Missouri Showme January, 1955Missouri Showme January, 195520081955/01image/jpegUniversity of Missouri Special Collections, Archives and Rare Book DivisionThese 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 CollectionUniversity of Missouri Digital Library Production ServicesColumbia, Missouri108show195501Missouri Showme January, 1955; by Students of the University of MissouriColumbia, MO 1955
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Missouri
Showme
January 1955
25 cents
Bohemian Issue
Stag Beer
Pucketts
Bradys
Paint & Glass Co.
TIGER LAUNDRY &
DRY CLEANING CO.
Letters
Dear Sir:
Last month in one of your
Swami Snorts columns, you pub-
lished a little squib which inter-
ested me very much . . . quote
"One carton of Chesterfields will
be awarded each month to the
person submitting the best joke
to be run in this column each
month. Address all entries to
SHOWME, 302 Read Hall. This
month's winner is Mr. Bob Sloan,
500 College." Then Sirs, you pub-
lished my little squib.
In the first place, I wrote that
squib five years ago when I was
in school, but if you want to pub-
lish it again, of course it is up
to you. My only concern is . . . I
don't live at 500 College anymore.
I live at 238 Wasyluka Lane,
Richmond Heights, Richmond,
Va. And . . where are my cig-
arettes?
Bob Sloan
Class of '50
Richmond, Va.
Dear Bob . . . for old times
sake, we're sending you a carton
of Viceroys and an SGA issue of
the Stewdent . . . our mistake is
that in a last minute rush, we
needed some copy to fill a space
and we just clipped a column out
of an old issue of Showme . . .
there is no contest, but you should
feel honored . . . it isn't every
day that Swami does a repeat
performance for free . . Ed.
Dear Editor:
Being a former Susie . . I
find that the only thing in Co-
lumbia I cant' live without is
Showme . . your Stephens sa-
tires are priceless, your cartoons
without equal. . . you can print
all the humor that the girls back
there now really enjoy . . . down
deep in their hearts.
Joan Wilke Boothe
Germantown, Pa.
Some susies here appreciate us
too, altho they won't admit it -
Ed.
** * *
Dear Sir Editor:
I have just received my De-
cember issue of Showme and
from the looks of it, this year's
series should surpass even the
high standard set by Joe Gold's
fine editorship.
Din Mytime
Copper Club
Defoe, Maryland
Thank you for the roses . .
but it will be difficult to pass
the magnificent standard of hu-
more set by last year's Show-
mes-Ed.
****
Dear Sir,
Tell me . does Showme still
get banned an average of once
a year as it did in, pardon the
expression, the good old days?
The audacity of the old Showme
used to keep pedantic profs. in
line. The same holds true for
current editions, I hope?
Sen. Arthur V. Marper
West Falls, Alabama
The reactionaries on the cam-
pus have started a whispering
campaign and one group has just
voted to ban Showme . . . but
we have a system of cells all over
campus waiting for the revolu-
tion . Hail Swami-Ed.
Dear Editor Sir Please:
Enclosed you will find a check
for three dollars to pay for a one-
year subscription to Showme. My
son graduated from the school
of Journalism in June of '51 and
he wants to keep abreast of
school activities.
Mrs. Harry Leibovich
5900 Etzal, St. Louis, Mo.
Oh, we'll keep him abreast of
things allright-Ed.
BOOK
POOL
Editor's
Ego
Every year about this time, I
get to feelin' that I should've
worked on my term paper dur-
ing the holidays like I said I
would. Maybe next year.
Showme queen candidates are
going to be chosen this month.
Elsewhere in the magazine, all
the information is gathered . . .
don't miss it. Swami's Crystal
Ball is coming along with every-
one rushing around trying to find
a costume which will win first
prize.
Two of Swami's slaves got pro-
moted this month . . . Jack Lon-
don Duncan and ECAT (see page
40) are assistant art editors now
. . they've certainly deserved it
. . they've been doing the ma-
jority of the art work in maga-
zine this year.
You've heard about chain let-
ters and chain smoking. . around
the last of this month, I'm going
to be chain praying . . . finals,
you know.
Last month we sold out our
magazine again . . . this month
it's the Bohemian issue . . . next
month we'll come out a little
later in the month and present
the five candidates for Showme
queen. You'll be able to vote
on the same day the magazine
comes out at polling places to
be chosen at a later date. You'll
have to show your ID card, tho
. . . no SGA-type elections!
Next month, we might put out
the "Crystal Ball" issue, or some
thing like that. The theme will
be on history of Showme, with
cartoons from Swami's finest . .
from the thrilling days of yes-
teryear . . . when out of the past
come the hoofbeats . . . barf!
Rumor has it . . . that one
organization has become en-
deared to old Swami's magazine
so much that it has voted for all
its members to obtain life-time
subscriptions to Showme. May-
be next month, our college ave-
nue target will follow suit.
Chip
Don Smalls
Record Shop
Them pledges share are tetchy, ain't they?
Staff
EDITOR
Chip Martin
EDITOR EMERITUS
Joe Gold
BUSINESS MANAGER
Jerry Powell
ADVERTISING
Barbara Breisch
Bob Brown
ART EDITOR
Mark Parsons
ASSISTANT ART EDITORS
Jack Duncan
E. C. A. T.
PUBLICITY DIRECTOR
Marjean Gidens
Steve Lesher
CIRCULATION
Bill Howard
Chuck McDaneld
EXCHANGES
Pat Peden
SUBSCRIPTIONS
Helen Mortenson
JOKE EDITOR
Judy Jenkins
Missouri
Showme
BOHEMIAN BARFS
SHOWME QUEEN CONTEST AND CRYSTAL BALL
All the details on the fabulous and most
famous queen and the social event of the
year __-------------------------__ 10-11
I GOTTA RUN . .
The first short story by ECAT . . . and one
of the best--------------------------- 12
POP GOES THE EASEL
Jack Duncan turns artiste and confesses
that he is really interested in modern stuff 14
MAYBE ANOTHER DAY
A story about an everyday occurrance on
the "row" -----------22
Volume 31 January 1955 Number 2
ABOUT THE COVER
Swami brings you the Bohemian issue . . . and
Jack Duncan does his first cover, in the artistic
style. Next month, we print a cover of what the
artist sees . . maybe . . . but anyhow it is sym-
bolic of the bohemian atmosphere which permeates
the confines of Swami's garret at the top of Read
Hall. Jack admits that he had to resort to using
a model for this cover, but he won't tell us who
the model was. Now, just who has Jack been dating
these past few weeks . . Joan . . Mary . . . Phyl-
lis . . or .
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
will not be returned unless accompanied by a selfaddressed. stamped envelope. Advertising rates
furnished on request. National Advertising Representative W. B. Bradbury Co. 122 E. 42nd St. New
York City. Printer: Modern Litho-Print Co. Jefferson City. Mo. Price: 25c a single copy: subscriptions by
mail $3.00. Office hours: 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m Monday through Friday. 302 Road Hall.
High in my shadowy garret sit I
Content with a cracker, a jigger of rye
A bit of Picasso, a Chippendale chair
And a tall iron bed with a model to share
Around The Columns
Overheard
The Union has been getting
more and more crowded during
the morning Coffee Hour, and
one Friday about three weeks
ago it reached a peak with peo-
ple sitting on chairs, tables, and
even on other people. At ten A.
M. a bleary young man, stand-
ing among the debris of scarred
tables and students, muttered,
"This is horrible - I'll have to
go to class to find a seat."
Memoirs of '54
It's all over now . . .'55 has
bounced in fresh and juanty -
at least for a while . . . past glo-
ries and past debacles are al-
most forgotten. The night last
spring when the basketball team
knocked off KU . . . the ballot
box stuffing in the last SGA
election . . . the national cham-
pionship HI Simmons and the
baseball team won . . . the resig-
nation of F. Middlebush . . the
fine job SGA did on Homecom-
ing with Billy May's orchestra
at the dance . . . the fuss over
a "one day Thanksgiving" . . .
Tatum's knife in Don's back .
it was a pretty good year . and
yet . . the next one is always
"going to be better" . . . ready
or not . . . here it comes.
A Clean Sweep
If you've spent any time at all
in the Union Scrounge Lounge
(naturally, you have, if you're a
red-blooded college youth) you
have probably come into contact
with the middle-aged man who
sweeps the floors. This gentle-
man would make a wonderful
character for somebody's Great
American novel, if some raw,
hungover, bleeding-eyed student
does not kill him first. The man
in the white suit comes around
and looks under all the tables
for trash. When he finds some,
he looks to see if there is anyone
sitting at the table. If there isn't,
he finds a booth that is occupied,
and sets to work with his broom,
hitting feet, barking shins, and
generally making this miserable
for bridge players and jelliers.
One day we were sitting there at
a table with a friend, when "Old
Reliable" came along. While we
attempted to raise some hot broth
to our lips, he laid hold of our
table and began to move it.
"Wh . . . wh . . what are you
doing?" we wailed.
"Gotta move the table."
"Yes, I know, but why?"
"Gotta line it up with the oth-
er tables."
"Can't you come back when
we're finished?"
"Nope."
With that he hauled the table
about four feet away, and we
slid our chairs as quickly as pos-
sible to catch up with our din-
ners. Like we said, if somebody
doesn't get to him first .
The Tippler and the Lady
This happened quite a while
ago, but it's worth repeating as
almost any shaggy dog type story
is. At the Homecoming Game we
sat beside a young man who con-
stantly refilled a plastic cup from
a huge thermos bottle. And it
wasn't coffee. At halftime he be-
came so obsessed with heaving
a roll of tissue paper at Governor
Donnelly, that he unloaded a
cupful on the back of a young
lady in the next row. When that
fair sexed Tiger fan turned to
glare and deposit a few wrathful
remarks, the tippling young man
brushed her off with the remain-
ing strand of tissue paper and said
regretfully, "Thash all right,
lady . ish bonded."
74-13
Now that New Year's Day has
passed and Nebraska and Duke
have battled in the Orange Bowl,
we may return to the Thanks-
giving Day when Genial Jim Ta-
tum and his "48 States" huskies
tried to get into the Bowl pic-
ture by grinding Missouri to a
bloody pulp strewn over the
gridiron at College Park, Mary-
and. "Big Jim" could smell the
7
orange blossoms bad enough to
enjoy Don Farout's disaster.
True, he used his second and
third teams, but then Nero prob-
ably enjoyed it just as much,
when they sent in the third-
string lions to devour helpless
Christians. It's a long way to
next fall when Missouri's first
home game brings Maryland to
Tigerland, but it's not too far
away to begin to wave a bloody
flag of vengeance. All right, Hell-
cats, here's your chance. Don't
let anybody forget the 74-13
score. Rub it in to us like salt
into an open wound. Rub it in,
until we're ready to run out on
that field next fall and start an
old-fashioned riot. And if every
student isn't up in that stadium
yelling his lungs out for Tatum's
blood, then this school deserves
to lose again, only this time by
a hundred to nothing. Remem-
ber - 74-13!
Let's Suie SIU
Deep in the wilds of Southern
Illinois there is a university that
goes by the name of SIU, and
they have just published a hu-
mor magazine called King Tut.
Now we are always in favor of
our brothers of the quill and
filth producing new efforts in
the field of jaundiced yellow
journalism. However, and here
we must resort to puns - tut,
tut, little lads of SIU, it is not
considered Jiminy Cricket to lift
three pages bodily from dear
old Swami. We wouldn't mind
at all, and we would even be
flattered if SHOWME received
credit for its filched pages, but
when they appear as if the Il-
linoians had initiated them, the
old boy with the turban breathes
fire and brimstone. Maybe next
time we could have UsOU from
SIU.
Greenwich Time
Sometimes we never know
whether we are writing for one
type of issue or another. There's
always the possibility that at the
last moment the editor will get
a brainstorm and change the
whole theme of the issue. That's
why we're not even sure this is
the Bohemain Issue, e ven
though, as we are writing this,
it is. But, if it is, we doubt if
the cover will be the one we sug-
gested, for there are ever timid
souls amid the most risque
groups. We suggested a modern
art cover depicting a bowl of
fruit. Somehow, symbolic covers
never seem to come across.
L.A. in the Smog
California has been having all
sorts of difficulties with smog,
fog, and auto accidents resulting
therefrom. But our favorite smog
story refers to a driver who was
buzzing along at about ten miles
an hour during the thickest smog
period. Seeing a red light ahead
he made a right turn . . . and
promptly crashed through the
front of a department store.
Seems like the light was not on
a street corner, but on the top
of a police car.
Dunkin' Hinds Approved
One afternoon we were sitting
in the Showme office throwing
letter openers at the secretaries,
when the telephone rang and in-
terrupted a touchdown pass.
"Missouri Showme," we chortl-
ed.
"Do you have a Sally Smythe
registered there?" inquired a
feminine voice.
Thinking she was referring to
our subscription list, we stumbl-
ed a bit and told her we didn't
think so and what did she mean
by "registered?"
"You know," she said, "reg-
istered."
"Lady, just what do you
mean?"
It began to dawn on her that
there was something amiss.
"Isn't this the Showme Motel?"
she asked.
"No ma'am," we said, "This is
the Showme magazine, but if
you'd care to make a reserva-
tion . . "
That's when we heard the
click on the other end of the
wire.
Things Have Changed
For you Freshmen who have
just returned from your first trip
home since you went away, this
may strike a responsive chord.
It seems like we always build up
that idea of what it's going to be
like when we get home. And
somehow we're always disap-
pointed. It isn't anything our pa-
rents do or say, but there's al-
ways that feeling of "This isn't
what I expected." Perhaps it may
be explained by the fact that
home is where we were children,
and, even though people try to
make us feel as if they realize
that we have grown up, there is
always that feeling in us that
this is where we were dependent,
this is where other people made
our decisions for us." And now
we've stepped into the world. We
have made our own decisions, we
have been on our own. And that
independence, o n c e achieved
must be cherished and even
flaunted, until we reach the point,
and our parents reach the point
where it is taken for granted,
and not looked upon as some-
thing extraordinary. But that
first time is hell.
Red Tape Job
So you want to beat the crowd,
huh? Well this is the day to get
going. Be the first in your crowd
"Well, Miss Webster?"
to register. Come back home with
your head awry and your trous-
ers sagging and proudly display
your punched card and say, see
gang, I'm first in our crowd.
When they have given you a stiff
shot, sponged off your dripping
brow with alcohol, and washed
your feet and put you to bed,
you can have the excruciating
pleasure of knowing that you
WERE THE FIRST. Get your
courses all lined out before any-
body else has a chance to get the
last course card for Ancient
Greek Bottle Warming, and
cause you endless hours of
squirming through an uninterest-
ing semester of English Bourbon
Dynasourstys. Oh, and while
you're down registering, would
you mind picking up a schedule
of courses for us? We might even
enroll in the university next se-
mester.
Silver Threads Among the Gold
Well, this is it. We've figured
and refigured, and every time it
comes out to twenty-five. This
is the twenty-fifth "Around The
Columns" that we have written
in the past three and a half
years. At seven and a half type-
written pages per issue that
comes out to about one hundred
and eighty eight pages and at
250 words to every page, it means
that we have written more than
47,000 words in all. For those of
you who cannot see expending
all that energy and typing paper
for something like SHOWME, it
will seem like a tremendous
waste, but the Columns have al-
ways been our way to let off the
stored up venom and causticism
that a month at Mizzou always
fosters. If you don't enjoy it,
then we're sorry, but if you do,
then maybe it wasn't a waste
anyway you look at it. Five
more and we can pick up our
diploma and leave at the good
old three oh mark. And that's it
for now. Toot!
joe gold
9
Swami Proudly Presents.
SHOWME QU
and
CRYSTAL
Eddie Stankey, manager of the
St. Louis Cardinals, will be a
judge for the preliminary selec-
tion in the Missouri Showme
Queen Contest . . . to be held
in the Student Union Ballroom,
IT'S EVERY GIRL'S DESIRE
IT'S EVERY COED'S DREAM
TO BE THE 1955
MISSOURI SHOWME QUEEN
* CORONATION AT THE CRYSTAL BALL
By the UNKNOWN "Swami"
* NATION-WIDE PUBLICITY
* THE FAMOUS "TRIP TO ST. LOUIS"
* ESCORTED BY A CELEBRITY
* ACCOMMODATIONS IN THE PRESIDENTIAL
SUITE OF THE MELBOURNE HOTEL
* RADIO AND TV APPEARANCES IN ST. LOUIS
* A BANQUET IN AN EXCLUSIVE NITE CLUB
* AND MANY OTHER "SPECIALS" TO MAKE
HER THE MOST ENVIED QUEEN OF ALL.
EEN CONTEST
the
BALL
January 11 at 7:30 p.m. The en-
tire campus is invited to view
the selections of five candidates
who will vie for the most envied
title on campus. Names of other
judges will be announced later.
The Social Event of the Year.
Swami's Crystal Ball.
* IN THE BALLROOM OF THE TIGER HOTEL
* REIGNED OVER BY THE UNKNOWN "SWAMI"
WHO WILL CROWN THE QUEEN
* UNEQUALLED ENTERTAINMENT
* ATTENDED BY NATIONAL CELEBRITIES
* PRIZES FOR BEST COSTUMES .
* LAVISH DECORATIONS
* INVITATIONS ARE SENT TO THOSE WHO, IN
THE OPINION OF THE STAFF OF SHOWME,
HAVE CONTRIBUTED MOST TO THE STUDENT BODY
* EVERYTHING IS FREE!
I Gotta Run
Written and Illustrated by E. C. A. T.
Nobody messed around with
Gus. He's that kind. Not like
the rest of us guys that hung
around the Airway Recreation,
tryin' to make a buck off the
workin' stiffs. Gus was the real
goods. Tough and quiet like and
smart. Gus had a way with the
broads too. There was somthin
about that tall greeks long face
that had them pantin soon as
they glimmed him. Even the johns
treated him respectful like when
they pick him up for slammin
somebody around or somethin.
Nobody messed around with Avis
neither. Avis was Gus's girl.
She wasn't prettier or had more
class than the rest of the broads
you see. She was sorta' skinny,
except in the chest where she
wasn't skinny at all. She just
had brown hair, real straight and
long like. She was always pale,
even in the summer. Spooky
lookin, sorta'. Her eyes might
have been pretty, but I can't re-
member if they were or not. They
really never looked at you, or
if they did they didn't seem to.
Her mouth was pretty. Real big
and soft lookin, like you want
to smash it and dont know why.
But you could only want to
cause she was Gus's girl.
Dale and me were shooting
short rack snooker for fun,
which ain't unless you ain't, on
one of the nights when Gus
wasn't in. He'd been in earlier.
He'd got himself a new suit and
was wearin a pair of them sharp
brown and white shoes. Gus was
ridin real high. We heard him
tellin about the rich broad who
honked for him a little later. He'd
really scored this time.
Avis came around that night
like always, but she was late
and she was wearing one of
those gaudy deals without no
sleeves or back. She was mad
like, in the quiet way a little kid
is when he's afraid of his folks
after they slam him around. She
came right over and didn't say
hi, but started right in wantin
us to leave her have five cause
Gus took everything she had to
go promote the rich broad. Gus
near broke her arm too. You
could see it all black and blue
like. We said we didn't have no
dough after she saw we weren't
going to spring for no fin and
left. She was Gus's girl and he
wouldn't want us given her no
dough. Nobody messed around
with Gus and nobody messed
around with his girl without get-
tin real smashed up. But I had
me a real screwy idea. It was
all wrong and real screwy like,
even when I was settin it up and
connin Dale so he don't get no
ideas about me leavin alone.
It was eleven then and it took
me thirty minutes to square it
away. I had to hurry. I made
the liquor store around the
block and got a pint just before
it closed. I knew if Avis was
broke she'd be at the Heidelberg
workin the GI's. Inside it's lots
of noise from the juke box, blue
lights all over, with booths for
talkin, and a dance floor just big
enough should you want to fight
or somethin.
Avis was sitting with a sailor
in one of the booths. He'd about
had it. His jumper was too short
to cover his gut, and his sleeve
was all wet with beer. The sail-
or didn't take it mean like when
I fell in with them, and he even
shook hands when he left. Avis
was drinkin beer cause that's all
you can drink in the joints, and
a couple of times she'd open a
little box and pop a pill. She
said was I going to take her
home, and I told her yeah. She
said that was nice and smiled
like, except those goofy eyes. I
was all the sudden nervous and
my hands got coldlike. I keep
seein Gus workin on someone
and it's dark and I'm the guy
he's workin on, and I'm scared
cause Avis is Gus's girl.
Even the buses shut down at
midnite in my town, so we hailed
a cab. It's a long drive to where
Avis lived with two other dolls,
over by the canal. I grew up in
the neighborhood but it had
changed, all cheap apartment
houses now and no more shacks
with outside donnikers.
I tried to kiss her near as soon
as we get into the cab, but she
yells shocked like for me to
please dont so loud the cabbie
turned around to see. There was
that funny painful look in her
eyes, like she reminded me of a
hurt animal I saw once.
We couldn't go in the house
cause of the two broads sleepin.
We went around back where the
screen porches go all the way up
to the roof. There ain't no chairs
so we sat on the cement in a
corner. The sky was all muddled
like and the moon would shine
bright a minute and then go off
like a neon. Avis didn't want any-
thing but whiskey, but then she
never did I guess, except maybe
a pill or somethin. I tried real
smooth like to kiss her and she
keeps turnin her head and sayin
please. I see that Gus slobberin
on her and touchin her with those
long skinny hands and her want-
in him to. I jerked her back
against me real rough like, and
I hold her face so those big lips
can't move away. For bein so
skinny and weak looking she is
so strong she surprises me. One
minute she's fightin like a tiger
and then she's pullin at me and
whimpering. It's sorta' queer and
makes you feel sick and good and
scared altogether. Avis don't talk
no more after that, she only
makes those funny noises like she
was cryin and laughin down in-
side. All the time tossin and pull-
in at me.
We'd been there about half an
hour, I don't know how long,
when the moon makin like a neon
makes this shadow on the screen
right in front of us lookin in the
porch. Not movin, just standin
there still like. I knew it was Gus
even before he laughed. That
Greek laughed soft, like he was
crazy, high and girlish. Sudden
my head felt all full of blood and
I can't move or breathe no more.
Avis didn't move. Just sat there
holdin the pint and starin at Gus,
her mouth open and wet lookin in
the light. I was standin flat
against the wall. I didn't even re-
member gettin up but I could
feel the peeling paint under my
hands. Gus just laughs soft and
crazy like so I can hardly hear
his blade click open. The screen
only opens out and I got a
chance, but I knew he was going
to burn me with that knife no
matter should I make it or not.
Soon as Gus's shadow's in front
of the door I jumped it. My
shoulder hit and it give way. I
felt my head bang Gus's ce
through the screen, and the wire
(Continued on page 25)
13
Pop!
Goes the Easel
by Jack Duncan
Tom Gallagher ran his fingers
through a shock of unruly black
hair and rapped cheerfully at
apartment 208. The girl who
opened the door was a tiny
breathtaking brunette with
sparkling, expressive eyes and
full lips that curved gayly up-
ward at the corners. As usual,
Gallagher's hands clutched spas-
modically at the sight of her
softly rounded figure and he
clasped them carefully behind his
back.
"Hi, Kitty!" said Gallagher. He
stepped inside and bent to greet
her more intimately. When he
straightened up, a glittering mo-
bile swung lazily around and
bopped him in the eye. Gallagher
yelped and swatted angerly. The
mobile jangled disconsolately and
crashed into a corner; the sup-
porting wire tugged sharply on
a frosted-glass light fixture, which
dropped and split neatly on his
head. Gallagher sat down abrupt-
ly.
"Oh, you clumsy slob!" Kitty
wailed. She helped Gallagher to
his unsteady feet and waved
tearfully at the wreckage. Look
what you've done! It took me
five hours to make that and you
just ruined it!"
Gallagher looked disgusted.
"Dammit, have a little concern.
for me!" He touched his scalp
and winced. "What the heck is
the thing, anyway?"
"It was a mobile," Kitty sniff-
ed. "I made it."
"Oh," said Gallagher thought-
fully, "A mobile." He looked at
Kitty carefully. A black leotard
clung snugly to her smooth
thighs and well-rounded hips.
Hoop earrings swung to her
shoulders, and .
"No! You've had your hair
cut!"
"What's wrong with it?" Kit-
ty bristled. "This is the same hair-
do that Jeanmarie wears."
"Jeanmarie looks like a wet
spaniel. What gives with this arty
stuff all of a sudden? You look
like something out of Greenwich
Village with those hoops and
kneepants, and what's the matter
with your eyes?"
"That," said Kitty loftily, "Is
a touch of mascara. A girl should
learn to be mature about make-
up; mascara emphasizes the eyes.
And don't be so sarcastic about
art." Kitty drew herself up de-
fiantly. "I am an art major. I
have my courses all planned out,
and next semester. "
"An art major! You?" Galla-
gher roared with laughter. He
was so amused that he failed to
notice the frosty expression which
settled over Kitty's features. The
door slammed behind him and he
found himself chuckling foolish-
ly at nothing.
Gallagher plodded moodily
down the stairs and across the
street, thinking bitter thoughts.
It wasn't the first time that Kit-
ty had developed some wild in-
terest. Once it was archery, ana
then there was the stuffed ani-
mal mania. He shuddered. One
hundred ninety-two little animals
on shelves and peering around
books, and the big, yellow tiger
with the luminous eyes that look-
ed at them when the lights were
out. If Kitty could only see how
ridiculous it was, she'd drop that
art nonsense. If she could just
see . . .
"I've got it! I've got it!" shout-
ed Gallagher. A little old lady
dropped her bag of groceries and
fled into a shoe store.
"Boy, will I fix that little
babe!" Gallagher chuckled rau-
cously and rubbed his palms to-
gether. When he got back to his
shared apartment, he had a plan
of action firmly in mind. He
burst into the room and shouted;
"Hey, Casey!"
"Yah?" Casey looked up from
a MAD comic book and spit his
gum out the window.
"Casey, I'm gonna be an artist.
Call up that buddy of yours with
all the oil paint equipment and
see if I can borrow some of it."
Gallagher sketched in the situa-
tion and added a few lies for hu-
morous detail. Then he told Ca-
sey his plan. What Kitty needed
was an object lesson, and if Gal-
lagher turned artist, complete
with goatee and beret, Kity's ob-
session wouldn't last a week. The
hall echoed with ribald laughter.
Far into the night, he brushed
and daubed and smeared, with
the assistance of Casey and three
bottles of Rhine wine. Finally, at
three o'clock Saturday morning,
Tom and Casey sat back and in-
spected the finished painting.
"I like it," said Casey.
"Looks good," Gallagher ad-
mitted thoughtfully. "But what
is it?"
"Let's call it 'Aftermath,' " said
Casey.
"Aftermath of What?"
"I dunno, just 'Aftermath.' All
these modernistic pictures have
funny names."
Gallagher showed up at Kitty's
apartment Sunday night with a
new beret, a smear of yellow pig-
ment on his cheek, and the 'Af-
termath' under his arm.
"Hello, Kitty," said Gallagher.
He smiled brightly.
Kitty did not move out of the
doorway. "What's this?" she ask-
ed warily, "Another big yak?"
"No, no," Gallagher assured
her. "You didn't let me explain
the other night. I've always been
interested in modern art and I'm
sorry about wrecking your mo-
bile, so since you liked the stuff
I brought one of my paintings
over to show you."
Kitty looked at him doubtful-
ly. "Why didn't you tell me be-
fore?"
"I didn't think you'd be inter-
ested."
When finally Kitty relented
and let him enter, Gallagher un-
wrapped the painting, propped it
on a chair and covered his mouth
hastily. The cough sounded sus-
piciously hollow.
"Like it?" he asked.
Kitty cupped an elbow in one
hand and tapped her pert nose
meditatively with the other.
"Tom," she said, "Are you sure
this is a painting? It looks like
dinner at some Hash House."
"Kitty," said Gallagher re-
proachfully, "That hurts! My
first serious attempt at art and
(Continued on page 32)
Missouri
Showme
Tiger Art Theatre
CAPTAIN QUEEG-He had Reg-
ular Navy written all over
him, but he wasn't a regular
guy, and nobody could play
with his steel balls. We kid
you not.
When Mrs. Keith hands Wil-
lie over to the OOD (Officer of
the Deck, slob!) May Wynn tries
to get her greasy little pause on
the poor young ensin. But Wil-
When Phil Queeg boards the
Cwane things are different. As
Queeg tells the officers in the
Wardroom, "There are four ways
of doing things around here -
the wong way, the wight way,
the Navy Way, and my weigh.
16
MARYK-He was the Cwane's MAY WYNN-She had the hots
mate, but he thought the Cap- for Willie, but old Man Oedi
tain was queer. He was wrong, pus stepped between them
it was Queeg. and it took a trial to get them
together at last.
THE CWANE
MUTINY
lie is too steeped in his mother's
bosom to listen to the please of
the little girl from the wrong
side of the bunk.
You guess my weight and things'll
be okay. I kid you knot." The
boys can see that he's all Navy
but them little steel balls are
not general issue, and are spe-
cifically mentioned in Navy Reg-
ulations 184, 185, and 186.
WILLIE KEITH-A college boy
from the Ivy League, he board-
ed the Cwane with a copy of
F. Scott Fitzgerald under his
right arm and a quart of Old
Fitzgerald under his left. But
he was made for the mutiny.
One night routine is interrupt-
ed by Queeg's voice screeching
over the P.A. and the clicking of
his balls is heard in the back-
ground. When the officers ar-
rive in the wardroom they dis-
cover Queeg in his nightgown
carrying a rubber tire and a can-
dle. Somebody has eated Queeg's
strawberries, which was very
queer, because Queeg seldom car-
ried his patch with him. They
turn the ship upside down but
they can't find the culprit. But
by this time Queeg is clicking
on all two cylinders.
A big blow has been in the
air for a long time, and finally
everyone discovers that a ty-
phoon has taken the wind out
of the Captain. Queeg loses his
nind, his cookies, and his balls
on the bridge at the height of
the storm. Maryk decides that
this is the time to take over and
he tells the boys to get the Cap-
tain the helm out of there. Wil-
ie Keith decides the hell with
his mother, and Keefer is hot
to get the court martial started.
Anyway, Maryk closes his eyes
and they get the Cwane back to
port. The crew goes back to Port
and Vodka and the officers get
themselves a lawyer.
BARNEY GREENWALD - He LT. KEEFER-He was a louse,
had to defend the mutineers but an intelligent one. Queeg
but he knew - oh, hell yes queered his autobiography so
he knew, and he didn't like Keefer spread the word that
one bit of the stinking mess, the Captain was off his nut.
and that's how he ended up-
stinking.
When Barney Greenwald takes
the case, he tells Maryk that he
prefers Scotch, but he'll take
this one anyway. Maryk botches,
Queeg bitches, and Barney itches
-to put the old royal Navy shaf-
teroo to the mutineers, but he
clears them and the courtroom,
and Queeg is left alone wonder-
ing if he ought to go to Yellow-
stain National Park for his leave.
After the trial, the Cwane's
crew (Officers only, by God!)
have a rousing ball (not Queeg's)
and Barney arrives slightly pot-
ted. After a few minutes of dir-
ty jokes the party gets into full
swing, and Barney uses Keefer
as a punch bowl, mixing his mar-
tinis in his face. As Keefer wipes
off the extra olives, Maryk and
Willie leave. Willie goes back to
May Wynn, hoping that she May,
and Maryk tries to put the touch
on Mrs. Keith. Keefer then de-
cides to write a novel and call it
the Cwane Mutiny - all about
martinis and olive-they make
you passionate, you know -
olives, you damn landlubber, not
mutinies!
17
A BREEZY HILL BOHEMIAN
BY CHIP
May Be Another Day
by Dave Hewitt
It's a lousy damn street. It
used to have a name, probably
still does on the official records
of the city; but no one uses it
anymore. If you live there it's
home, if not it's "skid row" or
"the hole". It's not a pretty place,
but it's home to those who have
no place else to go.
You start by walking down the
main drag of the city. First, you
pass all the established busi-
nesses of town and round a gen-
tle curve and suddenly you're on
the "row". Your first indication
is the people. They're no longer
smiling, not much to smile about
down here. They're less likely to
be shaven and more likely to
have on baggy, dirty clothes.
Next you notice bottles beginning
to materialize along the curb or
on a window sill. It's not likely
you'll see any "1847 Nickelson
Brothers"; more likely it'll be
$.89 muscatel (sneaky pete).
There's not much chance of there
being a drop left in the bottle
either. They squeeze 'em dry
down here, literally. Further on,
after the sun has started to wipe
away the trace of dampness in
the air, the winos begin to appear
out of some clap-board flop-
house. Inside one of these Chet
Backer was awakening as he had
for the past year or more, since
he had finally hit the row.
As his eyes opened the dirty
gray ceiling came into view. Chet
hardly looked, after all this was
another day. Yesterday he hadn't
loooked forward to tomorrow.
Now that it was here it was no
longer tomorrow, it was again
today. Another day to scrounge
for wine. Another morning of try-
ing to beg, borrow or steal enough
of anything to rid himself of
these morning shakes. His whole
body was racked with pain. His
eyes, bleary, with a thin grey
veil covering them were sunk
far back into his head. His hands
shook as he attempted to untie
his shoes from around his ankles
where he had tied them for safe
keeping. He rolled over from un-
der the grimy blanket and let his
feet hit the floor. It jarred his
whole body. Taking a deep RADIO ELECTRIC SHOP
breath he again started to untie
his shoes, this time he succeeded.
Straightening up, he slowly slip-
ped into each shoe. He again
leaned forward to tie them but
it took too much of the energy
he had left so he straightened
leaving them untied. Walking to
a small wash basin he splashed
a little cold water on his face and
moved toward the door, the wa-
ter still dripping from his chin.
The fumigation crew was just
entering the door for their daily
task while an attendant was
rousing, not too gently, the re-
maining sleepers. As Chet hit
the door a blaze of brilliant sun-
shine drove him back into the
shadow of the doorway. Rapidly
blinking his eyes he again head-
ed into the sun now keeping his
eyes mere slits in his head.
The need for a drink now be-
came more agonizing, almost un-
bearable. Every day for the past
year or so it had been bad, but
not this bad. He'd never last this
day without a drink, never last
the morning and it was already
9:00 A.M. At the first Ginmill
he entered the door. "The Para-
dise" . . some paradise! No
money and this place wasn't like
ly to give on on the house and
yet you had to try. He laid his
hand on the bar and still it shook. J. Johnson Fruit & Produce Co.
He had to have a drink. The bar-
tender looked up and Chet plead-
ed silently with his eyes, the
bartender shook his head and
moved away. Chet stood there
gazing at himself in the mirror.
Dissipated he supposed was the
only word for it. It had been a
long hard road getting here. No
one came overnight. You started
out in a nice office uptown.
Sometimes It's a woman. Not in
his case. It was the need for
something that couldn't be found.
(Continued on page 34)
" All I said was-"ya oughta try a little cheating yourself!"
Ah'm sorry coach, but mah wife says she don't want no damn
scholarship.
Laughter
Thoughts
That's the last Pop-quiz he'll ever give!
How are you getting along on your G.I. Subsistence?
I GOTTA RUN-cont'd
scraped me bad only it don't
hurt much, but my belly felt like
I was going to lose my cookies
one way or the other. Then I was
loose and I ran only it don't feel
like I'm runnin, cause I made
the fence across the alley and
when I roll over the top Gus's
face looks so close I think I can
smell him breathin. It's down
hill to the canal and my legs jar-
red harder than when on the
flat and then the waters cold and
stinks. It tasted like ten years
old, when I learned to swim here
away from my face as I went
only then I splashed the scum
along. I saw the light flash on
that knife when Gus came hump-
in down the bank. The stinkin
water burned my belly and I
kept feelin like it was runnin in-
side of me.
It was only a block to where
the canal was fenced across so
the crud wouldn't float into town
and smell it up. Soon as I come
up for a breath Gus spotted me
and came runnin down the bank.
The other side of the canal was
cement straight up to where the
buildings started. All Gus had to
do was follow me to that wire
and wait for me'to swim over
to him so he could slice my face
some too.
I thought about the school just
across the bridge where I looped
the swing pole standin up once,
and the times me and Dale used
to swim and slide on the ice
right here where the sewage of
the whole west side was leaking
into me. I was about past it when
I saw the hole. It was about four
feet up in the all and the con-
crete was all dark where the
stuff ran out of it. The first time
I jumped for it I miss and fall
back in the water. It was only
about three feet around and
slimy like so you can't get a
hold on it. I made it the second
time. I knew Gus seen me and
when I look back he's goin for
the bridge, but he's just walkin
slow like.
I crawled back into the sewer.
About a hundred yards back it
bent sharp to the left, but it
takes me a long time to get that
far. It was bad enough knowin
(Cont'd on page 30)
COLLINS TAVERN
Schepper's Distributing Company
Italian Village
The Missouri
Store Co.
Bummin'
Around
I don't guess I'm awfully cul-
tured. Maybe sort of Ho-Bohe-
mian. Of course I like good mu-
sic, like a telephone ringing and
a bass voice fiddling around at
the other end. Or the bell at half-
past when I'm so bored I'm ready
to do something drastic with my
pencil.
I sure worked things sharp
this Christmas though. I got just
what I wanted for a present -
dark curly hair, real muscular,
and loads of appeal. I can't wait
'til we get the license, although
I'll have to get him distemper
shots first.
One bad thing about Christ-
mas, though - even the people
who say "Many Happy Returns"
on the package mean for you to
keep their presents. And what
am I ever going to do with a
pink lace nightgown? I mean-
I could so easily get along with-
out it. What I really wanted -
well, when I was little I always
asked for a pony. And now be-
cause of Spanish 2, things have
not changed a bit. Also I asked
for a pretty, illustrated bacteri-
ology book. Then when fellows
asked, "Why not just one little
" I could turn to Chapter
4 and tell 'em! And they say yes
anyway.
Being back at school now sure
confuses things. Like the other
night I told a joke in the Student
Union. I didn't get it myself, but
after it was over the boys laugh-
ed a low cackle and the girls
were sort of quiet. Somebody
said it was "raunchy" but I said
that was impossible because I'd
never been West. Then every-
one was quiet, even the boys.
But one boy said my joke was
real good, and he knew just what
to do with me. I didn't like the
way he said that. Anyway, he
told me to go to the Shack,
where lots of people get together
and tell jokes like mine. Only
they understand them. They
write for Showme.
Inside the Shack it was dark
and sort of smelly. Two boys said
they'd help me enjoy the atmos-
phere in a corner booth. But
then when I said I was there to
help write for Showme they in-
vited me right in to the back
room.
There wasn't any other girls
in that room. There weren't any
boys there either. The two I'd
met said something about flip-
ping for me, but I told them I
hated to see boys doing acrobat-
ics just to show off for a girl.
After a while I got tired of
just cracking their hard-boiled
eggs, and besides I don't like to
be around watching people drink
beer. I like to have some too. So
I left the Shack, and right away
I promised myself not ever to
tell nasty jokes I don't know the
meaning of. Not even if I had
heard them in the first place from
teachers in class!
SUZIE STEPHEN'S
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
If you don't like my sweater
Get your hand off my arm.
****
Then there was the young man
who suddenly decided to live a
strictly moral life. First he cut
out drinking, then he cut out
smoking, then he cut out swear-
ing. Now he's cutting out paper
dolls.
* ** *
One day during a war, a tall,
strong, and handsome soldier in
the Roman legions broke into a
house where he found two love-
ly, luscious, sloe-eyed young
maidens and their elderly nurse.
Chuckling with glee, he roared,
"Prepare thyselves for conquest,
my pretties." The lovely girls
fell to their knees and pleaded
with him. "Do with us as thou
wilt, O Roman, but spare our
faithful old nurse." "Shut thy
mouth," snapped the nurse, "War
is war."
* * * *
"What a lot of girls there are
who don't want to get married."
"How do you know?"
"I've asked them."
by ECAT
Well rehly dahling - How bourgeais can you get!!
27
Don't you think this rally is getting out of hand?
THE STUDENT'S OMAR
KHAYAM
Sunday Mornings
Oh, threats of Hell and hopes of Para-
dise,
One thing at least is certain-this life
flies,
One thing is certain and the rest are
lies-
Saturday's beer brings Sunday's red-
rimmed eyes.
COMMENT ON APPROACH-
ING OLD AGE
me muscles grow sleepy,
me senses, they dimmen:
phooey on liquor,
phooey on women.
-saul g.
FURTHER COMMENT ON
APPROACHING OLD AGE
me idees grow stricter
on matters below me:
phooey on people,
phooey on SHOWME.
-same guy.
FINAL COMMENT ON
APPROACHING OLD AGE
phooey!
-likewise.
Stuff
THE
POET'S INSPIRATION
The poet Keats lay in his bed,
Penniless, sad, and nearly dead.
No mighty verse was his creation,
Alas, he had no inspiration.
Then, a nightingale hopped on his sill
And handed him a dollar bill.
"Keats," it chirped in gentle tone,
"Remember, this is just a loan."
That's why Keats wrote, though wan
and pale,
Of what he "Owed to a Nightingale."
-Donn
LIMERICK
An MU girl said to her beau,
Let's skip this and go to a show.
I don't want to be rude,
But you ARE in the nude
And this party is formal, you know.
A serious thought for today
Is one that may cause us dismay.
Just what are the forces
That bring little horses
If all of the horses say "Nay?"
28
"Let me explain Wortely-When I say we will paint nudes, I mean-"
The Missouri
Student
Daniel Boone Hotel
Robinson's
I GOTTA RUN-cont'd
what I was crawlin in but I had
to search through the stuff with
my hands for the broken glass
and sharp things. I miss a lot of
things, and I get cut bad on the
legs and hands. I remembered
everytime I threw a razor blade
or broken glass in the can.
Just past the bend the sewer
gets smaller and the air ain't no
good. I started feelin light and
sorta' tingled all over like I was
drunk, and even though I gotta
slide along on my belly it didn't
hurt so much now. Real drunk. I
got scared maybe I was going to
pass out and I tried to shake it
off. I didn't think Gus got me
that bad. Didn't seem right, two
little holes could bleed that much
and I was sick.I heave in that
muck like I aint never going to
stop until my socks come out.
Then I felt real sleepy like and
want to stop and lay my head
down. The water's cool and wet.
Just want to rest for a minute.
Just lay in the cool a little while,
that's all. Then I remembered
that kid in the sixth grade who
crawled back here once, and gas
leakin in from somewhere kill
him. I remember when the emer-
gency johns pull him out he's all
blue and his tongue's real black
like. I know now why I felt like
I'm drunk and I gotta keep mov-
in. I didn't feel for no more sharp
things, to hell with them. I gotta
get to the air at the end. Twice
I about faint out and gotta knock
my head against the sides and
dunk it in the water to snap out
of it.
I saw the opening like it was
the prettiest thing in the world.
Just a little long square of light
way up in front me. I crawled
faster and air breathed sweeter.
I jammed my face into it and
gulped air. Then Gus smashed
me. I saw the brown and white
shoe comin and knew he'd busted
my nose. I slid back in the crud
and layed there watchin Gus's
feet and the striped socks move
a little one way and then the
other.
I think I'm there a week when
I hear someone say to Gus "What-
'cha doin buddy" and then Gus
soft like "I ain't doin nothin of-
ficer."
I started yellin and cryin, yeah
bawlin like a punk, and crawling
to that hole. Gus says, excited
like, "thats what I thought . . .
I told my girl when we walk by
that I hear someone in that pipe.
Next thing I'm layin in the back
seat of the car and the john was
working over me. The other john
is talkin to Gus, and Gus is tellin
him again about walkin by takin
his girl home and hearing me. I
got sick again on the seat and
the john swears at me. I felt that
inside turning out way you feel
going out, and then Avis was
there with Gus cryin like. Just
before I go under I see the john
turn away and I hear Gus sayin
"See baby, I tole you there was
a bum in that sewer." *
It may be the men who have
their faces on our money, but
it's usually the women who get
their hands on it.
* * *
"How long did you work at
your last job?"
"Two years."
"What did you do?"
"Two years."
* * *
"Do you believe in love at
first sight?" asked the lovely
blond.
"Yes," answered the red-head,
"and at every other opportunity."
Taxpayers are people who do
not have to take a civil service
test to work for the government.
****
"Why did you tip that boy so
handsomely when he handed you
your coat?"
"It wasn't my coat."
*** *
A man walked into an open
elevator shaft and fell four stories.
Picking himself up gingerly he
said, "Damnit, I said 'Up'."
Mother: What have you been do-
ing all afternoon?
Little Boy: Shooting craps, mo-
ther.
Mother: That must stop. Those
little things have as much right
to live as you do.
The Novus
Shop
SHACK
ROMANO'S
THE UNIVERSITY BOOK STORE
POP GOES THE EASEL-cont'd
you make fun of it. You're just
mad because I laughed at you.
I didn't mean it, honest."
"Okay," Kitty conceded, "I
believe you. Now, where are we
going tonight?"
"Going?" said Gallagher. "I
thought it would be nice to stay
here and make you a new mo-
bile. But if you're not that in-
terested . . ."
"Oh, no," said. Kitty faintly.
"No, by all means, a mobile."
For a week, Kitty endured pa-
tiently while Gallagher prattled
art lingo which he had hastily
gleaned from the library, labor-
ed over mobiles, and grew a
straggly goatee. On the eighth
night Gallagher burst into the
apartment to face a determined
Kitty, her arms folded across a
curvatious bosom and little jaw
clenched.
"Kitty! I've got news!"
"It can wait," Kitty said. "First
I have something to say. This
thing has gone far enough; I
know what you've been up to,
and you win. See? No mobiles,
no hoop earrings, no leotards.
You'ev taught me a lesson-but
now, for Pete's sake, get rid of
that crazy hat and shave."
"But, Kitty, I'm an artist! At
first I was just pretending, but
guess what! I'm an artist! I've
already got another picture start-
ed and it . . . Ooof!"
The oof was produced when
Kitty's tiny but effective fist
slammed into Gallagher's midsec-
tion. He doubled over and Kit-
ty's tiny and equally effective
foot connected with his posterior.
Gallagher went sprawling into
the hallway and a moment later
a welter of paint, tubes, brushes,
and art equipment descended
about his ears. The door slammed
shut.
"Jeez," said Gallagher dream-
ily. "Hurricane Kitty! . . . what
a theme for my next painting."
000
Man (rushing into a store): I
want a mouse trap, please, and
hurry, I have to catch a bus.
Clerk: I'm sorry, but they don't
come that large.
Swami's
Snorts
If young girls stay out late,
drink, smoke and pet, men will
call them fast . . . As fast as they
can get to a phone.
He: Darling I love you as no one
has ever loved before.
She: I can't see much difference.
* ** *
All men were born free, but
only athletes can go through col-
lege that way.
* ** *
The highway patrol predicted
that there would be 497 traffic
deaths over the holidays. Two
hundred were reported. Some of
you people just weren't trying.
"Was your husband badly hurt
when he was hit by that truck,
Mrs. Jones?"
"Yes, sir, he suffered conclu-
sion of the brain."
"You mean concussion."
"No, sir, I mean conclusion.
He's dead."
* ** *
Little Boy: C'mon in and see my
new watchdog.
Pal: What's he watch?
Little Boy: Television.
Definition of a caterpillar: An
upholstered worm.
** * *
Did you hear about the man
who had a shockproof, water-
proof, unbreakable, anti-magnet-
ic watch? He lost it.
On the first day of school, the
teacher was explaining to the
kindergarten class that if any-
one had to go to the washroom,
they should hold up two fingers.
The voice of a little girl came
from the back of the room.
"How's that gonna help?"
CAMPUS JEWELERS
"It simply has to be JULIE'S"
The Blue
Shop
Sudden Service Cleaners
MAYBE ANOTHER DAY-cont'd
He could see it in pictures, in
the contents of a good book. He
didn't know what it was but he
had to keep looking. He started
in nice bars, uptown clubs. La-
ter, after too many clubs, he lost
his job and then the slow trip
to here began. He pulled away
from reality, lived in the world
of the bottle and himself. Today
he had the feeling that this
might be his last look, maybe
his last day. He glanced slowly
at a woman sitting at a table be-
hind him. She smiled invitingly.
He turned away. Chet didn't need
a woman, hadn't needed one
for a long time. No need for men
either, friends or enemies, only
for the bottle. He walked unhur-
riedly through the door. Up the
sidewalk he moved, slowly glanc-
ing at each bottle laying along
the curb. He was no longer aware
of what he was doing or where
he was going. The need had now
become unbearable. He hoped
it didn't show too much. He'd
been to this city's Belvue once
and he had not desire to go
again. Death was easier. He
passed men he knew along the
street but kept silent. You don't
bother to ask for a handout
from acquaintances on "skid
row". They're as bad or worse
off than yourself. At 11:00 A.M.
he stopped to lean against a
lightpost. He had attempted ev-
ery form of begging he knew
and still his body shook with
this racking pain, this unpreten-
tious need. He knew he hadn't
much more time. Either he got
a damn good sized drink within
the next hour or the desperate
plan taking form in his mind
would place him where he'd
never again be bothered with
the need. Far off he noticed the
morning haze had finally lifted
from the bridge leaving it clear
and bright, framed against the
blue sky.
Chet crossed the street against
the red light and started up-
town. Silently he asked himself,
"Have you got the guts?" and
then added, "which takes the
most guts, living or dying?" By
now he was among the tall
buildings, housing all those hap-
py unrealistic people. He stop-
ped by the "Star" building. He'd
once worked here, made a pret-
ty fair name for himself; had
his own column and lived in a
pretty good set. Up there they
weren't looking at the bridge
this morning, at least not the
way he was. L. B. Bloom, pub-
lisher, was setting quietly in his
office, a happy, satisfied man,
thought Chet. He turned toward
the doorway and walked in. For-
saking the elevator he decided
to walk. Fifteen minutes later
he emerged on the roof and
walked slowly to the edge glanc-
ing out toward that clear shiny
bridge. The bridge was too far
off and his stomach was clutch-
ing and unclutching. He needed
a drink bad, real bad. Turning
away from the cleanness of the
silver streaked bridge, he walk-
ed slowly back toward the door-
way
Woman walking up to a police-
man: Officer, can you help me
please? I'm lookin' for a park-
ing place.
Officer: A parking place? But
you have no car.
Woman: Yes, I have. It's in the
parking place I'm looking for.
* * **
If one is for milk
And one is for butter
And one is for cream,
Then what is the other?
Mrs. B was returning an egg
she had borrowed from her neigh-
bor. She stepped inside the back
door and called out, "I'm going
to lay an egg on the kitchen ta-
ble." From the next room came
the voice of the neighbor's hus-
band: "This I have to see."
****
"Pardon me, sir but do you
know the way to the post-office?"
"No, I'm afraid I don't."
"Well, it's two blocks up' and
one to the right."
* ***
Papa: You can't marryher with-
out permission.
Suitor: Why not?
Papa: Because she's a minor.
Suitor: You mean I gotta ask
John L. Lewis?
* * * *
Definition of a skeleton: A
pile of bones with the people
scraped off.
Esser
ERNIE'S STEAK HOUSE
contributors' page
TEXACO
TOWN
Betsy DuBois
Little Betsy DuBois asked a
friend of a friend and we final-
ly let her come to one of Swami's
exclusive gag meetings. Now,
she's a regular member of the
clan with her own column .
"Bummin' Around". Really, she
doesn't bum around . . . she just
associates with bums . . . the
Showme staff.
She comes from Aurora, Illi-
nois, where you can sit in a deep
hole and see the borealis. She
came to Mizzou to study Journal-
ism and be a big wheel. She's
well on her way since she is an
AWS Council member, assistant
treasurer of SGA, vice-president
of KEA, and even works sum-
mers in New York as a camp
counselor.
Asked what she likes to do
most, Betsy jumps up from her
bear-skin rug at the AEPhi
house and says that, "I write
skits for things like AWS and
things like SAVITAR . . . and
last year I made the WAA var-
stiy in ping-pong." And we ask
. .the whole varsity?
Betsy explains that they didn't
take pictures at the last gradu-
ation- from Sing-sing, so she
doesn't have a photo of herself.
Showme photog, Goodman, will
roll over when she's not looking
and snap across the room at her
sorority sister with her Leica 3.2.
I likea three-two, too!
ECAT
One day last summer Swami
received twenty cartoons through
the mail and promptly tossed
them into the nearest wastebas-
ket and thought nothing further
about it until school began. Then
a ruddy-faced, crew cut youth
stepped out of the pages of Studs
Lonigan, and came up to the of-
fice with the leprechauns perch-
ed on his broad shoulders. This
was ECAT, the artist, writer,
and companion of the senile ed-
itor emeritus.
For some odd reason he was
burdened with more Christian
names than is fair to ask any-
one to carry - Earle C. A.
Thompson. This, if you're smart,
can be shortened to ECAT.
The Cat is one of those vet-
erans who's been everywhere
and done everything and thus
takes a dim view of all proceed-
ings like Hellcats, campus poli-
tics, and (taking a phrase from
this month's short story) "all
such like" things. ECAT some-
how worked his way through
Uncle Sam's Army, Navy and
Air Force, skipping the Marines
because of an innate desire to
live.
Anyway, the ex-Maryland grid-
der is married to an attractive
brunette named Clare. In his own
words concerning Mizzou, the ir-
repressible man of letters (chain)
says, "I like it, but I make more
money off the G.I. Bill than I
would purse snatching."
1955
SAVITAR
Cavalier
Cigarettes