Showme March, 1957 Showme March, 1957 2008 1957/03 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 show195703

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

All blank pages have been eliminated.
Showme March, 1957 $00.25 Cause we can't live on I'll will Huntin' a Queen SAVITAR-57 UNION BOOK STORE Puckett's letters Feb. 12, 1957 Editors: Material from your magazine, SHOWME, appears in (our new- ly published cartoon) collection. The title is "Sex is Better in Col- lege", edited by Henry Boltinoff, and (the pocket edition) sells for 35 cents. With Compliments, Pyramid Books 444 Madison Ave. New York 22, N.Y. Dear Pyramid: The title is good, but some- times you just can keep a guy down on the farm . . . when the county seat is Moberly. Thanx for the consideration of our ma- terial. We read your complimen- tary copy and heartily recom- mend the book to anyone who went so far as to buy SHOWME (Expurgated) and wants more cartoons from wider-open cam- puses. Editors Feb. 21, 1957 Dear Mr. Murlin Gene Smith- I was very distressed to read that you don't like me. It makes me very sad to find that people don't like me. I like you. I like you so much that I took time out from my bustling, industrious, hurried col- lege-girl schedule to write and tell you. So please like me! Glenda Allen William Woods College Fulton, Mo. Dear Glenda- I like you. I like you so much that I took time out from my bustling, industrious, productive, hurried college-boy schedule to write and tell you. How are you built? Murlin Feb. 1 Dear Sir: I would like to have informa- tion and a price list, or would like to be included on your mailing list for the rest of the year and a bill sent to me. I graduated from the Universi- ty in 1956 and for the past few months have known something was lacking in my life and have decided that it just must be the SHOWME. I would like to have the January issue or other back issues if they are available. Sincerely yours, Mary Louise Lister 736 N.E. 13th St., Oklahoma City, Okla. Feb. 1 SHOWME: Here's two bits for a copy of your January issue, which an- other alumnus showed me in Chicago this week. You've assembled a lot of good cartoons and humor and packed 'em into the Jan. issue. Cordially, William B. Raufer 226 Jackson St. Quincy, Illinois Dear William and Mary: Wish we could fill the other requests for that issue. We're sold out completely. Editors Feb. 18, 1957 Dear Editor: We are now preparing for ear- ly publication the first issue of our new humor magazine, JES- TER. It's devoted entirely to hu- mor, wit and satire. JESTER will be a slick class magazine (de- void of crude sex, both in text and illustration.) A special section . . . will bring outstanding examples of collegi- ate humor, cartoons as well as SUSIE STEPHENS text pieces. Please send us copies o f SHOWME (and enter a subscrip- tion.) (We'll) ask your permission and terms for reprinting any item we plan to use, give credit to SHOWME and to the cartoonist or artist. Sincerely yours, Andrew Hecht Editor and Publisher C. F. H. Publications, Inc. 516 Fifth Ave., New York 36, N.Y. Dear Mr. Hecht: After consultation with our liberal business manager, Dick J o h n s t o n, laughingly called Scrooge, we've decided that among the terms shall be money. Two In-the-Red Editors Feb. 3 Dear Sir: I would like to send a two-year subscription to SHOWME to my brother who is stationed in Eng- land. He has a New York APO ad- dress and some people have told me that magazine rates are the same as for the U.S.A. In that case, I would appreciate it if you would mail me the correct rate for a two-year subscription. Thank you for your trouble. Sincerely, Marilyn Chipps 2015A Faraon St. Joseph, Missouri Dear Marilyn: $3 a year for nine issues in U. S. and for APO addresses, and $97 a year for our Kurdic, Per- sian, Yezidic, Ossete and Afghan- Pushto Editions if living near Tehran: Editors January 25, 1957 Dear Skip, For a student who got a "D" in English, I consider it's an hon- or to write an article for any magazine, especially for SHow- ME, a magazine which has such a colorful background. I have been writing the article (They Thought I Would Degrade Their House) for quite a while. Because of the difficulties I have with English, I have to correct it again and again . . . and I hope you correct it again. Sincerely yours, Sherman Wu 1113 Grant Street Evanston, Illinois Dear Sherman, We aren't too concerned about the strict grammarians around here. But what we do see is a straight "A" intellect. And in this world we're plowing into soon, we see more ahead of intellect than grammar. Every day we read brilliantly phrased articles which contain little, if any, thought. We're proud to be able to pub- lish a few of your thoughts and hope it stimulates the readers as well as some other writers. And we'd like to congratulate the writer for the campus paper up there who brought into the open what happened. Best wishes, The Editors Editors, The mag has been excellent, so far, the best I've seen in many a 3 year. LeRoy Bearman, 04069667 HQ, 61st Ordnance Group Fort Bliss, Texas Dear LeRoy: We've got a ways to go yet, especially in production. But thanx for the bouquets. We've got the best printer around and we'd show it if the paper stock warehouses would only play it square with him. Editors Feb. 1, 1957 Hello Skipperino: Word is coming soon re. your SHOWME efforts. I'm afraid it won't be pleasant. However, I hope you don't cancel my sub- scription. Happy Kippers, Louis Norbert Wagner News Editor, WTNJ 416 Bellevue Ave., Trenton, N.J. Dear Louis: There was once a minister named Henry Ward Beecher who advised his flock to live virtuous- ly . . . Skipperino Feb. 1 Dear Ed: Has the new one come out yet? If so, when do I get my copy? I hate to be cranky, but I like the darn thing . . . please rush! Norm Benedict, Kappa Sig, 2251 Sheri- dan Rd., Northwestern, Evanston, Ill. Thanks. Feb. 15, 1937 Dear Skip: Thanks for using my story (Gentlemen Songsters, Feb. Is- sue). Seven more months in this damn Army! Sincerely, Gerald Marsh Eye Clinic Ft. Leonard Wood, Mo. Dear Gerald: Don't let your C.O. read this. Editors HEROES By Dick Porterfield Just got through reading one of those two-bit novels, and am I disgusted. Why is it that in these things the hero is always such a type? First of all he always has gray eyes, or at least pierc- ing black eyes. Why can't the hero have hazy, foggy blue eyes? Another thing, the hero is always depicted as being tall and muscu- lar with a wasp-like waist, broad shoulders, and the flattest of stom- achs. Why can't the hero be short, fat and rather sloppy? For some reason, the hero is always a person of highly superior intelligence. He may not have had much formal schooling, but he has a very keen mind. Thus he always outwits his adversary even though it may be a perverted college professor with an I.Q. of 140. This just doesn't set right with me. Why can't the hero be the dumb type of fellow that the average man is? Mr. & Mrs. I.W. FARRSDALOLLI & SON If I read another one of these novels in which the hero has a mess of unruly hair I think I'll fly to New York and strangle the publisher just on that principle. Do you know how many people in the country have unruly hair? Not very damned many! Why can't the hero's hair be dung colored and limp to the point it falls in his eyes? It sounds more reasonable to me. When you stop and add up all the characteristics of the average hero you find that he is: tall, rugged, slim, smart, and he has an unruly mop of red hair. OH YES, I almost forgot. He also has a win- ning way with women of every size, type and shape. My hero is not quite the same. He's not tall; in fact he's short, quite fat and sloppy. His eyes are a murky undiscernible color and very shifty. His hair, oh his hair. It just sort of lays there on the top and sides of his little pointed head, occasionally falling into his murky shifty eyes. Women? Forget it. My hero? . . . Malenkov of course, who else? 4 "THE KEG" BROADWAY DRIVE-IN filched NEWMAN'S JEWELRY Editors' Ego SPRING BRINGS beerbusts, love affairs, big league baseball - and queens. Everyone has queens for any excuse. We real- ize there is an overabundance of them on campus, but our selfish Swami insists on having his own traditional personal queen. The lecherous old darling is practical- ly delirious with anticipation just thinking about Friday night, March 15. At the Crystal Ball Friday night at the Tiger Hotel Swami will crown his 1957 queen and carry her off for a weekend in St. Louis, to meet People and Do Things. To be sure that your favorite candidate is elected, clip the bal- lot you'll find in the queen spread further back in the issue. Vote today at the Student Union, which by the way, is the same place where you can buy a ticket for the Crystal Ball. Tickets are $1 per couple and you can also get them in 302 Read Hall or from any SHOWME staff member- ber. YES, LESTER Gibbs is back again. He seems to come and go like the four seasons. And he's still wearing bangs. And Jerry Powell is back - but he's gone straight - studying law, he says. And we had a letter from ECAT the other day. SHOWME'S infam- ous ex-editor is back in his home territory. Wonder if they censor the Waukegan News-Sun. WE LOVE TO GET letters from all our fans, telling us how great we are. They just do won- ders for our Collective Ego. But what about all you people who hate us - who read other peo- ple's SHOWME just to sneer at us? Why don't you write letters? You can insult us all to hell - just keep it funny. But please insult us a little. People are be- ginning to think all our Letters to the Editor are phony. IT COMES TO MIND that all our readers might not know what the title of this column sig- nifies. What it is, it means that the privilege of writing the Edi- tors' Ego is usualy reserved for the editor with the biggest one. (Ego) But in our case, we both have such overinflated egos that we have to write it together in order to hold each other down. But you'll have to excuse use be- cause we sometimes just go wild. SINCE THE MANEATER was gracious enough to avoid men- tioning our little typographical blotches, we won't even say 72 pt. words about their English- Oriental issue of a few weeks ago. We know they have ads, but they don't have to put them on the front page to prove it! Oh well, the MANEATER may have ads, but SHOWME has content And who wants to be rich any- way? Oh, THAT was a real day when SHOWME and Maneater came out last month. We hid our heads in shame when we poked fun at the local press for its boners . . . only to have our own printer switch credits on two of the reproduced Trib and Missourian lafferinos . . . not to forget, also, dropping one of the arrows. But, Great Gadfly, on the same page, the caption for Matt Flynn's three-column cartoon didn't reproduce. In justice to Matt, here it is again. That was the day a typist slipped at The Citadel military college and invited Gen. Randolph McC. Pate, commandant of the Marine Corps, to spend the night in President (Gen.) Mark Clark's "out house" instead of at "our house". The Maneater, a weekly, didn't enjoy our embarrassment very long. They went on sale with a complete press run . . . carrying page one on the back page. For once, we had mutual sympathy. Showme VOLUME 33 MARCH 1957 NUMBER SIX EDITORS Skip Troelstrup Nanci Schelker BUSINESS MANAGER Dick Johnston Brack Hinchey PHOTOS Joe Van Trump 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 THEY THOUGHT I WOULD DEGRADE THEIR HOUSE - 12 SWAMI'S QUEEN ------ --------------- 17 MUSIC TO SEDUCE WITH ---------------- 22 SHOOTING GALLERY (Unexpurgated)-------- 26 GIRL OF THE MONTH --------30 THE LEGEND OF THE ROCK --- 34 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 Read Hall. Columbia, Mo. All rights reserved. Unsolicited manuscripts will not be returned unless accompanied by a self addressed, stamped envelope. Advertising rates furnished on request. National Advertising Representatives: W. B. Bradbury Co., 122 East 42nd St., New York City. Printers: Modern Litho-Print Co., Jefferson City, Mo. Price: 25c a single copy; subscriptions by mail, $3.00. Editors' phone numbers: GI. 2-4053 or GI. 2-9855. 7 Swami is ready, the plans have been laid, Who will be picked the maid to be made . So fill up the kegs and let's have a ball; Let's go to St. Louis and have a brawl; Spike the punch bowl and have a scene, It's time to elect the Showme queen. Around The Columns March. Wind. Kites. In like a lion, out like a yellow-throated thrush warbler. Mid-term tests soon. Easter and vacation only a month away. Lem, go plow up the north forty, spring's right around the corner. It is questioned in some cir- cles whether anybody ever really DOES plow up the north forty. In the movies, Lem, or Hank, or Silo, or John Wayne or somebody usually starts OUT to plow the north forty, but they (John Waynes, especially) are often waylaid. What happens is this. This guy is walking along, on his way to the north forty, and he's got this kind of faraway look in his eyes like he is used to squinting long distances (John Wayne is good here, too; I never seen anybody could squint like John Wayne) at Indians or prairie fires or es- caped ballistics missiles. The sun is just com- ing up, the grass is sparkling with dew, the birds are singing, the cows mooing, the dogs barking, the hogs grunting and I just don't know whatall. Through this veritable paradise our hero walks. But all of a sudden he stops, kneels on the ground, and scoops up a handful of dirt. This part is vital. He is on the ground with this hunk of dirt in his hand, you know, and he stares out toward where the sun is coming up - squinting to beat the band all the time - and he slowly starts crumbling up the dirt, letting it sort of drift down through his fingers to the ground. He looks thoughtful. He crumbles. Fade out. And we never DO find out whether or not he plows the north forty. March. The month. THE FOLLOWING is from the Kansas City Star. "McMurdo Sound, Antarctica, Feb. 12. (AP) - Navy Seabees at this U.S. Antarctic base are puzzled by one Christmas deco- ration they found among sup- plies which have arrived for the coming year. Several sprigs of mistletoe were in a box of artificial flow- ers. There's not a woman in the Antarctic." Wellll . . . yes. Tune in De- cember 26 for final results. AFTER CONTEMPLATING Mr. John Ray's recent pop re- cording of "Look Homeward, An- gel," I am of the opinion that Thomas Wolfe is turning over in his grave. In fact, as Archie Lee would say of Baby Doll's rapid- ly rotating pappy, he's probably plowed up the whole graveyard by now. YOU KNOW, for the past few years people have been telling us that this is the age of juvenile delinquents, or the age of televi- sion, or the age of the cold war, or something similar. 9 It isn't though. It isn't none of them. It's the age of bowling ma- chines. That's right - bowling machines. Look around you. Mil- lions of bowling machines. Billions of them. You can't go anywhere but what as soon as you get in the door you hear this bong- bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong clunk-clang and see two guys knif- ing each other over the scores. Rumor has it that in the next Olympic games the United States is going to field a bowling ma- chine team. Semifinal playoffs will be held at a hundred col- lege campuses all over the na- tion, and final judging will be held in either the Rose Bowl or Madison Square Garden. Since most of the other nations will be relatively new at the sport we ought to win the first three places handily, but don't be too over- confident. Unconfirmed secret dispatches say that next fall Rus- sia is putting into operation a mammoth five year bowling ma- chine plan. So the next time you see a bunch of guys playing the ICBM (Intercontinental Bowling Ma- chine), don't sneer. They might be lettermen. YOU REALIZE naturally that Boston Blackie is enemy to those who make him an enemy, and friend to those who have no friends. Think about it a minute. The guy is practically a social pariah. FROM A RECENT ISSUE of Time, under Education; "A typi- cal well-balanced group is this year's freshman class at Yale. Of 1,031 boys, 506 were captains of varsity teams or won varsity let- ters, 228 were editors of their school papers, 114 were editors of their yearbooks, 178 were either presidents of their student coun- cils or of their senior classes." Well now. Those other five must have been slackers. Seems. like they could've at least made the stage-crew. IT IS ALWAYS SORT of in- teresting to note that whenever we see newsreel shots of some of the top Russians - who hate us capitalist imperialistic war- monger's guts - they're always driving Imperials or Caddys. YOU KNOW, there's nothing in this world I like to do more than rip up paper sacks. Just get in there and rip and rent and tear and smash and . . but before the men in the white coats get on my trail, I'd better explain what I mean. What I mean is this. Back around '48 and '49 I went to junior high school over at the University Lab School. Now it seems that at that time the Lab School catered mostly to the sons and daughters of MU pro- fessors and the sons and daugh- ters of certain farmers who lived around the county. I happened to be neither, but it didn't hin- der me too much. Soon after I started attending school, I noticed that many of the sons and daughters of the farm- ers would bring their lunches with them (mainly, I imagine, so that they wouldn't have to hoof it to McBaine or someplace and back during the noon hour), and while some had real snazzy-looking lunch boxes with chrome trim and orange birds on the top, most brought plain brown paper sacks. This interested me quite a bit, and soon I noticed that after consum- ing their lunch, they would very carefully fold the sacks back up and stick them in their back pockets - the boys did, I mean - the girls put theirs in their lockers. Anyway, by this method lots of them used the same sack for weeks and months and even years, practically, and during this time would grow very fond of them and felt bad when they started to disintegrate and fall apart. I don't have to go much fur- ther, do I? I would pick out one girl, see, (I was bigger than the girls) and let her get a pretty good run started on her sack - a couple of weeks, maybe - and then one day I'd sail into the lunchroom, grab the sack, and rip it right before her eyes. 10 Boy! Mad? - they would go wild - you never saw anything like it in your life. Here they had gone and got all attached to their sack, see, and then they had to just stand there and watch me rip it up. I think that's what started me on the life of crime, Well. Anyway, I sure do like to rip up sacks. WHEN LIGHTNING struck a sheepfold in Lapleaux, France, a few weeks ago, a very strange thing happened. All the black sheep were killed. The white ones remained unharmed. (The white ones were the good guys.) AMERICA'S FIRST privately endowed college for women, Vassar, was founded with the profits made from beer and ale. Matthew Vassar was a distin- guished brewer of Poughkeep- sie, N. Y. Vassar girls today ac- knowledge their debt to the founder with these words: "And so you see, for old V.C. Our love shall never fail. Full well we know That all we owe To Matthew Vassar's ale." I guess nobody knows what kind of profits Stephens was founded on. Or at least they're not saying. I WONDER how many people still dial "GI" when they use Columbia telephones. IN PASSING- In Taegu, South Korea, two weeks after he escaped from jail, Murder Suspect Kank Woo Won sent a polite note to the prose- cutor: "I wasn't feeling too well because I feared I would be ex- ecuted, but I am very well now, thank you." On Dartmoor in England, Cow- poke Ross Salmon went for an off-camera canter on his cattle ranch, got tossed off by his skew- bald mare Faithful, sent Faith- ful for help when he found he was too badly shaken up to re- mount, shivered all night after Faithful moseyed off in the wrong direction, gloomily told well- wishers: "I cannot think of any- thing more harmful for an ex- perienced cowboy than to admit falling off his horse. I am afraid the kiddies will have finished with me." In Indianapolis, Mallory Hin- son was jailed for drunk driving after he refused to take a drunk- ometer test, confidentially advis- ed cops to test his dog instead, explained that the dog, not he, had been piloting the car. THE FOLLOWING is an actual letter which was sent into one of the newspapers' advice col- umns. In that I don't think that it was answered with the gravity and serious thought that it very evidently deserves, I am reprint- ing it here- with my own an- swer - in hopes that the sender will notice it. Here it is. "A while ago I met a boy named Pat. He seemed to be a very nice boy and was well-man- nered. He said he was 13 and a freshman in high school, while I am only 12 and a seventh grad- er. Recently I heard a rumor that Pat is really only 12 and is in the eighth grade. I would like to know the truth but I'm afraid I will embarrass him if I ask him. Should I ask him or just let it go?" DEAR LOST ONE: Let it GO! Never. Cut off one of his legs and count the rings. It never fails. I HAVE BEEN HEARING quite a bit lately that Rock 'n Roll is dead and Calypso is now the going thing. This is natural- ly startling information to those of us whose lives aren't too much influenced by such drastic fluc- tuations and who probably wouldn't give too much of a damn if old Norweigian drinking songs became the rage. However, after having been awakened several times during the last year by the throbbing moans of a young man evidently in mortal pain because of the general unworthiness of his ca- nine friend, I welcome a change. Any kind of a change. Even bananas. SIGN IN Dirty Mac's: "Jones' Study Hall - you bring the books, we got the beer." A COUPLE of weeks ago I was sitting down at the Stein club with Ardy Friedman and Danny Macleod discussing some of the more pressing world problems and we got to talking about fam- ous lines. (Waitaminute. I've already told you about Ardy, I think. He's a wheel. He also knows where James Dean is. Danny's not a wheel-he is ac- tually sort of a spook - but he used to be a Kewpie, so that makes him all right. Besides, his room-mate wrote a paper last month and entitled it "Iowa is Corn", so you can see right there that . . . well, what I mean . . see, if . . . ah . . . yes. Well, so much for the introductions.) We were talking about famous lines, as I said. You know - like "Sighted Sub, Sank Same," and "Fire when ready Modzeleski," and "But doctor, are you sure?", and like that. 11 Crazy. But after the beer started going down easier, our famous lines g o t somewhat garbled, if you know what I mean, and the whole thing got rather ridiculous. So we started making up famous lines that nobody had said yet, so they'd be on hand when anybody'd need them, you know, and things got even ridic- ulouser than before. We made up some pretty damn good lines, too, if I say so my- self. Like "Where is your dog", and "Met Hitler today", and "Don't spread it around, fellas, but I think I'm on fire", "God is a white American" and, oh hell, all kinds of things. But the best one of all was one Ardy came out with. It practically killed us, no kidding. Macleod was rolling on the floor. We had just gotten another round of beer, and were sitting there not saying anything, you know, like you do .when you've just gotten another round and haven't taken the first sip yet, and all of a sudden Ardy took a big swig, looked up, and said, "Famous line: 'Did you en- joy the play, Mrs. Lincoln?'" Well, I think I've used up enough space. See you all next month. Dick Noel They Thought I Would Degrade Their House The Son of the Former Governor of Formosa, For the First Time, Writes of the Depledging Which Disgusted Campuses Across the Nation. When I was a little kid, my brother and I used to dig a nole in our back yard believing that America would be on the other end. Two years ago, I finally came to the other end of the hole, not through a tunnel, but by air- plane. In September, 1954, I attended Evanston (Illinois) Township High School where I learned English and made many truthful friends. During the first day of school, I tried to make friends with everybody and shook hands with everyone. I once shook hands with one student about ten By Sherman Wu times and still couldn't remem- ber his name. But I wasn't alone. When the class started, the teacher tried to pronounce my name, Hsiu-huang Wu. The pronunciation sounded funny to me and I didn't know it was my name until a fellow sit- ting next to me pushed me and said, "Hey, that's you!" So I decided to make things easier for my teachers by chang- ing my name. While I was walk- ing down Sherman Avenue in Evanston I thought it was a pleas- ant sounding name. So I began to call myself Sherman. It is for- tunate that I didn't walk down Chicago Avenue or Orrington Street that day. Otherwise I would have a very silly first name! Because of the American mo- vies that I had seen in Formosa, I always thought America must be a very exciting place. And the stories I had heard from American GIs were most fantas- tic and the result was that I did a lot of silly things as soon as I got here. For instance, one day I saw a very attractive blonde in class. I don't know what got into me but I just stepped forward and said to her, "Pardon me. Would . . and as reported by the United Press Fraternity Boots Formosan Exile's Son as 'Detriment' EVANSTON, Ill. (UP) - The son of former Formosa governor K. C. Wu has been forced to re- sign as a Northwestern Univer- sity pledge because of his nation- ality, it was learned today. Sherman Wu. 19, said he quit pledging Psi Upsilon fraternity because "they told me I would degrade their house because I am a Chinese Chapter president Jack H. Lageschulte. 20. Barrington, Ill. said, "We felt he would be a detri- ment." "We accepted him regardless of race," Lageschulte said, "but the campus, especially the freshmen. would not accept him as a per- son. They accepted him as a Chi- nese boy." Young Wu joined his exiled fa- ther in Evanston after much dif- ficulty. The Nationalist govern- ment of Formosa had refused to issue the lad a passport, on the grounds that his father was not a permanent resident of the Unit- ed States. His release was finally obtained after Wu provided the Formosan government with documents proving that he was then em- ployed by the Chicago Tribune as its Far Eastern editor. THE WALL AGAINST STUDENT WU At Northwestern University in Evanston, Ill., Sherman Wu, son of for- mer Formosa Governor K. C. Wu, left the Psi Upsilon fraternity house after his forced resignation as a pledge. The chapter president said, "We felt he would be a detriment" and that eight freshmen had refused to pledge as long as Wu was associated with the fraternity. Sherman said, "They told me I would degrade their house because I am a Chinese." As you read it in LIFE 12 you like to have a date with me?" I was very surprised when she answered, "What's your name?" And I answered honestly, "I am Wu." And you should have seen the expression on her face when she said, "Woo? No thanks!" I tried to change my last name now but I just couldn't see how somebody could call me Smith or Brown. So then I began to doubt the stories that I had heard from the American soldiers in Formo- sa. Quite often students asked me, "Do you know all of the quota- tions that Confucius said?" And it was followed with a big laugh. I didn't know the popular joke quotations Americans told. At times I felt strange because when I was in China, we always considered Confucius our great- est philosopher and a very seri- ous man. But after two years of education in the United States I began to realize the American vision of our Confucius. And now when people ask me the same question, I always re- ply immediately, "Sure, I know plenty . . . but not for mixed company!" And we laugh togeth- er. Regardless of the unsuccessful adventure I had with the blonde, my social life is pretty satisfac- tory. But I still don't know how to handle the situation when I go out with these progressive-mind- ed American girls who are much less reserved than the Chinese girls. I always act, as I learned, in the centuries-old Chinese manner of reticence when I am with a twentieth-century Ameri- can girl. And I feel like commit- ting suicide every time I bring her home. Perhaps I am just what Americans call "chicken!" It was once amazing, indeed, when the girls in the high school held an ice cream social get-to- gether. They asked me to write something in Chinese which the girls could use themselves. But some boys started a rumor that the words I wrote would be em- barrassing for the girls if trans- lated. So the girls got scared and didn't use the words. Later, an- other Chinese translated it for them and said it meant nothing more than what they asked me to write! One of the things I was proud- est of before I entered Northwes- tern University happened during my senior year in high school. I learned that most of the students didn't have much knowledge of foreign countries just as some Chinese thought all American girls were burlesque dancers. For- eign students like myself were asked similar silly questions about our own countries so I had the idea of organizing a Cosmo- politan Club of foreign high school students and it was ap- proved. I think it was the first ever organized on the high school level. We held a panel discussion every morning before classes to try to inform each other of the customs and ways of life of our homelands. And it was quite suc- cessful. Last June, I graduated from 13 the high school I had come to love. I not only learned the spe- cific courses that I took but also the principles of this great coun- try. I dare say that I have really mixed with American youth. After a wonderful vacation last summer, I started what was new and exciting to me. Life as a freshman at Northwestern Uni- versity. And because on my am- bition to learn all about the United States and how the stu- dents lived, I signed up for rush week. Last summer I received more than ten invitations from frater- nities and attended a few par- ties. After rush week began, I rushed from one house to an- other just as the others did. The reception was quite good and I received two bids from two fra- ternities . . . one of them Psi Upsilon. A few others invited me back though I received the other two bids early in the week. I pledged Psi Upsilon . . . and while a pledge I had no idea that something was going on behind my back. I didn't know there was terrible race prejudice in the house. They kept telling me I was one of their most wanted rushees during rush week. I had pledged Psi U because the peo- ple who rushed me heavily im- pressed me very much. Then it happened. The chapter meeting the night of last Octo- ber 22. Three members of the chapter came to the house where I was staying. They included the presi- dent of the chapter, Jack Lage- schulte, my pledge father and the third one who was the most truthful and loyal friend I have ever had in my nineteen years of life. They told me Psi U was a very small and young chapter at Northwestern but they felt they had made a big social jump by taking me as a pledge. Now they thought it would degrade their house to take a Chinese pledge as a member . . . a bro- ther. I was very hurt and felt like crying but I didn't want to show my emotional feeling in front of the persons who belonged to what suddenly seemed to me a bitterly ignorant and unworthy group. Later I learned that I was wrong. I learned that most of the students in the fraternity fought for me and only two narrow- minded persons blackballed me. First there was only hatred in my mind. But after the newspa- pers and magazines publicized the incident, I received more than three hundred letters from all over the United States saying that they wanted me to know what a real American felt about this . . . and many invited me to visit their homes. And then I knew I was entirely wrong about my sudden judgment of the American people. Three hundred wrote, but I know there are more than three hundred on my side. And right here, I would like to apologize to the American people for the terrible feelings I have had. Then my closest friend re- signed from Psi U in disgust be- cause of the incident. I believe there have been many others besides myself who have Photo by Bernie tasted this kind of awful experi- ence because of their race of which they have always been proud. Or even because of their reli- gion or because they only dressed differently than others. But I do not want to make a hasty generalization about the Americans, Northwestern, frater- nities or even Psi U. In my case I was lucky because a lot of people have given me sympathy and support. But many people who have similar experi- ences can only hate when they are alone . . and some put their hate into action. There is the story of the Jap- anese commander who led the attack on Pearl Harbor. He nev- er forgot that thirty years earlier he was refused a shave in a San Francisco barbershop. That was the old generation's answer to race prejudice. This generation would not reply with such vengeance because that type of prejudice should not hap- (Continued on Page 16) The Author Shortly before SHOWME went to press, Hsiu-huang (Sherman) Wu was invited to visit Olivet College in Michigan and accept hon- orary membership in a local fraternity on that campus. Sherman Wu is now a second-semester freshman at Northwestern University, Evanston, Ill. He is the son of K. C. Wu, fomer mayor of the Chinese wartime capital of Chungking. K. C. Wu is a graduate of Grinnell College in Iowa and Princeton University. Of his father, Theodore White and Annalee Jacoby wrote in Thunder Out of China, "For that first heroic period in Chungking, leadership was as idealistic and self-sacrificing as the led. The mayor of Chungking was a chubby American-trained intellectual named K. C. Wu. His direction of the city's life under bombardment was magnificent. He dashed about in the open during raids to direct relief and firefighting with the utmost personal courage. He was a favorite of the Generalissimo, and his personal example was a stimu- lus to all." With the Communist victory on the mainland, he was appointed governor of Taiwan (Formosa). A few years ago, he split with Chiang Kai-shek, accusing him and his son of trying to fight against the Reds by using Communist methods. Wu resigned his governorship and came to the United States. After arriving here, in self-exile, he asked that his son join him. However, the Nationalist government held Sherman as a hostage for a year and a half until public opinion pressure and intervention by the American government freed him and he joined his father in the United States. K. C. Wu is now Far Eastern editor of the Chicago Tribune. Sherman has two married sisters and one brother, a junior at Princeton. 14 Recovering from the first shock and bitterness of the incident, Wu wrote the editors of SHOWME a testament we wish to share with every reader. (Continued from Page 14) pen anymore. The little incident that hap- pened to me is less remembered by me for the petty ignorance of a few than for the general and spontaneous outcry against it by a most friendly Northwestern University and a most sympa- thetic and understanding Ameri- can general public. I am touched and sincerely grately. Bigotry is to be found in every corner of the world and among every breed of man. While its continuation must be deplored we should work for the assured- ness that it will soon be rooted out by those such as I have come to know as the real Americans. The support I received cannot but strengthen my faith in hu- manity. The world is getting smaller every day. What happens in one small place is quickly known by thousands of others. Prejudice and ignorance are the worst ene- mies of mankind. "Love your neighbor as your- self." It is the time now for our young people to understand each other and to make our beautiful world a much better one. End ANDY'S CORNER dean's Town and Country COULD THIS HAPPEN HERE IN THE FIRST STAGE? If Sherman Wu attended the University of Missouri, this would be the situation he would find . . . exclusive of later action follow- ing pledgeship. HE WOULD BE BARRED FROM CONSIDERATION BY: Delta Tau Delta Delta Sigma Phi Kappa Alpha Sigma Chi Pi Kappa Alpha Sigma Phi Epsilon Phi Kappa Psi Sigma Nu An officer of Pi Kappa Alpha told SHOWME the "fraternity is unable to disclose information like that." Sigma Phi Epsilon replied "We don't feel free to divulge the in- formation. The president of Sigma Nu said, "(Information concerning barring foreign students or Oriental Americans) would be within the creed or ritual and not within the constitution. I feel that it might cause ill feelings if that information were disclosed." Representatives of all other organized fraternities reported that no man is barred officially because of race or would be subject to action by their nationl offices in such a case. Surveyed by SHOWME PLA-BOY DRIVE-IN 16 The Judges Went This Far. Judges query potential queens on such world-shak- ing matters as "Do you think James Dean is dead?," "Where is your dog?," and "Do you know where the Suez Canal is?," and "Will Schroeder marry Snoopy?" Fine points of judging are discussed by Girl-Watch- ers. Left to right, Dick Johnston, Dean Jack Math- ews, Skip Troelstrup, W. B. Bickley, Dick Noel Les Gibbs and Tom McAfee. The judges' choices, thirteen semi-finalists, are shown below. Now. YOU Pick TWO WEEKS ago, seven men sat around a table in the smoke- filled ballroom of the Student Union and leered at numerous pretty girls who paraded in front of them. This was the best excuse for Unrestrained Girl-Watching since Lady Godiva rode her horse through the streets . . . Though we always wondered who ever noticed she was riding a horse. Out of this maze of faces and figures, the judges finally chose six finalists to be voted on by SHOWME readers. (See Matt Flynn's centerspread for a graph- ic interpretation of Our Great Event). Clip the ballot at the bot- tom of the page and vote now at the Student Union. DOROTHY LANDAU Alpha Epsilon Phi SUZANNE DUNCAN Kappa Alpha Theta CAST YOUR BALLOTS at the Student Union Voting Ends 5 p.m. - March 13 Crystal Ball Tickets - $1 per couple On Sale Thursday and Friday at the Student Union Semi-Formal Stags - 50 cents at the door CAST YOUR BALLOTS TODAY JANE MULHOLLAND Alpha Chi Omega Our Queen SWAMI'S QUEEN will be an- nounced and crowned at the Crystal Ball Friday night, March 15, at the Tiger Hotel. Tickets are $1 per couple and may be purchased at the Union ticket booth, in 302 Read Hall, or from any SHOWME staff member. A weekend round of television and radio appearances in St. Louis will follow the Crystal Ball. Swami and his helpers will treat the queen to a weekend of typical SHOWME entertainment. See the April issue for a picture spread on the St. Louis trip. KATIE JAMES Kappa Kappa Gamma ANN LEWELLEN Kappa Alpha Theta SHOWME QUEEN CONTEST Dorothy Landau Suzanne Duncan Dee Danford Jane Mulholland Ann Lewellen Katie James DEE DANFORD Johnston Hall Showme at a Queen Contest BY HOLLYWOOD Music to Seduce With After trying every gimmick from simultaneous movie-theme re- cording releases to Record-of-the-Month Club, it looks like a new mar- ket is being developed for music. You can buy records of anything from Herr Adolph's rise to Yardbird's memory. Here is the ultimate. THE HANDY-DANDY HELP- YOURSELF SEDUCTION KITS What I'm referring to is the crazy background music. Not movie themes, man, for those in- timate scenes. They've even cut sides for the gung-ho type. Ever heard Music to Work or Study By? (Victor LPM-1029) Such crazy tracks as "Whistle While You Work" and "Scrub. Brother, Scrub" strike the flame. The Mel- achine" Strings come out of the walls to fan the embers. Not in- terested? Maybe you've got the bug to blast your way out of a lease. Handy-Dandies can fix that up too. With Music to Break a Lease (ABC Paramount - 107) if you aren't free by the end of "Hail, Hail the Gang's All Here," try "The Beer Barrel Polka." This album will penetrate the thickest floors. BUT HOW ABOUT THE LOVERS?- These are the cats who need the help. Despite the centuries, a woman remains a woman and what a hassle! A cat named Jackie Gleason heard the rumble and decided to give the boys a hand. Now he is a pretty straight head and with smooth Hackett, he turned a few sides for effect. How bad is the story he tells? This Night Winds album (Cap- itol - W717) has tears on the covers. Nostalgia, man! When you get ready to call your chick, lay this side on and drop the arm on "Alone" or "Close As Pages in a Book." Start the con, come on like Aristotle. Tell her you'll be by in the wheels in five. If she can't see it, crazy. Tell her you'll bring some sides over and just set around and pin some sounds. She'll dig this idea. PICK THOSE COVERS CAREFULLY- Grab the music and splash on the Black Watch for atmosphere and split. If you can make it in three she'll be off guard. When you get through the door, cut out for the box and put some sides on. Use Music to Make You Misty (Capitol - W455) and play "Prelude to a Kiss." Now hit those lights fast. The TV lamp alone is pretty bright so throw a rag over it to tone it down. Before she can wonder about the production technique you are conning her in a throaty voice with Bobby Hackett wail- ing behind the darkness. When the needle hits "It All Depends on You," the chick is done, man. just putty. IF SHE RESISTS- Like I said Gleason is a good head and you stacked the sides just right. Your voice gets more urgent just as the sequel, Music to Change Her Mind (Capitol - W632) drops to the turntable. Cool it, "You and the Night and the Music" is on and she'll start to grab the mood. If she isn't out of her head by the time "You're My Greatest Love" starts, you're in the wrong pad, man. The crazy thing about having the sides around all the time is you can get in shape before mak- ing the scene. Those punch lines have to grab her just right and how much practice can you get? BUT- If some sunny afternoon you grab the sides and decide to make it a surprise session, be- ware, chicks are sharp too. Be- fore you go inside pin her sounds. This is where you can goof. You might smash through the door and before you know what's happening she's sobbing on your shoulder. It may be a joke but if you hear Sid Feller playing "For You" or "Exactly Like You" (ABC Paramount), oh, wow! Your chick has scored Music for Expectant Mothers. Clarington THE HI FI HOUSE Maneater Editor The Day the Front Page Ran on Page 12 WRIGHT'S RADIO and T.V. REPAIR ITALIAN VILLAGE Murlin Gene Smith's Unexpurgated Shooting Gallery Ah, Spring! A blinding succession of 25 degree days followed by 65 degree nights, or vice-versa. Of deep, almost electric blue skies and of writhing, amoebic tendrils of fog slithering across the swamp that is Missouri. Not long ago on a particularly slimy day I offered to bet that if you went up to the northern border and tipped the damn' state at about a 30 degree angle, you could slide all the way to Arkansas! There were no takers. Spring brings out wrinkled Bermuda shorts on optimistic coeds and winter coats and mufflers for the afternoon .weather change. Best protection is a handy flask of 100-proof. Even better is migration, but this is sometimes difficult to accomplish. This is an unenlightened university which frowns upon correspondence degrees. Ay give up! Ay t'row up bot' hands! Ay ban quit dis lousy writ- in' racket! By Geronimo, it's bad enough to type up reams of copy and see it regularly butchered (typing paper's expensive, too!), but when the printers join in the fun and convert this limping col- lection of paragraphs smirkingly referred to as a column into a puz- zle page, that's the famous last straw! Not content with riddling the magazine with typographical errors, they have now gone hog- wild down there and taken to dropping collections of sentences (apparently carefully selected to leave the remnants bereft of any point whatsoever), switching things around (in case anybody won- dered, that partial paragraph that led off last month's Gallery be- longed with the four lines of type in the third column which flapped there like last year's Halloween skeleton) and doing other things too numerous to mention. That black line in the middle of one paragraph was at one time the top line or kicker on a headline stolen from the Missourian, and should have read, "Itz a Bluddy Shame,," and under it, "College Students Can't Spell, Shaker Researcher Claims". Confusing, wasn't it? Man is a contradictory critter! He is essentially a competitive beast, but through training and en- vironment (monkey see, monkey do) has apparently developed an overpowering herb psyche. This is the only explanation for some of the things you see around here. The prime example of this can be seen any day in the Union. It is a beautiful day outside, a soft breeze is blowing, and the very air invites every being under its caress to abandon himself to the glory that is nature in Sunday dress. But what does Moe do? He dashes blindly down the sidewalk and into the Union to submerge himself happily in an atmosphere of smoke and confusion and noise and inanities and Elvis Presley! Sic transit gloria . . You can't win! Last month I turned in five typewritten pages and walked around the campus the rest of the day congratulating my- self that at last I had written the absolutely uncensorable column! This happy daydream lasted un- til the next day, when I was dra- matically informed that the wreck- age of another column had crash- landed somewhere in the wilds of Francis Quadrangle after being tagged by heavy AA fire while climbing for altitude over T-3. I then tried manfully to discover just what CAN be printed herein. I was unsuccessful. But after much brooding on the subject, I think I have discovered what CANNOT be printed. 1. Thou shalt not run salacious news stories pirated from the lo- cal papers. 2. Thou shalt not comment upon the character of that prince of men, the Maneater editor. 3. Thou shalt not question the veracity of witnesses in Maneater news (?) stories. 4. Thou shalt not make snide comments about the governor and or the legislature. 5. Thou shalt not harass the mass. 6. Thou shalt not say anything discouraging about campus aid drives (they're trying). 7. Thou shalt not write anything derogatory about (Taaa TUM te tummm) dear old MU. 8. Thou shalt not impute faults in The Great American Way of Life. 9. Thou shalt not write anything which could ever be considered controversial. 10. Thou shalt not malign the character and or sterling qualities of faculty members. 11. Thou shalt not shatter stu- dents' moral precepts by writing about sex (!!!!) 12. THOU, SMITH, SHALT NOT WRITE!! And there you have it. So you see, it's not that I'm not prolific, I'm just censored. I was trying to catch a short nap in class last week and couldn't quite make it. This is very discour- aging, as everyone knows but a few E students and jocks, and I was well on my way to a fine state of indignation when the instruc- tor just sort of off-handedly slip- ped in this statement about two Sudden Service Cleaners and Shirt Laundry neukomm's guys being "rivals for the hand" of some girl. Well, now! I just sat back on my heels at that one! I al- ways thought I was pretty imagi- native at these black-market par- lor games, but I never was THAT good! I'm still wondering what a fella could accomplish with just.a disembodied girl's hand. I mean after all . . . gee . . . maybe I've been missing something . or some- thing . .? Talking about girls, I have a book about girls. They would prob- ably say Ladies or College Wo- men but I prefer girls. In other words, this is a book that is all about Stephens girls, and it was furnished to me by a friend who has found a crack in the Stephens armor. This is one helluva book!! In some spots it is a real yok, but mainly it's puzzling - but inter- esting. For instance, THE FOUR- FOLD GIRL. I quote, "The Four- fold Girl is chosen from the Sen- ior Class to represent well-rounded development" . . . and so on. See? Instantly the alert, intelligent MU student is bursting with questions. How is she folded - lengthwise, crosswise or in pleats like an ac- cordion? Why just seniors - more time to get folded (maybe they m e a n looped)? Well- rounded -where? All over? Just in some areas? Temporarily or permanent- ly? In the billfold? Round, firm and fully packed? Free and easy with a draw? Loose and flabby? By George, there's enough materi- al there for a dissertation! The on- ly drawback is that it would take lots of research. On the same subject, they have a little thing called The Ten Ideals, which include such fine things as the following: CHEER- FULNESS - Consistent mainten- ance of . . . a cordial friendliness which communicates itself to oth- ers. FORCEFULNESS - Tried ability in office . . . SELF-DIS- CIPLINE - A personal control which makes it possible to do well what one knows ought to be done; the habit of restraint and good taste in all situations. SERVICE - Dependable service . . . to one's friends - small, unobtrusive, and constantly repeated acts of help- fulness. There, now, how does THAT catch you? Careful, thoughts like that could get you blacklisted! A twelve-year-old sauntered up to one of the "Gimme" windows in Jesse the other day and casually told the astonished cashier that he wished to pay his fees. This re- sulted in a near collapse of that section of the bureaucracy before he explained that he was from the University lab school and just wanted to pay his chem lab fees. Know any twelve-year-old college students? Send 'em around . . . maybe we can bust up this joint yet. Be the biggest kick all year. More fun than pitching pledges into the Hink last month! Funniest damn' thing happened on TV! There was this groan ses- sion going full blast, and this groan session is known to addicts as the Hit Parade. Anyway, this washed- out blonde was really pouring out the passion for this cat in a sweat shirt and jeans. They were sitting on the floor, and she was much absorbed in him and he was much absorbed in a jawful of "Chomp- in' Gum" (as I believe it's called in Missouri). The song was called "Young Love" and I guess the theory behind the jeans and sweat shirts was that it would take 20- odd years off these characters. Be that as it may, when her warbling and wiggling had really worked up to a fever pitch, this guy turns and calmly slips her a cold coke! Try it on your next date - I bet the temperature'll drop 20 degrees in no time flat! I recently acquired a book that tells ALL about United States his- tory (don't misunderstand me - the book was a gift - you never catch me buying a thing like that! Nosir, and it says in there that in 1578, Queen Elizabeth granted a patent to "inhabit and possess all remote and heathen lands not in the actual possession of any Christian prince" to Sir Humphrey Gilbert. This would make Queen Elizabeth a pretty old gal, but not only that, it makes it perfectly all right for the English to settle in America, which was inhabited by Indians, and usurp the country. These were our forefathers. I guess you know where that puts YOU, don't you. It means your altruistic forefathers were greedy money- grubbing expansionistic militaris- tic imperialists. Unless your par- ents were Russian, in which case you can add "bloody-handed thiev- ing anarchists". So you see, you can't win. If by some fluke of luck you do find a way to win at any- thing, let me know, buddy, be- cause I wanta play on your team. I have a basic difference of opin- ion with 87.649% of the instruc- tors and assorted wheels around here. They have a deep-seated be- lief that Higher Education is de- fined as a forced feeding of an ill- assorted and mismatched conglom- eration of facts to students (defi- nition: a group of wrong-headed. obnoxious, party-going, whisky- swilling lunkheads) so they can be given tests which will result in a GRADE which will tell anyone who's interested all about the back- ground and capacity of these crit- ters. All of which I maintain is pure bunk! Away back when, the idea of education was, primarily, to teach individuals to think (a painful process), and to assist them in becoming of some value to the race, able to initiate and maintain 29 original research. About the only thing you can say in a case like this is, "Wha' hoppen?" A good percentage of students these days learn more in an all-night bull ses- sion over the beer glasses than they learn in a whole semester of classwork. Anybody care to ar- gue? This educational system results in the production of vast numbers of Specialists, and, boy, there's nothing can solve all the ills of the world like a good bunch of diploma-waving Specialists! You bet, Mac! They got it right here, Mac, in the good ole mitt, and that's where it counts, Mac! Who, me? I can't change your oil, Mac, I'm a Fuel Pump Specialist, First Class. Eureka! I have just now figured out how this in loco parentis kick of the University's works. Literal- ly, it means "in the place of the parent", but in practice, it means THEY OWN YOU. If you own a piece of property, it follows that you can sell it at will. So don't ever go near the administrative offices or walk too near a campus cop, or you may find yourself shanghaied and sold to the Upper Mongolian Army or something. Af- ter all, they claim they need money. End Lewis' Texaco Town Highway 40 At Sexton Phyllis Roberts can look happy or pensive. But most of all, she brings out the lion in March Photos by Joe Van Trump SUSIE STEPHENS ULPAN, Student Zionist Organization PRESTO FIRE EXTINGUISHER Thurlow Part VI The Legend of THE ROCK by Kim Tong Ri Translated from the Korean by Chang Young The wild geese were coming back again. In the north sky their sounds foretold the coming of winter. The fireflies had dis- appeared. Under the railway bridge near the town, a group of cripples, beggars and lepers had gathered together. The sounds of the wild geese were a fearful thing to them. The coming days were to them a constant threat to their way of life. They were homeless, the outcasts of the towns, and spent their days beg- ging and their nights under the railway bridge. Some of them were lying down with their legs covered with rice straw mats; others were buried to their waists in the sand and covered their backs with cotton quilts. They were all anxious about the coming season. "During the night it was real- ly chilly," said an old cripple. "Chilly, you mean? My arms and legs were frozen and felt as if they were parts of some dead body," said a man with a crip- pled hand sitting beside him. On the other side of the bridge a group of beggars were teaching the newcomers a certain bum's ballad: "A bum am I now, but once I myself was the child of a minister, Refusing to be a governor of the eight provinces. Now I must beg for a cop-. per . . ." Before the newcomers had fin- ished the last line, the leader of the group ordered the singers to stop. "Gestures are the best in or- der to win your penny. Swing your hips, move your head, and spit with your tongues. These actions must be harmonized with your song." One of the boys among the singers started to recite the song after the explanation was made by the leader. Their rhythmical words were blended in with all their gestures. Yes, this time they did better; moving their heads, waving their hands, and swinging their hips. They all started to laugh as if they were satisfied with the per- formance. At the other end of the bridge, the lepers were waiting for the evening train to pass. The train was to them a symbol of the world from which they had been banned. After the train had passed, the lepers began to re- vive their hopes and plans for a future which they knew would never come to pass. When the train was out of sight, one of the men asked Sun Hi, "Aunt, did you hear anything about your son?" But she only shook her head instead of replying to his ques- tion. She was a newcomer among the lepers. They had called her Aunt since the day she joined their group. The silence which fell upon the group was like a shadow which the gloom could not penetrate. Sun Hi felt the stinging breath of the future up- on her cheek. Suddenly someone in the group spoke. "I hear the Japanese are going to kill all the lepers." "Can it be true that they plan to kill innocent people?" re- sponded Aunt, as she looked to- wards the village she had left more than a year ago. She would not permit herself to think that she must die without seeing her son once more. "It will be getting colder from now on," someone muttered to himself. Sun Hi was still thinking of her husband and her son. A year ago she was part of the world which laughed, sang and danced. Re- calling her past in this place of forgotten people made her ex- cited. Suddenly she jumped up, and with her hands between her limbs, stared at the first star of the evening. Something in her un- easy movements and the secure position upon the sand, seemed to suggest that it would be she who had to determine what por- tion of the heavens was to be hers. Something was making her nibble at the edge of a stale idea. Even though her heart no longer nourished her diseased body, her mind was clear and received new life with each heart beat. The name of Sun Hi's son was Su Erh. It was said that he could not get married until he was thirty. On the other hand he was envied by some of his friends as a man of fortune. He had saved one hundred hwan. He would marry and have a family of his own when he saved another one hundred hwan. For several years he drank no wine, went without socks during the summer and the cold winter months. Su Erh cele- brated his thirtieth birthday. The village people began to wonder when the day of his wedding would come. By this time he should have had his own family. The village women began to taunt Su Erh with these words. How could they know that but for the dreadful hand of leprosy which had touched his mother, he would now be living a life of ease, with a child or two accord- ing to the blessing of the gods. Su Erh spent his savings try- ing to find a cure for his mo- ther's body, he realized that no amount of money could buy the cure for which he sought. He gave up hopes. Surely the gods To Encourage Student Writing Showme Supplement were unkind in this season of the year. He began to drink and gam- ble and became restless and ir- ritable. His eyes flared like those of a fierce tiger. The villagers thought he was mad, for he fought with his friends, and he even made plans to burn the hut where his mother lived. In the early spring when the buds were on the branches on every tree in the village, Su Erh disappeared like a cloud which sought ref- uge in another part of the sky. Su Erh's father realized that his son had passed out of his life. His home was destroyed, for what is a home when the son has gone? He found it impossible to forget his son. His pity and concern for his wife now turned to hatred. He began to despise and loathe her body which harbored the dreadful disease which his son had tried to cure with herbs with strange sounding names and a va- riety of odors; but all expensive for Su Erh who was trying to save enough money to bring to his family home the bride which his father had chosen for him. "Die, you dirty leper." "You should die while I am healthy enough to dig your grave and bury your dirty body." These were the words which greeted Sun Hi day after day. Whenev- er Sun Hi would hear these words, she would weep bitterly. They were now living in a hut which was built by kind friends. There was no money left to pay the rent for the house which was built when she and Su Erh's fa- ther were married thirty-five years ago. Su Erh's father went from wine shop to wine shop begging to do some errands for the necessary food for himself and his wife. It was during the season of the barley harvest, and a rumor spread through the vil- lage that a wolf had carried away a little boy, and a leper had hid- den himself in the barley field. A combination of these two ru- mors meant a variety of evils was in store for the villagers. Su Erh's father came back to the hut with Korean rice cakes hidden under his chogori or Ko- rean coat. He had resolved to end the life which was the cause of so much bitterness, so many disappointments. Inside each cake he put some poison. Sun Hi was scraping the dry beans out of the rice bowls. The rice mat door was left open. When she saw him, she bowed and smiled while tears were forming in her eyes. Su Erh's father stroked his cho- gori and gazed silently at his wife. His eyes were dull and no word passed his lips. He handed Sun Hi the rice cakes, for which she showed her thankfulness by a smile and a bow. With trembling hands she op- ened the cakes as if to share the half of all she possessed with Su Erh's father. When she saw the dark color of the cakes, she gazed at him with eyes that could read the intentions of a depraved mind, stung with defeat and disappoint- ment. Sun Hi turned her face to the wall and wept. The hooting of an owl could be heard in the distance. It seemed to Su Erh's father like a sound from another world, mock- ing him for trying to eliminate the source of life which caused him such misery in his old age. He spat, then raised himself up. "Why don't you die, you dirty leper?" He spat again, walked out of the hut and was gone. The next day the villagers talk- ed long about the tragedy. They said Sun Hi had wept hour after hours, had eaten one of the cakes, 36 but failed to find death. Sun Hi wandered through the towns and the villages as far as her strength would carry her, hoping to find her son. The sum- mer passed and once more the wild geese were seen in the northern sky. Soon it would be necessary to find a place to pro- tect herself from the coming cold. Surely Su Erh's father would build a hut for her if he could see her pitiable condition. She knew that he longed for her death, yet she also knew that his inhumanity would not permit the mother of his son to go un- protected throughout the cold winter. Sun Hi gathered together some sticks, sand and mud, and with her feebleness erected a protec- tion against the bitterness of life. It was built near the railway bridge, the place where the crip- ples, beggars and lepers gathered. When the owner of the field came along he noticed the refuge that Sun Hi had erected on his property. "I will burn the hut un- less you remove it at once." Once again the voice of anger became part of Sun Hi's life. Sun Hi stared blindly through the small opening of the hut. To build an- other was impossible. She had neither strength nor desire to do so. Was this not the place of the legendary Rock? Her last hope before the darkness filled the hut was that she should find her son. Surely the Rock would re- member her and honor her wish. The legends surrounding the Rock were many. Some called it the Felecity Rock, for it brought happiness to them; some called it the Wishing Rock, or the Bon Buaui. Many stories are told about the wishes which came to those who visited the Rock. The Rock resembled a tiger lying down, therefore the children called it the Tiger Rock. Women came to the Rock season after season, praying for happiness, for fortune or for anything which would make their lives complete. The pilgrimage never ceased, and each person left a story to tell to those who came for their share in the blessing of the Rock. The sight was strange to the newcom- ers, but the procedure was sim- ple. One took a stone the size of the average fist, sat on the Rock and rubbed its surface until the surface of the two stones would adhere to the Rock, then the wish would be fulfilled. That is the story which was told to Sun Hi, and that is why her hut be- came a place of triumph; the seat of mercy. She was near the Rock. It was not only women who came to pray for luck, but child- ren came to play the game of "riding the tiger's back." Old men leaned against the Rock to watch others implore the Rock to grant their wishes. Sun Hi came from her hut dur- ing the night and rubbed the Rock, calling softly the name of her son. Su Erh, Su Erh . . . For fifteen nights she continued to rub the Rock; to call the name of her son. Then she would wan- der back to the hut and lie down in hope. Sun Hi wandered the streets again, still trying to find her son. The crowds were thronging the market. Suddenly someone pulled her on the sleeve. Dared she hope that her wish had been ful- filled? Then she saw the face of her son, and moved towards him with the fear of one who has had a dream. But it was real! The Rock had not failed her - not even Sun Hi, the leper. Su Erh pulled his mother from the crowd. The only place where 37 they could talk was the old tem- ple which was now used as a market place. One more the tem- ple had become a meeting place of souls. "Mama," was all Su Erh could say. "Su Erh, Su Ehr," like the prayer to the Rock was Sun Hi's only response. "Where do you live?" asked Su Erh. "How long have you looked for me?" Su Erh buried his face in his mother's lap and remained mo- tionless. A dragonfly dipped his wing, flew on. Across the path a spotted snake crawled into the crevice of the rock. "I will earn the money to take care of us, Mother. You should not die alone." Then they re- turned to the market. Su Erh took some money out of his pocket and gave it to his mo- ther. He promised that he would return within three days. They parted at the entrance to the rice shop. The sun sank in the west; people moved from stall to stall making the final purchases of the day. The seller of cows was pleading with the buyer regard- ing his price. Men with wooden Fern's Pantry frames loaded with vegetables on their back pushed their way to the front of the crowd where all could see their wares. Women came by with wooden tubs on their heads returning from the river with the family wash and sleepy children dangled from their backs. Su Erh wandered through the market with his wooden frame on his back looking for an er- rand to earn a way to keep his promise to his mother. He kept asking each day if any one had seen his father. But there was none who gave him accurate in- formation. Some said he was loit- ering in the markets; others said he had become disabled; others said he was an agent for the winesellers. Nothing could satis- fy his desire to know more about his father. Sun Hi was tormented by the thought that the Rock had only partially fulfilled her desire. Su Erh did not return in three days, in fifteen days nor even a month after she first met him in the market. Sun Hi returned each night to the Rock. The Rock was the only thing in which she believed now. Could her two wishes, that she would see her son again and that she would be cured of her disease, be possible? "Rain, wind or snow, I must rub the Rock," Sun Hi murmured as she pushed aside the straw mat of her hut. She would force her sick body to walk to the place where the Rock stood. The Rock which was protected, honored and loved during the day, but white, de- serted and lonely during the night. Sun Hi thought that per- haps she should rub the rock dur- ing the day, and not use the darkness to hide her from the crowds who came to the rock. The day she found enough courage to come to the Rock and pray was for Sun Hi the day of misfortune. She had just started to climb onto the rock when some bystanders shouted for her to come down. "A leper, a lep- er," they cried. "Bring me a rope," said a man who plunged forward. The rope circled her body, and Sun Hi was pulled from the Rock and dragged un- derneath the bridge. From now on she would only gaze at the Rock as she went out to the market. Each day she would beg for a bowl of rice, a plate of noodles or a fish from the stall keepers who wished to keep the plague away from their homes. Once the Rock was to her the most precious thing in the world. Now she hated it, for all her misfortune and unhappiness seemed to be associated with it. She had wandered around the market place all day. It was now evening. The hill, stream and the village were surrounded with a haze. She was passing through the village with a bowl in her hand filled with bits of cooked rice beans and noodles. "Why didn't I ask the old man what he meant when he said, 'I doubt if Su Erh can be re- leased' ", murmured Sun Hi as she made her way back to her hut, down the path which led around the Rock. Su Erh. . .the name of her son was mentioned by the seller of persimmons. Per- haps she was mistaken she thought. She tried to reconstruct the novus shop the sounds of the seller of per- simmons. Her head ached, her feet seemed too heavy to push forward. "Alas! Surely they did say Su Erh," repeated Sun Hi. The more she thought about it, the more she believed she had heard the name of her son mentioned. She hesitated as if to return to the market place, find the man who knew what she wished to know about her son. Then she looked up, and there was the Rock. She walked in the direction of her hut as usual. It was long after the sun had set that she reached the Rock. Her hut seemed farther away now than it had ever seemed be- fore. She leaned against the Rock. as if to ask for help just once more, help to reach her nut. She looked in the direction of her hut, and stood as if petrified. The hut was being consumed by flames. She closed her eyes to hide from reality, but the red- ness of the flames pierced her closed lids. Slowly her home dis- integrated and she would find only the ashes which the wind blew in her face as she ap- proached. She touched the Rock with her hand, rubbed her face against the Rock. When the last bit of life had left her body, it left a smile on her face. The next day the town people gathered around the Rock. They spat in the direction of the hut. "The dirty dog, why did she die here?" "A leper died, clutching our Rock." "Our precious Rock is . . . " The tears on Sun Hi's face re- flected the light of the morning sun. The End Life Savers contributors' page What, him worry? HOLLY- WOOD never worries! Ad man- agers don't have a care in the world. With a '57 Mercury re- placing the old wornout '55, a luxury-lined progressive pad and a different Suzie for every night in the week, he should worry ? His toothy technique is very effective on girls. They flock into the Big M. for a hair-raising Hollywood-type ride up asphalt hills and around intricate park- ing lots. He's probably the only madman in Columbia who can drive down Stewart Road with a glass of gin in one hand and a girl in the other, steering with his stomach. DICK JOHNSTON is one of the few SHOWME business man- agers who won't end up rich - he has scruples. (We don't know what they are but we've heard you can't get rich on them, or rid of them.) Dick is practically sterile as far as interesting printable matter goes (we have no valid informa- tion on his fertility in other fields). But the really interesting things about him are unprintable, since this is the time of year for sacking used SHOWME editors - and we do so want to graduate in June with an officially un- blemished record. (Ghio's Photo) The business manager's main capacity is keeping the editors from running four-color covers on sixty-page issues every month. His stock reaction on every new idea is "How much will it cost?" And of course, he's the boy who tells the pretty little SHOWME salesman, "Get out there, and hustle, baby, hustle!" His deadliest talent is dis- played when he goes native on the bongoes at a progressive par- ty. But Black Jack has ended all that with a complicated 24-hour tail system. But even that doesn't worry Hollywood. There are ways. Ernie's Steak House The Frank Sullivan Quintette featuring EMILY GOETZ Fri.-Sat., 9-12 at the Breezy Hill Winston