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Missouri Showme January, 1943; by Students of the University of Missouri Columbia, MO 1943

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Missouri Showme 10 cents Psychology 122w A Short Story Sing to My Well-Beloved Mahan Prize-Winning Essay Chesterfield Cigarettes Missouri Showme THE CAMPUS MAGAZINE Editorial With the great midyear turnover Harvey Walters, Senior in the School of Journalism, will fall heir to the editorship of SHOWME. He will fall heir, too, to the task of unearthing stories, features, ideas for picture layouts, cartoons and the other ingredients vital to the birth of a magazine a month. The war has claimed many students who worked for or contributed to the magazine, making it no less difficult to collect material now than it was in September. Again we ask you to contribute to SHOWME that we may con- tinue giving you the best efforts of Missouri students in all schools on the campus and steer clear of "canned" material. Articles, poems, short stories, drawings, and all work of a literary or hum- orous nature will be welcomed. H. Walters will be happy to meet and greet you at the door of Room 13, Walter Williams Hall, to accept your contributions. A little cooperation on your side and he will issue the greatest Showme's yet Harvey is well equipped for it by virtue of his ex- perience with both school and professional publications. TIME might say: "Stocky, black-haired, sharp-eyed, heavy-pawed, soft spoken, keen minded H. Walters, currently appointed editor of SHOWME, THE campus magazine, is an Arkansas boy with a good deal of promise. He should find it easy to produce a snappy, good- looking, well-written, well planned magazine of the first water. His work as editor of the PROFILE, weekly at Hendrix College, experience with the Hendrix College yearbook and Arkansas news- papers made him an unusually promising editor-the logical choice for the job with Showme." And with the midyear turnover a great many students will leave for military service or war work. For them it's no more 8 o'clock, no more pop quizzes and no more hour exams. They will never have to go through the grind that is registration, the agony of burning the midnight oil for finals, the intensive mental effort of deciding whether to go to class or cut just once more for a game of snooker or a coke or a beer and a short session of sparkling rag-chewing. Tiresome lectures, dry textbooks or make- up quizzes will never give them the willies again. Nevermore will they be double-crossed by "friends" who steer them into a stiff course with the assurance that it's a snap. The ignominy of being rudely awakened in the middle of a class by a prod from the student on the left and shaken to alertness by the cold stare of a professor will be nothing more than an unhappy memory for those leaving with the close of the semester. They'll be free from the shackles of school, free from "outside reading" assignments and term papers. They'll leave those things behind-the hell of it is, they'll miss them. They'll miss them because they were comfortable shackles, because "jellin"' with a smooth date is fun and reading that text and listening to that prof did.teach them a thing or two. The time they spent in college, whether one semester, a year or four years, will have been one of the grandest times they've known. We care little for gush and gooey sentiment and feel that this is hardly the time to write any- thing about "a world of opportunity for you men and women who have studied and prepared yourselves for a bright future"-but I think we are agreed that our prime interest now is doing every- thing possible to bring an end to the great war that has enveloped us and speed the return of the good old days at M. U. Cover by Morton Walker THIS MONTH Poetry ...--......................... Head-Aches ........... ........... Psychology 122-W ............... Sing to My Well-Beloved ...... Thoughts During Class ......... Holiday Pictures ....-..-......... Begged, Borrowed or Stolen... STATEMENT OF OWNERSHIP The Missouri Showme is published monthly except July and August by the Missouri chapter of Sigma Delta Chi, national professional journalism fra- ternity, as the official humor and liter- ary publication of the University of Missouri. Price .90 per year; 10c the single copy. Copyright 1942 by Mis- souri chapter of Sigma Delta Chi. Per- mission to reprint given all recognized exchanging c6lleg6 publications. Ed- ttorial and Business offices, Walter Williams Hall; office of publication, Star-Journal Publishing Co., Warrens- burg, Mo. Not responsible for unsolicited manuscripts; postage must be enclosed for return. 1 Montgomery Ward Barth Clothing Company, Inc. Poetry- by HARRIET REX Three-Point-Two Listen my children and you shall hear Of the maiden reporter who doesn't like beer. Who's heard of the journalist, heard of the scribe, The inked-up reporter who doesn't imbibe? For every journalist, ad or news, Drinks beer to chase those press-room blues; And every journalist, news or ad, Who hasn't a beer is wishing he had. One if by and and two if by sea, If you order another it's all right by me. Muehlebach, Griesedick, Falstaff, or State, Hyde Park or Budweiser, any brand's great. But this girlie's missing the kiss of the hops, The flecks of the foam and the dregs of the drops. She is a journalist without any journ, With too little list and too much concern. She'd be surprised after two or three How understanding the boys can be. Beer in a bottle and beer in a booth, For a beardless but never a beerless youth. The British are coming! but the draft is here So here's looking forward to lonely beer! Man-The-Inevitable He held my hand and gazed into my eyes, And told me that he loved me for my mind; All dewy innocence, I failed to realize That earth has never yet produced that kind. I believed him then, I believed him when He said I made him feel the same way wine did. He loved me for my mind and soon withdrew His hand from mine, and suddenly I knew He judged me to be terribly low-minded! My Man He's my pale-gilled, pink-pilled, squint-eyed young beau; He's nondescript, swivel-hipped, splint-tied I know. He bags at the knees and he bags at the back, And whenever we date I carry a jack. He's broken down, broken out, but still I would be Broken up if anyone took him from me, Cause man, is he 4-F! SHOWME STAFF J. V. CONNELLY, Godfather DAVE AHERNE, Editor EDITORIAL John Robling Pauline Shannon Bill Emerson Elizabeth Toomey Bea Thrapp Bob Fross Irv Farbman George Kentera Bud Terry ADVERTISING Norman Stark, Manager Lon Amick Jim Galbreath PHOTOGRAPHY Herb Wolcott, Jr., Editor Charles Francis Madolyn McFarland HARVE WALTERS, Bus. Mgr. ART Dave Hornaday Carroll Brown Jack Dick-Peddie Bill McAdam Morton Walker SECRETARY Molly Phelps HEAD-ACHES Writer Kills Self Cleaning Shotgun. -World-Telegram. Shot his mouth off once too often. Douglas N. Knickerbocker of Otis Ave. has purchased 12 rabbits as a nucleus for a farm.-Manassas Journal. Putting it squarely up to the lit- tle devils, eh, Doug?-Jack o' Lant- ern. He paid high tribute to American jornalists in England, calling them a "fine body of men, who wishek their lives nightly."-San Francis- co Chronicle. Wishek: An old English verb meaning "to drink". Due to previous engagements, Brown had to cut his visit short, but still he found time to accom- pany the warden to Condemned Row, where he put on a short comedy skit.-San Quentin News. Laugh? I thought I'd die! Dolled Up- Young Man-To travel in city and vicinity in ladies' wear.-Ad in the Quebec Chronicle-Telegraph. "I hardly touched the girl."- Errol Flynn, as quoted in The Daily News. Look, no hands. Cherubs on the Hoof- At the Nonpareil Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, ANNUAL BABY SALE -Ad in Sacramento paper. Mekesson, Henderson, Smith- Morticians. "Ask those who we have served." -Adv. in Weekly. Oh, we wouldn't want to bother them. Hospital body .will purchase $10,- 000 bond.-Norfolk Virginian Pilot. Too bad every stiff isn't that patriotic. Sign in N. Y., N. H., and H. yards in New Haven: DO NOT CLIMB OVER THE ENGINE. TANKS! T'ink nuttin' of it, Jack.-Jack o' Lantern. Bill had always called Mike one of his brest friends . . . -Tuft, October '42. Bosom buddies, eh! From "Letters to the Editor" col- umn, Detroit Free Press: "Our local draft board has not considered the food question import- ant. They have sent young farmers to camp who were working large tracts of land and who were pro- ducing milk . . ." Darn versatile young fellows, too. In 1911 he worried Mrs. Laura Little of Montgomery, Ala. They have three children.-Philadelphia Inquirer. A clear case of nerves.-Jack o' Lantern. When not facing the microphone. Patti Chapin, songstress, can always be found on a pair of skis.-N. Y. American. She must have a hell of a time taking a bath. -Jack o' Lantern. WITH ARMY IN LOUISIANA- Aug. 23-(A.P.)-Senator Henry Cabot Lodge (R., Mass.) is "having the time of my life" as a Captain with the 2d Armored Division in Louisiana maneuvers.-San Francis- co Chronicle. The Spirit of '76, eh, Senator What suddenly made him a win- ning pitcher? He says he was made suddenly in four seasons, made sud- denly in four seasons, which doesn't seem so terribly sudden at that.- San Francisco Chronicle. Since you put it that way, no. Karstrom: Let's take a walk in the garden. Kay: Oh, no, I only have a minute. Jack: That's all right; I'm studying to be an efficiency ex- pert. -Pelican Prof. Page: I will not begin the lecture until the room settles down. Wilder: Go home and sleep it off, old man. And then there was the janitor at the movie studio whose salary included room and board and all the extras he could make. "Just cut off enough of it to fit into a teeny, weeny golden locket." 4 INDEX OF ADVERTISERS Name Page Al's Shoe Hospital .................-- Barth Clothing Co. ................ Bing's Missouri Drug .............. Buchroeder's .....................- Camel Cigarettes. inside front cover Campus Barber Shop .-............. Campus Snack ...................... Campus Valet ...........--.........------- Chesterfield Cigarettes, back cover Central Billiard Parlor ............... Chase Hotel ..-......-........-...--...--- Coca-Cola Bottling Co. ................. Crown Jeweler .........-......-------- Dean's Campus Shop .--..---...-...-- Drop Inn Cafe ......- ---. -- Economy Cleaner's .....-......------- Ever-Eat .........................--..-- Frozen Gold .............-- ..--.---... Greyhound Coffee Shop .............. Golden Campus, inside back cover Lane's Shoe Store ...--................. Montgomery Ward ..................... Smith Bottling Co. ..................-... Sir Walter Rawleigh ................. Stamper Dairy ......................... Suzanne's .............................. Tiger Laundry ............................ University Book Store ............... Virginia Cafe ......-...................... SIR WALTER RALEIGH Thanks! The editor gave the business manager this space to let all you gals and guys know that S H 0 W M E appreciates your patronage of our advertisers. Each time you say, "I saw this advertised in SHOWME," you confirm to Columbia mer- chants the fact that our maga- zine is the best advertising medium existing for Columbia college students today! UNIVERSITY BOOK STORE Suzanne's A SHORT STORY PSYCHOLOGY 122W by AL HEWITT ". .. hebephrenic schizophrenic. A big phrase but all it meant was that he was going to beat the draft." Paul Grant, junior psychology major, didn't have many friends. A few classmates understood him, but most of his fellow students dubbed him a bit queer and a definite "grind." He wasn't really a "grind." Paul was just a bug for psychology. He never missed a chance to show his vast knowledge. But he wasn't showing off; he was "just making his education live," he'd say. But the fellows didn't like to be "psycho- analyzed" every time they took an extra breath. Wear a loud tie and Paul had you as a compen- sating introvert. Get moody too often and you were the product of a broken home-Paul would swear your parents were divorced, or at least unhappy. Sniffle more than twice and you had a tic-first sing of psychoneurosis, Paul would claim. Paul lived alone in a large third floor room. Living in a garret would sound fine in his auto- biography. Naturally Paul didn't have a roommate. They always got in the way or made too much noise. Besides it would probably be just his luck to get some damned unmotivated playboy with an 1. Q. of 95 just here for a good time. A roommate just wouldn't understand Paul. But then Paul was sure that no one under- stod him really. He didn't care however because he understood himself. And that's more important, one of his psych books said. Sure he knew him- self. He had himself all figured out, all inven- toried: Asthetic, introverted to a degres, com- pensating for his slight build with good grades, 1. Q. 115, sexual interests sublimated. Paul knew himself like a book. He had taken all kinds of tests. But somehow Paul had missed taking a Thurstone test. It measured maladjustment. A tan and green book, "Principals of Abnormal Psychology" by Maslow and Mittelmann, lay on Paul's desk. It was the textbook for course 122w, Abnormal Psychology. Paul had almost a neurotic passion for that course. The bookcase next to his desk contained rows of neatly filed books. Some were evidently unread as their pages were still crisp and their bookstore covers still unsoiled. They were all psychology books and by the greatest psy- chologists, too: Charcot, McDougall, James, Freud, Adler, Allport, Binet, Kraepelin, Hall, Holling- worth, Janet, Yerkes, Thorndike, Terman, Jung, Woodworth. They impressed people. Paul hadn't read all those books yet, but he was going to. He'd have to read them if he were going to be a really great psychiatrist. Yes, the best they ever turned out of this school. He'd go to Yale or Columbia before he got through. Paul (Continued on page 8) 7 Psychology 122W (Continued from page 7) could see himself now: Wearing a long white doc- tor's cloak, a big office, and a sing on the door that read "Paul Grant, Psychiatrist, Hours 2-4." All he'd have to do would be to psychoanalyze people. 'Course he'd have to get his M. D. first but there was time for that. Paul spent much of his time just day dreaming about that signing, "Paul Grant, Psychiatrist." Just day dreaming. Everything in Paul's room was neat. Every- thing from his freshman test in Logic to a letter from Bob last spring was classified and placed in a special drawer. But Paul explained that as ex- pected of a meticulous introvert. Expected or not, he was still annoyed when one of his slippers under his bed was out of place or the window shades were not drawn three-quarters length. Things like that bothered him. Paul came down the stairs with a resolute step Thursday morning. He was on his way to a quiz in 122w. He thumbed through the mail lying on the table in the hall. Usually there wasn't any for him. Suddenly he stopped. A post card for Paul Grant. "You are to report for your physical exam- ination at the Student Clinic next Monday at 7:15 p. m." it read. Paul was horrified. He flew up the stairs to his room, kicked shut the door with a slam, and looked at the card again. "Next Monday." He ripped the card into small pieces and flung them on the floor. Tears came to his eyes. The draft. He hadn't figured on that. What would happen to his psychology? They weren't deferring college students any more. Paul was annoyed; he walked around the room, gnawing at his fingernails. They couldn't do that to him. Someone down at the draft board must have a grudge against him. That's it. Someone's just trying to get even. Paul didn't eat that day. He didn't sleep that night and he cut all of his classes the next "Mr. Jones, Enlisted Reserve Corps, I'd like you to meet Mr. Smith, Enlisted Reserve Corps." 8 day. He swore at the landlady when she tried to clean up in the morning. His lower lip protruding, his breath coming in short sobs, Paul just marched around the rom like a cooped animal. He thought of his brother Bob in the Solomons. One member of the family is enough, he swore. It's just some- one at the draft board. It must be. Suddenly Paul stopped his pacing. His eyes lit on the green and tan book on his desk. With- out a word and unaware that he was in shirt sleeves and wearing slippers, he dashed from the room and ran with all his speed to the General Library. A short while later, Paul returned to his room with several books under each arm, deposit- ed them on the bed, and nervously began to finger the pages of the thinnest one of the group. It was entitled "The Selective Service Act of 1940." His eyes narrowed as he read the words above his trembling finger. "Four-F shall include the physically and mentally unfit." Mentally unfit- that was it! Paul grabbed the green and tan book on his desk and turned to the section on functional phychosis-the insane, the mentally unfit. He de- voured every word. Then he drew out his cl6ss notes on course 122w from his textbook. His hands were clammy by now. There were really three he could choose from, Paul figured. "Paranoia? No, that's too rare. Manic-depressive? No, not enough of them among callege students. Schizophrenia? Yes, that was it! Occurs most frequently between ages of 15-25. Great! That was it." Paul read on. "Called dementia praecox. Mind is split in two, emotional from intellectual. Symptoms: apathy, 'queerness', day dreaming, withdrawn and 'shut-in' personality, impulsive con- duct, delusions, emotional dulling with responses inadequate to situation. Paul's mind worked rapidly and craftily. Because of less chance of hospitalization, he de- cided he was going to be a hebephrenic schizo- phrenic. A big phrase but all it meant was that he was going to beat the draft. They wouldn't get him. He skipped over the possibility of another form of schizophrenia called paranoid. That's when you think you're Napoleon or when you think you're being persecuted, that someone's after you. Paul skipped that form. Paul read all the books he had brought from the library. They were the classics on abnormal psychology. He almost memorized every word on hebephrenic schizophrenia. And he put it to use, too. Where it would do the most good. He began to weep impulsively in an inter- view with the dean of men. Sometimes he'd remain in his seat day dreaming five minutes after class was over to make sure the prof didn't miss his act. One day while with some friends he began to laugh hysterically and ran off muttering. He was doing it up brown. He'd show these draft board people. They wouldn't get him. Paul passed his physical at the Student Clinic on Monday. A blind man could have passed it. He was classified 1-A and two weeks later left for the induction center at Jefferson Barracks. But Paul was ready. He passed their physical, though (Continued on page 25) SING TO MY WELL-BELOVED A Mahan Prize-Winning Essay The loneliness of a strange place full of people is far deeper and more poignant than that of the most deserted island, and I sat therefore in utter solitude among strangers who drank and sang and drank and fought and drank again, in low-ceiled semi- darkness. And in that raucous tavern I was more alone than in the remotest room, for the babel frightened memory into flight; I sat, simply existing, through no fault or effort of my own. A whirring, a clack, and mother of wonders! Out of the squat, gaudy machine in the corner sang a voice that needled through the smoky air. "Saint Louieee woman-n-n, with all your diamond rings," the machine wailed in a husky voice. Now will I sing to my well- beloved, said Isaiah. A song of my beloved touching his vine- yard. . . the ancientwords spun out in my wandering mind, in- congruously brought to life by the mechanical tinkling of the music box. Fool, spat a voice behind me, and the red flush tingled at the back of my neck as I turned to see who, in this place of strang- ers, had read my thoughts. Fool, said the voice again, a low intense voice; looking across the top of my little pen I saw not addressing me at all but turned sideways from me, a dark hawk-nosed face, set with deep smouldering eyes. Fool, said the dark one a third time. What could be so bitter, so hopeless, so dull about your young life that you should want to throw it away in bloody battle, offer it up to the first splinter of lead from the hands of some un- seen, unknown enemy? You who have never known hardship or deep sorrow, with the prospect of never having to- I'm not throwing my life away, interrupted the other, and I ob- served the object of the dark one's bitterness; younger, fuller- faced, with spiky red hair in startling contrast to the other's curly coalblack. And where the older one's lips came together like the two halves of a muffin, the red one's were full almost to thickness. I'm not throwing my life away, he repeated evenly. I'm offering it-for a price. Fool, croaked the dark one, while I sat and listened, won- dering. Mi-i-i-i-i-s you-u-u-u-u-u-u," sighed the machine ecstatically, "In my dreams I ki-i-i-i-i-s you-u-u-u-u-u," The dark one took up the thread again. War is not for you, he said, speaking as if to a mis- led child. What in all the world is worth the agony and empti- ness of death, what in all the world is worth foregoing the ex- quisite pleasure of Feeling: the joy of good food and drink, the heart-pounding passion of lust, the singing sensation speed, the breathless exaltation of a chase- What! he broke into his own chain of reasoning, -seeing the other's face shadow. Surely, child, you have lusted and chased and- Yes, father confessor, smiled the other wryly. But you're wast- ing your time if you are trying to prove to me that life is good. I know it. I remember once. . . .a cornfield, in late No- vember. And hills on both sides stretching protecting arms around it. We looked so completely ridic- ulous in our city clothes, carrying our shoes in our hands, walking gingerly between the bare six- foot stalks . . . the tinny sound of music from our portable flew away into the great nothingness of the empty air. . . we stopped to catch a breath, and pick the burrs out of our feet, and from under her silly flopping hat she laughed-stars burst all around me, although I could plainly see the sun shining. The music was suddenly Beethoven and no longer tinny but filled'the whole world of hills and cornstalks and sunlight. And she clung to me... God what sweetness. . . love in a cornfield, and Beethoven, and our city shoes covered with dirt where we dropped them. Very pretty said the dark one. Have you ever loved? asked the red one. No, said the dark one. "I didn't wanna do it," offered the machine coquettishly. "I didn't wanna do it," You see then that I want life as much or more than you do, said the red one. Why give it up? I'll tell you--he took a long drink. I've been chosen-my gen- eration's been chosen-for sacri- (Continued on page 19) Spanish Geometry Thoughts During Class or UNTIL I LIVE AGAIN "Can't get out of this mood" da de dum, de dum dum . .. I wonder how long people can live in an acute state of boredom? This class is driving me crazy, and I can't go to sleep. Sleep . . . wrapped in the arms of Morpheus .. . .maybe if I kept thinking about it I'll be able to sleep. Peaceful sleep . . . pleasant dreams... slipping slowly into slumber ... that's some kind of a figure of speech. Slipping slow- ly, slumber - alliteration, I guess. I was never wider awake in my whole life. I seem to be the only one in the whole class, too. It's certainly no fault of old Beetle Brow up there. How can anyone think up such dull lectures day after day? I wonder if he really tries or if it just comes naturally. "Time on my hands," da ta da 10 te dum dum .. they should list this course in the catalogue as Rest Period, Advanced. You can tell a freshman from a junior by the curve in his neck. These guys aren't freshmen. Hey! Get your head off my shoulder. I don't mind your sleeping, but lay your head on your own shoulder. Sure, you can do it. See that boy up there? If his head isn't on his own shoulder, then you tell me how he got that U-turn in his neck. Okay, go on back to sleep .. . but stay on your own side! "I'm getting tired so I can sleep," da de, da de, da de, dum, dum . . . my back itches! I won- der if the girl behind me would scratch it if I woke her up. She'd probably hate me. I'll let it itch . . . gives me something to think about. What have I ever done to de- serve insomnia at a time like this? Maybe I'm built wrong to sleep upright. Baruch ought to see this class. Only rubber or dis- location could account for some of those bends. How on earth does that boy sleep with his head swinging like a pendulum? Hmmm . . . according to my English By Elizabeth Toomey watch he's a little slow today. Speaking of watches . . . mine must have stopped. There couldn't be fifteen minutes left in this class. I can't even remember how it felt to be really alive. I wonder if Mumbo Jumbo really thinks he's alive. A mind that could churn out a lecture like this one would be a credit to a mummy. "Sometimes I wonder why I spend these .. ." Boy, would I like to be dancing to Tommy Dorsey right now! Dim lights ... smooth music . . smooth-oh, well, everybody's giving up things these days. If this isn't over before long, I'll be giving up my sanity. Now there's a smart girl- brings her letters from her boy friend with her. Let's see, if she'd move her head a little to the right I might pick up a few point- ers. "Darling, you know how much I ..." that should be "love you," only I can't read his writ- ing. This would be the day I didn't bring my glasses. Now I'll worry about what it is he does so much. She might tell me if I poked her on the shoulder and acted interested. On second thought, she looks like the secre- tive type. Probably thinks she's the only girl he's ever said that to. Well, there's one born every minute. Take Horace the Horrible, for instance. Surely even he's not so dumb he doesn't know there's some undercover work going on in the third row. Every time that boy turns a page in his Satur- day Evening Post the girl be- hind him leans over his shoulder to look at the cartoons. I wonder if Horace thinks they're laugh- ing at his lecture. "I get the neck of the chick- en," da da DE, da da DE, da da ... If I can just hold out a few minutes longer it'll all be over. Then I can relax, Relax... relax ... reeeeee-laaaaaaaaaxzz-zz-zz- zz-zz-zz . .. 11 "I haven't got any shirt on." "Mustard?" -Voo Doo "Why bother me? I'm not a sailor!" 12 The Holidays by Herb Wolcott, Bea Thrapp and Hilda Thornton The holidays and students at- tended classes at the University of Missouri. For the first time in University's history classes were scheduled for January 1. The night of the big dance some students stayed at home to study . . . just a few. Some stu- dents went to Breezy Hill . . . the Coronado . . . Deens. Even more went to an all-school, two orchestra, two o'clock dance. The Shack . . . and after a while Springdale . . . decided they'd rather not take it and closed their doors. Students who crowded Roth- well Gym danced until two o'clock. Floor shows, produced by each school on the campus en- tertained them. Even at Rothwell, students found the point of view as liberal as the liquid. Instead of chairs lined against the walls, students sat at tables . . just like "home." Martha Scott and Sammy Lou Chase clicked their taps. The engineers burlesqued an army in- duction . . Pat Maurer nursing recruit Don Limberg for Doctor Harold Bragg and Officer Ros- well Beach. Harvey Walters, Dan Bayless, Farbman, and Jack Dick-Peddie warbled a barber- shop gargle. And Irv By-Line Farbman showed what Farbman would do if Farbman were Ted Lewis .. . who Farbman isn't. When the doors at Rothwell were closed, women . .. who didn't stay for eight o'clock black coffee . . made their way home by two-thirty. Many stu- dents went to bed. Others . . . Eight o'clock and classes went on. Some instructors gave hour quizes . . . why and the correct answers, the professors alone know. Some students were still under the weather. Others were still under the influence. A few were still under the table. But empty seats were amazing- ly few ... as few as the students who stayed awake during the lec- tures. Some classes were enter- tained . . . by the student who wandered into anatomy in a tux . . . waving happily to or at his instructor. And the class where the grader took imaginary roll . . . then with a "whoop!" clat- tered out of the room when the professor mentioned liquor as the poor man's solace. At noon the Ever Eat began to fill up with students who thought they could successfully take it successively. Few could. And that's how some students spent some of their holiday in Columbia. It was indeed unique. A war and a speeded-up Univer- sity calendar were necessary to bring the conditions about and probably next year will see nothing comparable since there will be so few men around. That is, of course, unless soldiers and sailors in great quantities are training here. In that case, Columbia might see another hair- raising, hilarious time. 13 J-school's barber shop quartet. Irv Behind-the-mike Farbman dodges publicity. Walters, Farbman, Bayless, Dick-Peddie, Franz, M. C. Hair styles obviously startle June Ford's date. Not everyone drank his cokes straight. Engineers couldn't forget the WAR. Good Mornin,' Folks Martha Scott taps it out. On the up-swing They pledged W. C. T. U. on Friday. Only the grass can enjoy the A & A spilled here. The evening started with well-filled shelves. After the party, somewhere on campus. Norm Stark Showme's new ad- vertising manager, relaxes, before the big blowout. (ADVT.) Begged, Borrowed or Stolen Your girl is spoiled, isn't she? No, it's just the perfume she's wearing. "Wish we had a fifth for bridge." "You don't need a fifth for bridge, you dope!" "Well, make it a pint then." DATE "How about a date?" "Indeed no!" "Oh, I don't mean now. Some nasty wet afternoon when there's no body else in town." -The Old Line. "Ah wins." "What you got?" "Three aces." "No yuh don't, Ah wins." "What you got?" "Two eights and a razor." "Yah sho do. How come yuh so lucky?"-Texas Ranger. First Classman: "There are some 30 odd profs in the English De- partment." Plebe: "So I've noticed." -McConald. Hostess-"I'm so glad you came, Bishop. I was going to send you an invitation, but then I thought, "Oh, what th' hell." One can of paint said to another: "Darling, I think I'm pigment." -Banter. Taken from a freshman paper: "A morality play is one in which the characters are goblins, ghosts, vir- gins, and other supernatural char- acters." -Log. Burglar: "Please let me go lady, I've never done anything wrong." Old Maid: "Well, it's never too late to learn." When Mark Antony told Cleopatra that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, she replied: ,"Well, I'm not prone to argue." -Medley. UP AND OVER Guest (to host in new home)- "Hello, old pal, how do you find it here?" Host-"Walk right upstairs, and then two doors to the left." -Pup Tent. "One seat for tonight's show, well forward, center, and downstairs. Do you have it?" "Can you play a violin?" Mistress: You know, I suspect my husband has a love affair with his stenographer. Maid: I don't believe it. You're only saying it to make me jealous. -Yellow Jacket. "I don't mind filth as long as it's clever!" SING TO MY WELL-BELOVED (Continued from page 9) fice. Laugh if you please; laugh if you dare. For sacrifice, on the altar of the future. For once in the whole blood-dripping story a generation is deliberately going out to die to crack the bruising lousey chains heaped on by ages of kings and maniacs. Going out to die, to remove that mountain of chains poor crawling man staggered under into this war. Lots of us will die; before we're through, in the filth and terror we may lose sight of the end we're fighting for and even curse it; but we'll bring down into the earth with us the whole rotting- Make the world safe for de- mocracy, jeered the dark one. And have you ever seen a dead man? A man who was alive a few minutes before, who spoke a few commonplace words with you, lying in the mess of his own blood, his head split open and empty except for raw red flesh on the inside, his brains spilling over his face. . . I can take it, replied the red one through his teeth. As for making the world safe for de- mocracy - we'll make it safe, anyway. I don't care whether peo- ple in Afghanistan elect two congressmen and a county clerk or not-I just don't want a gov- ernment there, or in Germany or Russia or anywhere else, that will threaten my right to elect a Con- gressman and a county clerk, if I'm so minded-and while I'm fighting for that I'll fight for their right to have any government they damn please. Sure we said that before--and deny if you can (Continued on page 20) LANE'S Campus Drug Gaebler's Bing's Fountain Greyhound Coffee Shop Topic Delicatessen Ever Eat Livingston's Market Stephen's College Shop Navy Barracks Harris' Cafe University Book Store MUELLER'S VIRGINIA CAFE Tiger Laundry GREYHOUND COFFEE SHOP New WAAC: "Where do I eat?" Captain: "You mess with the male officers." New WAAC: "I know, but where do I eat?" -Masquerader. 20 SING TO MY WELL-BELOVED (Continued from page 19) that the power to achieve it was right in our hands the last time . . . But we miffed it, and the whole mess came right up again like a pickle on a sour stomach. Sure, there were lots of crusades; we've had lots of chances to save ourselves, but we've failed ourselves every time, piled on more chains or substituted some for others. But not this time, brother. Very pretty , mused the dark one. "You done lo-ost your go-od thing now," announced the ma- chine roguishly, winking red- yellow-and-green. The dark one drank, and look- ing into his glass as if to read the future in alcohol said How will you know? Why will it be different this time? Look who sends you out to fight--bowling, puling men in the halls of state; here, in England, everywhere. In- fant minds in men's bodies, puffed up over their own im- portance, backward-looking, self- ish on the very eve of disaster. Leaders of your cause, heads of your greatest industries, deal secretly with your enemy; petty would-be leaders are willing tools for him. Even now in the stark face of military defeat they scamper about in search of gain like rats scrounging for crumbs, all unmindful of the cat looming green-eyed over them licking its whiskers. When they're not scared to death of being bombed in their beds anymore, how long do you think they'll stick to their high and noble spoutings about four freedoms, eight points, rights of minorities, and the dawn of a new day? For Christ's sake, don't be fooled! He took a deep breath, a drink, and plunged deeper. If they're so fired up about their freedoms, -Urchin "My Gawd, Pollard, watch your damn fingernails!" why didn't they turn Japan in Manchuria and Italy in Ethiopia from their slaughtering, raping, pillaging? Why didn't your free- dom-lovers take up their right- eous arms against the crucifixion of minorities in Germany, against the organized murder of a strug- gling sister republic in Spain? Nothing has changed since those days! And no one with a shred of sincerity can stand up on his hind legs today and yell "free- dom", when he's been sitting on his behind for the last ten dirty heart-rending years while Chinks and spies and niggers and Jews were the only ones fighting for democracy, living like lepers, some of them, and dying like flies. It's because they're all alike, a hundred years ago and a thousand years from now; the big-wind in Congress and the little-big-wind in the corner drug- store-if their door is closed they think the whole world is warm, but prick their hides and they yell freedom 'til they're blue in the face-the ones who talked three days steady in the Senate to kill the anti-lynching bill, and the two million poor bastards that believe Coughlin is God, or Peley, or Winrod, or Huey Long. Amer- icans all. A litle war will never change those babies. For Christ' sake, kid, don't be sucked in. Now I will sing to my well- beloved. .. the words of the prophet came back in a rush with all their force and true mean- ing. My well-beloved's vineyard brought forth not grapes but wild grapes, and he destroyed it.. . Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes, woe unto them that are prudent in their own sight. .. "The bells in the steeple Don't tell time any more," mourned the machine, its glass- ine bubbles tripping sadly up the tubes. The young man spoke slowly, deliberately. It's my America. Everything you say is true. But it's my America. We were selfish, cowardly, vicious, it's true, per- haps as bad or worse than they; we waited and said we'll let these others die if only we can live- oh God how we wanted to live- like you. But it's still my Amer- ica. Maybe two millions do think Coughlin is God, but sixty million (Continued on page 23) DROP INN CAFE CROWN DRUG STORE CENTRAL BILLIARD PARLOR Frozen Gold Ice Cream Dean's Campus Shop Bing's Fountain AL'S SHOE HOSPITAL "Rastus, what io' you all sharp- ening that razor?" "Woman, th's pair of shoes under that bed. If the's no nigger in them shoes I'm going to shave."-Froth. 22 Tired? I 'aven't 'ad a bite for days," said a tramp to the landlady of an Eng- lish inn, the George and Dragon. "D'you think yer could spare me one?" "Certainly not, replied the land- lady. "Thank yer," said the tramp, and slouched off. A few minutes later he was back. "What d'yer want now?" asked the landlady. "Could I have a few words with George?" said the tramp. -0- "Is this the Salvation Army?" "Yes." "Do you save bad women?" "Yes." "Well, save me a couple for Sat- urday night."-Jack-O-Lantern. SING TO MY WELL-BELOVED (Continued from page 21) want a chance for a decent life, an education for their kids, just little, peaceful lives - and if there's a fighting chance, why hell we'll take it. Maybe we'll miff it again, like the little men did last time, maybe we don't deserve better-but the chance, man, the fighting chance is there now; to wipe out the whole rot- ten mess the way it was created -in blood. And then, a new world we can build with sweat, and hope, and backache and. .. love. That's my America. How can blood bring forth love? asked the dark one pity- ingly. How can oppression bring forth justice? For once let reason not emotion, not false painted words, sway the minds of men. Have twelve thousand years had no effect? Have we learned noth- ing? Let the power grabbers have their way; the sun still shines, the grass smells as sweet, and women are still women, no mat- ter what language the people speak, no matter if the flag above them is red or black or yellow. I am selfish. I am an opportunist, I dm a hedonist, looking only for myself-yet my way is compassionate and Christ- like compared to your blood bath. Compassion is not a virtue in wiping out a rotten world, replied the red one bitingly. You should appreciate that better than any- one. (God, what a wonderful sol- dier you would make.) I don't want your world. I spit on it. I want to be a man; you would make men animals, crawling on all fours before a master and in reward being permitted to sniff the grass and bask stupildly in the sun when he has no work for them, and have their women, un- doubtedly at appointed intervals. Undoubtedly, said the dark one calmly. Woe, woe, I could hear the hoary prophet crying in his beard. Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil. Woe unto them that change darkness into light, and light into darkness. . . my beloved tended his vineyard in righteousness, yet it brought forth only wild grapes. The vine- yard of the Lord is the house of Israel. . . (Continued on page 24) The Ever Eat Stamper Dairy Campus Barber Shop Pepsi-Cola CAMPUS - VALET CLEANERS -Sundial "E-F-G-H-I got a gal" SING TO MY WELL-BELOVED (Continued from page 23) "But when the sweet talk is done," gargled the machine, be- coming positively maudline, "A woman is two-faced," They sat in their smoky pen, a little island of silence for awhile in that river of sound. And after you've killed and destroyed and maimed until you are too tired to raise your arm to strike once more, what then? asked the dark one wearily. When we have broken the power of tyranny, said the young- er one boldly, when we have crushed brute force with the weight of force so that it can never rise again, the greatest chance since mar crawled out of the slime will be in our hand, for a life of decency and dignity for every man on earth. Those eighteenth century sages who saw freedom and equality as "in- alienable rights" were wrong.. 24 there is no freedom or equality in nature, science has taught us that. Those wise men knew it, too - they had slaves on their plantations at that very moment. But we can create equality, and opportunity and liberty, just as we have created culture, just as we have created everything we have come to look upon as "civi- lization", since the first man picked up a rock and was there- fore creating, making himself better armed than the animals. That's why they have to be fought for, freedom and equality, and don't come to people who sit and wait for them-because they're not part of nature at all, but a thing of man's own crea- tion. They must be carved with his hands- Bloody hands, thrust the other. Tyrants blood, traitors blood, parried the red one. Rot, returned the dark one. The boy in the plane firing his machine gun at you, throwing a grenade at you from a foxhole, charging at you with a bayonet, is no traitor, no tyrant. He's just a poor deluded bastard the same as you are, and the quicker both of you find it out the better. He's being forced to fight, snapped the red one. I don't notice we're depending on volunteers remarked the dark one with elaborate irony. It's his misfortune that he represents the tyrant, the younger one said slowly. We'll fight him as long as he is whipped into fighting; then we will be the first to grasp his hand, and bury his dead and put our shoulder with his to building- The New World, suggested the dark one. The brave new world. Ignoring the sneer the red one went on, talking more to himself than to the other. A federated (Continued on page 26) Psychology 122W (Continued from page 8) the doctor said he was underweight. When he came to be interviewed by the psychologist there, he put on an act worthy of Barrymore. He started by talking rapidly, then got a little incoherent, asked about voices in the room, became agitated, and finally began to laugh and weep intermittently. Finally he quieted down and listened to the psy- chologist's questions. Paul almost smiled as he answered them with facts almost word for word from the case histories he had read. The psychologist sent Paul to the infirmary and began an investigation. Letters to Paul's pro- fessors, the dean of men, and friends only strength- ened his suspician. Paul's mother-his father was dead-admitted that Paul was a bit moody and sulky, and acted strangely at times. The psycholo- gist was convinced. Paul was a hebephrenic schizophrenic. Paul was sent home to rest up for a while. He went willingly. He had gotten back at the draft board. He was 4-F. It didn't take Paul long to get back to school again. He told his acquaintances that it was a temporary disorder and that everything was fine again. He began to aim at the "Paul Grant, Psy- chiatrist"' sign again. He had shown the draft board where they stood. But everything wasn't no fine. His acquaint- ances weren't convinced and now his professors were turning against him too.. Paul would show them. He started to study harder. Just shut him- self up in his room and studied. Just studied. He even got to reading some of those new books. To Hell with the rest of the world. Paul Grant would show them. Just wait. That went on for several months. And so did the war. More boys got drafted and boys were in a minority on the campus now. Furthermore they were talking of bringing the Army in here too. But Paul just shut himself in and kept study- ing and dreaming. Of course he felt a little un- easy; he was positive the girls were talking about him when he passed and he knew the fellows crossed the street so they wouldn't have to talk to him. And those damned posters with "Uncle Sam Wants You!" That finger pointed straight at Paul. And through him too. It finally happened. Paul received a telephone call from his mother that Bob had been killed in the Solomons by the Japanese. At first, he was mute. Then he began to sob and swear obscenely about the Japs. He was furious. The Japs were after Bob just like the draft board was after him. But he'd show those Japs--he'd get every last one of them. He forgot about "Paul Grant, Psy- chiatrist." Paul went to the local draft board and con- vinced them that he deserved another examina- tion. He sneered as he left the draft office. He wondered which one of the board was against him and why. Probably all of them. After passing his physical examination at Jefferson Barracks, Paul again came to the psy- chologist's office. He decided he would act nat- ural and prove he wasn't a schizophrenic. Paul and BUCHROEDER'S the psychologist talked for a whole hour. Finally another man, evidently a doctor came and the psychologist asked Paul to leave the room. The door to the office was slightly ajar and Paul heard the psychologist's voice: "it's a fine case of schizophrenia all right, Doc. Paranoid type. Had delusions of persecution. He thinks the draft board is persecuting him. Thinks the Japs are after his family personally. A perfect case of paranoid schizophrenia." Paul's head reeled. His mind flew back to a line in his notes for course 122w. "Paranoid schizophrenia. Patients of this type require hospitalization." "What house you in?" 25 Campus Snack ECONOMY CLEANERS SING TO MY WELL-BELOVED (Continued from page 24) world state, on the twin corner- stones of education and science. Impossible? One New York City block is living every-day proof it can be done. The means of sat- isfying every last human being's needs are in our hands today, but we haven't used them that way? Like hell; we've fought to glut ourselves with more than we need and starve the rest of the world, every bunch trying to gorge it- self when it has the chance and snapping at the threat of the other glutters when it loses the chance-a pack of dogs. A world police force owing allegiance to no national state but to a council representing all people-not states. A council with powers each national state must foreswear-all dealings be- tween states, education of the young and the holy job of seeing that everyone, I say everyone, has the power, the means, the machinery and the distributing agencies to do just that. That's the twentieth century! Thoughtfully, with a flash of enthusiasm lighting his eyes, the red one went on. The power to stir the world into one vast melt- ing pot; to move laborers from crowded India to barren Canada, transfer teachers of science from Germany to Russia, skilled work- ers from America to Rumania, squatters from desolate Poland to farms in Australia. Mix 'em up, keep 'em working, and then then, dark one, they won't care whether the flag above them is red or black or yellow. But they won't have to crawl to enjoy the sun, then, or the grass-because there won't be anyone to crawl to. That's why I offer myself for the sacrifice-to erase the des- pots and the reasons for them, that you would crawl to for your cubic foot of air. What a poor empty thing would be my cornfield, what a mockery the laugh on her lips, if they could be taken from me at some maniac's command. For that field, for that laugh, I pledge myself to die, for we have found that there are some things greater than physical desires- and by that pledge I bind all free men, and those whose souls are free though their bodies may be chained; for all of us have each a field and a laugh that we cher- ish, and added together they make the world. What will you do with nation- alism, with the language barrier, with races that have fought since the dawn of time, with rich and poor, litle Galahad, queried the dark one almost gently. What will you do with rich and poor? The young one drained his glass. I don't know, he said simply. You are so small, so weak, one tiny nail in such a gigantic struc- ture. Better to cling to what you have; it is good, what you have... You know the proverb, the red one smiled! For want of a nail the shoe was lost, for want of a shoe the horse was lost, for want of a horse the battle was lost, for loss of the battle the kingdom was lost. I'm not ashamed to be a nail. Fool, said the dark one quietly. You glorious hopeless fool. "There'll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover," warbled the nickel-plated music box from the depths of its mechanical heart, "Tomorrow, when the world is free." The song, the smoke, and the noise, and the words flowed over me like physical bodies. I lost all perspective; the two men were a hundred feet high, bellowing in voices of thunder; now they were my own inner self, torturing my mind with doubts and cross- (Continued on page 28) COCA-COLA BOTTLING COMPANY OF MISSOURI Hotel Chase SING TO MY WELL-BELOVED (Continued from page 26) purposes. Now they were not arguing at all, were not two but a gigantic chorus, singing, sing- ing to my well-beloved America, a song of this vineyard planted in righteousness, singing woe, woe-will ye bring forth grapes --or wild grapes-? J. E. Salesman: "Yes madam, what can I do for you?" Sweet Young Thing: "I'm going to be married next Tuesday and I would like to get some silk pajamas. What colors are appropriate for a bride? Salesman: "White is the pre- ferred color if it is your first mar- riage, and lavend r if you've been married before." Sweet Young Thing: "Well, you'd better give me some white ones with just a wee touch of lavender in them. -Yellow Jacket. 28 Two ghosts were playing poker when a knock was heard at the door. "Who is it?" they asked. "Rigor Mortis-May I set in?" -0- She: "What do you mean by say- ing that the dates you had with me were like a string of pearls to you?" He: "Neckless, dearie, neckless." -0-. Girl: How do you expect to ac- complish anything with three good- looking stenographers in your office?" Guy: "By giving two of them a day off." -0-- Jones-"Would you give ten cents to help the Old Ladies' Home? Smith-"Good night! Are they out again?" -0- Yoder: Well, how was the bur- lesque dance? Jealous: "Abdominal." Clear: I don't like that bathing suit you're wearing between you and me. Lucy: I'm sorry, but that's just where it does the most good. --O-- Gander: For two pins I'd park this car and kiss you. Annabelle: Here take these, my hair will come undone anyway. -Exchange -0- During a lull in A. E. F. activities in London last week, a colored boy from Chattanooga got in a poker game with some English chaps. Pick- ing up his cards he found four aces. Someone had just bet one pound and the colored boy said: "I don't know how yo' boys count yo' money, but I'll raise you' one ton." --Yellow Jacket. -0- Moe-Do you know that a single fly can have a thousand little ones? Joe-No kiddin'. How many can a married one have?-Exchange. The Golden Campus Camel Cigarettes