that ov- er here you watch old English movies, and in England we watch old American movies." "Why there's nothing strange about that," said Groucho, "what did you expect, old Norwegian movies?" "No," said the young lady, "just good movies." WHY LOOKY there, Fred, there's some more of them silver bullets. There's one there in Clem's head, and one in his leg, and there's two or three in his stomach . . . YEA, and I speaketh unto you, I am almost through, so you may tie your ass to a palmtree and rest . . you ever wish you were in Bavaria or someplace? . . I have too . let's see, November 28 . . . great scott! . . . the Ant- eater comes out in two days . . . good deal . . . then I can read up on whom is doing it to whom . . and also learn who is chairman of the Poster Committee for the Friends of Subterranean Europe- an Countries . . . damn, I can hardly contain myself . . . well, mustn't get too excited. .umm . .midterm was last week, wasn't it . yeahhh . . har . . . boola boola, boola boola . . . An- nie . doesn't live here. any- more . . . Wheeler . . . doesn't have one . . . anymore . . . yea . . . November . . . well . . . be cheerful, friends . see ya next month- Dick Noel 11 Showme $25.00 1st Prize $15.00 2nd Prize $10.00 3rd Prize In an effort to encourage Creative Writing and give aspirant writers an outlet for their work, The Missouri Showme wishes to announce that it will sponsor, each semester, a creative writing contest. The contest is open, not only to the students and faculty of The Missouri University, but to Showme readers everywhere, with the exception of those persons who are active members of the Missouri Showme staff. We will publish the best stories and articles submitted each month in The Missouri Showme, with the notation that it is a contest entry. At the end of each semester a panel of judges will select the best of the material we have published and Showme will present to the three top writers a certificate of acknowledgement and a cash award as listed above. We must insist that all material be typed and double spaced. Each manuscript should bear the authors name and address, and if sent through the mail it must be accompanied by a self addressed stamped envelope, or picked up at the Showme office. The author may submit as many entries as he wishes. But each manuscript must be marked as a contest entry. Manuscripts should not be shorter than 800 words or longer than 5000 words. The editors of Showme must reserve the right to edit or abridge any story we accept for publication. Address all material to The Missouri Showme, 302 Read Hall, The University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo. The Editors Hey Man, Wanna Buy a Parking Spot? The parking situation in this burg is ridiculous. We hear the University is considering a course entitled, "Parking-106." What happens when a student who has to drive every morn- ing tries to find a place to park? Let's go through an average day and see. At 4:30 he's awakened when the rooster walks over his face. 4:40 Student housing was a little crowded this year. He would have preferred something in Boone County, however. Luckily he has a car. 5:15 Half-way in. Photos by Nanci Schelker. 5:35 Washroom facilities are a little crude. This time he beat the cows upstream. 6:00 Stops off to have the casual java breakfast be- fore beginning the search . . . Finds electric lights so stays awhile studying for the 7:40 quiz. Meanwhile, other eager young students are rising. Two Kappa Kappa Fleegles make one of the day's bigger decisions. "Dahling, shall we drive over to class today . . . or walk the two blocks?" 7:15 "Beat it, Mac." 7:05 The Great Search. Stay outa there, buddy. It's saved for a Senior with a 9:40 by an ever-loving outdoorsman pledge. 7:28 Even the MG spots are premium. 7: 31 Exhausts Air Force vocabulary and spots something up the street. Guns it and almost clips three pe- destrians . . . WHAM! The friendly Fleegles came up the other lane. 7:35 The hell with the pigeons! The Tabard Inn - 1394. The Canterbury' pilgrims; have just returned. Old bard, clad in sneak- ers, sashays through bar whistling, "Sin." Everyone drunk. Glasses stacked high. Barmaids in similar condition. Sam the tavern-keeper, leader of the group, rises to speak: "When we left for yon Canterbury hills 41 years ago (twas a long journey; mules broke down on the way up and asses on the way back), I suggested a small contest to occupy your time. Each pilgrim was to relate 175 tales. The teller of the best tale was to receive a baseball autographed by the Dodgers or a license signed by the King to have any woman in the realm. Such were the terms of the compact, were they not?" It was a tense moment now because Sam the tavern-keeper was about to proclaim the winner of the 41-year contest. "Before announcing my deci- sion," he continued, "I would like to mention that here we have the 29 fastest minds in all Europe. I am proud of each and every one of you." "However," the tavern-keeper went on, "just as one hen must rule the roost, one pig must rule the sty. And so, I must proclaim the Wife of Bath as the owner of the most obscene mind on the en- tire continent and the winner of this contest." Uproarious applause. "Your tale of 'A Dachshund's Honeymoon in a Dimly-lit Dog- house' was supremely enlighten- ing and entertaining." A fifth of Old Chaucer is passed around and the Wife of Bath is bathed and toasted. "And now, Wife of Bath," said the Knight, "tell us if you will choose the autographed baseball or an affair with a King's subject as your reward." The Wife weighed her reply carefully. She scanned the faces of the pilgrims. The monk was drunk. The merchant was drunk. "Mercy," thought the Wife when she saw what the Pardoner was doing. "I've been a baseball fan for years," she answered the Knight. Campanella, Snider, Reese, Hodges and Furillo and all the rest are very dear to me. And I can think of a million things to do with an autographed baseball on those cold blustery nights when the chill wind whistles through the rafters and my thoughts soar to Mount Olympus." "But," she continued, "though a baseball is versatile in many ways and a prize to always treasure, I'll still take the King's subject be- cause that is a treasure, a pleas- ure and a prize." 16 "Do you have a specific sub- ject in mind?" inquired the tav- ern-keeper, toying with his mus- tache. "No," replied the Wife. "I'm not particular. But a telephone direc- tory would help." Just at this point, Lord Clancy Dubonnet, the Earl of the Nut- house, sprang from his seat. Clancy was a prominent man of affairs in London. In fact, he was a man of nothing but affairs. He kept a list of his conquests in a small black notebook which fit snugly in the trunk of his car. Clancy leapt atop a table and addressed the Canterbury pilgrims in a loud booming voice. "Oh, pig- gy pilgrims, I pray thee, let me speak to you some jive." "Go ahead," someone shouted, not particularly addressing Clan- cy. "Forty-one years ago when you left for yon Canterbury hills I made plans to be among the party. At the last minute, however, my ass broke down, causing me untold woe. Since it was the only one I had, I was forced to remain be- hind." (In the two week interim he had busied himself making 143 en- tries in his notebook.) "I just returned last week, man- aging to beat you back by taking a short cut over route 40. Since I made the pilgrimage, I request the privilege of telling my tale before any final decision is reached as to the winner of this contest." Sam the tavern-keeper called a hasty consultation of the pilgrims. It was justly decided that the Wife of Bath should have the right to grant or reject this request. "Earl of the Nuthouse, I dig your sad story the most," said the Wife of Bath. "But I shall permit you to enter the contest on only one condition. If you win, you must grant me one wish no mat- ter what it may be. And I shall tell you my wish after you finish your tale." "I accept your terms uncondi- tionally and give you my word." "My story concerns some - that I met on the road to Canterbury, and is apropriately called, "The Canterbury -- " began the Earl. The most probing minds in all Europe listened attentively. All the drunks had woken up. The Franklin rubbed his hands gleeful- ly. The Shipman frothed at the mouth. The Squire was so over- come that he kicked the Knight. This caused a chain reaction and everybody caught hell. By Richard Manning Ye Old Clancy then launched into one of the raunchiest tales in the his- tory of man. The first leg of his journey to Canterbury passed peacefully enough. About 35 miles from Canterbury, however, he spotted a comely maiden shooting craps in the corn field. This in- trigued him so much that he in- vited her into the tall corn. Hours later they arrived at the house. The tired Earl tripped into the house and there beheld the most beautiful sight of his long and lusty career. Due to conditions beyond the control of the Earl and the censor, we are forced to delete the following nine paragraphs. All we can say is that the Earl had quite a time and probably didn't miss the paragraphs, any- way. "These," said the maiden, "are the fabulous - of Canterbury, the 50 most gorgeous, desirable women in the kingdom." (The Knight had now swallow- ed his sword, the Merchant was eating one of his rugs, the Ship- man was eating his compass, and that damn tavern-keeper. "Well," resumed Clancy, "there I was in a harem with the 50 most luscious wenches in the kingdom. Do you think I turned and ran in the face of those insurmount- able odds?" "You'd be a damn fool if you did," someone yelled. Well, the Earl continued his tale to the end, and the thunder- ous applause of the 29 probing minds left no doubt as to who was the winner of this tell-a-tale con- test. The Wife of Bath nearly broke both legs getting over to Clancy's table. "Clancy," she cooed, "you were magnificent. So far superior to me and easily the winner of the con- test. Now I will claim the one wish which you promised me. Since you may have nay subject in the realm, I wish to be the sub- ject." The Earl of the Nuthouse roared with laughter. He roared some more. Two hours later he calmed down and addressed the Wife of Bath: "Dear Lady, I truly hate to dis- appoint you, but after that session at Canterbury, I was never the same. In fact, I have been reduced to the role of an observer in such activities and must choose the auto- graphed baseball as my reward." After the Wife of Bath had slashed her wrists, taken arsenic, fifty sleeping pills and hung her- self, the drinking resumed. The Earl, meanwhile was busy drawing a map of the Canterbury countryside to direct some of the pilgrims, including Sam, the tav- ern-keeper, who had decided on an- other trip to Canterbury in hope of finding the crap-shooting maid- en and her 50 chums. As the last bottle of Old Chau- cer rolled out the door of the Ta- bard Inn, all that remained was Mickey Spillane rewriting the nov- el, "Cheaper by the Dozen" for presentation on "I Remember Ma- ma". END Canterbury Thurlow Part II Swami Throws a Mad I HATE MEN I really do. I hate men. Not only men in general, but everything pertaining to the masculine sex and fraternity stickers. I hate grandfather clocks, the French article "le", shaving lotion, five o'clock shadow, snooker, Playboy mag- azine, and carburetors. This is not a flash-in-the-cam- pus hatred; this distaste has been nurtured in my bosom from the moment some hairy-handed male swatted my tender rear and said laconicly, "Another girl" to just yesterday on the bus when an old gent performed the same act with a great deal more enthusiasm. This loathing I feel has been fos- tered by the puerile antics of my first date, (he spread the rumor I was frigid merely because I refused to kiss him while he was sporting a mile-high fever blister on his pulsating upper lip) to the more recent neat bird whose manners were down to such a science that he could hold my coat, open the door, shake hands with my father and whis- per a stirring parody of "Rape of the Lock" in my ear all in one master stroke. Now I would like to clarify this, in that the fact that I hate men doesn't necessarily mean that I consider the Kinsey Re- port dull reading material. Per- ish the thought! I mean I think sex is just the nicest thing that's been devised for women since new pink Dreft; it's just a rot- ten break that men have to en-- ter into the picture, that's all. I am not particularly happy with the situation per se. While others around me are able to de- vote all their energy to hating one object such as Truman, tests, or Busch Bavarian, I find it bor- ingly consistent to hate all men 20 in general with no exceptions. But I do. The appalling distaste I feel for the gauche inarticulate "mother me" guy is only equalled by the bottomless contempt I experience when confronted by the smooth, Brill Creamed "oh, you mother" type. From the breezy answer to Ubangi maid- ens' prayer, the Great Lover, to the "Let's discuss Shelley's theo- ries on free love beneath the bushes" advocate, 1 can only curl my lip bitterly. Heretofore I have kept this un- natural dislike to myself. I have patted my uncle affectionately on his grizzled cheek, and have faithfully signed my name to the Elvis Presley for President pe- tition. I have sat uncomplaining- ly in a stuffy car while some panting Lothario played hell with my hair-do and have gazed up in wide-eyed adoration at nu- merous he-men while they out- performed Lassie with their tricks. But no more. My detestation has climaxed itself. I am satiated, surfeited and inundated with this overpowering hatred. Therefore, beginning tomor- row, I intend to begin on a plan which I have devised to cure my- self of this unfemininely consis- tent habit of hating men. My ob- ject is to find one ideal male stu- dent who typifies all the things I despise in his sex and then to lavish all my hatred solely on him! The possibilities are limit- less. I may even marry him and then I can burn his toast, put starch in his shorts, splurge his money and use his razor. I think. it's a solution to everything and can scarcely wait to begin. 'It'd be awfully ironic if he was reading this article right now, wouldn't it? By M. F. house beautiful Lewis' Texaco Town Brown Derby THE BIG GAME I GO TO THE SUPER A FOREIGN STUDENT SPEAKS UP BY MOHAN BAWA One of the qualities of the American student is insatiable curiosity. Sometimes, however, it is accompanied by a lamentable lack of information. At a dinner party, once, I was seated next to a freshman. "Where are you from?" he asked me. "India," I said. "Oh, that's near Jerusalem isn't it?" Even before I entered the Unit- ed States I was aprehensive at what I would see. When I was in London, waiting for a ship to New York, I bought a book call- ed "Going to America" and learn- ed its list of "do's and don'ts on an American campus" by heart. Do study. Don't date. Attend camps, conferences and youth meetings. Stay away from frater- nity houses. See your foreign stu- dent advisor for all your prob- lems. Stay away from bars, strip tease shows and various and sun- dry places. The author went on rather apprehensively, to explain the complexities that went to make up an American female. Apparently the sign "Danger" hung around the neck of most of them. The advice was, to put it in a nut shell, "Don't get fresh!" Make friends but keep your distance. To add to my fund of knowl- edge I asked my cousin (I was staying with her in London) end- less questions on the life of an American campus. My cousin, who had studied in Virginia, was not at all enthusiastic. She start- ed first with the dank smell of the library she had to work in. I tut-tutted in sympathy and 24 waited for her to go on. The bath- rooms in the United States, ap- parently, were all wrong. In In- dia we bathe by the pouring method and consequently we don't need tubs and showers but just a simple bucket and lots and lots of hot water and of course a mug to pour with. My cousin hated tubs (she claimed they were unhygienic) and she had to endure this contraption during the entire length of her stay in this country. I tut-tutted again. However she went back to the unpleasant smell of the library and I had to remind her that we had already discussed that top- ic. After coming to the States I have found libraries completely wholesome and I still wonder at her distaste for them. "Did you make any friends?" I asked. "Well, I tried!" she said gal- lantly. "Let me give you an ex- ample of what happened. There was one particular girl whom I knew; and one day, while meet- MARKET ON AN ELEPHANT ing in the library, I asked her what she did over he Easter hol- idays and do you know what she did?" She waited for a moment of silence to give the following words more impact. "She slaughtered a pig!" Then she shuddered. "My first reaction," she said, "was to say EEEK!" To my cous- in, who is sensitive and whose only physical exertion was per- haps to reach out for the knob of the radio or to tell the ser- vant to put out hot water for a bath, this was rather a shock. Coming to the States, I have had many of the questions that filled my mind answered. I have come to learn about the Ameri- can student and have come to re- gard him with less suspicion than that displayed by the author of "Going to America." American tourists with dark glasses, sport shirts and cameras penetrate every corner of this globe. They watch the African tribal dance, they look at the Taj Mahal and even climb Fuji Yama in Japan. When students from India come here they take in "The Dance of the Jukebox" in the Student Union, they watch a football game at the stadium, and if they are overly anxious they live in a fraternity house. I lived in one over the. summer va- cations. When I wrote home and said that there was something called a "Grass Skirt Party" eye- brows were raised very heavily in certain quarters. Intimate de- tails of the affair were strictly left out of the letter. Each time an American meets a foreign student the first thing that pops into the American's head, I imagine, is: "How shall I react?" It is amusing to ponder on these reactions and classify them into different "types". First of all we have the Intel- lectual. He has read widely and has a background knowledge about your country and its prob- lems. He carries on an intelligent and for the foreign student an almost exciting conversation. The foreign student will talk profuse- ly and sometimes too long. He revels in this! Not so much enthusiasm does the foreign student have for the American who exudes the Aren't you - lucky-to-be-in-this-wonder- ful-country attitude. He slaps your back and shakes your hand heartily and takes it for granted that you plan to settle down and raise kids. It rather disconcerts him when you say that you plan to return to your own country and that you prefer to raise your kids there. And then we have, what I like to call the Deadpan. As soon as a foreign student hoves in sight this character clams up. His man- ner is excessively polite and the atmosphere is frigid. You can al- most feel the temperature drop. The deadpan conducts his busi- ness with dispatch and is gone with a look of relief on his face. And finally we have the Gush- er. Once a Chinese girl and I had the misfortune to be seated next to one at an International dinner. This person asked my friend to say something in Chinese and after my friend had mut- tered a few words (nothing very pleasant, I suspect) the lady cooed "Oh, darling. How pretty it sounds!" Then she turned to me. "Where are you from?" "India" I said. "How exotic!" gasped. "How mysterious! Tell us about it?" "Well," I said. "First of all I go every morning to the super market on an elephant." "How thrilling!" "Sometimes on the way home I bag a few tigers and then I have to ask Ramu, my servant, to get off his bed of spikes, and 'make me some breakfast - scrambled eggs and tea you know, we take after the British. In the evenings I clap my hands and the dancing girls arrive and they dance the most exotic and most sinuous dance you have ev- er seen on a Hollywood screen. The evening's entertainment is topped off with an Indian Rope Trick . . . " By this time she has become hypnotic and I have run out of imagination. But the life of a foreign stu- dent has its compensations. We usually go home with the degree we came for, we get to know America and its people, and more often than not we get to meet Americans who treat us with a friendliness and casual- ness. And this is the treatment we like best of all. END. 25 Here's Howe! Rita Howe The old look. with the lastest twist She's past 16 and can be kissed. Photos by Dick Shoemaker UNIVERSITY BOOK STORE SUDDEN SERVICE DRIVE IN Swami's Snorts "So Ivan Ivanoviton died gal- lantly in the midst of battle," sobbed Katerina Mikailovitch. "Do you say he uttered my name at his last breach?" "Part of it," replied the re- turned Russian. "Part of it." An Englishman was conversing with the clerk in the Ambassa- dor Hotel. "Here's a riddle," said the clerk. "My mother gave birth to a child. It was neither my brother nor my sister. Who was it?" Englishman: "I can't guess." Clerk: "It was I." Englishman: "Ha! ha! Very clev- er. I must remember that." The Englishman then told the story at his club. Said he: "Here's a riddle, old top. My mother gave birth to a child, and it was neither my bro- ther nor my sister. Who was it? What? You can't guess? Do you give up?" "Yes." "Ha! ha! It was the clerk at the Ambassador Hotel." First Boy: Dad bought me in a department store. Second boy: My folks got me from a doctor. Little girl: (shyly) My folks were too poor. I was home- made. He: "Please." She: "No!" He: "Just this once?" She: "I said no!" He: "Aw, gee, ma, all the rest of the kids are going barefoot." "So you want to be lifeguard here, eh? How tall are you?" "Six feet, eight inches, sir." "Can you swim?" "No, but I can wade to beat hell." "Oh, my poor man," exclaim- ed the kind old lady. "It must be terrible to be lame. But it would be much worse if you were blind." "You're absolutely right, lady," said the beggar. "When I was blind people kept giving me for- eign coins." "I thought I saw you taking a gentleman to your room last night, Miss Smith." "Yeah, that's what I thought, too." Hollywood story: The actress rushed into her house scream- ing to her husband: "Darling, come quickly! Your children and my children are beating up our children!" There was a young fellow from Wheeling, Endowed with such delicate feel- ing When he read on the door, Please don't spit on the floor, He jumped and spat on the ceil- ing. You can lead a Sigma Nu to water, but why disappoint him? Drunk: (stopping city bus): Say, thish car go to fourth St.? Driver: Yes. Drunk: Well, g'bye and God blesh you. A pretty little wench Sat upon a bench Looking very coy At every passing boy. Rosy red lips, Beautiful hips, Darn shame she was bald. He is not drunk who from the floor, Can rise again and drink some more; But he is drunk who prostrate lies, And cannot drink or cannot rise -Thomas Love Peacock Circus actress: "This is my firs job. You better tell me how to keep from making any mis takes." Manager: "Well, girlie, just don' undress in front of the beard ed lady." EDGEWORTH FLY TWA Clarington Swami's Snorts Drunk: "I lost my key." Cop: "Then ring the bell." Drunk: "I rang it an hour ago." Cop: "Ring it again." Drunk: "To hell with them. Let 'em wait." A patient about to be dismissed from an institution was being questioned by the director. "And what are you going to do when you go out into the world?" "Well," replied the ex-inmate, "I've passed my bar exam, so I may try to work up a law prac- tice. Again I had quite a bit of acting experience in college, so I might try my hand at dramat- ics. He paused and thought for a moment. "Then on the other hand," he continued, "I may be a teaket- tle." He tried me on the sofa, He tried me on the chair, He tried me on the window sill, But he couldn't get it there. He tried me lying on the couch, I stood against the wall, I even sat upon the floor, It wouldn't work at all. He tried it this and that way Oh, golly how I laugh To think how many ways he tried To take my photograph. Beneath this stone a virgin lies, For her life held no terrors Born a virgin, died a virgin- No hits, no runs, no errors. A little lady field mouse was going out through the field when she was picked up by a big combine. She was bumped around and shaken up quite a bit before she was finally thrown back into the field. Painfully the bewildered little mouse dragged herself home. When asked by her mother what had happened to her she said: "Oh, Mother, I think I've been reaped!" Dr. Lugg asked Sam who sign- ed the Declaration of Indepen- dence. "I don't know and I don't care" came the reply. Dr. Lugg called the student's father to his office and told him what had happened. The father frowned and turn- ed to Sam, "Damn it, if you signed it, admit it." Mama, Mama! The puppies are here! Have you seen them. No, but the dog is empty! A little boy was sitting on the street corner with a cigarette in his mouth and a flask in his hand when an elderly lady came by. "Sonny, why aren't you in school?" "Hell, lady, I'm only three!" "You should be more careful to pull your shades at night. I saw you kiss your wife last night." "Ha, ha. The joke's on you. I wasn't home last- night." As Lloyd was twisting his ra- dio dial, he felt a sharp pain in his back. "Oh," he cried, "I think I'm getting lumbago." "Why bother to listen?" ask- el his roommate. "You won't be able to understand a word of it." Male: Are you afraid of the big bad wolf? Female, warming: No why? Male: That's funny, the other two pigs were. Ernie's Steak House DON SMALL'S HOME By Ron Soble It's that time of year again when the jocks begin to trip the light fantastic on the grid- iron. Homecoming is quite unique with its colorful floats, pregame excitement, and of course, if you're still sober by Saturday af- ternoon - the game itself. Here are some of the traditions connected with this historic event. The quarterback has traditionally figured as a key player in all past homecoming games. Therefore, it is essential that he be in top physical shape. (Medals represent honoraries, except for the one in the middle which is protecting his navel from lint.) The alumni usually gather at their old haunts to reminisce about the good old days. "Remember Jim who was dating that Theta - mar- ried the housemother!" Hawkers are a common sight at homecoming affairs. This one is promoting stone tou- pees for bald statue of liber- ty plays. COMING 1956 "What, me worry? Of course my boy will play." "The fools! Who gives a damn about the game - this is the only time of the year I get a crack at this stuff." Occasionally a darkhorse will get his big chance before game- time. "What, me worry? I knew I'd play." Burned in effigy and ostracized by alums and students alike, it's usually hell for the losing coaches. An 80-year-old man went to his doctor for a blood test and medical examination before get- ting married. The doctor checked him over doubtfully and then asked: "At your age you don't really want to get married, do you?" "Don't want to exactly, but I got to." Two drunks were sitting in a bar, thinking of things to do to pass the time. "Let's play television," said one. "Okay," said the other. "How?" "I make believe I'm a great big TeeVee shtar and you guess who I am." "Shoot." "Awright," said the first, "I'm fi' foot four, got blon' hair, blue eyes, I'm 38-24-36 and I'm beau- 'ful." The second drunk stared at him for a moment. "Never min' who you are," he said, "kish me." L. G. BALFOUR CO. Town & Country The Coronado DINING ROOM SERVICE DINNERS AND SANDWICHES Balladeer's Barstool By Jerry Shnay Give a listen sometime to the "God Damn Your Eyes" song. Some call it "Sam Hall", but many more know it by the eyes title. "Oh, my name it is Sam Hall, it is Sam Hall; Yes, my name it is Sam Hall, it is Sam Hall; Yes, my name it is Sam Hall, and I hate you one and all, You're a bunch of muckers all, Goddamn your eyes!" The greatest of all the great records on this is the one sung by Josh White on Elektra EKL-701. This is part of a two-album set in tribute to Josh's 25th anniversary as a folk singer. The "Sam Hall" song is part of a big friendly war that White and Carl Sandburg have. Carl, who is a pretty fair folk singer in his own right, has an album on Lyri- chord LL-4 ($7.00) where he also renders "Sam Hall". Only this time it's a very serious, sad type of thing. White links it with a glass of beer and a lot of fun and laughs. "Now up the rope I go, up I go; Yes, up the rope I go, up I go; And those b.s down be- low, they'll say, 'Sam, we told you so,' They'll say, 'Sam, we told you so. Goddamn their eyes." And let's not overlook that one of the two records is devoted to a real go around to finish off all versions of "John Henry". Every- one putting out folk stuff throws in a version of the renowned rous- tabout steel driver of the C & O Railroad. But here's about 25 min- utes of White's muscal narrative in song and talk which will make all other versions fade into noth- ing. Other classics on the "Sam Hall" half are "Black Girl", "Free and Equal Blues", "Life the Life", "Where Are You, Baby," "Delia's Gone", "Run, Mona, Run" and "You Don't Know My Mind." Did someone mention Pete See- ger? Well, if no one did I think I should. We talked about Pete be- fore, but I don't think I mention- ed his versatility on many instru- ments. About two years ago Peter re- corded an album for Folkways Records called "Goofing-Off Suite." FP-43-2. In it he fools around with not only his five-string ban- jo, but also a guitar, chalil (a musical instrument used in Israel), and a recorder. The songs or selections range from "Blue Skies" to the second movement of Beethoven's seventh symphony. It's something to play for a lazy afternoon when all the tests are over and you don't es- pecially feel like doing much of anything. ($4.25) Seeger has another great album on Folkways. This one has a little story behind it. Three years ago, on an FM sta- tion in Chicago, Peter and a blues singer "Big Bill" Broonzy sat down before a microphone and sang and talked and played for an hour. The program was taped and was later sold to Folkways, who made it into an album. It's FP 86-4. Just another one of those things you play for the sheer enjoyment of playing. Twelve inches so price is $5.95. The column has to thank Hi-Fi House for using it as a part of an ad for some of the records we mentioned. It was really very nice. But one thing, boys. I had to lead a date three blocks out of the way to accidentally discover the article in the window. Couldn't you have an annex near the Stein Club? Incidentally, this Hi-Fi House is one of the few record shops in central Missouri whose stock doesn't insult us half-literate disc lovers. They carry more than a couple hit parade labels and a Beethoven or two to spruce up the place. We're a little prejudiced cause they took ads with us even before this column was thought up. But they think enough of you to put a few plugs in the mag. They believe in you as a stu- dent. Drop in. Their lineup is de- lightful. And now we come to the horror of the month. Not all folk songs and folk song albums are good. There are some that fall below even an ordinary level of medi- ocrity. So it is the case with Burl Ives in his latest album for Decca. "Burl Ives Sings for Fun" DL-4280 ($3.95). 01' Burl once upon a time was a damn good singer but someone decided that he should be commer- cial and now must have the An- drew Sisters backing him up or else they don't think the album will sell. When you listen to some folk songs in this album you get the idea that he wasn't quite happy in the selection he had to sing. Four of the 11 are re-releases from other albums while the oth- ers have, for the most part, incon- grous backgrounds. Andrew Sis- ters, Bah! So if Burl is something less than what he used to be, John Greenway is something what is gonna be. Greenway, a real grind in college, getting all sorts of Phi Beta Kappa's thought he could make money by writing books on folk songs. over 35 35 Rowdy, Classic or Bawdy But his slant was different. He first thought he would like to collect all the dirty songs he could, but then realized that al- most any college sophomore would know more than he did, some ven- tured into the field of industrial songs. These are the things that the miners and the weavers in the mills sang. Most of them are defi- nitely anti-boss. They were com- posed during the great battle that labor had to go through to win their rights. Later, Greenway sang these songs for Riverside Records 12- 607 ($4.98). A twelve-incher, with 16 of the finest songs in the field. Whether you agree with the songs or philosophy behind them or not, it is a very fine piece of singing of the troubles of the people. But if you want to get rid of your troubles, we suggest you try Theodore. We quote some Theo- doreiana. "The best thing is not to be born. But who can be as lucky as that." "With the calmness of her sex, my mother stuck her hat- pin into the eye of my father. He laughed. It was his glass eye." "I do not mind necking. Sme of my best friends are neckers. But . . . amateurish fumbling makes me seasick." "In Europe, we keep wo- men pregnant and barefoot, and let them eat under the table." Enough. If you're interested. It's Proscen- ium Arch PRLP-1 ($3.95). If you don't like something macabre, es- pecially if it's humor, then you really don't have to hear it. Some people like it, including the writer. Columbia Records did something pretty wonderful. They sent Alan Lomax, the top folk song collector in the country, over to Europe to record songs of the various nations at work and at play. So far they have put out 14 albums all fully annotated by Lomax and each con- taining songs of a different coun- try. Very hard to pick a best album in here. But some people especial- ly lean toward the Irish folk songs. The subject matter of these songs, recorded in the Western countries of Eire, where Gaelic is still spok- en, is chiefly love and legendary tales of the countryside and his- tory. Among the performers are an innkeeper's daughter, a lady tink- er (Margaret Barry) who earns her living by singing and selling bas- kets, and a Kilarney fiddler. Miss Barry takes most of the honors in the album. KL-204. ($5.98) "Lord, they were a bloody crew, Goddam their eyes." WRECK OF THE 97 By David Graves George Well he gave him his orders at Monroe, Virginia Saying, "Steve you are way be- hind time, This is not 38 but it's old 97 You must put her into Danville on time." He turned and said to his black greasy fireman, "Just shovel on a little more coal, And when we cross that White Oak Mountain You can watch old 97 roll." It's a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville On a line on a three mile grade, It was on this grade that he lost his average, You can see what a jump he made. He was going down the grade makin' 90 miles an hour, When his whistle broke into a scream . . They found him in the wreck With his hand on the throttle, he was scalded to death by the steam. Now ladies, you must take warn- ing, From this time now on learn, Never speak harsh words to your true loving husband, He may leave you and never re- turn. MAN AND WOMAN Unknown God made the world-and rested. God made man-and rested. Then God made woman. Since then, neither God nor man has rested. MY LOVE IS FOR A BOLD MARINE Unknown A miner coming home one night Found his house without a light, And as he went upstairs to bed A strange thought came into his head. He went into his daughter's room And found her hanging from a beam. He took his knife and cut her down And on her breast this note he found. "My love is for a bold marine, I always, always think of him. And though he's far across the sea, He never, never thinks of me!" "So all you maidens bear in mind, A good man's love is hard to find. Dig my grave both wide and deep, And rest my weary bones in sleep." They dug her grave both wide and deep And laid white lilies at her feet, On her breast a turtle dove To signify she died of love. OUT OF THE TAVERN Unknown Out of the tavern I've just step- ped tonight, Street, you are caught in a very bad plight; Right hand and left hand are both out of place, Street, you are drunk, it's a very clear case. Moon, 'tis a very queer figure you cut, One eye is staring while the other is shut, Tipsy, I see, and you're greatly to blame, Old as you are, 'tis a terrible shame. And now the street lamp-what a scandalous sight, None of them soberly standing upright, Rocking and swaggering - why on my word, Each of the lamps is as drunk as a lord. All is confusion - now isn't it odd, I am the only thing sober abroad; It would be rash with the crew to remain, Better go back to the tavern again! HI F1 HOUSE Elektra Records Barney's Back Murlin Gene Smith's Shooting Gallery Did you hear about the student who took his girl out one evening to admire the starry heavens through the back window of the car? He pulled into a little grove on a secondary road three miles from Ashland . . . and there was a sign reading "This lot reserved for Type I permits only". The Columbia Police Depart- ment requests the student.body to please refrain from building bonfires in the public streets dur- ing the homecoming celebration. It is not good for the macadam. Bonfire-building is also verbot- en on the grounds that only city employees have the right to play war games in the streets. They use tons of modern equipment and do a much more thorough job. I always claimed this Joint was a half-baked excuse for a univer- sity, but this proves it! Did you know there is no course in the curriculum where you can learn to say "I surrender" in either Arabic or Hungarian? This sad situation would make a fine top- ic for the next SGA gripe ses- sion. It's about their speed. About this time every semes- ter some smart-alec instructor comes up with a brilliant idea for plaguing the students. He usually calls it a Mid-Semester Test and the idea is to see how great a percentage you can lop off the enrollment figures in a week. A few of the gung-ho boys study for this. Man, they really get in there and dig with both hind feet! It's ridiculous . . . why knock yourself out for a degree the hard way? Go bump off Kru- schev or Mao tse-Tung and col- lect degrees by the dozen. Another type of instructor is largely a creature of habit, giv- en to taking roll frequently, hold- ing shotgun quizzes, flunking G. D.I.'s and reading from dusty tomes in fifty-minute bursts. He grades on the curve - if you sit in the front row and you've got enough curves, you get a grade. Look for a sharp rise in Co- lumbia's beer consumption rate. I have deduced this with the help of two decks of cards and one displaced geni who was boot- ed out of Palestine in 1948. All the jokers (including a certain Troestrup) who were "Madly for Adlai" are now just MAD (in- cluding a certain Troestrup - who has been that way since birth). All this means many long harangues in the local bistros about the cruel fate that gave Ike the winner's flag and Adlai the shaft. Everybody knows that in order to give a good rousing ha- rangue the larnyx must be oiled. Beer consumption will rise. Still on the subject of politics, I always knew graft paid off. At least, that's what I read in the local scandal sheets. Twelve thou- sand dollars per year to a high school girl for four years should just about put her through col- lege and buy her a fair husband. Onward to Stephens! Here it is winter (for the en- lightenment of the old Southern aristocracy among you, the word is pronounced "oo-in-ter" or sometimes "brrr" and means that the weather turns damn cold and all the frat boys buy car robes and have their heater ov- erhauled - for a proper date you've gotta be warm, dammit!). Pay no attention to calendars, weathermen, etc. I say it's win- ter. Anybody who doesn't be- lieve me can come over some ev- ening and enjoy the refreshing breeze howling through the cracks in the windows. Gives you that old snap. Columbia vendors have just figured out a way to coax a few extra nickels out of your jeans. You want a pack of Pall Malls (example only) so you walk up to the old familiar machine, drop in your last quarter and pull the lever - nothing happens! Don't kick the machine, friend, it's working. Check the new price above your favorite brand. I be- lieve the B. and P. A. boys call it capitalism. My confidence in American motherhood is shattered. Here a man comes right out in public and says he wants to abolish the draft and keep "our boys" down on the farm and all you mothers vote for the opposition. Shame on you! On second thought, maybe you did vote right and it was the over Don Faurot is the inventive genius of college football. He taught Bud Wilkinson how to coach. Bud Wilkinson wins games. Don Faurot is a topnotch coaching teacher. 39 NEUKOMM'S ex-G.I.'s that didn't. Everybody'd like to serve another hitch. Has anybody ever noticed a lit- tle gnome that lives on a bench by the drive at Jesse? He wears a grey outfit and a little badge. Get to know him. Ask him to do something for you. He's very obliging and always polite to boot. "Hey, you, get the hell out of that drive! What do you mean stopping in here? You've held up traffic for two seconds already! Move it!" Like I say, he's a swell guy. Loves students and dogs, too. Does anybody plan on going to the Orange Bowl? If you do, bet- ter start a petition to replace our Civil War warriors with Douglas High. We must all hang together or we shall all hang separately, you know. Besides, those boys play football, not croquet. Hey, man, wanta buy an ad? If they don't make me a Cor- poral I won't go back! Heard somebody complaining about having to study for a quiz the other night, and his girl said, "What happened, did you lose your copy of the test?" They were Greeks. Speaking of Greeks, a few of them look unhappy these days. So do the Stephens girls. One of them told me it was because Dad- dy said she couldn't trade in her '56 Cad on a new '57 because she had lost her job as a Senate secretary. My heart bleeds. Let's all have more snow. The farmers need moisture. Why? Be- cause without water they can't raise crops and we'll all go hun- gry. Besides, they're going broke. For some reason I just can't stir up much sympathy for their plight. A farmer will bend your ear about his imminent bankruptcy, then say, "Well, I've gotta go down to Woodward's and take delivery on two new tractors," so he hops in his new Buick and creeps off, crying bit- ter tears every foot of the way. He couldn't afford power vent windows this year. Saw War and Peace recently. God, is that Anita Ekberg built! Her superstructure is just like that old brick backhouse. Go see it. Go to Hollywood and try to prove it. Be famous. Don't wait to flunk out, go now. Well, good day, old bacteria. I'll see you around when I get back from Hollywood. The End Mother: Well, son, what have you been doing all day? Son: Shooting craps, Mother. Mother: That must stop. Those little things have as much right to live as you do. Little Mary Smith, while walk- ing dutifully to church, which she attended religiously every week, saw a poor little robin with one of its wings broken, lying in the grass. So she picked it up and took it into her house and fixed its wing. When it became well and strong again, she let it fly away into the big blue sky. (If this is censored, I quit.) The American tourist was gaz- ing down into the crater of a famous Greek volcano. Finally he commented, "It sure looks like Hell!" "Oh you Americans," said his guide, "you've been everywhere." The scene was the interior of a saloon and around the table were gathered as tough a gang as could be found in Nevada. The game was fast and the stakes were high. Suddenly, the dealer flung the cards on the table and pulled out his six-gun. "Boys," he shouted, "the game ain't straight. Cactus Fred ain't playing the hand I dealt him!" Prof: Will you gentlemen in the back of the room kindly stop passing notes? Student: We're not passing notes, sir. We're playing bridge. Prof: Oh, I beg your pardon. "Melvin, Melvin!" "What, ma?" "Are you spitting in the fish- bowl?" "No, ma, but I'm coming pretty close." DORN-CLONEY Life Savers box cards CAMPUS JEWELRY Swami's Snorts A student put a bottle of Scotch in his pocket. On his way across the street, he was knocked down by an automobile. Picking himself up, he started to walk away when he felt something warm trickling down his leg. "Heavens," he thought, "I hope that's blood." Bell hop (making a lady and gentleman comfortable): "Any- thing else, sir?" Guest: "No, thank you." Bell hop: "Anything for your wife?" Guest: "Why yes, bring me a post card." Two souses sat resting on a step in the wee hours of the night. "Wash your wife shay when you stay out like thish?" asked the first night owl. "Haven't got a wife," said number two. "Then wash the idea of shtay- ing out so late?" She's something like an ostrich, The dumbest of the lot. She carefully hides the things she knows, And not the things she's got. Pretty girls are the kind that all men look at like this First boy: I say, what is your name? Second Boy: Thenabord. First Boy: What a strange name. What is your name? Second Boy: Wagle. F. B.: Haha ha ha, hehe, ha he, ho ho ha ha. S. B.: What's so funny? F. B.: No-ha ha ha noth-ha ha ha - noth - ha ha ha noth- ing. S. B.: Then what makes you laugh? F. B.: I'm a maniac. Ha ha ha. S. B.: What a strange disposition. Ha ha ha eh ha ha. F. B.: Ha ha ha (snort) ha ha ha ha ha. Second Boy: Ha ha ah ha ha ahahahaha. World: Ha ha ha ha ha ha eh. Who was that lady I saw you with last night? That was no lady. That was my roommate. He just walks that way. The Lone Ranger and Tonto were riding on the plains when they saw a band of 10,000 Indi- ans riding toward them. Turning to flee, they saw another band of 10,000 Indians riding toward them from the opposite direc- tion. Looking to the left, anoth- er band. To the right, still an- other. The Lone Ranger clutch- ed Tonto's arm: "What will we do now, Tonto?" Tonto shrugged: "What do you mean 'we', white man?" The army psychiatrist wanted to be sure that the newly enlist- ed rookie was perfectly normal. Suspiciously, he said: "What do you do for your social life?" "Oh," the man blushed, "I just sit around, mostly." "Hmmmmm - never go out with girls?" "Nope." "Don't you ever want to?" "Well, sorta." "Then why don't you? "My wife won't let me." 43 THE STEIN CLUB the novus shop contributors' page Ron Soble is the boy without a buckle on his canterbury. Nev- ertheless, he is plodding ahead as SHOWME's feature editor and will someday no doubt have a closet full of gray flannel suits. All without the stylish buckle warming his posterior. Needless to say, he is not an Ivy Leaguer -- not even the I. V. League interests him. What real- ly interests Ron is that which is tender and priceless, crisp at one time and limpid at another, a rare item in a men's dorm-MONEY. Well, actually, it's the same way with girls too. Let's put it this way: If he were tethered between money and women, he would probably drool himself into a state of quasi-dehydration. In keeping with his interest in campus politics, Ron recently en- gineered a successful coup d' AWS in managing his roommate's campaign for Hoot Owl. (A vote for Fred means early to bed.) 44 With all his peccadillos, Ron is an enigma - a solid khaki, wrought-iron enigma - with a beret tilted over one eye. Margi Foster's SHOWME ca- pacity is a novel one. While dis- pensing purity and innocence to the public she grinds out lasciv- ious material guaranteed to make Fred Robins turn over in his grave. (We know, we know, but we can dream.) As for her beer capacity, at last measurement it was half a Pilsener glass. That alice-in-wonderland look leads friends to wonder if she isn't a case of suspended anima- tion but looking like a fourteen year-old comes in handy some- times. However, she has yet to get into an adults-only movie. For further elucidation of Mar- gi's character complexities see her warped essay on men (no re- lation to Pope's) which she de- clares is strictly fiction. It is with considerable re- gret that we used J. J. Aasen's cover without letting him fin- ish with his own process. We're proud of this cover . but it would have been closer to the finest basic job we've run in a long time were he not called away from the drawing board on November 11th by the accidental death of his old- er brother in Dell Rapids, So. Dakota. J. J. finished off the cover in fine air brush full-color plates only to find that repro- duction from full-color plates was doubtful. So he began again to make black and white color plates when he was call- ed home near deadline. In finishing off his work, we don't think we did justice. But we hope you'll get a kick out of his work inside the covers. It's all his. He's back now but we want to extend our sympathy for the tragedy and thank him for everything he could get done. Anyone who can smile through a full-color plate re- jection is SHOWME all the way. Skip She: Oh Henry, I've got a bug down my back! He: Oh, cut it out. Those jokes were all right before we were married. SHOWME staffers are diligent- ly guiding Margie in her effort to increase her meager supply of vices. As it now stands, however, they consist of a rather illegal mania for smuggling portable contraband from the dining room "for later," chattering precocious- ly, bleaching floozy blonde streaks in her hair, wearing ear plugs to bed, and composing off-color signs for off-limit places. And that's a start. By next year she may not even need a SHOWME joke decoder. HOMECOMING BALL December 1 Winston