Showme Nostri Morituri Te Salutamus January, 1954

Showme Nostri Morituri Te Salutamus January, 1954 Showme Nostri Morituri Te Salutamus January, 1954 2008 1954/01 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 show195401

Showme Nostri Morituri Te Salutamus January, 1954; by Students of the University of Missouri Columbia, MO 1954

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Showme $00.25 January 1954 Nostri Morituri Te Salutamus KELLY PRESS Puckett's The Blue Shop Coca-Cola 2 letters Dear Sir: The December issue of SHOWME was the best I have seen in three years at old M.U. After laughing my way from cover to cover, I voted SHOWME number one on my laugh parade. I am sorry to report that on Dec. 13 SHOWME slipped to second. The number one spot has to go to our wonderful (?), well-trained (?) fire department. Their actions at the D.U. fire were not only humorous but down ridiculous. Keep up the good work as was shown in the Dec. issue and, bar- ring any more disastrous fires, SHOWME will again be number one on my laugh parade. A G.D.I. We regret having slipped to sec- ond, but you must remember that we are all amateurs, while the city fire department is all profes- sional. When it comes to laughs, we can't compete with the pros. -Ed. Dear Dah'ling Ed: a poem I dub To commemorate your Christmas center shrub (Compared to the one before it, done Colorlessly; eh what, a pun?) A plant well-fertilized with "feelth" and dirt; Not nearly so clean as a dirty shirt. Was it filled with gay hilarity, Or perhaps, just plain vulgarity, The blunt and vulgar outhouse stuff May sell a while quite enough. But even freshmen become col- legian; And patrician Suzies from the plebian. Why don't you get more Swami slaves, Georges, Annes, Sues, and Daves To intellectually stress and strain With much of sweat and much of pain; Go into a little huddle After something maybe subtle. More satire, lad; and even Kinsey Can be mixed with wit and whimsey. You have nothing to lose but your chains And Tripod could bark at a moon again. I'll quickly promise not to nag, If you'll really have a "humor" mag. And "feelthy" money will flow like wine; Your Swami's SHOWME fame will shine. What a mag! What a corker! Goodby to Pogo and New Yorker. Adieu, my friend, A hopeful reader If you dislike the "feelth", my friend, And want to start a clean-up trend, Be funny, then, but never cuss And someday you can write for us. -Ed. Sirs: It's a sacrilege, but after receipt of your magazine from one of the honorable MU students, I con- gratulate you! The publication is one of the best of its kind . . fore- going statement to include that published by Texas; wherein, Missourians, lies the sacrilege. J.A. Austin, Texas Your straightforward praise with- out exaggeration pleases dear old Swami. Speaking of Texas, have you read the Esquire article of a few months ago? -Ed. Campus Jewelers Ernie's Steak House 3 My Advertisers Garland's Puckett's Savitar Ernie's Steak House Texaco Town Julie's Coca-Cola Blue Shop Romano's Campus Jewelers Missouri Theater Brady's Paints Scheppers Distr. Co. Missouri Store Tiger Laundry Nathe Chevrolet Novus Shop Black and Gold Inn Andy's Corner Dorn Cloney Al Smith, Photographer University Book Store March of Dimes 4 Editors Ego Another year is shot and so are we. But, still Swami cracks the whip and more issues run through the month-long grind of production. It's getting so we can't bear to look in those blood- shot eyes of ours the morning after all night bouts with the typewriter or the paste pots. But after the last issue, so many people stopped us to tell us that it was "the best SHOWME" they'd ever seen, so we're beginning to feel it's worth it. From the way you've been buy- ing out the newstands and the salesmen for the past two issues, we are inclined to believe that "Happy Days Are Here Again!" The rain in the morning last month didn't help sales any, but at last check 4800 out of the 5200 were gone, and it looks like it will turn into another sellout. This month Defoe Copper turned in a Hangnail Sketch about an athlete. We wondered whether or not the boys who wear the sweatsocks would take it the wrong way, and then decided they had as good a sense of humor as anyone else. If we were wrong, send all mail c/o Postmaster, Havana, Cuba. You've probably noticed that the magazine is a little smaller this month, That's because we're trying to save money. No, we're not getting cheap, but come April we're planning an expensive par- ody on Collier's, and we're cut- ting down now, so that we can really throw a blast with that issue. Somebody suggested that we conduct a poll in the interest of the student body on "What's Wrong with SGA?" We replied that this was the negative way of going about things, and the SHOW- ME would rather offer construc- tive criticism, and besides it would be too long to publish. So we're going to do some ground- work this month, but we've changed the title to "What's Right With SGA?" That way we cer- tainly can't have too much copy. Send your opinion care of Swami, Read Hall. about an athlete. We wondered whether or not the boys who wear the sweatsocks would take it the wrong way, and then decided they had as good a sense of humor as anyone else. If we were wrong, send all mail c/o Postmaster, Havana, Cuba. You've probably noticed that the magazine is a little smaller this month, That's because we're trying to save money. No, we're not getting cheap, but come April we're planning an expensive par- ody on Collier's, and we're cut- ting down now, so that we can really throw a blast with that issue. Somebody suggested that we conduct a poll in the interest of the student body on "What's Wrong with SGA?" We replied that this was the negative way of going about things, and the SHOW- ME would rather offer construc- tive criticism, and besides it would be too long to publish. So we're going to do some ground- work this month, but we've changed the title to "What's Right With SGA?" That way we cer- tainly can't have too much copy. Send your opinion care of Swami, Read Hall. Missouri Showme Staff EDITOR Joe Gold EDITOR EMERITUS Bill Braznell BUSINESS MANAGER Ben Bruton ADVERTISING MANAGER Bill Roberts ART EDITOR Bob Carter FEATURE EDITOR Betty Rudy CIRCULATION MANAGER Jerry Powell SALES MANAGER Bob Brown PUBLICITY DIRECTOR Jerry Swormstedt JOKE EDITOR Judy Rose PROOF READER Hal Miller EXCHANGE EDITOR Barbara Jones SUBSCRIPTION MANAGER Barbara Stein FEATURES Warren Murry Nancy Fairbanks Lindy Baker ARTISTS Chip Martin Dick Noel Mark Parsons Bev Prevallet Barney Kinkade Pat Tulenko Milt Yeary ADVERTISING SALESMEN Mary Bess Stephens Art Rauch Contents THE QUIZ WHIZ Ad Manager, Bill Roberts proves to be a Jack-of-all- trades, as he obliges with an art page of the robot average raiser 10 TWENTY YEARS OF FACES A professor's eye-view of the past score years at old Mizzou by Dr. Fred McKinney - the first of two parts 11 APPLE FOR THE TEACHER Further proving his versatility, Chip Martin chimes in with a love story and its illustration 12 THE MODERN ARTITHT THPEAKTH A SHOWME public service feature giving the views and some of the major works of members of art's new school 14 HARRY DEXTER RED Warren Murry, Swami's Washington correspondent with a news story with "inside info" on the biggest story of the year 16 FROM HERE TO INSANITY A-two page photographic rundown on the novel and motion picture that rocked the nation 30 Cover by Bob Carter Photos by Al Smith Volume 30 January 1954 Number 4 SHOWME is published nine times, October through June, during the college year by the Students of the University of Missouri. Office: 302 Read Hall, Columbia, Mo. All rights reserved. Unsolicited manuscripts willnot be returned unless accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope Advertising rates furnished on request, National Adver- tising Representative: W. B. Bradbury Co., 122 E. 42nd St., New York City. Printer: Kelly Press, Inc., Columbia, Mo. Price: 25c a single copy; subscriptions by mail $3.00. Office hours: 3:00 to 5:00 p.m., Monday through Friday, 302 Read Hall. Sleeplessly students crack books with fogged sight, Trying to remedy all in one night; Fearing the doom of a flunk, they atone- Cramming for quizzes on subjects unknown. 6 Sleeplessly students crack books with fogged sight, Trying to remedy all in one night; Fearing the doom of a flunk, they atone- Cramming for quizzes on subjects unknown. 6 Around The Columns Overheard While we were sitting in Ernie's Steak House one Sunday evening last month, the seats next to us at the counter were taken by two young ladies, rather obviously Susies. They changed their orders a number of times, and, at last, finally agreed on hamburgers with hash brown potatoes instead of the usual french fries. As the harrassed waiter started to leave, one of the sweet young things piped up with an after- thought-"Could I please have my hamburger medium rare?" Queen's Gambit Just about now, Swami is tear- ing his hair, trying to narrow the field down to five finalists for the SHOWME Queen contest. About forty lovelies will have to go home unsatisfied in this first leg of the long journey which will end in St. Louis in the middle of March. Photographs of the final five will appear in next month's issue, and the ballots will appear in the March issue. Who knows, next year we may even have a prince consort, but remember, fel- lows, you'll have to walk at least six feet behind her majesty, just like they do in the newsreels. Chip Off the Old Block The way things now stand in the dorm cafeterias, residents are allowed to have seconds on all non-essentials like bread, pota- toes, vegetables, and water. Just the other day we saw one fellow carry his plate back into the kitch- en, obviously hot for more potato chips, the most desirable item on the day's menu. He held his plate out to the server and, with hun- ger-starved eyes, watched his sec- ond helping being dished out. Plink! Plink! And two potato chips dropped into his dish before it was shoved back at him. Never have we seen such puppy-like gratitude, as the resident profuse- ly thanked his benefactor, smiling and licking her hand. Swami's Big Blast We had a party. By George, did we have a party! The tensions of putting out the first three issues were relieved as staff mem- bers, from the guys and gals who sell the magazines to the crazy artists, contributed in the old SHOWME fashion to a night of gaiety and frolic. Everyone had a good time-from the young lady who insisted that her name was Bonnie Brown Heady to the couple who did what we had always considered impossible- while dancing (?) they dipped to within a foot of the floor. And so, for better or for worse, Swami bids adieu to 1953 and, singing in a cracking baritone to the strains of Auld Lang Syne, welcomes the babe of 1954. And what a babe! Brace Yourselves The thirteenth of January, and soon-the end . . . pity the poor frosh who have never gone through a final week . . . into the Valley of Death ride the 6,000, quizzes to right of them, quizzes to left of them . . . mama, mama, see the man with the baggy eyes . . is he Fred Allen? . .no, dear, he's a student . . . why didn't I write this term paper when I had the time? . . . gotta get an S, need two honor points . . why didn't I stay home on the farm? . . "keep your hands off my gawdammed coffee" . . . the exam is out? . how much? . . . too much . . .I'd rather flunk than be dishonest . you will . . . let me just get through this eight o'clock exam, so I can go to sleep after lunch . it's over . . and then the parties . I don't want to get drunk . . I just want to get loose . . . real loose. Adios, Amigo Seldom do we use names in SHOWME, but this one is almost a byword around the campus. One person who has, probably, contributed more to the spirit of old Mizzou, than any in the last couple of years, is finally going to leave the Columns, porkpie in hand, for the big wide world. Spider's going to leave, gang, and whether or not you appreciated the raucous cheers or the "Yell dammit!", you know you'll miss the spirit. So we'll give him one more "Big T", and send him off to "give 'em hell". Even cynical old Swami is going to miss him, for traditions don't come easy around here. 7 Bang! Obviously, the understanding of the month award goes to the Post-Dispatch for headlining a United Press story, "BOY BITES ON TORPEDO, HURT". From the headline we assumed it was the type of torpedo that might be fired from a submarine, and we couldn't figure out how the boy could be anything but "hurt". But the story went on to explain that he had gone to a movie with tor- pedoes (firecrackers) in one hand "and a bag of popcorn in the other. Inadvertently, he dropped the torpedoes into the bag. Ex- cited by the movie, he bit down on a torpedo." His mouth was only "slightly hurt", but it must have been a shocking discovery. -j. g. The First Butt Have you ever thought about what it costs you to smoke that first cigarette in the morning. Not so much in terms of money or even in health, despite the recent Reader's Digest frightening ar- ticles, but, rather, in human ef- fort. You arrive at the Union twelve minutes before your ten o'clock class. You've cut the rest, and you haven't even had time 8 for breakfast. So you gulp down a quick cup of coffee and settle back for an enjoyable after-break- fast smoke. Except that neither the breakfast, nor the smoke could be termed anything like "enjoyable." As the smoke drops to your sensitive lungs, you feel the urge to give one long, tre- mendous hacking cough, but you know that people won't under- stand and may promptly shuttle you off to a sanitorium. So you hold it in, and what a supreme effort that takes. Then the second torturing puff, and the third. Fi- nally, your lungs hold up the truce flag, and another day of chain smoking has begun. After that it's easy until tomorrow morning. Bank On It One of the most frightening experiences one can have is going into a bank where one has a checking account, and asking how much money one has-according to their records. Every time we do it, we are seized with parox- isms of fear, as they go through the process of calling the auditing department to get "the facts." Somehow these facts never seem to jar with our own, as we dis- cover that what we thought was $22.00 is really only $4.37. And then we start remembering other checks we've written on the sup- posed $22. But we've found one way to get out of all the fuss and worry and still have plenty of spending money. You just start writing checks on banks where you don't have any money. Then you don't have to fool around with confusing balances and auditors. You and the bank both know you don't have any money there. No News is Bad News Last month we were selling magazines on the corner of Col- lege and Broadway, and attempt- ed to sell one to a passing Susie. "I'll never buy one," she said, "not after all the nasty things you said about Stephens girls." Squarely, we looked her in the eyes, and said, "Then you've read this issue." "Yes," she admitted. "But, why?" we queried, "If you don't like it . . ." "Well," she an- swered, "I had to see what you said about us, didn't I?" Which just goes to show that people are more curious than cats, and cats don't read SHOWME-at least, not the four-legged kind. Negative Hour Picture It was quite interesting to see some pre-Christmas fuss over the University policy on negative hours. We have enjoyed it every year for the last three. Every year the result is exactly the same, so you start wondering, "Just what is the power of SGA?" The one thing that every student is against, in which every student would back its appointed (or disappointed) leaders, is brought up each year, editorialized and then buried. Maturity in dealing with a prob- lem, such as this, is something that no student can expect from higher-ups in University adminis- tration. It's like when you were a child and you wanted a toy. "Daddy, I want that." "You can't have it." "Why can't I have it?" "You just can't that's all." "But, Jimmy's father and Johnny's fa- ther let them have one." "I don't care how many of your friends have one. You can't" "But why can't I?" "Don't bother me, I'm reading the paper." And that's the fable for today, kiddies. Any Takers? While reading the classifieds in one of the St. Louis papers, we came across "Apartment for Rent to a single couple with or without children." Either people are getting more liberal, or some- body goofed. However, what real- ly interests us is whether or not there was anybody brave enough to rent the place on those condi- tions. Congressional Immunity You've heard of the way con- gressmen are immune while on the floor of the house or senate. And to local ordinances. It seems like our Student Government Association officials think they fall into the same class. Maybe we're being too critical of our august and honorable leaders. Maybe their motives are purely unselfish. Maybe they just want to give the Student Court some business. Maybe . . . but who can tell the workings of the genius mind? At any rate, it has been interesting to note the number of times in which members of the elite of SGA have had run-ins with the city police. They not only have run-ins, but they get fined lots of money, but do not become alarm- ed, kiddies, for Brutus is an honorable man, even though he might not be adverse to stabbing Caesar in the back. No Accounting Last month we heard a story that is funny enough to be passed on. It was during an accounting quiz that was scheduled for two hours one rainy evening. Outside, the deluge continued, while inside the students scratched their heads and frantically wrote answers. About forty five minutes after the quiz had begun, one young man approached the desk in front of the room with his paper in hand. The instructor took it, and, with a baffled glance, asked the stu- dent, "You're not finished al- ready, are you?" "Nope," answered the young man, "but it's stopped raining out- side, so I think I'll go home." Alas, Poor Workshop. Sadly we view the plight of the Missouri Workshop in being un- able to find a home amid the rubble and debris of Jesse Hall. Not that we're going to reach into our pocket and offer them a crust of bread-let's not go too far-but we would like to relate some of the difficulties encountered by the drama organization. Seems like when the big boys tore down Jesse, they tore down the Work- shop's stage and plush office space. They are now meeting in a large barrel in the basement of the Industrial Arts Building. Seri- ously though, they need a place to put on their shows. First they were offered a place in the Stu- dent Union to produce-free to the public. Then they were offer- ed the same deal-except that the money had to remain in the Union-to be spent by Workshop in future productions there. Even though they'd rather be able to spend their money where they damn please, they took the deal. Proving that, when in doubt, get into a clinch fast. Shore would be nice to git some real city slick- er drammer out here. Of course, it's still up in the air because somewhere along the way, some- body is going to refuse the deal, and then we won't be able to see "East Lynne" or "The Perils of Pauline." They might want to put on "State of the Union," though. THE END -j.g. 9 the deluxe Quiz-Whiz Joe College. 2054 Twenty Years of Faces Two Decades of Memories By Mizzou's Noted Psychology Prof. The First of Two Parts by Fred McKinney, Ph.D. Not very many months ago I met a middle-aged man who was an alumnus of M. U. He was neat and well-dressed, bald, paunchy -and as I repeated his name upon introduction, it seemed to have a familiar ring. In an attempt to make conversation, I said, "When I first began to teach, I had a stu- with the same name as yours." It so happened that I could at that moment recall an image of this student-tall, erect, sandy-haired, with rosy cheeks, always well- groomed and alert. The man quickly smiled and said, "I was that student!" I cannot claim that I made a quick, effective reply, because there was no resemblence between the man who stood be- fore me and the popular playboy I knew in the early 30's. This experience exemplifies an illusion that I have been conscious of for some time, not only in my own perception, but also in some of my colleagues. It is the feeling of timelessness in respect to class- room experience. Since I have taught in the same room-which is a right turn at the end of those 120 steps leading to the attic of Jesse Hall-for twenty-two years and furthermore, since college students seem not to have changed much in outer appear- ance in this period, there is a great tendency to lose time per- spective. It often does seem to the veteran teacher that only a few years ago he taught his first class, and he may get the feeling that students sitting before him with the usual mixed expressions are roughly contemporary with their parents whom he lectured to twenty years ago. Now and then, however, I look at an old Savitar. This has a realistic effect. I also sometimes reminisce about the 30's and 40's. (In fact, one of those classroom slips is the reason why I am writ- ing this-a SHOWME editor was in the class, awake, and copy hungry.) A factual comparison of student generations does reveal differences. Despite the many similarities of the student today and the students during these twenty years, such as youthful energy, use of bright colors, en- thusiasm, and hope in the midst of wars and depressions, events during the last twenty years did color the attitudes, problems, and to some extent, the behavior, of students during different five- year periods. When I first mounted the steps of Jesse Hall in plus-fours, carry- ing two grips, having just arrived in Columbia from the University of Chicago, I was impressed with the cheerful, attractive, and ani- mated students who were milling around the water fountain in the middle of Jesse Hall. Learning from one of them that there was no elevator in the building and that the psychology department was on the fourth floor, I slowly trudged the steps I have been climbing daily for twenty-two years. My slow ascent up Jesse gave me an opportunity to fill in the first impression of the Pro- hibition Era M. U. student who seemed so different from the se- rious students I left at the Chicago campus. The whole atmosphere appeared much more like a gay tea dance at a country club than a university pre-class gathering. Since I was only about four years older than the modal age of my students, they were refreshing to (Continued on page 29) 11 student generations does reveal differences. Despite the many similarities of the student today and the students during these twenty years, such as youthful energy, use of bright colors, en- thusiasm, and hope in the midst of wars and depressions, events during the last twenty years did color the attitudes, problems, and to some extent, the behavior, of students during different five- year periods. When I first mounted the steps of Jesse Hall in plus-fours, carry- ing two grips, having just arrived in Columbia from the University of Chicago, I was impressed with the cheerful, attractive, and ani- mated students who were milling around the water fountain in the middle of Jesse Hall. Learning from one of them that there was no elevator in the building and that the psychology department was on the fourth floor, I slowly trudged the steps I have been climbing daily for twenty-two years. My slow ascent up Jesse gave me an opportunity to fill in the first impression of the Pro- hibition Era M. U. student who seemed so different from the se- rious students I left at the Chicago campus. The whole atmosphere appeared much more like a gay tea dance at a country club than a university pre-class gathering. Since I was only about four years older than the modal age of my students, they were refreshing to (Continued on page 29) 11 Apple For The Teacher Burkett Lambert ambled along the sidewalk to- ward the dean's office at the other end of campus as the brisk January wind played hide and seek among the folds of his grey topcoat. The trees which were once green and had turned with the year to autumn colors were now bare and provided no windbreak against the biting cold. As he walked along, his notebook under arm, he pushed his square-like chin out of his topcoat a little farther and put his pipe to his mouth. Striking a match, he contemplated the few students who were out on this cold day, all noticeably preoccupied. Burkett, too, was preoccupied on this typical wintry day which marked the end of final week. These few students he saw who were apparently making last minute preparations would soon be on their respective ways to their homes, he speculated. Well, it would soon be home for him too, said his thoughts, as if to console the young man for having to be out in the cold weather. Just as soon as he turned in the grades of his English class to the dean's office, he would meet Clorisse and would find just what the few days be- tween semesters would hold for him. But, that was the problem. At least that seemed to be the problem which pre- occupied Burkett on his way to turn in his grade reports . . . the reports which were complete except for one student. Burkett's thoughts wandered back to a couple of months ago when he had handed out the mid-seme- ster grades to his English students. The members of that particular class had a fairly high grade-point average so Burkett had felt prompted to speak to the auburn-haired Miss Clorisse Noble who had barely eked out an M minus. What had started out that afternoon as a little private conversation over a cup of coffee on how to improve one's study habits, had blossomed into a pleasant relationship between instructor and stu- dent. To describe Clorissee, even with the fluency of an English teacher, would be a difficult task, thought Burkett. The color of her eyes resembled the soft brown coat of a young fawn he had once seen while taking a walk through the north woods. They were soft, knowing eyes which had told him things that could never be expressed in words. There was no 12 He was the instructor - She was the student - But they both Had a lot to learn doubt that the trim, radiant-looking Clorisse had a special something about her that made a fellow want to hang around, and for that reason, Burkett had gone out of his way to share her company. In a mad whirl of seeing each other, neither Burkett nor Clorisse had ever mentioned the sub- ject of grades or study habts again until last week, just before final week. Burkett hadn't given his class another hour quiz since mid-semester, telling them that they could reserve all their pent-up energy for the final. And, seeing that the decisive week was around the corner, Clorisse had broached the subject of grades one evening when they had gone out for a walk around the campus. Burkett had told Clorisse that he would have to wait until the final examinations were evaluated in order to let her know her grade for sure. He had told a white lie that night because, as he reflected many times in the last few days, he knew that Clorisse didn't know her Chaucer from Shakespeare. That's the way it was, and for all she had learned from the course, Clorisse deserved an F. Somehow, making that observation made Burkett feel guilty when he thought of the many times he and Clorisse had gone to the music room so they could be alone . . . the times when most students were studying, so they would be sure that the room was empty. Without a doubt, Burkett had taken up a lot of Clorisse's time which she might have other- wise spent studying. Clorisse made the lowest score in the class on the final examination. It had been lower than any of his students had ever made in his English section. Indirectly, he supposed, he was at fault for her low score. By that line of reasoning, Burkett assumed that it would be justifiable to give Clorisse a passing grade, but, there was the principle of the act. There were really two principles, and Burkett couldn't choose between them. Considering that he was the cause of Clorisse's failure, Burkett felt that he might be justified in giving her a passing grade. If he considered how Clorisse had done on her examinations in compari- son with the rest of the class, she should get an F. That was Burkett's problem and when he had asked Clorisse to come to Kansas City to meet his folks during the intercession between semesters, he Written and illustrated by Chip Martin hadn't thought of what her re- action might be, if he decided to give her an F. Well, he said to himself, he would find out in a few minutes. He climbed the worn granite steps which led up the the en- trance of the building and hur- riedly opened the door so he could get in out of the cold. A light snow was beginning to fall now and he would have to hurry if he were to drive to the city be- fore dark. It won't be so bad, he thought, if Clorisse decides to go along. She would be waiting for him upstairs outside of the dean's office and she would tell him if she could make the trip. It would have been better, Burkett reflected, if she had let him know in advance so that he could have wired his folks and told them that he was bringing a guest. This will be the grand unveil- ing, he thought. He would tell Clorisse her grade and she would tell him if she would go home with him. (Continued on page 20) 13 He had told a white lie that night . THE MODERN ARTITHT THPEAKTH Again, SHOWME has gone out of the way to bring to its readers an exclusive feature on one of the most controversial mediums of the present day and age . . . Modern Art. Among various circles, modern art is considered the criterion of all art, and it was from one of those circles that four outstanding artists have been chosen to present their personal comments on modern art and on their most famous paintings. The following is a special report from our correspondent in Greenwich Village on the works of the eminent Pebble Pickaxo, formerly of Los Angeles, California; Rosetta Vanzetti, also from California; Sacco Bologna and Chese Bencutti, both from South St. Louis. Mr. Pebble Pickaxo, an au- thority on composition, stresses that "Modern Art is a medium in which one freely expresses him- self, and in order to do so, the artist must be well versed in com- position. My painting, 'Lovers in a Mine Shaft', is considered one of the most outstanding in color and subject compositions. The young man is just the exact dis- tance from the girl in relation to the picture as a whole. The picture is a hole really, but if the boy were any closer to the girl, she would probably slap him. They would probably wrestle around a bit and fall into the ore car at the extreme right. Since there are no ores in the ore car, the couple would get themselves quite messy, and the entire situation would distract from the true meaning of the picture as a whole, er . . . in its entirety. At any rate one easily grasps the full significance of the painting in its present state, especially in the personification of love in its natural environment. Incidentally, the purple flag on the wine keg is not a contributing factor to the true meaning, but merely for decorative purposes." Mr. Rosetta Vanzetti, superfi- cially effeminate in the portrayal of Modern Art, adds a more im- portant phase to the subject: emo- tional content. "When I was in Norway last year, visiting with a former friend of mine, Christine, I got the inspiration for my most recent and most talked about painting . . . "OshKosh B'gosh," which is reprinted on this page. I was inspired beyond all limits to put onto canvas what had shaken my soul so violently that it left its mark upon me. Upon gazing intently into the vast proportions of feeling in my painting, one senses the extreme cruelty of such an action which was the source of emotional upheaval for me. Suffering in each movement of animated color, the pervading spirit of the heart, with its very life removed, under- goes profound agony. Slowly, and with the feverish passion found only in sudden shock, the mind reaches insensibility and cold callousness. In a feel- ing of impassivity, it comes to the grim realization . . portrayed in the exact center of the painting . . that some vile, thoughtless creature has swiped its 14 glass of beer." ". . moral significance and stimulating incongruity." Mr. Sacco Bologna is one of the foremost modern artists who still carries over some of the qualities of the old school. Any beginners in art appreciation should have no trouble in quickly comprehending the full value of his paintings on city life. On reiterating the basic points discussed by Pickaxo and Vanzetti, Sacco adds that "mod- ern art more quickly puts its point across to the art lover if it includes a lot of color and variety in subject matter. In my painting 'Celare Artem,' which is centered around a newsboy on a busy street corner, the subject matter is variable enough to provide scores of different opinions as to the most successful way to sell newspapers. I bought a subscription from the youth after he promised not to move for five hours so that I could get his exact expression on my canvas. In reality the news- boy is a hood in disguise. After he sells his last paper to the young lady in the yellow hat, he will go across the street where there is another newstand, operated by a blind man. The boy will cheat him blind by buying all his newspapers for pennies and telling him that they are dimes. Unnoticed by the youth, however, is a red agent about to put the blink on his capitalist tactics. The youth is saved in the end when his true friend, the blind one, bites the commie on the left front leg." The last of the artists to speak is Mr. Chese Bencutti, outstand- ing in representing nature upon the canvas. Says Ben: "Modern Art can only be completely suc- cessful when the artist portrays a subject exactly as he sees it, with- out magnifying, distorting or otherwise changing its inner, as well as outer, appearance. Ab- straction without malformation is art. To exemplify, my painting 'Dilemma At Dawn,' which was suggested by a friend of mine who chooses to remain synonymous, is noted for its contrasting colors, intellectual mean- ing, moral significance and stimulating incongruity. At first glance, one might think that the farmer with the plow is crazy, but not so. He wisely sets about his daily tasks while scaring up a flock of crows. In the upper right corner, the spectator can readily detect that the crows are all flocked, the corn is ready to be shocked and the grain is about to be reaped. A Swami Special Feature (Editor's note: If we can get our special corre- spondent to leave Greenwich Village, we will send him to Ubi Sunt, South Africa to report on another up-and-coming medium, Basket-weaving.) 15 The Columbia Missouri The Inside Story On Spy Case Harry Dexter Red Is White by Warren Murry WASHINGTON (BS)-Attorney General Brownie's speech on No- vember 6 in Chicago, which accused the previous administra- tion of negligence in screening governmental appointees, h s stirred up quite a controversy here in the Capitol City. The Attorney General stated that the former president had appointed Harry Dexter Red to the position of Commissar of Currency, when all along he had been advised that' Harry Dexter was playing footsie with the Kremlin. When confronted with this ac- cusation, former president Human said: "I didn't know he was Red, I thought he was White." As charges and counter-charges flew back and forth over Capitol Hill, every news analyst in the city interviewed the prominent figures in the case, in an attempt to see just where the blame lay. At the time of this writing, Mr. Brownie, the man who originally dropped the bombshell, was un- available to reporters. Ever since his speech, he has been attempt- ing a seance to obtain further evidence from the departed Mr. Red. Mr. Brownie stated in his speech that the Federal Bureau of Inter- rogation had informed the presi- dent of Red's activities many years ago. To check on this, re- porters questioned Mr. Vacuum, the head of the bureau. Mr. Vacuum said: "I well re- member the Red case. It has been top drawer in this bureau for some time. We always keep the pinks and other unmentionables in the top drawer. But as for Mr. Red, I told the President and told him, I said that Harry Dexter Red is up to no damn good, that's ex- actly what I told him." 16 Mr. Human replied that he re- member Mr. Vacuum's statement, but at the time thought he was speaking of a music critic. "That girl has a fine voice, and if ever anyone says otherwise, I'll drop- kick him over the Washington Monument," shouted the former President. Speaking in his own behalf, the music critic said: "I never heard of Harry Dexter Red. I am as pure white as the snow. My name is White, and I still don't like the way she sings." Whitacher Shamedher held a press conference where the re- porters played a parlor game of trying to guess which jack-o-lan- tern held the microfilm. In his statement to the press, Mr. Shamedher said that he had known Red when he was white with pink trimming but, " . . because of the drought, my pump- kin crop failed. I really have nothing to add." As the drive back from the Shamedher farm took the report- ers past the country club, they Cat decided to take the opportunity to interview the President. It was his opinion that Brownie was a good driver, but he got in the rough a lot, and his close-in game was lacking. As one of the reporters said, ". . . . with that kind of talk, the Boss-man is apt to get his Brownie in trouble." In and around the Capitol Build- ing itself, talk ran more (continued on 2B, column 4) Swami's Snorts People grasping cocktail glasses, People smoking, people drinking, Coughing, choking, getting stink- ing Some discreetly. Boiled or fried, some completely Ossified. Liquor spilling, trousers sopping, Steady swilling, bodies dropping, Glasses falling on the floor, People calling, "Drop some more." Bodies steaming, morals stretch- ing, Women screaming, freshmen retching. Heavy Smoking, air gets thicker, Someone croaking, "No more liquor." WHAT? WHAT? NO MORE LIQUOR . People snicker, unbelieving, No more liquor, let's be leaving. No more drinking? Groans and hisses, what a stinking Party this is. A disturbed woman was watch- ing a little boy sitting on the curb smoking one cigarette after an- other and sipping a clear liquid from a hip flask. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she ap- proached him and said, "Son, why aren't you in school?" The little boy answered dis- gustedly, "Hell, lady, I'm only three years old! If I have as much intelligence As you say I possess; If I always look to you The snappiest in dress; If I were half as beautiful As you always say I am, Then I wouldn't even date you, You funny little man. Lou: I heard that you were out golfing with Eddie. How does he use the woods? Lil: I woundn't know; we played golf all the time. Definitions: Failures: People who stop looking for work the day they find a job. Mixed company: What you are in when you think of a story you can't tell. Dime: A dollar with the taxes taken out. Dope ring: A wedding band. Anatomy: Something that every- one has, but looks better on a girl. Stripteaser: A girl who's good to the last drop. Experience: What you have left after you've lost everything else. Fraternity pin: An increase in privilege. Alimony: A system by which when two people make a mis- take, one of them continues to pay for it. Bowlegs may not be few, but they're far between. 17 Bookstore Blues A Farewell to Old Mizzou By Bill Braznell APPLE FOR THE TEACHER (Continued from page 13) Burkett started up the steps to the second floor and mused; It'll soon be over and . . A fellow instructor had once told him about a girl in one of his classes who had played him along for a grade and then, at the end of the semester. . Burkett reached the top of the steps and looked down the hall. She wasn't there. He hastened his pace and the clicking of his heels against the cold floors re- sounded through the practically empty building. Just as he was about to swing into the dean's of- fice he heard her. "Burk . . ." He turned and saw her sitting on the bannister overlooking the first floor lobby. "Burk," she smiled and he al- most detected a light in her eyes. "I'll be waiting when you come out," she said. "Okay," he answered and start- ed to smile, but instead, turned and went into the office. The secretary at the desk was talking on the telephone and look- ed up for a moment. "Mister Lambert, you can just leave your grade reports with me if you want to. The dean is out right now," she said. "Thank you," Burkett replied and thumbed through the cards until he came to the one with Clorisse Noble's name on it. He made a quick mark on it with his pen and returned it to its place. "Have a pleasant week end," said the secretary, again taking time out from her telephone con- versation. "Thanks again," said the young instructor and walked out into the hall. Clorisse was standing near the door with her hands stuffed down into her coat pockets. She parted her lips and took a step forward as if she were about to speak, then hesitated and let her eyes say it for her. Burkett looked down into those inviting eyes which now took the appearance of two, dark brown, precious stones and out of the corner of his eyes he caught the image of her full mouth as if it were beckoning to him. The answer came. "I flunked you, Clorisse." Bur- kett tried to apprehend an answer. "I never was the studious type Burkett," she murmured, and beginning to smile, reached up to him with her lithesome arms. "I've decided to drop out of school next semester and sew some but- tons on the shirt of a certain guy I know." Before he knew what had hap- pened, Burkett Lambert was be- ing kissed by a disarming bundle of softness, and he responded aptly. After all, Burkett concluded, one didn't have to have a thor- ough knowledge of Chaucer for what he had in mind. THE END Swami's Snorts The two stood on the doorstep Their lips were tightly pressed The housemother gave the signal The bulldog did the rest. There was a young gal from Peru Who decided her loves were too few So she walked from her door With a fig-leaf, no more And now she's in bed with the flu. I'm for grading on the curve I think the plan is fine Provided that they start the swerve The grade one lower than mine. Dean (to couple): Caught on a blanket party, eh? What are your names He: Ben Petten. She: Anne Howe. A young lover was reeling off a heavy line to impress the beauti- ful girl. "Those soft lovely hands," he whispered. "Your warm lips. And those beautiful eyes . . . where did you get those eyes?" She answered, "They came with my head." And then there was the South Seas explorer who, when con- fronted by the native girl's dad, explained that he was hunting grasshoppers. Brady's UNIVERSITY BOOK STORE Life Savers 21 Andy's Corner the novus shop 22 hangnail sketch by Defoe Copper Me Hongry-Athlete Dodging body blocks and fly- ing tackles we made our way through a broken field of yo-yos and bubble gum to find our hero -Me Hongry, Tiger star sacked out in his dormitory room. Two monstrous feet hung over the bot- tom of the bed, and a huge shaggy head hung over the other end. The middle was taken up with six feet five inches of brawn that weighed almost two hundred and twenty pounds according to the last football program. Gently tapping the five letter- man, quadruple-threat back, on the shoulder, we waited for signs of life. None came. We tapped, and we pulled, and we pounded, and we shouted. Nothing happen- ed. Seeing a whistle on the dress- er, we blew, and then all hell broke loose. Me Hongry leaped from his cot, took careful aim at our posterior, trotted five steps toward us, and planted a size eighteen foot right in the middle of our rear. We went sailing gracefully, end over end, toward the opposite wall. Evidently, the sight of our poor, mangled body brought Me Hongry around, for when we started to come around, the athlete was applying cold compresses to our splattered fore- head. "Gee, I'm sorry, buddy, but when I hear a whistle I kick off automatically." "Well, that's all right," we said, on our feet, because we couldn't find a soft enough place to sit down. "The reason we're here is to give our readers the inside story on a football hero. They want to know what makes you tick." "Gosh," he goshed, "I sure am honored." His yo-yo was frantical- ly jumping up and down, so we knew that he was happy. "When did you first become interested in attending this in- stitution of higher education?" "Huh?" "When did you decide to come to Mizzou?" "Oh. Well, I was working at the garage like I usually do on Satur- days, when this long-jawed guy drives up and tells me he's got a flat, and he has to be up in Co- lumbia in a couple of hours for the football game. I didn't know what it was then, but he tried to explain it to me. Anyway, I lift up the car like I usually do to change a tire, and he jumps out with his eyes flashing on and off. I ain't too good at reading, but Ma said it spelled out 'Orange Bowl', when they flashed like that. He told me to call him Uncle Don, and he put me in the trunk, and we were off to the big city. I played that afternoon." "Yes," we said, "you were a sensation in your first game. You tackled the goal posts on the first play, and they had to hold up the game for an hour." "Yeah, then I got the hang of it, and I broke three legs and a collar bone." The bubble that he burst just then sounded like the cracking of bones, and we leaped on top of the dresser. "Don't be skeered," Me Hongry said, "it's only gum." "Er, yes. Me, we're sure all our readers know about your heroism on the gridiron, but suppose you tell them about your life behind the scenes. Did the university give you anything to play?" Me Hongry was cracking his knuckles, and it souded like an entire ten cent bag of popcorn. "No, they didn't give me nuthin. All I got was this room, a red MG, and a deep-freeze full of steaks." "Did they supply your books?" "Books? What's them?" "Them's . . . er, they are what you study with." "Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. They give me a broad to study with. She's my tu . . . too . . . tut. . ." "Tutor?" "Don't you say nasty things about my girl!" His hands were on our lapel, and we were two feet off the ground, frantically trying to walk out of the room. Finally, we managed to explain what a tutor was, and he calmed down. We tried to get the conversa- tion down to a less emotional level. "Tell us, Me, what do you plan to do when you get out of school." "Uncle Don says, I don't never have to leave. I get a new name when my eligi . . . eligib. . "Eligibility?" "Yeah, I get a new name when that runs out." "But, surely you must have some dream you want to fulfill besides playing football." "Well," Me Hongry bashfully grinned, "someday I want to get married up with some girl and go down in the Ozarks and raise mums to sell at the football games. I jest love mums." Our thought that he could cer- tainly use some was interrupted when some damn fool blew a whistle. Sailing high over the dorms, we were happy that we had added three more points to Me Hongry's scoring average. We were a field goal. THE END Circus actress: This is my first job. You better tell me what to do to keep from making any mistakes. Manager: Well, girlie, just don't undress in front of the bearded lady. Swami's Snorts Sigma Nu: Do you know why girls walk home? Theta: No, why? Sigma Nu: Never mind. Let's go or a ride. Father: You jay you want to marry my daughter? Preposter- ous, young man! You couldn't even keep her in underwear. Suitor: You haven't been doing too well yourself, sir. A student wandered into a tennis match and sat down by a cute coed. "Whose game?" he asked. "I am," she replied. Famous last words: "Hell, he won't ask us that." The difference between a mar- ried man and a bachelor is that when a bachelor walks the floor with a babe in his arms he is try- ing to sober her up. Judge: You say this man stole your money out of your stock- ing? Girl: Yes, your honor. Judge: Why didn't you put up a fight? Girl: I didn't know he was after my money. The ideal time to have a date is in the oui small hours. Girls are like typewriters, when you punch the wrong places you get the darndest lines. "What's that you're reading?' "It's called 'What Twenty Mil- lion Women Want'." "Let's see if they spell my name right." Waiter, there's a splinter in my cottage cheese. What do you expect for a dime -the whole damn cottage? Lady (to streetcar conductor): Will I get a shock if I put my foot on the track? Conductor: No, lady, not unless you put your other foot on the trolley wire. As you smoke, so shall you reek. 23 Al Smith SWAMI'S CLAN IS GATHERING 24 Swami's Snorts Mother: Do you like your new nurse, Jimmy? Jimmy: No, I hate her. I'd like to grab her and bite her on the neck like Daddy does. Angry Father: What do you mean by bringing my daughter in at this hour of the morning? Student: Have to be at class at eight. Bridegroom: I thee endow with all my worldly goods. His Father: There goes his bi- cycle. Then there's the bop cannibal who eats his three squares every day. Beta: Where did you get that black eye? S.A.E.: From the war. Beta: What war? S.A.E.: The boudoir. And when you get through with that cigarette, wipe the ashes off your teeth. Judge: What are your grounds for divorce? Bride: He snores. Judge: How long have you been married? Bride: Two weeks. Judge: Granted; he shouldn't snore. A man threatening to 'end it all' was perched atop a tall build- ing in a southern city and a policeman had made his way to the roof to try to pursuade him not to jump. "Think of your mother," pleaded the cop. "Haven't any." "Think of your wife and family." "Haven't any." "Your girl friend, then." "I hate women!" "All right, think of Robert E. Lee." "Who's Robert E. Lee?" "Jump, you damyankee!" Stuff Missouri Theatre Romano's March of Dimes 26 Swami's Snorts Women are like baseball um- pires; they make the decisions and they think you're safe when you're out. You can't always tell how far a couple have been in a car by look- ing at the speedometer. Waiter: Can I help you with the soup, sir? Diner: Help me? What do you mean? Waiter: Well, sir, from the sound I thought you might wish me to drag you ashore. Kappa: Swear that you love me. Phi Gam: All right. Dammit, I love you. Two Indians obtained a room in a big city hotel. Making a routine checkup, the manager found a tepee set up in the room and one of the Indians sitting in front of it smoking a pipe. "How," said the Indian. "Where's your friend?" asked the manager. "In there," . . . indicating the bathroom. Looking in the bathroom, the manager found an Indian with an arrow in his heart. "My Lord! Who killed him?" "Me, I killed him?" "Why did you do it?" "Him spit in spring." "So you bought a home in the country?" "Yes, five rooms and a path." Swami's Snorts Women are like baseball um- pires; they make the decisions and they think you're safe when you're out. You can't always tell how far a couple have been in a car by look- ing at the speedometer. Waiter: Can I help you with the soup, sir? Diner: Help me? What do you mean Waiter: Well, sir, from the sound I thought you might wish me to drag you ashore. Kappa: Swear that you love me. Phi Cam: All right. Dammit, I love you. Two Indians obtained a room in a big city hotel. Making a routine checkup, the manager found a tepee set up in the room and one of the Indians sitting in front of it smoking a pipe. "How," said the Indian. "Where's your friend?" asked the manager. "In there," indicating the bathroom. Looking in the bathroom, the manager found an Indian with an arrow in his heart. "My Lord! Who killed him?" "Me. I killed him?" "Why did you do it?" "Him spit in spring." "So you bought a home in the country?" "Yes, five rooms and a path." Swami's Snorts Women are like baseball um- pires; they make the decisions and they think you're safe when you're out. You can't always tell how far a couple have been in a car by look- ing at the speedometer. Waiter: Can I help you with the soup, sir? Diner: Help me? What do you mean? Waiter: Well, sir, from the sound I thought you might wish me to drag you ashore. Kappa: Swear that you love me. Phi Gam: All right. Dammit, I love you. Two Indians obtained a room in a big city hotel. Making a routine checkup, the manager found a tepee set up in the room and one of the Indians sitting in front of it smoking a pipe. "How," said the Indian. "Where's your friend?" asked the manager. "In there," . indicating the bathroom. Looking in the bathroom, the manager found an Indian with an arrow in his heart. "My Lord! Who killed him?" "Me. I killed him?" "Why did you do it?" "Him spit in spring." "So you bought a home in the country?" "Yes, five rooms and a path." Half Baked by Lindy Baker I threw my apron over my head, sobbing brokenly and wiping my eyes on a ragged, grimy sweater sleeve. They were going to let me write for SHOWME at last! I blew my nose again and handed back the editor his ragged, grimy sweater. "Hand in your mop, Kid, we're going to put you on a column." Someone raised a win- dow and pointed toward Red Campus. "The one in the middle, Kid, with the vines creeping up it." It was too much for me, and I started to bawl again (such jokes!). I took a firmer grip on my wastepaper basket and said, "Somebody pinch me, I must be dreaming," leering hopefully at a cartoonist in one of the cages along the wall. The editor threw a typewriter at me and told me to get busy. The typewriter hit me squarely between the eyes. I started to cry again. So did the editor. His typewriter was bro- ken. Did I ever tell you about the handsome football player that was so crazy about me last year? We-el, he wasn't exactly crazy about me but he did sit next to me in English 40 and he would have been crazy about me if I had looked like Marilyn Monroe only I don't and once he asked to bor- row my notes before the final and since I didn't have my notes to study from because I loaned them to him I flunked the course but he did too because he lost my notes so there we were together again in English 40 and this time he told me to type carbon copies of my notes in case he ever lost them again and then there was the time he smiled at me, just me alone, when I fell down the steps in Jesse Hall and broke my left leg and I just knew he was too embarrassed to ask me out while my leg was in a cast but I sat by the phone every single night last semester waiting for him to call. He never did. Any- way I saw him again today and ya know what, he's not so awful cute when you take off that big letter- man sweater and put it on the cute blonde Theta he was with. He doesn't suspect it yet, but we're all washed up, kaputt like that, just as soon as I burn my English 40 notes, carbons and all. I don't seem to comprehend ze language they are speaking in my philosophy classes lately. Eh, bien, I can whisper "open the window, if you please," in French, ask for the olives in two more languages, scream, "stop stranger, I only asked the time," in three tongues and demand the red pen- cil of my uncle on yonder table in the Spanish of a native (of Asia Minor). Sounds simple, n'est-pas? Si, Senor, I, I am. You see when my greybearded teacher came to class yesterday he closed his eyes and announced he had an idea (I never met up with a teacher who didn't). Then bingo he opens his eyes and looks right at me and calls me a mess, and says, I'm not there, that I'm only a wisp of his imagination. I leaned closer to sniff his brand of hair tonic but he goes right on and tells the class that I just THINK I'm setting on my chair. Now, I ask you, if he thinks I'm .going to sit on the floor and let him call me a mess, he's crazy. That is to say, he has the appearance of being not normal in my mind, what there is left of it. THE END 27 March of Dimes 28 Frank Fratrat's Fate A fierce wind howled and raged about The day fickle fate faked Fratrat out. Twas dark and wild; Frank left the dorm. All bundled up, he braved the storm. "This is the worst, to say the least. Tis no fit day for man nor beast." Said he, "I fear I will get lost. Oh dig this crazy holocaust." All night he'd strained o'er notes and book. No copy had he of the final, poor schnook. To pass he needs must make an E, But he was not too slick, you see. So he studied doggedly night and day. This sucker choose the honest way. Oh, the snow lay heavy o'er the town, And a mighty wind bent poor Frank down. It knocked him one way and the other. It really was a nasty mother. Poor Frank staggered through the storm. His cashmere coat scarce kept him warm. When finally he arrived and sat, A glacier was formed on his hat. The professor passed the finals round. They were two feet thick and weighed a pound. But Frank was sure this test he'd cool. He knew each fact and every rule. "I'll have no cheating," the professor said, "If you dare to talk I'll knock you dead." And when the test was under way, A friend in softest tones did say, "Oh, I say, Frank, you are unzipped." A great embarrasment poor Frank gripped- He clutched. "This can't be true," said he. "How humiliating. Oh woe is me." The professor leaped toward Fratrat's seat "I heard you speak, you little cheat. I'll have no cheating on my test." Despair lay hard in poor Frank's breast. "Hand in your paper, wretch ill-starred, The Dean will punch your T. S. Card." And thus the fickle finger of fate Pointed at Frank. He got the gate. The moral of this story is: "Never think you've cooled a quiz." -nancy fairbanks TWENTY YEARS OF FACES (Continued from page 11) me after three years of graduate study. I attended the student parties every weekend. In the middle of the week, students would hand me stag cards, which were small 1" x 2" printed white cards with my name penned on a line. I would join the ring of stags that surrounded the eight or ten dancing couples at the party, and now and then I would join the students in "cutting-in" on a coed in one of my classes. She almost invariably attested to how much she was "getting out of the course." I was very conscious of the fact that I must keep my dignity, de- spite the fact that most of those who attended the party had lost theirs hours ago. I remember some experiences that occurred then that I haven't seen for years. Every now and then a male body would strike the floor. This ap- parently didn't bother too many people. The orchestra played on; everyone continued to dance. Eventually the person would be recognized and dragged off into a corner. Once, when I was at such a party on Rollins Street, not as a chaperon but as a guest, I re- cognized the pale immobile face of one of my students. He was the third or fourth who had forcefully taken this horizontal position dur- ing the evening. I also recognized him as a member of one of the social organizations on the cam- pus. It seemed to me that he had spent about five minutes on the floor-I am sure that it was only 60 or 80 seconds. Everyone was obliviously walking around him. Finally, I recognized a boy who wore a similar pin across the large room, went over to him, and sug- gested tactfully that I thought his brother's position on the floor was not good publicity for his organi- zation. He agreed and found an- other brother. Together they car- ried the boy into an adjoining room. After two years a bachelor, I arrived one evening with my first date to a student party. She was my wife. During the evening a student cut in, and when I found a place in the stag line, another student came to me and said, "I could see you were stuck, Doc, but I didn't know the girl." Even my deep prolonged laughter after I said "That's my wife" didn't seem to reassure him. It is hard to believe today that in the 30's there was nothing that Black and Gold Inn remotely resembled a student union. There wasn't even a room where students could gather to- gether, lounge and informally talk or read. There were instead in Campus Town at least three places where students could gath- er together in boothes, chat, play cards, drink cokes and j.p.'s (J.p.'s consisted of very thick chocolate malted milk, named after the man who first served them in the late 20's in a store near the Missouri Store, I am told. During the pro- hibition era this was one of the favorite drinks. It consisted prac- tically of straight ice cream.) The early thirties seem in retro- spect a most carefree period, at least for those students who were most in evidence. Although the depression had reached Missouri, and had made inroads on enroll- ment, many of the students who were here in '31 and '32 apparent- ly were from families that weren't disturbed financially to the point of changing the lives of their youth. As I reread the above it seems I have described a very superficial aspect of college life but that is my memory of the whole tenor at that time. Every large restaurant, for example, had student jazz "orchestras" that played daily from 4 to 6 p.m.-the term "jelly- ing", though coined earlier, had a high frequency of use in this 5-year span. END OF PART I (To be concluded next month) 29 FROM HERE Prew Lorene Maggio Prew . . . in the states they called her this paisan was Prew's . he was a thrty year man, Almain Honolulu, they called her best buddy boy, but only his luvved the army, cause a mans gotta be what he is, or he ain't Countess, but she was on call any- best friends called him "sot". time.- Prewitt was a soldier first and a tuba player sec- ond, when he transferred to Captain Holmes' com- pany. Holmes wanted him only because of his ping pong ability. But Prewitt had given up ping pong forever after he had served a ball into his best friend's mouth, choking his buddy to death. Mercilessly, members of the team gave Prew the Treatment. Below: Taking their cues from Holmes, they coax Prew to join the team, as Maggio watches. Above: Throwing the captain to the sharks, Warden takes Karen out to the beach. "I never knew it could be like this . . . no- body ever kissed me the way you do." Sergeant Fatso Judson passes Prew and Maggio and sees a piece of pornographic literature they have stolen. His dirty comment so enrages Maggio, that Angelo hits him with a chair. Fatso announces that he is going to carve Maggio like a Christmas turkey. Sgt. Hero Warden breaks a beer bottle to the delight of his buddy and offers, "If it's killin', yuh want, Fatso, come on." TO INSANITY Fatso Karen Warden . the boogie-woogie piano boy . . . she was only the captain's wife, . . . he was interested in mak- of the New Congress Dance Hall, but but the sergeant didn't find her ing captain, but the captain's to those who knew, he was just prone to argue about rank. wife was a different matter. plain slob. After Maggio has been sent to the Stockade for being blacklisted at the New Congress, Prewitt and Warden celebrate the Chinese New Year with a couple of fifths of Vodka in a mid- dle of the road orgy. Everything ends happily, however, as Maggio dies escaping from prison, Prewitt kills Fatso with an accurately placed blast from his tuba, and the Japanese oblige by bombing the hell out of Pearl Harbor. Prewitt is killed trying to kibitz in a poker game, and Karen and Lorene find themselves shipmates on the boat back to the states. Both have received leis in the island, and they know that neither of them will ever return for any more Hawaiian leis. Above: Maggio takes Prew to the New Congress Club, a glorified mixer with a cover charge. Here Prew finds nothing to suit his taste. Suddenly, there she is - all by herself. Prewitt marches across the dance floor with a chorus of "Flight of the Bumblebee" to gawk at Lorene. "I knew you wuz different from these other girls the minute I seen yuh." "And," she says, "I knew you wuz different too." Photo by Al Smith fliched THIS MONTH'S COVER Texaco Town Perhaps you've been wondering what "Nostri Morituri Te Salu- tamus" means. Perhaps you really don't give two whoops in the rain barrel. It's a phrase that was used by the gladiators of Rome, before they attempted to clobber each other. Facing the emperor, prior to the crucial test, they looked him squarely in his wine-shot eyes and said, "We who are about to die, salute you." Feeling the full significance of this comment just before finals, Bob Carter took pen in palsied hand and started to sketch. The result is a very sym- bolic co v e r representing the gladiatorial battle between uni- versity and student. The results are not in doubt; the only ques- tion is: How badly will the little fellow be splattered? THE END * * * She doesn't smoke She doesn't drink beer That's right . . she's not A student here. * * * For Oscar Barr Please shed a tear. He cranked his car, 'Twas still in gear. * * * Boy: Do you like to neck? Girl: No, I'm 84 years old. * * * Three Stages of a Man's Life 1. Tri-weekly 2. Try Weekly 3. Try Weakly 33 TICKETS There's meal and movie and park- ing There's pawn and speeding and such You're forced to fix or secure them And you never are left with much. Alice Bullock An ernest young teaching assistant From facts of the world was far distant A girl in his section Made an obscene suggestion Which would have shocked him like hell if he'd listent. "Hurray," cried the rabbit run- ning out of the forest fire, "I've been defurred." A college senior dated a young lady from a nearby girls' school a few times. Then some weeks passed, and when she hadn't heard from him, she sent a tele- gram reading: "Dead, delayed, or disinterested?" To which the young man promptly wired back: "Hunting, fishing or trapping?" The gal who wears the plung- ing neckline does it to show us her heart's in the right place. 34 BUDGET BLUES What to do with my budget? I've worked it o'er and o'er There's always too much month left When my money is no more. Alice Bullock Did you miss your train, sir? No, I didn't like the looks of it, so I chased it out of the station. The girl greeting her boy friend: "Notice anything different about me?" "New dress?" "No" "New shoes?" "No, something else." "I give up." "I'm wearing a gas mask." A good friend was telling me of a bald-headed man who sells hair tonic. "But how can you sell hair tonic if you have no hair?" chal- lenged a friend. "What's wrong with that?" was the answer. "I know a guy who sells brassieres." She: I'd better warn you-my husband will be home in less than hour. He: But I've done nothing I shouldn't do. She: Well, I just wanted to warn you that if you're going to, you'd better do it in a hurry. Boy of the Month Bud Bradshaw Senior in Arts and Science, majoring in Law . . . SGA President . . . Chairman department of Activities . . . Arts and Science representative . . . Track . . . "B" team letter . . . varsity cross-country letter . . . ODK . . . Mystical Seven . . . APO President, vice-president, secretary . . . Delta Sigma Rho vice-president . Varsity Debate . . . Varsity Oratory . . . Athenaean Society . . . Dean's honor roll . . . Student Forensics Committee . . . Student Union Activities Board . . .NSA delegate . . . Distinguished Military Stu- dent . . . Who's Who in American Uni- versities and Colleges . Secretary, Beta Theta Pi . . . Lebanon, Missouri. Girl of the Month Marty Brown Senior in School of Journalism, majoring in Advertising . . . Sophomore repre- sentative, SGA Council . . . Sophomore representative, AWS Council . . . KEA . . New Student Week Group Leader . . Fanfare for Fifty . . . Chairman, Divi- sion of Personal Contacts, SGA . . . Theta Sigma Phi . . . Chairman, SGA Retreat '52 . Co-chairman, SGA Student Union Retreat '53 . . . Secretary, SGA . . . Who's Who in American Universities and Col- leges . . . President, Alpha Chi Omega . 21 . . . Kansas City, Missouri. Tiger Laudry and Dry Cleaning Company Nathe Chevrolet Inc. 36 barb jones No matter what your private opinion of Swami is, God Rest his Soul, you have to admit that his eyesight isn't growing dim in his dotage. Voila, Barbara Jones his exchange editor, would brighten up the appearance of any drab of- fice. Barbara first started work- ing in the SHOWME office two semesters ago when one wintery day she tripped over to Read Hall with a basket of goodies under her arm for the destitute writers. Beneath the sparkling white cloth was a whole basketful of stolen jokes from a periodical published on the Gutenburg press out of Cambridge. A junior in the school of educa- tion, Barbara chose that parti- cular school mostly because they don't get so nasty when you miss a class now and then (Monday through Friday). A roomer over at the Gamma Phi Hotel for Wom- en, she yearns to become an air line hostess upon graduation. Her home address is Hannibal. And in case you didn't know or had forgotten, the pert Miss Jones, whose efficiency in sweeping up the morning-after-deadline-mess in the office has won her the edi- tor's undying gratitude, was a SHOWME Queen finalist in her freshman year. As a matter of fact, you voted her in as runner- up, and her trip to St. Louis was her first real contact with Swami. Contributors' Page chip martin Somewhat of a loudmouth, Chip Martin, the son of the Vertible Block Martin, has been known to say anywhere from three to four words in a single afternoon. Some- times he gets downright gabby and comments on the weather, if it's unusual enough. The last time was when Noah floated by Read Hall on his home-made ark. The rest of the time Chip draws those hilarious cartoons that even crack the stony face of the editor. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, broad-shouldered . . . we could go on, but he's married-this sprite of 23 will be Swami's art editor next semester. An alum of Wyan- dotte High School many ice ages ago, he attended Kansas City Junior College before coming to Missouri. Chip also spent three years between his High School and College years in the Air Force at the Barksdale Base where he labored mightily on the "Ob- server." Most of the time he just drank beer, though. Even now, given enough beer, he will admit that he plans to enter J-School and putter around there for a couple of semesters. (Too bad, he seems like such a smart lad, otherwise). Quite light-hearted about the idea of eventually grad- uating, Chip says he might even go to work when he gets out- perhaps, he'll carry on playing the guitar on KFRU's Saturday night jamboree, as he does now. The time is near for you to take, The little pills to keep awake. But finals will not always last, And college days will soon be past. Now, If you want to remember far, Rush right down and buy your Savitar. But The sales for Savitar will soon close down, When February 4th rolls 'round. We need not tell you any more, Just buy your Savitar for '54. Order from * House Representative * University Store * Student Union Ticket Office * Savitar Office Camel