Showme December, 1956 Showme December, 1956 2008 1956/12 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 show195612

Showme December, 1956; by Students of the University of Missouri Columbia, MO 1956

All blank pages have been eliminated.
December, 1956 Showme 25 cents (cheap) Come Back Sober Issue Puckett's SDX's 72-Pt Jewels OCTOBER - Bette Mathes, Sigma Delta Tau NOVEMBER - Aileen Faurot, Kappa Kappa Gamma MARCH - Carol Anderson, Alpha Delta Pi APRIL - Natalie Oxenhandler Johnston Hall JULY - Kay Thomas, Zeta Tau Alpha AUGUST - Claire Williams, Pi Beta Phi Winners of the Miss Mizzou Contest DECEMBER - Beverly Jorgenson, Delta Gamma THE Miss Mizzou JANUARY - Alice Marx, Alpha Gamma Delta SEPTEMBER - Jill MacFadyen, Gamma Phi Beta MAY - Carrey Russel, Alpha Chi Omega JUNE - Judy Rissler, Chi Omega FEBRUARY - Joyce Steele, Alpha Phi Dear Sir, VOO DOO WOMAN SURVEY An information service poll conducted by the VOO DOO Polling and Statistical Bureau, Unincorporated and Highly Limited (but Pat- ents Pending). If you have ever been frustrated by the typical survey question- naire, this is the poll for you. Queries which can only be answered by checking a box opposite the desired shade of meaning have a debilitat- ing influence upon people who are capable of expressing the nuances of meaning they wish to convey in English sentences. We ask only essay questions therefore. Furthermore, one may not be at all interested in the questions the usual survey asks, but extremely interested in some other questions. For this survey, do not feel compelled to answer any question you'd rather not; answer something else if you are so inclined. Moreover, this questionnaire is to be filled out only by women. This is a fundamental point in our survey philosophy. We believe that women are the only people worth asking the only questions that are worth answering. Finally, we are quite serious about this survey. Prominent mem- bers of the VOO DOO Organization shall be inserting the data thus codified into a thesis on Psychological Something or. Others to be pre- sented forthwith to a Somebody for a Degree of a Sort. What isn't used thusly might even find its way into VOO DOO. Hence, upon filling out the questionnaire in the way you best know possible, mail it to: VOO DOO, M.I.T. 303 Walker Memorial Cambridge 39, Massachusetts letters Dear Schuster at Stephens: You bet your platinum plated black knee socks we give a good look at work from Stephens. We happen to like your work this time. Glad to look at any more. Tell your bunkees too. We're told there's real talent over there but judging from respon- ses we doubt it. Prove we're wrong! Editors Open Letter From All The Staff But One: A few weeks ago "Press Time" a journalism school publication, published a poem satirizing the feeling of a writer handling daily society copy. It had meter, it was funny. The editors used it. A week later members of Sig- ma Delta Chi local were in Louisville, Kaintuck, listening to professional lectures on freedom of the press. While they were there a girl on the society desk of The Mis- sourian was suddenly booted from society and dropped in the news room. That means nothing unless you stop to note that the author of the journalism school publica- tion poem on society was the same girl who was booted. It leaves us with a sick feel- ing. How are these professionals to instill devotion to one of the basic constitutional freedoms when they return to find their colleagues are canned for prac- ticing in their own halls of in- struction? We wonder. -The Staff SUZIE STEPHEN S VOO DOO WOMAN SURVEY N A M E . A G E . . COLLEGE . TELEPHONE NO . (use somebody else's if you don't like your own) 1. Is there something about men in general that you just can't stand? Cite instances if necessary . . 2. What is it about M.I.T. men in particular that you just can't stand? Cite instances if necessary . . 3. What don't you like about other women? . 4. What don't you like about present-day morality? . 5. What don't you like about present-day society? . 6. Is there any thing else you don't like? . . 7. What are the attributes of a boy you think you could love?. 8. About what do you day dream? Or what ideal life would you lead if your w ish w as your life? . . 8-1/2. Have you ever wished you were a boy? Why? . 9. Do girls talk about among themselves what boys talk about among themselves, except the other way around? . 10. Did - Could - Will - When - Would - What - Huh? . 11. H ave you read V OO DOO? . . 12. A ny suggestions? . . Dear Editors; Do be careful when and how you use the words "Apache" and "Comanche"! There's a full fledged Apache Indian in the crowd on campas. Don't mind your filthy stuff much, but PLEASE be careful about that word "Apache"! As ever, H. V. S. Dear H. V. S. We'll watch the Swedish and Norewgian Americans on cam- pus too. Now THERE'S dyna- mite! Eds. North Church Boston, Mass. Nov. 28, 1690 To the editors of the Magazine entitled SHOWME: Thy publication has come to the attention of our board of Elders and we must admit we have never read an instrument of Satan equal to it although we have been forced to witness many unholy activities. For this reason, I, as repre- sentative of the powers of righteousness, have been deli- gated to request thee to cease printing thy profane magazine forthwith and turn thy minds to proper publications such as hymn books and religious tracts. Yours for righteousness, Cotton Mather Dear Cotton: Here's the way we feel. Pass over the brush and ink. Clarington "I don't agree with everything Mather does either, but at least he's anti-devil." Eds. 5 Fern's Pantry ANDY'S CORNER Editors' Ego AS WE LEAVE WALDO and Tripod sitting in the dust at the junction of Highway 40 and 63 East, we say au revoir to classes, labs and library dates for a glo- rious two weeks in civilization. Awaiting us is a paradise of fran- tic Christmas shopping and tree- trimming; visits to friends with new babies and to a dentist who can't wait to get his hands on our last wisdom tooth; and lest we forget, a library crammed with material for a term paper. On the Joyeux Noel side, there's also a land of parties that don't even start till midnight, Christmas Eve martinis and egg- nog, mother-made meals, and MIXED DRINKS! But our young and boisterous enthusiasm is dimmed by the re- ealization that it will only last for two weeks. On the second day of the new year, we'll be back looking at this same old typewrit- er again, putting together our January issue. (In case you've forgotten, that's our centerspread anniversary issue - also dedicat- ed to the consumption of coffee and cigarettes in wholesale lots. We hate to prick a pretty bubble, but the end of January brings more than the first of February you know.) THERE IS A CERTAIN mat- ter which ought to be straight- ened out right now. It seems that the name of a SHOWME editor ap- pears on the masthead of a rival publication. At various times, said editor has been accused of such heinous crimes as treason, heresy and just plain ole mortal sin. For the sake of editorial peace, let it be pointed out that said SHOWME editor is nothing more than a Maneater mechanic. It just happens that we like to get inky, and Thursday nights in the pressroom relieve our frustra- tions. It should be emphasized that we do not have, and do not wish to have, any influence or truck with the Kirchoffian vehicle. It's just that we have an affinity for printer's ink. YOU MIGHT THINK that the editors are the most important people on a magazine staff. We used to think so too. Until our advertising manager quit and we were faced with the possibility of putting out a magazine devoid of advertising and consequently of course, going broke. (It would undoubtedly have been the first time a college humor magazine fold up for non-censorship rea- sons.) We sweated it for a while un- til one day an ex-POW named Hollywood peered in the door of our office and said "Hey, man, wanna buy an ad manager?" We needn't have worried about him trying to get away. He's poor and we pay. Anyway, now we have an ad manager again, and he has money for Bengal Shop coffee, so everyone's happy. AWRIGHT, all you people. You gripe about the corny jokes we print but you don't do any- thing about them. Poor Virginia (coyly known as Ginny) Turman gets buried in exchange maga- zines and old joke books every month, and you still complain. So why not do something about it? If you hear or read a good joke, come up and tell us. Even if it's not printable-we accept all con- tributions. Well, it's time to close up 302 Read Hall and pack a suitcase or three for the ride home. Don't forget: Come Back Sober! Showme EDITORS Skip Troelstrup Nanci Schelker BUSINESS MANAGER Carl Weseman PHOTOS Dick Shoemaker OFFICE MANAGER Pat Deatherage EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Dick Noel PUBLICITY Ken McWade Judy Miller SUBSCRIPTIONS Joanne Petefish FEATURES Ron Soble CIRCULATION Bob Clatanoff Ruth Muff EXCHANGES Nancy Bales ADVERTISING Gene Scott ART Tom Watson J. J. Aasen JOKES Ginny Turman FEATURES THE BAD BREED ----- 12 AHMED'S MIRACLE -------_ 14 WHEELS, A ROADMAP AND THOU- Centerspread by Barney Kinkade --- 18 IN THE MAILBOX - WITH SANTA ---------- 20 GOT ANYTHING BY THE DEZSOE YORZYK QUARTET? ------ 26 A QUIET NEW YEAR'S EVE -----------------29 In Paris, it's frankness, In the New Yorker, it's life, In a professor, it's clever: But in Showme, It's censored. SHOWME is published nine times during the college year by the students of the University of Missouri. Office: 302 Read Hall. Columbia, Mo. All rights reserved. Unsolicited manuscripts will not be returned unless accompanied by self-addressed, stamped envelope. Advertising rates furnished on request. National Advertising Representatives: W. B. Bradbury Co., 122 East 42nd St., New York City. Printers: Modern Litho-Print Co., Jefferson City, Mo. Price: 25c a single copy; subscriptions by mail, $3.00. Editors' phone numbers: G1. 2-4053 or 01. 2-9855. "Santa Cwaus" Around The Columns around the columnss . . . aaaAAround thee coll um nnnsss . . . that's what this is . . . AAAzround thgd colummmss . . . yess, give me another Stag . . . it is time for our monthly fireside chat . . . coman . . . Come an . get into the fireplace . . today is fireplace day . hip hip hooorayyy . . . hip hip hip- flask . . . now you're talkin' . . . But yea, and it is time to wax serious for a while. (I have of- ten thought what a difficult feat that would be if perhaps serious didn't want to be waxed - even with non-skid glo-coat). December . . . hells' bells, ev- er time I've gotta go off on this month jag . . . well . . . Decem- ber . . . the month of tinsel and cheer . . . and that long holiday . . a month wrapped in red and green . . . and sometimes white . . bright ribbon and bells egg nog a la favorite brand hot Tom and Jerry in a thick mug . . . Christmas seals and the Salvation Army band on the cor- ner . a Santy Claws for every block . . .his beard hanging loosely over a fat-bellied pot . or a pot-bellied fat . . or a fat potted belly . . . speaking of pot- ted, let me tell you, friend, I am so. . . well . . . December . kaleidioascope displays in de- partment store windows . . . ev- ergreen prisms at the living room window. . . red ribbon and white tissue paper . . . caroler's voices carrying clear as bells through empty streets . . .Silent Night . White Christmas. I Found Grandmaw in MY Stocking . masses of people fighting masses of people . . . rush and wait . . . holiday smiles on weary faces . . December . . . Christmas . isn't it wonderful? . . . but isn't it nice when it's over? Especially since Santy Claws is dead, anyway. THOSE OF YOU WHO hap- pened to read this garbage last month may have noticed my brief mention of James Dean and his present whereabouts. If you did throw bills, please - (they're quieter), you may have wondered just how in blazes I knew where he was. Well, to be honest about it, I'll have to ad- mit that I didn't have the slight- est idea where he was. Someone told me. Awright, awright-Ardy Fried- man, he told me. You know Ardy? Well, he's a pretty nice guy, even if he is one of these ivy league characters. Among his many other enthralling attri- butes, he is quite a handsome beer drinker, and it came about that one afternoon he and I were squatting in the Stein Club verb- ally solving some of the more pressing world problems, and he told me where James Dean was. Oh, he was very offhand about it. Casual as hell, you know. He just coolly mentioned it while I was pouring a beer. Well, I just about flipped, I guess you real- ize that. Here he comes out with the answer to a riddle that has baffled scientists for years, and treats it as if it weren't no more than ordering a beer. Well, I could hardly contain myself. All that day - before I talked to Ardy - I had practic- ally been in a state of incoher- ence wondering where James Dean was. I mean I was really sweating, I'll tell you. And then ole Ardy comes out with the an- swer to all my problems. I found out where James was. Anyway, as I said, I thought I'd be honest about the whole thing. So if you ever want to know where anybody is, just ask Ardy Friedman. He can get it for you wholesale. IN THE NINETEEN-fifty-five edition of the Information Please Almanac I see where us Ameri- cans spent 77,750 billion bucks on food, alcohol and tobacco in nineteen fifty-two, which must mean something or other. MY FAITH IN THE average university student was certainly upheld one day last month. What happened was this. One night during the recent Thanksgiving vacation (?) I happened to be laying in my sack listening to the radio. I don't mean to imply that all I do during vacations is lis- ten to the radio, but here in Co- lumbia they pretty much roll up the sidewalks when the students leave, and there's not just a hell of lot one can do to have any excitement. So I was getting my kicks with the crazy voice-box. 9 The program that was going on was some sort of deal where they have this sort of roving re- porter walking around the Moon Valley Villa dining room with a microphone interviewing people. It's pretty rediculous. It was a half-hour program, and after about 25 minutes of in- terviewing Stephen's -Susies ( they didn't go home over thanks day) and their parents, Joe Interview- er came to a couple of MU stu- tents. This conversation followed: Int. - "Well, har-har, yoo boys go to MP, huh. Well, thats' fine. Say, just what are your impres- sions of Moon Valley Villa?" 1st Student - "Liked to nev- er have found it." Int. - "Hh. Har-har. I see. Well, some people often have that trouble. Let's see, did you turn wrong when you came to the creek?" 2nd Student - "No, no sweat there. We swum the crick." Int. - "Oh. Swum the - Har- har. . . uh, har . . . Yes. Well, ah, what are you two boys ma- joring in over at MU?" 1st Student - I'm an English major. Um-ga-wa. Ugh. How." Int. - "Ah yes . . . an Eng- lish major. Har-har . . . uhh . turning to other student) Yes. And you - what are you?" 2nd Student - "I'm belliger- ent." At this point they cut them off the air. HERE IS A story which with a wild stretch of the imagina- tion you can perhaps connect with Christmas. During the recent football sea- son, there happened to be a story in one of the slick maga- zines about Bobby Dodd, coach of the Georgia Tech football team (which at the time was do- ing pretty well - I don't know how they finally came out). It was one of the usual stories. You know - what Mr. Dodd ate 10 for breakfast, and how often he kicked his dog, and garbage like that. Well, it seems that one of his more remarkable attributes is his fantastic luck - so much that whenever things got to going rough for the team, they would put all their faith in Coach Dodd, in the hopes that his phenom- enal luck would pull them out of it. The story cited the following example: At half-time during a game with one of their tough tra- ditional rivals, Georgia Tech found themselves behind by two or three touchdowns. They all trooped into the dressing room and exhaustedly flopped onto the floor, but instead of going over their plays and trying to figure out what they were doing wrong, they just lay there, star- ing at the walls. Didn't even drink their orange juice. Well, about two minutes before the second half started, Coach Dodd came in, looked around sternly, and announced that he had decided they were going to win the game, after all. This stunned the players for a few seconds, but then they got sort of glassy-eyed, stood up and raised their arms, and chanted: "In Dodd we trust, In Dodd we trust, In Dodd we trust!" And then proceeded to go out and beat hell out of the other team. Well, I told you it would take a wild stretch of imagination. IF YOU TURN back about two pages you will find that I am the Editorial Assistant, which is a pretty official-sounding title, buster. Yessir. However, I didn't know that that's what I was un- til a few weeks ago, when some- body pointed it out to me, and as soon as I find out just exactly what it means you better watch my smoke. It's probably got all kinds of real important duties and responsibilities, you know, and as soon as I am informed of their nature I will go like a mad- man. THE FOLLOWING eight ques- tions were included in a little quiz a few weeks ago in This Week Magazine, and they sound so simple that I have discovered that you can win plenty beers off of them, so in the goodness of my heart (It's Easter, you know) I am going to let you all get in on the graft. (1.) Is the Panama Canal south and east, south and west, or due south of Florida? (2.) What's the long thing on the staircase that you used to slide down? (3.) What was the name of the ship that fought the Mon- itor? (4.) What was the name of Tom Sawyer's "bosom friend"? (5.) How long does it take a cen- tury plant to bloom? (6.) Who was the man who said: "God west, young man!"? (7.) What was General Grant's given name? (8.) Who was "The Merchant of Venice?" Well, you may think that I'm sure getting hard-up for materi- al, and perhaps you're right, but if you answered (1.) south and west, (2.) banister, (3.) The Merrimac, (4.) Huck Finn, (5.) 100 years. (6.) Horace Greeley, (7.) Ulysses S., or (8.) Shylock, you owe somebody a beer. Or several beers. POMES little children, go back to bed- catch plenty sack time 'cause Santy's dead. The dirty little coward who shot Mr. Howard got switches from Santy every year, it didn't matter to him - he'd look up with a grin, and say "Bartender, set up an- other beer." Hark, the Herald, golly gee- Santy's a quadrupal amputee. Little Jimmy played it mean, and put him in the ice machine. A FEW WEEKS ago on the TV program "What's my Line?" a very humorous incident came about. That's putting it mildly. What happened was this. The guy whose line the panel was trying to figger out was a mat- tress stuffer, and after several minutes of getting nowhere, one of the panelists (a woman) came out with this: "Well, does one sex use it over the other?". It brought down the house. ALONG ABOUT THIS TIME of year we always like to look at the world situation in general, make a few conclusive state- ments; and be able to start out in January with a clean slate. Our bird's eye view of civiliza- tion shows that as far as pop songs go, we still have Mr. F. Dominoe explaining just where he found his thrill, a young lady throwing her mother from the train (a kiss), and Elvis Pres- ley raising cain with his mun- singwear. Also the Xmas novelty songs are beginning to appear, some idiots are still paying their nickles to hear about the Flying Saucers, you can't turn on your radio but what you'll come across Patience and Prudence (who I will offer to bludgeon at low rates), exponents of progressive jazz have come up with a new twist in records with no sound, and Der Bingle is beginning to moan White Christmas. The new cars have come out, and you can have your choice of anything from The Forward Look, the Inner Ford, Torsion Bars, The Big M, and When Bet- ter Cars .are Built, 50,000 people will drop dead, to channeled ashtrays, quadruple exhausts, ov- er and under glove compart- ments, power seats, power steer- ing, power orange birds on the hood, and 426 horsepower trunk- lids. On the sports scene we have Don Newcombe regularly visit- ing a psychiatrist (every day in every way, I am getting BET- TER), Don Faurot still trying to figger out just what got into Chuck Meher, Wilt the Stilt Chamberlain, 20, Negro, Kansas University, United States, Amer- ica, Western Hemisphere, earth, world, solar system, Milky Way Galaxy, the Universe, God, San- ta Claus, (how's that for report- ing) employing intricate defen- sive maneuvers to keep from getting his head hung up in the basket, Bud Wilkinson resorting to the dictionary in an attempt to define the word lose, and Ar- chie Moore explaining that the draft board is after him because he recently turned 21. Other trivia we need not dis- course upon are the elections, Nixon, the hydrogen bomb, in- cest, and the Booneville bridge. I'D LIKE TO reiterate (you'll notice that's four syllables - comes from going to the Univer- sity) something here I said last year about this time. At the risk of being accused of secondary school senility I'd like to forget about my place in the cosmic scheme of things long enough to wish you all a very sentimental and happy Yuletide. It's a sentimental season and somehow the vain strivings for collegiate urbanity and worldli- ness, et cetera, don't seem to make as much sense as usual. So Hurrah for Christmas, Hur- rah for New Year's, have lots of good parties, accumulate truck- loads of loot, and don't forget, beer and tomato juice can make New Year's Day livable if all else fails. I guess that will fill this space up. See you all next month. - Dick (the first) Noel 11 The Bad Breed or The Had Seed The gripping story of little Rhody Goluvabitch and how she slew. This is little Rhody She gives all appearances of being a sweet innocent sorority girl with simple pleasures and wants, like sealing people up in walls or . . . . or burning down fraternity houses. . . . throttling delicate doggies, . .exhuming corpses of former friends Most of all little Rhody wants the medal that her little pal Arnie won in a local bug stomping contest. By some freak accident of nature, Arnie dies and she gets it. MOVIE ENDING: Rhody receives just retribution for her sins when by another freak accident of nature she falls, fully clothed, into a nearby cement mixer. Continuity by Margi Foster BOOK ENDING: Rhody makes friends with new little sorority sister who holds the national championship medal for bug stomping. Photos by Dick Shoemaker Ahmed's Miracle By Dick Porterfield Ahmed walked painfully along the road to Bethlehem. His don- key was lame from having trip- ped in a hole on the long road from his home. He didn't want to leave Old Babba behind. Thieves would have taken him to sell in the market place for meat. He hoped that he could find a good alchemist to repair Babba's leg which he feared was broken. Old Babba had served Ahmed long and faithfully and a man didn't return long years of labor unjustly. The afternoon sun barely light- ed the way into Bethlehem as Ah- med came into the city. The streets were crowded and noisy with peo- ple from many lands milling around in the market place. Bab ba was limping more than ever now, and it took almost two hours for Ahmed to lead him through the city to the small manger in back of an inn he had finally found. He put fresh hay in the feeding bin and a container of cool water nearby so that Babba would not want food or drink through the long night before an alchemist could be found. The room was not large and the bed was hard, but Ahmed was tired, and the other inns were filled, so it mattered little to him. He put on a clean robe and went down the narrow stairs to the crowded dining room. The land- lord, a jovial, friendly fellow, placed good wine and bread be- fore him, and Ahmed ate well. There were many Roman soldiers in the dining room, too. They were drinking wine and singing loud songs. The daughter of the landlord was sitting on the lap of a young captain, playing with his beard. Ahmed slowly made his way up the stairs to his room. He wearily took off his robe and crawled in- to a narrow hard bed. Soon he was fast asleep, dreaming of his long walk to Bethlehem. The sound of voices was heard in the courtyard below. Ahmed turned over in his bed and lis- tened. "A child has been born in the manger," a voice said. "The shep- herds came from the fields to see him. They say a voice from above told them to come." 'Drunken Roman soldiers," Ah- med said, as he again fell asleep. In the morning the sun seemed brighter than usual, and Ahmed was sure he heard a lark singing. He rose and quickly dressed. The landlord sat a good meal before Ahmed and told him of a wise old achemist down the road who was very good in matters of cows and donkeys. The alchemist was still in bed when Ahmed pounded on his door. His beard was long, and he was bent with age. But his eyes were still young and Ahmed told him of Babba and the accident. Karufka, as the alchemist was called, took almost an hour dress- ing and eating. Ahmed drank two glasses of wine while the other ate his figs. Finally, he was ready to go. He carried a long box contain- ing many jars of oils and powders that he said would cure the ani mal. As they walked down the long lane to Ahmed's inn, the old man told him of many curings he had done, and of his world-wide fame. Ahmed had never heard of the man before the landlord had spoken well of him. At last, panting with old age, the alchemist stepped into the manger. Ahmed led the way to Babba. A young man and woman were in the back of the manger talking quietly together. It looked to Ahmed as if the woman were holding a child, but he was too concerned with Babba to give it further thought. (Continued on page 30) A Blast Before Christmas 'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house Little Freddy was staggering - Gad! what a souse! The stockings were hung by the chimney there But Freddy was drunk and he didn't care. (What if he was only seven years old; His one sterling virtue was the booze he could hold.) With precision and care he mixed up a nightcap And let the room settle before he took a nap, When he heard a big ruckus out on the roof He knew in an instant that Santa had goofed. "Drunk again," he muttered to himself with a curse, "Wonder what he's driving this time - a hearse? Last year it was reindeer, what a crazy kick He gets on when he's stewed; better hide the scotch quick." So away to the liquor cabinet he flew like a flash, Threw up on the window, threw up on the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen slush Gave a vivid picture of St. Nick, the old lush. He chugged a fifth - then his laprobe unfurled, And something emerged - My Gad. - it's a girl! Santa whistled and burped and shouted a curse, "These damn reindeer, every year they get worse!" So saying, he drew from his little red suit A double-barreled shotgun, and his reindeer did shoot. He pinched his girlfriend and said, "You little vixen, We'll have no more trouble with that nosy Blitzen!" To the top of the porch she flew with alarm, Pushed Santa down the chimney and broke his arm. When Freddy drew in his head, it was whirling around But he dashed to Santa with a leap and a bound. For Santa's foot was caught in a solid steel snare That Freddy had set in the fireplace there. Santa's eyes were bloodshot, and he had a beer belly That shook when he screamed like a bowl full of jelly. So little of his composure was left That Freddy laughed in spite of himself. Without a word Freddy went straight to his task; Stole all Santa's toys, then drained his flask. Then sticking a firecracker in the side of his shoe, Freddy lit a match, and up the chimney Santa flew. He heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight: "I can't take this stuff for another night. I'm through, it's over, never again, I quit. Where's the nearest bar - I'm gonna get lit!" A "Priddy" Girl Is Like A Marcia, the coed Swami would like most ta get stoned with New Year's Eve. .looks good in any position. the novus shop Life Savers Photos by DICK SHOEMAKER Wheels, a Road Map and Thou In the Mail Box With Santa It's a yellow-bellied nut-hatch! It's a new turbo-jet! Wha? Santa . . .Who? . . Hell, I thought it was a new turbo- jet. Whoa-oa-oa there dasherdancer prancervixencometcupiddonder- blitzen! Whoa there, you mothaf . uh, heh-heh . . my stalwart steeds. Whoooo-eee, is it ever hecky-durn cold up here at the North Pole, boys and girls. Hoho hohoho. Whoooo-eee! Let's jump right in ole Santa's mailbox and see what we find today. Say, what's this? Ahem-ha . . . (one of you fellas take this fifth and put it in the back room where it belongs.) Hohohoho, that was a funny surprise, wasn't it, boys and girls? O-kay, kiddies, let's try again. I'm reaching way, wayyyy down to the very bottom of the. mail- box and I've got a letter and it may be from you! And here it is! It's a jimdandy letter from little Johnny Hoopnagle. Let's see what little Johnny wants from dear ole Santa this Christmas. Dear Ole Santa, nothing - Listen, buddy, don't come around this year with the idea you can fake me out. Remember that cherry bomb I slipped in your bag last year? Awright, get this straight, buddy. When I say I want a fifth of bourbon, I want a fifth of bourbon and none of that watered-down stuff. And another thing. Last year you neglected to leave the poison to go with my dart game. Just re- member, I saw you filch that can- dy cane off my Christmas tree last year, you ole bird. Threateningly, Little Johnny Hoopnagle. Cherry-bomb me will you. Just you wait'll you open your stocking, you little . . 20 Hohohoho, boys and girls. Lit- tle Johnny has a gosh-awful sense of humor, doesn't he? There are lots and lots of super- duper letters here from all you kiddies and I want to move right on to the next. Here we go! My Dear Mr. Claus: If you think you're going to thump around my rooftop this Christmas Eve like you did at three a.m. last year you have another think coming. I want to get my full eight hours sleep that night as I will have a busy day at the of- fice the next day. Not only did you awaken me last year, but my wife had to spend two hours the next day cleaning up after your damn reindeer. I warn you, I'll have the law on your neck if you pull another stunt like that. Emphatically, J. B. Scrooge. Well, I don't think that Mr. Scrooge has that holiday spirit, does he, gang? Where's that next letter - where is it - whereisit-HERE IT IS! Dear Shanta; Thanksh, pal, for the tip lasht year. When I dishcovered that swish in my stocking I caught the hint. Have swished to Calvert and have been happy every since. Merry Chrishmash, you sly old . .! Sham. I tell you, my little friends, it brings tears to your ole Santa's eyes to read a peachy-keen ap- preciative letter like that. Dear Santa, Please for this Christmas I would like a dolly that laughs and cries and closes its eyes when you put it to bed and a tea set and Porfirio Rubirosa. Love and kisses, Linda Sue. And if little Linda Sue is goody-good-good and helps Mom- my and Daddy by picking up all the beer cans and leaving her cigarette butts in the ashtrays where they belong, I'm sure ole Santa can make this Christmas Hey Man, I want you to know that down here at MU we think you're the coolest, Man. All us cats are gon- na have the biggest blast in his- tory and we want you personally to lend your presence. Gate, this is gonna be the greatest shindig you ever saw - the party to end all. Just come boppin' in any time on the big Eve and be pre- pared to get fired up. Cordially, Black Jack. Sounds like a rowdy-dow time, Jack, ole boy. Heh-heh. Oh-hoho ho - that was nice and friendly- like, eh, gang? Dear Nick, Last year I asked you for only one present - a man. But in- stead you sent me a mere six foot six, 250 pound weakling. Af- ter a couple of days I had to send him back to the lumber mill. This year, by Gawd, I want a MAN! Desperately, Suzie. Next time, kiddo, hang up something bigger than a Bermu- da sock and I'll see what I can do for you. Dear Boss, I've talked it over with the oth- ers, and we've decided to strike for higher wages. We're sick of this chasing all over the globe in one night for a couple of pounds of moss. Donner came down with pneu- monia last year and poor old Blitzen had an unfortunate en- counter with a TV aerial on the roof of the Waldorf-Astoria. No telling what may happen this year. And how about making this team co-ed? After all, the same old reindeer ain't gonna last for- ever. Whaddaya think we are, imomrtal? Four pounds of moss, a lump of sugar, and a rubdown for each of us after the trip or else we ain't showing up. Definitely, Prancer. We'll see what the union says about this. But don't you worry, kiddies, old Santa will be there right on time. If you trot off to beddy-bye nice and early like Mommy says. Dear Santa Claus, In answer to your recent let- ter, that was my sheer size 91/2 stocking you saw hanging over the fireplace at Ooo La La soror- ity house last Christmas Eve. Yes, I'm single. No, I'm not en- gaged or pinned. But I happen to know you're married, you old wolf! You stick to your business and I'll stick to mine. Mabel. P.S. Midnight, third room, sec- ond floor. Knock three times. Mmmm-mmm-Mabel. Harumph! It's downright amazing how nice and neighborly people can be, isn't it gang? Hey you old . ! I've seen you on about twenty street corners this week and I never saw a more money-mad crew any place, not even down here. I hate you muckers all. Damn your eyes, Sam Hall. My, my. Mymymymymy, my Friends. (This better be damn near the last letter in this fruit mailbox.) Aren't we having fun- ny-fun-fun? Here it is, here it is, the very last letter of the day and it looks like a longy! Sir; "Mr. Claus," you're an im- postor! How could any one many trav- el all over the world in one night? Ha! You can't fool me. I've studied maps and done some calculating. It simply isn't possible. In fact, I doubt if you could even visit all the homes in the United States in one night. Not with reindeer certainly. And another thing. Who pays for all those toys you make up there at the North Pole? And why the North Pole? Looks like working condtiions would be mighty rough in that sub-zero weather. So you see, you can't squirm out of it, "Mr. Claus." And I'm not going to let the world wal- low in ignorance any longer. In other words, I'M GOING TO EXPOSE YOU! You'd better start sweating, because you'll be hearing more from me. Guess you hadn't fig- ured on the crafty investigation of college-trained E. Gerbeaver (B.J. '52) I'm sorry I have to cut our lit- tle visit short here, boys and girls. But I just remembered an important appointment. (Bring that sleigh around to the side entrance, fellas.) We sure did have a whoop-de-doo time though, didnt' we gang? Remem- ber, be goody-good - oops, time to go. Over the housetop, over the . . . Come on you idiots, over the housetop, dammit! By SUE WILSON 21 Murlin Gene Smiths Shooting Gallery The American college student is (self-considered) one of the shrewder animals on this globe. But wait! Compare him - or her - with a turtle, for instance. Did you ever hear of a turtle drinking himself into a coma? Or a hermit crab pay- ing $75 a month rent? Or of a cat eating anchovies? Or a camel drinking beer? THAT proves it! You're all screwy! This is the story of a class. The class is called International Law and must be gut-gripping- ly vital because the textbook has 1,108 pages - which is plenty, Plenty PLENTY textbook in any man's lingo. During the first class session 20 minutes were spent sorting through cards and counting noses, and then the in- structor looks up with a sort of smug expression on his face and says, "What is international law?" Now the semester is damn near over and everybody is still trying to figure out what this international law gas is. A few tried reading the book, which should be easy, since it is writ- ten in English, French, Spanish, German, Latin and Italian and has beaucoup Whereases and Hereinafter named Parties of the First Part, but nobody has an- swered the first question yet. Hey, man, wanna buy a suede farm? Let's send Elvis Presley to the Russians for a Christmas pres- ent. After a few weeks of the Pelvis, they'd even give back Hungary. Well, the powers that be have finally went and gone and done it! Used to be there was a dusty little place just south of Conley 22 known to only a few thousand car-driving students where you sometimes could hide your heap early enough to get to class. It is no more. One morning they roped it off and stuck a cop out there and now it stands forlorn. They say they are going to make a Type 3 lot out of it (for the mul- titude of you who don't know what this means, it is theoretic- ally a place where only students may park free of persecution). Maybe so. By the time every- body has his own back-pack hel- icopter they'll probably finish the damn thing, but don't be- lieve it until you see it. It sounds like a belated campaign prom- ise. What's a suede farm? I hate Christmas! It seems like every year I have my own be- lated Christmas, when the bill collectors start coming around with their greasy smiles and their gift-wrapped duns. Let's disown the folks, drown the kids, forget the women, and keep all that loot this year. Who knows, maybe it's a good feeling to have a little loose change in the pock- et. One good thing about versa- tile SHOWME is its multitudi- nous uses. You can wrap gar- bage in it, you can corrupt the morals (?) of the Stephens girls, you can paper your walls with it, or burn it slowly to heat your attic. END Kathy Shannon, 1956 Missouri University Homecoming queen agrees that shoes at gene glenn's are fit for a queen. Gene Glenn The DEN Thurlow Part III got anything by the dezsoe yorzyk quartet? By "Hollywood" Only two years ago there was a quiet little contest in progress to see who could do the cleanest job of starving to death, the jour- nalist (not the Madison Avenue variety) or the progressive jazz musician. It seemed evident the jazz man would do it. That's when some cat wearing a pair of bop rims did a session on tape at a little school in Ann Arbor. It seems an up-and-com- ing record company happened to be in the neighorhood with about $50,000 in equipment to test. Well they heard sounds coming from a place up the street and strolled over to pick up. One of the cats saw a couple in a nearby bush getting some face and inquired, "Say, like what's happening in- side, man?" "Brubeck's having a little jam." "Let's make it," the first cat said to the others. So began the work in Colum- bia album number B-436, Jazz Goes to College (they used that serial number to make Brubeck think he was going to cut the other 435). This was a swinging album and it really scored the bread for Dave and those cats. And that's not all. It started an era that thinned the musician's soup line. Everyone and his mo- ther started in progressive jazz. To the old head this was too much. Cats that blew for Welk and his crazy, crazy Dodgers (who are really out of it) were cutting sides. What a wig. Then these records hit and man, what a noise. Everyone trying to cut more sides than the next cat. The usual kick was to move each man's name up front for one side then drop him and put the next man on top. More shops were built, more labels invented, 69 versions of every pop tune, old standard, party record or just any sound some cat could goof with for three or four minutes. The result is, now it takes an hour longer at the Hi-Fi House to find cool sides. It's not too painful though, the covers are really a gas. They are as valu- able as the music. And the liner notes are the complete end. One cat cut a "homophonic piece of music making use of thirds and its relative interval, the tenth." That means a phony queer torn between a triangle and scotch. Even when you can dig the notes the record is skunky. But there's still only 25 ways and real progressive jazz is still around. It may take a while to score it but like "All good things must come to an end . . . er that is . . . take time"* There are some cats who do anything right. If you dig the progressive kick, you know. Shorty Rogers, THE Stan the Man, The Lighthouse All Stars, Brubeck, Chet Baker, Mulligan and so. Of course that is all West Coast. The East Coast cats like J. J. and Kai, Al Co- hen, Getz, Shearing make the bit as well. *Courtesy Bob Conkin's "Fam- ous Sayings For All Occasions" The coolest is to pin some of the newer groups like the Aus- tralian Jazz Quartet who have THE perfect sound; Jack Mill- man, a cat that gets a ball out of playing; the more familiar Mod- ern Jazz Quartet, whose music can go a long way away. Then there are millions of combina- tions, usually with cats like Lar- ry Bunker, Shelley Manne, Coo- per, Bud Shank, Condoli and Tanya's old buddy, Frank Roso- lino. Anything these cats blow is cherry. Some of the latest albums that sound good are: JAZZ CITY WORKSHOP on Bethlehem - Larry Bunker on vibes; Herbie Harper on the bone; Marty Paitch, piano; Jack Costanzo, bongos; Frankie Capp, drums; Curtis Counce, bass. -Serenade in Blue, Them There Eyes, Blues in the Closet are the whailing tracks. You must read the liner notes by Simphony Sid. CUBAN FIRE on Capitol - Stan Kenton -Quien Sabe and La Guera Baila feature Bob Fitzgerald and swing- ing Bill Perkins on the smooth- est solo you will ever hear. This is the most powerful album to hear on a good HiFi. SHADES OF THINGS TO COME - Liberty - Jack Mill- man. Jack Millman, flugelhorn; Buddy Collette (!), flute, alto, tenor; Jimmy Giuffre, baritone and clarinet; Bob Harrington, pi- ano; Harry Babsin, bass; Larry Bunker and Frank Capp, drums. Dig those names! Never do is never done and these cats do it. After you hear this album you have to decide for yourself who is the craziest. It is Shorty Rog- ers type jazz since most of these cats were with the Giants or Rumsey's group. When you hear it you'll find that you have to (Continued on page 28) Holiday Pipe Mixure Sudden Service Cleaners and Shirt Laundry listen deep into the music to get the full impact. That makes it the most. These cats dig blowing and the music is really tied up tight. CANDIDO: ABC-Paramount- Candido bongos Featuring Al Cohen, tenor; Joe Puma, guitar; Dick Katz, piano; Ted Sommer, drums, and Whitey Mitchell, bass. If you dig bongo sessions here is a swinging one. Cohen makes music while Candido goes. Fine sides are: Mambo Inn (at least), Candido's Camera, Poinciana. Fresh Faces: TOSHIKO AKIYOSHI TRIO Storyville- Toshiko, piano; Edmund Thig- pen, drums; Paul Chambers, bass. Here is jazz with a fresh ap- proach. The soft, kind melody Toshiko creates is something to hear. She's a real live Japanese girl with fingers that tickle the keys to laughter. The slight ori- ental touch is NEW and crazy. If you want to dig sounds you've never heard, pick up on this one. This chick is not just a new face, she is a new sound. So, well, like, you know, later man. I've got to split. I think I'll make it down to the Hi Fi House and fight honker and Presley flips and Paul's knocked-out clas- sics screaming my ears numb. And dig, that Frank Sullivan group really blows some sounds. He has some crazy side men too. -hollywood The gravedigger was complet- ing his last grave for the day, his mind on other things. Sud- denly he found he'd dug so deep he couldn't get out. It was night- fall before his cries for help attracted the attention of a drunken passerby. "Get me out of here," pleaded the digger. "I'm cold." The drunk pondered for a mo- ment, then began shivering fran- tically. "No wonder you're cold." he muttered, "you haven't got any dirt on you." G. S. A Quiet New Year's Eve Swami was planning on spending an introverted new year's eve when he received an invitation to one of the more bawdy parties in town. He almost declined, figuring that it would take him a month to recover from the aftereffects. However, as you can see on these pages, he found the hassle to be a quiet, intimate affair, and he was glad that he went after all. Here are some of the highlights. "Darn grownups been keeping me up half the night. Can't even get in my own bedroom." "What a bore. I'll be damned if I'll ever get fixed up again." "What do you mean we're out of beer!" (Continued from page 15) "Here is Babba, old man. As you can see, he has hurt his forefoot, and can hardly put any weight on it." The old man looked at the fine animal. Babba's coat shone as if it had just been curried. His eyes flashed, and his normally droopy ears stood up straight. He was standing steadily on his four legs. "There is no injury here," the alchemist declared. "This is as sound an animal as I have ever seen. Are you sure this is the ani- mal you meant me to see?" "Why, yes . . . " Ahmed said. He didn't seem to recognize old Babba. "He looks ten years young- er, though." "You have raised an old man from his bed to repair a well ani- mal my friend. Why do you play games with me?" "Good Karufka, I am not one to play games. Yesterday, this don- key was lame." "He is well now, and that will be one Roman silver piece for my trouble." "Gladly, yes, gladly will I pay; here indeed are three silver pieces. Thank you for your trouble, and I am sorry to have disturbed you. The old man took the money and stuffed it in one of the many folds of his robe. He lifted the long box and slowly shuffled from the manger, mumbling to himself. Ah- med rubbed Babba's nose, scratch- ed his own head and then left the manger to the animals and the young couple in the back who were cradling between them a newborn child. END Sim: "Been sleeping well?" Jim: "Well, I sleep good nights, and I sleep pretty good morn- ings. But afternoons I just seem to twist and turn." The Scotchman married the half-witted girl because she was 50% off. 30 NEUKOMM'S The Stein Club Swami's Snorts The other day we met a man who had reached the depths of disillusionment. He had spent two hundred dollars on a per- manent cure for halitosis. Then he found out that no one had liked him anyway. A man in an insane asylum sat fishing over a flower bed. A visitor approached, and wish- ing to be friendly, asked, "How many have you caught today?" "You're the ninth," was the reply. "Did you follow my advice a- bout kissing women when they least expect it?" "Oh, hell," said the fellow with the swolen eye. I thought you said where." Active: What's your greatest ambition? Pledge: To die a year sooner than you. Active: What's the reason for that? Pledge: So I'll be an active in Hell when you get there. Doctor: (after examining pa- tient) "I don't like the looks of your husband, Mrs. Brown." Mrs. Brown: "Neither do I, doctor, but he's good to our child- ren." Wife: Darling, tell me, how did you ever get Junior to eat ol- ives? Husband: Simple, I started him out with Martinis. Lewis' Texaco Town Highway 40 At Sexton 31 Ernie's Steak House Brown Derby Balladeer's Barstool WHERE IS YOUR BOY TONIGHT? Unknown Life is teeming with evil snares, The gates of sin are wide, The rosy fingers of pleasure wave, And beckon the young inside. Man of the world with open purse, Seeking your own delight, Pause ere reason is wholly gone Where is your boy tonight? Sirens are singing on every hand, Luring the ear of youth, Gilded falsehood with silver notes Drowneth the voice of truth Dainty ladies in costly robes, Your parlours gleam with light, Fate and beauty your senses steep- Where is your boy tonight? Tempting whispers of royal spoil Flatter the youthful soul Eagerly entering into life, Restive of all control. Needs are many, and duties stern Crowd on the weary sight; Father, buried in business cares, Where is your boy tonight? Pitfalls lurk in the flowery way, Vice has a golden gate: Who shall guide the unwary feet Into the highway straight? Patient worker with willing hand, Keep the home hearth bright, Tired mother, with tender eyes Where is your boy tonight? Turn his feet from the evil paths Ere they have entered in: Keep him unspotted while yet he may, Earth is so stained with sin; Ere he has learned to follow wrong, Teach him to love the right; Watch ere watching is wholly vain- Where is your boy tonight? WHEN I WAS SINGLE Unknown When I was single, oh then, When I was single my pockets did jingle, And I wish I was single again I married a wife, oh then, I married a wife, she's the plague of my life, And I wish I was single again. My wife she died, oh then, My wife she died, and I laughed till I cried To think I was single again. I went for the coffin, oh then, I went for the coffin, and like to died laughing To think I was single again. I went to the funeral, oh then; The band did play, and I danced all the way To think I was single again. I married another, oh then, I married another, she's the devil's grandmo- ther; And I wish I was single again. So now, young men, take warning from me: Be kind to the first, for the next may be worse, And you'll wish you were single again. LITTLE SALLY Unknown Little Sally based her hopes On a book by Marie Stopes; But to judge from her condition She must have bought the wrong edition. Rowdy, Classic or Bawdy 33 ROMANO'S BOWL ROMMANO'S Showme Swami's Snorts A bishop was sitting at a box in an opera house where col- legiate commencement exercises were being held. The dresses of the ladies were very decollete. After looking around with an op- ra glass, one of the ladies ex- claimed: "Honestly, bishop, did you ever see anything like it in your life?" "Never." gravely replied the bishop. "Never, madam, since I was weaned. Her lips quivered as they ap- proached mine. My whole frame trembled as I looked into her eyes. Her body shook with in- tensity as our lips met, and my chin vibrated and my body shud- dered as I held her, pulsating, close to me. Moral: Never kiss them in a car with the engine running. McAllister's An officer of ancient Rome, called away to war, locked his beautiful wife in armor, gave the key to his best friend with the admonition, "If I don't re- turn in six months, use this key. To you, my dear friend, I en- trust it." He then galloped off to the wars. About ten miles from home, he turned to see a cloud of dust approaching. His trusted friend, on horseback, galloped up and panted, "You gave me the wrong key." Once upon a time there was a boy penguin and a girl penguin who met at the Equator. After a brief charming interlude the boy penquin went North, to the North Pole, and the girl went south to the South Pole. Later on, a telegram arrived at the North Pole stating simply. "Come quickly - - am .with Byrd." Webster says that "taut" means tight. I guess that the guys at college are taut a lot after all. Old Lady: "You don't chew to- bacco, do you, little boy?" Little boy: "No ma'am, but I could let you have a cigarette." The one time a man finds it easy to keep his eyes off wo- men is when he's sitting on a crowded bus. You should be kind to your friends. If it were not for them, you would be a total stranger. It was raining pitchforks as a motorist stepped into a small restaurant and sat down. As the waitress came for the order, he glanced out the window and re- marked, "Gee, this certainly looks like the flood." "The what?" asked the wait- ress, "The big flood. Haven't you read about the flood and the ark and Noah and all?" "Gee, mister," replied the wait- ress, 'I ain't had time to look at a paper all week." A shipwrecked sailor was cap- tured by cannibals. Each day the natives would cut his arm with a dagger and drink his blood. Finally he called the king: "You can kill me and eat me if you want," he said, "but I'm sick and tired of getting stuck for the drinks." A hillbilly discovered a mirror which had been left behind by a tourist. "Well, if it ain't my old pappy. I never knowed he had his pic- ture took!" He sneaked it home and went up to the attic to hide it. But his wife spied him and that night, while he slept, she slipped up to the attic and found the mirror. "Aha!" she exclaimed, looking into the glass. "So that's the old biddy he's been running around with." Cannibal to son: "Don't you know it's rude to talk with some- one in your mouth?" He: What would you say if I stole a kiss? She: What would you say to a guy who had a chance to steal an automobile but only took the windshield wiper? contributors' page J. J. Aasen is his name. He says. His one claim to fame is that his name is always the first one in the student-faculty direc- tory. Like aardvark. It's a good thing we don't have many aard- varks around here - the only one we can think of is an "S", so J. J.'s fame is assured. Julius Junior (he swears it's the truth) draws SHOWME covers of drunken alums and cartoons of ticklish people. He's good at it -and we like him. Only there's something funny which we J- School people find incomprehen- sible - J. J. is probably the first person in Mizzou's long il- lustrious history who ever took H & P for an elective. And that really requires an explanation. Or a psychoanalysis. J. J. is from Dell Rapids, S. D., which he claims is not a small town. The other inhabitant agrees with him. "One other interesting thing about J. J. is that he has ennui. (Little Alice Roberts assures us it's not fatal.) But just the same, people with nasty stuff like that shouldn't be left running around loose. Not on our campus. He 36 might give it to Waldo. Or may- be he got it from Waldo. All in all, this guy is pretty much of an enigma. Right off, he gives you a phony name. Then he's got this ennui thing that nobody ever heard of. And he doesn't have to take H & P! Say, maybe he's just covering up or something. Say, maybe he's really Adelph Hitler and he really isn't dead and . . . Ann Fullenwider is one of those unsung pixies or gremlins who tirelessly trudge the streets of Columbia peddling SHOWME ad space to cold-hearted mer- chants. So being unsung, we here will sing her. "I", says Ann, "am a good clean American girl." Anybody who isn't sure of the meaning of this phrase, we refer to a fellow name of Kinsey (which leaves Ann in the clear, since ole Al ain't with us any more . . . Dick Wheeler doesn't have. . oops!) Ann is from Springfield, Ill. That's the state capital. Abe Lin- coln used to hang out around there. And Adlai Stevenson, an obscure twentieth century law- yer-politician. Ann used to work with Volunteers for Stevenson. Which proves absolutely nothing. These above-mentioned things are not among her proudest achievements however. The first thing that comes to mind when adding up her string of blue rib- bons is the fact that she's engag- ed to Carl Weseman. (Him? - oh he's just another one of those hangers-on around the SHOWME office.) Anyway, it is rumored that they have English forbears - or ulcers. Every afternoon Carl and Ann go out for a pitcher of tea. This is definitely not the proper attitude for SHOWME staffers. Swami is investigating. If anyone is interested, write for free bro- chure-cost $1.25. (You will note that this is just the cost of a pitcher for Ann and Carl - and not tea!) "What a splendid fit," said the tailor as he carried another ep- ileptic out of his shop. BROADWAY DRIVE-IN At Dusk '57 savitar Salem