Showme February, 1957 Showme February, 1957 2008 1957/02 image/jpeg University of Missouri Special Collections, Archives and Rare Book Division These pages may be freely searched and displayed. Permission must be received for subsequent distribution in print or electronically. Please contact hollandm@missouri.edu for more information. Missouri Showme Magazine Collection University of Missouri Digital Library Production Services Columbia, Missouri 108 show195702

Showme February, 1957; by Students of the University of Missouri Columbia, MO 1957

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Showme February 1957 $00.25 Plus Anything Else You Can Contribute How Does Love Grab Ya? The Four Freshmen Barbara Corroll RCA VICTOR RECORDING ARTIST Puckett's Clarington STEIN CLUB Swami's Snorts A footsore hobo was walking along a highway thumbing his nose at the cars speeding by. In time, another hitchhiker coming from the other direction, spotted him in amazement. "Hey bud," he cried when they met, "What's the idea thumbing your nose like that? You'll nev- er get a ride that way." The member of the willingly unemployed made a cyinical ges- ture. "Who cares?" he shrugged. "This is my lunch hour." Sunday School teacher: Lot was warned to take his wife and flee out of the city, and she was turned to a pillar of salt. Little boy: Please, teacher, what happened to the flea? WRIGHT'S RADIO & T.V. REPAIR Showme Darling, will you love me when I'm old and feeble? Of course I do. I wonder if my girl loves me. Of course; why should she make you an exception? For years the two sexes have been racing for supremacy. Now they've settled down to neck and neck. The meanest man in the world is the warden who put a tack in the electric chair. Ernie's Steak House At The A. W. S. "Heartbeat Dance" letters January 14, 1957 Dear Editors: The article on jazz ("got any- thing by the dezsoe yorzyk quar- tet?" December, 1956) was one of the best on the subject I've read. Not considering myself an ex- pert on the subject, and yet not being completely lame, I for one would like to see more of this "Hollywood" guy. The article has received some good notices from some of the St. Louis disc joc- keys. More words from this guy might bring some good sounds to our local radio stations, which we badly need. Another Californian Dear Californian: We were also .tipped that a St. Louis DJ read the complete ar- ticle on his program. Taking the cue from the faithfuls who can spot a guy who knows what he's writing we're planning a couple more on "Jazz to Seduce With" and a fling into the jazz dens around this area as soon as "Hol- lywood" digs up a cameraman sporting a smokescope lens. He's got the material. You'll see him soon. Editors Dear Showme: Having been stationed here at Ft. Wood for the past sixteen months, I have had numerous oc- casions to visit your helluva Uni- versity, and read your heckuva magazine. When I was paying tu- ition to drink beer at good old Ohio State, I thought the Sun- dial (our humor magazine), was the greatest, and while I won't cast loyalty completely aside, I have to admit that your Showme is right up there with it. Journalism being my major at Good Old 'You Know Where,' I decided to use some of my vast leisure time in writing some sto- ries that would lead to my dis- covery as the new writing phe- nom to come out of battle worn Ft. Leonard Wood. So far, I re- main undiscovered. Seriously though, I noticed the creative writing contest you are sponsoring, and I thought I wouldn't have anything to lose by submitting one of my stories. It's about 4500 words, and each one was painfully typed as you can tell by the typing of this letter! Thank you very much for tak- ing time to read it, and I hope you like it. Sincerely Yours, Pfc. Gerald Marsh U.S. Army Hospital Eye Clinic Ft. Leonard Wood, Mo. Dear Gerald: You hit the nail on the head. You're in the Supplement in this issue. It's a tricky theme to han- dle and we've looked at a couple similar but had to reject them. We're putting you in the story contest stack and add that you're free to submit it back in the mar- kets . . . Such as the Mademoi- selle contest elsewhere in this section which points out that they want material even though it has appeared in campus maga- zines. Any other campus talent that got trapped down there? Editors Editors: January 7, 1957 A magazine is now being or- ganized which will regularly in- corporate material and writers appearing in college undergrad- uate publications. I wish to sub- scribe to your publication and to receive issues from September, 1956, onward. Thank you. Yours, etc. Rex H. Lampman,, Editor Bull . . . a magazine of entertainment Los Angeles, California 4 Dear Rex: Thanks on the recognition. We think you might find enough ma- terial from us to justify the name of your magazine. Editors. January 9, 1957 Dear Sirs: My husband, who is in service, asked that I write to you for a subscription to S H O W M E. Would it be possible for you to send the past four issues also. Thank you very much for your service. Sincerely, Mrs. Kathleen Fothergill Savannah, Missouri Dear Mrs. Fothergill: We can still dig up some of the last few issues but we're low on several. As for two other is- sues . . . We don't talk about that. But we'd be glad to discuss bulk rates. Editors University of Massachusetts Amherst, Massachusetts January 7, 1957 Dear Editors: Undoubtedly at first glance you were a little baffled by this ma- terial; however, as this letter un- folds, our objective will be re- vealed. After a careful survey of all of the colleges and universities in the United States, your school was chosen as one to aid us in the selection of our Winter Car- nival Queen. We have included in this port- folio, photographs of our five queen finalists and descriptive information regarding the Uni- versity of Massachusetts annual Winter Carnival. Also included is a return postcard on which you will kindly designate your nomination for Queen. As these individual postcards are receiv- ed, they will be posted on a tally board in the center of the cam- pus. On the back of each picture you will find a number. The re- verse side of each postcard shows corresponding numbers and names. You merely have to check the appropriate box on the post- card. Any staff member of your humor magazine is eligible to make the selection. As this is the first time that any college organization has at- tempted this method of publicity, we would gratefully appreciate your cooperation in this venture. Again thanking you for your interest, we remain, Very Sincerely yours, The Publicity Committee Winter Carnival Dear Committee: Our choice is in the center spearheaded by the recommen- dation of our Girlwatcher Editor J. J. Aasen, who figured which one was most-likely a Swede. They're all right attractive and all that . . . but wait till you see the SHOWME Queen. Editors December 7, 1956 Dear Mr. Troelstrup: We would like very much to see the original art on several cartoons which have appeared in recent issues of SHOWME, with the thought of possibly reprint- ing them in our magazine, Col- lege Humor. We will pay $10 for each cartoon used and will return both used and unused art when the magazine comes out. We will also credit SHOWME. The ones in which we are in- terested in are (three by Noel, two by Kinkade, one by Taylor, six by Troelstrup, one by ECAT). We are also interested in seeing any other of your own past car- toons which you consider partic- ularly good. We would appreci- ate your sending them as soon as possible since we must meet an early deadline. Thank you for any help you may be able to give us. Sincerely yours, Corrine R. Katz, Editor College Humor Pines Publications, Inc. 10 E. 40th St., N.Y.C. Dear Corrine: Noel is already charging beers on those three cartoons. Editors Dear Sirs: Would appreciate it very much if you would send the SHOWME in a large envelope similar to the one the Missouri Alumnus comes in in order to insure that the SHOWME arrives here. It ap- pears that all the mail clerks in all the APOs read the magazine before I get my paws on it. Thank you, 1st Lt. Wendell Gooch 66939 Btry B, 3rd AFA Btn. APO 28, N.Y., N.Y. Dear Wendell: We'll check into that and try to rehabilitate those expensive envelopes. And Nanci doesn't mind that "Dear Sirs." She al- ways wanted to be a newspaper- man. Two Newspapermen Editors December 5, 1956 Dear Editors: We need your help to make this year's College Fiction Con- 5 test the most successful to date. We want to see more entries from more colleges so that we can find and encourage an even larger number of promising young writers. Although we choose only two outstanding stories as winners of the contest (both authors re- ceive $500 each and publication in MADEMOISELLE), we some- times buy the honorable-mentions at our regular rates. Finalists are always asked to submit re- visions of their entries and other samples of their work. In our February 1956 issue we printed both honorable-mentions of 1955. This January we will publish a revised version of a story that ranked high in the 1956 contest and a story by a current senior who won in 1955. Many of our other winners have published subsequent stories in MLLE. An outstanding example is Doris Betts, a three-time contributor since winning the 1953 contest. The contest is an exciting op- portunity for us to print good young writers and to further their careers. By now the College Fiction Contest has built up a reputation that means top contes- tants usually receive calls and of- fers from book publishers who've read their stories in MLLE. Two of our recent winners have had books published, one a Literary Guild selection. Almost 85 per cent have had stories reprinted or mentioned in the annual an- thologies. Since such well-established au- thors as Carson McCullers, Ten- nessee Williams, Joyce Cary and Frank O'Connor appear in MLLE, we realize that the contest may inspire more timidity than hope in many college students. We should like to emphasize, how- ever, that contestants are com- peting only with girls of similar age and experience, and that we have always been interested in young, unknown writers. MLLE was the first national-circulation magazine to publish Truman Capote, William Goyen, Robert Lowry, et al. We should like to call the 1957 College Fiction Contest to the attention of writers on your cam- pus. Please urge your oustand- ing contributors to enter. Remind them that stories printed in un- dergraduate publications are eli- gible if they haven't appeared elsewhere. If your magazine has published any stories by under- graduate women that you consid- er especially good, please send them on to us. Although the contest is not open to men, we hope you will encourage your staff and other students, men as well as women, to submit their stories through- out the year to be considered at our regular rates. A copy of the contest rules is enclosed. Please note that our deadline is March 15, 1957. We hope we can look forward to receiving manuscripts from you and your friends this year. $1,000 in prizes: The two winners will receive $500 each for serial rights to their stories and publication in MADEMOISELLE. The runners- up will receive honorable men- tion and we reserve the right to buy their work at our regular rates. The winners and honor- able-mentions will be announced in the August 1957 College is- sue. RULES: Eligibility - Any woman un- dergraduate under twenty-six who is regularly enrolled in an accredited college or junior col- lege is eligible. Stories that have appeared in undergraduate publications are acceptable if they have not been published elsewhere. Stories must be original and SUZIE STEPHENS characters fictitious. Length - Stories should run approximately 2,500 to 5,000 words. We are glad to accept more than one story from each contestant. Format - Use regulation-size typing paper. Entries must be typewritten, double-spaced, on one side of the page only. Mark work clearly with name, age, home address, school address and school year. Enclose a 9" by 12" Manila envelope, self-addressed and stamped, or stories received will not be returned. MADEMOI- SELLE assumes no responsibility for manuscripts. Judges - MADEMOISELLE editors, whose decisions will be final. Deadline - Entries must be postmarked by midnight March 15, 1957. Submit to: College Fiction Con- test, MADEMOISELLE, 527 Madison Avenue, New York 22, New York. Sincerely, Margarita G. Smith Fiction Editor Sudden Service Cleaners and Shirt Laundry ANDY'S CORNER A Modern Fairy Tale Once upon a time there was a little girl who wanted more than anything else in the world to be a beauty queen. Other little girls wanted to be movie stars or nurses, but all our little girl wanted was to be Miss Pickle Week or Miss Let's-Eat-More-Peanut-Butter-in '57. So from the time she was six years old, she practiced applying makeup, bathing suit posture and walking mincingly in high heels. She watched other beauty queens and imitated them and even de- veloped a talent (playing tunes on stringless banjos) in case she ever went to Atlantic City. And she could hardly wait for the day when she'd be a real, hon- est-to-goodness beauty q u ee n. Luckily she wasn't fat or ugly, but very slender and lovely as all good beauty queens should be (ex- cept the ones who pay for their ti- tles.) One day Our Little Girl went away to college (at the Universi- ty of Missouri, by a strange coin- cidence) and there her dream came true. She became the best beauty queen of all - for she was cho- sen swami's SHOWME Queen. Do you know what Our Little Girl's name is? It might be you! SEE THE MARCH SHOWME FOR BALLOTS AND FINALISTS' PICTURES. Editors' Ego We firmly believe we've got the best student buying public in the states. Last month's centerspread anniversary issue was a sellout at 3,500 copies. That's exactly 1,000 over the printing run of SHOWME in the final months of the last school year. We hope it means we're getting close to what you want to SHOW- ME. We're bound to make mistakes but we realize we're not compet- ing with The Nation, New Yorker or Playboy. We're competing with ourselves and that means we still like to hear what you have to say . especially in the mail . . wheth- er it's by way of contributions or just comments. We've been getting some letters from publishers of the pros lately. Publishers of the light humor mags springing up around the nation. see them in our letters columns . . BULL in Los Angeles, FANFARE in Chicago, ESQUIRE, COLLEGE HUMOR, MADEMOISELLE and JESTER in New York City, LAUGH BOOK in Wichita and a few more. It means that the pros are keep- ing any eye on college talent. And the way they spot men is through the material we use. They'll pay . .and we'll release. Right there you can toss in the innumerable anthologies and poc- ket books of collected college sto- ries and cartoons. AND THAT'S WHY WE BE- GAN CREDITING CARTOON WORK TO SHOWME MEN WHEN IT WAS DRAWN BY OUR OWN ART STAFF. Too often in the past, other magazines have lifted our car- toons WITHOUT CREDIT. And when another pro or college edi- tor liked that material writes where he saw it reprinted and mis- takely took it for their work and the result is under this sentence in the cartoon Jack Duncan drew for us last spring . . . now credit- ed in a national magazine (COM- PACT) to the Alabama Rammer- Jammer. And another one credit- ed to the Illinois Shaft. The opposite examples are SHOWME cartoons reprinted in the Michigan State SPARTAN. There has been a tremendous mix- up of late as to where work should be credited when it bears no credit of origin. WE WILL CONTINUE TO PUT A SHOWME CREDIT ON OUR HOME DRAWN WORK AND RECOMMEND TO ALL EDITORS WHO READ THIS TO DO LIKE- WISE WITH THEIR WORK. That way, cartoons such as we run un- der the filched title will be credit- ed to the correct artist and maga- zine and not to another magazine which filched the stuff and gave their campus the impression that it was their own work. That means that if a national magazine wants a particular cartoon they will know who to contact and we can pass the check (yes, they pay good) on to the artist. Again to clarify what we mean. The cartoon on Digsby was drawn by one of the editors back in 1949. It received a large reprint and then it was copied by artists too lazy to think up their own ideas. Result: It appeared in redrawn form in college anthologies. What is unusual about this particular ex- ample is that one of the Pennsyl- vania FROTH editors dug up the original and took an extra few sec- onds to draw in a correct credit which was not on it originally. The FROTH used it in October 1956. Besides thanking them, and the oth- er editors who do not cut off the credits, we suggest that they take up our method 100 per cent . . . so that we do not make the same mistake and give credit to a swi- per-magazine instead of the origi- nal. It's our purpose to see that the best campus work here is seen not only at Missouri but on all cam- puses we send exchanges to and the national magazines who ask to be put on our complimentary or subscription lists. And judging from our mail col- umn we hope you'll agree that we have been successful in attracting eyes to us. And if you work with us and let us see your stuff, wri- ter or artist, we'll continue to push your work to where it evidently is being seen. SHOWME contributors have hopped directly from us to the Saturday Evening Post and other ma jor publications BECAUSE THEY SAW THE STUFF HERE, OR CONTRIBUTORS HAVE IRON- ED OUT THEIR FLAWS IN COL- LEGE WORK BEFORE THEY HIT THE COMMERCIAL MAR- KETS. What about the ideas and ma- terial YOU have? We honestly think we have enough established work to give you a good magazine. But we're not satisfied. Who will be editor in 1958? YOU? Drop by. We'd be glad to knock your ideas around the office. But remember, if you think you're too damn talented for us, we don't want to see you. If you, on the other hand, just like to write or draw and enjoy the hell out of doing it, we DO want to see YOU! Showme EDITORS Skip Troelstrup Nanci Schelker BUSINESS MANAGER Dick Johnston PHOTOS Bob Garrett Charlotte Peaslee OFFICE MANAGER Pat Deatherage Alex Seconk EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Dick Noel PUBLICITY Judy Miller Alex Seconk SUBSCRIPTIONS Joanne Petefish Alex Seconk FEATURES Ron Soble CIRCULATION Bob Clatanoff Ruth Muff EXCHANGES Nancy Bales Alex Seconk ADVERTISING Gene Scott ART J. J. Aasen Alex Seconk JOKES Ginny Turman Alex Seconk FEATURES ADVENTURES IN THE LOCAL PRESS -- ---------16 THREE NO TRUMP------ -------------- - 14 BOMB PLOT STRIKES SORORITY --- ------- 18 EDEN REVISITED --------------------- 22 WHAT DO YOU MEAN, "RELIGIOUS EMPHASIS WEEK"? ____________________ 26 FLYNN'S FLINGS ---------------------40 GENTLEMEN SONGSTERS OFF ON A SPREE --_---41 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 University of Missouri. Office: 302 Reed 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: GI. 2-4053 or GI. 2-9855. 9 Duh, John - you're so handsome, You're the only one for me; Duh, Marsha - you're kidding- I'm ugly as can be; Duh, John, you're right, But only in the light; As the saying goes: "It's all the same at night." Around The Columns February . . . a new year, then a new month, now a new semester . . . a chance to start over . . the clean, fresh smell of $10 books . . new classes, new faces, and new worries . . the beer hall con- versation goes like this . . . .'. . Hey Bill, good to see ya . . yeah, Frank joined in January now, listen man, I got to study this semester . .she really got married, huh - why that little . what in hell are you doin' back . . this's your 6th year, ain't it . . . I always come back . . just like the swallows . . . you still pinned? . . . get another pitcher . . . yeah, he's gettin' out in May . .Germany, I think . . . you tellin' me . . . she didn't come back . there's other fish . . . yeah . .hey, you remember Mar- gi dontcha . . . yeah . . . no . . . tried though . . one more time . . . that's right, two Stags . .I got an apartment this se- mester . . . a convertible . . . no bull . . . bring a couple more beers . . . four more . . . a six- pack . . . gimmee a case, friend, this's gonna take a long time . . . . yeah, a long time. Till June or August, or next winter . . . maybe two, three, four years. A long time. But sometimes it seems like it goes mighty fast, doesn't it? Better make that two cases. RECENT REPORTS from agi- tated Marlboro smokers have it that filter, flavor, and flip-top boxes aren't all you get from that brand of cigarets. The butts themselves aren't bad - the complaints lie in the fact that after consuming four or five packs, curious tattoos be- gin appearing on the backs of their right hands. YOU KNOW, television has come quite a long way in recent years. Nowadays you can see dramatic shows li k e Robert Montgomery Presents, Climax (grunt) and Playhouse 90, com- edy like Phil Silvers, George Gobel and Sid Seizure, docu- mentaries like Air Power and See It Now, variety shows like Perry Como and Steve Allen (Hi ho, Steverino), and other undes- cribables such as Groucho Marx, Gerald McBoing-Boing, Alfred Hitchcock and Genial Jean Madman. However, with all these fine productions, the TV people still persist in nauseating us viewers with ridiculously horrible spec- tacles like Oral Roberts, Queen for a Day, Lawrence Welk, Grand Ole Opry, Modern Romances Liberace, and Stella Dallas, Backstage Human. I realize that the reasoning behind these pro- ductions is to appeal to the 11 Masses, but this even perplexes me more. The Masses. Just who in hell are the Masses? I've nev- er seen one Mass - not even around the Eighth Street Beer Halls - let alone plenty of them. The only thing I can figger out is that the TV people have got all these Masses huddled out in Death Valley or maybe submerg- ed somewhere in the Mindanao Deeps, and their only function is to rise up every day like Phoen- ixes and tune in their TV sets (Lord knows where they keep them - perhaps strapped on their backs) to the aforementioned pro- grams. Well. Some days even the birds have to walk, so I guess we'll just have to live with it. Any- way, often some of these pro- grams are unintentionally hilari- ous as hell. No kidding - get beered up some afternoon and watch Queen for a Day. It's a kill. Umm. Maybe laughter is the best medicine. I HAVE HEARD that a man never stands so tall as when he stoops to help a boy, which is a lie. HEY BOY, have I got a hot bit of information for you this month. Yessir. I always like to come out with these sorts of things so if you listen close you can be the first one on your block to have it and therefore will be popular as all get-out and hated tremendously by every- body. Wild. And if you happen not to be the first one on your block then you can naturally bludgeon or otherwise lay up the offender in order to be top dog, which you naturally want to be. There is nothing so completely AMERICAN as being the first one on your block to have one. One anything. Hell, be the first one to have Leprosy, that'll show em who's boss. Yes. Well, here is what I got for you this month. You know that wild-looking dog that you always see starting down into this nineteen-ought- twelve phonograph listening to his master's voice? (I personal- ly have always held that the dog was listening to a dirty joke or perhaps catching up on informa- tion as to hogs being up two and steady, but no matter.) Well, having always been inter- ested in dogs and armadillos and great horned owls and things (Oh I am a regular gawdam outdoors- man) an article on this dog which appeared a few weeks ago in the Kansas City Star caught my at- tention. Now this may be of more than just casual interest to certain parties, because, just like Hitler and Ivan the Terrible and James Dean (cymbals please . .CLANG- POWSMASHBOOM C L A N G- BOWBANG!!! thank you) this dog has been dead for 62 years, and his name is Nipper. Sixty- two years, mind you. Hell, he's got James Dean beat all to smither- eens. I understand that in a month or two there's going to be a great Nipper revival and the newstands will be cascaded with thousands of fan magazines con- taining thought-provoking articles such as Nipper; Dog or god? and Why Nipper was Contemptous of Conformity and The Life and Loves of Nipper Dog. There is also a movie in the making. (Tommy "Hurricane" Jackson will take the starring role.) Therefore you will naturally want to be all caught up on con- temporary Nipper information so that when the great revival takes place and everybody is agog you can be casual and off-hand about the whole thing and people will think you were, in truth, an in- timate friend of his. Nipper was the pet of an Eng- lish artist, Francis Barraud, who noticed the dog's quizzical inter- est in his (Francis') talking ma- chine and put the scene on can- vas. A few years later a repre- sentative of the Gramophone Company of London saw the painting and became intrigued with it (partly, no doubt, be- cause in the original the dog had five toes, one of which was la- ter erased.) In 1901 the Victor Talking Machine Company ac- quired rights to the painting and in 1929, when the Radio Corpo- ration of America purchased the Victor Company, Nipper went with it and has been a widely publicized trademark ever since. So there you have it. Incident- ally, I am operating as an ad- vance field salesman for Black Leather Jackets with a Nipper on the back, and upon request will gladly send information-packed pamphlets to interested citizens. (The jackets are made of oil- treated cockroach skin and are available in four solid and twen- ty-six two-tone colors - mono- grammed initials, purple back- up lights and chrome mudflaps optional at extra cost.) BY THE WAY, if you've al- ready noticed that we've got Ad- vertising in our magazine this month, don't be alarmed. I real- ize it's a pretty radical innova- tion, but several members of our staff are what you might call Men of Vision, and every once in a while we like to give them a chance to show their stuff. Sort of give 'em a free rein, if you know what I mean. 12 And if it's done right - who knows? - it might catch on all over the country. I SEE WHERE Jintaro Ishii, Masaji Izumida, Juhei Nakano, and Shigeichi Yamamoto, mem- bers of the Japanese Imperial Marines, recently surrendered to the United States, which was white of them. In December, 1944, Lt. Yama- moto led a platoon of Japanese marines in an abortive attack on an American airfield on Mindoro Island in the Philippines. The Japanese force was decimated and nine survivors, after a year of fearful hide-and-seek with U. S. troops in the fever-ridden Min- doro jungles, settled down to a stone-age existence as neighbors of a remote aboriginal tribe, to await "the victory of Japan". For 12 years they evaded capture and ignored leaflets telling them the war had ended. Last November the four survivors - weakened by disease and fantastically hun- gry - gave up and returned to civilization. They were very surprised that Japan had lost the war. After hearing about them, I was too. I WONDER WHERE EVE- LYN got her magic violin? Stole it, I'll wager. YOU KNOW, mucus is a good word. Mucus. It sure is. There's nothing better than to be squat- ting in front of your TV set, sip- ping a cup of coffee and munch- ing on a sandwich, you know, and have this announcer come out and say, "Hey there you boy! You all stopped up with mucus? Hmmmm? Well, all you got to do is get a Super-Duper Non-Alco- holic Anti-Biotic Nasal Spray and you'll just melt that old mucus away." Yessir. Mucus. I DON'T KNOW whether or not you've noticed - but just stop and think a minute. Heard any Christmas carols lately? Hah - I thought not. Haven't heard any for 6 or 8 weeks, have you? Nosir. Hell, for a couple of weeks back in December, that's all you did hear. Christmas carols. Thou- sands of them. But that's the way with them fads - here today and gone tomorrow. In a year or two they'll probably try to bring them back like they're a big new deal or something, but don't you be fool- ed for a minute. Be cool. Them record hucksters are just out to make money by preying on us poor souls who listen to the radio, anyhow. But they won't fool us, will they? Probably. I SEE WHERE the Kansas City Athletics are trying to sell their 1957 baseball tickets with a new angel. A straight-faced pamphlet says that those persons who buy four '57 season tickets will have an opportunity to buy four World Series tickets. For Municipal Stadium. In Kansas City. I'VE GOT A subscripiton to Punch, the British humor maga- zine, and I enjoy it very much. It is set up sort of like the New Yorker (only much better) and the best thing about it - from an American's point of view - is its movie section, because 80% of the films they review are Hol- lywood products. A couple of weeks ago they had a particular- ly good one - the staid British- er's critique of Love Me Tender. The whole treatment it was funnier than hell, but the best part of it - I thought - was the last sentence. Here it is. "You may notice that I do not treat this work very seriously; but whoever put Mr. Presley in- to it didn't, either." That just about sums it up, don't it? HERE IS AN interesting item for all you professional or ama- teur practical-jokers. I discovered it myself - quite by accident - and it has definite possibilities. You know what Alka-Seltzer is, don't you? It cures sour stom- ach, gas in stomach, heartburn, overeating, simple headache, neu- ralgia, muscular aches and pains, minor throat irritations, discom- forts of colds, muscular fatigue, overindulgence in food and drink, and extended beer busts. It cures damn near everything (supposed- ly) but that's not the point. Next time you plan to play So- cial-whirling College Boy on The Town, pick up a jar of it and stick it in your pocket. When you reach your point of destination- it doesn't matter where; beer tav- ern, set-up joint, or fraternity rec-room - you will no doubt be situated at a table or in a booth with several other guys and their dates. Good enough. Now. As soon as the guy next to you gets up or turns his head or bends down to retrieve his church-key or something, you very coolly reach into your poc- ket, extract your jar of Alka- 13 Seltzer, open it, take out a cou- ple of tablets, and pop them in his drink. And the next time he goes to take a swig, just watch the ex- pression on his face. I KNOW THIS guy - Ardy Friedberg - who is director of the Savitar Frolics and he wants me to say something about it (the Frolics) in here because evidently he is planning on poc- keting all the receipts and nat- urally he wants to sell as many tickets as he can so there will be more loot for him and I guess he thinks that as soon as you read this you will immediately vault out of your classroom and roar out and buy some of the afore- mentioned tickets and I guess this is the most screwed-up sen- tence I have ever built. Seriously though, (ohmygraci- ousyes I am in dead earnes) The Frolics are perenially one of the best things around here so . . . especially if you get a seat on the front row - see, there are all these luscious dolls with out no clothes on hardly and . . . Ah yes. Well, you just as well go. It damn near beats drinking beer in some hole. I GUESS that takes care of it this month. Be cheerful, friends. Dick Noel Three No Trump By Four "Sisters" Life in a- - - - - - - house. Catchy start, isn't it? I bet you stopped to count the dashes. Perhaps you'd better read no farther. This is an expose, all right, but not the kind you think. This little piece deals with some of the problems of a girl, who for little-understood reasons, has joined a sorori- ty, and lives in a large, brick, becolumned house with some forty-odd other girls - and believe me, some of them are plenty odd. Swami Throws a Mad For instance, there's the bridge set. Now I don't say that these girls are overly occupied with Cul- bertson's sport. However, when they are introduced to a man, in- stead of noting with pleasure his manly characteristics, they im- mediately demand to know if he plays bridge. I have seen many a romance grow out of these card-instructions. T h e happy couple spend their declining years raising two children (so they will always have four for bridge). But when I am trapped with three of these bridge fiends (and they seem to run rife in a soror- ity house) I become restive. But not as restive as they become. After talking about past grand slams wistfully, then hollering hopefully down the hall, "Fourth for bridge?" many many times and getting no response, they converge upon me and trap me into learning (again) how to play the hateful game. My only deliverance from the interminable bridge game is the chime. I am, of course, starved. But . . . I must stand in a bunchy group outside the dining room and wait for the housemother to enter. The housemother is taking a bath. You do not hurry your housemother. This is not polite, and sorority girls are always po- lite - to their housemothers. Finally the housemother en- ters the dining room. All the good sisters troop in. Now at long last, you may sit down. The food is cold. But you don't eat yet. Oh no, first you sing. Then you pass things. Round and round go the salt, pepper, ketchup, m e a t sauce, mustard, butter, salad dressing, and rolls. Finally all forty girls have everything nec- essary. But you have to wait till the housemother starts eating. And the housemother is deep in con- versation. Then she is summoned to the phone. At long last, you have at the congealed food. There is too little of what is still good and not much else of the rest. Enough of this "you" stuff. It's me I'm talking about. I have a date, for Wednesday, oh joy! I am freed from study hall. I am mentally shaking the dust of the carpets off my heels when the bridge players converge upon me. I explain regretfully that I have a date and can't play bridge. "Oh, who are you going out with?" "John Brown". Someone has to make some crack about John Brown's Body. I think it's a national law, gov- erning people of certain I.Q. ranges. But then comes the ques- tion. "John Brown? What is he?" He is a man - all man, a good dancer, excellent conversational- ist, and plenty fun in a parked car. But that's not what they want. "He's an independent," I ad- mit. "Oh." The bridge players drift away. "Fourth for bridge," fades away down the second floor hall- way. I can't exactly call it snob- bery. It's not a forthright con- tempt I see in their eyes, just a slowly descending indifference. Indifference - that about sums it up. Except, that is, when you step over a carefully drawn line, perhaps by wearing clean sad- dle shoes or coming in once too often of a Friday afternoon with beer on your breath. Then the indifference to you vanishes, and your forty-odd sisters, loving sisters all, trample each other in the rush to push you back into line so that the sorority won't get a "bad" name. And to keep the sorority's good name, we must pick "won- derful" girls each year during Rush week. Detailed little cards with all the pertinent facts about the rushees are studied by the rushers and memorized. "She was a homecoming queen, election day queen, cheerleader, and garbage collector's union queen. Definitely she is queen material." So we want her. She also happens to be snobbish, spiteful, and incredibly stupid. However, stupidity can be over- looked - when the girl in ques- tion is definitely queen material. But not all the girls are picked for their lovely faces and Mon- roe figures. Ask any fraternity pledge after blind date weekend. There's the house grade aver- age to think of. "Well, I know she's not pret- ty, you all, but remember, she made straight E's in high school, and heaven knows, we can use . . . " So we pledge her. And as long as there are any actives who Ladies Are Made Here? remember those long rush week discussions, she is the one of whom it was said, "But what in the world will we do with her at exchange dinners?" Speaking of exchange dinners, the chief problem is what to speak of. Especially if your din- ner partner turns out to have about as much in common with you as a Lower Slobbovian rein- deer. Too, there is the problem of eating. Since sorority house meals are rather scant, you go wild when you see the fairly im- pressive festal board spread be- fore you. Your stomach rumbles. Your salivary glands salivate. Quivering with anticipation, you lift a forkful to your mouth. Sud- denly you notice Partner has his eyes riveted on you. He begins to speak. You find it impossible to heartlessly chew and swallow while he has his baby blues fo- cused on you, and is also focus- ing on you the flood of his elo- quence (about his girl back home) so you sadly lower your fork and listen. Finally, Partner begins to eat. Now is your chance. Frantically, you stuff a large bite of food in your mouth. Just then, Partner focuses his eyes again, and loudly asks, "What do you think of Mizzou?" Faced with the alternatives of sitting dumbly and conveying your true impression-you think nothing of Mizzou - or swallow- ing the bite and replying, you choose the latter. Gulping hasti- ly, you prepare your answer, in- cidentally spraying Partner with bits of unswallowed food. As he wipes his face with his napkin, you have a sneaking hunch that he too agrees with you on the subject of exchange dinners. But exchange dinners are part of the sorority's business - that of making ladies. See, now, here's where I work in that catchy sub- title that caught your eye. We've made great people too. We must be sure to point out. our famous alums to the queens. Carefully we brag about girls that grew up and married fam- ous men. Lord knows how they hooked the man. But anyway that makes them famous alums because they married a famous man. And are we proud! Maybe someday they'll proudly publi- cize a woman who married a guy with no name, raised six beauti- ful kids who swear by her in- stead of at her and solicits for the March of Dimes. But that's a long way off. Right now we have to push those who marry well. Marry well. That means married into money. A Lady Minds Her Manners. Always rise when an older per- son enters the room - then bowl her over in the rush to answer the phone. Watch the clothes you wear. A sex rating of 2.4 is al- lowed - low subdued whistles, but no passes. But at formals, and the little get-togethers which precede formals, the idea is to dress as if inviting attack by ev- ery man in the room. And act this way too - to every man in the room but your date. At him you snarl, "Don't crush my cor- sage!" The poor slob bought it, didn't he, lady? I guess he can crush it if he wants to? No. Not lady- like. Part of the lady-making is done by the sorority professional She is one of the many women of indeterminate middle years, who has failed to find satisfac- tion in her life and has turned to vicariously living the lives of "Her Girls". She studies their records, their faces, their ac- Over complishments. She feels she "really knows" each and every one of them. Does she know that the reason that I am "kind of slow to stand up when an older person enters the room, aren't you, dear?" is that my fiancee has just eloped with a girl he met three days ago? And does she know that Jane ("I adore Jane, she's so gay and bubbl- ing.") is half-way drunk on vod- ka collins? No, of course not. All she knows is that she knows "Her Girls." With all the many girls in the house, it is inevitable that some of them should have cars. In this cold weather, it's nice to be able to count on one of your loy- al sisters to take you downtown to buy some clean socks. One of the sisters happens to be going downtown to shop for a mink coat or something. "Just give me the money, I'll get the socks for you," she says. At dinner, you bend a ques- tioning glance her way. She avoids you. Finally! "Oh, my goodness, I completely forget. I'd run you downtown after dinner, but I've got to study tonight." (So do you) "But do come up- stairs and look at my new coat." Stifling the impulse to stifle her in the shining fur you in- quire timidly about your sixty- nine cents. "Oh, dear. I haven't any change just now. I'll give it to you later." Kiss that money good- bye. In fact, there's quite a bit of money you can kiss goodbye, as well as your housebill. There's the inevitable kickback for a wedding, shower, or birthday present, the money for sorority sponsored charities (they seem to be legion in number, and I don't mean American), the money to send the delegate to the sorority convention in Eur- ope . . . Ad infinitum. In case you don't know Latin, that means foreverandeverandeverandever- amen. Pity the poor girl who wants to leave the house after the house bill is upped again. She can't leave because she owes every- body a fortune to pay her past bills and no one will let her leave until she's paid off her debts. And so it goes. Well, perhaps some of the many advantages of a sorority make some sacrifices necessary. In this cas e, individuality, freewill, money, and time to attend the inevitably constant meetings, song-practices, skit-practices, and practice-practices. But they'll never get me. I guess it's about time to put on my class-going, bridge - playing uniform - tight wool skirt - not too tight - and matching orlon sweater. (No, not cashmere - this is State U). Bridge, anyone? Adventures in the Local Press The Columbia Tribune, Jan. 3, 1957 Jimmy Dorsey Into Hospital for Surgery NEW YORK, Jan. 3 (INS)- Bandleader Jimmy Dorsey was in Doctors hospital today prepar- atory to an operation for "a very irritating wart on his left lung." His brother, Tommy, choked to death on food particles November 26 at his home in Greenwich, Conn. Jimmy, who is 52, entered the hospital on Tuesday and expects to be there for about 12 days. "It is nothing serious," said Tino Barzi, band manager. "Most peo- ple couldn't be bothered about it, but it is irritating for musicians who perform on woodwinds and bras. It's fairly common among them." The Dorsey band ends its en- gagement tonight at the Hotel Statler. It begins a national tour, starting in Florida, January 25. WE KNOW . But you're not sup- posed to SAY it! The Columbia Missourian, Jan. 9, 1957 Gov. Meyner Weds Stevenson's Cousin OBERLIN, O., (IP) - Miss Helen (Dani) Stevenson, a 228-year-old statuesque brunett and distant cousin to Adlai Stevenson, be- comes the first lady of New Jersey today. Robert B. Meyner, New Jersey's 48-year-old Democratic governor, and the blue-eyed daughter of Oberlin College President William E. Stevenson, will exchange wed- ding vows today. DISTANT cousin is hardly the word for it! Or It's Been a Rough Month The Columbia Tribune, Jan. 17, 1957 3 Are Honored By Horse Assn. Prog Relig Catholic Three Columbians were honored today at the annual convention of the Missouri Horse Show Assn. About 150 members attended. The awards were presented in the afternoon after a reception and luncheon at the Tiger Hotel. First place winners received a silver plate and second and third place winners received ribbons. Columbians who received awards are: Tony Palmer, third place, Geldings; Robert E. Lee Hill, first place, junior class; and Betty Pal- mer, first place, 13 to 17 years of age class. We trust there's a Protestant As- sociation also. in the Fourth Estate The Columbia Missourian, Jan. 24, 1957 Bed 'Very Important,' Says Birth Controller LONDON, (IP) - Dr. Marie Stopes, a birth control pioneer, told the National Federation of Bedding and Allied Trades last night that "the mattress is the very kernel of, the home." There is not another place in the world where people spend so much time, she said. "That makes a bed very im- portant," she added. NOW you tell us . . AFTER we traded the Nash! The Columbia Tribune, Jan. 29, 1957 The Columbia Missourian, Jan. 26, 1957 Professors List Most Important Dates in History FRESNO, Calif. (AP) - History may become a more popular sub- ject in schools of the future if recommendations of two Fresno State college history professors are given wide acceptance. Only 13 dates are important enough to be remembered by the average American citizen - ahd 40 are sufficient for college stu- dents-Dr. Francis A. Wiley and Dr. Clair E. Nelson maintain. The 13 dates they believe should stay with a person for life are: 1. Discovery of America in 1942. 2. The Protestant Reformation of 1519. 3. Settlement of Jamestown in 1607. 4. Introduction of slavery and the first legislative assembly of 1619. 5. Coming of British sover- eignty over much of North Amer- ica in 1763. 6. Declaration of Independence in 1776. And HE KNOWS . . He's a HIS- TORY professor! Humane Society Answered 1,005 Calls in 1596, Found Homes for 447 Dogs, Cats The Columbia Humane society answered 1,005 calls last year in response to general complaints, bite cases, and notification of dead animals found on city streets and in other public places, according to the society's annual report today to the mayor and city council. This compares with 954 calls answered the previous year. That was the year Explorer DoSoto discovered automobiles 17 SHOWME underground cameraman records the plot that failed. Staffer overhears phone tipper and re- cords this exclusive. 1) Mysterious caller tips off campus bomb disposal squad (Three hours credit, Mon- Wed-Fri with Lab) that sorority is about to blow its top. 2) Shocked disposal squad unit laughs it off as gay student stunt. Dean overhears and says survivors need not take bomb disposal final . . .nor do volunteers write down the address. 3) Girls rush out in calm order. Other sisters re- main in second floor poker game as squad rips into the sorority. 4) "Look behind that junk . The bomb might be hidden behind it. Bomb Plot Strikes Sorority Now It Can Be Told 5) "Search that room. It might be . . . Oops, Alex Seconk. 6) "Check the closet case, Alfreda E. Newman." 7) "C'mon, Baby . . . Think hard. We can't find it. What about a cake. They always sneak in things in- side a cake. Did anyone receive a cake?" 8) Eeeek! My uncle sent me one from New York. I ate it this morning! Over 9) "Quick . . . Out to the Hinkson disposal ground. Take it easy, Guys. Don't even let her stomach rumble." 10) The sad sisters watch as squad carries Sister who is sacrificing all without dishonor (And you can't hardly find THAT no more). 11) Sister sobs heroicly as her friends start drawing back to a safe distance and weep their farewell. The little martyr gulps softly so as not to detonate herself and smiles, "I guess this is the biggest blast I've been on . . . and I've been on a lot by the good ole Hink." 12) Weeping at the loss of their best pledge (Her father is general manager of U.S. Steel) the little group pulls back over the hill to await the worst. Then the creek bed erupts in fire and smoke. 13) "Poor Sister . . . that was the most noble act I'll ever . . HEY LOOK! THERE'S SISTER COMING OVER THE HILL! WHAT HAPPENED! IT'S IMPOSSIBLE. Photos by Charlotte Peaslee and Murlin Smith. 14) I BARFED. EDEN REVISITED By Bentti The M-Men's Club voted last night to enforce the common law against the wearing by students of any letter or num- eral not won at the University. Meeting in Rothwell Gym- nasium, the club decided that for the spirit of the University, anyone seen wearing a non- University emblem will be ask- ed to remove it. Item in The Columbia Missourian The guy in the diver's suit? That's me. No, it doesn't really get that deep here, it's just that . . why? . . well, it went like this. I study cracks in the pavement when I walk. It's kind of a game, like the Ink Blot Test. I was read- ing a particularly interesting set of fissures the other day when a large pair of Oxfords blocked my thoughts. "Hey, you can't wear dat . " a large muscled index finger jabbed into my chest and indi- cated my high school letter jac- ket. Wincing slightly, I studied my behemoth, M-adorned inquis- itor. I took a calculated risk, "Why?" "All letters 'n numerals won off da campus can't be worn. It's a tra . . tra . . trad . . " "Tradition?" I suggested "Yeah, dats it. Now get if off." He had advanced until his masto- don physique blocked out the sun and my runny nose was buried deep in the chenille of his M-tra . . tra . . tradition. "O.K." and I took it off - I'm no fool. Now I'm rather fond of my let- ter jacket. It represents a lot of sweat, comradeship and achieve- ment; besides, it's warm. Other people may say 'Pucketts, of course'; I'm too poor to even mutter 'Pucketts, perhaps' and a 22 new jacket is out of the question. But what's a shiver an a sniffle in the name of tra. trad . tra- dition. But it didn't end with the jac- ket. Every group on campus got in the act. My pavement study was blocked by B-school cordo- vans . . . "All right, get that coat and tie off. . . tradition, you know." By Ag school boots . . . "Off with those Levis . . . tra- dition, you know." By veterans . . "O.K. recruit, take off those khakis and field jacket, tradition you know." I even met one clown who was studying to be a shoe manufac- turer and I bent shivering to re- move the last vestige of my dif- ference from a page of Sunshine and Health. By now, the campus was lit- tered with piles of clothing; the population looked like fugitives from a fire-ridden tenement. The M-Men wore only their M's - like fig leaves. The B-School peo- ple wore only coats and ties - long. The Ag School farmers wore only Levis - high. The vets wore assorted cartridge belts, ponchos and helmet liners. Ev- eryone else, as a southern novel- ist has said, was as naked as a jay bird. I kept looking at the pave- ment. It was nippy sometimes, but tra . .tra . . trad . . tradi- tion is a warming thing. It wasn't too bad on campus, but downtown people frowned a bit and over at Stephens rioting ensued when . . but that's an- other story. I revolted the day I was stopped by a thin, seedy look- ing citizen dressed in white with a stethoscope around his neck. Well, you're too late my medical friend, I mused, go find some milkman to strip. "Hey, you can't wear . . . " he sputtered, "it's forbidden by campus tradition and . . ." Shifting my weight slightly, I wedged him cleanly between the running lights. Carefully avoid- ing his sprawled stethoscope, I stepped over his form and be- gan on my cracks again. I wear a diver's suit now. The lead boots are heavy and pro- fessors have to unbuckle my face plate if they want any discussion from me, but there's no guff from anyone in the 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea School. Quite confidentially, I wear all my forbidden clothes in the suit, especially my letter jacket - two of them. The others? Still naked, I guess. Tra . . . tra . . . trad . . tradition is a many splendored thing. End Lewis' Texaco Town Highway 40 At Sexton Missouri Store Showme TRIES (BUT NOT VERY HARD) A REALLY CLEAN SPREAD BY LELAND MILES Come winter, the annual crop of "Religious Emphasis Weeks" will once again sprout across the nation's college campuses. Trembling clergy- men will receive blithe invitations to face the awe- some ordeal of student assemblies. These peculiar gatherings, at which attendance is usually compelled, will feature mysteriously diappearing hymnbooks, zooming paper airplanes, stifled yawns, and hidden alarm clocks skillfully rigged to go off in the mid- dle of sermons. At the end of the hectic week, ha- rassed student-faculty committees will hold "eval- uation sessions" to figure out "what went wrong." Probably nobody will suggest the real answer, which is that few people in the administration, fac- ulty, or student body of the average college really want a genuine Religious Emphasis Week or even know what a week of genuine religious emphasis would imply. To begin with any fair definition of "religious" must necessarily take account of many noble re- ligions in addition to Christianity. Yet how many church-related colleges will feature this winter, as part of Religious Emphasis Week, a symposium on the world's major religions? How many denomina- tional institutions are planning to invite a Moslem, a Hindu, a Buddhist, and a Jew to their campuses on this occasion? Indeed, how many such colleges are even planning to invite a Roman Catholic, a Unitarian, or a Humanist? Parenthetically, it may be objected - and I will agree, in my personal definition - that Humanism is not a religion. Nev- ertheless, modern Humanists claim to constitute a new global faith which will in our century sup- plant the older creeds of mankind. This is an ex- citing claim, and ought to have a hearing. Indeed, what more exhilarating way to spend a real Re- ligious Emphasis Week than to have representa- tives of the world's major religions, including Hu- manism, state their cases before a student body ju- ry? There would be no tinkling alarm clocks then! No paper airplanes, either. But alas! it would be difficult to arrange such a program. For one thing, there are not too many Christian clergymen who are eager to debate with the "Enemy". On a recent transatlantic crossing, the forum director of a Greek Line ship spent five days trying unsuccessfully to line up one of a doz- en shipboard clergymen for a debate with repre- Leland Miles of Hanover College is no stranger on this campus. He is a former student of Hardin Craig, visiting professor of English, and a friend of Elsa Nagel, assistant professor of Germanic Lan- guages. This article has been released to SHOWME by special permission of Twayne Publishers, Inc., 31 Union Square West, New York City. It is based on a chapter in Professor Miles' newly published book, Americans Are People and other assertions, which may be ordered from local bookstores. The situation described in this article does not apply exactly to the campus but so much of it does generally apply that it's well worth our attention. We hope its points connect where they should. sentatives of other viewpoints, including agnosti- cism. At mention of the agnostic, each of the min- isters remembered that he had another obligation at the time of the proposed symposium. The intellectual timidity of many clergymen is not, however, the only reason that true Religious Emphasis Weeks are difficult to organize. Another factor is the attitude of college administrations and religion departments, especially in some of the church-related colleges. This attitude seems to be that the best way of producing young Christians is to have a faculty which is 100 per cent orthodox Christian in viewpoint, and a Religious Emphasis Week which dogmatically presents Christianity as the only true way. Now, Christianity may indeed be the true way. But if it is, surely it can stand on its own feet against all competition, without the fear- ful protection given it on most denominational cam- puses. Where did we acquire the mischievous notion that young people can be molded into zealous be- lievers only if all others on the campus, students and faculty alike, are also believers? Actually, the very reverse may be true. Two of the shrewdest modern defenders of Christianity - T. S. Eliot and C. S. Lewis - were bred in an atmosphere of pagan pessimism. Conversely, some of the least effective defenders of the faith will be found among students - some of them pre-ministerial students - who have been gently saturated for four years with a saccharine, provincial type of teaching which sticks its head in the sand and pre- tends that only one religion exists. II Unfortunately, it is precisely this type of re- ligious isolationism which dominates many of our What Do Religious We church-related colleges. For this reason, I feel com- pelled to predict that there will be few weeks of genuine, challenging religious emphasis this win- ter. But let me hasten to proclaim my personal readiness to settle for the next best thing - a Christian Emphasis Week, confined to those col- leges which describe themselves as Christian. That such a settlement will be offered is, I believe, un- likely. For what would such a week mean? Quite frankly, it would mean a revolution that would make the October Revolution seem petty. It would mean a violent overthrow of the existing order of things. And what college administration, or faculty, or even student body, really desires such a chaotic state of affairs? For example, suppose, this winter, that Ameri- can college students were suddenly to put genuine Christian Emphasis into effect in the classroom. The result would necessarily be a new and revolu- tionary demonstration of earnestness in the per- formance of classwork - a new and startling dis- play of that industry, energy, and thoroughness characteristic of Christ, and therefore characteris- tic of all those who, loving Him, seek to imitate His personality. It is not incongruous that Christian students-even leaders in student Christian organi- zations-are guilty of careless work in the class- room? In China I once saw a man cut in half by a machine gun. At the time I thought it the most melancholy sight I would ever see. But as a pro- fessor I have seen a sight even more melancholy: the spectacle of Christian students, including pre- ministerial students, coming to class day after day and performing indifferent, nonchalant work. What can we say but that they betray a total ignorance of Christ's personality and their obligation to imi- tate it? As for faculty members, what would a genuine Christian Emphasis in the classroom mean for them? Surely it would mean that every professor would henceforth ponder deeply the relation of his secu- lar field to Christian thought. Indeed, the develop- ment of such relationship would seem to be the principal reason for the existence of the small church-related college as a distinctive educational institution. The biologist at a secular university has no obligation except to teach biology, including or- ganic evolution; but the biologist of a church-re- lated college, if he is doing his job fully, cannot es- cape his responsibility for taking account not only of Darwin, but also of Genesis. The Mosaic account of creation, somehow rejected or somehow intepret- ed, must permit the accepance of an account of You Mean Emphasis ek? mans' rise out of a finny, furry past. Many professors, unfornately, have perverted the concept of Christian (or, as they call it, "Re- ligious") Emphasis almost beyond repair. They as- sume that it means trapping students in a class- room and lambasting the helpless victims with thinly disguised sermons. Other instructors have decided that Christian Emphasis means diligently searching for all poems which contain Biblical morals, then proclaming such poems "great litera- ture." On that basis, Eddie Guest would be the world's greatest poet. Yet how adventurous a real Christian teaching of literature can be! For a com- parative study of literature and Christianity is all the more exciting when a Jonathan Edwards re- fuses to extend the gospel of mercy to little child- ren born in sin, or a pessimistic Thomas Hardy repudiates the Nazarene position, and makes of God a malicious old fuddy-duddy. But for most professors, this type of Christian teaching would require an intensive study of phi- losophy and religion, in order to possess the neces- sary background against which to examine the ideas of their secular fields. Overburdened as cot- lege instructors admittedly are, is not likely that they will feel, this winter or any other winter, a compulsive urge to embark on such a program of extra-curricular study. III But all is not lost! If we cannot have a Christ- ian Emphasis Week in the classroom, maybe we can still have one outside the class. Suppose, this winter, that college students were to decide to put real Christian Emphasis into effect in the so- cial activity: dormitory and fraternities. What would happen then? By way of beginning an answer to this ques- tion, let me tell about a dream I had a short time ago. I dreamed I was in the hallway of a large building. In the building, people were acting most peculiarly: some were pulling doorknobs off doors; others were running shrieking down the hall, setting off firecrackers; still others were steal- ing food from the kitchen pantry. One bug-eyed little group was putting matches to long streamers of toilet paper and dropping these miniature com- ets down the stairwell. I was positive I must be in an insane asylum, and I fled for my life. But when I got outside and turned around, I saw that the sign on the building read: "Men's Residence Hall." Over Whose Men's Residence Hall, you say? Why almost any Men's Residence Hall, on almost any campus. Each summer the average college spends hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars re- pairing the destruction wrought by its students during the previous academic year. If Christian Emphasis were really put into effect this winter in the college dormitories of the nation, there would be no more of that feeble-minded vandal- ism which has become the giggling pride of the average male student. Please do not misunder- stand me. I do not oppose student attempts to lug a cow into the auditorium bell tower: on the con- trary, this requires a perseverance and ingenuity betokening a promising future for the participants. Moreover, this enterprise normally involves no se- rious destruction of property or violation of other people's rights-assuming always, of course, that the cow is merely "borrowed," and is well tied with a sturdy rope. Such pranks are to be care- fully distinguished from smashing doors, ripping off knobs, and setting fire to bulletin boards. Quite apart from dormitory life, what would happen this winter if college students suddenly put Christian Emphasis into effect in their fraternities and sororities? The first results would surely be a new and revolutionary emphasis on brotherhoods of the spirit, and wholesale abolition of those en- trance requirements which in many fraternities still hold at arm's length anyone whose skin-chem- icals exist in different proportions than in the white race. Equally important, Christian Emphasis in Greek Letter organizations would mean the im- mediate overthrow of the present Greek Letter scale of values. This scale has traditionally placed that Jewelled Idol, the fraternity pin, higher than either the College or the Cross. To state the mater badly, most college students are pagan. I even in- clude under that adjective the average number of student religious organizations. In their deepest heart of hearts, most students worship a God of rubies and diamonds worth approximately twenty dollars. This statement is proved even in denomi- national colleges by the fact that, when the chips are really down, and there is a conflict between fraternities on the one hand and the College or Christ on the other, Alma Mater and the Naza- rene usually come off second best. Thus, Interfra- ternity Council drinking rules are jokingly flouted, despite the fact that such flouting severely dam- ages the college's relation with its community. In the same spirit is the testimony of a fraternity chapter president, a steady church-goer of a very strict denomination. When caught writing fresh- man themes for his pledges, his excuse was that this service would be an attraction to lure fresh- men into membership! "Competition for new men is so stiff," he said, "that without such special serv- ices we wouldn't get anybody." In the light of such standards, the objective onlooker must naturally ask, Do the Greek Let- ter Christians perhaps join fraternities in order to reform them? If so, their course of action is clear- ly defined. On the first evenings of their approach- "Religious" Emphasis Weeks, let them demand meetings of their chapters and present resolutions to the following effect: first, that all term paper and theme files will be burned forthwith; second, that Greek Letter organizations will henceforth sponsor Christ's brotherhood of the spirit, and will recommend to national headquarters the abolition of the unbrotherly entrance requirements that still persist in many fraternities; third, that in the scale of values, Christ is first, the College second, and the Jewelled Idol strictly a poor third; and last, that any fraternity member guilty of dishonor will be severely punished, rather than sneakily pro- tected by his brothers. IV To these suggestions the reaction of both staff and students will, I suspect, be one of despair and alarm. "Oh, good heavens, we couldn't do that," they will cry. "Why, it would mean a complete overthrow of the existing order of things. It would mean-well, revolution!" Well, whats' wrong with revolution, anyway? They're quite in style these days. The last few years have seen the Communist coup d'etat in Czechoslovakia, the revolt in Algeria, and the over- throw of Argentina's Peron. A campus revolution will certainly be appropriate to the revolutionary at- mosphere of the times. In fact, it would even be appropriate to Christianity! The Nazarene's teach- ings have always been dynamite. But America's church-related colleges are leery of explosives. By and large, faculty, students, and administrations want no part of a truly Religi- ous Emphasis Week which would give a respectful- ly intelectual hearing to all the world's religions. Moreover, they will refuse to sponsor even a gen- uine Christian Emphas in any one segment of their college life. This is why, when winter rolls around, most of the so-called "Religious Emphasis Weeks" will be paradoxical farces, and caricatures of what they might be. END "THE KEG" Savitar Frolics Hearts and Flowers Day Murlin Gene Smith's Shooting Gallery After deep cogitation and several job interviews, I have reached the con- clusion that if you go into law and lie to a jury, you make money. If you go into medicine and lie to a patient, you make money. If you go into advertising and lie to the public, you make money. But if you go into news writing and tell 'em the truth, you get shafted! It took me 4 hours, 23 and 7/8 min- utes. I damn near got killed nine times, and it took me two days to recover from the oxygen starva- tion caused by complimenting oth- er drivers on their good manners, driving habits and general road sense. I was lucky' Well here, now, it is spring semester and it's time to go around counting noses again. You could count in other ways but the cen- sor won't allow it. Remember our motto: "Other college humor maga- zines stay at school - but SHOW- ME is virginal as the driven snow. The circulation manager also asks me to mention that it is the only such publication recommended by the American Blue Nose Society as fit reading matter for your maiden aunt. AaaanyHOW it's a new se- mester and there has been consid- erable turnover in the study body (body???? - yeaaahhh!!) A fortun- ate few have graduated, some even more fortunate have been booted out, and heap many more have been informed that they were prob- ably better suited to bricklaying anyway. Hence the nose-counting. In the past I have vented much spleen in snide comments about the parking situation. All this en- ergy was misplaced, because, while the parking problem is irritating, at least you have a fairly good chance of living through it. But, man, you just try to drive across town in the usual Highway Patrol- approved manner! To travel safe- ly across Columbia, you need to be Irish, carry seventeen sham- rocks, a lucky penny and a shil- lelagh and be pie-eyed enoughnot to notice your narrow escapes. I tried going from Jesse Hall to N. Sixth at 5 p.m. the other evening. Cigarets are in great demand. A student asked a coed for a cigaret the other day. She gave him one, and then expressed surprise that he would smoke that particular brand (composed of floor sweep- ings with attached filter), to which he replied, "I smoke anything that doesn't move when lit" - so watch itl Speaking of news (and I was- you speak about what you want to and I'll speak about what I want to), not too long ago I saw a headline in the Miserian that said: It's A Bluddy Shame and underneath this withering In- dictment was an interesting col- lection of samples to prove the claim. The sad part about it is that it's true! For years we have made heap gas about DEmoCRAt- ic citizens being such a literate collection of nitwits and then comes Mark Twain and movies and Rudolph Valentino and Frank Si- natra and the Chamber Music So- ciety of Lower Basin Street and TV and The Pelvis and pretty soon the nation's banking system will break down because the X on your check looks like the X's on every- body else's checks and then won't the bad check artists have fun- and then the next generation won't be able to read their draft notices and the country will really go to hell. Why can't Johnny read? Be- cause he never gets his nose away from a TV screen or his girl friend's sweater or a glass of cheap whiskey (depending on his age), that's why! If you don't believe it, whiffle 'round to any English in- structor with Webster in your hot little mitt and ask to riffle through his collection of themes. As this is written the land lies quiescent under a shivering cold wave and some inch and a half of mixed snow and glaze ice, and the latest poop has it that the farmers have finally been declared drought- stricken. This combination gives native Columbians and a few Ag students a warm glow in the gen- eral vicinity of the heart. Be- cause everybody knows "there's nothin' like a good, deep, slow- meltin' snow to help out the crops." And now with the Guv- mint paying through the nose to boot, Silas can work only half the land next summer, work only half as hard, and make twice as much money while surplus food rots in the storage bins. It's a great life! I don't know you. I never met you. But I don't want to know you. You are an infinitesimal segment of that amorphous, twitching, vague- ly sentient collection of ambulant protoplasm known as The Ameri- can Mass, than which nothing low- er in the scheme of things ever has or ever will exist, and as such I detest you. If I knew you I would probably find myself interested in you (if you're built right) and that would complicate matters no end. So get lost! There, by George, NOW I'll find out if I have any readers - because if there is one that's bright enough to read anything more complicated than d-o-g he (she, it, you) will undoubtedly be mad enough to write in and tell me off, thus assuring me that I HAVE A READER!! Editor please note. Speaking of readers, if there are any you'd better mach' schnell and get your fill of this, because month I'm running behind the con- tributor's page, next month on the back cover . . . and then where can you go? Tune in next month and find out . . . NEWMAN'S JEWELRY Life Savers Thurlow Part V Balladeer's Barstool By Jerry Shnay Beginning with the first num- ber, "Seven Old Ladies Locked In a (you should excuse the ex- pression) Lavatory," down through "The Bastard King of England", Oscar Brand emotes triumphantly. We tipped you a few months ago when Dirty Oscar put out his "Baw- dy Songs and Backroom Ballards" record as a ten inch disc. Now, bless his lovable soul, he's pushed out record NUMBER TWO and it's bigger, bigger (12 inch LP - $5.95) and bawdier. So they'll probably have another run down at the Hi Fi House which handles the Audio Fidelity label (which dared to do). But the regular college-level mind, that likes his s-e-x sunny side up, it may come as a pleas- ant, enjoyable, and delightful sur- prise. Mr. Brand has spent sever- al years collecting these tidbits of the walls in men's rooms, and ta- ping fraternity smokers. He now puts them on record and shoud make a tidy little sum to take care of himself, when his inclinations are only what he thinks they might have been. Of special interest should be "We Go to College" as it may be sung by some of the girls in Johnston Hall. It explores the as- pects of college life not found in the brochures and the M-Book. "The Jolly Tinker" is next on the list, and is based on the fam- ous novel "Around the World in 80 Days". All one can say is that "they don't make 'em like that any more." The women have their turn when they comment on the vagaries and vituperativeness (whoops) of the menfolk in "Bella", the story of a jilted girl, who was finally led to her grave by the person she trusted. If anyone does not as yet know "Ring Dang Doo", then it is too late for explanations. The song first came to our attention from a sophomore in Gentry, and Mr. Brand does wonders with it. Just to name some of the other selections, there is a takeoff on Dvorak's "Humoresque", dealing with the discomfort of passengers in a moving vehicle, somewhat like the Cannonball; some more verses to "Roll Your Leg Over", a poem set to music by Ogden Nash called "Three Prominent B "; and the list goes on and on. Rudyard Kipling wrote "Bas- tard King of England" way back when during the good old days of secretive smut, nominally called Victorian England, and this might explain why he was never made Poet Laureate. The management would like to print verses to many of the songs included in the album, but realizes that time, space, and postal laws will not permit. However, Brand has written an article in a maga- zine (Modern Man) explaining his stand on the damn things, and In- cludes some fine examples of his collecting. Otherwise, its a dull month for folk music. Richard Dyer-Bennet, the sing- ing rage of E. 55th St. in Chicago, came up with Volume II of his own recordings, and although they are good in themselves, they just don't move. They seem to lack some of the pep the first volume had. Maybe it's because most of them are unheard of in this coun- try. Some of the afficianados have asked why some smart record company won't get out some old masters and put out a couple of 12-inchers on the songs of Lead- belly. Rowdy, Classic or Bawdy He was a real neat guy. Just liked to sing, drink, murder and well, you know the rest. Many years ago, a collector named Alan Lomax spotted him and jotted down many of his numbers, as well as presenting him to the public. One of the numbers was "Good- night Irene", and another was "Rock Island Line". Both are in different albums by him, but a big album with his big songs in it would be better. A weekly editor complained that he didn't particularly care for the songs we had been run- ning. Especially the one about Rex, the . . . . pooch. However, Mr. Kirchhoff, peo- ple who live in glass typewriters shouldn't write poison pen leteters. Do you know, kiddies, that in one of the drawers in a desk in- side the office of that sheet that comes out every Friday, that there is a girdle. Not really you say! Yes, kiddies, it is so. A real-live g-i-r-d-l-e. Well G. K., what say you? At the latest count, only two albums of folk music are in the library here. They are the Dyer- Bennet 10-incher on Decca, and a similar sized one by Burl Ives on Columbia. There is also almost no selec- tion to speak of at any of the city's record shop. A survey found the following number of albums at the towns shops. 4-2-1-4. That's eleven in the whole city. There must be more than that someplace here. Only we can't find them. Es- pecially the good ones. Honest, fel- las, a lot of us are of age. Let's see 'em! Oh yes, the Victor people just let go of one with Robert Shaw Chorale singing folk songs, all love, of different countries. Its' pretty good, except that the reviewer need a new record player, because 33 1/3 speed is now closer to 31. They sound like they're recording in the Holland Tunnel. Real good, though. Nice picture on the cover, too. YOU OLD FOOL, BLIND FOOL, STUPID FOOL Unknown Oh, I came home one Saturday night, as drunk as I could be, And I saw a strange horse in the stall, where my horse ought to be. My dear wife, my darling wife, my loving wife, says he, Whose horse is this within the stall, where my horse ought to be. Ya old fool, ya blind fool, ya stupid fool says she, Tis nothing but a milk cow, my mother sent to me. Many miles have I traveled, a thousand miles or more. But a milk-cow with a saddle on I never did see before. Oh I came home on Saturday night, a buzzing like a bee, And saw a strange coat in the rack, where my coat ought to be. My dear wife, my darling wife, my loving wife says he, Whose coat is this upon the rack where my coat ought to be. You old fool, you blind fool, you stupid fool says she: It's nothing but a bed-quilt my mother sent to me. A thousand miles have I traveled, a thousand miles or more, But - buttons on a bed quilt I never did see before. Oh I came home one Saturday night, as drunk as I could be; And saw a strange hat on the hook, where my hat ought to be. My dear wife, my darling wife, my loving wife, said he, Whose hat is this upon the hook where my hat ought to be? You old fool, you blind fool, you stupid fool said she, It's nothing but a chamber pot, my mother sent to me. Many miles have I traveled, a thousand miles or more, But - A chamber pot, size 6 7/8 I never saw before. Oh I came home one Saturday night, a buzzing like a bee; And saw a strange head on the pillow where my head ought to be. My dear wife, my darling wife, my loving wife, said he, Whose head is this upon the pillow where my head ought to be. You old fool, you blind fool, you stupid fool, said she; It's nothing but a cabbage-head my mother sent to me. A thousand miles have I travelled, a thousand miles or more, But a mustache on a cabbage head, I never did see before. THE HIFI HOUSE A RICH OLD LADY Unknown A rich old lady in our town, in our town did dwell, she loved her husband dearly But another man twice as well. Sing Too de um! Sing Too de um! Whack! Fal lal a day! She was listening in the door one day when she heard the old man say if you'd snuffed a few old mar- row bones it 'uld take your sight away. So she went down to the butcher shop to see what he could find, intent upon buying a thing or two to make her old man blind. She bought twelve dozen old marrow bones she made him snuff 'em all: says he, Old Lady, I now am blind I cannot see at all. She bundled him up in his old grey coat, she led him to the brim. Says he - I cannot drown my- self Unless you push me in. As I would like to drown myself if only I could see- Just take my hand, dear husband and come along with me. The old lady went up on the bank aways to get a running go, the old man stepped a little to the side and she went off below. She bubbled and gurgled and bawled out as loud as only she could squall. Says he, Old Lady, I'm so blind I can't see you at all. The old man being kind hearted and knowing she could not swim he went and cut a very long pole and - pushed her further in. filched Overheard A well supported rumor that a member of a Missouri stu- dent weekly said if SHOWME would give him $10, he could enter his weekly for rating from a well-known press as- sociation. Sir: If you sold unsold copies to a well-known pulp recla- mation dealer y o could make your own $10. Brown Derby the novus shop Flynn's Flings To Encourage Student Writing Showme Supplement Gentlemen Songsters By Gerald Marsh Off on a Spree "What's the matter with you tonight?" Karen asked me. "Nothing," I mumbled. If you don't have a stupid smile on your face all the time, everybody thinks that you're ready for the gas pipe. "I just don't feel like talking tonight, that's all." That Karen's a killer. Miss 'Stupid Freshman of 1957.' Oh, she's not really that bad. I just mean she's like all the other 'Stupid Fresh- men of 1957'. They're all the same. If she'd been through what I had, she wouldn't be a chatter- box either. I could tell her what happened tonight when I went backstage to see Bill, but I'd just be wasting my breath. She wouldn't understand. I'd have to tell her the whole story from the very beginning, and it probably wouldn't mean anything to her anyway. From now on, I'm going to smile all the time, even if my manic-depressive personality is at its lowest ebb so people like Ka- ren won't ask me what's the mat- ter. It's funny, but if it wasn't for her dragging me to the reci- tal tonight, I'd never have spok- en to Bill again after all these years. I wish I hadn't. Why did it have to be me? That's what I get for being one of the 'older' boys in the fraterntiy. Everyone else who was here when it hap- pened has either graduated or flunked out. I still can't believe it about Sherman Grafton. It just proves that wonders never cease, or something like that. I wonder what the guys would think of old Sherman now. I wonder what they'd think of themselves. It hardly seems like four years since I first walked into that large white fraternity house, car- rying a leather suitcase in each hand and wearing a 'you know what kind of smile' on my face. (I was as green as grass and as innocent as a new-born babe.) That was the first time I'd ever been away from home, and it took quite a bit of effort for me to A Story Contest Entry keep from catching the next train back home. But the guys in the fraternity smiled like hell at me and handed me an A-1 snow job that first week, so I felt a little better after a few days. It seem- ed that I shook hands with a thousand guys, and everyone of them asking me the same ques- tions. Where was I from? What was I majoring in? Did I have a date for the 'rush' dance that weekend? The usual crud. I re- member that I lied and told them that I did have a date. I didn't want a date. I was scared stiff of girls then. In fact, to tell you the truth, I'd never had a date in my life. I'm not kidding. Oh, I've made up for it since 41 then, but at the time, I was what you would call a clean-living American youth. Sometimes I think I'd be better off if I'd stayed that way. That Karen's a killer, no kidding. They were wasting their time on me with that friendly crud, though. My cousin Artie was a Sig Delt in 1947, and he told me to go straight to the Sig Delt house and unpack my bags. Artie always was a stupid jackass. I must have been even dumber, I guess, but one thing for sure, I wouldn't send anybody to some frat and tell him to join right away. I'd tell him to look around at all the other frats first. I first noticed Bill Francis at the initiation ceremony of our pledge class. I guess why I no- ticed him then was that I hadn't noticed him at all the previous week. He was that quiet. There was something about him a few of us guys didn't like, only we couldn't put our finger on it. He was tall and skinny, but you'd never peg him for a basketball player in a million years. When he walked, he kind of bounced on the balls of his feet, and he never said a word unless you talked to him first. He was from a small town in Michigan and nobody knew him before, so you had to take the guy at face value, which wasn't worth very much. I don't know why they voted him in the frat, but I guess be- ing so quiet, nobody could real- ly say anything bad about him. I didn't exactly feel like cele- brating, when I found out that Bill Francis was to be my room- mate. It didn't take us long to dis- cover that a pledge is the low- est form of human existence. Those Dr. Jekylls who were so friendly to us the week before turned into sinister Mr. Hydes and made that fact cruelly ap- parent to us the very first night after initiation. They woke us up and made us run around the block about a hundred times. Well, it wasn't a hundred may- be, but I was plenty damn tired anyhow. Now if Bill had gotten up like the rest of us, instead of griping like he did, maybe Graf- ton never would have started on him in the first place. "Wake up, you deejy cruds!" The shout seemed to enter my brain and explode like an H- bomb, and then the shock wave hit me, cold and wet, right square in the face, and I woke up coughing and sputtering. Sher- man Grafton, with an empty wa- ter pitcher in each hand, was standing in the center of the room laughing like hell. There were some other guys there too, but I don't remember who they were now. Across the room, Bill Francis sounded like he was drowning in his bunk. "Get out of those sacks, you low-lifes! You're going out for some exer- cise tonight!" My pajamas, blan- kets, and sheets were soaking wet, and I began to shiver. I was so scared, I wanted to cry. I got up and began to dress automatic- ally. My teeth were chattering so loud you could hear them. "Isn't this rather juvenile? I thougnt you were supposed to be adults by the time you entered college." Bill was sitting on the edge of his bed. He looked like a piece of wet paper. "Isn't this rather juvenile?" Gratton mimicked Bill's high- pitched voice. He wasn't laughing anymore. "Well, listen to Dad- dy Francis, will you! He thinks we're acting like juveniles. Well, by all means, Mr. Francis, we're terribly sorry it we aroused you from your slumber." Grafton was purring like a kitten now, and he patted Bill's head with his huge hand as he spoke. "You go rignt back to sleep, and we'll just take the others out tonight." "Well, if the others are. ." "No, no, Mr. Francis," Grafton interrupted. "You've set yourself as more mature than the rest of the pledges so we'll have to treat you accordingly." He amphasized 'accordingly' and smiled to the other guys, who exchanged know- ing glances. "What's taking you so long?" Gratton suddenly snarled at me. I was strangely happy that he was sneering at me like a movie villain and his eyes were full of contempt. "I'm almost d-d-dressed," I chattered. One thing for sure, 1 didn't want to be treated 'ac- cordingly'. Come to think of it, maybe that's what Grafton had in mind. I mean, the other pledges get- ting bitter at Bill because ne was the only one who wasn't with us that nignt. I tried to tell them that it really wasn't Bills' fault, but they thought I was only sticking up for him because he was my roommate, so I gave up finally. You know how a bunch of guys are when they make their minds up about something. It doesn't pay to wear yourself out arguing. 42 Those first few weeks were so hectic and confusing trying to get settled in this big zoo of ours, that I didn't have much time to find out anything about my room- mate. There's one thing I've learn- ed at college. The only way you really ever get to know any- body is when you live with him. "I'm a modern dance major," he answered in the darkness from his bunk across the room. "What are you taking this se- mester, Jitterbugging 401, and Mambo 504?" I asked sarcastic- ally. I thought he was pulling my leg. I heard him laugh. "No, I mean modern interpre- tative dancing and ballet." "Look, Bill!" I was getting ag- gravated now. "I asked you a very simple question and if you can't give me a decent answer, then you can go to hell." "I'm not kidding you, Joe. honest. That really is my major. Ever since I was a young kid, I've wanted to be a dancer. What's wrong with that? Some guys want to be dentists, or ac- countants, or teachers. Well, I want to be a dancer." "There's nothing wrong with it," I conceded. "I just thought you were kidding around, that's all. I even took oboe lessons my- self for a couple of months, but I heard you can go nuts from blow- ing that thing too long." "Maybe you missed your call, Joe," he said. "Well, good night." "Bill?" I couldn't go to sleep until I asked him. "Do you wear that uniform that those bal- let dancers wear all the time? When they dance, I mean." "You mean leotards?" "I don't know what you call 'em, but they're like tight sweat pants and . uh . everything sorta shows." "Ha, ha, those are leotards all right. My mother just sent me two pair. I'll show them to you to- morrow." "Okay, swell. Good night, Bill." Well, you can imagine how I felt when I found out I was room- ing with one of those 'Light-foot- ed Larrys.' Everytime I'd see one of those dainty little percys on T.V. flying around all over the place, I'd just about have a fit laughing. And here I was room- ing with one. I couldnt' wait to tell the guys the next day. Of course, if I had known what was going to happen, I'd never have started anything in the first place. All I did was tell some of the other pledges and we got Bill to put on his - er . . costume, and do one of his dances for us. We almost choked trying not to bust out laughing. "And he doesn't even have red shoes on," chimed a voice from behind us. Bill froze in the middle of a fancy spin, and we all turned to face the intruder. Who else but Sherman Grafton was leaning against the wooden door frame, practically drooling at the perfection of the situation. "I see our Mr. Francis has hid- den talent. Hey, everybody," he shouted through the house. "Come quick and see what we have in our pledge class. Don't stop now, Willy-love. I was en- joying your performance tre- mendously. You looked so . . so . graceful, I don't think I've seen many GIRLS as graceful as you are." In a few minutes, the room was full of guys, all laughing and wisecracking, and going crazy when they saw Bill in those fan- cy sweat pants. They were char- treuse. I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He didn't seem to understand what was happening at first, and he just stood there bewildered and red-faced with those crazy chartreuse things on his legs. But do you think he learned his lesson from the last time? Not that jerk, no sir! In- stead of just keeping still and letting everyone get it out of their systems once and for all, he opens up his big mouth. "I'm glad my dancing amuses you, Grafton. Maybe you'll pick up some badly needed culture in the meantime. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd all get out of my room!" Sherman's jaw dropped all the way down to the shiny Sig Delt pin on his sweater, and he just stood there like a stature for a few seconds. You just don't tell active brothers to get out of your room. That is, not unless you want to get kicked out of the fraternity, or something. "No need to be touchy, Mr. Francis," Sherman said too po- litely. "If you can't take a little ribbing, maybe you don't belong here. You don't HAVE to stay here, you know.' Bill shoved his skinny face right up to Grafton's. "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction!" Sher- man's eyebrows seemed to lift slightly in tribute to the suicidal challenge, and winking to one of the guys, he walked out of the 43 room without bothering to an- swer. That night I lay awake for at least fifteen minutes wonder- ing how long it would take Graf- ton to make Bill quit. Well, I guess you don't need a tutor to know that Bill wasn't the most popular guy in the fra- ternity with actives or pledges. Not that anyone really disliked him, except Sherman maybe, but he just didn't fit in, if you know what I mean. You could see he couldn't have been much of an athlete, and he was always so serious and studious all the time, never horsing around, or any- thing. I mean, the guys just didn't feel at ease when he was around. No one ever told a dirty joke in front of him. I remember how we used to gather in Sher- man's room, and Mickey Jacobs used to imitate Bill's dancing. He was a riot, that Mickey. I won- der what ever happened to him. That clown flunked out after his first year and no one has heard a word from him since. He was a real character, that guy. There's nobody around like him any- more. He should have been with me tonight. I wonder how HE'D feel. But don't think that Sher- man forgot about Bill. Sherman was really a nice guy when you got to know him and he liked you, and he was one guy who wasn't afraid of anybody. I re- member when two of the guys got in an argument with some drunks at the beer joint and they came back to the house and got Sherman, and he went back with them and beat the hell out of the rummies. Well, anyway, Sherman made life miserable for poor Bill, and he did go a little too far sometimes. He'd made Bill do pushups until the kid couldn't raise his arms above his head to comb his hair, and he'd send him out for snacks in the middle of the night when the weather was rottenest, and he'd make Bill en- tertain at chows in his dancing outfit. I swear I don't know how Bill took it. I have to give him credit. He took everything Graf- ton gave him and he never so much as gave Sherman a dirty look. Everyone knew it was be- tween Sherman and Bill, so no one else bothered Bill very much, but if anyone ever came up with a fresh idea, they'd tell Sherman and he'd put it into effect, so to speak. Now I hope you don't think that I didn't try to help the kid. Being his roommate, I felt it was up to me to wise him up. * ** "Look, Bill, why don't you try a little harder to be one of the boys? You never go anyplace with anybody, and all you do is study and practice, and more study." "What do you want me to do?" he said flatly. "Well, you can. .uh . . . well . .get a date for the formal this weekend." "I already have a date." he said in the same tone. I was really surprised. I didn't think he ever went out with girls. "Well, that's better, buddy- boy. You'll have a great time at this affair." "Would you like to double with me?" he asked with a peculiar smile on his lips. "Well, I . . . I don't think so, Billy-boy. I sort of promised Mic- key that I'd go with him. He'd get mad if I didn't. Why don't you ask one of the other guys?" "Yeah, maybe I will," he said. The formal that Saturday night was our biggest affair of the year, and they had us pledges hopping like demons getting the house in shape for the alumni and guests that were coming in. We even had to give up our beds to the guests, so we looked forward to sleeping on the living room floor the night of the dance. None of us cared much, though, cause we knew we'd have an all-night bull-ses- sion anyway. I remember that I felt like THE man about town with my neatly-pressed rented tuxedo. That was the first time I'd worn one, and it was a big deal to me then. I've been to so many formals since that I have a tux of my own now. I wonder who I can sell it to before I grad- uate. Maybe that Michaels kid. He's about my size and he's dumb enough to buy a tux that's out of style. Well, anyway, I was hav- ing a riot that night. I got fixed up with a cute southern chick who was as dumb as they come. Honest, you'd think they'd be a little more selective about who they let go to college. Even Ka- ren has that one beat. I was so busy trying to drown the 'you- alls' in scotch and sodas that I never saw Bill and his date come in. In fact, I didn't realize Bill was there until I heard Sherman's voice over the loud speaking sys- tem. "Lad-e-e-z an' gennleman!" He was clinging desperately to the microphone to steady himself as he spoke. "It is my pleasure to pre--ezent to you someone who will entertain you as you have never been entertained before. Someone who is the toast of the campus and the darling of the Sig Delt house." He was laugh- ing like a hyena now, and some of the other guys were practical- ly rolling on the floor. I couldn't figure out what was coming off. "We knew he would be too mod- est to perform so we brought along his costume for him." He held up Bill's chartreuse tights so everybody could see them. The ballroom became bedlam. Sher- man had to wait a few minutes before he could go on. "If you'll just applaud a little, I'm sure we can get him up here. Here he is, our own Wilhemina . I mean William Francis!" I was a little mad. I thought Sherman had gone a little too far this time. He shouldn't have pulled that stuff with all the alumni and other guests here. It just didn't look right. Then I saw Bill for the first time that night. The crowd had cleared a path from his table to the bandstand and I saw him and his date sit- ting alone, and he looked pale as a ghost with just one candle on the table pointing him out. The girl he was with thought Bill was really going to entertain and she was clapping with everybody else. Bill didn't move. Everyone was laughing and clapping, and some of the drunker guys shout- ed some pretty nasty remarks. But he just sat there. He didn't look up, or down, or at anybody there. He just stared at his clasp- ed hands resting on the table. I could see him biting his lip, and his cheekbones looked like they were going to bust out of his face, but his eyes kept staring down at his hands, as if they were the only things left that wouldn't hurt him. All of a sudden, the laughing, and the clapping, and the wisecracks seemed to fall dead on the dance floor, and it got awful quiet in the ballroom that night. Of all the parties, and games, and rallies, and every- thing that I've ever been to at college, I think I'll remember that silence the longest. I could have kissed the bandleader when he finally started up the next fox- trot, and believe me when I tell you, there wasn't one person who sat that one out. After a few turns, I glanced quickly toward Bill's table, but the candlelight was dancing on two empty chairs. The next day I helped Bill Fran- cis move out of the house. Yeah, all that seems like it just happened a little while ago, and it's really been over three years. Bill moved into a boarding house on the other side of cam- pus, and I don't think I saw him more than three times in all that time. When I did see him, it'd just be 'hello' or 'how are you' or something like that. I didn't snub him, you understand. It's just that I felt funny when I saw him. Maybe I felt sorry for him, I don't know, but I can see that I was wasting my sympathy if I did. It was the same with the other guys whenever they saw him, only of course they never had gotten as friendly with him as I had. No one ever talked about it much after it happened, and we made sure Sherman wasn't around when we did. He'd get madder than hell if he heard you. Now I can see why. Well, like I said, I hardly saw Bill af- ter he quit. There was a couple of semesters there when I didn't see anybody. If I hadn't knocked myself out studying the way I did, I would have flunked out a long time ago. What kills me is that I have to get a 'B' in account- ing 507 this semester or I won't graduate in June. Pressure, pres- sure, pressure. In fact, I really should have been studying to- night, only Karen dragged me to this dance recital with her. And that's how I got to talk to Bill again after all these years. I al- most fell through the floor when I saw his name on the program. You see, the dance majors give a recital for their final exam, and that's what Bill was doing. I had almost forgotten that he was graduating in June, too. What do I mean, 'too'. The way I'm screw- ing off, I'll never graduate. I had to smother a laugh when I first saw Bill in those tights again. Force of habit, I guess. Karen poked me with her elbow to keep quiet because there were a lot of professors and instructors in the audience. You know how they go for that stuff. After a few minutes, Bill didn't look fun- ny anymore, though. It didn't look anything at all like when he used to twirl around the room at the frat house. Maybe it was that big orchestra, or those girls that floated around like feathers and carried themselves like queens, or maybe it was all those people sitting so quiet and ab- sorbed and really enjoying it. I don't know. All I know is that Bill seemed to let the music car- ry him around in its arms, and he looked so goddamn happy that somehow I felt strangely relieved. Not that I worried about him dur- ing all these years, but it . . . well, we might . . I don't know. I can't explain it. I clapped hard- er than anybody else when it 45 was over. It would have been better if I hadn't, but I wanted to congratu- late him on his performance. You know, show him that his old roommate hadn't forgotten him. Everyone was filing out of the auditorium, and Karen was pull- ing me toward the exit because she has a 10:30 curfew on Wed- nesday night. "I'll be back in a minute, doll," I told her as I headed backstage. She started complaining but I didn't pay any attention to her. You have to show these women who's boss once in a while. Bill was standing in the center of a group of people who were shaking his hand and patting him on the back and wishing him luck. His face was covered with perspiration and he was still still breathing fast. I waited un- til everyone else had left and then I called to him as he start- ed toward a dressing room. "Hi- Over ya, Bill," I said to the back of his head. I could tell he was surprised when he turned and saw me, be- cause he didn't answer for a few seconds. "Well, hello, Joe. What are you doing here?" "I heard you were giving a big recital so I thought I'd come and see it. You were terrific, Bill. Honest. You ought to pass that course easy." "Well, thanks, Joe," he laugh- ed. "Yes, I think I might pass that COURSE with a little luck." "Sherman Grafton should have been here tonight, huh, Bill? You really could have shown the ape up." I forced a laugh just in case I hit a sore spot. He gave me a puzzled look. "Why should I want to show Sher- man up?" he asked. Now what the hell was he doing, I thought. Playing games? "Well you know . I mean the way he . . . " "He never told anyone then," Bill said half to himself. "I guess the poor guy was ashamed to tell anyone." Now I was puzzled. I didn't know what to think anymore. "Told anyone what?" I asked as casually as I could. "Sherman came to my room the week after I left and asked me to come back to the fraterni- ty," he said simply. Well, I'd heard everything right there and then. From then on nothing would ever surprise me. "Sherman? Asked YOU to come back?" So many questions were forming in my mind that all I could do was stand there and stammer like an idiot. "Yes. He said that he didn't mean to humiliate me that night, only he was drunk and the oth- er, . . . " he suddenly paused and looked down at the floor for a minute before he went on. "He said he never thought I would quit and he said he knew it was his fault that I had. He didn't want it on his conscience," he said. "Well, why the hell didn't you come back, you big goof? As long as Sherman had . . ." "It wasn't only Sherman," Bill interrupted, looking squarely at me. You can imagine how I felt then. My face got hot, and I couldn't return Bill's look to save my life. I didn't even try to say anything. What could I have said anyway? There was an awkward moment of silence. COMMONWEALTH COLUMBIA THEATRES "Well, so long Joe," Bill final- ly said. "Thank you for coming tonight. I've got to go now. Good luck." You can understand now why I wasn't feeling very talkative while Karen and I walked back to her dormitory. That's why Ka- ren asked me 'what's the matter,' and I told her what I did. I didn't want her to think I was mad at her though, so after a while I forced myself to say something. "That kid who was dancing to- night used to be my roommate," I informed her. "I didn't know he was in your fraternity," she said. "Hell, he's really not in the fraternity now, but he used to be. He had to quit because he had to devote so much time to his dancing." "How did you like rooming with him?" she asked. "Aren't those dancers sort of 'funny'?" "That shows how much you know!' I snapped, closing the con- versation. You can't talk to these freshmen. That Karen's a killer, isn't she? The end. THE ITALIAN VILLAGE Jazz is like any pleasant pastime, it must be heard to be enjoyed. Regarless what school of music you prefer there are unlimited amounts at your fingertips. In a modern record shop you can sit and listen, choosing from any style of music that conforms with your taste. At Don Small's Record Shop music is our business. You can hear it and enjoy it. We also have many varieties of machines to make your sounds better. Come in for a session, 19 North Tenth. BARNEY KINKADE is mar- ried. (That kind of knocks our theory that all artists starve in garrets with mistresses all to hell.) His main hobby is being mar- ried. And his other interests are cooking, sewing, cleaning the house and related activities. His major is economics. He thinks he's a senior, but good old Dean English (W. Francis, that is) might have other ideas. Barney served two years as one of Uncle Sugar's nephews. And the amazing thing about Bar- ney, which shocks friends and neighbors, is that he just didn't like the army one little bit. He is currently engaged in drawing cartoons to replace Thurlow as soon as Part MCVXI is published. These will run for the next seventeen years and shall be called "Son of Thurlow," "Thurlow Rides Again" and "The Portable Thurlow." There will always be a Thur- low. Amen. Contributors' Page JOHN MCSKIMMING is a vir- ile ad man. All good ad men are virile. Actually we have no con- clusive evidence of this phenom- enon - it's just one of those spur- of-the-moment observations that you make. By the way, if you are virile and or an ad man, come up to the SHOWME office, 302 Read Hall, and we'll put you to work in some capacity. (Yeaahhh, man!) John is a St. Louisan and a senior in J-School. "J" stands for Journalism. (That's just for the personal edification of any stray engineers.) In case you've been worrying about all those Marines who par- ticipated in the Inchon landing in Korea, John is the boy to clue you in. He was there . . . but he doesn't like to talk about it. John's hobbies are cooking and cats. We know he didn't pick them up in the Marines. You just don't pick things like that up in the Marines. But, Man, the things you find at the SAE house! Lately Swami has been over- ridden with all sorts of pure in- nocent creatures who don't drink beer and who blush engagingly at the slightest provocation, cre- ating a completely unwholesome atmosphere for SHOWME staffers to work in. NANCY BALES is the latest addition to the crew. (Julie's Photo) One of her main claims to fame is that she's one of Swami's few Nancys who isn't a Nanci. Which makes her unique, also different. One reason she's such a boon to the staff is her vast fund of knowledge, gleaned from her nurses' training, of abortions, hangover remedies and trench- mouth cures. Therefore, her per- sonal attention is much in de- mand. Nancy handles our exchanges with other college magazines. Each month she voraciously licks 125 gummy little stamps and types 125 gummy little lables. And she doesn't even drink beer. D. B. A drunken farmer stumbled home through the pasture after his regular Saturday night fes- tivities in town. As he climbed into bed, his wife snorted, "Whoo- boy, what's that stink?" To which the farmer replied easily, "I lost my hat out there in the pasture, maw, and tried on seven before I finally found it again." S. G. A. Elections Camel