LI E) R,AR.Y OF THE UN IVLR.SITY or ILLI-NOIS 8l0o5 GR . Vo 17-18 COPeS hME Green Galdron QQT2 3 1947 A Magazine of Freshman Writing UIIUasiTl 0^ ILLIKOIS Charles N. Watkins: Tex 1 John F.May : Fat, Dumb, and Happy 3 Jim Koeller: So Help Me, God 5 John W. Kuntz: Fascism 6 Robert M. Albert: Catalyst Cataclysmic — Sarajevo 1914 ... 8 William H. Hitt: A Farewell to Arms hy KmcstHeraingwsiy . . 11 Robin Good: First Flight 12 Dorothy Sherrard: Beyond the Blue Horizon 15 Nevzat Gomec: The American Picture of Turkey 21 D. Erickson: What It Means to Sec 21 Peter Fleischmann: Opening Night 22 Sigrid Iben: A Night in Kam's 23 Leroy F. Mumford: Poi 24 Charles N. Watkins: One More Load 26 Gerald O'Mara: Interpreting the Public Opinion Polls .... 29 Haluk Akol: Your Mood and Ours 33 Gene Reiley: One of a Kind 34 Ralph Brown: Rain 35 Lawrence Zuckerman: Keep That Last Team! 36 William H. Kellogg: Farmers 37 John Weiter: Thanks! 38 Rhet as Writ 40 VOL. 17, NO. 1 NOVEMBER, 1947 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T, HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the Rhetoric Staff at the University of Illinois. Material is chosen from themes and examinations written by freshmen in the Uni- versity including the Navy Pier and Galesburg divisions, and the high school branches. Permission to publish is obtained for all full themes, including those published anonymousl)'. Parts of themes, however, are published at the discretion of the committee in charge. The committee in charge of this issue of The Green Caldron includes Miss Constance Nicholas and Messrs. Edwin Rob- bins and George Scouffas, Chairman. The Green Caldron is for sale at the Illini Union Bookstore, Champaign, Illinois. THE GREEN CALDRON copyrighted 1947 BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS All rights reserved No parts of this periodical may be repro- duced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Tex Charles N. Watkins Rhetoric I, Theme 5, 1946-1947 ' FIRST MET TEX WHEN I TRANSFERRED TO THE MILI- tary Police. He was in charge of the Military Police at the small air ^ field where we were stationed in South Carolina. While I knew him, he IS a private first class. Before that, however, he had held hij^her ranks, om corporal to staff sergeant. At more or less regular intervals, he had en court-martialed and "broken" to private; then he would work his way I to his former rating — just how, no one knew. He stood about five feet and ten inches tall and weighed about one indred and eighty pounds. He would have been rather handsome except at his face was always flushed, and he was invariably in need of a barber. > a rule, his hat hung over one eye antl rested on one ear. Certainly he was it a model soldier in appearance. I5ecause of Tex's disposition and my small size, 1 feared him. He and A'ould often be on the same shift at night, cooped up in the little eight-by- jht gate shack at the entrance to the air field. As he was usually in an roholic stupor, it was no pleasure \.o work with him. When drunk, he he- me aggressive and pugilistic. I remember one night especially: Tex stag- red into the shack at midnight, smelling of whiskey; his face was more ished than usual, and I knew that I would be lucky to get away from him thout trouble of some sort. Grabbing me by my tie, he pulled me close and yelled in my face, "Hey, ), you from Texas?" "Yes." I am not from Texas, but it seemed easier to agree. "Ain't it one hell of a good stale?" "Yes." "Well, dammit, don't you know nothin' but 'yes'?" And so the conversation went, until I finally escaped by reminding him peatedly that I had to make a tour of the field to inspect the buildings. Tex was a bully, but he loved a fight and could, as he often said himself, ihip any man I ever seed." He possessed incredible courage, and he had » fear of physical odds however great. One night, the telephone in the gate ack rang; I answered it. It was the station master at the depot in town, e was greatly excited, but managed, between gasps, to tell me that there is a riot in progress at the station. A shipment of soldiers, he said, had en waiting to change trains and were now fighting with civilians, chasing rls around the waiting room, and causing much damage in general. All this I 1 1 2 The Green Caldron I relayed to Tex, who had been lying on the bench with his revolver in hand waiting for a mouse to reappear from behind some boxes in the corner. Jumping up, he grabbed a sub-machine gun, a carbine, and a club from our weapon box, and ran for the jeep. "Shouldn't I get some of the boys to go with you?" I shouted after him. "You'll get killed down there alone!" "I'll take care of 'em," he snarled. I watched him drive toward town; the fabric top of the jeep was flopping in the breeze, and the red tail-light moved rapidly out of my sight. During the next half hour, I reached for the telephone several times to call the Officer of the Day to ask him to send more men to the station to help Tex; but for some reason, I did not lift the receiver from the phone. Then I heard the jeep returning. Opening the gate house door, I stepped outside as Tex skidded to a stop a few inches in front of me. His shirt was in tatters, and blood streamed from his nose, but he was happy, for his crimson face was split in half by a wide Texas grin. In the back of the jeep lay two soldiers, both of them unconscious, "Got everything quiet," he said. "I'll take these damn fools over to the dispensary. Well, stop yer gawking, Bo." In spite of, or rather because of, his roughness, Tex had a certain amount of charm about him, for he attracted many women. These women, however, were usually lewd and promiscuous, and, nine times out of ten, fat, forty, and already married. One night he came to work with his face cut into ribbons. He was in an ugly mood, and I dared not ask him immediately about his butchered face, but by careful, cautious questions and some false sympathy, I learned the cause of his wounds. It seems that he had been in a woman's bedroom when her husband came home. Rather than be caught and turned over to the police, the intoxicated Tex had jumped through the window, glass and all, to safety. Said he, concerning the incident, "That gal better not cross my path again. I ain't got no use for a woman that double- crosses me." He never showed remorse for his own sins. It never entered his mind that he might be wrong. But, in contrast to his immorality and roughness was his love of animals. He loved dogs especially and would often spend hours playing with one. There was one dog in particular of which he was very fond; he stayed in the gate house most of the time. Tex would bring choice morsels of food from the mess hall and pilfer bottles of milk from the commissary for him. If Tex went anywhere in the jeep, the dog had to go along riding on the seat beside him. Early one morning, Tex's dog "meandered" across the state highway and a car struck him, breaking his back. Tex, hearing the dog's agonized yelp, left the gate shack running. Gathering the dog up in his arms, he cursed the hit-and-run driver with curses that made my blood run cold. The dog was slowly dying, and I finally convinced Tex that he must be shot. He shot r?ir\ — November, 1947 >/, / "7_ ( J? 3 C in; '7 the dog with his service revolver and then buried him at the side of the road. Coming back to the gate shack, he cried silently for a long time. Yes, Tex was vulgar and rough-mannered, he had no sense of morals, he was inclined to drink more than was good for him, and he was surly and argumentative; his only commendable feature was his love for animals. I often wonder what his childhood was, who his parents were, and in what kind of environment he had been reared. Life must not have been too kind to him. Fat, Dumb, and Happy John F. May Rhetoric I. Theme 7, 1946-1947 F^\T, DUMB. AXD HAPPY — THAT'.S WHAT I HAD BKEN. As I dragged along toward the "Old Man's" office, I realized that my career as a fighter pilot was about to come to an abrupt close — and after only one mission ! The events of the last few hours kept marching '_ through my mind like the members of a chain gang, each man representing ra glaring mistake. In one mission I had probably done every wrong thing known to the history of aviation. Not more than four hours before, I had been king of the universe. Only those who have strapped a Mustang to their backs and have felt sixteen hundred horsepower pulling them through the sky can imagine what it feels like to lly high altitude escort. You survey the world from a goldfish bowl — the other members of your formation, with their yellow and black checkered noses, and the never- ending stream of bombers droning on and on. Four or five miles below you patches of white clouds reflect the sunshine in the clear air like a sparkling Monday wash. You stroke the pistol-like trigger on the control stick. Under one finger you have all the fire power of a complete infantry battalion. Here is the feeling of tremendous strength and power that has been the Waterloo of many green pilots. I laughed when I thought of the C. O.'s parting words. He had put his arm around my shoulder and said, "Now be careful on this first hop. Don't do anything fancy. Just get there and get back. If you get through this one, the rest of your tour will be a breeze. Above all, don't lose your flight leader." My train of thoughts was interrupted by a crackling voice on the radio. Captain "Whip" Tanner, my flight leader, snapped, "Bogies at six o'clock high." Unidentified aircraft approaching! I snapped on the master switches for the gun-sight and the machine guns. "Here we go," I thought. "Those two long years of training are going to pay off at last." 4 The Green Caldron The next thing I knew, there were two bomb-shaped objects heading right for my ship. "Whip" had dropped his external gas tanks right in front of me. I pulled back violently on the stick to get over them and spasmodically squeezed the trigger at the same time. I sprayed that area of German sky full of fifty-calibre slugs. I looked up quickly, fully expecting to see "Whip's" ship going down in smoke. He looked O. K., however, and was diving straight down, so I dropped my tanks, peeled off, and followed him. The major's words kept going through my head, "Above all, don't lose your flight leader." We were diving now. The airspeed was dangerously close to the speed of sound. "What's he trying to do," I wondered, "pull off our wings?" Suddenly I realized that my engine was silent! After pulling out of the dive, I checked the instruments. Everything seemed perfect, and yet the engine refused to run. No place to land, nothing but forest. I reached for the lever that would jettison the canopy so that I could bail out. Just then I noticed that the gas tank selector valve, which was right above this lever, was still turned to external tanks. I had dropped my combat tanks and had forgotten to change over to the internal tanks. The engine caught immediately, and I started home. I couldn't find any ships in the sky. Among other things, I had committed the unpardonable sin of losing m}' flight leader. If it is possible for a Mustang to fly back to England with its tail between its legs, then mine did. "Well, it's over now," I thought, as I reluctantly approached the orderly's desk. "I'll probably be counting chocolate bars in a P. X. for the rest of the war." The sergeant said with a grin, "Go right in; they're waiting for you." Just then the door burst open and out poured a swarm of people including "Whip," my C. O., and some Public Relations men. While someone flashed pictures, I was congratulated by all, slapped on the back, and offered a shot of brandy. "You're the first man in our outfit to shoot down an enemy plane on a first mission," the Major roared. "Whip" said, "You got him before I even got my gun switch on." "What plane?" I asked. They all laughed. I was never able to convince the squadron that I hadn't seen a thing when I was spraying my guns all over Germany. There must be some great power who looks out for fat, dumb, and happy pilots. Definition: Clouds Whether it is cloudy or not may sometimes be determined by the presence of clouds, of which there are two basic types — white and black. The black clouds are merely smoke; we shall not discuss them. Logically enough, the white clouds are classified according to their function. Rain clouds may be identified by the rain descending from them, and storm clouds by their stormy appearance. Dis- regard all other types of clouds, as they are merely for looks. — Les Houser 1 November, 1947 5 So Help Me, God Jim Koeller Freeport High School Extension, Rhetoric I, Theme 7, 1946-1947 SOLEMXLY SWEAR TO TELL THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE truth, and nothing but the truth. So help me, God." If you've ever listened to "Famous Jury Trials" you are probably aware that the above quotation is a court oath required of all witnesses before they testify. The average American court witness is indeed a pathetic figure. No one rises higher in the annals of foolishness than he in any legal proceeding. Many witnesses are unaware of their rights, which are, by the way, verj' few. And because of their ignorance of their privileges and their duties, they shine as America's top fools. Perhaps some day you will be called to court as a witness. Although it may be against your will, do not disregard your subpoena, for by so doing you may be punished for contempt of court. Before you go to court, however, it would be well for you to remember the following rules: You may speak only when spoken to. You must never volunteer any information. If you persist in talking out of turn or in argu- ing with the judge, you will be fined for contempt of court. Let your motto be: "Remember Je of question is — "Have you stopped beating your wife? Answer yes or no." You may appeal to the judge if you think any question is unfair. Always keep in mind that you are only a witness. Give yourself credit for less legal knowledge than you really have. Don't be a know-it-all. Let the counsel for your side take care of all the legal angles. And always give your lawyer time to object before you answer a question. If you are unacquainted with the ways of laws and lawyers, you may as well reconcile yourself to the fact that you will be befuddled and confused many times while you are in court. Hut still there is no reason for making yourself Public Fool No. L If you allow yourself to remain calm and un- 6 The Green Caldron affected, you are bound to do credit to yourself and to your side of the case, and you can be sure that you will not be an object of pity or ridicule. Oh yes, one more thing. Don't try to verbally outsmart any of the law- yers. For they are very experienced in twisting both words and thoughts. Perhaps this little conversation between a lawyer and a witness in an accident case will make you aware of that fact: Lawyer: "You were drinking that night, weren't you?" Witness: "Yes, a few highballs." Lawyer: "You drink a great deal, don't you?" Witness: "That's m.y business." Lawyer: "Have you any other business?" Fascism John W. Kuntz Galeshurg Division, Rhetoric II, Theme 4, 1946-1947 FASCISM MAY BE INTERPRETED IN TWO WAYS: FIRST, as a single form of government found formerly in Italy, and now only in Spain, and second, as any totalitarian form of government. I use the latter interpretation, on the basis that all totalitarian states are much the same, from the administrative standpoint. There are a number of things that, when tied together, tend to bring about Fascism. It is extremely doubtful that any single factor could elevate a tyrant to power, and practically all Fascist states have a majority of these elements in common. The initial factor is a sense of national shame. In 1918, two nations, at least, could look backward and see nothing. Germany had known nothing but warlike aggression for half a century. Russia was barely emerging from the feudalistic rule of the Czars, with no cultural or economic advancements since the days of Peter the Great. And even Italy, which rose from the war victorious, could see little improvement over the period prior to 1871, when Garibaldi united the country. All three of these countries were weakened by the war. Germany was, of course, the heavy loser, not only economically but morally. Her leaders were in disgrace; her young men were gone; and she owed millions in repara- tions. Russia was faced with much the same situation, aggravated by the bloody revolution of 1917, and the changes in all social, economic, and political ideas. These two elements, in turn, caused a rebirth of strong national feeling, or intense patriotism. The people looked forward to taking their place among November, 1947 7 the greater nations again. As a result, we find a continuous shifting of gov- ernments, a trial-and-error method of selecting the type of administration that would best lead them to international prominence. Russia adopted and discarded several closely related types before choosing the strongly com- munistic form that we know today. Germany also wavered before setting on what we knew as the Third Reich. These governments developed into definite totalitarian states. In Italy, Benito Mussolini took over the reins of government practically by force, while in Germany, Adolph Hitler combined force and promises so effec- tively that he was elevated to the Chancellorship by the people's vote. In Russia, as always, the masses of people had very little power. A compara- tively small group of men cracked the whip and were constantly vying for the supreme power. The faction led by Josef Stalin was finally successful, whereupon the most important opponent, Leon Trotzky, was banished. It is interesting to note that Stalin represented a national form of communism, while Trotzky advocated international communism. At first these three men. Mussolini. Hitler, and Stalin, were hailed as benefactors. As late as 1932, people in America were hoping "that Roose- velt would do as much for the United States as Mussolini has done for Italy." Hitler, though making his intentions known earlier, had built Germany from a defeated, ill-governed country to a major power, capable of dealing on equal terms with any countr}' in the world. And in Russia, through a series of five- and ten-year plans. Stalin was welding together a nation that, while still far behind the rest of the world in many ways, could command respect and even fear from the other peoples of the earth. Then came the territorial demands. Germany demanded more land, and got it from a world that had been disarming for twenty years. Italy fought for land, in Ethiopia and Albania, and proved to a still hopeful world that the League of Nations, created as an instrument of peace, was nothing but an empty shell of words. Russia, at this time, was saying nothing, but striving desperately to prepare for the holocaust that it must have known was coming. At this time, the people of the Fascist states were too subjugated to do much about the monsters they had created. With the possible exception of Russia, these citizens had had, at one time, the power to rid themselves of their rulers; but they were so intent on building up their country that they were blind to the direction in which they were going. Now it was too late. Their only course was to follow their respective leaders and to hope they knew what they were doing. Fascism never is born full-grown. It is a direct outgrowth of the longing of a people for a stronger government and a better countr}', and ultimately leads to the loss of all government, and a deeper sense of shame than that which first starts the people on their road to self-destruction. The Green Caldron Catalyst Cataclysmic — Sarajevo 1914 Robert M. Albert Rhetoric II, Theme 9, 1946-1947 Y THE SPRIXG OF 1914 A SERIES OF DIPLOMATIC ALLI- ances and international intrigues had focused the attention of European poHtics on the unstable mass in the Balkan crucible. This was not a new experiment; exploitation of the Balkans for the defense of the "great powers" had been obvious since the emergence of national states in Europe. Now only one factor — a quick blast to separate the ele- ments into warring factions — was lacking in the mixture. When Franz Ferdinand of Austria was murdered at Sarajevo, Bosnia, the catalyst was in the caldron, and within six weeks Europe was at war. In the light of present developments it is most important that we understand this Balkan nationalistic feeling that culminated in Sarajevo. The eternal enigma of the crime was, and is, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Even Austrians were uncertain about the purpose and influence of this man; some believed him to be a militarist while others considered him a pacifist. He was equally praised and censured for his plan to unite the Slavic peoples of the Dual Monarchy and to place them on an equal basis with the German and ]\Iag}'ar elements of the population in a system to be known as "Trialism." Whatever value "Trialism" might have had to the Serbs and Bosnians, it was never tried.^ "Serbia did not want good terms from Austria. Her policy was directed towards the destruction of Austria and to paving the way to it by sowing unrest."^ Within the Dual ^Monarchy, the nationalist movement did not really spring from the spirit of the popu- lation, but the nationality question was the thorn in the flesh of the young Austrian, especially if he lived in one or another of the frontier zones. Among all nationalities it was diminutive groups of "intellectuals" who first stirred up the fires.^ Thus we see a murder plotted by a group of Bosnian students who had been expelled from Austrian schools. These students came to be known as emigres when they arrived in Belgrade to plan any number of assassinations to vindicate their personal failures, to avenge Bosnia's oppression by Austria, and to create further unrest against Austria in Slavic countries dominated by the Hapsburgs.* ' S. B. Fay, The Origins of the World War (New York, 1929), Vol. 2, pp. 1-2. 'M. E. Durham, The Sarajevo Crime (London, 1925), p. 26. *Kurt Schuschnigg, Mx Austria (New York, 1938), pp. 15-16. * Fay, op. cit., pp. 129-135. November, 1947 9 During the Easter season of 1914, the Zagreb newspaper, Srbobran, an- nounced that Franz Ferdinand would inspect the Austrian Army in maneuvers in Bosnia. The plotters had previously planned to kill the military governor of Bosnia, General Potiorek, but with publication of the Arch- duke's projected tour, the three assassins, Princip, Chabrinovitch, and Grabezh. gave priority to previous plans to kill the Austrian Heir.' With the aid of the "Black Hand," a terrorist organization which stood for a "Greater Serbia," and the Freemasons, the three assassins proceeded to Sarajevo some three weeks before the Archduke arrived in the Bosnian capital. When they arrived, a fourth conspirator, Danilo Hitch, removed the poison and arms that he had cached under his sofa, and they prepared for the royal visit." Sarajevo is an ancient city of winding streets and alleys, but near the Miljachka River there is a broad street lined with buildings on one side and a low wall near the river. On this avenue, the Appel Quay, which was the principal route of the Archduke. Hitch had stationed his youthful murderers on Sunday, June 28, 1914. Chabrinovitch was near the Cumurja Bridge with two assistants. Princip was farther up the Quay on the river side. Grabezh was looking for a go(Kl place near the Town Hall where he would not be interfered with by police or bystanders.' The .Archduke and his party arrived at approxiniatciy ten a.m.; after a brief inspection of local troops, they proceeded to the Town Hall. An amazing number of local citizenry, notably unhampered by police lines, had assembled to see them pass. In the party were the Archduke, his wife the Duchess of Hohenburg, General Potiorek, and a number of army officers. Tlie Mayor and the Chief of Police led the way to the public welcome.* As the royal suite approached the Cumurja Bridge. Chabrinovitch ignited his bomb and hurled it at the .-Xrchduke's car. The chautTeur saw this action and so speeded the car that the missile landed on the folded top of the open vehicle. W^itnesses cannot agree as to whether the bomb bounced off the car or was thrown by the Archduke. In any event, the bomb detonated l>ehind the royal car and injured an attendant army officer, Lt. Colonel Merizzi. The Archduke inspected the damage and ordered continuance of the march. "Come on. Tlie fellow is insane. Gentlemen, let us proceed with our program."" After hearing the Mayor's address of welcome, the Archiluke expressed the desire to be driven to the hospital to see the injured officer. It was decided that the party should follow a direct route down the Appel Quay instead of the planned tour of the city. In the meantime, Princip, having observed the • Ibid., pp. 111-112. * Durham, op. cit.. pp. 75-80. ' Fay, op. cit., pp. 121-122. •Ibid., p. 124. *Ibid. 10 The Green Caldron failure of the bomb, had crossed the street to await the return of the inspec- tion party. On reaching Franz Josef Street, the Mayor's car turned as originally planned. General Potiorek halted the drivers and explained the change of route. This was the fatal corner. Princip, who had chosen Franz Josef Street as a vantage point, now stepped forth and fired point-blank into the Arch- duke's car. The first shot pierced the Archduke's neck, and the second, aimed at General Potiorek, killed the Duchess.^" Even had the royal per- sonages escaped Princip's attack, they would have found it next to impossible to leave Sarajevo alive. Hitch's reserve assassins lurked in all the various places that the distinguished guests were to have visited.^^ War had become inevitable. Austria sent an ultimatum demanding Serbian apology and reaffirmation of neighborly conduct. Serbia's reply was unsatisfactory, and the World War precipitated.^^ ''Ibid., p. 126. " Literary Digest, 49 (July 11, 1914), 46. "William Archer, The Thirteen Days (Oxford, 1915), pp. 13-25. BIBLIOGRAPHY Archer, William, The Thirteen Days, July 23-August 4, 1914, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1915. "The Austrian Tragedy," The Nation, 99 (July 2, 1914) , 5-6. Durham, Mary Edith, The Sarajevo Crime, London, George Allen and Unwin Lim- ited, 1925. Fay, Sidney Bradshaw, The Origins of the World War, Vol. 2, New York, The Macmillan Company, 1929. Literary Digest, 49 (July 11, 1914), 46. The Nation, 99 (July 2, 1914), 1. ScHuscHNiGG, KuRT, My Austria, New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 1938. Jewels in a Hurricane There were bright, shiny pieces of jewelry in the window of my uncle's store. There were watches and rings and pins — and they were very pretty. Inside the store there was purple paint on the walls and men in front of the walls who sold my uncle's jewelry, which was in cases in front of the men. In front of the cases was the place where people stood to give the men in front of the walls money for my uncle's jewelry. My uncle made lots of money from the people who bought his watches and rings and pins and — he made lots of money for many years. Then the big wind, the Mars from the south, came, bringing water with it. The windows of the store caved in. The purple walls were ruined, the cases were destroyed, and the jewelry was lost. The people in front of the cases and the men in front of the walls escaped, but this wind and water and fury lost my uncle's money for him. It was that day that the greatest thing in his life happened. He found salvation in that he had his life still to live, that it was not washed away with his jewelry. — Arthur H. Stromberg November, 1947 11 A Farewell to Arms By Ernest Hemingway William H. Hitt Rhetoric I, Book Rei-iew 2, 1946-1947 rrp^HE PUBLICATION OF A FAREWELL TO ARMS EIGHTEEN I years ago evoked a storm of literary controversy which has not yet -^ died. New appraisals of Hemingway's work are appearing continually. In view of this, it may seem presumptuous to offer a new analysis. Yet, after rereading A Farewell to Arms and reading some of the critical com- mentaries on it, I believe what I have to say will be at least partly original. Ernest Hemingway has been the object of a stream of adjectives, not a few of them invectives. If one were to heed critics like Ford Madox Ford or Bernard DeVoto, he would have to accept Hemingway as either an angel or a devil. DeVoto can scarcely find any good in A Farc^vell to Arms, and Ford can find no evil. Critics generally have either praised Hemingway for his objectivity and realism or condemned him for his fatalistic view of life and his preoccupation with death. On two points the critics have concurred — the brilliance of Heming\vay's style and the narrowness of his subject matter. A Farewell to Arms is concerned with the lives of two people fighting in Italy during World War I. Frederic Henry and Catherine Barkley are caught in the maddening stream of a world gone berserk, a stream from which there is no visible escape, except death. They try to escape, and for a time it seems they have succeeded but the stream still flows around them and thev have nothing to hold on to except one another. And then — crown- ing touch ! — Catherine dies in childbirth. The one thing of value to them, their love, indirectly causes her death. "Broken is the golden bowl. . . ." The reader feels that Frederic Henry is dead also, and that the whole world is dead. When critics attack A Farewell to Arms, they point to the atmosphere of death that pervades it. to the portrayal of life as futile, to the sensuality and lack of spiritual values; and they say that it is wrong, that life is not like that. They are repulsed by what is clearly a negative picture of life. This, right now, does not seem to me a valid criticism. Perhaps I, too, when I reach the winter of my age, will be horrified at the thought of death, but now it holds no particular revulsion for me. I am more inclined to be interested. The only validity of this criticism is the obvious fact that in showing us death Hemingway has limited himself. He cannot show us life in a death scene. Whether his opinion of death is right or wrong is for the philosopher 12 The Green Caldron or the scientist to tell us. Until they do tell us, we will have to use the old- fashioned criterion of judging for ourselves. Moreover, it is not entirely correct to say the book deals solely with the negatives of life. Frederic Henry shows boundless courage and resolution. It is a strength of character that is in all of Hemingway's writings. It has been labeled various things — I call it strength of character; Clifton Fadiman calls it "small-boy Spartanism." That seems to be an unwar- ranted jest. Frederic Henry's uncomplaining, fearless acceptance of his lot is an intrinsic part of the book. It is remembered with pleasure. The telling of the story is the supreme thing. If I were to describe this, I would have to copy here the whole novel. It is written in matchless prose, new, terse, and beautiful — aptly called "sure-footed, athletic." While read- ing it, one feels in touch with a well-disciplined mind. The lucidity, con- ciseness, and original juxtaposition of words produce a powerful effect. Furthermore, the style and theme are ideally matched. For the things he wanted to say, Hemingway created the perfect method of expression. The one thing that places A Farewell to Arms in a unique class, how- ever, is Hemingway's creative ability. A vast majority of contemporary novels are the product of talent; A Farewell to Arms is the product of genius. Vitality and power are never created by accident, nor can they ever be imitated. A Farewell to Arms will perhaps never have universal appeal. It will always be a picture of the futility and despair of war; but it will also always be a masterful work of art. First Flight Robin Good Rhetoric II, Theme 4, Summer, 1947 IT WAS A HOT MIDSUMMER DAY IN SOUTHERN ILLINOIS. The parched earth of the field was baked and cracked in the heat, and the sparse grass was brittle and grey with dust. Without the relief of the subtlest suggestion of a breeze, the sun seemed to beat down with a vengeance upon my uncle and me. We had just agreed that only mad dogs. Englishmen, and prospective pilots would wait half an hour in such heat. The explanation for our mild insanity was simple: I, who had never been within spitting distance of a plane, was about to take my first flying lesson. On this, my red-letter day, I was suffering from butterflies in the tummy, impatient anticipation, and slight nervous prostration all rolled into one. Just before I began to tear out my hair by the fistfuls and hysterically November, 1947 13 scream "The Wild Blue Yonder," a quiet voice at my elbow spoke: "Hello, Miss Good. I'm your flight instructor, Ray Clark. If you're ready, we'll begin the ground instructions." I turned to face a slight, sun-bumed young man. "He looks just like Sinatra !" I thought, and my bobby-soxer heart leaped in my breast. Really, this was too much for a fifteen-year-old to bear in one day! I followed him to the hangar in quiet ecstasy. Without the slightest warning that he was about to do something remarkable. "Frankie" seized the tail of a little yellow Piper Cub and pulled it out into the sunlight. My adoration was complete. I would have crash-dived my plane if he had shown me how. "And now, Miss Good, if you'll come around to the left side of the plane, I'll show you the controls." I went blindly. Leaning on the side opening which had been let down, I peered into the six-by-five-by-four, glassed-in cockpit and tried to look intelligent as he pointed out the knobs, levers, dials, and sticks. He had the nicest smile! "You notice the tandem seating arrangement. I shall be in the front seat during all lessons. This is because you will eventually have to make your solo flight from the rear seat, and the position should be entirely familiar to you." And the bluest eyes ! "At the front of the cockpit are the gauges, much like those on the dash- board of a car. Later you will learn to watch their readings but for the present I'll merely explain their uses." lie pointed to the dials. Left-handed. Xo wedding ring! There was still hope, anyway ! "This dial is an altimeter. It will tell you how far you are flying above the pcjint of take-off, although not how far you are above the ground over which you are passing." He glanced at me to see if I had understood the delicate distinction. I gave him what I hoped was a brilliant smile. "This next dial is the air speed indicator. You will have to watch this carefully on stalls, spins, glides, and landings. On these maneuvers a slow air speed is necessary; but at any other time it is dangerous, as the plane may easily stall and go into a spin." Having lost track of the thought a few sentences back on the word "s()ins," I stared fixedly at the locks of curling brown hair which had escaped a pushed-back cap and fallen on his forehead. "Terrific!" I thought. "Just like Frankie!" "This dial is called a tachometer. It is an indicator of the revolutions per minute of the engine. You will have to keep an eye on it when changing the power of the engine while in flight. These two gauges are for the tempera- ture and oil pressure, respectively. This instrument above the board you 14 The Green Caldron have probably already recognized as a compass." (I hadn't noticed.) "This last, funny-looking gadget on the board is called a ball bank indicator. It looks like a carpenter's level and works on much the same basis. If you make a banked turn correctly, the ball in the liquid will remain in the center; if not, the ball will slide to one side or the other. That's all there is to the control board. These instruments are all probably very confusing to you at the moment, but you'll soon learn to know them." I seized this moment to give him my "Fm-a-lost-little-girl" look, and was rewarded with a gor-r-rgeous grin. "Before you become too discouraged, we'll proceed to the manipulating instruments. The rod which sticks up from the floor in front of the seat is called the 'stick.' To tip the plane to the right or left, you move the stick to the respective side. This regulates the ailerons (those moveable strips on the back of the wings), moving one up and the other down. If you want the plane to go up or down, you move the stick backward or forward, re- spectively. This time it moves the elevators (the two flat pieces on either side of the tail)." I decided that he would probably sound like Frankie when he sang. Such a lovely speaking voice ! "On each side of the forward seat, on the floor, is a pedal. These you naturally manipulate with your feet: one foot forward, the other back. They wiggle the rudder, or fin, on the tail." I looked. The tail wiggled. "With the rudder you turn the plane to the right or left. The next thing is this lever in a slot on the left wall of the cockpit. It is the throttle, used to regulate the speed. To get more power you push the lever forward. This small black knob is a very important little number called the ignition switch. It must be on all the way before the engine can be started. That seems to be about all. No, I almost forgot the 'trimmer.' It's this crank low on the left wall. You use it to 'trim ship,' or evenly distribute the weight of the plane. Any questions?" I had plenty; but I thought I could ask him about his age, hometown, and (I hated the thought) fiancees at a more appropriate time. "Suppose we go up for a little ride, then. I'll show you how the instru- ments work in the air." I tried to get into the plane gracefully, but I just couldn't. I didn't mind a bit, though, because like a knight errant he responded to my plight and helped me in. Not only that — he fastened my safety belt! "That's right: left hand on the throttle, right on the stick, and feet on the rudders. Ready? Contact!" Flying was going to be fun ! November, 1947 15 Beyond the Blue Horizon F Dorothy Sherrard Rhetoric II, Theme 13, 1946-1947 7IOR MANY YEARS. THE CHILDREN OF AMERICA HAVE been at loose ends during most of the summer. When the school doors are thrown wide in June, thousands of students are left with- out constructive interests, wholesome recreation, or opportunities for sum- mer learning. In countless ways the American Youth Hostel movement is attempting to til! up this summer gap, and at the same time to develop better qualities in the young people. Hosteling has been defined thus: "A 'back to nature' recreation movement of middle class intellectual youth of high school and college age."' The traits that the hostel association is attempting to promote sound impressive: independence, self-reliance, cooperation, and knowledge of the histor>', beauty, industry, and resources of our countr)-.* To the boys and girls themselves, the reasons for hosteling are more simple. They say, "It's sociable." They like hosteling because it gives them a chance to meet people, and "to learn other customs and languages."' The youth hostel movement itself began in Europe in 1910. A German schoolteacher, Robert Schirrmann, was in the habit of taking his pupils for long hikes in connection witli the nature, sociology-, and geography classes. Always, however, they faced the same difficulty: arranging for a place to stay all night. Seeing that other teachers were having the same difficulty, Richard Schirrmann opened the attic of his schoolhouse to overnight hikers. Soon the humble stopping place became so popular that he converted an ancient family castle into a permanent hostel, and thus the movement was born. The European hostelers, or IVanden'oegcl* as they are called, soon hiked over all of Europe, and in their wake left a chain of four thousand, two hundred hostel links in nineteen European countries.* The most prominent hosteling countries before the war were Czechoslovakia, Holland, Denmark, the Scandinavian countries, France, Belgium, and of course Germany.* The movement spread rapidly to Great Britain, and the islands became threaded with cyclist paths from northernmost Scotland to the London 'John and Mavis Biesanz, "Social Distance in the Youth Hostel Movement," Sociology and Social Research, 25 ( Fanuarv. 1941), 237. •G. D. Shultz. ".\- Hosteling We Go!" Better Homes and Gardens. 18 (June. 1^40). 88. * Biesanz, op. cit., p. 240. * li'anden'oegel — birds of passage. G. G. Telfer, "Youth Follows New Trails," Parents Magazine, 10 (July, 1935), 65. •"Hosteling Boom." Newsweek, 14 (November 6. 1939), i3. •T. D. Young. "To See What's Over the Hill." Rotarian, 48 (.\pril. 1936), 11-12. 16 The Green Caldron plain; from the Dover Straits through all of Ireland. The Andrew Carnegie Foundation gave the English much assistance in getting started with a donation of one hundred thousand dollars. Scotland likewise received aid with a sum of ten thousand dollars.' The movement was first introduced into America by Mr. and Mrs. Monroe Smith, a young couple attending school in Philadelphia. Smith and his wife Isabel were commissioned in 1933 by Columbia University to lead a group of high school pupils through Europe. The trip was a success; and from seeing the great service that the hostels in Europe were doing, the Smiths began to consider the idea for America. That same winter the Smiths were invited to attend the second International Conference of Youth Hostels, and at that meeting they were appointed to initiate the movement in the United States. In 1934 the Smiths again conducted thirty- five wide- eyed American youngsters on an international tour. These hostelers joined Danish, Scottish, German, Swiss, Norwegian, and Swedish young people on the road, and lived, worked, and played with them on hostel trails. In October of that same year at the Third International Youth Hostel Conference in London, the United States officially joined as the eighteenth member of the group.* The first American youth hostel. The Richard Schirrmann International Youth Hostel, was built in Xorthfield, Massachusetts, by Monroe and Isabel Smith. It opened at Christmas time, 1934, when two hundred and fifty boys and girls spent the holidays tobogganing, skating, skiing, and snowshoeing. In the next two months four hundred guests passed through; by spring, a chain of twenty-five hostels had extended out through the White ^Mountains and back through the Green ^Mountains. The youth hostel movement was well on the way to success.^ In order to get a clear picture of the American Youth Hostel movement, it would perhaps be best to plan an imaginary tour. The first step to take is to contact the national headquarters at Xorthfield, Massachusetts. The office, managed by the Smiths, is staffed by twenty-nine 3^oung people, most of whom are planning to make a career of social service." From this office, a prospective traveler will get his American Youth Hostel pass, costing one dollar and fifty cents for young people and two dollars and fifty cents for adults. With this pass comes the AYH handbook, the Knapsack, with com- plete traveling instructions and equipment requirements. Also included in this manual is a complete list of tours." A hosteler has the whole of the Americas at his feet: the beautiful Rhododendron Valley of West Virginia, the North Carolina Smoky Mountains, the entire Lake Michigan region, the \Jbid., p. 47. ^ *G. G. Telfer, op. cit., pp. 25-63, passim. nbid. "D. H. John, "Hosteling with Young America," Christian Science Monitor (June 1, 1940), 4. " Dickey Aleyer, "Youth Hostels, U. S. A.," Seventeen (May, 1947), 96. November. 1947 17 Ozarks of Missouri, the Puget Sound region, the Berkshires, the kettle moraine of Wisconsin, Niagara. Colorado. One can shut his eyes and choose Chile, Alaska, Xova Scotia, Quebec, Bolivia, the Gaspc.'* What better way could there be to further Pan-American relations than by threading the countries together with miles of hostel trails? The trails have all been personally inspected, most of those in the United States by Margaret Brewster. "Mitzi" has toured Canada, the West, and New England for the American Youth Hostels Incorporated, and has in- spected all the paths, trails, and hostels. She intends to make hosteling her life work, and has begun by serving as inspector. Her job is to see that the trails are good, that the hostels are adequate and well spaced, and that new trails are being added to the present itinerary." The only law for hosteling is this: "Travel under your own steam."'* By disobeying this rule, a traveler defeats the purpose of hosteling and s|)oils the enjoyment for himself and others. In all phases of hosteling this idea is emphasized: have fun yourself and make it fun for others. An example of this is the unwritten code which says that a hostel must be left neater than it is found. The hostels or overnight hotels are generally alike. They are all gov- erned in the same way: they are in charge of a house-mother, and she and the group leaders hold the responsibility for government and discipline. The rules arc few and simple. Usually there is no smoking allowed, l)oth l>ecause of danger of fire and resulting "wind shortage." Drinking is definitely banned; lights must be out by ten p.m.; campers are e.xpected to be on the road by nine in the mf)rning. Each person is e.xpected to help care for the hostel and aid in the preparation of meals. In return, the hostels provide shelters about fifteen miles apart all along the trails. The homes usually consist of sleeping quarters for boys and girls, separate sanitary facilities, recreation rooms, kitchens, and dining rooms." Operated on a strictly local basis, each is sponsored by a committee of ministers, teachers, professional men, and representatives of local civic organizations in the community. This committee selects the hostel parents.'" For the travelers, the j)rocedure of entry into a hostel is simple. I'sually the hostel parents are notified in advance, either by postal card or by a tele- l)hone call from a noon stop-over. W'hen the guests arrive, they register, pay their twi-nty-five or thirty-cent fuel fee, and surrender their passes. The sponsor keeps these passes until the next morning when the travelers start out again. In this way any hosteler may be suspended from membership because of ill-conduct merely by the retention of the pass in the morning. "John. loc. cit. "".American Scene: Merrily We Roll," American Magazine, 129 (April, 1940), 121. ""Hosteling Boom," loc. cit. "Telfer, op. cit., p. 24. "John. loc. cit. 18 The Green Caldron There is no better insurance for good behavior than the threat of suspension. Another routine of checking-in at the hostels is very much appreciated by the parents at home. When each traveler arrives, he is given an "arrival card," describing the location and surroundings. The hosteler needs only to fill in the date, the address, and his name, and the card will be sent to his home. This simple procedure undoubtedly saves countless nights of w^orry for the stay-at-home parents, and relieves the hostelers of an unwelcome duty.^^ The hostels, in providing for the Wanderuoegel, furnish, besides the shelter, beds and heavy blankets, heavy cooking utensils, and recreational facilities. Thus the camper has only to "tote" his sheet sleeping-bag, his mess kit, soap and towels, a change in socks and underwear, a raincoat, a first-aid kit, and perhaps a few personal items. If the hosteler goes by bicycle, either rented from the association or his own, he usually will carry a tool kit. In any case, the load is light, and the hostelers are unburdened as they make their journeys across the country.^* Statistics vary grossly concerning the number and ages of hostelers to date. The most reliable source, Parents Magazine, places the yearly travelers for 1944 at fifteen thousand, staying as eleven million guests in five thousand hostels in twenty-five countries. The ages vary from four to ninety- four. ^^ Despite this number, one hostel parent spoke for many when he said: "I have never met a discourteous or dishonest hosteler. Careless, yes, sometimes, because youth is often that, but no more."^° This statement is a superlative compliment to the American Youth Hostel Association and to the people who have organized it. The hostels are located in widely different surroundings. The one near Northfield utilizes barns, houses, a schoolhouse, and a garage, and has a capacity of one hundred. Other hostels are located in almost every conceiv- able building. The college retreat at Mt. Holyoke is one; the University of Illinois football stadium was another in peacetime. Thousands of civic organizations have donated their summer homes, and many schools throw open their gymnasiums during holidays. The majority of homes, however, are simple farm houses of middle-class people. The couples who manage them delight in their young guests far more than they consider the meager monetary return. And, logically, the campers appreciate these friendly, democratic people who open their doors and hearts every evening.^^ " Telfer, op. cit., p. 64. ""Youth Hostels Shelter Young Travelers," Hygeta, U (October, 1935), 952. "L. N. Day and L. Kistler, "Vacation the Hostel Way," Parents Magazine, 20 (May, 1945), 62. ^^ G. Sevringhaus, "Something New in Family Vacations," Parents Magazine, 15 (July. 1940), 44. "John, /or. cit. November, 1947 19 The importance of youth hostel movements can perhaps be measured by examj^les of war activities. In the United States, hostelers took to the farms by the thousands. Becoming summer migrant workers, these teen-age travelers moved up and down both coasts doing seasonal farm work. In Britain, the hostelers also went to the fields, and aided in other ways, be- coming air-raid wardens, plane spotters, coastal patrollers, and emergency first-aid workers. The Nazis realized they were bucking a powerful enemy when they came in contact with the International Youth Hostel. "After a day away from home . . . German Nazis . . . danced with German Jew- esses in the central London hostel in 1939. A few days later a German boy talked with Jewish refugees."" This was a distinct menace to the Nazi Youth Movement, which ultimately solved the problem in its own way by taking over the hostels. During the war, all continental hostels were subjected to Nazi regime and were used by the Hitler Youth. Members of the Nazi party became house parents, and troops of uniformed, singing, swastika-waving boys and girls invaded the hostel trails. Other groups have similarly adopted the hostels for their own purposes, recognizing their prestige. The Catholic church has founded its own hostels for Catliolic youth. Some Scottish and Irish associations are utilizing the idea to further nationalism. Several English hostels are reputedly advancing the idea of continuing to stereotype English youth.*' But all these groups are fortunately in the minority, and the importance of furthering international fellowship is triumphing in spite of impediments. The future of the hostels is bright. More and more people are beginning to realize the larger values of this organization.'* The international trend is being realized in current overseas movements. Eight sixty-eight-day projects are being planned for this summer (1947). A hundred young people are leaving the L'nited States to begin rebuilding the hostels in Holland, Luxem- burg, and the French Alps.** This movement, along with proposed tours of all parts of the world, will do much to further international good will. Other important future plans are being formulated. A reconverted troop ship is being fitted to travel between England, France, and America. The Youth Argosy"^ will shuttle across the Atlantic, costing the hostel members the unbelievable sum of twenty-five dollars.*^ In the United States, plans are being made to follow old historical trails across the continent: Daniel Boone's trail, the pioneer trails of the North, the Santa Fe trail, the Gold Rush trail, " Biesanz, o/>. cit., p. 239. "J. Biesanz. "Youth ITostels." Sociology and Social Research, 26 (May, 1924). 445-6. ** The puri>ose has heen said to be to nurture love of nature. The by-prmluct is in- creased international understanding. "It may come about that in the long run, the by-product will be the most important product." Young, of>. cit., p. 10. " Meyer, op. cit.. p. 192. "* Named after the famous adventure ship in Homer's Iliad. " Day, loc. cit. 20 The Green Caldron the New England settlement trail. River trips up and down the Connecticut are being planned, as well as other sea adventures.^® Perhaps the most auspicious large-scale plans involved are the cross-continental tours. Two spe- cially built trains will leave the opposite sides of the continent, from San Francisco and Montreal, and will slowly cross the United States, stopping often for side trips. Hostelers can use the railroad cars for home base, and see both northern and southern America in one summer.^^ With such influential and hearty backers as John L. Winant, the Ameri- can Council of Educators, the YMCA and the YWCA, the World Alliance of Friendship through Churches, Smith, Mt. Holyoke, Cambridge Univer- sity, and other famous colleges;^" with the enthusiastic interest and dreams of the thousands of hostelers, would-be hostelers, and hostel alumni; and with inspirational leaders like Isabel and Monroe Smith, the American Youth Hostels cannot help but grow, inspire, and continue to teach the ideals which they set up. Franklin D. Roosevelt said, "I was brought up on this sort of thing and realize the need for hosteling. . . . This was the best education I ever had — far better than schools."^^ ""Telfer, op. cit., p. 65. ^ R. Cassidy, "Youth Journeys and Social Sciences," Recreation, 32 (April, 1938), 44. ** Telfer, /or. cit. " As quoted in "Hosteling Boom," loc. cit. BIBLIOGRAPHY "American Scene: Merrily We Roll," American Magazine, 129 (April, 1940), 121-4. BiESANZ, J., "Youth Hostels," Sociology and Social Research, 26 (May, 1942), 437-49. BiES-ANZ, John and Mavis, "Social Distance in the Youth Hostel," Sociologv and Social Research, 25 (January, 1941), 237-45. Cassidy, R., "Youth Journeys and Social Sciences," Recreation, 32 (April, 1938), 3-5 ff. Day, L. N., and Kistler, L., "Vacation the Hostel Way," Parents Magazine, 20 (Alay, 1945), 38-9. Grodman, E. v., "Traveling the Youth Hostel Way," Travel, 74 (March, 1940), 39. "Hosteling Boom," Nezvszi'eek, 14 (November 6, 1939), 33. "Hostels for Friendship," Literary Digest, 120 (December 28, 1935), 19. JoHX, D. H., "Hosteling with Young America," Christian Science Monitor (June 1, 1940), 4. Knapsack (A. Y. H. Handbook), Northfield, Massachusetts, National Headquarters of A. Y. H. Inc., 1935, 1936, 1938, 1940, 1941, 1944. Meyer, Dickey, "Youth Hostels, U. S. A.," Seventeen (May, 1947), 96-7 ff. Mullen, R. P., "Hiking and Biking," Christian Science Monitor (June 1, 1940), 4. "Now That Spring Is Here," Parents Magazine, 21 (May, 1946), 166-7. Sevringhaus, G., "Something New in Family Vacations," Parents Magazine, 15 (July, 1940), 22-3. Shultz, G. D., "A-Hosteling We Go!" Better Homes and Gardens, 18 (June, 1940), 40 ff. Telfer, G. G., "Second Thoughts on Youth Hostels," Parents Magazine, 12 (August, 1937). 22 ff. November, 1947 21 "Youth Follows New Trails," Parents Magazine, 10 (July, 1935), 24-5 ff. Young. T. D., "To See What's Over the Hill," Rolanan, 48 (April, 1936), 10-12 ff. "Youth Hits the Hostel Trail!" Rotarian, 55 (October, 1939), 12-15. "Youth Hostels," Parents Magazine, 9 (June, 1944), 58. "Youth Hostels Are Here," Nature Magazine, 15 (June, 1935), 285 ff. "Youth Hostels Shelter Young Travelers," Hygeia, 13 (October, 1935), 952. Wing, A. and J., "Knapsacks Aweigh," Scribner's Commentator, 10 (September, 1941), 21-4. The American Picture of Turkey When you are in a foreign country, you are always subject to questions about your own. These questions arise whenever you meet someone ; next to the weather they are the favorite topic of conversation. I have been in the United States for one year, and during this time I have heard nearly unbelievable ques- tions about Turkey. I don't know^ whether I taught my questioners anything, but I can say that I learned many things from them: I learned what the American picture of Turkey is. This picture is composed of Arabian styled houses, sultans, harems, camels, pyramids, red fezzes, veils, and various other oriental curiosities. If you talk to an American about modern houses, men and women dressed in European style, monogamous marriage, trains and buses, presidents and parties, he is disap- pointed; he doesn't want to believe you. Cigarette packages still have pictures of camels and deserts associated with Turkish tobacco, though there is not any desert in Turkey; and the encyclopedias still print very old pictures dating before the first W'orld War. The American people should realize that the only "camels" in Turkey are put out by the Reynolds Tobacco Company. Young people dance the tango, the swing, and the rhumba, and when one of Lana Turner's or Hedy Lamarr's pictures is in town — wow! — Nevzat Gomec What It Means to See Have you ever been blind all your life and then been given the power of sight? I have. I know what it means to see. I had lived all my life on a hill overlooking a town in Alaska. I had heard and mastered all the sounds and drawn my own pictures, but I'll never forget the day when they took the bandages off my eyes. It was late summer and the air was cool and sweet. My mind was a blank, empty space. Then, slowly and growing brighter, a brilliant color appeared. Then another, and another. Things began to take shape. I had heard all about these things, but they seemed strange and beautiful. I could not tell the names of the colors, but at the time I didn't care. Then everything became clear and sharp. Monstrous, forbidding, ice-capped mountains loomed up around me. Their great rolling sides were darkened with trees. In contrast to this, the brilliant sky, and from it the sun, shone so brightly, I had to turn my eyes. As I did so, I saw something awesome and wondrous, the waterfall. The water seemed to leap from the mountain high up and drop like a shining ribbon for a hundred or more feet. Then it disappeared in a gleaming mist. In that mist was a rainbow, and the feeling I experienced then I shall never know again. It seemed as though this day, so clear and fresh, was God's gift to me. — D. Erickson, Navy Pier 22 The Green Caldron Opening Night Peter Fleischmann Rhetoric I, Theme 2, 1946-1947 I rrr^HE THEATER WAS EMPTY AND QUIET. THE LIGHTS were already on. Here and there an usher moved around, distributing stacks of programs, so that they would be handy once the crowd came. Although the stage and the orchestra pit were almost deserted, the entire hall seemed to be getting ready for something big. Street noises, the honking of cars, the clappity-clap of shoes as people hurried past the theater in the dusk, and the ringing of trolley cars were but slight disturbances to the atmosphere here inside. As time passed by, people started arriving. Ushers showed them to their seats, some in the orchestra, a few in the balconies and boxes. They sat down and talked quietly, leafing through their programs, some of them turning around when someone new entered the auditorium. More and more people came. Men wore tails, and their ladies were attired in glittering evening gowns. Their names, if compiled, would read like the combination of the Hollywood telephone directory, the New York Social Register, and Who's Who. By now the theater resembled the inside of a beehive. People hustled up and down the aisles or stood around in groups talking, some excitedly and some quietly. Ushers mingled with the crowd, either showing newcomers to their seats or offering refreshments for sale. Here and there a flash-bulb went off, as press-photographers recorded this night of nights for posterity. In the meantime the stage and the orchestra pit had assumed signs of life. Noises came from backstage, and the curtain swayed gently as people pushed against it. In the pit violins were being tuned, clarinets ran through scales, the brass section hurriedly rehearsed a passage from the score, and the roar of tympani was quite distinguishable from the tune of the harp. Still more people entered the hall, and as the crowd increased, so did the excitement. Suddenly a ripple of applause ran through the audience as a tall, thin gentleman entered one of the boxes — a well-known composer. Quickly the commotion in the pit died down. House lights dimmed, foot- lights grew bright, and a few late comers scrambled for their seats. The audience settled back in their seats expectantly. A gray-haired, distinguished- looking man, the conductor, took his position at the head of the orchestra to the accompaniment of applause. He looked around, raised his baton — and the musical ensemble responded with one of the loveliest melodies ever written. November, 1947 23 A Night in Kam's SiGRID IbEN Rhetoric II. Theme 12, 1946-1947 CAN I EVER FORGET THE SATURDAY NIGHT ON WHICH I was introduced to Kam's! I was plastic clay all eager for impres- sions, but do not think that I was unprepared! I had heard the "Student Prince," had read of young Shelley and all the wicked gaiety of college life. Armed with knowledge and conscious virtue, I sailed into the iniquitous den on the arm of the worldly Mack. Den it was. Picture it — the dim, dark recesses plastered with beer labels; the animated shadows bearing beer bottles in uplifted hands; the ancient rites consisting of weird knocks on the table, sudden jabs, and grotesque contortions ending in deafening shouts of "Cardinal Puff!"; the smoke rings, spirals, and puffs mating in the upper atmosphere; the cries of "chugalug!" and the hoarse and illus- trated renditions of "This Is Table Number One" and "Allouette." Behold the crowds as we make our way through to the farthest booth held down by Mack's fraternity brothers and countless bottles of beer — was there ever such worldly wisdom on youthful countenances — such enviable sophistication, such wit. and such knowing winks, such esoteric laughter? I know superiority when I see it; I was pr<)[>erly awed. I remember once at the age of three when I found a penny and told the young gentleman of five next door that I was going to Schreibers Hardware Store and buy an ice cream cone with it. His scorn was tremendous! I felt the same crest- fallen humility now, intensified by the realizatiiui t1i.it afttr fiftetMi vears I had not gained in self-possession. But here was our destination; here was the youtii ini rusted willi ihc awful dignity of making the men of Omicron Omega Phi the hardest-drinking. wittiest, most daring, most woman-killing, and least grade-conscious fra- ternity on campus. They were qualified. Once I was comfortably ensconced between Mack and a beanpole called Boo who made horrible grimaces every few minutes to indicate the need for more beer, I began to feel as though I might some day learn the mysteries and belong. After all, I was one woman among four men — hardly a bad beginning. I made certain observations: Mack was evidently a prodig}'; all evening he orated with commendable fixity of purpose and appropriate gestures. When he got tired of one subject, he switched to another; he hardly stopped for beer — not to mention potato chips or rebuttals. I marvelled and passed on. Directly opposite me was a very gratifying young man: every time I smiled he complimented my intelligence; truly, in the 24 The Green Caldron words of the sage, inner worth is apparent on the surface. Next to him sat a young man, known as Art, with a newly-mown cranium over which a bright and inebriated youth, supported by the Lord knows what, now and again passed his fingers, smiUng blissfully the while, no doubt under the illusion that it was his favorite terrier. Its only effect on Art was to lull him more deeply into the trance which I later discovered was his habitual state. But now came my downfall. Someone offered me a cigarette — I didn't smoke ! Someone rammed a beer down my throat — I didn't drink ! Mack stopped orating, Boo stopped grimacing, Ed just stopped, and Art woke up ! Mack dragged me out, home, and deposited me on my doorstep. That night I went to bed with the horrible realization that I would never become a college woman. Poi Leroy F, Mumford Galeshurg Division, Rhetoric II, Theme 2, 1946-1947 '^VERY TRUE HAWAIIAN IS A LOVER OF POI; HIS LIFE 1 is not complete without it. Poi, a food originating in the Hawaiian Islands, constitutes the major portion of the diet of the native popu- lation. Poi is a fermented paste made from the roots of the taro plant, which are all gathered by hand, then pounded into a thick, sticky, whitish, dough- like substance. Poi, in this first stage, has a flat taste, but this is the only stage at which it is edible by individuals who are new to the "Crossroads of the Pacific." It will never meet the approval of the native in this condition. The paste must first be placed in the sun to ferment. The fermentation process changes the color of the paste to a shade of light tan. It also changes the taste considerably. To the uneducated tongue, poi is a unique experience, one that really defies description. Suffice it to say, it is now sour, bitter, and the last thing in the world one wants to eat. Nevertheless, it is the piece de resistance for the true Hawaiian. Poi has the same place in Hawaii that the Irish potato has in the United States. It is eaten in nearly every manner and form imaginable. It is served hot, cold, and lukewarm. It can be baked, boiled, or stewed. It can be part of the appetizer, entree, or dessert. If the Hawaiian hostess wants complete success she serves poi at every meal. Her reputation as a connois- seur of fine food soon becomes established. The Hawaiian thrives on poi, but it becomes a real treat for him when it is mixed with raw fish. To any stranger this mixture looks weird. One November, 1947 25 taste will usually bear out this impression. A native Hawaiian finds it very difficult to believe that everyone doesn't immediately like his "staff of life." There are various ways in which poi is classified. One method is by the color. The common variety is tan in color, but one will also find pink, red, and light blue poi. The colored poi is really considered to be a delicacy to get excited over; and for this reason, it brings a much better price on the market. The color is the result of the selection of particular types of taro roots. These special varieties are rather limited, so that explains the esteem in which they are held. Pink poi is the least plentiful of all and it is the variety one will find served at all government dinners. It can be added that the color has little effect on the taste for the inexperienced poi-eater. Poi is eaten with the fingers, and only with the fingers. The natives insist this is the only way in which one can secure the full flavor of the dish. This method of eating leads into another classification, determined by the con- sistency: one-finger poi, two-finger jKji, and three-finger poi. The one-finger poi is the thickest, permitting an ample amount to be conveyed to the mouth on one finger. Two-finger poi is the most popular of all the varieties. The three-finger poi is very thin, and the least popular, best suited for babies and the aged. Eating poi with the fingers is really an art. an art difficult to master. The index and second fingers are the ones most commonly used. One must hold these fingers rigidly together and lower them slowly into the dish of poi. He must move his fingers in a clockwise motion continually, withdraw them suddenly, and then transport the accumulated material to the mouth. It is considered very good manners to emit audible sounds while in the process of removing the sticky paste from the fingers. Poi has been known on the islands since the beginning of their history, and from all indications this fermented product of the taro root will continue to be a vital item in the life and economy of the Hawaiians. Holiday in England Waterloo station on an English holiday is like a mass meeting of homeless people. I say homeless because they seem to have most of their belongings with them. Bicycles, lunch baskets, blankets, and pillows clutter the platforms and the entire station floor. Hackney coaches looking like moving vans keep driving up and unloading more peojjle and bicycles. For each track there are at least three queues which resemble endless caravans. Children gnawing biscuits and hollering at every Yank the constant phrase, "Any gum chum" ; babies screaming dcafen- ingly; women with cigarettes hanging from their lips, knitting socks and sweaters for their sons overseas; men flipping snuff into their noses and discussing the \'-bombs: and bobbies, like Roman soldiers with their speared helmets, trying desperately to maintain order make up a confusion that a jammed Yankee Stadium couldn't equal. — A. P. Kasprovich, Community High School, Granite City 26 The Green Caldron One More Load Charles N. Watkins Rhetoric I, Theme 2, 1946-1947 «* ^^-^HARLES ! GET UP! HAVE TO GET AROUND EARLY THIS (( morning." Dad is calling from the foot of the stairs. I pull my nose ^-^ out of the pillow. The air is cool and dawn is breaking. The spar- rows in the old maple tree outside my window make small "chirrupy" sounds. I put on my faded work clothes, which are slightly damp from the night air. Downstairs, Dad is standing by the old kitchen stove, drinking a cup of cold, muddy, black coffee of last night's brewing and smoking his first cigarette of the morning. He does not seem to notice me, but as he clumps outside brief orders trail behind, seemingly interspersed with strands of blue-gray cigarette smoke, "Better brush and harness the team." Outside, the sun is tinting several small, fleecy clouds with colors varying from rose to orange. The grass is glistening with myriads of dew-drop diamonds. "Another day without rain," I murmer disgustedly. "Anyway, it's excellent weather for threshing." I whistle to the horses in the south lot and grudgingly, obediently, they move through the gate and into their stalls in the bam. After tying them, I brush and curry their massive, sleek sides to a dull mahogany finish. From across the barn comes the rh}1:hmical music of milk striking the pail, as Dad begins milking. A pigeon coos mournfully in the lofty haymow. The fragrance of sweet hay, the smell of sweaty leather, and the acrid ammonia odor of horse manure mingle, awakening my senses as I harness the team. When the chores are done, we rush to the house and eat our breakfast on the run; there are light, fluffy pancakes and sizzling, brown sausage, breakfast food and milk, and ]\Iother's stout, nightrust-removing coffee. We leave the table to go, but Mother asks, "Are your clothes clean? Come back here and put on clean overalls. I can't have the neighbors see you looking like that!" Grumbling that it doesn't matter how clean I am when I'm going to thresh, I change overalls and sprint to the barn. Dad has the team hitched to the hayrack wagon, and as I climb aboard he clucks to Dick and Doc. They lean into the traces half-heartedly, but with persuasion from the ends of the reins slapped across their broad rumps and my father's unemo- tional swearing, they trot out of the yard to the road. White is the first man to thresh this year; it is approximately two miles to his farm. Dad drives along the side of the road, as the team is not shod, and gravel roads damage unshod hoofs. The wheels sink in a soft carpet of grass, and but for the creaking of a rear wheel and the jingle of the trace chains, there is little to disturb the silence as we move slowly through the November, 1947 27 bright, sunny morning. Intuition tells me that Dad is thinking of that com- plaining axle. It will have to be greased tomorrow morning. We look at the corn as we pass by; the leaves are motionless in the still, already warm air. It will be another hot day. The weeds seem to be thriving despite the lack of moisture; wild parsnips rear their ugly, yellow heads defiantly. I watch a spotted snake glide effortlessly from the hedge fence into the corn. The wheels suddenly clatter, we cross the road, and turn up the lane to White's. Several wagons and teams are in the yard, and in a lot beside the barn is a threshing machine being shoved into position by a giant tractor, much as a circus elephant moves a heavy wagon. We pull into the welcome shade of an elm and exchange greetings with the neighbors. There is talk of the weather and the corn and the condition of the grain. White, a lean, taciturn man, strides across the barnyard and motions us to the field. I drive out to the field, weaving between the long, irregular rows of golden shocks. Stopping the team at the end of the row, I tie the reins to the ladder at the front of the rack. Dad is on the ground by now, pitchfork in hand, waiting until I have grasped my own pitchfork. He removes the flattened, concave-shaped cap bundle from the shock and tosses it on the wagon. Pitching bundles correctly is an art acquired by few men, but Dad is an expert. Each golden bundle is tossed on the wagon, with the grain toward me and the butt of the bundle from me. This facilitates loading. Loading is also a skill, for each bundle is placed precisely, so that a large load may be hauled. Only my "geddup" and "whoa," as we move from shock to shock, and the rustle of the dn,- straw break the silence, as I build my first load. Occasionally, from the far side of the wide field, some faint bursts of profanity, as Magnusson affectionately curses his little mules for their indo- lence. My load becomes higher and higher, a solid block of gold. No longer can I see my dad, but I catch glimpses of gleaming pitchfork tines at the edge of the load, as the bundles soar upward. "You've got enough," he de- cides. "Better unload." Sticking my fork in the center of the load, I untie the reins and shout at the team below. Dick and Doc seesaw in the traces a second or two, waging a war of nerves between them, each attempting to force the other to start the load. A sharp word and the traces grow taut; the wagon lurches across the rough stubble. I am the pilot of a great golden ship on a yellow and green sea. I thrill to the morning, clear and hot. Oh, wonderful Life! To be young with clear mind and keen eyes — to be strong with the strength of untamed youth — to taste salty sweat on my lips — to feel the perspira- tion-soaked shirt clinging to my back — what more could I ask ! I whistle a song, tuneless and meaningless, but expressing my emotions. At the bam the machine is set, and the heavy belt stretches between it and the tractor, which is idling as though it were conserving its energ}' for the work ahead. The grain wagon is beneath the grain spout, waiting ex- 30 The Green Caldron level, and other significant factors. As the National Opinion Research Center states it, "7 per cent of the adults in the United States live in New England, therefore 7 per cent of the sample is drawn from the New England states. And 17 per cent of the adults in New England live in rural areas, therefore 17 per cent of the New England interviews are obtained from such districts."^ Such a sample may be relatively small and yet, if representative, accurate within the limits of mathematical probability. The results of sampling are expressed only in terms of probability — the larger the sample, the closer together the probability limits. For example, a sample of 3,000 will be accurate within a range of 3i/2 per cent either way; a sample of 10,000 within little more than one per cent.* The chief difficulty inherent in this technique is the dual problem of the meaning and wording of questions. Since the same word may mean diflferent things to diflferent people, exact communication of the same meaning to everybody is difficult. For example, an experiment in wording was made on representative groups to test the extent to which a word with a stereotyped meaning would aflfect the results. The question was worded as follows: a. Should we not allow speeches against democracy ? b. Should we forbid speeches against democracy ? Question a received a 62 per cent affirmative answer, while question h re- ceived only a 46 per cent approval. The word "forbid" with its connotations of a threat to civil liberties had a stereotyped meaning that altered signifi- cantly the results of the poll.^ Dozens of such experiments could be quoted, but the example cited gives some idea of the nature of the problem. The following enumeration of a few of the difficulties in the achievement of clarity of meaning gives an inkling of the complexity: obscure meanings, vague terminology, stereotypes, technical or unfamiliar words, issues too broad to present clear-cut alterna- tives, issues involving social values which compel rationalization, and multiple choices which channel opinion into too many or too few lines.^ The problem of wording is somewhat different. The extent to which the wording affects the answer depends almost entirely on the respondent's mental background on the subject. If the people being polled have reliable standards of judgment, approximately the same answer is obtained regard- less of the wording. But if they lack standards of judgment, they are highly suggestible and react to changes in phraseology.^ * Interviewing for NORC, National Opinion Research Center (Denver, 1945), p. 4. * S. S. Wilks, "Representative Sampling and Poll Reliability," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940), 261-69. 'Donald Rugg, "Experiments in Wording Questions: II," Public Opinion Quarterly, 5 (1941), 91-93. •Hadley Cantril, Gauging Public Opinion (Princeton, 1944), pp. 3-4. ' Ibid., pp. 48-49. November, 1947 31 A striking example of the effects of wording was obtained in experiment by the National Opinion Research Center in the fall of 1942. The question was worded as follows: a. Do you think we ought to start thinking now about the kind of peace we want after the war? b. Which of these seems better to you — for us to win the war first and then think about the peace, or to start thinking now about the kind of peace we want after the war? The a question polled an 81 per cent affirmative, while the h question drew only 55 per cent. The second question, by implying that serious attention to the peace might hurt the war effort, altered the results considerably. Ques- tions like these make the problem of interpretation rather difficult. They would seem to indicate differences in intensity of opinion, and yet they may merely represent differences in the reaction to implicit and explicit alternatives.' From the material presented so far, it might be gathered that the polls were addicted to the use of material of an equivocal nature and that the results of their work are highly questionable. Such an assumption would of course be entirely unwarranted. The fact of the matter is that the polls are very careful that their work be unbiased. For example, all questionnaires are pretested on sample groups to determine the effectiveness of the phrasing and to avoid issues unknown to the man on the street. Roper describes one poll of his that went through fifteen changes before its final use' If the poll-makers are engaged in such determined efforts to improve their work, why be concerned with interpreting their results? Why not accept their statistics at face value? It is at this point we run into real trouble. We are asked, "Is the public qualified to express opinions that will have such an obvious influence? Is the mass capable of judging for its own good?" Some go even further, and claim to see in the polls a dangerous tendency toward a "pure" democracy that will destroy our system of repre- sentative government and lead to mass rule and chaos.'" Others believe that the majority of the people will make fewer mistakes in governing themselves than any smaller group would, and that the polls by articulating the vox populi will lead to a more perfect form of government." Which point of view (if either) are we to accept? Gallup, in defense of the latter view, says, "The serious observer . . . will be profoundly im- ' Ibid . p. 37. •Elmo Kopcr, "Wording Questions for the Polls," Public Opinion Quarterl\, 4 (1940), 129-30. "See Rol)crt Lynd, "Democracy in Reverse," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940). 219; O. K. McGiirc. "The U. S. Constitution and Ten Shekels of Silver." Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940). 239-40; Walter M. Pierce, "Climl.ing on the Band Wagon." Public Opinion Quarterly, A (1940). 279-80. " Sec Harold Gosncll, "The Polls and Other Mechanisms of Democracy." Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940). 228; Eugene Meyer. ".-\ Newspaper PubHsher Looks at the Polls," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940), 264-65. 32 The Green Caldron pressed with the grasp of broad principles which voters of all types possess. . . . "^^ This, however, does not refute the opposing argument that the pressure of the polls will hinder the work of able experts who run the government. On reflection, it would seem that both are speaking half truths and that the real answer lies in a synthesis of the two conflicting viewpoints. Starting with the first, we agree that no one will deny that the average citizen has neither the education nor the time (to say nothing of the inclina- tion) to obtain an understanding of the complex, technical details of the machinery of government. The polls themselves have shown that the majority of the people admit they do not know the function of reciprocal trade agreements, the Securities and Exchange Commission, and other relatively complex phases of our government. But this lack of knowledge of public affairs is not as anti-democratic as it may seem at first glance. As Katz observed, "The man on the street may be able to give meaningful answers to important questions if they are ... in terms of his own think- ing rather than in terms of the mental world of the politician and journal- ist."^^ In other words, the polls cannot give a valid interpretation of public opinion if the public is polled on technical details of government. They can and do tell us what the majority wants, and how it likes the ways things are run. They can help determine the direction of policy but not details of policy.^* What all of this boils down to is that we are obliged to interpret the findings of public opinion polls for ourselves. In the light of what we have previously considered, we may formulate two criteria for use in evaluating them: 1. Is the question appropriate with respect to the limitations on subject matter and wording? 2. Is the question impartial, or is it stated in such a way as to imply a correct answer, or to appeal to a prejudice? " Gallup and Rae, op. cit., p. 287. "Daniel Katz, "Three Criteria," Public Opinion Quarterly, A (1940), 284-85. " Gallup and Rae, op. cit., p. 288. BIBLIOGRAPHY Cantril, Hadley, Gauging Public Opinion, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1944. Gallup, George, and Rae, Saul, The Pulse of Democracy, New York, Simon and Schuster, 1940. GosNELL, Harold, "The Polls and Other Mechanisms of Democracy," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940), 228. Interiiewing for NORC, National Opinion Research Center, Denver, 1945. Katz, Daniel, "Three Criteria," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940), 284-85. Lewis, George F., Jr., "The Congressmen Look at the Polls," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940), 229-30. Lynd, Robert, "Democracy in Reverse," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940), 219. McGuiRE, O. R., "The U. S. Constitution and Ten Shekels of Silver," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940), 239-40. November, 1947 33 Meyer, Eugene, "A Newspaper Publisher Looks at the Polls," Public Opinion Quar- terly, 4 (1940), 2M-6S. Pierce, Walter M., "Climbing on the Band Wagon." Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940). 279-80. lioPER, Elmo, "Wording Questions for the Polls," Public Opinion Quarterly, 4 (1940), 129-30. fiuGG, Uo.NALD, "Experiments in Wording Questions: II," Public Opinion Quarterly, 5 (1941), 91-93. A'lLKS, S. S., "Representative Sampling and Poll Reliability," Public Opinion Quar- terly. 4 (1940). 261-69. VouT Mood and Ours You people are really different froin us Orientals. I don't mean the differ- ence in appearance, which is a minor one. Neither do I want to suggest the dif- ference in our livinj? conditions. To me the greatest difference lies in our in- side worlds. The inside world of an Oriental can be imagined as a deep well. It is dark. It is mysterious. Were somebody to try to investigate its content, he would find priceless gems or poisonous snakes. Probably that is because the Oriental has a k'ery susceptible imagination. The e.xaggeration of images makes him mystical. The result is that the Oriental lives in another world. He is always sad and unsatisfied. He enjoys unbelievable stories and minor tunes which compose his melancholic music. In other words he enjoys suffering. On the other hand an American dreams less and lives more. The "dark well" which we use for the Oriental can be replaced by a sunny and fertile cornfield for the .American. He is superficial but sure. .Ml he has to do is to cultivate it and ^et the expected crops. He has positive ideas, definite beliefs. He has a way of expressing facts in simple words, likes short cuts, and worries little about any subject. He has only one world to live in; he sees everything as it is and he is happy that way. His music is gay, his literature is more realistic, and he is more sincere. To my admiration he enjoys and appreciates being himself. This is an analysis of their characters as far as I can see. Now, which way leads to true happiness? We can't tell, because happiness is relative to individuals as well as to conditions. One is happy crying, another laughing. — Haluk .\kol I Remember I rt.nicnil)cr a medium-sized white bungalow about one-quarter of a mile from the broad, white, sandy beach. I remember that the white-topped waves which came bouncing in on the surf matched the white on that wonderful little house and that the blue of the ocean matched the blue on the shutters. I remember all the other little houses in that quiet village which were so alive in the summer and so dead in the winter. I remember the good times my brother and I used to have with the other children in the village during the carefree days of carefree sum- mers. And I remember the wind, the destructive monster from the south that came howling up off the ocean one sunny September day carrying water with it. The water and the wind ripped the roofs off the houses and tore the walls down and left nothing but memories. — Arthur H. Stromberg 34 The Green Caldron One of a Kind Gene Reiley Rhetoric I, Theme 9, Summer, 1947 iEVEN DAYS A WEEK, COME RAIN OR COME SHINE, THE fish markets are always open in Browning, Illinois: Breeden's, Bryant's, and Dozier's, all striving desperately to please the public and surpass each other in business. Each has a picked group of fishermen who sell their catch to the Republican, the Democrat, or the highest bidder. Each is a battered old store, splattered with fish scales and mud, and all three claim the community's asset, Happy Sherrill. Happy is an easygoing old boy who always seems to have a good word and a bit of advice for every fisherman, child, or customer. He works a little now and then, but no more than sheer existence requires, and all will admit that he can skin a cat or scale a carp in record time. He goes where he pleases, does what he pleases, and says what he pleases. He has a memory like an elephant, and combines it with a bit of imagination to produce stories that every boy and man between the ages of three and sixty has heard at least fifty times. The first time I ever saw Happy, he was perched atop an old lard can in Breeden's market relating a tale of how the originator of Breeden's mar- ket got the nickname of "Bojo." In Browning, "bojo" is the correct word now used to describe a temper tantrum, and Happy's story of how Frank Breeden picked up a catfish and bit its head off, after the fish had first bitten him, is now a part of the village history. Most of Happy's personal belongings accompany him wherever he goes. He couldn't be recognized without his battered old felt hat, a dirty blue gingham shirt, an old pair of Pay-Day overalls with a dozen patches and suspenders that button on in the back, and an ancient pair of hip boots with twice as many patches as on the overalls. Usually unshaven and with an im- mense chew of Red Man tobacco in his mouth, he can be found an3l:ime, from daybreak until the mosquitoes drive him home in the evening, in one of the three fish markets. Happy's dog "Sideswiper," who used to be called "Nig" until he got hit by a car, follows his master wherever he goes but pays little attention to what Happy has to say. Some folks say Sideswiper under- stands Happy better than most men do. The rest of Happy's personal belongings can be found in his one-room shack, which he built way back when Browning had five grocery stores, two hotels, a theater, and a respect for high water. The shack has only two residents — Happy and Sideswiper. There are a cot, a table, an old fish crate November, 1947 35 used as a chair, an oil stove, a few cooking utensils, some dirty dishes, some souvenirs of four wars, and Happy's greatest personal possession, a collec- tion of old law books. Some people in the town call Happy "Judge," and everyone has a high respect for his knowledge of the laws of this state. For years he has played the roles of Justice of the Peace, President of the Town Board, and active member of the School Board of District Seventy- Five. Without him Browning would lose much of its local color. Happy Sherrill has become an integral part of the fish market and town life, and somehow has won the admiration and respect of most of Browning's citizens. Rain Ralph Brown Rhetoric II, Theme 2. 1946-1947 MX: MOISTURE CONDENSED AND THEN RELEASED from the sky" — that's all it amounts to as far as the dictionary is concerned. But to each individual it has its own personal meaning. It makes a bookmaker worry about how a wet track will affect the odds he has given. It annoys a housewife because she has to postpone her washing. It makes a farmer wonder if it will nourish his crops or wash them away into soggy ruin, and him with them. That's not rain to him; it's life or death. To a child it is the reason he has to stay indoors, as he plaintively importunes the power which condemned him to this fate with an almost pagan chant: "Rain, Rain, go away, come again. . . ." For the comfortable householder it is an indication of security, an em- phasis on how his well-ordered life protects him from elemental forces which would othenvise intrude. To the bum wandering aimlessly along it is an added discomfiture; now he has to find a flop somewhere on the inside; a friendly park bench, an inviting field are now sodden enemies in a drenched alliance with the all-pervading, saturating rain. To the average observer it is pregnant skies growing darker and finally giving a violent birth illuminated by lightning and accompanied by thunder as an orchestral background. And then it is just a fresh smell in the air. Hot and Cold The difference between hot and cold weather is easy to understand. All weather above 72.63° Fahrenheit is hot, and all that below that point is cold. I might also add that as hot air rises and cold air travels downward, one may keep warm on a cold day by holding an umbrella over one's head. — Les Houser 36 The Green Caldron Keep That Last Team ! Lawrence Zuckerman Rhetoric II, Theme 8, 1946-1947 FARMERS, BEWARE! YOU HAVE HEARD MANY REASONS, all presented by tractor salesmen, for disposing of that last team of horses. Don't ! The operator of a family-sized farm will find that replacing his last team (which cost about $100) with a tractor (which will cost $1200) is not a panacea for reducing his labor and increasing his profits. It is true that a tractor does not have to be fed on the days that it is not used, but does a horse ever pick up a flat or run out of gas on the far back forty? And is a tractor capable of producing a baby tractor which will grow into a replacement for it? The answer to both of these questions is obviously no, as are the answers to the following: Can a tractor use fuel which is produced on the farm ? Or does the fuel burned in the tractor pro- duce manure? While the tractor salesman will attempt to impress you, the prospective customer, with the many uses for the eight-horsepower pull generated at the draw-bar, he will undoubtedly neglect to mention the numerous small farm jobs for which two horsepower are more than sufficient. Even though the tractor is many times more powerful than the team which it replaces, this increase in available power is greatly offset by the inability of a man working alongside to guide the tractor by simply shouting "Giddup" or "Whoa." An additional man is needed to drive the tractor in many operations which would otherwise be one-man jobs. The supersalesman who approaches you will not be content with selling only a $1200 tractor, but will rightly insist that to farm properly with your new tractor you must purchase a complete line of tractor machinery for $2000. For those of you who continue to gaze longingly at the brilliantly colored pictures in the salesman's portfolio, I want to cite two more examples of the superiority of the horse. Think back over the many times that your team was borrowed by a neighbor, in the winter, to haul feed to cattle which he was unable to reach with his tractor because of the snow, or in the spring, to separate the mighty gasburner from its nemesis, mud, which rendered it powerless to move. While you are reminiscing, go a little farther back. Do the salesman's wonderful claims for his machine make any mention of its ability to find its way home late at night, over darkened roads, with a sleigh, or hayrack, filled with teen-agers too busy to guide it ? November, 1947 37 Farmers William H. Kellcxjg Galesburg Diinsion, Rhetoric II, Theme 3, 1946-1947 THE PEOPLE WHO RAISE THE CROPS AND ANIMALS that provide our food are often thought of as just farmers by those of us who have not lived among them. Our rural neighbors, however, differ from each other like any other class of people. By their attitude toward their occupation and the quality of farming they do, they fall into three general groups: the periodic farmer, a sunny-day man whose ambition is to make a living by doing no more work than is necessary; the gentleman farmer, a sophisticated man who toys with some hobby while hired men do most of his work; and the scientific farmer, a prosperous man who strives to use his time as efficiently as possible. The periodic farmer is a man of little education. His way of farming rtfiuires little knowledge. He depends mainly on cash crops and hogs for his income, since they require a minimum of care. Because he is allergic to chores, he keeps only one or two cows to supply his own milk. His pigs are kept in the same convenient, unsanitary lot their ancestors occupied. They get a straight corn diet, with never quite enough to satisfy their appetites. His plan of crop rotation includes only com and soy beans. He plants straight rows regardless of the contour of his fields. The fields are constantly exposed to erosion, and their fertility is rapidly depleted through his lack of rotation and replacement of necessary minerals. The buildings and fences on his farm are quite neglected and therefore dilapidated. His car also receives only the attention necessary to keep it running. He can see no use in keeping records; to him, they would be a waste of time which he could better spend loafing. His periodic farming occupies him only a few days at a time and rarely at all in winter. The gentleman farmer diflfers from the shiftless farmer in that he pos- sesses a shiny, well-kept car and a high school education. However, he seems to know very little about his vocation. He may be making a living or relying on an inheritance. At ain' rate, he does very little work himself. He depends on his emjiloyees to get things done. His main interest is his hobby, which may be a herd of purebreil animals, his machinery, or anything connected with his farm. The trouble with the gentleman farmer is that he farms out of proportion. His hobby, whatever it may be, receives more attention and more financial care than is practical. If, for example, his main interest is a certain breed of cattle, he buys the best stock available and spends extrava- gantly for its care and management. Meanwhile, all the other parts of his farm go unheeded. His land and crops receive only a minimum of care. 38 ' T'/jt- Green Caldron Also he keeps records only on his hobby. In his artificial superiority, he is eager to show off his herd to anyone who may be interested, convincing himself, if no one else, that he is a genius of agriculture. The scientific farmer is a man who is well educated in every aspect of agriculture. Often he possesses a college education. He is a wise farmer and a business-like man as well. Every operation he puts into practice on his farm is profitable, and he keep records to prove that. Usually he depends on his livestock for his main income. He keeps the number of his animals balanced to the capacity of his land. He raises his pigs in a clean pasture where swine have not been for at least three years. He raises purebred stock because he knows that they can be kept in prime condition \vith less feed than scrub animals. His rolling fields are cultivated on the contour to prevent the rapid escape of water and the loss of soil. By the use of legumes in his crop rotation plan and the application of mineral fertilizers to his soil, he keeps his fields capable of producing high crop yields. His homestead is neat and attractive, and although his automobile may not be a late model, he keeps it, like everything else, in perfect condition. For everything that the scientific farmer does, he has behind it a scientific reason. The group that a farmer falls into could reasonably be determined by his ambition and intelligence. The periodic farmer of course lacks both of these and is therefore least successful in his work. The gentleman farmer, though intelligent, lacks the ambition which makes the scientific farmer a success. Thanks ! John Weiter Rhetoric 11. Fwal Examination, 1946-1947 A FEW MONTHS AGO A CRUDE, VUEGAR MOB OF RUTH- less killers, posing as sane and law-abiding citizens of a small ^ southern town, abducted two negro men and their wives. Fired with a blood-lust, the "righteous townsfolk" beat the negroes mercilessly, strung their victims from a tree, then fired blasts from a shotgun into the limp, swaying forms. Justice was done! Some time later the "strange fruit" borne by the tree was plucked and carried away in silence. One of the still forms had been a soldier who had jusl returned home from duty. He had been accused of a crime unknown to half his judges and executioners. Because of this crime, four people were horribly mutilated and slaughtered — four innocent people, for the veteran had been wrongfully accused. What gratitude for a job well done was this soldier shown on his homecoming! Xorcmbcr. 1947 39 A more recent case, that of the twenty-one cab drivers who lynched a negro because of his supposed part in the murder of a fellow cab driver, reeks with an equally strong stench. Brought to trial for their crime, the twenty-one confessed killers were soon freed. The judge sitting on the case tumed his back upon the jury in disgust and contempt. In freeing the pris- oners, the jurors convicted themselves of bigotry, prejudice, hate, and total disregard for the freedom so many millions fought for so recently. In con- victing themselves, they also convicted every American in the eyes of the other nations of the world. They branded every American with an indelible mark of shame. By setting free the "mad dogs" who tore the victim apart with such abandon, the jury deliberately thwarted justice, and showed the world the total disregard for the difference between right and wrong we can achieve in America. The hate towards the negro which seethes not only among the illiterates of the South, but also among many of the supposedly well-educated and intelligent men throughout the country, has become our great national disgrace. America is on trial before all the nations of the world in her at- tempt to achieve and hold the position as leader of the world. Democracy, which provides equal rights to all men. regardless of race, creed, and color, as practiced in America is becoming a great farce. The peace that must be molded now to protect the world is as important as the great war fought to bring about that peace. America has earned the right to take a leading position in forming a world peace by her leading position in the war — earned this right with the bodies of thousands of her men. And now a handful of men is taking this right away. For what value will the counsel of the Americans hold in world affairs when the Americans cannot well manage their own affairs? Who will listen to the American appeals for freedom for all men, when all men within American borders are not free? Who will heed the American call for justice when justice is so totally disregarded? What fatal damage to so many deserving is being done by so few undeserving! The judge who tumed his back upon the jury neglected to give the usual thanks of the court to the people of the jury. Let us. then, give thanks to those who thought it best to free twenty-one murderers to show the Xorth it cannot "meddle" in the South's business. Let us also give thanks to the mob who killed the four innocent people, but who showed the "nigger" his place in society. Let us give thanks to all those who i)reach their doctrine of hate against other men, and who thereby mock the soldier dead, who shame the founders of the great Democracy of the United States, who tie the hands of the law, and who want to extinguish Liberty. They are doing a great and thorough job. They are putting the negro in his place, and at the same time putting America in her place — low man on the totem pole, at the bottom of the heap. 40 7^^^ Green Caldron Rhet as Writ My wife and I are planning a vacation trip this summer. We plan to be away for two months during the month of August. Marriage, which no family should be without, has been disregarded as a happy institution. • • • • It was often said that "A great commander was lost to England when Florence Nightingale was born a man." The prices landlords charge for what they call rooms: That is what I call looking a man square in the face and having your throat cut before your very eyes. • • • • It is the fortunate housewife who is able to phone her grocer, repeat to him her specific desires, and later unpack them in her own kitchen. Queen Victoria wore the Kohinoor as a necklace and Queen Alexandria in a crown. • • • • Who's Who: This book is an English publication containing short bio- graphical sketches of dead personalities. The exercise of the legs should be especially tuff, for without legs a man could not expect to be a good football player. Spelling Reform— 1947 Military and Navel Magazine soil conversation the Untied States an impassible face Rolder Dam personnel appearance formals and genes a small poodle of water satisfactory martial relations foot rationing a happy carfree life Honorable Mention Carolyn Clark — Black Boy by Richard Wright A. C. Fiedler — Bomber Escort Lois Mae Gee — Should They Be Called His? Shirley Granzow — The Story of Rhapsody in Blue Jack Greyer — Byrd's Antarctic Expedition E. A, Hogan — Distraction William Hornbaker — The Art of Delacroix Doris Klion — The Mystery of the Smile Marion J. Kopetz — Brief Refuge Lois Miller — Diamond Lore Robert Norman — The Importance of the Marianas Joseph E. O'Mahony — King Henry VIII and His Effect Upon the Church of England Marjorie Peabody — The Dreyfus Affair John Shurtleff — The Great Crash Betty M. Smith — Early History of Urbana, Illinois Noble J. Smith — Honeybee Walter Stemler — The Old Chicago Fire Jeane Swinehamer — Digging Up the Past Marcia Tenczar — Duet with Nicky by Alice Berezowsky B. G. V'est — The Sinking of the Titanic Roy A. Weidemann — Take Another Drink William Winkler — The Great Labor Schism David G. Wright — Remoteness Becomes Reality 4^E Green Caldron A Magazine of Freshman vvriting Charles N. Watkins: Fancy and the Child 1 Martin F. Bretz: Dear Days. Dead 6 Grace Hartman: Keeping Them Contented 8 Lee Cadwell: Should Congress Establish a Permanent FEPC? . 10 Harlan K. Corn'e: My Discovery 19 Virginia Ludwig: I Learn to Understand Black 20 Charles N. Watkins: The Last Thought 23 Lee Cadwell: Black Boy by Richard Wright 25 Carolyn Clark: Black Boy by Richard Wright 26 William C. Moore: Early Pipe Organs and Their Development . 27 Thomas A. Vanderslice: Best Movie of the Year 30 Lester E. Jacobs: Soldiers and Horses 31 Alvin J. Blasco: A Strip of Gauze, a Dab of Collodion .... 32 Gene Reiley: Potato to Potato Chip 33 Robert Wiss: Cotton Pic'n 34 John Weiter: Gentlemen: — 35 Walter Thomas Brooks: Creed 37 Rhet as Writ 40 VOL. 17, NO. 2 DECEMBER, 1947 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS JL HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the Rhetoric Staff at the University of Ilhnois. Material is chosen from themes and examinations written by freshmen in the .Uni- versity including the Navy Pier and Galesburg divisions, and the high school branches. Permission to publish is obtained for all full themes, including those published anonymously. Parts of themes, however, are published at the discretion of the committee in charge. The committee in charge of this issue of The Green Caldron consists of Messrs. Edwin Robbins and George Scouffas, Chairman. The Green Caldron is for sale at the Illini Union Bookstore, Champaign, Illinois. THE GREEN CALDRON copyrighted 1947 BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS All rights reserved No parts of this periodical may be repro- duced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Fancy and the Child Charles N, Watkins Rhetoric I, Theme 11, 1946-1947 ASA SMALL BOY, I WAS ALWAYS "OUT WOOL-GATHER- Z=\ ing." I daydreamed continually, from morning until night. Mother -^ -^ had to speak to me several times to gain my attention so that I would do her errands. When I finally did an errand, it usually required at least an hour; for, as a rule, I was so preoccupied with my own thoughts that I spent most of my time dawdling. I found so much of interest on the way, that often as not I forgot the task to which I had been assigned. Mother always believed there was something wrong with me physically, and so she made frequent trips, with me in tow, to the doctor. I do not think, however, that he gave her much satisfaction. Once the doctor gave the verdict "worms," and I was placed accordingly on a castor oil diet. This treatment enabled me to gain more weight, but I continued to be as unresponsive and inattentive as ever. My teachers had the same difficulty in holding my at- tention, and for several years, regularly with my report cards. Mother re- ceived little notes which invariably read: "Charles has been doing poor work in most of his subjects. He is inattentive and has a 'don't care' attitude. I think he is capable of doing the work if he puts his mind to it." Mother and Dad scolded long and loud and occasionally emphasized their scolding with a razor strop. Sometimes I was retained by the teacher at recesses for inattention in class. It would have been just as profitable to have chastized a mechanical dummy. Though Mother's worries were for my physical well-being, the real cause for my unconcern and absent-mindedness was the world in which I dwelt. It was a realm of fiction and unreality in which Robin Hood and Little John dwelt in our orchard and King Arthur and his knights held court in our horse barn. It was a land of romance in which gallant men had nothing to do but ride about the countryside doing good deeds and avenging wrongs. This make-believe land was a bright and happy or a weird and melancholy place, depending upon my mood, where there was always excitement. This dream world, where I spent so much time mentally, was partially the result of a vivid imagination and the absorption of fascinating literature. Mother taught me to read at an early age, because she wanted me to do well in my school work ; and, too, she had been a school teacher before marriage and enjoyed teaching. As a result, I was always much more advanced in reading than the other pupils in my class. I was also encouraged to read as my parents enjoyed good books. The bookshelves in the parlor were well I 1 J 2 The Green Caldron stocked with many of the old classics and a variety of modern novels. The only requisite for taking a book from the shelf was that it be replaced. When I was ten years old, I had read every book in the family library plus all the other books which I could obtain from other sources; but, because of im- maturity and the added habit of rapid scanning, I often misunderstood the material which I read. For example, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, by Washington Irving, was not humorous. The "Headless Horseman" was real to me, and I did not comprehend that his "head," which rode on the saddle before him, was only a pumpkin. Furthermore, I did not know that the Headless Horseman was Beau Brummel. Believing as I did in goblins and ghosts. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was a source of terror for many years. My mind's eye saw the Headless Horseman overtaking Ichabod at the bridge which spanned the creek flowing through our farm. When bringing the cows across the bridge at dusk, I always rushed over the bridge as fast as possible, for I had no desire to meet the Headless Horseman. Another story which confused and frightened me was Alice in Wonder- land. My mind was unable to keep pace with the course of events carrying Alice through the strange land. I always partially doubted that a person could eat or drink any substance or liquid which would alter his size. Even so, I was tempted many times to taste the contents of unlabeled discarded bottles to see if I would become larger or smaller. It is probably just as well that I did not yield to such temptations. Of all the literature which I read in my boyhood, none was so delightful or so romantic as the tales of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I virtually "lived" King Arthur, and many of the games which my brothers and I played had their origin in the King Arthur stories. My two younger brothers and I became knights. Our "shining armor" consisted of old barrel-heads for shields, wooden swords made from lath, and cornstalks or horseweed stalks for spears. There was many a hard and long battle fought — and many a black eye and cut lip. What wonderful times we had ! My over-imaginative brain usually placed the scenes in my reading in fa- miliar surroundings ; thus, the horse barn became the castle where King Arthur held court ; the adjacent hog house was the stable where the spirited chargers were kept; and the cattle yard was the jousting field where great battles were fought. Losing interest in knights, I became a "cowboy." This phase began after I had read a cheap novel, Keith of the Border, and after I had seen my first movies, which happened to be Western movies. My brothers and I forgot about armor and jousting and became interested in guns and horses and tlie range. As a cowboy I once attempted to rope a "steer," which happened to be a few-weeks-old calf. Because of my slightly erring aim, the lasso fell about the neck of a year-old heifer. This surprised bossy immediately December, 1947 3 galloped off. The free end of the rope was twisted about my arm so that she dragged me behind her through the mud, until the hired man rescued me. We also ac(juireill Cody, and Wild Bill Hickock. The great western plain was lim- ited by the east pasture. Dozens of 'bad men" were shot daily. The cmuImiv phase lasted until we became "gangsters." With a love for the unnatural, the unreal, and the romantic, I dramatized places, people, playthings, and incidents which probably seemed common- place enough to most people, but which held special meanings for me. One of the places loaded with stimulus for an active imagination was the creek, a lazy stream bordered by cottonwoods and willows which meandered across the farm. It was an ideal setting for the role of Tarzan of the Apes, my favorite comic strip star. Clad in my nothing plus, I wandered aimlessly along the "dark, murky Amazon" killing snakes and chasing dragonllics. the only "enemies" I could find. A tile, which drained the highlands, emptied into the creek. I used to stand under the flow of cool water from the tile and see myself in the si)ray of one of .Africa's many beautiful waterfalls. I tried swinging on the wild grapevines festooning the trees along the banks. When a grapevine broke with me in midair, however, I decided that accomplishment would have to be missing from my portrayal of Tarzan. For a budding Tarzan, a boy never had a better jungle than I had in the creek. Hut the creek was not the only source of inspiration for wild imagin- ings. On the north side of the house, in the foundation, was a small hole shaped like a little door. I spent a great deal of time romancing about that defect in the concrete. What kind of little people lived there? What lay beyond that tiny door? Just as incredible were the transformations which changed the gravel pit to the Badlands of South Dakota. This gravel pit was a large hole in the side of a hill from which gravel had been taken at different times for use around the farm. There were wonderful tall banks in which my brothers and I often dug caves for "hideouts." ideal for fugitive "bad men." The mounds of earth which had been thrown up in the search for pure gravel made magnificent breast works and shielded many a "hard- ened criminal" from the withering fire of the "law. " When I was alone in the gravel pit, I often imagined myself a lone traveler, usually mounted on a dying horse and needing food and water. With grim courage and persever- ance. I always shot my dying horse and struggled on alone to safety. Certain people impressed me very much, although I know now that most of those impressions were erroneous. Granddad was the most romantic figure I knew. He was a small man with a silvery thatch of hair and an old- 4 The Green Caldron fashioned moustache. Because of his physical appearance and age, I thought he must have been an Indian fighter. He had a Winchester pump-action cahber .22 rifle, and I was certain that Granddad was the best shot in the country; but this illusion was destroyed one day during butchering time. Whenever we butchered hogs, Granddad had to be present to do the killing. On this particular day, he came out to the farm, bringing with him his Winchester rifle. The hog to be killed was chased out of his pen. He took a long, careful aim and fired. Simultaneously with the shot, the hog dropped, and Granddad clapped his hand to his head. The next instant the hog was on his feet again nonchalantly eating corn, and in the brim of Granddad's hat lay the spent bullet. He had missed the vital spot on the hog's head and the bullet had ricocheted from the hard bone, striking Granddad's hat. Granddad never shot another hog. While I worshipped Granddad, my cousin caused me much nervousness and unrest. He was a tall, thin boy who worked for my father one winter. He was very quiet, in fact almost sullen. He had an honest to goodness revolver which he carried in his belt or in his pocket a great deal of the time. Every other day or so he held target practice, usually squatting on his heels and firing at tin cans. During these frequent practices, the expressions which played over his face made icy fingers move up and down my spine. The methodical, purposeful way with which he shot the tin cans to pieces was nothing short of murderous, I felt that he could shoot men as easily as he did the tin cans. Upon several occasions I almost confessed this strange premonition to Mother, but I never did for fear she would have laughed. When I grew older, I learned that he had read too many "dime westerns," and that he might have become a criminal but for the fact that he was too lazy. He was a daydreamer in his own right. The jolliest, nicest man I knew was one of our neighbors. He was fat, always laughing, and the life of the party wherever he went. In later years, I discovered that our neighbor was silly rather than humorous. His jokes were old and his banter trivial. All the women were afraid of him, for he considered himself a ladies' man and was quite a "wolf." Living on the farm, my brothers and I had a natural interest in farm equipment and farm operations. Therefore, most of our playthings became real machinery in our games. Our coaster wagon was the most loved and most used plaything. It served as our "tractor," and it was used to pull every- thing. The driver rode in the wagon, while the one who pushed had to simulate the noise of a tractor engine. Naturally, all of us wanted to "drive." This game gave us sore throats and shattered mother's nerves. When thresh- ing was in season on the farm, we "threshed" also. The lawn mower served as a threshing machine; the rake made a realistic blower. Behind the wagon "tractor" we pulled our "threshing machine," going from one "farm" to < I December, 1947 5 another "threshing each other's grain." To thresh the grain I blocked up one wheel of the lawn mower and turned that wheel while another put dry grass into the revolving blades. Thus we threshed. Hut of all our toys, Bobby, the doll, was in a class of his own. He was quite large with painted hair and a polka dot dress. Because he was agreeable with any plan, he was included in many games. One winter morn- ing, however, Bobby met his downfall. It was too cold to play out-of-doors, and so we were confined to the living room while Mother went about her housework. In the mischievous manner of all small boys, someone (I am not sure which one of us) busied himself with the mutilation of a book, which had been lying on the table. When Mother discovered the destruction, she immediately called for the culprit. But no one was willing to admit his guilt; therefore, we three boys agreed that Bobby must be at fault. This information was relayed to Mother, who promptly whipped each of us soundly. Before the tears had subsided, we knew that Bobby must be pun- ished for not being courageous enough to confess his crime. Whereupon, we took the otTcnder behind the kitchen stcnc and smashed his china head with a hammer. And so the wrong was righted. There were many incidents in my childhood which affected me deeply. Of these, at least two stand out in my memory. One was the story of the "woman in black." I first heard the story on a dark summer night while visiting a Mrs. Dennis with my aunt. The story, as I remember it, was that a woman dressed in black had mysteriously appeared in Kockford, Illinois, and had predicted that the Chicago World's Fair would sink into Lake Michigan. My aunt and Mrs. Dennis obviously believed the story; their voices were hushed and tilled with a strange, subdued note of mysterj'. I was thoroughly frightened. When I visited the World's Fair the next spring, the thought that the very ground upon which I walked might fall away into the lake was always before me. The most fantastic feat of my imagination was perhaps an illusion con- cerning my father's snoring. On hot summer nights, I often slept on the floor in front of the parlor door, where there was generally a cool breeze. My mother and dad slept in the room adjacent to the parlor. From the parlor I could hear the creaking of the windmill located in the north pasture some eighty rods away. I suppose that in one of my half -asleep moments my father's snoring attained a whistle-like quality and became confused in my mind with the faraway creaking of the windmill. I was never able to separate the two sounds, and even today, wht-n I lu-.ir .-i uiiuiniill squealing for lack of grease, I think of Dad's snoring. Now that I am considered an adult, my childhood fancies have vanished, somewhat to my regret. As a child grows older, the fascination of stories, places, and playthings is lost. The coaster wagon lost its appeal as a tractor 6 The Green Caldron when we had to haul coal and cobs in it for the kitchen stove. The lawn mower became a dreaded piece of equipment, a machine of the devil's own making. After rereading The Legend of Sleepy Hollow under a teacher's supervision, I discovered that the story was funny and not frightening. The creek was no longer a jungle paradise but a hot steamy place in summer and a cold wet place in winter. In the summer, I had to cut weeds along its banks, and, in the winter, I sawed wood. In a way, I wish that these childhood fancies and figments of my imagination still were with me. I suspect that a psychologist would classify me as a case of arrested development. But, nevertheless, the world in which I lived as a child was a fair one. There was no drudgery, and no headaches. The only wars fought were exciting. The "dead in battle" were allowed to participate in the next skirmish. In my world of dreams, there were no lusts, no desires for wealth or power, no politics, and no labor troubles. Everything was on the highest plane. But such a world is, of course, only for children, and small children at that. I must forget that I am a gallant knight in shining armor and take my place among the men of the world and share in their greeds, in their lusts, and in their desires. I must take my place in the world; I must be a success. Dear Days, Dead .... Martin F. Bretz Rhetoric I, Theme 11, 1946-1947 A MONO LARGE, BLACK, NOISY, SMELLY FACTORIES, IN /=^^ soot-blackened homes, lived the people who, because of the depres- •^ ^^ sion, could not afford to move. They worked hard, these people, and tried to make each penny stretch to help carry them over the bad times. We, their children, didn't realize the need for such tight-fistedness. We missed our penny grab-bags of candy, our chewing gum, and nickel picture shows. It was useless to ask "Pop" for "dough." He never had any. And "Ma" wouldn't give any because there was always a need for it somewhere else. It wasn't impossible to earn money; you could sell papers or magazines, but then the "big guys" would take your money from you. You could call on Pop to convoy you, but he wasn't always available, and rather than have you get hurt, he would forbid you to sell anything. One of the gang solved the financial problem: "Let's collect junk and sell it to the junkman. The big guys won't touch us if we all take the stuff to the junkyard and come home together." So we became connoisseurs of junk and learned to distinguish one type of metal from another. We sold the metals by the pound. Aluminum was the December, 1947 7 most expensive at ten cents a pound; steel was the cheapest at three cents per one hundred pounds. Since we lived in an industrial area, our supply of junk was unlimited until the day the factories started to save their scrap. With our scrap supply gone, we had to resort to vandalism to get metals. The rain gutters on the factories were fastened to the roofs by straps of copper, and for awhile our suj)ply of copper was adequate. It was strenuous work climbing the factory walls; it required the use of long, thin fingers and strong hands to secure a firm hold in the many cracks and holes in the walls. Only those possessing these qualities were delegated to do the climb- ing. The rest of us remained behind to catch the copper straps, and eventually the rain gutter as its support on the roof was removed. Should a watchman put in an appearance, we would each head in a different direction, and every man would look out for himself. Those of us on the ground were more fortunate than those stranded on the roofs. Once a watchman surprised one of our boys by coming up through the skylight. The boy raced desperately along the flat roof to its edge, and leaped into space. We saw him land on another roof ten feet below the first; then with a clash and clatter of tin covering he fell through the tlimsy, old factory roof. A minute later he dashed out of the factory door and scampered down the street while the watchman loudly cursed. All of the soft metals we accumulated we pounded and smashed with rocks and hammers into as compact a bundle as possible so that we could store them in the small wooden shanty we used as a warehouse. Because of this i)racticc tlie copper washtub belonging to the mother of one of the boys went the way of all soft metals we got our hands on. It was the biggest smashing job we'd had, and our enjoyment in banging and clanging on the tub was unbounded until its owner put in her appearance. She didn't say a word. It seemed strange to us because she didn't scream and rage at us as all the women of the neighborhood did at one time or another. She just took her son firmly by the arm and forcibly dragged him home. The look in her eyes made us glad to be our mothers' sons and not hers. As materials became scarcer, our methods of procuring them became more drastic. A few blocks from our shanty warehouse, on the other side of the railroad tracks, there were shabby, empty shanty homes. We didn't know who owned the homes. They never were occupied, but they contained electrical wires of copper; that is, they contained electrical wires until we got to them. With small crowbars and hammers hidden in our clothing to conceal our purpose, we broke into the homes, and amid falling plaster and ripping wall paper removed all of the wiring. When the city decided to repair the streetcar tracks in our neighborhood, its appropriations for the repairs failed to take into account the materials we confiscated. We would mingle with the group of children who always 8 The Green Caldron managed to shuw up and get in the way of the workmen whenever some public street repairs were being made. We kept out of the way, but the work- men's materials went with us. The junkman we dealt with had his office set up in the city junk heaps. It was a new brick warehouse that looked out of place among the rotting garbage, tin cans, and rubble. He was a small, thin, bent man, always shabbily dressed, and in need of a shave and bath. He was quite adept at cheating us when weighing our junk, and every now and then he would simply and forcibly take our junk from us without offering us any remunera- tion. The boys all disliked him, and in a fit of rage, after he'd taken some of our junk without paying us, we decided to get revenge. That night and several nights after, we went to work on a corner of his warehouse. We removed enough bricks to permit one of the boys to crawl through the hole and pass the stored junk out to us. When we had all we could carry, we piled rubbish and old garbage over the hole and went home. The next day we resold the junk to him. He had so much of it that he wasn't able to recog- nize the stuff. It seemed just and right to us, not funny. We cheated him out of quite a good deal, but one night, about a month after we'd made the hole, our revenge had to stop. We found the hole repaired and knew that he would inspect his building quite often now. Our money-making scheme ended when the city built a modern high- way through its dumps. The junkman had to leave, and the junk heaps were replaced by lawns and trees. Keeping Them Contented Grace Hartman Rhetoric I, Theme 7, 1946-1947 A SWEET, GRINNING, HAPPY CHILD IS, AS WE ALL KNOW, an irresistible attraction. But there's also another side to the story. - I'm not attempting to take the part of the Voice of Experience or an authority on child psychology, but after several years of baby- sitting, I have gleaned some useful ideas in entertaining a child. First of all, if you are one of those unfortunate individuals who have neither an ounce of patience nor at least a slight love for "little ones," the best advice would be that you resort to some other means of income than staying with children. Upon arrival at the job, you must often solve two problems — getting acquainted with the child and convincing him that his "mamma" and "daddy" arc coming back. I don't suggest the use of the word "soon"; it seems to mean "in a few minutes" to most children. A previous knowledge December, 1947 9 of your charge's name, age, and grade in school will be helpful. Remember, children can dream up some very convincing stories. I know ! I very gullibly listened to kindergarten tales from a "five year old" who, I later found out, was reaching his fourth birthday. A rule that can usually be applied is to ask the child his age and then subtract about one or two years. (Not that children are liars — they just exaggerate !) One sure way to become a friend of the child is to exclaim over her new shiny patent leather sandals or his new red fire truck. Little need be said about the pessimistic side of meeting the child. If he decides to take a strong dislike to you from the first, I can only express my sympathies and hopes that his parents will come home early. I've had such experiences — even to the extent of an anxious neighbor's investigating the screams of the deserted child. As to the actual entertaining of the child, I have discovered one particu- larly effective and profitable way. Invariably, you will have taken something to occupy your time when the child is asleep in bed. Once the child finds this, your evening is all arranged. I found last year that a physics book held great fascination because of the many pictures and diagrams. Also, I en- tertained by reading out of my German book for a half hour one night. Knitting serves the same purpose. Boxes of letter writing materials are excellent playthings. But you must be careful to hide your fountain pen, because ink on the rug or chair creates an awkward situation when parents return home. Be sure to include several sheets of scratch paper in your writing box. Drawing pictures results in great satisfaction — your "audi- ence" is both attentive and appreciative. (And if you draw anjiihing the way I do, this will be the only time when your artistic endeavors are respected.) Be prepared to sketch a portrait of the child, probably one of her mother and father, and jjossibly one of Aunt Molly. These pictures should be de- stroyed after the child is in bed. In case the child has been taught to perform for visitors, it will be time- consuming to encourage her to dance for you, recite a jingle, show you the "Teddy Bear" stunt, or even sing. An asset is the ability to read the melody of music, so that you can recognizably play the tunes in the Peter Pan Song- book. Children always enjoy showing you how they can read or at least pretend to read. Just let them "rattle" on without interruption. Don't even remind them that they're holding the book upside down. When bed-time is nearing you must begin saying, "This is the last story" about a half hour before you actually plan to stop. The chances are that you'll be either carrying or coaxing a crying child up the stairs to his bed- room. But, remember, if you let him run his own bath water, play with the soap dish in the tub, squirt the toothpaste out of the tube, you will soon have him calmly in bed. Then you listen to his prayers several times, say your prayers for him, give him his favorite stuffed animal to hug, and he soon will be peacefully off to sleep — you hope ! 10 The Green Caldron Should Congress Establish a Permanent FEPC? Lee Cadwell Rhetoric II, Theme 13, 1946-1947 ASA RESULT OF ACTION TAKEN BY A. PHILLIP RAN- /t:d\ dolph, Negro President of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, -^ -^ President Roosevelt issued Executive Order No. 8802 on June 25, 1941, estabHshing a wartime Fair Employment Practice Commission. Ran- dolph had organized the "March on Washington," protesting the existing labor conditions in the country, and he had refused to abandon his plan until Roosevelt set up the FEPC.^ This order provided that "there shall be no discrimination in the employment of any person in defense industries or in the Government by reason of race, creed, color, or national origin"^ and covered employers with six or more workers "engaged in interstate or foreign commerce or in operations affecting such commerce," and labor unions.^ The purpose of the order was to place unemployed members of minority groups in defense production where they normally would have been denied employment. Discriminatory practices in labor unions have long been practiced. Either by actual provisions in their constitutions or by ritual, many American unions have excluded Negroes from membership. The railroad unions have been particularly instrumental in fostering prejudice ; skilled craft unions, fearful of losing a larger share of the available jobs and the higher wages, have operated under a discriminatory policy. Although the AF of L started out claiming a policy of racial equality, this policy hindered its development, since smaller unions refused to afifiliate under this stipulation. In 1900 a plan for organizing Negroes into local Jim Crow units was devised. This has made it impossible for the Negro workers to hold an equal opportunity for securing work, since they are in competition with the local white units. Principally because it gains its strength by being an open organization, the CIO has adhered to a non-discriminatory policy, although there has been the tendency for whites to regard white priority as the accepted order. Union leaders have had particular difficulty in dealing with the Southerners, who refuse to base promotion on seniority of tenure and ability and who object to Negroes' receiving any better paid jobs.* Oddly enough, the heads of both '"Filibuster Kills FEPC Bill," Christian Century, 63 (Feb. 20, 1946), 227. 'Herbert R. Northrup, Organized Labor and the Negro (New York, 1944), pp. 241-242. •I. F. Stone, "Swastika Over the Senate," Nation, 162 (Feb. 9, 1946), 158. * Northrup, op cit., pp. 2-9. 1 December, 1947 11 the AF of L and the CIO were FEPC members.' Prior to the establishment of the FEPC, government agencies were also guilty of refusing to employ Negroes.' Thus, there was a definite need for the FEPC; but up until May 27, 1943, the organization operated largely in an advisory capacity. At that time another Executive Order, No. 9346, was issued, creating a new commission with more powers, a permanent chairman, and a more vigorous membership. In January Manpower Commissioner Paul McXutt, by indefinitely post- poning the hearings on the exposure of the anti-Negro railway coalition, had created a crisis in the career of the FEPC. Since the announcement of the scheduled hearings in October, the Negro press had proclaimed the move as a symbol of progress ; Randolph considered this "the showdown test of the FEPC's power to outlaw Jim Crowism."" Although McXutt had prom- ised that other ways would be found to alleviate the railroad situation, the Negroes were bitterly disappointed by the failure of the FEPC in this case. There were other serious consequences: the entire progress made in Roose- velt's administration towards giving the minorities a break in employment was overshadowed, and the Axis powers were given a talking point against America's democratic pretensions. These reasons convinced the President of the need for a more effective FEPC. Francis J. Haas, an experienced labor conciliator, was chosen as the new chairman and the future looked brighter for the committee.* He was "given the real chance to render the national service for which it was designed."" Nevertheless, because the FEPC was based on the President's war powers and not on a statute,*" its operation and power were doomed to be weak. The actual procedure of settling a complaint consisted of several steps. First, a signed complaint against a specified employer, union, or government agency which stated the discriminatory practice was received by the Commission. A representative of the organization then investigated the complaint and attempted to work out a solution to eliminate the discrimination. If nego- tiations with the violator failed, the case was referred to the full Commis- sion, which could hold public hearings on it. If discrimination was definitely established, the Commission issued a cease-and-desist order through the Circuit Court of Appeals, outlining the action to be taken by the violator. The only power of enforcement was the penalty imposed by the Circuit Court if the violator disregarded the order." Often the procedure was the object of government intrigue and manipulations.'- By working through the War Manpower Commission, the FEPC was able to deny violators govern- *Tlte Xcgro Worker, American Management Association (New York, 1942), p. 14. • Xorthrup, op. cit., p. 249. ' I. A. Wcchsler. "riKconhole for Negro Equality," Nation, 156 (Jan. 23, 1946), 121- 122. '"Tough Assignment," Business Week (May 29. 1943). 100. •"F"ather Haas Tackles a Hard Assignment," Christian Century, 60 (June 2, 1943), 652. " Northrup, of. cit., pp. 242-243. " Stone, loc. cit. " Wechsler, loc. cit. 12 The Green Caldron ment contracts and assistance in securing employees. If all action failed, the President could use his war powers to enforce compliance with the FEPC directive." Despite its drawbacks and weaknesses, the FEPC was able to remove discriminatory practices in many places. Ten manufacturing plants in the Chicago-Milwaukee area were exposed in April, 1942, and, though there were not enough agents at the time to police the project, there was no showdown of this early order. ^* At the Savannah Building Trades Council, Negroes were allowed to become a party to the contract with a ship con- struction company on December 8, 1942.^^ Vultee's California airplane fac- tory was ordered to employ Negroes. ^^ On November 19, 1942, the Gulf Shipbuilding Company received an FEPC order to cease discrimination, and, since then, Negroes have been employed in unskilled capacities. ^^ Negroes who had refused to join auxiliaries of the Boilermakers were discharged but rehired in July, 1943, as a result of an FEPC directive and a serious need for labor.^* In a dispute involving a Southern shipbuilding company and a craft union, in which the company claimed it would have hired the Negroes if the union had referred any skilled ones to it and the union claimed that no Negroes had passed the required test, the FEPC intervened and ordered the company to hire employees on the basis of skill and to make known its policy of non-discrimination. Also, it was required to submit monthly reports to the Commission concerning the number and the classifi- cation of new employees.^^ The FEPC met with stubborn Southern resistance in many cases. When the Shell Oil Company was ordered to assign Mexicans to its work crews, the white workers struck and planned a walkout after thirty days if the segregation was refused.^" Although Negro plumbers were given the right to join the Plumbers' Union in June, 1942, no Negroes have been admit- ted.^^ Eighty Negroes were hurt at the Alabama Shipbuilding Company in a riot of May 25, 1943, when an order from the FEPC was issued to upgrade and train Negroes.^^ Considering the number of cases which were filed with the FEPC and the lack of funds and proper enforcement powers, the Commission's record speaks well for itself. In the 1943-1944 fiscal year, 3,030 of 5,133 cases were closed. From July, 1944, to July, 1945, 1,771 old cases were taken care of while 1,722 new complaints were received. With complaints coming in at the " "Should Congress Pass a Law Prohibiting Employment Discrimination ?" Congres- sional Digest, 24 (June, 1945), 192. " Wechsler, loc cit. " Northrup, op cit., p. 31. " Ibid., p. 207. " Ibid., p. 216. " Ibid., p. 218. " The Negro Worker, pp. 16-17. ^'''Segregation Deal," Business Week (May 19, 1945), 107-108. " Northrup, op. cit.. p. 23. =' Ibid., pp. 225-227. December, 1947 13 rate of 322 a month, and with 2,054 pending cases, the Commission was faced with an expanding program in 1945.^^ Congress has played a typically political role in FEPC legislation. In June, 1944, $500,000 was appropriated for the FEPC from the President's emergency war funds after much Southern opposition to the measure. Alth(juj,'h both Republicans and Democrats had pledged establishment of the FEPC in their 1944 platform campaigns," the FEPC was able to get only $250,000, less than half of what it had requested, in the 1945 appropria- tions bill. This bill was so ambiguous that both advocates and opponents claimed it to be in their favor. In one section the funds were to be used "for completely terminating the functions and duties of the FEPC" while in another they were "for continued operation of the FEPC if, and until, it is continued by an act of Congress. "^^ Before the seventy-eighth Congress dissolved, bills had been introduced in bfjth the House and the Senate for the establishment of a permanent F'EPC. These were the first Congressional attempts to formulate a method of eliminating discrimination in employment, but both measures died with the seventy-eighth CTnent Discrimination?" op. cit., p. 171. 18 The Green Caldron another argument: "In my opinion any such compulsory measure will create more bad racial and religious feelings than any other method which can be pursued. I think it will do the colored race much more harm than good." For it he has this solution: "Progress against discrimination must be made gradually and must be made by voluntary cooperation and education with encouragement from a Federal Board . . . and state governments and boards and not by inviting thousands of lawsuits which will get beyond the control even of the FEPC itself."^* The acuteness of the present employment discrimination problem neces- sitates some action, and if the only possible solution now is the establishment of the FEPC, I would advocate it. However, there are obvious weaknesses and fallacies in the FEPC bill, as it stands now, which would call for an improved set-up as the operation of the Commission continued. These changes could be made after the preliminary and most important step of establishing the FEPC has been completed. ' Ibid. BIBLIOGRAPHY "Birth of a Filibuster," Newsweek, 27 (January 28, 1946), 23. Champaign-Urbana Courier, Urbana, Illinois (March 19, 1947), 1. Daily Illini, Champaign, Illinois (March, 1947), 1. "Father Haas Tackles a Hard Assignment," Christian Century, 60 (June 2, 1943), 652. "FEPC," Survey, 81 (August, 1945), 209. "FEPC Cutback," Business Week (July 21, 1945), 98-99. "FEPC Vote Portends Trouble to Come," Christian Century, 62 (July 25, 1945), 853. "Fihbuster Kills FEPC Bill," Christian Century, 63 (February 20, 1946), 227. MosLOW, W., "Fair Employment State by State," Nation, 160 (April 14, 1945), 410-411. "Municipal FEPC in Minneapolis," Survey, 83 (March, 1947), 86. The Negro Worker, American Management Association, New York, 1942. NoRTHRUP, Herbert R., Organized Labor and the Negro, New York and London, Harper Brothers, 1944. "Save the FEPC," Nation, 160 (June 16, 1945), 663. "Segregation Deal," Business Week, (May 19, 1945), 107. "Should Congress Pass a Law Prohibiting Employment Discrimination ?" Congressional Digest, 24 (June, 1945), 163-192. Smith, Harrison, "Talked to Death," Saturday Review of Literature, 29 (March 9, 1944), 18. Spitz, R. S., "State Legislation in Labor Relations and Discrimination in Employment, 1945," Monthly Labor Review, 61 (November, 1945), 984-991. Stone, I. F., "Jim Crow Flies High," Nation, 160 (June 23, 1945), 687-688. Stone, I. F., "Swastika Over the Senate," Nation, 162 (February 9, 1946), 158-159. "Strictly from Dixie," Time, 47 (January 28, 1946), 22. "Tough Assignment," Business Week (May 29, 1943), 100. Wechsler, J. A., "Pigeonhole for Negro Equality," Nation, 156 (January 23, 1943), 121-122. December, 1947 19 My Discovery Harlan K. Corrie Rhetoric I, Theme 6, 1946-1947 GOODYEAR DISCOVERED VULCANIZATION BY ACCIDENT- " ally dropping a bit of rubber onto a hot stove. Isaac Xewton visual- ized the law of gravity by having his head under a falling apple at just the right time. Accidents, to be sure, account for many discoveries or inventions. The secret of making a boat model inside a bottle look antique I discovered by an accidental explosion. I had just finished thrusting the last piece of the model through the neck of the bottle. The little schooner looked magnificent on her sea of bee's wax. There was something wrong, however. The inside of the bottle was smudged with wax. Before building the boat, I had melted chips of wax inside the bottle to make a llat surface for the model to sit on when the bottle lay on its side. The melting had left smears inside the bottle in several places. I solved the problem of cleaning the glass inside with a long-handled swab of cotton soaked in ether. Still there was something wrong. The ship model looked too new. It should have cobwebs or something to give it an ancient look. I pondered the situation for several minutes, then gave up. I took up the task of putting finishing touches to the ship's rigging. Some excess thread had to be re- moved, and so I approached the loose ends through the bottle neck with a burning broom straw. Then the accident happened. Whoof ! The ether fumes inside the bottle Hashed red and shot out the neck. I was startled and my thumb burned. I fully expected the whole model to be burned completely. When the smoke inside cleared, however, I got a pleasant surprise. Instead of cliarrcd masts and smoldering hull, I saw only browned paper sail edges and cracked paint. The model looked like a rare antique. I smiled the smile of a veteran craftsman. Radio Announcer : Exclamation Point One kind of radio announcer is like the exclamation point. He is lively. He is the huckster of radio, the man with something to sell. The exclamation point always has his foot in the door, ready, willing, and able to go into his sales-talk on the slightest provocation. He bubbles with vitality. He is the Babbitt, the booster, and the Chamber of Commerce rolled into one. He has a message of vital importance which, true friend that he is, he is obliged to pass on to the listeners. In fact, he passes on his helpful hints as though they were head colds or a mouthful of hot, mashed potatoes. He is the most direct representative of radio's god incarnate, the sponsor. — R. G. Steuert, Navy Pier 20 The Green Caldron I Learn to Understand Black Virginia Ludwig Rhetoric I, Theme 11, 1946-1947 I rirNHE CHIEF NURSE WAS CAREFULLY EXPLAINING TO ME my new assignment. I tried to gather my stunned thoughts and to give my attention to what she was telHng me. It appeared that I was to have charge of a ward of eighty Negro men. My experience with Negroes was Hmited to the few contacts I had had with the one Negro family that Uved in my home town. Miss Carmody was still talking in an earnest tone. "There has been a great deal of trouble on this ward. I believe one of the reasons is that the Southern nurse who has had charge has no sympathy for or interest in Negroes. You are to supervise the ward and see that no more trouble occurs. You are to begin your new assignment today, Miss Ludwig." As I walked slowly down the hall, I felt miserable about the whole thing. The many stories I had heard about the ward went racing through my mind. Going up the stairs, however, I decided to be philosophical and accept the challenge offered me. As I entered my new ward the clatter coming from the galley and the general boisterous laughing and talking gave me warning of what was to come. At the door, I stood listening to the men of the galley crew who were causing the commotion. One man after the other fell silent, and they all turned toward the door to look at their new nurse. "Good morning, boys," I said. "Is this the way you maintain the peace and quiet of a hospital?" A few of them grinned rather sheepishly, and a few others mumbled, "Good morning." I continued down the ward, past the quiet rooms where the sickest patients were located, down the large, sunny room to my desk, which was placed in the center. I sat down and looked around — confusion, utter con- fusion. A large number of convalescing patients already were playing cards in groups about their bunks. Beds were not made, the floor was filthy, and the bed patients looked crumpled, mussed, and discontent. A slow wrath burned in me as I considered the pandemonium and the filth. The ward medical officer appeared in the midst of the disorder. It was time for sick call. I introduced myself to the doctor, found the corpsman, who was reading a comic book in a secluded corner, and we called the boys to attention. After the doctor introduced me to the patients, I told them that all the up-patients were to report to the desk immediately after sick call. December, 1947 21 The day wore on, one of the busiest days of my life. When three o'clock came, there was still much to do. The doctor was working frantically, and I volunteered to remain on duty to help him finish. Dr. Reeves was a young Southern boy who had just returned from overseas duty with the Marine Corps. He confessed to me that not even overseas had he ever labored under such a heavy work schedule and such confusion. He could not understand the lack of cooperation and the bel- ligerent manner of the boys. I told him I would do my best to help restore peace, order, and cleanliness to the ward. As the week passed, I talked with each man I knew was capable of work and persuaded him to carry a light detail. Careful never to lose my temper, I made it a point to be pleasantly interested in each man and his problems. At first they did not know what to make of this attitude, and many were skeptical. If it became necessary to discipline anyone, I scolded the wrong- doer as if he were a child. 1 was firm in matters of discipline, something they seemed to expect of me. I always demanded a little more of them than they anticipated, and they slowly responded. As the weeks passed, everyone settled down to the new routine. When 1 reported for duty in the morning, the work was usually well underway. The ward was clean, as a hospital ward should be, by the time Dr. Reeves made sick call. The boys were quiet as they went about their details, and smiles greeted us as we made morning rounds. We had more time to care for the sick boys who needed more attention. Dr. Reeves followed a schedule, too, that coincided with ours, and we were able to accomplish all the work between us. I was surprised to find that I had become intensely interested in my work and looked forward to each new day of duty. The atmosphere was natural and jovial. The Negro boys seemed to have a great capacity for enjoying life even under trying circumstances. On the whole, they were happy, with no inhibitions in the manifestations of their moods. It was not unusual for one of them to burst into song in a superb voice, or for a group of them to harmonize some very lovely Negro spiritual. One boy used to carry sand iii his dungarees, and when some good, rhythmical music was playing on the radio he would scatter the sand on the fioor and do an intricate soft-shoe tap dance, to the delight of his fellow patients and me. One day near Christmas lime, 1 came back from my lunch hour to find a large, powerful Negro boy sitting on the floor in front of the doctor's office. He was sobbing like a child. Before I could reach him to find what the trouble was, a patient asked him what the matter was. He brokenly said that the doctor had refused him Christmas leave. The other boy laughed and called him "psycho." The massive Negro jumped to his feet and pulled out a knife which was concealed in his jacket. I ran up to them and took the 22 The Green Caldron knife away immediately. I scolded them both, as they stood there hanging their heads like naughty children. Calling the master-at-arms I had the entire ward searched for knives ; we collected over thirty of these mean-looking weapons. Thus it was I discovered my happy, good-natured boys had fierce tempers. Brown was a tall, handsome Negro boy. He was more aggressive than the others, with a sharp and ready wit. He was the morale booster on the ward. Life was never dull when Brown was near. His favorite trick was to hop into bed, clothes and all, and pull the covers to his chin when he saw the Red Cross wagon coming with gifts for the bed patients. This always amused everyone, because he could look so sick and pitiful that the Red Cross girls would shower him with little gifts. Most of the boys enjoyed gambling. This was not against the hospital rules providing they did not show their money while they played. They grew very careless about this rule, however, and I had to warn them that I would take any money I saw when they were playing. One afternoon there was a large pile of bills lying on a bunk in the middle of a group of very absorbed players. I had walked up behind them unnoticed and stood watch- ing them play. Angry with them, I reached over and grabbed a large handful of bills, I can still shut my eyes and see one white arm reaching for the money amidst at least ten black ones. They were very unhappy about my breaking up their game and begged for their money. I knew, however, they had to be taught a lesson; so I asked the owner of the money what state he came from, and we walked down and donated the money to his state in the competitive national tuberculosis drive. After this I had no further trouble with gambling. Christmas week came, and we had a big party planned. The Red Cross workers came, bringing refreshments, a moveable piano, and their record- making apparatus. Everyone had a gay time with much laughter and music. The boys presented me with a beautiful gift worth a great deal of money, purchased from Ship's Service. I knew they were poor and could not afford such an expensive gift, but when I looked up all I could see was white teeth and grinning black faces. I had never been so touched by a gift before in my life. I had known I liked them ; now I knew they liked me, too. Dr. Reeves announced that I had received my orders for a new station of duty. Several of the boys wanted to know when I was to be discharged from the Navy, and if I would need a cook or a house boy. These offers of service amused me, but I was touched by the loyalty that prompted them. Much to my amazement I found that the patients had drawn up and sub- mitted to the chief nurse's office a petition signed by all eighty of the boys and by Dr. Reeves asking that I be allowed to remain on duty on their ward. I 1 December, 1947 23 Since the Navy does not work that way, I knew their petition was useless ; but it made me proud. My experience with this group of Negro men taught me much. I gained a valuable insight into their character and habits. I have never had a tour of duty that was as pleasant and as interesting. Like any other human beings, if Negroes are given an opportunity to prove themselves, they will work hard, long, and well. They are happy, light-hearted, loyal, though perhaps too easily led — a weakness undoubtedly forced on them. My chief gain is a broader social outlook and a deep interest in the racial problem they present. The Last Thought Charles N. Watkins Rhetoric I. Theme 3, 1946-1947 IT HAS BEEN SAID BY MEN WHO HAVE LIVED DANGER- ously and have rubbed elbows with death on many occasions that a man's life unreels i)et'ore his eyes in that last brief second. The fiction writer's hero, when faced with seemingly certain death, thinks of his beloved and is prepared to die with her name on his lips. Other persons say that the last thought is of prayer. Judged by these beliefs, I have not lived a life worth recalling: I either have no loved one or am not romantic enough to think of her, and I must have no religion, for several years ago I came face to face with death and experienced none of these emotions. It all happened on a cool, starry, beautiful night in the summer of 1941. I had ridden my motorcycle to Sterling, early that evening, to see a pretty girl in whom I was deeply interested. The hours passed swiftly, and when I finally glanced at the clock, I swore softly to myself. "It's two o'clock in the morning," I thought to myself. "I've got to get to work by six." There was a lingering farewell, and I climbed astride the little Indian motorcycle. Moisture from the night air had condensed in the distributor cap, and it was with some difficulty that I coaxed the Indian to life. Racing the engine, I shifted to low gear and rode out of town as rapidly as the speed limit allowed. Once past the city limit, I turned the throttle open as far as possible and settled myself for the journey home. The hand on the speedometer climbed steadily until it registered seventy miles per hour, which was the Indian's maximum speed. The air was cool and sweet on my face and arms, and plucked at my clothing with invisible fingers. I thought of the meager two hours of sleep I would have bfefore work at six; slightly leaning over the 24 The Green Caldron gasoline tanks, I readjusted the carburetor setting; the motor's demon-like song rose in pitch. As we thundered over the crest of a small hill, I saw the red lights on the rear of a truck about one-half mile from me. No serious thoughts of caution came to my mind, however, as there was little traffic so early in the morning. With the difference in speed between the motorcycle and the truck, the distance between us narrowed to a matter of yards in a few seconds. Immediately in front of the truck, the road bent in an "S." The curves were short and sharp, and between the ends of the "S" lay a narrow canal bridge, some thirty yards long. It was impossible to see across the bridge and around the far curve because of the trees at the canal's edge, near the bridge. It is difficult now to understand my thoughtlessness, and it is impossible to excuse it. Nevertheless, I began to pass the truck on the first curve. As the truck and I came upon the bridge, the front fenders of the two vehicles were side by side. Then everything happened at once. The events which took place in the next instant or two seemed to be part of a slow-motion movie, at which I was a disinterested spectator. Bright lights flashed from around the opposite curve; a car made the approach to the bridge, coming head-on at the truck and me. My only conscious thought was, "I can't make it. They'll fish me out of the river in the morning." For some odd reason, I made no attempt to apply the brakes or to cut the throttle ; perhaps I was too bewildered. Suddenly, the driver in the car from the opposite direction applied his brakes ; his car slid broadside across the concrete, then whipped back into its proper lane once more. Simultaneously with the righting of the coming car and its entrance to the bridge, the cycle and I sliced through the narrow gap between the car's front fender and the truck's heavy bumper, and continued down the road at seventy miles per hour. A mile or so from the bridge, chills ran over me and cold sweat dribbled down my forehead. My knees banged and clattered on the sides of the gasoline tanks so fiercely that I could no longer control the machine. Stop- ping the engine, I parked on the shoulder by the side of the road and sat down in the damp grass. An hour elapsed before I gained sufficient com- posure to ride on. Now, as I think of the incident, I remember my single thought as I waited for the oncoming car to crash me, "They'll fish me out of the river in the morning." There was no emotion of fear, not because I am brave, for I was thoroughly frightened afterward, but because there was not time to think of fear. I doubt very much whether men think of their dear ones or of their sins or even prayer when there is but a second to live. It seems more probable to me that a man's last thought is apt to be as ridiculous as mine, "They'll fish me out of the river in the morning!" December, 1947 25 Blac\ Boy by Richard Wright Lee Cadvvell Rhetoric I. Theme 7, 1946-19-17 RICHARD WRIGHT DID NOT WRITE BLACK BOY FOR THE purpose of arousing the pity of the white Americans for the Ne- ■ groes. One naturally responds to this feeling as he reads of the in- justices inflicted upon the Negroes, but he is much more aware of a strong, bitter feeling of anger and disgust for the Southern whites. Wright did not attempt to employ diplomacy in his writings ; the brutal truth was far the more effective and impressive method of relating his story. Through the frankness and simplicity with which he attacked this book, he achieves a clearer understanding of the Southern white-Xegro situation. Black Boy is the story of Richard Wright's childhood and youth as a Southern Negro. Not one happy incident slipped into his miserable life to make it more bearable. His father deserted the family when Richard was only four ; the children were left in an orphan's home when it became im- possible for Mrs. Wright to support them; for a period of years the family's life consisted of a series of moving from one poor home to a poorer one; then Mrs. Wright became partially paralyzed and the family was forced to move into the strict grandmother's home where religion dominated every move. Constant, bitter arguments took place between Richard and his grand- mother because he refused to adopt her religion, because he desired formal schooling, and because he was anxious to earn some money. Hunger lived with him throughout his childhood; it was "biting hunger, hunger that made my body aimlessly restless, hunger that left me on edge, that made my temper flare, hunger that made hate leap out of my heart like the dart of a serpent's tongue, hunger that created in me odd cravings." He accepted beatings matter-of-factly — beatings from his mother, grandmother, aunts, uncles, and teachers — beatings that often lashed him into unconsciousness. Early in his life he learned the expected treatment from the whites, but Richard's rebellious nature would not allow him to accept the set standard. "It was perhaps a mere accident that I had never killed." he admitted. Through his reading he became aware of the possibilities of happiness for Negroes in the North, and his main goal in life was "to go North." Never can I remember experiencing more violent emotions while reading a book than I did while reading Bla^k Boy. For those who can take the cold and cruel facts, digest them, and then understand better the Negro situation, Richard Wright has written Black Boy. After reading it, one is assured that America has a great deal to accomplish before it truly fulfills the democratic ideals which it claims. 26 The Green Caldron Blac\ Boy by Richard Wright Carolyn Clark Rhetoric II, Theme 13, 1946-1947 IN HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL BLACK BOY, RICHARD WRIGHT tells the story of his childhood — a thought-provoking tale of misery and hardship, of misunderstanding and heartbreak. The story is biased. Wright was a sensitive, brilliant Negro boy w^ho was born and raised in the Deep South. He was keenly aware of the inferior position which his race held because of their poverty and ignorance. The reader constantly feels the contrast between the intense, bitter struggle of Wright to overcome his heritage, and the hopeless, defeated acceptance of their miserable lot by the majority of his race. He raises his voice against the contempt and in- justice with which the white people deal with the Negro. In his great concern with the supremacy that the white people feel over the Negro, Wright gives no credit to the whites, and he represents them all as smug, uncouth, and domineering. He claims that the whites feel the Negroes were made by nature to be slaves to the "superior" race. In one of his early attempts to find employment a white woman scoffs at him because he says he wants to be a writer. She says, "Who on earth put that idea into your nigger head?" In this way, the whites offer the Negro no encourage- ment. It is true that the white people could do a great deal more toward improving racial conditions, but they cannot do it alone. It is up to the Negro to give a little, too, and not constantly to assert himself against the whites. Wright offers no solution to the problem and always represents him- self as the underdog. He relates many more instances like the one mentioned, and altogether they form a sweeping condemnation of the white race. The climax of the book comes when Wright decides to travel to the North, a paradise where he hopes to find happiness and achieve his am- bitions. Throughout his childhood he had heard of it as a place where every man had a chance to make something of himself. The book ends with this hope, and we never know whether he attains his goal. The North, funda- mentally, is not much different from the South, and so it is unlikely that anyone as embittered as Wright found it to be the heaven of which he had dreamed as a child. Black Boy is itself a good example of race prejudice — against the white people. Many of Wright's tales seem greatly exaggerated and highly fan- tastic. The situation presented in the book is so discouraging and dishearten- ing that one wonders, after reading it, whether the problem of race prejudice will ever be solved. Wright's writing is bitter and intense, difficult for a reader to put aside. His style is easy, his opinions clearly and forcefully expressed. Undoubtedly he is one of the ablest of our recent writers. December, 1947 27 Early Pipe Organs and Their Development William C. Moore Rhetoric II, Theme 12, Summer, 1947 OF ALL THE BRANCHES OF HUMAN INDUSTRY IN THE development of which man has displayed versatility of talent, sub- tlety of intellect, or depth of spirituality, organ construction stands supreme.* The organ existed, history tells us, in the houses of wealthy Romans in 175 B.C.* From its crude, early beginning, it has been developed into the magnificent, awe-inspiring instrument we know today. To appreciate fully the modern instrument one must know its history. The early Romans used the organ not only to entertain themselves and their guests in their homes, but also to heighten the pleasures of the theatres, circuses, and other amusement centers. The simple instruments the early Romans used had levers to operate the pipes, and utilized water power to operate the bellows which supplied air to the pipes.^ This, the earliest form of pipe organ known, was called "hydraulic." Its invention is ascribed to an Egyptian who lived in the second or third century B. C. The term "hydraulic," however, was a misnomer; water was used merely to give the necessary pressure to the bellows. Air was the "element" that gave, and still gives, the organ the basis for its operation. Because of the injurious effects of the dampness on the material and the mechanism of the early organs, the hydraulic organ passed into disuse during the fourteenth century after other and better means were discovered for supplying a constant pressure of air.* After the well-to-do Romans tired of this instrument, the early Chris- tians adopted the discarded organ for religious services in their places of worship, where it has held its important place ever since. Although it was Pope Vitalian (657-72) who ceremoniously introduced the organ into the church service, organs were not common in churches until the fourteenth century.* These early church organs were fantastic instruments. The keys were from four to six inches broad, and they were struck by hard blows from the "organ-beater's" fist. A finger board with only nine keys was from four to five feet wide!® Also, some of the early organs were made extremely costly by their decoration, jewels and precious metals being used in their ' R. I. Geare, "Evolution of the Organ," Craftsman, 7 (February, 1905), 549. •C. W. Grimm, "Ideal Organ," Etude, 53 (September, 1935), 544. * Ibid. * Geare, op. cit., pp. 549-50. 'Grimm, loc. cit. 'Geare, op. cit., pp. 551-52. 28 The Green Caldron enrichment. A convent near Madrid is said to have possessed an organ made entirely of silver.^ Evans says of an organ (which still plays) in the chapel of Frederiksborg, the celebrated castle of Danish kings, "The baroque case is of oak, and when the front doors are opened the pipes and screen above them present, with their exhibition of rare wood, overlaid ivory, gilding and other ornamentation, a characteristic picture of the fantasy of the Renais- sance period and its delights of wanton luxury."* Nearly all early organ builders were monks with a mechanical turn of mind;^ the organs still intact are a living tribute to their ability and artistic talent. But all that glitters is not gold ; these organs had their drawbacks, too. Perhaps the greatest drawback was the inefficient and unreliable air supply. The bellows were operated by several "bellow-boys," who, having a bellow fastened to each foot, pumped air by hanging onto a transverse bar and alternately raising and lowering each foot.^° We can imagine what urgings these bellow-boys needed from time to time to "do better work."^^ Another drawback, the unreliability of the connections between the keyboard and the pipes, led to the important art of registration. Because of these unreliable connections, organ builders began to arrange the sets of pipes so that they could be played by either of two manuals in case one manual broke down. It was soon discovered that by arranging different sets of pipes to the manuals, alternation and combination of tone colors could be ac- complished.^^ This knowledge led to the invention of the pedal clavier by a Viennese, Bernhard, in 1418.^^ Since the art of mechanics was in its infancy, these early organs were quite prone to disintegrate at crucial moments. A classic example of this phenomenon took place several centuries ago in Weingarten, Germany, when a bell clapper fell out of the monastic church tower while the organist was playing the bells and narrowly missed the bishop, who was arriving for a confirmation.^* Bless Progress!" Few of these ancient organs are still in existence. "Religious fanaticism has been the chief cause of the destruction of the ancient organs, as it is ' Arthur George Hill, The Organ-Cases and Organs of the Middle Ages and Renais- sance (London, 1883-91), I, pp. 8-9. *C. H. Evans, "Historic Organs of Fredriksborg," Etude, 51 (March, 1933), 197. "William Harrison Barnes, The Contemporary American Organ (New York, 1930). p. 15. '"Edward J. Hopkins, The Organ, Its History and Construction (New York, 1870), p. 34. " Barnes, op. cit., p. 21. " Grimm, loc. cit. " Geare, op. cit., p. 559. "James Ingall Wedgwood, Some Continental Organs and Their Makers (London, 1910), p. 62. "If any incident of this sort has happened in recent times, the writer will retract this statement. December, 1947 29 also responsible for the demolition of countless works of art which originally beautified the churches of Christian Europe."*® Perhaps the oldest organ in the world has been discovered at Aquincum, a former Roman settlement now a suburb of Budapest. An attached tablet states that the instrument was built in 228 A.D. The organ, consisting of fifty-two pipes, has been renovated and probably plays as well as ever.'^ At the present time, it would be difficult to say how many of the ancient organs are still in existence in Europe. No doubt many were destroyed during the last war; their loss is incalculable. The pipe organ, as we know it today, has changed little since the advent of electricity. With the invention of the electric fan blower, many churches graduated immediately from the bellows as a means of supplying air pres- sure.'* To solve the problem of faulty and unreliable action between the keyboard and the pipes, a Frenchman, Dr. Albert Peschard, invented electro- pneumatic action, This invention has proved to be a boon to organ action ; the organist now is assured of positive and instantaneous action to the touch of the keys,*" Also, the advent of electricity has brought about the creation of the "toy-counter" effect which is so popular with theatre organ lovers. I am sure almost everyone has been entertained by the theatre organist using the bass drum, snare drum, Chinese block and tambourine, triangle, steam- boat whistle, auto horn, sand paper, and airplane efTects.'" The harp and chimes have become indispensable to most organs (including church organs) built of late." It would be a mistake to omit a description of the world's largest organ, for this organ has utilized all the inventions of recent times. Without the invention of llie electric fan blower and electro-pneumatic action, an organ of this size would be an impossibility. This complex, colossal instrument, consisting of 32,882 tubes and costing nearly $400,000, is situated in the Atlantic City municipal auditorium. To provide adequate volume to the auditorium, which seats 41,000 people, it is disposed in eight locations about the concert hall. The organ has two consoles, one at each end of the stage, on rotating platforms. The consoles consist of seven manuals and one pedal keyboard each, and they may be played simultaneously by two organists.^* Such is the manifestation of today's organ-building genius, a far cry from the early "hydraulic" organ. "Hill, op cit., p. 1. ""Oldest Organ Discovered at Aquincum," Etude. 55 (March, 1937), 208. "Barnes, op. cit., p. 21. "George Laing Miller, The Recent Rn-olution in Organ Building (New York, 1913), p. i7. " Barnes, op. cit., p. 136. •' Ibid., p. 133. ""World's Largest Organ Has Seven Manuals; Atlantic City's Municipal Auditor- ium," Popular Mechanics, 59 (March, 1933), 429. 30 The Green Caldron BIBLIOGRAPHY Barnes, William Harrison, The Contemporary American Organ, New York, J. Fischer. 1930. Evans, E. H., "Historic Organ of Fredriksborg," Etude, 51 (March, 1933), 197. Geare, R. I., "Evolution of the Organ," Craftsman, 7 (February, 1905), 548-62. Grimm, C. W., "Ideal Organ," Etude, 53 (September, 1935), 544. Hill, Arthur George, The Organ-Cases and Organs of the Middle Ages and Renais- sance, 2 vols., London, D. Bogue, 1883-91. Hopkins, Edward John, The Organ, Its History and Construction, New York, H. Bailliere, 1870. Miller, George Laing, The Recent Revolution in Organ Building, New York, Charles Francis Press, 1913. "Oldest Organ Discovered at Aquincum," Etude, 55 (March, 1937), 208. Wedgwood, James Ingall, Some Continental Organs and Their Makers, London, W. Reeves, 1910. "World's Largest Organ Has Seven Manuals; Atlantic City's Municipal Auditorium," Popular Mechanics, 59 (March, 1933), 429. Best Movie of the Year To Twentieth Century Fox's production of W. Somerset Maugham's novel, The Razor's Edge, I present — nothing. I commend the performances of its actors, Power, Tierney, Baxter, Payne, Webb, and Marshall to execution. To the final result of its mood music, shadowy remarks, overplayed and meaningless scenes, I comment, cheap. Not having read Maugham's novel, I am guessing that Hollywood has very likely changed and excluded many basic ideas. I presume further that some of its stars were not good to it; surely Mr. Maugham was frantic at the horrible repre- sentation of a stufifed busybody Herbert Marshall attached to his name. I will say, however, that The Razor's Edge has presented the best re-enact- ment of a "Rover boy" theme. Mr. Power roves. Mr. Webb, I'm afraid, is in a rut. Look at his performances in Laura, or as Sheridan Whiteside in the stage version of The Man Who Came to Dinner, and now at his part in The Razor's Edge — varied, aren't they? Gene Tierney ("The Bone"), still quite hysterical from her performance in Leave Her to Heaven, screams her way through the picture as the selfish Isabel. John Payne pouts and has a nervous breakdown, but doesn't get a chance to sing "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows" in this one. Anne Baxter, who might have come out tops, spoils it all by being too throaty too often. Herbert Marshall is something I've already com- mented on. There is one scene in the picture which I think is worth all the rest, and the only one which means something. To the Austrian actor who plays the part of the coal miner and to that scene in which he appears I give all the awards that the picture has been given. To the rest of the cast I give the razor's edge. — Thomas A. Vanderslice Definition: Wind Wind is merely air that is blowing. About all wind does is to blow dirt in your eyes at the same time that it blows girls' skirts in the air. Cold fronts and warm fronts are solid pieces of blowing air, though it is sometimes doubted that these fronts really exist, as no one has ever seen one. — Les Houser December, 1947 31 Soldiers and Horses Lester E. Jacobs Rhetoric II, Thewe 15, 1946-1947 T THOUGH MOST PEOPLE THOUGHT OF THE UNITED States Army of World W^ar H as a completely mechanized force, the povvers-that-be did retain certain of their animal units for a long time after hostilities began. In fact, some of these units are still in existence. It was my privilege, upon first entering the army, to train with one of these animal units, a horse-drawn field artillery battery, at Fort Sill, Okla- homa. Being a farm boy of some years' experience, I was quite satisfied with my first assignment. The whole experience was a pleasant one, but it was somewhat difTerent from what I had expected. We new trainees were first introduced to the artillery horse when we were assigned to "stable guard." Like all other military duty, this task was assigned by roster order, and each man took his turn. The tour of duty lasted twenty-four hours. During the daylight hours the stable guard was kept busy cleaning stables, sweeping exercise pens, carrying feed, grooming horses and harness, and performing the many other tasks necessary to proper care of the animals. At night, the duty consisted of patrolling the interior of the stable, each man being assigned two hours of this task at a time. Military guards performing this type of duty are usually armed, and the stable guard was no exception. The pitchfork was the weapon provided, and anyone familiar with this instrument and its operation can have no doubt about the use to which it was put on such occasions. Having thus acquired a speaking acquaintance with our new friend, the artillery horse, we were next given riding instructions. With the beginning of this phase, we were forced into close association with an item of equipment known as the McClellan split-type saddle. This saddle is a device made of wood, leather, and metal which provides much seating surface where none is needed and a large split down the center where the seat should normally be. E.xperience proved, however, that this saddle is less an instrument of torture than we had supposed. In our group of trainees, there were several persons who had had no previous experience with horses. On our first ride, one of these poor souls approached the drill sergeant. "Sergeant, I've never ridden before," he said. "That's O.K.," said the sergeant. "We'll give you a horse that has never been ridden, and you can start together." While this did not ease the man's mind, two hours in the saddle did just that. Though the seat of his discomfort had shifted somewhat, he was now confident of his ability to ride. 32 The Green Caldron During the next several weeks, all the trainees in our group became skilled riders. Just as we were about to enter the next phase of training, word came that our horses were to be replaced by trucks, and we hurried to ready our animals for shipment to the remount station. Finally the day came. We took our mounts to the railroad station. On our return trip, we marched past the new trucks which were being brought in, and we felt a keen disappointment. No headlight winked and no tailgate swished in greet- ing along the entire line. A Strip of Gau2,e, a Dab of Collodion Alvin J. Blasco Rhetoric I, Theme 7, 1946-1947 T fnr^HEY ARE KNOWN AS "CAULIFLOWER EARS" TO ALL who know wrestling. They are the mark of the sport many men carry. The worse the disfiguration of the ears, the longer a man has probably wrestled. Yet, although they are quite common, cauliflower ears have made handsome men ugly only because their trainers have failed to adopt a tech- nique of treatment that could have saved them permanent disfiguration. No longer will wrestlers be plagued with the possibility of going through life with ugly ears. Out of the little training room in the Old Gym of the University of Illinois has come the cure for the "rassler's ear." Actually it is not a cure, but simply an application of several basic medical facts, which, when applied together, help to prevent permanent disfiguration. A thin covering of tissue covers the veins in the ear. When it receives a blow of sufficient force, or is placed under strain great enough to break a vein, blood begins to seep into the ear tissue. At the same time the red corpuscles, acting in their capacity as a mending agent, arrive on the scene to begin healing. Accumulation of this fluid forms a puffed pocket around the broken blood vessel. If no immediate treatment is given to the ear fol- lowing the injury, the solution hardens, scar tissue forms, and the cauliflower ear is born. To prevent this from occurring, the "cast" technique has been developed by R. E. Klein, trainer of the University of Illinois wrestling team. So immediate has been its success and so widespread its reception that at the recent N.C.A.A. Wrestling Meet every competing coach requested informa- tion about this technique and treatment for wrestlers. December, 1947 33 Treatment of the injury should begin as soon as possible after it occurs. With a hyi)odermic needle inserted in the pocket formed by the blood and red corpuscles all excess matter is removed. The success of this technique demands that all of the solution be taken out. Otherwise a certain amount of scar tissue will form. After the removal of all the solution, strips of gauze coated with col- lodion are apjjlied to the injured section of the ear. These strips are made to follow the original contours of the ear. As the collodion hardens, it forms a cast which is molded to the ear. This cast prevents another pocket of blood from forming, and maintains the original contour of the ear during the process of healing, .\fter ai)pro.\imately a week the cast may be re- moved with an alcohol solution. It is a simple technique. Yet, because it is simple, it has escaped trainers for years. But now that it is in use, wrestlers need no more fear the stamp of their sport, the ugly, puffed mass of flesh and tissue, the cauliflower ear, that was once a lifetime scar. Potato to Potato Chip Gene Reiley Rhetoric I, Theme 10, 1947 PRACTICALLY EVERYONE HAS EATEN POTATO CHIPS AT one time or another, but few people actually know how they are made. Although a few small companies still make potato chips by hand, the most successful way of making them is by machine. The best machines are made by the J. D. Ferry Company of Philadelphia and are commonly referred to as "Ferrying Machines." Potatoes of any size or shape are dumped into the peeling section of the machine, and the process of making potato chips is begun. The peeler will peel a onc-hundred-pound bag of potatoes in three and one-half minutes. Only seventy-five per cent of the skin is removed, as much of the food value of a potato is in the skin. The potatoes pass from the peeler and are thoroughly washed by a con- tinuous stream of water before passing into the slicer, which slices a bag of potatoes in about four minutes. The slices are approximately one thirty- second of an inch thick, and are given a vigorous washing to remove fifty per cent of the unneeded starch content. From the slicer, the slices move along an uphill conveyor belt where they are given further washings, and where bad or faulty slices are removed by 34 The Green Caldron hand. When the sHces reach the crest of the conveyor belt, they are allowed to pause for about two minutes, so that excess water can be drained off. After the slices have drained, they are automatically dumped, in lots of about fifteen pounds, into a two-hundred-fifty-gallon vat of boiling vegetable oil. This one hundred per cent pure vegetable oil is heated to three hundred fifty degrees Fahrenheit by a blow torch affair which burns fuel oil. The cooking vat is twelve feet long, and the slices are forced along by three giant metal arms, which move in a circular motion and keep the slices im- mersed in the boiling vegetable oil. When the slices reach the end of the cooking vat, they are forced onto another uphill conveyor which is approximately four feet long. As they move up this conveyor, all excess vegetable oil drains from them; and as they dry, the slices become crisp, hot potato chips. As the chips reach the crest of the conveyor belt, they are automatically salted before being dumped into metal cans for cooling. The chips are allowed to cool for forty-five minutes before being weighed and placed, by hand, in waxed cellophane bags. The bags are then boxed and made ready for shipment. The whole process, from potato to potato chip, takes approximately nine minutes, and often potatoes which were in the ground at four A.Al. are put on the market as potato chips at four P.M. of the same day. Cotton Pic'n I hadn't been in Oklahoma for more than a day when I came across the term "cotton pic'n." Quite common with the Oklahomans, it is almost unknown north of the Mason Dixon divide. The expression compares with the British "bloomin," and the American "darn." It's that handy, flexible little adjective that can be applied to almost anything displeasing or unfavorable. I believe it was on a corner, while waiting for a street car, that I first en- countered the term. Turning to the gentleman standing next to me, I asked, "How often do they run?" "Cain't tell," he replied, with a note of anger in his voice. "The cotton pic'n street cars run when eva they cotton pic'n please." I was impressed immediately ; as the days passed I heard it used more and more often. During my brief stay down there, I heard children crying over their cotton pic'n toys, waiters complaining about their cotton pic'n tips, and cabbies complaining about the cotton pic'n roads. Since I became quite familiar with the word, on one occasion I decided to use it on one of the native Oklahomans. I knew it was a term used to express disgust and anger, so I prepared an expression and awaited an opportunity to use it. I discovered too late that the Oklahomans are very temperamental about who use their language. It seems that I didn't say it quite right, and believe me I heard about it ! Those cotton pic'n southerners think that you can't use their cotton pic'n terms unless you've got a cotton pic'n southern drawl. So I packed my grip and left that cotton pic'n Oklahoma and decided to forget that cotton pic'n word. — Robert Wiss )ecember, 1947 35 Gentlemen: — John Whiter Rhetoric II, Theme 14, 1946-1947 [STAND BEFORE YOU A CONDEMNED MAN. YOU HAVE branded me a criminal, and, as all criminals must be punished, so must I to pay for my crimes. And now you have graciously consented to allow le to speak on my behalf, to endeavor to sway your impending decision: lat I must die a criminal's death. What would you have me do, my judges, to attempt to stay the execu- oner's hand, to cheat the hangman's noose? Plead innocence, and throw the lame of my foul deeds, as you have so ably called them, upon the shoulders f another? Acknowledge my guilt, and plead to you for my life, in order lat I might obtain whatever mercy you may spare me, as one spares scraps f food for a dog? No, gentlemen! I shall follow neither of these courses. Nor will I go ito a long discourse here to attempt to persuade you that what I am being 'ied for is no wrong committed by myself as an individual. To plead my inocence is as unnecessary as it is useless, for you know as well as I that am innocent of any crime. You have tried me not because I was the com- lander of the army which destroyed a peasant village and its inhabitants, ut because I was unfortunate to have fought for the wrong nation, and lost. 'or this reason do I stand before you today, on trial for my life, instead f reaping the fruits of victory as are your able commanders. I am a soldier, gentlemen, who loves his country and who would travel 3 the ends of the earth to fight for her cause. Many years ago I swore al- igiance to my country. At the same time I pledged myself to follow to the ,^ord all the commands of my superiors. Could it possibly be wrong for me 3 carry out these commands and perform my duties as a soldier? Yet ecause I did follow my orders, I am being tried for my life. Had I served nder your flag and disobeyed my orders and shirked my duty, I should ave been punished, as is only fit, and have been removed from my position f rank in disgrace. In my nation, too, all men were expected to serve aith fully beneath our flag, the colors of which we love as dearly as you 3ve yours. It was as unthinkable for me to shirk my duty while commanding tiy troops as it is for you now, my judges, as you sit upon the seat of justice lefore me, to shirk your duty. Is my reward for faithful service to be death, he death, not of a soldier, but of a criminal ? After my army had entered the surrendered town of , the feasants killed, or shall I say murdered, the troops by night, sabotaged the 36 * The Green Caldron equipment, and relayed vital information concerning the nature and disposi- tion of our troops and equipment to the enemy. I believe, gentlemen, that these activities are easily recognized as those of a spy. I also believe that the punishment for a spy in time of war is death in every nation of the world. Warning proclamations were issued against those who perpetrated these deeds, warning proclamations which threatened death to those caught and which were disregarded. The underground movements continued, and the men of the underground were sheltered by the citizens of the town. When their activities became so great as to hinder our war eflforts, my superiors deemed it necessary- to order me to destroy the menace, to wipe out the village. As an individual I regarded the deed unpleasant, to say the least. As a soldier I regarded the deed as my dut}-, and I had no other alternative but to carr}' out my orders. My duty lay in my loyalty and my obedience to those commands, and, as always, I carried out my commands. Was it wrong for me, gentlemen, to act as would any good soldier serving under any flag of the world? Can what is clearly seen to have been my obligation be called my crime, a crime for which I am to suffer an igno- minious death? If I am condemned for serving my country' as a good soldier, let us then condemn all good soldiers in all nations for performing that which up to this time has been mistakenly and gloriously called their duty to their countr}' instead of being rightfully called a crime. What more can I add, my judges? If you take my life you prove that honor is not honorable, but an abominable thing, for surely there is no honor greater than service to one's countr}', and one cannot ser\e his countrj- if he is disloyal to her representatives — his superiors. -\nd I have done no other crime than to serve my country- in her greatest time of need, which ser\'ice you have termed dishonorable. I shall not plead for my life, sirs, for you cannot kill me. If you place me into the hands of the executioner, when my body grows cold and stiff, and life no longer stirs my limbs, rather than pronounce me dead, say that I live. For I shall live. I shall live in the memories of men for many more years than my aging bones have yet to walk the earth if left to succumb in nature's own time. Is it not true that by my death you wish to remove me from the living? Would you prolong my life then when it is more important to you, if you issue a death proclamation upon me, that I die rather than live? My life — the decision — is in your hands, O my judges. Ponder deeply before passing judgment. If you condemn me to death, you will take the life of an innocent man, whose words will follow you through the years. If you condemn me to death, you will defeat the very purpose for which you have condemned me — for I shall live. December, 1947 37 Creed Walter Thomas Brooks Rhetoric II, Theme 3, 1947-1948 We call this building a church. . . . with spires pinching clouds above an expression of humility with fluted columns supporting nothing the harbor of honesty with frigid surfaces reflecting darkness a church We say the styles of the past. . . . Romanesque Byzantine Provincial Gothic Renaissance Baroque are our forms for the future We suggest that church design never changes. . . . grotesque pillars of stone ill- formed wooden benches multi-crystaled chandeliers cold marble pulpits and statues never changes We have closed our church doors to the. . . . sun moon star stream river ocean grass plant tree sky elements of nature 38 The Green Caldron We believe that God endowed us with senses. . . . taste touch smell sight hearing religion is all of these But we in our church. . . . taste only food of thought touch grotesque pillars of stone smell stagnant air feel ill- formed wooden benches hear echoes on cold marble pulpits and statues lose religion As He moves — so must zve — and He has moved If we pursue a new spirit of usage. . . . Wood — with stone and brick organic harmony Glass expanses — integrating outdoors and in sun moon star stream river ocean grass plant tree sky Altar gardens of vegetation and plant life Steel — in thin bands that eliminate shadow and dimension If we find deceptive expression in the vertical line of pride and ego If we find integrity in the oblique line of obeisance and the horizontal line of domesticity December, 1947 39 We will find our heritage — the earth — our sanctuary spreading like some giant body with hands extended skyward and legs entrenched in sin We will see a structure. . . . in the armchair of the universe with nature as a footstool an expression of humility a harbor of honesty a house of light a church of God Thoughts After a Hurricane The wind from the south suddenly left the hills and streams of New England to waste itself upon the barren waters of the cold Atlantic. It left its wake in the remains of many a village and town. It also left the thoughts of men pondering on the worth of their losses. The wind left some who thought not of things it did but of reasons it came. Some thought it was retribution for the manner in which they had lived. They thought it the vengeance of a vengeful force which sought to gather penance from the people who had wronjjed. But they could not under- stand that the whole world would have had to suffer, that almost everybody had been intolerant and blissfully unaware of the good they could have done in their half-filled lives. A few, extremely few, thought it proved that nothing is stable, that there is nothing built which can stand the ravages of this tumultuous world. Those who thought of vengeance have gone back to their previous ways of life. It will not be until the next catastrophe strikes that they will think of anything more than themselves. And after that comes they will go back to their intolerances and gullibilities. Th(jse who thought and came to the logical answer will remember it but will reap no benefit from it. Theirs will be a future which holds a lesson re- membered — that's all. — Arthur H. Stromberg Definition: Weather Weather is stuff that is happening all the time, even at night and on Sun- days. Sometimes we are apt to forget about it, but it is still there. Weather is the sum total of the manifestations of the atmosphere that surrounds our planet, and these manifestations are varied and unpredictable in form. Weather is an impor- tant commodity and it behooves all of us to make an attempt to understand it. It is one thing to be caught in the rain unexpectedly; it is an entirely different situation to know that it is going to rain and then to get caught in it. Weather- men are misled by their scientific knowledge and equipment; they do not realize the simplicity of atmospheric conditions. Actually, weather is not difficult to understand if you analyze it with an open mind and the help of a very few instruments: your grandmother, a rusty barometer, a broken hygrometer, and your roommate's encyclopedia. — Les Holser 40 The Green Caldron Rhet as Writ The book is actually two love stories arranged and written in a manner that isn't tiring or boring. It is the courtship of Alf and Emmy, and Keith and Jenny with Pa as a humorous paralyzed character thrown in. The strong points of Mr. Akeley's book were that it was presented in a way that you could learn and still be interesting and thrilling. • • The boys through this development and taking their place in society will be better able to guide this country toward peace and security and fiendliness, • • • • To know this man is just like being your own brother. • • • • We see that there is an acute need for an international language, that Esperanto, with its simplicity and neutrality, should definitely be promoted toward this end, and that its merits are plenteous while its defects are exiguous. • • • • Why should a customer tip a bell boy in a hotel just for carrying the customers gripes to his room and opening the windows? Are we to let a single representative like John L. Lewis take the rains of free people and run them amuck impetuously into strife? • • • • I preceeded to room 319 where I experienced the experience I will always remember. I had to fill out that long piece of paper called a stud list. • • • • To reiterate what I have said in the preceding paragraphs, I wish to say it again. Fhe Green Caldron A Magazine of Freshman Writing iy ^Ht LIBRARY Of ^"^^ APR l'-^ ^^^^ CONTENTS ....UI4 Alan Goad: Fate and Theodore Sabin 1 Jean Theurer: Imagination and Lil-Lucy 5 Joseph Levinxon: A God in the House 8 WillUim Pistrui: Of Sticks and Stones 10 Patricia UiUiamson: The Year I Grew Up 14 Virginia Carter: The l>east of These 19 Donald E. Armalrong: The Intersection 21 Robert Mack: The Tacoma Narrows Bridge 23 Alexander Monto: The Great Gataby by F. Scott Fitzgerahl . 27 Ronald Pretton: A Ride in a Rodeo 29 Delmer Murphy: Whaling in Our Time 31 William H. Jackson: Blue Nose 34 Fred W. Stone: On the Other Side 36 William Vicinus: The Scientist and Literature 37 Httwley Smith: Port Said 38 Rhet as Writ 40 VOL. 17, NO. 3 MARCH, 1948 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T .HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the Rhetoric Staflf at the University of Illinois. Material is chosen from themes and examinations written by freshmen in the Uni- versity, including the Navy Pier and Galesburg divisions, and the high school branches. Permission to publish is obtained for all full themes, including those published anonymously. Parts of themes, however, are published at the discretion of the committee in charge. The committee in charge of this issue of The Green Caldron includes the Misses Effie Hunt and Mary Homrighous and Messrs. William Buckler and George Scouffas, Chairman. The Green Caldron is for sale at the lUini Union Bookstore, Champaign, Illinois. THE GREEN CALDRON copyrighted 1948 BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS All rights reserved No parts of this periodical may be repro- duced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Fate and Tlieodore Sanin Alan Goad Rhetoric J. Theme 6. 1947-1948 THK PERIODIC VISITS OF CLARK SIMPSON WERE MUCH alike. He, in a modest way, was something of a wanderer and adventurer, going from one town to another and one job to the next. learning much about the strange ways of men. but collecting few of their possessions. After the greetings of his father. Reverend Herman Simpson, his mother, his brother, and sister were over, invariably his father told him the news of Newton, relating all the little things which had happened since Qark's last visit. The discussions, usually covering the uninteresting gossip that gives an intimate country newspai>er its tone, were always colored with the glimpses of the old Presbyterian minister's view of things in general. But on this particular return the account had more interest than usual. His father, convinced that Clark didn't wish to talk about himself, had launched into the development of the village comedy since Clark's last appearance. He spoke after a little of a revival which he had been holding. "I have scored something of a triumph." he was saying, smiling a little, with a trace of cynicism which he infrequently allowed himself. "Fifty have been converted — among these, ten who are under twelve and therefore too young, I fear, to know just what the faith is that they have accepted ; but as you know my church still subscribes, in the letter at least, to the doctrine of preersonalities of most Newton folk were so dim and unvaried as to be soon forgotten during a residence elsewhere. Sabin was the literal triumph of the hold which the soil and self-interest had on the central Illinois farmer. So completely was Sabin a slave to the soil and a worshipper of the American demigod Toil, that he went into the fields seven davs a week and worked from three in the morning until eight at night. To work on the Sabbath was a misdemeanor against all that was right in the sanctimonious little community. By such industry steadfastly adhered to through thirty years, he had become the owner of two hundred acres of cornbelt land, barns, stock, and machinery- worth, at a low estimate, $75,000. l>iis fortune did not alter in any way his mode of living : it merely increased the arduousness of his duties. He was not a man to dream of gathering worldly goods in order to live in sensuous ease. He toiled as unremittingly as in his less prosperous days. [ n 2 The Green Caldron Sabin, with his lank figure and his sharply wrinkled face that had somehow- taken on the look of a plowed field, was unattractive in mind and body. One studying Sabin and his wife might compare Sabin with his barn — an enormous, neglected dwelling covered with scaling yellow paint — and his wife with the dilapidated farm house with its pitiful eflFort at adornment made by scraggly trellised vines. This was Clark Simpson's memory of Sabin, whom he had known from boyhood. Sabin represented the thing that had driven him from Newton to the world outside which had seemed beautiful in comparison. The conversion of Theodore Sabin seemed half-miraculous to Clark. What magic words had his father invented to awaken a spark of life and feeling in that long-dead heart ? The young man asked further explanation. "I suppose it wasn't anything I said, much as I would like to add that crown to my theology," Reverend Simpson said. 'T must thank Providence — Providence in the form of a foundling child which he took from an asylum, more, I fear, with the idea of getting someone without cost to help him on the farm than from any truly generous impulse. But the boy is the most unregen- erate and uncontrollable creation of a divine Providence that I have ever encountered. "This boy," the Reverend went on, "Russel Welker, is a complete failure as far as any hope for assistance on the farm is concerned, but he does gladly second Sabin's view as to the desecration of the Sabbath. He devotes it to fishing. I was surprised that Sabin kept him at all. The lad has easily earned the reputation of being the worst boy in town." "They sent him back once," Mrs. Simpson put in. "He has the most uncontrollable temper. He threw a rock and hit Loretta (Sabin's daughter) on the forehead. She had refused him a cookie." "The boy's attitude is not so surprising, since the whole family constantly assures him that he is a very bad boy," Reverend Simpson continued. "They tell him, 'Russel, we'll have to send you to the reform school if you don't try to be a better boy.' But when they actually did send him away, Mrs. Simpson cried constantly, Loretta refused to come out of the house, and Sabin himself did not go to the fields for a day." "They brought him back in a week," Mrs. Simpson interjected. "At the orphans' home they were told they would have to adopt him this time, and Sabin consented after Russel promised to be a good boy in the future. But he is just as bad as ever, and yet I don't believe they could get along without him." "They love him, they hate him, but cannot live without him," Reverend Simpson added smiling. "This foundling somehow has reached an unsus- pected vein of sentiment in Sabin." "But what has this to do with the conversion of Sabin?" Clark asked. "That is easily explained," his father said. "One night Sabin marched in and stalked straight up to the altar. T want to be a better man,* he kept March. 1948 3 repeating. It got to be painful to mc shortly. He was so deeply in earnest, and yet there was something ridiculous in such a man doing a thing like that. It must have taken a violent upheaval of the soul to bring Sabin to cast aside the almost admirable defiance of a lifetime. "I had been home for an hour later that night when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it wondering who wanted me at that unearthly hour. It was Sabin. " 'I have come to ask you a question,' he said bluntly. 'Must one believe in predestination?' "Xow that has long Ix-en a painful point with me as you know. I believe unqueslioningly in the need of religion for all men, but it has always been my habit to allow them to make their own dogma. Things necessary for one man are fatal to another. "I led him into the parlor. 'Now why do you ask ?' I inquired. " 'It's Russel,' he broke out, evidently glad of the chance to talk to someone. 'I le has broken into a house and stolen some money. I made him take it back and I have gotten the people to jiromisc not to say anything about it. Rut 1 am afraid for him. I fear that he is one of those originally danmed.' "I explained to him that this was not necessarily true. I told him as tactfully as possible that i)erhaps his own habit of making Russel feel that he was bad might have something to do with it." "'Then you think that there is hoi)e for him if I do what is right?' he asked. " 'I do unquestionably,' I assured him. Hut he was hard to satisfy, seeming in mortal fear of the fate of that poor child and blaming his own wicked life for this danger to the boy." "kussel's Carol's fellow," Clark's younger brother broke in. referring to his little sister. "He is not," Carol denied, a trifle too vehemently. "I think Russel does like Carol, though I don't believe Carol cares any- thing for him," Mrs. Simpson said smiling. Oark doubted his mother's discernment. Budding maidenhood seems to find something appealing in wickedness, and especially was that true in Newton, where exists a monotonous, dead level of goodness. Even Clark was mildly interested in Russel. At ten he had succeeded in getting himself accepted as thoroughly wicked. The conversation sened right downstairs in the south parlor. The house was l>eautiful — with millions of white ro.ses — they were Aunt Kathy's favorite flower — and thousands and thousands of candles were burning — and all the guests were there — and .Xunt Kathy and her beloved Giarles were standing together at the white rose altar — and the minister was marrying them — and he was just saying. 'If any man knows wliy these two should not l>e joined together. . . . ' A dnmkard, one of Aunt Kathy's rejected lovers, staggered from the group of guests and, swaying forward, pulled out his sword and jabbed it right in the middle of Aunt Kathy's back — and it went right straight thrf)ugh her bcxly and cut her heart in half." With this statement, Lucy charged forward and rammed the sword into the dress-maker fonu. "As Kathy fell to the floor," continued Lucy, "her beloved Charles grabbed her up in his amis — and as the blood dripped and dripped, she ..." .•\ heavy door ground its way slowly open. It was probably the memory of the door of Inner Sanctum in my subconscious mind, strengthened by the fact that I was still in the south parlor with Kathy's dripping bUnxi ; it also might have been the startled expression on my face, which I saw reflected in an antique mirror on the wall, that caused my nerves to jam. I .screamed and released my hold on the picture frame and the metal scabbard ; they fell to the floor with a clang. Lil-Lucy let out a yelp and covered her face with her hands. We were brought back to the moment by Mrs. Travers' voice calling us for dinner. She ordered Lucy to put the dress away and come downstairs immediately. I still felt a little dizzy from my experience, but Lucy was 8 The Green Caldron normal for the first time since I had seen her. She whisked the gown back into the trunk and scooted past me toward the door saying, "Come on, let's get goin'." When I reached the attic door, I could see Lucy sliding down the bannister. As she bumped the newel post, she gave me a broad smile, waved her hand, and said, "I'll be seein' ya." And with that she was gone. A God in tne House Joseph Levinson Rhetoric I, Theme 10, 1947-1948 I RUSHED BACKSTAGE AS SOON AS THE APPLAUSE BEGAN. I was only eight years old and had trouble forcing my way through the many people standing there ; but eight-year-olds have ways and means of pushing through crowds, and I was soon in the arms of my mother. It was hard to tell just who was happier — my mother or I — for the concert was such a success ! From the very first note, the new concerto was a thrilling work of art ; but, even at the age of eight, I knew that people, usually cruel to com- posers, were even more cruel to the artists. We were happy, however, for my mother played beautifully (as I knew she would), and, as they walked out, the audience hummed the wonderful theme from the first movement. Musicians, like all artists, are conscious of the need for celebration. Nobody had to tell me that we would all go home and break out the corned beef, liederkranz cheese, and hot coffee. I knew already that Johanna would have the beer and mugs ready, for Johanna and I always planned the "after- wards party," and no one knew more about such things than the two of us. Some of my relatives took me home first, and I left the front door open. Everybody knew that the of)en front door meant success, and they poured in, oflfering congratulations. Soon my mother and father arrived, followed by musicians, musicians, and more musicians. The wonderful, gay, musical time was beginning ! Nobody quite knew how or when he entered ; we all seemed to notice him at once. The party was at its height — the songs were being sung. It was in the midst of a Schubert Lied that he came in, and just as suddenly as we saw him, we stopped singing. "Go on, go on !" he said in a rough English. When nobody moved, he began singing, and immediately everyone surrounding him sang too. He was magic — he was a god — so red-faced and smiling, so straight and tall. Tall ? He must have been six-feet five. A god ? He was a Pied Piper. He sang and shook hands in a peculiar way when he finished. He sang some more, and toasted my mother in exotic fashion. When he talked, he boomed ; when he laughed, he made us laugh. Then, as usual, the guests asked my mother to play the piano. With a March. 1948 9 little persuasion and a shout of "Play the Love jor Three Oranges" from me, Mother began. This was my favorite "little piece," and I never tired of it. But the music sounded different this time — even more wonderful. I got out of the big corner chair where I was sitting and looked at the piano. Sure enough, my mother was playing. But why was it so vibrant, so unusual? The other piano — of course! I looked at the other piano; ME was there, playing right along with my mother, and getting a kick out of it. Piece after piece they played. He always laughed ; he always knew the piece. He played by himself, and we all were entranced. My poor mother was worn out. Finally someone said, "Play the concerto." I le looked around. "Which movement?" he asked. "The first movement," I answered. "Why the first movement, little one?" "Because it's the best!" I replietl. He came over and looked at me. He was so big! He picked me up and looked me in the eye. "So you think the first movement is the best, ha?" For a second I was frightened by this jx)werful individual who was such a god-like person. But his eyes gave him away. "Well, I think it's the best, too!" he said, and turned toward the guests. ".\ violinist!" he shouted. "Little fellow is a violinist!" How did he know I was? "Come here and shake hands with me," he laughed. What a handshake ! I thought I would never play the violin again, he shook so hard. But he played our mutual favorite — the first movement. (.)h, how he played the concerto ! Then food. It was immediately evident that this god was really mortal. He ate, quietly but enormously. He consumed nine sandwiches (I counted) and five cups of coffee. He smoked a pijie which looked like a smoke pot, but gave off a wonderful odor. He was not old, not young, but lovable. When he left, the people left too. Nothing could have replaced him. I never saw him again ; probably I never will. But you and I will hear him always. For, you see, he wrote the Third Piano Concerto, which my mother played that evening; he wrote the Loi'e jor Three Oranges, which was my favorite "little piece." But perhaps children will love him best of all for his Peter and the Wolf. You see, his name is Serge Prokovieff. Mississippi Quonset Hut The sun beat down from the meridian. The quonset hut felt swollen with heat. The morning breezes had been dead for five hours — the evening breezes were still hours and miles away. There was no work, no talk, and no ambition — nothing had happened for hours. Outside, dricd-up earthworms on the rotted boardwalks gave legal proof that there was little chance for survival on such a day as this in southern Mississippi. — Kenneth Wood 10 The Green Caldron Or Sticks ana Stones William Pistrui Rhetoric II, Theme 7, 1947-1948 MANY YEARS AGO CLARENCE CAVEDWELLER WAS SIT- ting in his cave, gnawing on the leg of a stag that he had killed several weeks before. But on that day Clarence wasn't slobbering away at his meal with the usual gusto. His eyes showed deep meditation as he slowly tore bits of raw flesh from the large bone that he had gripped firmly in his hand. For twenty-two years Clarence had lived in that cave and had been tormented by the cold wind whipping in from its mouth — to say nothing of the cold damp floor on which he had to sit. Finally Qarence threw the bone aside, belched loudly, and walked briskly out of his cave. Clarence was going to build a house. With the required amount of tree trunks, mud, straw, and labor, Clarence pieced together a little hut that served much better to keep out the cold wind, and that had a warmer floor. Now, mind you, Qarence was proud of his achievement, and, being no different from the people today, he invited his neighbors over to see what he had made. With a touch of cynicism they drew out of their caves to view the work of Clarence. They nodded in agreement when Clarence said that it would keep out the cold wind. They even placed their hands on the floor when Clarence said that it was not as cold and damp as the cave's. But, even though it had these advantages, the hut had one outstanding fault that made the neighbors refuse to accept it. It didn't look like a cave. Later, in the year 1946, C. Cavedweller Jones, a direct descendant of Clarence, also decided to build a house. And. being like his ancestor, he too wanted his house to provide him with the maximum comforts and conveniences. Mr. Jones immediately set out to plan his house. Having already acquired his lot, he started sketching possible positions for his house in relation to the lot. Being a lover of nature, he didn't want his lot cut up into a half-dozen sections by numerous sidewalks and driveways.^ Like many people, Jones thought it would be nice to have a large front lawn. So, he set his house about two-thirds of the way back on his lot, and he smiled to himself because of his clever foresight. Yes sir, that was going to be a front lawn that would make every neighbor on the street envious. However, the more he looked, the less satisfied he became. The rear of the house was scarcely twenty feet from the alley. In this tiny area he wanted to have his summer terrace and barbecue ^ Simon Breines, The Book of Houses (New York, 1946), p. 59. March, 1948 11 ]>it. lie also wanted a small flower garden, but the area that was left him was hardly large enough to hang the family wash. "To hell with the front lawn," said Jones, as he moved his house up toward the front of the lot.^ Now that Mr. Jones was satisfied with his lot arrangement, he began to sketch the interior. His enthusiasm made him somewhat careless, however, and when he finished he found that he had overlooked putting in a door to the bathroom and had completely forgotten about clothes closets. A little dis- couraged, Mr. Jones started again. This time he didn't do any sketching at all ; instead, he began writing down the activities and necessities of every member of the family. Then he cautiously began to rearrange his interior, referring at various intervals to his sheet of activities to see if his plan was providing for them.'' Mr. Jones also had to arrange the rooms to make it convenient for his wife to get from one place to another while she was clean- ing.* He had to be careful not to make the outside shape of his house too irregular, for fifty j)crcent of the co.st of his house would be spent on the outside walls." Then, too, Mr. Jones had to pay particular attention to the approximate sizes and shapes of his rooms, to avoid getting his rooms too long and narrow, or too much like a .square.* Trying to sketch a floor plan with all these restrictions was indeed no simple task. Mr. Jones' only method was trial and error. After ninety-one trials, ninety errors, and one hundred swear words, he finally completed a plan that lay within the restrictions. The most difficult part of his planning was now complete. An excited impatience drove Mr. Jones on as he proceeded to complete the flctails of the interior and put the finishing touches on his work of art. He looked first at his living room. He knew that it would be the most used room in the house. Therefore, he |)articularly wanted to make it con- venient for every one of its uses.^ Once again he looked at his activity sheet. There he saw that the living room would have to provide for his wife's bridge parties and his daughter's entertaining, as well as for his own reading and leisure.* He saw that the first two required a considerable amount of space, and although his living room was twelve by eighteen, he knew that he would still have to find ways to save space. By this time the wheels in Mr. Jones' head were revolving furiously, and as he inhaled deeply from his pipe, he felt that his creative ability was second only to Frank Lloyd Wright's. "I'll install built-in furniture wherever ix)ssible," said Mr. Jones.® With the thrill of a child making mud pies, he sketched in several wall sofas with storage space beneath. In a secluded corner he sketched in a set of wall shelves for his books, and within this unit he also put several drawers as well as a recess for ' Ibtd.. pp. 60-1. 'Ibid., p. 71. • Clarence W. Dunham. I'lanning Your Home for Better Liz/ing (New York. 1945), p. 42. 'H. V. Walsh, Let's Plan a Home (Toledo, 1945), p. 21. • Ibid., p. 23. ^ Dunham, op. cit.. p. 55. "George Nelson and Henry Wright, Tomorrozv's House (New York, 1945), pp. 16-8. • Breines, op. cit., p. 78. 12 The Green Caldron his radio. He then meditated over his plan. It was still rather barren. To correct this, he i^laced a love-seat facing the fireplace and two soft easy chairs near the wall unit that housed his books and radio.^° Now the living room could really be lived in. Without moving a single piece of furniture, his wife would have room for four tables of bridge. Daughter could hold her shindigs with very little furniture-moving. All she needed was to have the love-seat turned around to face the center of the room. Mr. Jones frowned slightly when he saw that he could not use the living room while his wnfe and daughter were holding their activities. But, he just had to be satisfied with hoping to have it for at least three nights a week. Next Mr. Jones' eyes turned toward the kitchen. He knew that his wife would spend most of her time there ; so he tried to make things as convenient as possible for her. Turning once again to his activity sheet, he saw that not only cooking, but light washing, ironing, sewing, and eating would also have to be done in the kitchen.^^ That meant that the kitchen had to have plenty of storage space. He smirked again as he erased one of the wall partitions dividing the kitchen from the dining room, and in the place he put a built-in storage cabinet the entire length of the wall.^' Being satisfied with this, he arranged his sink, work tables, refrigerator, and range in the shape of a "U" so that his wife could stand in one place and touch practically everything she needed while preparing a meal.^^ This left plenty of room for a breakfast nook. Mr. Jones gloated with pride. But making cabinets out of his dining room partitions decreased the size of his already-too-small dining room. With several more strokes of his eraser, he took out the partition between the dining and living rooms. Now he had a dining and living room combined. Once again Mr. Jones grunted with satisfaction. Having the living room, the dining room, and kitchen well under hand, Mr. Jones turned his attention toward the bathroom. The area he had provided for it was a good deal larger than the usual five-by-seven bathrooms that barely provided the minimum areas for the fixtures. From the activity sheet Mr. Jones found that the wife and the daughter did quite a bit of their primping in the bathroom. If he mad it large and pleasant enough, perhaps, by the element of suggestion, he could induce them into doing all of their primping in the bathroom. So, he sketched in a lavatory with a counter on each side for combs, hair brushes, and bobby-pins. Over this he drew a bold line that was supposed to represent a large mirror.^* In this unique creation he had overlooked one thing. If his wife and daughter did all their primping in the bathroom, he wouldn't have time to use the shower. However, Mr. Jones' wheels were still working, and he took care of the situation by several " Nelson and Wright, op. cit., pp. 16-7. " Dunham, op. cit., p. 89. " Breines, op. cit., p. 115. "Dunham, op. cit.. p. 55. " Nelson and Wright, op. cit., p. 105. March. 1948 13 more strokes of the j^encil. These were supposed to represent partitions, ] Hitting the lavatory, the tub, and the toilet each in an individual compartment. This made it possible for three ]>coi)le to use the bathroom at once.''' By this time Mr. Jones' enthusiasm was at its highest. He was perfectly satisfied with his accompli.shments so far, and after a quick look at the bed- rooms, he would have his i)lan complete. His {>encil went to work again as he made a trial sketch for hKating his furniture. The bed could be put only in one position, and, after he drew in the bureaus and chiffoniers, he found that his bedroom seemed terribly cramped and junky."' "Let's see," said Mr. Jones to himself. "I solved the s]iace problem in the living room with built-in sofas. I did the same in the kitchen with built-in cabinets. I wonder — heh, heh, heh !" Yes, Mr. Jones was going to design a built-in bureau with drawers flush with the wall. Having this comj)lcted, he found the beflrfxmi a trifle bare. There was an empty corner that seemed to be wasted. Then Jones shrieked with delight as he furiously drew his symbols for an easy chair, a desk, and small book shelves.'^ He drew them with such haste that it seemed as though he was afraid the idea would leave him before he got it down on paper. When he finished, he was still breathing hard, but bubbling with self-satisfaction. Now he had an e.scai)e from the bridge parties and shindigs. The plan was complete. .\eedless to say. Mr. Jones had the hou.se built as c|uickly as possible. When it was finished, he did the same as his ancestor, Clarence. The neighbors drew out of their cute colonial dwellings, their Old English cottages, and their ornate Victorian houses. F'oor Jones' house was showered with criticism, ".^urc, it is very convenient for living, but who ever heard of such a large bathroom, and how can that i)0()r wife rearrange furniture three times a week with built-in sofas?" But, worst of all. it didn't look like anything I)eople used to live in one himdred years ago. Mr. Jones, however, had worked too hard on his design to be aflfected by such criticism. He simply told them all to go to the saint- place where he sent his large front lawn. ^"Ibid., p. 104. '*lhid.. p. 116. "//'.W., p. 114. BIBLIOGRAPHY Breines, Simon, The Book of Houses. New York. Crown rublishcrs, 1946. Dunham. Clarence W., Plannitu/ Your Home for Better Living. New York. McGraw- Hill. 1945. Nelson. (iEOR{;E, and Wright, Henry. Tomorro'w's House. New York. Simon Schuster, 1945. Walsh, H. V., Let's I'lan a Home. Toledo, Ohio, Surface Combustion Corp., 1945. 14 The Green Caldron Tne Year I Grew Up Patricia Williamson Rhetoric I, Theme 10, 1947-1948 DURING MY EIGHTEENTH SUMMER, I DECIDED I NEEDED a job. I made a charming call on the superintendent of the Alton Recre- ation Department and poured out the details of the wide scope of my experience. Whether my speech really impressed him or whether the depart- ment was just badly in need of directors, I will never know. A few months later I was the director of Water Tower playground. Water Tower — a living jumble of indignant, freckle-faced boys, dirty babies, lovers who cuddled in the shade of the poplar trees next to the bleachers, sweet five-year-old girls in starched yellow, loafers who never said more than five words without a "Damn" or a "Hell," teasing teen-agers, frizzy blondes with red blouses and pink skirts which allowed too much of the knees to show, tall muscular ball players, lost little brothers, prominent business men who followed the city leagues with keen interest, and friends of mine who often paid me sympathetic calls to see if my cerebrum still served the function for which nature intended it. Water Tower — a civilization within itself ! Before the season opened, all the prospective directors attended a series of lectures on handicraft, games, first aid, and theories of youthful punish- ment. The climax of this training was a grand field day at Water Tower playground, during which Alton's eighteen directors received final instruc- tions before they opened their individual playgrounds. My first impression of Water Tower was as dramatic as the summer itself. We were sitting around the long table in the shelter house while Mr. Bean explained how to apply a tourniquet. I had been surveying my new home. There was a piano in the room which had a rather nice tone if I didn't happen to need low Bb, middle C, or the Flf above it. In the basement, were a ping- pong table and some showers. A certain odor which reminded me somewhat of a sewer persisted, but if I tried to concentrate on something nice, I could forget it. About ten open windows bordered the walls of the room, and out- side I could catch a glimpse of groups of children venturing closer to the house. A boy with a bushy burr and freckles pushed his head in the window while his blazing-faced buddy stood behind him singing. At another window, a medium-sized blond stuck his foot upon the window sill and climbed into the 1 room. His eyes questioned us for a moment, waiting to see whether we would scold his boldness. Then he motioned to three friends, who immediately forced their heads through the window too. Mr. Bean paused in his directions and scratched his head a minute. He was a man whom I have never known to speak a harsh word until absolutely March, 1948 15 all other known psychological theories have been attempted. "Boys," he ven- tured, still contemplating a bit over the situation, "if you want to listen to what we're saying, come in and have a seat." The words had been spoken. That was the encouragement for which they longed. Within three minutes, about fifteen little boys had shoved their way through the open windows, dragged the metal folding chairs around the room, placed a few blows on each others' ears, and perched themselves at various points around us. My eyes wandered over the group and I forced my lips into a quaint smile. After all, I was almost going to live with this brigade all summer, and it would rather help if they liked me. One long lad slumped in a chair near the table, a cigarette jammed between his teeth and his hair waving over his eye to give him an appearance of Veronica I^ke with masculine traits. Smoking among the children had been strictly forbidden for years, but who was I to speak at this stage ? Mr. Bean took a deep breath. "Now," he continued, "the important thing to remember is to put the tourniquet between the wound and the heart." "Ouch! You crook!" Behind me an inflamed boy landed a blow on his companion's Adam's apple. "I'll get even with you for that hot foot," he wailed, swinging madly. < )n the other side of the room, a clashing of giggles parted the air. Three nearly grown boys took turns playing witli one of the girl director's curls, much to her embarrassment and helplessness. Mr. Bean bit his lip. "Boys," he announced in a firm voice, "I am afraid you all better go outside. We have work to do to make a real summer for you. Come on, all of you." Several of the smaller boys stirred and a few moved toward the door, but the big boy with the \'eronica I^ke hair style folded his arms neatly on his lap while his expression dared Mr. Bean to make a further command. "Boys," Mr. Bean's voice was still within its normal range, "I asked you to leave. Let's make a good impression on your new directors." The boys seemed imi)ervious to his orders. After an awkward silence, several of the men directors volunteered themselves to the task of grabbing some of the problems by the arms and pulling. This was halfway successful. Most of the boys under eight, who did not as yet know more than their school teacliers and jxirents, giggled and scami)ered out of the shelter house, but the big boy with the hanging hair smiled as I had once seen a dead end kid smile in the movies, and stamped his foot. "Boys," Mr. Bean bellowed, "I said to leave." Two husky six-foot directors approached the difficult boy on either side and tugged at his shoulders. He sprang to his feet and glared at them. A series of words, which I had not heard before at the time, but which furthered my education through the summer, followed, and he was flung from the room. His buddies followed in similar fashion. 16 The Green Caldron The directors immediately raced around the room, closing and locking all the windows. Four physical education majors threw all their weight on the door, liokling it against the force of the opposing juvenile mob on the other side. At last, it was locked. Harsh threats and vile words squeezed into the room through the closed window. Two dirty girls pounded on the glass. Instead of helping to chase them out, I only sat in the same chair I had occupied all afternoon and stared at my feet. I wasn't the fainting type fortunately, or I surely would have keeled over. My brain whirled round and round trying to grasp, to realize the events which had just occurred. They talked about problems ! Discipline ! How would I survive the summer ? These urchins would kill me ! Suddenly I looked up and realized all eyes were upon me. The boys held mischievous grins, but the girls showered me with tender expressions such as they might give a mother whose only son lay ill in the hospital. Poor Patsy ! The murmur drifted through the room. Poor Patsy ! This was my introduction to Water Tower. This was my first impression of Alton's big, rough playground. It was difficult to relax over the weekend and look forward to a summer of interesting work. Monday was a big day. Monday, the eight-week playground season would open. If my first impression of Water Tower was a nightmare, my first day was a living Hades. Before I applied for the job, friends had cautioned me that the class of people that generally roams the playgrounds is sometimes hard to control. My wildest dreams did not picture the scene which took place the first day. At 7 :00 P. M., Bob, my fellow director, and I decided it was time to close the shelter house, which seemed ready to explode any minute from the con- cussion of shouts and stomping within. Exactly one hour later, it was empty. With the help of two older boys, I chased each individual child around the room, dragged him to the door, which Bob was guarding, and literally threw him out into the horde of children who were fighting to re-enter. Every now and then someone would push past Bob, and the long struggle of catching him would begin all over again. I couldn't sleep very well that night. Being naturally a peace-loving girl, I couldn't relish the prospect of yelling — bickering — punching all summer. The story of Water Tower cannot be told in a single article. To repeat the tale of laughter, quarrels, thrills, and tears of that summer, I could fill the pages of a good-sized novel. Here, I can tell only a few of the events — the ones which I will remember the longest. The Recreation Department issued to the grounds some equipment which] included a box of textile paints, an expensive vibra-tool, scrap metal, and yarn. This was supposed to lead to some elaborate form of art work. I surveyed myj hoodlums and laughed at the thought. If I could control them, I would be: happy. March. 1948 17 Whenever I removed the material from the cupboard, either a jar of paint or the scissors always seemed to disappear and somehow find their way into the hands of an eight-year-old girl named Margaret Linden. Margaret! Of all the fighting, senseless kids, she drove me the nearest to tiie psychologist's office. Margaret didn't own a comb, and there was always an old streak of dirt on her neck. One day Margaret's older sister, Ruth, came to me with blotxi creeping over her foot. I calmly applied iodine, for a cut foot was an everyday occurrence on the playground. There was always broken glass to wedge into tiny feet even though some of them were so tough they could run through gravel without the slightest j)ain. "Margaret," I begged, "Ruth shouldn't walk home with this cut on the bottom of her foot. It is liable to become infected. Please run home and get her shoes." Margaret pulled on her faded dress, which swung above her dark panties. "Xo," she whimpered, "I won't go home and get her shoes." "Margaret. " I burst out, "your sister has cut her foot. Vou live only two blocks away." Margaret whined, "No, I won't go home for her. She wouldn't for me." "Margaret, your sister's hurt. She's hurt." "No, I won't." I stormed, "Haven't you any concern for your sister? Haven't you any sense?" She raised her chin and laughed. I groaned and said a few words to myself that I had picked up that summer. I knew it was useless to talk to Margaret's little sister, Christine, or Robbie, the young brother. He had a jjermanent dirt cake plastered on his face, and all he ever seemed to think al)out was doing what was for- bidden. I tried to persuade some of the other children, but the ones who were anxious to help me wouldn't venture into the Lindens' household for fear their mothers would find out and make tliem bathe in Lysol. As a result, I reached a decision. 1 would borrow one of the bicycles and ride Ruth home myself. Margaret ran up to the bicycle and wailed. ".Are you going to take her liome?" I hardly felt like talking to her. "Yes," I lamented. "I'm taking her home." I i^edaled out of the park. Suddenly, I realized we were being followed and turning. I saw. to my disgust, a small girl tagging after us. "Margaret," I shouted, "don't you dare come home with us now. I begged you to go before." She laughed and chewed a wad of grass. I glared at her and resumed my ])umping. Across the wide street and down a tar road into the hollow we went. I raced past rows of humble cottages and 18 The Green Caldron then looked back. She was still chasing us. Ruth instructed me to stop in front of a shack plastered with imitation brick. I could see the bare walls through the window and noticed the front porch, badly rotted and termite- eaten. Margaret raced up to the bicycle and sneered. I wanted to yell at her and call her names, but it wasn't the thing for a tactful playground director to do. "Here, Ruth," I said sweetly. "Now don't walk around with that cut unless you have some shoes on." An enormous, bowlegged woman, with straight hair dangling in her eyes and a tiny girl tugging at her skirts, struggled up the street. "Is this your mother, Ruth?" I asked. She nodded. I could remember how Margaret had announced at the first of the summer that they were going to have twins in September. I smiled graciously at Mrs. Linden. It was nice to meet the parents. She nodded at me, made a strange whining noise, and yanked her daughter into the house. Perhaps it was here that I began to think. Perhaps I began to grow up. Perhaps it was here that I stopped hating my job and found a new deep feeling for it. I detested the wild rabble which populated Water Tower. If only they could all be nice educated people ! As my supervisor once told me, play- grounds were not created for nice educated people. The Lindens ! Water Tower ! The Lindens ! My eyes crawled over Ruth — Margaret — the filthy shack. I had heard something of the Lindens' background before. The father lived in local taverns. The mother was not mentally normal. There were seven children, and two or three had died. Every year a baby was born. Ruth had never used a tooth brush in all her ten years. No plumbing ! Dirt ! Filth ! Lice ! Impetigo ! I hung my head, closed my eyes, and felt sick all over. The summer wore on. There were hikes, ball tournaments, field days, a pageant, street showers, and truck rides. The shouting didn't drive me crazy any more. The children and I had fun laughing and playing. We liked each other now, and we had fun. One day I brought a wash tub to the playground, and we soaped and rubbed the Lindens. Some of the children brought dresses they had outgrown. The features of Ruth, Margaret, and Christine glowed beneath neatly combed hair. As I watched them walk home in shoes and gingham dresses, I smiled and whispered to myself, "Of all the things I've done this summer, this is the best — this is the best." At last, eight weeks were over, and the season closed. My friends con- gratulated me on my survival and sighed with relief that the horrible, horrible job was over. I don't know. I will probably do something else next summer, but I will always cherish the memory of Water Tower. I like to believe it made me grow up — I like to believe it made me a little better girl. March, 1948 19 Tlie Least or Tliese . . . Virginia Carter Rhetoric I, Theme 12. 1947-1948 •yy^IlAT AN ASSIGNMENT! THE WHOLE CLASS SEEMED \\/ U) groan in unison. Our English 13 course was going to be just what it had been "cracked up" to be — much work, unpleasant work. The instructor, disregarding our dismay, continued to outline our work for the next few weeks. We were to write our term paper on The Slums and Our Tmiii, and we were to gather all our material from personal observation. So, as a dutiful student, I went out to inspect the "lower class." Borrowing my dad's car, I started out, trying to locate the five slum areas that the teacher had specified. It wasn't hard. Of course I knew about the East End, where the FHA had started the housing project, and I knew something about the West End, just about five blocks from our house ; but what else I didn't know, I soon found out. The slums were not limited to the east and west, but were also in the north, south, and central .sections. I'll have to admit that what I saw was gathered from fleeting glances, but by keeping even one eye open, I couldn't miss some things. The biggest suri)risc to me was the tenement houses just about four blocks from the city square ; I had passed those same buildings at least once a week, but had never noticed them. Why ? Because facing the main street were the glittering lights of the taverns and restaurants, while in the upper floors and along the alleys lived families — large families — in condemned firetraps. I felt a momentary sensation of pity as I saw little ragamufTins nmning up and down the garbage-cluttered passageways, playing "cops and robbers." This j)aradise for disease and filth was hidden from most people, but it still existed. It was real, too real. In the other areas it was much the same: garbage and people, people and garbage. My first sensation of pity changed to disgust. Anyone can keep clean, I argued. Feeling ver\' suix?rior, I continued my mission — to see how the other half lived. In "Hollywood," ironically named for the American emblem of luxur>', conditions were even worse. The houses (I'm taking liberty in using the word) were made of everything from pasteboard boxes to rusted car fenders. Hollywood was a village in itself, made up of little six-by-six, box-like affairs set on the side of a hill, along the railroad track, or next to "Stink Creek," the city's open sewage disposal tank. There were no sanitation facilities, and almost everyone had to draw water from a common source. Was it polluted ? Who knew? And who cared? This particular section was located just outside the city limits and was therefore of no concern to the city, but the dirty kids 20 The Green Caldron went to the citv schools ; the drunken fathers roamed the city streets ; and the shiftless mothers shopped at the city groceries. It was of no concern to the city, and of much less concern to me. The old men, pushing their carts of junk, glared at me as I rode by in my Buick ; some of the kids threw stones ; and no one looked civilized — to me. Two or three excursions were enough to convince me that I wanted no more of that, but I wrote my paper very piously, being careful to stress the need for eradication of the slums — not because I thought "those people" deserved anything better, but because I knew that was what the teacher wanted. And when grades were pending, who was I to argue ? Christmas vacation came, and I forgot about the slums, at least for a while. It was a very short while, because before long I was "roped" into giving baskets of food, clothing, and toys to the poor in the slums. On Christmas Eve, with the car loaded down with wagons, skates, dolls, and about twelve boxes of food, we set out. The first stop was at the Parleys', a dilapidated, two-room brick house. The foundation was made of loosely-piled stone blocks set in the same soft mud that clung to our shoes as we walked through the cluttered yard. As I stepped in the door, a large chest piled high with every- thing imaginable confronted me. This was situated in the hall. To the right was a kitchen ; I could tell by the small burner and the homemade table. To the left was the bedroom with one bed. And then I looked at the family : a grandmother, a father, a mother, and nine children. The floor didn't even look large enough to hold them. I can't describe the stifling odor that pervaded those two rooms, but it made me feel as if I were in an air-tight box with nothing but musty clothing to inhale. Dickie Farley interrupted my thoughts by grabbing the loaf of bread from the box of food, which I had just set on the table. He tore off the end wrapper and dashed out the door. Dickie was in my little sister's room at school, and now I knew why she thought he was "dumb." I knew why he came to school early and roamed the neighborhood at night. Even an eight-year-old would want to get away. I wanted to, and we did. The rest of the "homes" were much the same : one or two rooms, a bed or so, a few cooking facilities, no water, no electricity, ten to fifteen kids. This time, instead of taking a fleeting glance, I was forced to stand on the insidej and look out. I saw a different picture and a different people. Some were proud, and some were humble. Some were resentful, but some were thankful. I also discovered that the little "hoodlums" were hungry — for food, for toys,; and for friends. That Christmas Eve I received a new outlook on some of the unhappy] people. I saw the drunken father as a little boy, who had a drunken father, who as a little boy had a drunken. ... I saw the untidy, filthy mother as a I little girl, who had an untidy, filthy mother, who as a little girl. ... It was March. 1948 21 almost a caste system in our own free America. They were born of low caste, and that's where most of them stayed. They had the opix)rtunities, but no one bothered to teach them how to use their opportunities. It was true they went to the public sch(M)ls until they were sixteen, but for eighteen hours out of every twenty-four they lived among j^eople whose chief aim in life was to get "stewed" every Saturday night. It was true they had freedom of speech, but practically all they heard was cursing. They had freedom of religion, but what was religion ? They had all the rights given to thein by the Constitution, but they were hungry. I finally came to the realization that the slums are creating criminals, and not criminals slums. We carry on extensive campaigns to wijx? out the breeding places of hannful insects, and yet we let the slums go unmolested year after year. I was in a very pensive mood as I helped decorate our Christmas tree late that Christmas Eve. I slowly began to unwrap the Christmas ornaments. I nonchalantly scanned the front i>age of a newsi)aper on top of one of the boxes: "Youths Steal Car," "Drunk Slays Wife,' "Boy Held on Murder Charge," "Stewarts Hold Celebration." I stopped there and read the article. "The Stewarts, leading family .... held a gigantic Christmas i)arty. . . . N'o e.xi>ense was si)ared." I thought of Dickie, of drunken Jacobs, of old lady Jones and her twelve kids. ... I read again : "NO EXPENSE WAS SPARED." The Intersection Donald E. Ar.mstrong Galcsburg Dh'isi,>>i, Rhetoric I, Theme 5, 1947-1948 THE TRAFPIC SIC.\.\L 1- LASHED A SCARLET WARXIXC, TO the hurrying motorists. I step])ed on the brake ])edal quickly and felt the car respond. It slowed to a stop at the intersection. Automatically I shifted the gears into neutral and glanced down the tree-lined boulevard. The bright sunlight cascaded thrtnigh the branches of the trees and was reflected in multicolored splashes of light from the dozens of cars scurrying up and down the road. The large trees along either side of the road arched so far out over the pavement that I seemed to be in an enomious tunnel. Their massive trunks formed a gigantic ])icket fence, behind which nestled rows of neat, suburban homes, shaded by the leafy roof overhead. The gnarled and aged trunks of the trees seemed to form a protective barrier secluding the dwellings from the rest of the world. 22 The Green Caldron A little girl skipped happily along the sidewalk, her golden pigtails dancing on her shoulders, like puppets on a string. Suddenly a boy darted from behind a tree and jerked one of the pigtails impishly. With a squeal of pain and anger, the little girl turned on her tormentor. As she stamped her foot in rage, the boy ran down the street laughing merrily. The little girl turned and trudged on up the street, her recent joy dimmed by the boy's thoughtless prank. On the corner stood a middle-aged man with a lunch bucket under his arm. His clothes were those of a laboring man. His trousers were smudged wdth grease and dirt as if he had been lying on the ground under a car. His hands were large and rough, the hands of a worker. His shoulders drooped slightly with weariness and with his load of worldly cares and responsibilities. His face was etched deeply with age's distinguishing Hnes. And his cap, pulled low, shaded two weary eyes that turned to search the street for the approach of his bus. My eyes wandered across to the opposite corner, following the graceful movements of an attractive young woman who was approaching the crossing. Her high-heeled step click-clicking along the sidewalk accented the carefree swing of her arms. A well-shaped face, outlined by soft masses of chestnut- colored hair, seemed to radiate charm and shower good will on everyone she met. The brazen blast of an auto horn jerked my eyes to the center of the intersection. An ancient, battered car, piloted by an old, gray-haired man, slid to a stop as a shiny limousine sped possessively across its path. In a moment the limousine had disappeared on down the street. With a jerk the aged machine started up again, and the old man drove on down the street. "Ding-ding-ding," chimed a small bell. At a gas station on the corner an attendant was filling the tank of a car with gasoline. The tiny bell continued to ring each time a gallon of fuel was delivered. Suddenly gasoline gushed from the mouth of the tank and ran down the fender of the car. The attendant quickly shut off the gas, replaced the hose on its bracket, and screwed the gas tank cap into place. He walked to the front of the car and scrubbed at the windshield with a rag for a moment or two. The driver handed him a bill, and after much fumbling and searching through his pockets, he found thei necessary change. As the car drove away, he turned to another customer. A sharp horn blast from behind me startled me, and I glanced at the traffic signal. It was green. Quickly I shifted the gears into low and let out the clutch. Cough — cough ! I had killed the engine. I pressed the starter button quickly. The starter whined for a few seconds and then the motor started. I hesitated momentarily to allow a silver-haired old woman to cross in front of my car. With a self-conscious glance in the rear view mirror, I hurried across the intersection and on down the boulevard. March. 1948 23 Tlie Taconia Narrows Bridge Robert Mack Rhetoric II, Theme 13. 1947-1948 THE NORTHWEST PORTION OF THE STATE OF WASH- ington is divided in a north-and-south direction by the waters of Puget Sound, which separate an area of land about 80 miles in length and 90 miles in width from the rest of the state. This area, known as the Olympic Peninsula, is well provided with local highways, but Puget Sound efTects a barrier between it and the rest of the state to the east. All travel to and from the peninsula is by means of ferries in the vicinity of Seattle and Tacoma or by highways around the southern end of the sound through Olympia. Puget Sound in the vicinity of Tacoma is restricted at its narrowest point to a width of about 4600 feet in what is termed the "Tacoma Narrows." The bridging of the sound at this location as a means of more ready access to the 01ynii)ic Peninsula had long been proposed; however, because of the great depth of the water and the swiftness of the tidal currents, the cost of a bridge was an effective Ijarricr to its financing, and all efforts of private individuals in this direction failed. In 1937 the state legislature created the Washington Toll Bridge Authority with the power to finance, construct, and ofKrate toll bridges. Applications were made to the Public Works Administration and the Reconstruction Finance Corporation for apportioning costs. During the summer of 1938, the Toll Bridge Authority i>rcpared detailed plans and specifications for the bridge and on November 25, 1938, concluded a contract for the construction. The plans provided for a connection with the city streets in Tacoma on the east and with an existing highway system on the west. The bridge was to consist of a suspension structure with a total length of 5000 feet divided between a central span of 2800 feet and spans on each side of 1100 feet. Approaches and anchorages would bring the overall length to 5939 feet. A normal vertical clearance of 196 feet was allowed for navigation purposes. The structure was to have a two-lane roadway 26 feet in width with a four- foot, nine-inch walk along each side.^ Construction was commenced on November 29, 1938, two days before contract negotiations were completed." The first task confronting the bridge builders was to make an accurate survey to determine the location of the structure. Transits used in this survey read to ten seconds ; that is, they * Clark H. Eldridge, "Tacoma Narrows Bridge." Cnt'/ Engineering, 10 (May. 1940). 299. 'The Failure of the Taconia Narrows Bridge (three separate reports compiled by Te.xas Agricultural and Mechanical University and issued as a bulletin, hereinafter to be referred to as Texas Bulletin, Report A, B, or C), Report B, 1944. p. 17. 24 The Green Caldron could measure an angle as small as ten seconds. And chaining, or measuring, was done with steel tapes mounted on tripod bases with readings taken to one-thousandth of a foot. The final result of this accurate survey may be exemplified by noting that the final angles turned for the centers of the main piers varied only about one-quarter of one inch in distances ranging up to several thousand feet.^ The various components of the bridge were completed as follows : main piers, September 11, 1939; towers, January 6, 1940; cables, March 9, 1940; suspended steel. May 31, 1940; concrete roadways, June 28, 1940.* Shortly before noon on November 7, 1940, the main span of the bridge, set in motion by the wind, ripped away and fell into the waters of the sound. Cables and towers survived and held up the side spans, though the latter sagged about thirty feet as the towers, which are fixed at the base by steel anchors deeply imbedded in the concrete piers, were bent sharply back by the unbalanced pull at the side span cables. A wind reported as 42 miles per hour was blowing on the morning of the accident. Failure appeared to begin at mid-span with the buckling of the stiffening girders. Suspenders snapped and their ends jerked high in the air above the main cables, while sections of the floor system several hundred feet in length fell out successively, breaking up the roadway toward the towers until only stubs remained.'^ As the twist approached its maximum, the deck tilted from side to side through vertical angles of more than 45 degrees with the horizontal ; looking down the bridge lengthwise, one could see lighting standards on opposite sides of the deck at opposite ends of the bridge crossing at right angles.*' The first actual failure was due to the slipping of the cable band on the north side of the bridge. This slipping started torsional oscillations. These torsional movements caused breaking stresses at various points of the sus- pended structure, and further structural damage followed almost immediately. The dropping of the greater part of the suspended structure of the center span was made possible by the failure of the suspenders.' Since the Tacoma Narrows Bridge was the third longest suspension span in existence (Golden Gate, 4200 feet; George Washington, 3500 feet),** with a total cost of $6.469,770,-' various detailed reports were made on the extent of damage to the structure. In the main they agreed quite closely. It was 'Fred C. Dunham, "Triangulation for the Tacoma Narrows Bridge," Ciz'il Enguiccrvta. 11 (March. 1941). 145-6. * Texas Bulletin, loc. cit. • N. A. Bowers, 'Tacoma Narrows Bridge Wrecked by Wind," Engineering Nezvs Record, 125 (November 14. 1940). 1. • N. A. Bowers, "Model Tests Showed Aerodvnamic Instability," Enginecrinq Nexvs Record. 125 (November 21, 1940), 47. ' Texas Bulletin. Report B, Introduction. '"Pacific Northwest Bridges Completed," Enginecrinq Nezvs Record, 125 (July 11, 1940), 58. • Texas Bulletin, Report C, p. 3. March. 1948 25 recommended that the cables and tlie main towers be dismantled, but that the concrete piers be used again for tliey were in a satisfactory condition. The unspinning of the main cables, a difficult job in itself, was further complicated by the fact that one strand had wound around the other strands during a wind storm and caused considerable friction in pulling operations. I""ifty-two percent of the wire was removed speedily and with no great difficulty during the first month of operation, but three months were required to remove the remaining forty-eight percent. Tremendous forces of friction had to be overcome to remove much of the latter portion of cable. Deposits of zinc oxide, red lead, dust, and wax were continually being rubbed ofT the wire in the pulling process and were left on remaining strands. These substances, wetted by rain, formed a gummy compound which greatly increased friction. This condition was finally solved with the use of kerosene as a solvent.^" Dismantling the steel towers of the bridge could not be started until after the cables were down and out of the way. While the cables were being dis- mantled, a considerable amount of preparatory work in the manufacture of equipment, the placing of hoisting engines, and the construction of protection sheds was carried on. There were about 1900 tons of steel in each tower. Operations were started on the southerly or Tacoma tower first, and then the equipment was moved to the opposite tower, where the same procedure was repeateercent more than the original) will increase the foundation loads less than one '° Charles E. .Andrew, "Observations of a Bridge Cable Unspinner." Engineering Ncivs Record. 131 (.AuRust 26. 1943). 89-91. " Charles E. .Andrew. "Dismantling the Tacoma Narrows Bridge Towers," Engineering Nezvs Record. 131 (October 21, 1943), 92-3. 26 Thg Green Caldron ton per square foot. Since both piers are founded on well-graded gravel and sand, such an increase will be of no consequence. Like the piers, the anchorages remained intact after the collapse, and a considerable number of them, at least sixty percent, can be used for the new superstructure.^^ The various reports on the collapse of the bridge gave similar conclusions, the most noteworthy of which follow : The Tacoma Narrows Bridge was well designed and built to resist safely all static forces, including wind, usually considered in the design of similar structures. Its failure resulted from excessive oscillations caused by wind action. The suspension type is the most suitable and the most economical that could have been selected for the bridge. No more satisfactory location could have been chosen. There can be no question that the quality of the materials in the structure, and the workmanship, were of a high order." " Charles E. Andrew, "Redesign of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge,' Record, 135 (November 29, 1945), 64. " Texas Bulletin, Report B, Introduction. Engineering News BIBLIOGRAPHY Andrew, Charles E., "Dismantling the Tacoma Narrows Bridge Towers," Engineering Nezvs Record, 131 (October 21, 1943), 92-3. Andrew, Charles E., "Observations of a Bridge Cable Unspinner," Engineering News Record, 131 (August 26, 1943), 89-91. Andrew, Charles E., "Redesign of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge," Engineering News Record, 135 (November 29, 1945), 64-9. Bowers, N. A., "Model Tests Showed Aerodynamic Instability," Engineering News Rec- ord, 125 (November 21, 1940), 674-7. Bowers, N. A., "Tacoma Narrows Bridge Wrecked by Wind," Engineering Nezvs Record, 125 (November 14, 1940), 1 ff. Dunham, Fred C, "Triangulation for the Tacoma Narrows Bridge," CizAl Engineering, 11 (March, 1941), 143-6. Eldridge, Clark H., "The Tacoma Narrows Bridge," Civil Engineering, 10 (May, 1940), 299-302. "Pacific Northwest Bridges Completed," Engineering News Record, 125 (July 11, 1940), 58. The Failure of the Tacoma Narrozvs Bridge, three separate reports compiled by Texas Agricultural and Mechanical University and issued as a bulletin, approximately 300 pages, 1944. Child at the Circus A little boy stood wide-eyed in the midst of the circus activities. Large tents loomed grotesquely into the sky. The air smelled of taffy, popcorn, cotton candy, and splitting hot dogs. The sawdust covered the ground in heaps. The little boy turned, twisted, trying to take in all the sights at once. While the barkers yelled at passing customers, the child was fascinated by the merry-go-round. He watched other little boys mount the horses and whish around and around. Fumbling into his tight knee pants, he produced a dime and sauntered into the merry-go-round line. A smile of expectation crept across his face. In his eyes a bright light shone. When he reached the ticket office, the cashier leaned across the counter and said, "No colored allowed." The light died. — Robert LaRue March, 1948 27 Tlie Great Gatsby By F. Scott Fitzgerald Alexander Monto Rhetoric I. Book Report. 1947-1948 FITZGERALD'S IXTENTK3X IX THE GREAT GATSBY IS obviously to point up the futility of the life of the twenties through the portrayal of a man who lived futilely and died futilely. Since Fitzgerald himself lived in the period and absorbed its feelings and beliefs, his novel shows honesty of purpose and accuracy and fullness in performance. It is depressingly successful. Mow, specifically, does he achieve his purpose? In the first place, to get a true portrayal of the period and to exix)und his theme, he uses a relatively simple plot that does not have a mass of complex adventures through which the hero goes, but, rather, relatively few incidents and an untwisted thread of action. By using the point of view of a character in the book, he achieves an air of reality for his almost incredible descriptions, such as that of the eyes in the oculist's advertisement. By using Long Island and Xew York as a setting, he makes scenes like < iatsby's i)arties and the desolate wastes along the railroad possible and believable. These i>oints are important ; for though a novelist of Fitzgerald's stature might have createtl such an efTect in a different way in a different setting, yet they make this story seem more true and real. They also add to the style of the book Ijecause they make his portrayal intrinsic and apjiarent. not something so carefully contrived that the mechanism of the contrivance detracts from the central impression. The power and comprehensiveness with which he depicts the period come from his marvelous characterizations, however : though a writer be ever so skilled, he cannot make a i)eriod come to life for the reader without making the people in it completely and credibly human. It is true that Fitzgerald's characters do not change much during the action ; yet the space of a short summer that is the duration of the plot is scarcely enough to warrant any violent alteration of human beings. The book is written in the first person, the narrator being one Xick Carraway, who, of course, speaks for the author ; and the characters develop through his understanding and are thus relayed to the reader. They are revealed by their speech and by comments from the author-narrator that are completely realistic and smooth-flowing and un- marred by unwieldy blocks of description or analysis. The characters are complex. Take Tom Buchanan for example. His great brutality and drive, which would indicate a self-sufficient, skeptical mind, are coupled with a paradoxical credulity for the pseudo- scientific 28 The Green Caldron theories of race dominance which he spouts at every opportunity. There's also Jordan Baker. What her next action will be is never obvious, and who understands her motives? These characters are real individuals and not wooden types, yet they have a curious universality. Who hasn't met an ex-football player like Tom Buchanan, "a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax" ? The first person narration, consecutive action, terse diction, and expressive language combine to produce that elusive something called style. It is this style which makes it impossible to read the book rapidly or aloud without destroying some of its highly personal effect. Clear and forceful, it expresses perfectly the thoughts of a bold and original thinker. Fitzgerald's grasp of his central idea unifies the style and makes it a fine tool with which to sketch his scenes. As stated at the beginning of this review, the main significance of the book lies in its ability to make a departed and fabulous period live for us again, and also to show the futility of the life of this period. Of course, it is customary for the reviewer who wants to put his own views on paper to tack them on to reviews under the pretext of demonstrating the significance of the book he is discussing ; but despite the danger of reading my own views into The Great Gatsbv, I'll risk some comments on its significance. That a period such as Fitzgerald recreates should ever have existed, much less existed only two decades ago, seems a bit fantastic today. The jazz age seems as remote as the Eocene. The flappers and jazz babies have fled with the rah rah boys, and all that comes back to us from that world is an echo of gay laughter and a flash of tinsel. What caused such a world to come into being? What was it worth? To the latter question Fitzgerald answers, "Nothing." Gatsby dies alone and is buried unmourned. His former splendor is forgotten, as he is. To the first question, the answers are too complex and numerous for anyone's understanding, not to mention descriptive powers -, but one or two general causes can be touched upon. As others have better stated, the early twenties were a period of disillusion- ment. The country had almost recovered from the war physically and economically, but there were other effects. The high ideals of Wilson and the altruistic aims of the war "to make the world safe for democracy" had been ripped to tatters in the shameful compromises of the peace of Versailles. The campaigns of the "muckrakers" had not so long before finished laying bare the corruption and baseness of politics and business. "Debunking" was the attitude most commonly expressed. People believed in nothing — but pleasure. The economic answer is another that can be given. The reign of Queen Victoria ushered in a period of mechanization and industrial development that changed the whole pattern of economic life. This economic change also changed the social order, although the big break in prevailing social customs March, 1948 29 and attitudes did not come until the First World War. After that, wealth and ix)\ver brought their possessor social prestige also. The industrialization of our country brought about the shift of population to the urban industrial centers and so created huge, sprawling metropolises like New York, the setting of The Great Gatsby. The civilization of the age grew from these cities, and its wealth, power, and neurotic people were their products. Its prevailing philosophy, materialism, was a natural result of industrialization. Thus The Great Gatsby gives us human beings who are helplessly caught in vast historic and economic forces in an era that lives for us again. No other novel I have read presents the period better. A Ride in a Rod RO.NALD 1'rKSTON Rhetoric I. Theme 5. 1947-1948 eo THE HOT RAYS OF THE SUN RESTED ON MY CHEEK AS I sat on the chute gate. For the past hour I had been watching men trying to stick to the slippery, eel-like back of a sun-fishing, pivoting, bellowing steer. Some of the men rfxle through the eight-second time limit. Some came limping back to the sidelines. Still tethers stfxxl or lay in the arena with a dazed, surprised look on their faces ; a leg or an arm, and sometimes both, hung queerly in their tight-fitting clothes. Others moved not at all, and the June dust settled slecause normally the whale surfaces only every fifteen or twenty minutes.' if a close lookout is not kept, a whale might j)ass by the ship unnoticed. ' R. C. Andrews. Ends of the Earth (New York. 1937). p. 33. *"Thar She Blows." Business ll'eeh (July 21. 1945). 56. •E. H. (Thatterton. H'halcrs and H'halino (London. 1925). p. 226. * "Thar She Blows." loc. cit. » Ibid., p. 58. • .'\. C. Bennett, Whaling in the Antarctic (New York. 1939). pp. 18. 89. ' David R. McCracken. "My Four Months on a Jap Whaler." The Saturday Evening Post. 220 (August 23. 1947). 98. 32 The Green Caldron With new uses of radar and other war equipment, the whale is not safe even beneath the water. The British, since the ending of the war, have equipped whale catchers with radar and sound echo sounding gear to help track him down both on the surface and under the water.^ After the whale has been sighted, it must be identified before it can be killed. Because of the new effective methods of finding and killing whales, regulations have been passed to prevent certain types from becoming extinct. The harpooner must not only be careful that he does not shoot a mother whale or her small calf, but he must also be able to judge length, for he is not permitted to kill a whale under seventy feet in length.^. He must also be careful not to shoot any of the protected species. Other whales he must leave alone because the oil they yield is of very poor quality and is not wanted by the processing plants. The men aboard the killer ships can distinguish among the dififerent species of whales by the form and frequency of the spout and by the variation in its whistling sound.^° After the whale has been properly identified as one to be killed, the harpooner is in charge of guiding the ship to within shooting range, which is normally about twenty-five yards.^^ Every time the whale submerges, the harpooner must guess where he will come up next ;^^ however, the harpooner does have an advantage in that during the chase a whale can stay under the water only two or three minutes at a time.^^ Because of his keen hearing both on the surface and under water, the whale is able to outmaneuver the ship many times before exhaustion forces him to surface for more frequent and longer periods. Even after the ship is in a position for the strike, the hard part is yet to come. Only a ridge of the whale's back is visible as a target above the water ; both the whaler and the animal are in constant motion ; and if the unwieldy six-foot, one-hundred-pound harpoon even touches a wave on the way toward its mark, it will be thrown ofT course.^* When the harpoon strikes the whale, four prongs at the tip spring out to forty-five degree angles to fasten it firmly in the flesh. At the point of the harpoon is a bomb about one foot long which explodes approximately four seconds after it leaves the muzzle of the gun.^"' Yet, despite the powerful force of the bomb, the first harpoon seldom kills, and a second, and sometimes a third harpoon has to be shot before the whale is hit in a vital spot.^^ The first shot may stun, enabling the killer ship to come in for the kill, or again the harpoon may have no visible effect. When this happens, the harpoon serves as an anchor in the whale for the heavy rope attached to the ship. A •"Antarctic Whaling." Life, 21 (Sept. 30, 1946), 123. ' McCracken, op. cif., pp. 98, 100. "James Travis Jenkins, IV hales and Modern Whaling (London, 1932), pp. 18, 320. "Chatterton, op. cit., p. 215. ""Antarctic Whaling," loc. cit. "McCracken, op. cit., p. 98. "Bennett, op. cit., pp. 41, 167. "Chatterton, op. cit., p. 217. "Bennett, op. cit., p. 163. March. 1948 33 large wliale can tow the two-hundred-ton vessel for several miles before the ship can catch up and deliver the fatal blow.*" When the whale has been killed, the rope prevents it from sinking. The carcass is hauled to the surface ; and, through a hollow lance driven into the whale, air is pumped into its stomach to make it buoyant. The catch is then marked by a lance bearing one or more flags to identify it, and cast loose.*" If a factcjry ship is working with the whale catcher, it will be notified of tiie dead whale's location. The factory ships are capable of pulling the whale on board and processing it just as shore factories do. If the killer ship is not working with a factory ship, the whales are picked up at the end of the day and towed into a shore processing factory.** " Chatterton. op. cit., p. 216. " Bennett, op. cit., p. 165. " Qiatterton, op. cit., p. 219. BIBLIOGR.^PHY Andrew.s, Roy Chai'Ma.s, Ends of the Earth. New York, Garden City Publishing Co., 1937. "Antarctic Whaling." Life. 21 (Sept. 30, 1946), 123-6. Bennett, A. G., Whaling in the .intarctic. New York, Henry Holt and Company, 1939. Chatterton, E. Heble. li'halers and IV haling, Ix)ndon, Philip Allan and Company, 1925. "Japan's Whaling Industry," Science News letter, 50 (August 24, 1946), 119. Jenkins, James Travis, li' hales and Modern IV haling. Tendon, H. F. and G. Withcrby, 1932. McCracken, David R., "My Four Months on a Jap Whaler," The Saturday Ei'ening I'ost, 220 (August 23, 194/1, 30-1 ff. Regulations of IV haling. International Conference of Whaling 1932, Washington, Cjov- ernment Printing Office, 1938. "Thar She Blows," Business IVeek (July 21, 1945), 54-6. Method in His Madness My father and 1 arc thorough disbelievers in tourist guides, as we like to roam through new cities discovering the unusual for ourselves. So it was that we wandered into the beautiful French Catholic Cathedral in the French Quarter of New Orleans. We had noticed a little wide-eyed fellow of about six years following us. As we entered the church he stepped up and quietly informed us that we were in the Saint Louis Cathedral, second oldest church in the country, and wouldn't we care to look around? All of this was in one breath. Father and I listened to lectures concerning the beautiful murals, where each saint is buried, and how each of the exquisite stained glass windows happened to be made. Each lecture sounded suspiciously more memorized than the last, but never- theless it was delivered with obvious earnestness. Father and I exchanged glances. We admired the hand-painted ceiling, and our little friend smiled. We praised the beauty of the architecture, and his eyes sparkled. We said we thought we would leave, and once again he was the wide-eyed little business man. Holding out his small, sweaty hand he announced, "That will be ten cents please. Merci." — Doris Davis 34 The Green Caldron Blue Nose William H. Jackson Rhetoric I, Theme 7, 1947-1948 BLUE NOSE," ALIAS "THE HATTER," WAS A REPRESENTA- tive of the kingdom of **the working man," of the phylum of the "laborer," and of the class of the "ranchhand" ; he belonged to the family of "I ain't goin' to work," and he was of the species of "Gimme another drink." No one knew where he was from, and when the question was put to him, he would whistle back through his tobacco-stained mustache the same reply, "From around these here parts some'ers." It mattered not where he was, for he gave the same answer in all sections of the country. Like many of his "brothers," he was from the "West," no matter how vast a territory the word took in. His birthplace was not marked by boundaries, and there was no certificate recorded to prove that he was alive. Many of his closest friends confided in me and swore that they did not know his name or his age. The only titles he went by were "Blue Nose" or "The Hatter." As for his age. I believe he must have been pushing sixty-nine into the next bracket. The origin of the name Blue Nose was obvious to all who knew him. As a matter of fact, a complete stranger could gaze upon his blue nose and brand him with the nickname. There must have been a tale behind the other alias, but I was not able to uncover one. He bore the same appearance on all occasions, because to him there was no need of a new day or event. Since Blue Nose was always "carrying a load," his dirt-stififened clothes kept him on his feet better than his legs could. I could never tell what color his shirt was ; I believe at one time it must have been a red flannel. The hat he wore on top of the matted flea haven engulfing his head fitted the rest of his wardrobe. His denim trousers had never been introduced to the rub-board, and his shoes hid sockless feet. Blue Nose preached strongly against socks, staunchly declaring that they made the feet sore if worn too long. Rather than change socks once or twice a month, he completely avoided the ordeal by omitting them entirely. I had the exclusive pleasure of meeting him through a bartender at the Old Faithful Saloon. I was not accustomed to frequenting such establishments, but because a friend of mine was working there, I felt it my duty to visit him whenever I was in the vicinity. When Duffy was busy, I helped him serve drinks at the bar. No experience was needed in mixing beverages ; Duffy's customers drank straight whiskey, beer, wine, and tequila. I was introduced to Blue Nose during one such visit, and while I shook his right hand, he hastily downed a shot of tequila with his left. March, 1948 35 After a few such meetings, Blue Nose and I became great friends — that is, friends as long as I supplied the "refreshments." He would relate to me the frontier days of his youth. A few times he would bless his mother, and sometimes he would tell snatches of his love life. As he talked, I would try to peer into his dim eyes and catch flashes of moods that the old man expressed. He always put on airs of happiness and contentment, but always I could detect the miseries that haunted his mind. Frequently, he said to me, "Kid, don't you ever let yourself get as low and as filthy an old bum as me." I would cheer him up by telling him that he had been unlucky and had received all the hard knocks in life. He would panhandle many drinks during a good day, and on a bad day, when the men were out on jobs, he would resort to any means of obtaining more. Many of the young bucks would take advantage of this : They would throw him to the floor when he begged for a drink ; sometimes, they would make him jig to a fast tune someone eked out on a jew's-harp; they would tantalize him by making false promises of drinks. Blue Nose would some- times jig endless numbers in frenzied desjxrration — many without music — to show his desperate need fcjr "a little refreshment." I never refused him, because I knew he could not survive without it. As a token of his appreciation, he would invariably offer me the jacket that someone had given him. The older fellows would always help him ; there were no pranksters around while they were in his company. They formetl a trust fund for him, and he was allowed five drinks a day and a place to sleep in Maw Brown's Boarding House. He never lx)thered about having money for food, l)ecause he ate nothing. During the last few weeks of his artificial world, Blue Nose was allowed his own way. It was common knowledge that he had been suffering from T. B., and the Ixirroom dcxrtors had declared he had but a short time to live. Blue Nose knew his time was near, and he actually set a day on which he would take his last breath. He jacked more of his life into a few weeks' time than he had experienced during the previous ten years. He even went so far as to talk about tlie casket he wanted and the plot of ground in which he wanted to be buried. Everyone in the neighboring territory had heard of Blue Nose's fate, and all of his friends from miles around came to see him. Each visitor would buy him a few drinks and try to collect old debts. I saw many leave with the honest impression that they had seen him for the last time. Strangely enough, his prediction was only four days late : he died from a stroke he had at Maw Brown's Boarding House. I was as sorry as anyone to see him go, for I had discovered he was a grand old man. We all agreed that Blue Nose would probably be happy, because he departed in the peak of his career. 36 The Green Caldron On tne Otlier Side Fred W. Stone Rhetoric II, Theme 9, 1947-1948 THIS MORNING WHEN I AWOKE I WAS IN A STRANGE new world. I was in a strange bed in a strange, lonely apartment, and, most amazing of all, my skin was brown. I strode rapidly to a mirror in the washroom and looked at myself. My hair was kinky, and my face was sepia. I was unmistakably a Negro. Through a slightly opened window I felt the damp miserable weather creep into the room, and I saw the green, green grass in the square below. "What hath God wrought?" I descended the stairs slowly and stepped out into the drizzle. The cold wet air seeped into the very marrow of my bones. I turned up the collar of my topcoat, but the ever-moving dampness still slipped in against my brown skin. In the meadows the grass was yet green. Ahead I saw a small coffee and doughnut diner. The thought of hot coffee was good, and I imagined I could smell the seductive aroma of fresh coffee through the light rain. I walked in and sat on a stool near the door. The counterman came over, and I gave my order unconsciously, without looking up from the menu. He did not move. I looked up, and it was then I saw his face filled with contempt. He pointed to a greasy fly-specked card tacked to the wall. It read, "For Whites Only." I turned up my coat collar and left. The day was a moment and an eternity. A hundred times I was humiliated, debased for my color with never a kind word, a soft look, a thank you given to balance, if ever so slightly, the hurt to my pride, the destruction of my ego. Everywhere I turned there were arrogant little signs: "Colored," "For Whites Only," "We reserve the right to seat our guests." What have I done to deserve this? Can they not see that under this infernal brown coating I am as white as they are ? Will they not give me one small chance to prove my worth ? Why do they give me nothing but contempt ? Another little sign on the edge of town read, "This is Smithville — This is America." As dusk fell I found myself in a park. I sat on a bench, too confused and bitter to think. A woman, a white woman, passed, and in passing dropped a small purse. I stooped to pick it up and heard her say, "Keep away from that, nigger." I could have killed her there, where she stood, without a qualm. She walked off as I stood rooted to the spot. In the fields the grass was burning greener. March. 1948 37 Hate? I never even dreamed it was possible to hate this much. They have taken everything I had from me, but they have given me in exchange a magnificent hate. I hate white. I liate everything the whites stand for, these smug insolent people. I hate the white men wiih their cruel eyes, and I hate their insipid women, those brainless, spineless animals who are assaulted the very moment they sit beside me on a train or a bus. To all these people I am fit only for exploitation. I have been degraded, scorned and humiliated, but I have this new-found love, hate. It sweeps over me in waves, hot, then cold. It goes from a cold, calculating fury to a burning, insatiable hate. I shall never be persuaded from it, for it is the only vestige of manhood I retain. I'ight? I will fight this thing until I die, for what else is there to live for? Indeed, is it not in the "American" spirit to fight oppression? I will fight it everywhere and to the death. Will I ever become accustomed to this, to my abasement? Is it possible to become accustomed to the everlasting fires of 1 lell ? In the cemeter)- on the side of the hill the green grass speaks with its color. Tlie Scientist and Literature Willi. \.M W. \icinus English 62. ASTR. 1944-1945 IT SEEMS THAT I AM .\ATURALLV DRAWN TO SCIENCE. 1 am not unusual in this resj>ect. for there are many in this complex world that find science stimulating, absorbing, and much easier for the precise mind than the arts. As a future scientist, howe^'er, I believe that it is abso- lutely necessary to study literature. There is something in the make-uj) of each of us that refuses to be settled by the calculating efiiciency of modern science. This blank spot is in part due to the complexity of man's mind. There is no fonnula for predicting thought. Although psychology has made advances in the analysis of human motives and can sometimes predict what form of action the motivation will take, the indisputable fact remains that no one has been able to harness capricious intelligence or emotion or plumb the depths of man's mind. Another factor that science has been unable to deal with is the soul. A few deny it ; a few ignore it ; but most consider it an imponderable essence in human behavior. The soul must be considered as a factor, for it jars the smooth development of reflective thought, and is a possible source of strange emotions with which science can not cope. 38 T^fit^ Green Caldron Science in itself can only point the way to a fuller knowledge and exploita- tion of natural phenomena. Coupled with a broader knowledge of man and his ways, it brings to the scientist a degree of genius and a capacity for better understanding. There is also the fact that science in itself has not been able to produce a way of life compatible with the average man's emotions. It has been truthfully said that the scientist leads a very boring life except in his work. He has little to speak about except his work and few to talk to except those in his field. Luckily, or perhaps inevitably, almost all great scientists have found that they work better if they have found a way to appreciate the other things in life. One of the major "other things" in this life is literature. By literature I mean especially written works of fiction that have beauty either in construc- tion or in thought, or both. I have found in literature a measure of relief for the torture that realization of the immensity of ignorance and the frailty of life brings with it. Literature provides insight into life from the observations of men of genius. It has the beauty of the mind that Keats felt so keenly and expressed in, "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter." It has the power to inspire further efforts when life seems dark and but a stagnant pool in which we are left to drown amid putrid vapors. It can sway the mind and evoke multitudinous emotions. Ultimately I find in it a partial answer to the call of the mind and the spirit. The only conclusion I can draw from these observations is that the study of literature is necessary for the more complete realization of the possibilities in life. It is a means to greater enjoyment and greater contributions and, as such, should be a major part of the scientist's life, since he needs great insight if he is to give his best to the world. Port Said Hawley Smith Rhetoric J, Theme 6, 1947-1948 FROM FAR OFF IN THE DISTANCE COME THE DEEP, melancholy whistles of unknown ships, sounding and signalling their way out to sea. Aboard these ships are men of every nationality, type of character, and degree of emotional stability. On their faces are traces of hatred and happiness, fear and confidence, repentance and indifference. These are the men who are leaving Port Said. I am the one who has left these impressions with them, cut like epitaphs on the tombstones of their memories. I am the soul and the body of Port Said. All who enter this port come as pawns to my chessboard. March, 1948 39 The docks are still ; the sea is preternaturally calm. Only the occasional splashes of refuse, or of something else no one can identify, breaks the tran- quillity of the water. Then suddenly the sound of footsteps breaks into the night. The steps come slowly, finnly. yet with the unconscious timing of a large man. As he steps out of the criminal infested darkness, one is astonished to see that he is a complete contrast to those that live in the shadows about him. They are the unfortunates of the sea. cast ashore by the winds of destiny like the debris of a ship torn at sea ; this man is dressed for some formal occasion. Perhaps it is a wedding. Maybe he has spent the earlier jxirt of the evening in one of my cafes or roulette halls. Yes, that is it, a night with tlie betraying wheels of fortune. His face is that of a jade-cut idol, but his eyes are the eyes of Christ — eyes that see all, and yet see nothing; eyes where- in all can be seen, and yet everything can be hidden. Mis shadow stretches farther and farther out along the quay as he approaches the small fan of light coming frtmi a wharfside cabaret. Stopping to talk to no one, he proceeds to a table at the extreme end of the room. The waiter comes to him with the obsequious smile that is saved for sea captains and men of means. But when he sees the sharp-cut, death-like features of the stranger, he begins to tremble within himself. The waiter's usual brisk, arrogant attitude changes to a feeble request, "Would the Monsieur care to order ?" The Monsieur does not change the direction of his stare, nor d(^s he change the expression of his face. But from somewhere within him comes a voice like the beating of waves at the side of a ship, like the voice of an inquisitor passing a sentence of death, like that of the innocent pleading guilty, like that of the guilty pleading innocent. The voice says, with a sulKonscious significance grasping every word, "I would like a glass of wine, red wine, from the bottom of the last l)arrel." The wine is brought sooner than could be thought possible; it is set down in front of him. One hand moves; one coin drops. The hand calmly lifts the glass, and lips that seem to feel out the ta.ste finish the wine, for it disappears into a m(nith that does not open, past a heart that does not l)eat. The unknown stands and walks toward the door. No one can explain why the crowd opens before him. The sailors look up soberly from their half- empty glasses. The women turn from their mt-n. Thev know that he is in mj power. They dare not touch him. lie is like a k'])er without hells; he does not need them. With his same firm, thoughtful steps, he walks down to the very edge of the water. In his fingers he holds the last cigarette of the last i>ack. The smoke rolls from his nostrils and enshrouds him in a semi-transparent mist. The smoke clears ; the cigarette has gone out. .\ pair of gloves, a coat, and a white silk scarf lie on the dock, bled of all human interest. The sun rises over Port Said. 40 The Green Caldrot: Rliet as Writ Many people will refuse to fly in a plane because they are real sure that they will never land at the other end of their destination in one piece. Another thirty minutes and the fudge is all gene eaten ate. Racking my brain on all these thoughts plus my wife who is also added responsibility gave me the opportunity that was too good to think of turning down. I have seen a crowd of thousands remain silent while a basketball player was shooting a fowl. He had a harsh, vigorously cut mouth and lips, which could form them- selves to sharp, contemptuous words as well as jests and rosy cheeks. It has been stated that children are the rivets in the bonds of matrimony. My plan for 1958 calls for two rivets ! ! In college much time is spent in deep consintration. One girl wore an evening gown to a dance which hung much lower than her knees. The movie has no moral significants to my story, no physiological mean- ing, only the one purpose — to admuse. UnAmerican activities have reached the point where the average, honest citizen feels they should be controlled by UnAmerican laws. In Arabia a man can have as many wives as he can handle. This will help me reach my goal of being just as good a bachelor as my father. The army has taken great pains to keep up these burial places. They have done a splendid job and there is no doubt that if these boys were alive today they would say, Thanks. Leave things alone while everything is all right. Honorable Mention Leo Arms — Speaking of Houses John Barthel — Fascism Below the Equator Joseph Bebmvi — The Promised Land Arnold Brookstone — Adopting the Unicameral System Richard Dahlen — The Rhythm of Hope Jeane Fisher — Having a Wonderful Time Vernon Gopniil — The Grapes of Wrath hy John Sleinlieck Ruth Hensley — How to Be a Bahy Sitter Glenn Ilintermeister — Heroes Are Born, Not Made William llitt — King's Row hy Henry Bellamann James Hood — A Man I W ill RememlM'r David Knecht — Tales My (Grandpa Tells Jacques Leverenz — Beer and Altitude D€>n't Mix James Maloney — The I^etter Charles Marshall — Vl'estern Whirl Carl Petit — Kill Vivinn Riederman — The Queen of Peace Ronald Seibert — The Ontralia Mine Disaster Byron Sirois — Cathe«-m of I rjU"«" T I'atrith I., ttihey: iilooil and a >oii;i ... . . . .S Jatnea Howden: 0>Ielow the E({uutor IT lionnld R. Seihert: The Centralis Mine DinaHter 21 Ihnifl /. Knprht: Talr- Mv Cr!«n«l|»a TflU 2 1 Joltu liuyuard: Improper Ito.'^tonian- 2(» Charles Cooper: The Ifaughty Haw -Han 28 haac Nehama: Seven Weeks in a Miniature UNO 36 Leo Arm*: Speakinjr of HouijeH 39 VOL. 17, NO. 4 APRIL, 1948 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T JLh .HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the Rhetoric Staff at the University of Illinois. Material is chosen from themes and examinations written by freshmen in the Uni- versity, including the Navy Pier and Galesburg divisions, and the high school branches. Permission to publish is obtained for all full themes, including those published anonymously. Parts of themes, however, are published at the discretion of the committee in charge. The committee in charge of this issue of The Green Caldron includes the Misses Effie Hunt and Mary Homrighous and Messrs. William Buckler and George Scouffas, Chairman, The Green Caldron is for sale at the Illini Union Bookstore, Champaign, Illinois. THE GREEN CALDRON copyrighted 1948 BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS All rights reserved No parts of this periodical may be repro- duced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Tne Queen or Peace Vivian V, Riederman Rhetoric I. Theme 10, 1947-1948 PEACE! IT IS A SOOTHING WORD WITH MANY MEANINGS! Strange that it should recall to my mind scenes I have seen in the past. I remember a room thronged with peo]>l(.', blaring music, a crowd en- twined in i)aper streamers, the sound of shrill, cracked, low, melodious horns. It was New Year's Eve, and j^eople were celebrating. Even amidst this uproar and confusion, a certain i)eace jirevailed, a i)eace that radiated from the heart of a haj)])}' ])eoplc' and tilled every crack and every empty space in the already crowded little room. Peace! I remember a calm, blue lake at the edge of the world, with nothing in sight but earth, water, and sky. The only sound was the mellow twanging of a harji being playeril, 1948 7 into a standing position. L'p ahead the column kirched into movement, and the plodding was resumed. .\t last we reached the objective. The company fanned out along the road, i iirough the ominous black silence of the woods echoed the sounds of the company preparing to dig in. All around me 1 heard the "thunk" of heavy packs being dropped in the snow, the metallic clink of the intrenching tools being brought into use, and the incoherent conversations of the men talking about the desired positions. I dropped my pack and removed my shovel from its case. My buddy, Wade, picked the Kxation of our fox hole and started to dig. -\t the end of an hour's digging we had a hole only three feet deep and six feet long. Deciding that the hole was amjile for both our large frames, we -Started to search for materials that we could use as a cover, (iroping, swearing, and stumbling through the blackness, we managed to find enough scrap timber to make a fairly substantial cover. When the cover was completed, I moved my pack and aid pouches to the side of the fox hole. Wade crawled in first with his rifle, for the weather was so bitterly cold in the mountains the only way to insure that our rifles wouldn't freeze up was to take them to bed with us. Inside the fox hole the darkness pressed on us. and the dampness crept slowly into our bones, starting the chills ; all night long shivers and shakes violently seized our bodies. After arranging the blankets so that they stretched from head to toe, we lit up our long-desired smokes. With every jniff we both tried to get every bit of ])leasure we could. Soon the cigarettes would have to be doused, for the fox hole would fill with choking smoke. Night was always the time for thoughts to wander. I'sually it was the little things in life that took the prominent place — the little things once taken so much for granted : cool, starched white sheets, jiairs of very loud pajamas, soft pillows — little everyday things that all contribute to our accepted way of life. Like many others in the blue-black night, our minds would always turn towards home and the happy davs we had spent with our loved ones. Suddenly, without warning, "jerry"' shells started to pound into the company area. Six shells crashed in close. In fact, one of the first shells landed so close to our fox hole that we were tossed around like rubber balls. This barrage lasted about ten minutes. During the lull, I gathered my aid pouches and started up the platoon front. The giant pine trees threw long black shadows across the snow-covered ground. The moon was out in all its brilliance, but the tall pine trees made the platoon area a refuge for sinister shadows. As I made my rounds, I had to be constantly on the alert for the approach of another "Jerry" barrage. After two hours of spasmodic shelling. the casualties dropped ofT, and I dug deeper into my protective blankets. Finally, exhaustion won, and I dozed ott. Through my semiconscious state I suddenly became aware of a high, steady moaning of the wind and the g The Green Caldron occasional splintering of wood. The snow-heavy tops of the pine trees were snapping of?. On the dawn of January 18, 1945, I rose and stretched my stiff back. Lieutenant Smith, our platoon leader, informed us that we were to make ready to move out. The first platoon was to take and hold a crossroads fifty yards ahead. The gray dawn formed a backdrop upon which the large, white snow- flakes were outlined as they lazily sought their way to the ground. The platoon formed in a file along the road. The scouts dashed across the road and started forward. One by one, the men of the platoon bounded across. Once across we fanned out and waded through the snow. We had jumped oft' at 06:30 hours, and so far not a shot or shell had been fired. The platoon pushed on. We came to a clearing in the woods and halted. The scouts snaked their way across the clearing and still there was no sign of resistance. We moved over the clearing pock-marked by shells. It was only ten yards to the crossroads. We had taken our objective without a shot fired. Crash ! Without warning the air was torn with explosions. Mortar shells plopped in with deadly accuracy. The platoon was thrown into wild disorder. I hit the ground and hung on to the earth for life. Now the "Jerries" were sending in rockets. We had walked straight into a trap. There was nothing to do but hug the ground and wait. The rockets streaked in, one after the other, and the powerful concussion waves, tugging at our clothes, washed back and forth over the ground. There was but one thought in my mind at that time — "Haul out !" The slightly wounded w^ere dashing back to the clearing. The more seriously wounded lay motionless in the red-spattered snow. As well as I can remember, I was in the process of rising from the ground to make a dash across the road when there came a blinding flash and a deafening roar. In that split second I felt myself hurled backwards into the soft snow, but from then on the noise of the shells and the flash of the explosions became nonexistent. The terrifying sounds died into silence, and the agonizing pictures faded from sight. My physical and mental being lay still and unconscious, oblivious to all the dangers and horrors of that Cold Hell. New York Subway The hurry and scurry of New York must be more frantic than that of any other large city in the world. A ride in the subway alone is enough to prompt all visitors to Manhattan to repeat that well-worn phrase, "nice to visit, but I wouldn't want to live here. No sirree !" The native New Yorker, however, takes the subway in his stride with devastating aplomb. I was constantly amazed to see the subway riders sit w'ith closed eyes as they swayed to and fro in the jerking cars. These hibernating travelers would let station after station go by without moving a muscle while I peered out the window nervously counting stops. Suddenly, without warning, one of these tired cliff-dwellers would get oflf at some station without even looking at the signs. A homing pigeon couldn't have done better ! — Sylvia Gettmann. AprU, 1948 9 Tne Conqueror Robert Sc halter Galesburg Dhnsion, Rhetoric I, Theme 5, 1947-1948 \ COLD DRAFT BLEW THROUGH THE CAR AS THE LIEUTEN- /-\ ant entered rubbing his hands briskly to restore the circulation. "Where's the Sergeant?" he asked. Someone indicated the small, smoky fire burning midway back in the frigid railroad car, and the lieutenant strode over to the blaze. "Sergeant Nevons," he said, "I want you to see that these 'Krauts' are kept from hanging onto the train when it stops. The engineer tells me that the train almost ran over some at the last stop." This was the break for which the sergeant had been waiting ! I could see b)- the way he said "Yes sir!" as the lieutenant left that he was determined to make a huge success of this job. Sergeant Nevons was a small, sandy-haired man with shifty eyes and a rather unpleasant over-all expression. He had got his cherished stripes by being the oldest man in his overseas contingent rather than by showing any ability for leadership. He had spent his Army career, up to this point, as a barber in the "States," and now. after the war was over, he was overseas as a sergeant. He had an extreme dislike for Germans and anything German and was out to get even with them. The train inched its way along for several miles and then shuddered to a stop. I looked at my watch ; it was four-fifteen. I knew there would be more jolts and jars before we moved on again ; so I unwrapped myself from the blankets T had wound around me and stepped out on the small platform between coaches to have a cigarette. The bitter wind penetrated even my heavy Army overcoat, and a few flakes of finely powdered snow were driven against the side of the train. I looked around me at the small, dreary depot and saw that I was not the only one up at that hour of the morning. On the station platform I saw two forlorn- looking figures. One was an old man who leaned heavily on a cane while trying to hold his large, tattered overcoat tightly around him with his free hand. The other was a skinny little boy, wearing short pants and a light coat, shivering against the cruel wind. I stood there and wondered why people like these, who had done nothing wrong, should have to suffer for the mis- deeds of others. The door of the coach opened, and the sergeant stepped out to have a cigarette along with me. We stood there smoking and talking about the weather until we got so cold we decided to go in. The sergeant and I flipped our cigarette butts away, and they went sailing toward the depot. The old 10 The Green Caldron man and the boy scurried after them as they fell : this and the black market were the only means they had for getting tobacco. The sergeant saw this action and remembered the lieutenant's orders to keep the "Krauts" away from the train. Although they were almost fifty feet from the train, he leaped ofT the coach platform and ran to where the old man was standing and without a word knocked him down. The boy was reaching for the cigarette butt under an old freight car when the sergeant reached him and kicked him as hard as he could. The boy went sprawling into the sharp cinders under the car. His job completed, the sergeant returned to the coach just as the train started to pull out. I looked back at the station as the train slowly picked up speed and saw the old man feebly fumbling for his cane while the boy wiped ofif his bruised and bleeding legs with his thin coat. G. I/s and Occupation Thomas Owings Rhetoric II Proficiency, 1947-1948 THE SOLDIERS OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY OF OCCU- pation in Germany are not the "good-will ambassadors" the War Depart- ment would like us to believe. I have observed the general conduct of occupation soldiers both as a soldier and as a civilian employee of the War Department. My views are naturally generalizations ; human beings are too unpredictable to follow arbitrary rules of classification. The mass immigration of American soldiers in Germany in the spring of 1945 was technically the primary phase of occupation, but the troops at war had little intention of winning the good will of their enemies. The individual G. I., as desired by his superiors, had learned for more than four years to hate Germans. When he finally came into personal contact with the masses, his disrespect for them often found opportunities for expression in physical violence. Shoving, sla])ping, and kicking were among the mildest forms. The "Doctrine of Hatred" was so firmly imbedded that some G. I.'s at first hesi- tated to give candy to obviously impoverished German children. After the cessation of hostilities, non-fraternization policies, although widely violated, were retained by the War Department. Many G. I.'s were beginning to associate with Germans for any one of a number of reasons, but many more harbored the official distrust and disrespect for them. Then the G. I. was abruptly told to substitute for his acute distaste for his enemies the opjiosite emotional and psychological extreme of befriending Germans almost to the point of cherishing them. The soldier in the ranks was, to say the least, not only bewildered but somewhat suspicious of his superiors April. 1948 11 who dictated his deepest moral convictions from one day to the next. A few G. I.'s who never had fully agreed with the official policy of hating all Germans could justify the reasons for this new policy in their own minds, but others who went through both phases of occupation still find difficulty in completely suppressing the "Doctrine of Hatred" in favor of the more recent policy of considering Germans their equals. This persisting confusion, due to the temporal inconsistency in the evolu- tion of occupational policy of the War Department, accounts largely for the illogical behavior of many of our occupational troops. A G. I. who at times is understanding and cordial to Germans succumbs to earlier teachings and becomes dangerously indecent. Such outbreaks today vary from mild insults to murder. Measured in time, the behavior of troops towards Germans is more often commendable than not, but the G. I. who is not wholly convinced of the universal dignity of man may destroy in minutes the respect and admiration which took months to acquire. A (i. I. is only human and human beings are full of convictions which cannot be altered at the snap of an officer's fingers. The Army's superiors must reaffirm to the individual G. I. the reasons for not hating Germans more strongly than they originally issued manifold reasons for destroying them. Then, when the G. I. has morally resolved these con- flicting teachings, we shall have an occupational army composed of as many good-will ambassadors as we think we have now. Having a Wonderxul Time Jeane Fisher Rhetoric /. Theme 10. 1047-1948 OH! I AWOKE WITH A START! WHAT WAS THAT TER- rible screeching noise? Was it a fire truck, an ambulance, an air raid siren? Good heavens, it was the alarm clock! What on earth was that small black thing doing screaming wildly at this time of night? Then I remembered. My long awaited job of detasseling corn began today. But was it really 5 :30 a. m. already ? Another glance at the clock assured me that it was, and I leaped out of bed, clamping my hand on the alarm. In the pale pink glow of early morning, I fumbled for my faded blue jeans and old plaid shirt. Then I remembered what one of the older girls had said to me the day before at the "hang-out." "I detasseled last year, and I know a super way to get a smooth sun tan. Just wear the top of an old two-piece swimming suit under your shirt. Then when the sun gets really scorching, take your shirt off. That way you won't get a half-and-half tan and look like a patchwork quilt the next time you go swimming." 12 The Green Caldron Well, it was worth a try, anyway. It seemed to me a person could get a nice red sunburn that way, too, but I hadn't mentioned that fact to Cynthia. Also, my inner self told me that Mother just might not approve, for some very old-fashioned reason ; so I would just forget to mention to her that I was wearing a swimming suit top vmder my shirt. After all, if Cynthia Johnson had done it, what could I lose? Downstairs, Mother had sizzling bacon and eggs, a tall glass of cool orange juice, and a plate piled high with toast waiting for me. I had never eaten such a huge breakfast in my life. "Remind me to get a metal lunch pail tomorrow, dear," she said. "Then I can pack better lunches for you." "OK," I answered. "Today's will be swell though, I know." Just then a big farm truck, swarming with yelling kids, honked loudly in front of my house. As I dashed out the door, excitedly forgetting everything, my mother handed me my lunch, a bottle of sun tan oil, a box of band-aids, a handful of Kleenex, and my floppy straw hat. I thought of how we must have looked like Blondie and Dagwood as Dagwood hurries to catch the morning bus. All we needed was the postman to make it complete. But no, I made it safely to the truck and was ofif to my first day of detasseling. When we finally arrived at the corn field, the foreman divided us into crews of seven members each. Each crew was then taken to the particular plot which it was supposed to detassel. Our plot was a mile long and about one-fourth mile wide ; and as I climbed onto the big detasseling machine, the rows of corn looked endless. After all seven of us had taken a place on the machine, which was the oddest looking contraption I had ever seen, the foreman explained just w^hat detasseling corn was, and why it was done. "Now, yuh see, what we're doin' out here is raisin' hybrid seed corn, tryin' to get better 'n' purer corn. Now here's the way we do it. See them tassels growin' outa each stalka corn ? Well, we pull them tassels outa every stalk for six rows straight. Then we leave two rows with the tassels stickin' out. We keep doin' that across the field. That's your job, to get them tassels pulled. Then, after that, the wind blows the pollen from the tassels that are left over to the corn where the tassels been pulled, and we get cross-pollination. Very simple process, see?" We all nodded dumbly, not quite "seeing" but getting the general idea. Then the foreman began again. "Now the way yuh git them tassels out is just to reach down, git ahold of 'em, and pull." At this he demonstrated. It looked so simple that I wondered what all the fuss was about until he said, "Now, I know yuh think this looks danged easy ; but when that machine is travelin' about five miles an hour, them tassels come mighty fast." Oh, the machine ! I'd forgotten all about it. It was a large tractor with three long planks on each side and iron guards about waist-high around each plank. The planks were spaced so that they would come between the rows. April, 1948 13 With one person standing on each plank, six rows of corn could be detasseled on each trip through the field. By this time, we were all eager to get started. The foreman uttered a few more sage remarks, and off we went. Our driver was as inexperienced as we were ; so the first trip through the field was one I'll long remember. The machine swayed dizzily back and forth, tearing down cornstalks and scattering dirt, as the driver struggled to guide it straight, and as the rest of us struggled to stay on the planks and grab the tassels as they flew by. After what seemed hours, we finally reached the end of the row. There was the water truck waiting for us with a big jug of water. Hot and exhausted, we all drank deeply and then sank to the ground to relax a few minutes. "What time is it?" I asked, thinking it wouldn't be long until lunch. " 'Bout eight o'clock, I guess." drawled one of the water boys. Eight o'clock! I couldn't believe it! Four more hours until lunch! I'd collapse before then. But I didn't. In fact, after that first wild trip through the field, the morning went by before wc knew it. Each trip seemed a little shorter than the last. Maybe that was because we were learning how to pull the tassels faster, or maybe it was because we knew that rest and a cool drink waited at the end (if each row. Those rests at the end of each row sometimes were not enough, however. It was amazing how often when we were out in the middle of the field with nothing but corn in sight, the engine suddenly sputtered and died. Of course, this always happened when we were all getting a little tired. Our driver had learned that pulling one little wire out of place caused the engine immediately to cough a little and then give uj). It was during one of those stolen rest periods out in the middle of nowhere that we started talking about our foreman. We had just finished a tassel fight with another crew who had passed us a few rows over. Laughing and exhausted, we perched on the railings and were telling jokes and brushing tassel seeds from our hair, when one of the fellows said, "What do you think of old baldy, the foreman? Isn't he a riot? I'll bet he hasn't shaved in weeks!" Everyone laughed and started talking about Henry and the way he looked and acted. We were having a great deal of fun at his expense when I said. "It's a good thing Henry isn't around. I don't think he'd find our remarks particu- larly funny." Everyone laughed. Just then came a rustle of corn stalks, and a voice boomed, "Jest what makes yuh think Henry ain't anywheres around ?" I almost fell oflF my perch! "Oh h-h-h-hi, H-H-Henry !" I smiled weakly. "W-W-We were just talking about you." "So I heerd," he growled. "Yuh know, it sure is a shame you kids had to go and insult me thata way, cause I'd kinda taken a likin' to this here cre.v. 14 The Green Caldron In fact, I'd sorta planned to sneak yuh an extra water jug to keep on the machine with yuh so's yuh coukl have a nice cool drink when that there engine accidently conked out in the middle a the field." We all jumped down and apologized three or four times, but Henry just turned and walked away. Everyone felt terrible about the incident. We slowly mounted the machine again. Then we heard a quaint chuckle, and there was Henry, a gleam in his eye and a big water jug in his hand. ''Yuh know, young feller," he said to one of the boys, "I'd a shaved long ago, but there ain't been this many purty gals on the farm since that big square dance we had back in March." We all laughed and had a cool drink, knowing that Henry would be our friend from then on. It was still a long time until lunch, and I felt I was slowly wasting away. To make time pass faster, the crew decided to sing. When we came to "I've Been Workin' on the Railroad," someone sang instead "I've been workin' in the corn field." That was the beginning of our detasseling song. The words were : I've been workin' in the corn field All the livelong day. I've been workin' in the corn field Just to pass the time away. Can't you hear the alarm clock ringing? Rise up so early in the morn. Can't you hear old Henry shouting, "Hey there ! Detassel that corn ! We sang it over and over, the other crews heard us and began singing it, and soon the whole corn field seemed to be ringing with our song. Finally lunch time came, and we all climbed aboard the water truck to ride up to the farmyard where we had left our lunches. We had just jumped ofT the truck and dashed for the old smokehouse where our long-awaited lunches lay, when old Henry yelled, "Hey, just a minute! You new detasselers can't eat 'til you been dunked in the horse tank by the ones that detasseled out here before." The horse tank, I thought ! No one's going to put me in one of those filthy, slimy things. Oh no? Just then two fellows and a girl lunged at me. T kicked, struggled, threatened; but in I went just like everyone else. And it wasn't bad at all. The water was clean, not slimy, and it felt cool and refreshing after the hot rays of the sun all morning. The only bad thing was that the sun dried us in about five minutes, and we lost the cool feeling. Of course, by that time we girls didn't exactly resemble Lana Turner, nor did the boys look "Tyrone Power-ish," but no one seemed to mind. We dashed to the pump and washed the mud from our hands and then flew to the smokehouse for our lunches. "Save me a seat on the steps," I called back as I reached for my lunch. Well, where was — then I saw it ! Oh no ! TJiat couldn't be my lunch. But it was. There on the floor was a torn sack with its contents scattered everywhere : egg salad sandwiches in April, 1948 15 little pieces, crumbled potato chips that had been stepped on by hurrying feet, a big red apple squashed on the floor, red and green stuffed olives rolling everywhere. Then I saw the culprit. There in the doorway was a little black cocker spaniel, his huge, sad eyes looking up at me, his face covered with yellow egg salad. What would you have done? I was about to collapse from hunger, but have you ever tried to be angry at a cocker spaniel who just keeps looking at you with those sad. sad eyes? I turned and trudged out of the smokehouse and over to the steps where my crew was eating. Everyone except me thought the whole incident was hilarious. I thought it was disgusting. To stop mv complaining, each person gave me something from his lunch, and. in the end, I had more to eat than any of them. There was nothing to gripe about any more. I was stuffed with good food ; my new friends were wonderful ; in a few days my sun tan would be the envy of every girl in my gang ; I was getting paid eighty cents an hour ; and I was having a wonderful time ! How to Be a Baoy Sitter Ruth Henslev Oak Park Branch. Rhetoric I, Theme 8. 1947-1948 Till-: PROBLEMS ( )!• A HABV SITTER ARE MULTITUDINOUS; multiply this infmitc luimber of problems by ten and you have the number of minor crises with which a sister, sitting with her brother and sister, is confronted during the course of an evening. Usually, having a kid brother and sister is in much the same category as having a Rodgers and Hammer- stein musical and a three-ring circus living in the house. On those fateful nights when Mom and Dad do Out, the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical and the three-ring circus are instantly transformed into two nefarious schemers whose main purpose in life is to stay away from sleep in any size. form, or guise. Eor all the other unfortunates who are faced with the same difficulties, 1 have evolved the following program. The only way to get the children to bed is to start early in the evening and operate on a subtle psychological plan. The first thing I have to do is coerce Sis into practicing. This can be accomplished only by sitting on Bud, in order to force him into being the other half of an appreciative audience ; Sis just won't practice without an audience. Bud and I sit and listen while Sis plays something ; then we guess what it was. Frankly, she sounds like a baby bull elephant that has lost its mother. We flatter her by telling her that the piece she has just finished sounded like "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star"; of course, it was "The Blue Bells of Scotland." For the sake of my complaining ear- 16 The Green Caldron drums, I accept twenty minutes of practice for a half-hour and proceed to the next operation in my plan. This phase is known as "Playing with the Children in Order to Wear Them Out." It involves many things ; the most tiring of these is the wrestling match. After the wrestling match, it's a toss-up whether I will be able to move for the rest of the evening or not. In order to have a little time to recuperate before bath time, I turn the radio to some innocuous program. It seems that the children do not like this program because nobody ever gets killed. After an argument of no small dimensions we compromise on a program in which the people rarely are killed (they just get shot at). At the end of this period of comparative peace it is time for the next step. This part of the plan is somewhat like the emigration of a whole nation, for it involves moving the children up the stairs and in the general direction of the bathtub. Sis gets the tub first, and since she likes to warble in the bath, it is a trifle hard to get her out. Finally she emerges, rosy-cheeked and radiant from her scrubbing. Bud is next, and before I can get my foot in the door the lock has clicked, leaving me on the outside and Bud on the inside with a small navy. I can hear him reconstructing every naval battle since Caesar as I stand outside the door telling him to hurry up and bathe. Nothing seems to bother him in the slightest; he just sits in the bathtub and sloshes water all over the floor. Eventually, many eternities later, Bud fares forth resplendent in his dirty ears. Of course, I never really expect him to wash them, but it would be nice if he did. Now that the bath barrier has been hurdled, there is just one more thing to do. This is the most difficult operation of all. It involves tucking the children into bed. After playing many games of 'T Betcha Can't Find My Arm 'Cuz It Isn't in My Sleeve," the cherubs are clad in pajamas, ready for a night of refreshing sleep. There is only one trouble ; they aren't sleepy. There is one thing to do, according to my plan, and that is to attempt to read them to sleep. After listening to a small encyclopedia, read in my most boring voice, they reluctantly agree to lie down and try to go to sleep. When I reach the living room I am so fatigued that turning on the radio is a major effort. Just as I am beginning to feel almost alive, I hear the patter of four small feet. The feet stand at the head of the stairs for a moment, and then their owners chorus, "Ruthie, we're hungry." As any well-trained sister will tell you, there is only one thing to do. Feed them. While I would love to pour the milk over their heads and throw the cookies at them, I manage to serve the little demons with a reasonable amount of civility. When they have finished eating, the children trot off to bed, and not a word is heard from them until morning. This tale of woe demonstrates that if you have the physical fortitude and the brains to figure out and the endurance to carry out a simple psychological plan, taking care of your brother and sister need never bother you. April, 1948 17 Fascism below^ tlie Equator John Barthel Rhetoric II, Theme 7, 1947-1948 HAVING JUST EMERGED FROM A DEVASTATING GLOBAL war against fascism, the peace-loving nations of the world have deter- mined to keep a watchful eye out for seeds of the fascist weed that may grow and blossom out into the lethal flowers of aggression. Some experts have pronounced the "soil" of Argentine political affairs fertile and well worth investigating. Argentina is the second largest nation in South America. Her population is thirteen million (about one-tenth that of the United States), of which sixteen per cent are illiterate. Geographically she is very similar to the United States, having broad prairie lands and many large, modern cities. In 1940 her standing army numbered 50,000 men, with another 282.000 in the trained army reserve. Her military and naval equipment was poor before the war, but was developed extensively after 1942.' The Constitution of 1853 provides for a president chosen for a six-year term by 376 provincial electors, a bicameral Congress composed of a Senate of 30 members elected for nine-year terms by the provincial legislatures, and a Chamber of Deputies of 158 members elected for four-year terms by the male citizens. - Although Argentina is greatly similar to the United States, there is one big difference which is characteristic of all South American republics. One writer states it very clearly in these words: '*. . . we find that there are two South Americas. They stand out in melodramatic contrast in every republic. Capital cities enjoying all the modernities of the most advanced communities of the world, while vast interior and disconnected areas lie in semidarkness ; some districts in the aboriginal state of the Stone Age." ' This fact may be largelv responsible for the comparative ease with which fascism has seeped into and actually flooded Argentina. In the years before 1930. Argentina was a conventional democratic repub- lic ; but in September of 1930. General Jose Uriburu led a military coup d'etat which seized the reins of Argentine government and ended Argentine democracy, although fascism as such did not move in until the Castillo regime, ten years later. The major effect of the L^riburu coup was to give the fascist elements a brief, sweet taste of absolute power and to show them what remained to be done before full-dress fascism could be introduced. The Spanish Revolt and the establishment of a Republic of Spain in 1931 forced 'Argentina," The New International Year Book. 1940, p. 36. ^ Ibid. •Henry A. Phillips, Argentina (New York, 1944), p. 171. 18 The Green Caldron the neo-fascist Uriburu government to pull in its neck considerably, because events in Spain are always instrumental in molding Latin American public opinion. Hence, fascism was temporarily discarded in 1931, but its short life was prophetic of the future course of Argentine politics.* \\1ien Uriburu fell sick of cancer, his henchmen determined to pick a likely successor ; their choice was (ieneral Augustin P. Justo, whose policies, as it turned out, proved to be greatly "on the fence" — in some ways he was pro-fascist, in others, pro-democratic.^ In the next election, that of 1940, Dr. Roberto Ortiz was elected president and Ramon S. Castillo, vice-president. Although the election had been fixed and the ballots stacked by the pro-fascists in power, Ortiz turned out to be decidedly pro-democratic. If he had lived, it is probable that Argentina would have returned to democracy. As it was, however, he was forced by diabetes to turn over the government to Vice-President Castillo in early 1941.® The Castillo regime, as it developed, tended to be more and more pro- fascist and anti-democratic. Many incidents indicated that the German fifth column was centered in Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina. Subsequent congressional investigations and raids uncovered evidence to prove this fact. The opening sessions of the new Congress were marked by bickering with Castillo over what should be done about the German activities. The pro- vincial elections of 1941 were swept by the pro-Nazi Nationalists, because of the fraudulent methods of balloting employed by Castillo's party. The Radi- cals demanded annulment of the election on this basis, without success. In July and September, pro-fascist attempts on two occasions to overthrow the government were thwarted.^ Anti-Axis elements arranged in November for extensive, pro-democratic demonstrations to be held in five thousand different places, but Castillo ordered them cancelled the night before they were to take place, on the grounds that th government could not tolerate public protests against its neutrality policy. The ban was condemned by the press and openly defied in one province, whose governor was a Radical. In September the Chamber voted to ask the government to dissolve all German organizations and deport their leaders, but Castillo refused, announcing that the conduct of international aiTairs was his responsibility.* On December 16, 1941, Acting President Castillo declared a state of siege over Argentina w^hich suspended all constitutional rights including the habeas corpus, inviolability to search of the home, the mails, and private papers, and the freedoms of speech, press, and assembly. This was to continue for the duration of the war.^ * Ray Josephs, Argentine Diary (New York, 1944), pp. xviii-xx. ' Ibid., p. xxi. ° Ibid. ' "Argentina." The Nciv International Year Book, 1941, pp. 34-5. 'Ibid., p. 35. "Don Modesto, "Spies and Saboteurs in Argentina," Nervs Backgrounds Reports (New York, 1942), pp. 9-10. April, 1948 19 The Radicals were greatly handicapped in their campaign before the March elections by the state of siege. The press and radio were severely censored and the right of public assembly curtailed. Mention in speeches of interna- tional politics and the government's foreign policy, which were the main cam- paign issues, was prohibited. .\s a result, the Radicals lost ground in Congress.'" On June 27, 1942, President Ortiz was forced by his rapidly failing health to present his resignation, making Castillo ])resident. Ortiz died on July 15." His death, and that of Alvear. another Radical leader, left the Radicals nearly leaderless. Their hopes now became centered on ex-President Justo, who prepared to run for the ])residency.'- These hopes foundered on January 11, 1943, however, when General Justo died. W'ith his removal from the cam- paign, it seemed that there would be little opposition to whatever man the Nationalists chose to succeed Castillo.'^ All this political planning proved useless on June 4, 1943, however. .\t that time. General Rawson led ten thousand troops to the Casa Rosada and took control of the government.'* This coup d'etat was planned by a group of high-ranking officers led by Rawson, General Ramirez, and Admiral Sueyro, who demanded and obtained the resignation of Castillo on the next day. Rawson proclaimed himself Provincial President.'^ .'\t first it was expected that this would mark the end of the fascist policies of Castillo, but it soon became apparent that this would not be so, when the new Cabinet was formed of pro-fascist men and Congress was dissolved indefinitely.'" On the morning of June 7. when the new officials were to be inaugurated. Rawson resigned under force, and Ramirez was sworn in instead. The election was called oflf. The new administration, anxious to obtain the approval of the Americas, announced that .Argentina would "show by acts" her alliance with them. In accordance with this it decreed that secret codes could not be used for international communications — a direct blow to Axis espionage. As a result the new government was officially recognized by the United States, a step which later ])roved foolish, because Ramirez resumed Castillo's mo.st fascist policies of repression, and added the open dissolution of pro-.'Mlied parties. Friction with the Ignited States began to develop.'^ But in January of 1944, an Axis spy-ring scare and an ultimatum of "break with the .Xxis or else" issued by the Americas brought about the long-awaited severance of relations with Germany and Japan.'" It was now time for the Argentine Grupo Oficiales Unido (the GOU, which also stands for (lovernment. Order, and Union), composed of a vast ""Argentina," The .Wcw lulcnuitioual )'car Book. 1942. p. 41. "Ibid., pp. 41-2. "Ibid., p. 42. ""Argentina," The New hiteniational Year Book, 1943. p. 38. "Josephs, op. cit., pp. 3-4. " Ibid., p. 39. " "Argentina," op. cit., pp. 38-9. " Ibid. " ".-\rgentina," TJie A'civ International Year Book, 1944, p. 42. 20 The Green Caldron number of young army colonels, to make its debut. The GOU is not a political party, but a cult, almost like those of the Middle Ages. It "represents a danger comparable to that of Japan's militarists and to the Prussian heel-clickers who helped guide the Nazi plans." '^ One of its leaders was Colonel Juan Peron. On February 15, this GOU seized and ousted three key officials, but not Ramirez. On February 24 the officers forced Ramirez to "take a rest," threatening an armed revolt. \'ice-President Farrell was named acting presi- dent. Then began a wholesale dismissal and "resignation" of Constitutional officers.^" On March 9, Ramirez was forced to resign and Farrell took over as president. Later, Peron was named vice-president,^^ finally to succeed Farrell as President of Argentina. From this study of the chronological development of fascism in Argentina, it is obvious that there is no getting around the fact that Argentina represents a threat to democracy. As a result of investigations carried out by the Americas, this conclusion has been reached : "In October, 1945, when con- sultation concerning the Argentine situation was requested by the United States, it had reason to believe . . . that the present Argentine Government and many of its high officials were so seriously compromised in their relations with the enemy that trust and confidence could not be reposed in that Government. . . . Now [we] possess a wealth of incontrovertible evidence." " Authorities agree that the United Nations should develop an understand- ing of Argentine theories and objectives, and must aid the Argentines to eliminate the fascist leanings of their government. But there is another factor involved, as stated by one authority : "Today Argentina and Bolivia head the fascist parade in Latin America. But they march to a tune played by a band in Madrid. . . . This march will not end until Spain is once more a democratic nation." ^^ "Josephs, op. cit., pp. 136-7. ■" "Argentina," op. cit., p. 43. " Ibid., p. 46. " "A Consultation Among the American Republics with Respect to the Argentine Situa- tion," Washington : U. S. Government Printing Office, 1946. '" Josephs, op. cit., p. 354. BIBLIOGRAPHY "Argentina," The Nexv International Year Book. 1940, pp. 36-8; 1941, pp. 34-5; 1942, p. 42; 1943, pp. 38-41. "Consultation Among the American Republics with Respect to the Argentine Si' nation," Washington : U. S. Government Printing Office, 1946. Josephs, Ray, Argentine Diary, New York, Random House, 1944. Modesto, Don, "Spies and Saboteurs in Argentina," News Backgrounds Retorts, New York, 1942. Phillips, Henry A., Argentina, New York, Hastings House, 1944. \ Atril, 1948 21 Tlie Centralia Mine Disaster Ronald R. Seibert Rhetoric I. Theme 10, 1947-1948 THE LAST FEW YEARS OF MY LIFE HAVE BEEN YEARS that will go down in the annals of history as a period of horrible devasta- tion, such as the world had never known before. Mass slaughter in the Nazi concentration camps, widespread destruction by air raids and the modern methods of war, and the most terrifying and powerful force of all, the atomic bomb — all these events seemed far away to me, since I was going to high school in the quiet surroundings of a little town in southern Illinois. It was on a cold, wet, unattractive March day that I first heard of the horrible explosion at the Centralia Coal Company's Mine No. 5 which was to give me my most memorable experience — a peacetime calamity that revealed to me some of the horrors that accompany wars. The most unfortunate aspect of this disaster was that it could have been prevented. This was the first major mine explosion in recent years. The employment of modern equipment and safety devices has made coal mining much safer than it was in the early part of the twentieth century. It was through the carelessness of inefficient and graft-mad politicians that the explosion occurred. Long before the blast, there had been complaints by the workers in the mine, who felt that an explosion was inevitable unless conditions in the mine were improved. Workers in the mine, who belonged to the miners' union. Local No. 52, United Mine Workers of America, sent a petition to Governor Dwight H. Green of Illinois, begging him to make the State Department of Mines and Minerals enforce safety regulations in the mine. Here are some quotations from the letter that was sent by a committee of four, three of whom were killed in the mine : "We, the officers of Local Union No. 52. UMWA, have been instructed by the members to write a letter to you in protest against the negligence and unfair practices of your department of mines and minerals. In fact. Governor Green, this is a plea to you to please save our lives, to please make the Department of Mines and Minerals enforce the laws at the No. 5 mine of the Centralia Coal Company at Centralia, Illinois, at which mine we are now employed, before we have a dust explosion at this mine just like happened in Kentucky and West \^irginia." Several of the miners mentioned to their families that an explosion was impending. These are the prophetic words of Arthur H. Carter, spoken to his wife, Edith, three weeks before he was killed in the blast : "We're going to have an explosion in that mine if they don't clean it up. The coal dust is so 22 The Green Caldron heavy our shoes are full of it all day long. Whenever that explosion comes, I want you to hold yourself together and be a good soldier." The letter to Governor Green contained high praise for DriscoU Scanlan, state mine inspector of the Centralia district, whom the miners all respected as a man who was "honest, of good character, and a good mining man." Mr, Scanlan began warning the state department about the mine in December. 1945. The last of these reports, dated March 18 and 19, 1947, contained warnings about faulty ventilation, dirty haulage roads, loose roof and walls. and inadequate rock dusting. The inspector also recommended methods of improving the conditions. He had taken his plea to Robert M. Medill, director of the state mine department, who rebuked him with the statement that the\' would have to "take that chance." Previously, Medill had commended all the mine inspectors on their good work ; he had said that "the money is rolling in." He had also told Scanlan that he was "too damned honest." It was close to quitting time in the Centralia Coal Company's Mine No. 5 on the afternoon of March 25, 1947, and the tired miners were preparing to leave the pit and go home to their families. At exactly 3 :27 an explosion occurred in a workroom at the northwestern end of the tunnels. The blast was caused by coal dust that had risen into the air and been ignited by explosive blasting charges. The force of the explosion started a fiery mass of swirling coal dust and poisonous fumes rolling down the passages of the mine. There were one hundred and forty-two men in the mine at the time of the explosion, thirty-one of them near the mine shaft. These latter were unable to escape the horrible black mass that was accompanied by a muffled, rumbling roar. Most of them were struck down by the force of the blast, but they managed to crawl to the cage, which brought them out alive. Some of these men were made temporarily insane by the blast, and all were covered with coal dust which was blown into the pores of their skin. Rescue crews were immediately summoned from nearby mining towns, and they went to work at once under the direction of Inspector Scanlan. The workers soon determined that most of the miners were dead, but that some could have walled themselves ofif on the far side of the explosion. They worked desperately to reach the trapped group, but the proceedings were ver)- slow, since gas-filled tunnels had to be closed off, ventilation had to be restored, and huge piles of debris blocked the way. It was four days before all the mine had been penetrated, and all the men were found dead. Forty-six miners were trapped in a tunnel and killed by the poisonous "black damp," while sixty-five of the victims were killed by the actual blast, which mutilated and burned their bodies beyond recognition. It was mournfully quiet outside the No. 5 mine during the rescue work. Most of the miners' wives and children had gathered around the mine entrance to wait for news of their loved ones. Occasionally someone would begin sobbing softly, but most of the relatives were bravely composed. A light April. 1948 23 snow was falling, and the only noise was tlie creaking of the mine cage as it lifted the bodies from the pit. Emergency crews had prepared beds and food for the rescue crews, and had also provided hot food for the miners' families. When darkness fell, the hopeful relatives went to the miners' washhouse, which sheltered them from the cold wind. Frequently a woman would be called out, but soon she would tearfully return, tenderly fold her loved one's street clothes, and move off into the night alone. The newspapers and radio .stations carried full, on-the-spot coverage of the rescue work. Those in my school who had relatives in the mine were allowed to remain in the principal's office and listen for new developments. My girl friend, whose mother was a close friend of many of the trapped miners, sobbed continuously as the bulletins revealed that one after another of her lifelong neighbors had been among the identified dead. Many of the deceased were citizens of Centralia's neighboring towns, and therefore all the people in the Centralia area were apjialled by the disaster. Funds were collected to aid the victims' families, and all the towns observed Monday, March 31, as a day of mourning. All the churches were opened for prayer, and the ministers and priests did all they possibly could to comfort the bereaved. ( )nc funeral procession after another wound its way to the Centralia cemeteries. Some families buried three or four of their men at the same time. The saddest note of all is added to the disaster by the knowledge that some of the miners slowly suffocated in the inky, gas-filled blackness of the pit. These men lived only a few hours after the explosion, but they had time to scrawl a few last words of love, encouragement, and instruction to their wives. The notes were all bravely written, but this note is jH^rhajis the most touching example of the last thoughts of these unsung heroes: "To my wife : "It looks like the end for me. I love you, honey, more than life itself. If I don't make it please do the best you can and always remember and love me, honev. You are the sweetest wife in the world. Goodbye honey, and Dickey." Beach Landing W'luii \vi- hit tlic beach, the mortar fire increased. Men were beinp hit all around me. Shrapnel was falling all over the place. It seemed as though there was nothing but noise and confusion. I found myself lying on the ground, digging as fast as I could. The hole seemed to fill up as fast as I dug. but I finally, after what seemed ages, managed to get it deep enough to lie in. What had I ever done to have this happen to me? How long would it last? 1 had never before in my life been so scared. I had tried before to imagine what combat was like. I had heard other fellows talk about it. but I had never dreamed it would be anything like this. I can't explain it. I can't begin to put it into words. I looked around to see who was beside me. It was Wally. a fellow from New Jersey. He was only about four yards away. I wondered what he was thinking, and whether he was as scared as I was. A few seconds later I found out. Amidst all the noise. I could hear Wally, with his face flat to the sand, mumbling, "That God-damned draft board! Oh, that lousy, God-damned draft board!" — Richard Quiter 24 The Green Caldron Tales My Grandpa Tells David J. Knecht Rhetoric II, Theme 12, 1947-1948 I DON'T KNOW WHY IT IS, BUT THINGS JUST HAPPEN TO preachers' families, things that don't happen to normal people, and our family is no exception. Since both my mother's father and my father's uncle are ministers of the gospel, I can hardly escape. I have had the advantage, however, of getting these happenings secondhand in the form of my Grandpa's stories. Some of my happiest childhood memories are of sitting with the family, listening, while Grandpa relived countless amusing incidents of the past. One of my favorites concerns my great-aunt Sarah, a short, roly-poly woman who laughs so hard she cries. It happened that her sister Lotty, a stranger to the tow^n, was visiting her when the local preacher came to call. This man had a good soul and was \try earnest, but he was as timid as a mouse and as frail as a paper doll. Lotty was just the opposite, strong and impulsive. So when she spied this preacher with his brief case coming onto the porch and mistook him for a salesman with his samples, you can guess what happened. She went to the door, placed her hands firmly on his shoulders and backed him calmly down the porch steps onto the lawn. Then, still without a word, she went back into the house. Needless to say, that pastor never called again. A similar incident occurred when my mother and aunts were children. They were chasing each other in and out of the house one summer evening in a wild game of tag. Believing herself pursued by her sisters, my aunt Sylvia ran in the front door a few seconds before a dignified pastor came up the front walk. Therefore, when a pounding came at the front door, she opened it ju.st a crack and rammed her fist out as far as she could. Luckily she didn't hit the poor soul ; her fist just hovered there about two inches in front of his nose. He somehow managed to come in and finish his business, but his aplomb was visibly shaken. My grandfather was never slow to accept new inventions, but they some- times got the best of him. The telephone caused the family comparatively little difficulty. Grandpa often answered the query "Who is this?" with an innocent, "I don't know." Aunt Sarah answered the phone one day to hear a man's voice boom, "Hello there, old girl, how are you?" Not recognizing the voice, she nonetheless answered, "Fine. And how are you, you old rascal?" The man turned out to be another local preacher whom she knew slightly, but who had got the wrong number. My family's experience with cars was much the same as everyone else's at that time. Everybody wanted one. but nobody knew the first thing about April, 1948 25 them aside from the fact that they would not move without being given gas. My family never had a Model-T, but they did have a Reo, which was as temperamental at times as any Ford could be. It was, however, one of the best to be had at the time and gave excellent service. It was the marvel of the neighborhood, and anyone lucky enough to drive it was king of all he saw. When one of Grandpa's children drove the Reo, he was grown up. When my mother's turn came, she drove around the block and put it in the garage, where she discovered that she could not turn the lights of?. She told Grandpa, who shrugged it off and said he'd fix them tomorrow. Great was his chagrin the next day when the car refused to come to life. That is how well they understood the contraption. Grandpa likes to tell of a bishop who owned an inflexible brute of a car and who knew even less of such things than Grandpa. They were riding together in the bishop's car when the road became inexplic- ably bumpy. The bishop looked down to the left and exclaimed, *Tss dot my vheel ? I belief dot iss my vheel !" And so it was ; they stopped, replaced it, and rode on. Since my Grandpa is German and preached mostly in German, it was natural that he require his children to learn to read and write the language. Ten-year-old Rueben was supposed to read aloud to his mother from a book that had (jerman on one page with the English translation opposite. Since he spoke German well, he acquired the lazy habit of reading the English side, translating it into German as he went along. This system worked amazingly well until he translated horse as csel, which means donkey. Grandma knew the book by heart and said, "Ja, du bist der Esel, nun." Another time, three- year-old Zelma went to Sunday School with the older boys, who were learning the German .\BC's: ah. bay, tsay, day, ay, eff, gay, hah, etc. After listening awhile. Zelma said: '"Ich kann das auch sagen." (I can say that too.) The impressed teacher asked her to, whereupon she seriously intoned, "Ah, bay, tsay, day, blubilubilb. . . ." The church in those days was delightfully informal ; many were the times that the ser\'ice was interrupted by one of Grandpa's offspring bringing exciting news from home. Once the family's dog. Trixy, decided to join the ser\'ice and came bounding down the aisle with Norma, the youngest, in close pursuit. Another time, when the family had a cow that was pastured several blocks away, one of the boys burst into a prayer meeting in the midst of a prayer to shout that the cow had fallen into the ditch while he was bringing her home and that he couldn't get her out. The whole congregation left the church with Grandpa in the lead and went to the ditch. Everyone was much worried and gave advice as to the method of getting her out, but to no avail ; she remained as she was. Finally an old farmer of the church, who had not been able to keep up with the rest, arrived on the scene. Sizing up the situation, he climbed into the ditch, grabbed the cow's tail, and tweaked it sharply. The old cow gave a bellow and scrambled up the bank in record 26 The Green Caldron time. The matter being taken care of, Grandpa led the congregation back to the church and finished the prayer. One thing I have always envied in my Grandpa is his way with traffic cops. It has become a well-known fact that he can talk a cop out of anything. Since our family is composed of honest drivers, he never has to lie ; if he says we didn't know the speed limit was 35 m.p.h., we didn't. The only time I was ever chased by a cop with sirens and all, I had the good fortune to have my Grandpa beside me. It was four A.M., and the cop was in need of coffee anyway. Grandpa's speech went like this : ''We are very careful drivers, officer, and we wouldn't think of deliberately running through that stop sign. I realize that we were in the wTong, and I'm very, very sorry. Thank you so much for calling it to our attention, officer. Thank you very much." With that he rolled up the window, and there was nothing for the bewildered arm of the law^ to do but go back to his car. Sometimes when I get disgusted with the world I live in, I think that it would be wonderful to have been living back when things were going on. It would be so much more interesting than the normal life I lead. But then again — I don't know if I could have taken it. Improper Bostonians John Hayward Rhetoric II. Theme 2. 1947-1948 \ S A COMPARATIVELY YOUNG COUNTRY, THE UNITED /-\ States has few national myths. Their scarcity is easily compensated for by the hardiness of those we do have. The myth of THE BOS- TONIAN is by far one of the healthiest of these folk fables, for, to everyone in the country, the Bostonian is a rare character, one of a kind, the mere mention of whose name calls to mind a scene something like this : Dressed in an ill-fitting black suit, the male Bostonian comes stumbling down a brick sidewalk on Beacon Hill. With the ever-present umbrella and ancient hat, he is probably on his way to the Athenaeum or to a meeting of the Watch and W^ard Society. As a progressive man with a touch of humor in his make-up, he affects a gold watch, but neither the gold chain suspended from a vest pocket nor his gold-rimmed bifocals lighten the heavy severity of his gaunt face. As he picks his way over the colonial cobblestones, he looks more like a witch-hunter than a modern American. After censuring the latest novels from New York and Chicago, he meets his wife for lunch at one of the English tea houses. His mate is, if anything, more of a cultural lag than he. For her, the "New Look" has been the only look for fifty years. In her .-if^ril. 1948 27 sturdy, high-button shoes and tweeds she is an imposing sight. For a smart touch, she has thrown a feather boa around her neck, but with the hawk-Uke ferocity of her features, the feathers seem to be a part of her rather than an addition to her dress. Over a New England boiled dinner with Indian pud- ding, she discusses the resolution passed at the meeting of the Society for the Extermination of Unwed Mothers. ' Upon this supposedly authentic picture of the Bostonian the rest of .America looks with a mixture of horror and shocked amusement. .As a result, the first question that a New Englander is asked as he steps off the train in Chicago or Los Angeles is, "Are Bostonians really like they say?" Far be it from me to spoil Fred Allen's radio program or to take food trom the mouths of some cartoonists and writers on Boston, but enough is enough. .\s a Bostonian, I demand the right to bring this funny but mistaken definition of the Bostonian up to date. My Bostonian is not taken from the ranks of a small minority, but repre- sents the average of all the inhabitants of Boston. Any resemblance between him and our sour-faced, hidebound friend is impossible. This is my Bostonian : Staggering out of the Bay \"iew Pub late Saturday night comes Pat Mahoney, genial, red-faced Irishman and expert on malt products. With his shiny elbows glistening in the moonlight, he stumbles homeward, but no open arms await him there. Amid a hail of frying jjans and crockery, Pat finds himself in the gutter, having been tossed there by his wife and his mother-in- law, lie recovers from his bruises at the "L" Street bathhouse, and thanks his patron saint, James Michael Curley, for this haven from the Irish house- wife. Meekly, he goes to the last Mass on J^unday morning in the company of his smiling wife and pretty colleens. If my Bostonian has done nothing else, he has filled Boston with the best-looking girls in the country. Of course on election day he votes the straight Democratic ticket, thereby assuring the city of one of the best mismanaged municipal governments in the country. Other- wise he is a cheerful, fun-loving individual who enjoys his women and his boilermakers. -As comjiarcd with the Bostonian of the radio and screen, who is English, Protestant, Republican, and generally a frozen-faced reactionary, we now have my Bostonian, who is Irish, Catholic, Democrat, and good guy. Two defini- tions could not be more unlike, yet neither is a true description of THE BOSTONIAN. A perfect picture of him is impossible as he is a combination of old English restraint and Ciaelic gusto, and a visitor's reaction is condi- tioned by the amount of the two spirits that is dominant at the moment. As for those who unfortunately cannot visit the Hub, let them laugh at the stories about Boston, but let them also remember that no other city quite combines the straight-laced and the silly, the becoming and the bawdy, to such a refreshing degree as does Boston. k 28 The Green Caldron line Hau^nty Haw^-Ha^w Charles Cooper Rhetoric II, Theme 8, 1945-1946 A GROUP OF APPROXIMATELY THREE HUNDRED PEOPLE stood shivering outside the green-panelled entrance to Wansworth Prison in the shabby district of South London. A warder briskly came out of a door in the prison wall, walked up to the bulletin board, and placed a surgeon's notice there, confirming that the hanging had been accomplished and the prisoner pronounced dead. A tall camera on the top of a yellow Movietone truck was focused to record the document and the reactions of the people to it ; ^ but in a few moments the crowd had dispersed, and ''finis" was written to the stormy career of William Joyce, alias Lord Haw-Haw. It is ironic that Joyce should die as a traitor to the British Empire, for he was born in Brooklyn, New York, on April 14, 1906, thus assuming American citizenship according to Constitutional law. Naturalized as a German during the war, he actually never held British citizenship status. His father, Michael, who emigrated from Ireland to America in the last decade of the nineteenth century, became a citizen shortly after entering this country, in 1894.^ Michael Joyce married Gertrude Emily Brook, of English stock, in the All Saints' Church at 129th Street and Madison Avenue, New York. Two years after William was born, a prolonged unemployment slump forced the family to return to Great Britain.^ Mystery shrouds the life of the Joyces from this point on. In the trial of Haw-Haw, it was revealed by a policeman whose name was Woodmansey that, during the first war, a Mr. and Mrs. Michael Joyce had moved between Lancashire and Galway and had been registered as Americans. They had broken the rules by failing to report their changes in residence, and this was the reason behind an interesting correspondence between the police in Lanca- shire and the Royal Irish Constabulary in Galway. It disclosed that Michael Joyce had lied about his nationality, claiming that he had allowed his citizen- ship to lapse by failing to re-register after taking an oath of allegiance to the United States.* The Galway Constabulary, who certainly were up-to-date on American laws affecting Irish immigrants, recommended this preposterous story sym- pathetically to the police in England, commenting that Michael Joyce was one of the most loyal men in that region and was greatly respected,^ which meant, *Ruth West. "William Joyce: Conclusion," New Yorker, 21 (Jan. 26, 1946), 28. '"Rope for Haw-Haw," Time. 46 (Oct. 1, 1945), 30. 'Ruth West, "The Crown vs. William Joyce," Nezv Yorker, 21 (Sept. 29, 1945), 30. * Ibid., ■p. Z\. 'Ibid. April, 1948 29 of course, that he was loyal to England. At that time, being faithful to Britain meant, in Ireland, opposition to the growing movement for independence. Michael Joyce had been married in the Roman Catholic Qiurch of All Saints ; he belonged, therefore, to the native Irish, the mass of whom were furtively shooting the English from behind stone walls. He had a sincere love of law and order, however, and preferred the military bearing of the King's garri- sons and the Royal Irish Constabulary to the unorganized efforts of the "peasantry."® Father evidently imbued this passionate patriotism in son, for when Wil- liam Joyce was fifteen, in 1921, he sent a letter of application to the London University Oflficers' Training Corps, in which he described himself as a British citizen.^ It was supported by a letter from his father, and the two contained repeated avowals of love for England and of the youngster's willing- ness to shed blood in defense of the King. Their ardent statements, which no doubt were sincere, were of no avail. This seemed to deter him only tempo- rarily, for soon afterwards he was noted for his mania of ending all personal social gatherings with the national anthem. Joyce was active in the "Black and Tans." a gniuji wiio openly attacked the Irish resisting the King of England. When home rule was finally granted, the family moved to the slums of London, where William studied literature, history, and psychology at the University of London, though never taking a degree. Joyce found no i)lace to exhibit his talents in England ; so the Fascist movement of the early twenties must have come as a welcome relief. It offered promises of making England what Ireland had been to him and his family — a police state. It also was a means of attacking the liberal ojjinions which had led to home rule. He joined their ranks at the age of seventeen and in the same year as the ill-fated Munich Putsch. 1923." Shortly thereafter, while earning a living as a tutor, he teamed up with a former Socialist M.P., John Beckett, in starting the National Socialist League. Beckett left because his associate was too radical ; the latter was content to occupy himself for the next few years in riotous street brawls. It was at this time that he had his right cheek slashed with a razor from mouth to ear in an argument with a group of navvies ® whom he called Communists. He wrote of these days : "We were all poor enough to know the horrors of freedom in democracy. One of our members was driven mad by eighteen months of unem- ployment and starvation." ^° In 1933, after twice being arrested for assaulting his fellow citizens in political scraps, Joyce became active in Sir Oswald Mosley's British Union of Fascists. He took his turn on the Fascist speakers' stepladder at the Marble '"William Joyce: Conclusion," op. cit., p. 29. ' Ihid. •Willinm L. Shirer. Pcrliu Diary (New York. 1941), 526. * navvies : an English term meaning common laborers. " Shirer, op. cit.. p. 527. 30 The Green Caldron Arch corner of Ilyde Park and imagined himself as a fiery-eyed knight, charging the democratic dragons with nothing but the muscular swiftness of a bruising wrestler. He now began to exhibit the "cultured" accent which he had afTected at the University of London ; his voice was an arrogant, sarcastic, penetrating baritone. Mosley's group met at the beautiful country estate of an aged Scotch broker, who conducted his business with the strictest probity. Unfortunately this old man's last years were afflicted by a depressing illness, and he developed an hysterical dread of socialism. Sir Oswald encountered little difficulty in bringing him into the fold and, consequently, reaping financial benefits. When the benefactor died, his sister carried on with equal enthusiasm, but she held a special fondness for Joyce. The latter was a lively, wise-cracking practical joker, who well might cheer up an aged invalid. When he broke off from Mosley in 1937 and re-formed his National Socialist League, he used her country estate exclusively as his meeting place. ^^ It was clear to Joyce on August 25, 1939, that a struggle in Europe was inevitable ; so he fled to Germany with a British passport and a Manchester show-girl to participate in the "sacred cause." ^- Joyce entered the service of the German Radio Rundjunk on September 18.^^ His extremely nasal voice was at first considered unfit by the Propaganda Ministry officials for broad- casting. A Nazi radio engineer, however, who had received his early training in England, saw possibilities in Joyce and was instrumental in securing a program for him on the air. Of course Joyce was forced to cvn-b his rabble-rousing tendencies in order to conform to the Germans' subtle technique. They conceived of propaganda as an art of influencing mass opinion by means of suggestion. It may thus be considered a process of molding the state of the public mind, which, according to the Nazis, is the mind of the "masses." Plitler considered three main functions of this "opinion management" : 1. conquering the masses for the idea . . . (The object is to motivate into action.) 2. enlightening the masses . . . (The object is to keep the faith burning brightly among the converted.) 3. paralyzing the opposition to the idea . . . (The object here is not to arouse the masses to action ; the propagandist hopes to destroy the opposition's will to resist.)^* Joyce used the third approach ; that is, he intended by derision and distortion of the facts to reduce the enemy to a state of apathy. ""William Joyce: Conclusion," op. cit., p. 31. ""Rope for Haw-Haw," Time, 46 (Oct. 1, 1945), 30. " Shirer, !oc. cit. '* Harwood Childs, Propaganda by Short Wave (Princeton, 1942), 42. A^ril. 1948 31 At the end of September, in tlie first few days of the war. Britons turned their radio dials and were startled to hear an anonymous voice saying : "To some 1 may seem a traitor, but hear me out . . ." His precise, almost exaggerated ( )xford accent was beamed to England twice daily from his Hamburg station, at eleven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Because the British could not hear the news until nine o'clock in the evening on the B.B.C., his comments on the day's events reached a large number of homes. .\ poll taken by the Daily Times, shortly after the inception of his program, revealed that he was followed on over fifty per cent of the nation's nine million radio sets.''' He incessantly sneered at Britain's martial arms, deplored the poverty of her "oppressed" workers, and condemned her leaders as a bunch of "pumpkin heads." The Socialist Fon*.'ard, published in London, aptly warned. "He blandly takes the British ])ublic by the ear, turns its startled gaze on examples of incompetence and criminal injustice of our politicians, and singles out facts that a smug press has succeeded in keeping out of headlines." '" Because of Joyce's imitation accent and his fumbling attempt to instill humor in his ridicule of the British and .American plutocracy, he was dubbed by Jonah Barrington of the Londim Daily Express as "Lord Haw-llaw." '' Haw-Haw was received by the British with changing attitudes. While the I'Vcnchman would turn off the radio with white rage, his ally across the channel would listen and discuss for a gootl ])art i»f the day. At first, when England was bored by what was apparently shaping up to lie a phoney war, the populace viewed him with a typically veiled British humor; it was a national pastime tt) hazard a guess as to his identity. As soon as the blitz reached its i)eak. though, he came to be regarded contemptuously as a coun- tryman wh^^. Hakwik)!). I'ropaiiamia b\ Short /fd:.-. I'riiictlon. rrinccton University Press, 1942. EixioTT. Haroi.I) Paiti.. The Death of Lord } I aw ■ H tiw . N'l w V.irk R:,.u|,,m Hon-c, 1040. "Ex-husbaiul I'ouiid?" Time. 35 (March 11. 1940). 6J. "Haw-Haw on Haw-Haw." 7«»ir, 37 (Jan. 20. 1941). 59. "He Who Haw-Haws Last." Se^vsu'eek. 26 (Oct. 1. 1945). 47. "Lord Haw-Haw Makes Fiction." Se^i-mrek. 16 (July 22. 1940). ii. New York Times. June 2, 1945. p. 7; Jan. 3. 1946. p. 10; Jan. 4, 1946. p. 7. "Renegade's Return." lime. 45 (June 11. 1945). 27. "Renegade Unmasked." Time. 37 (.\pril 14. 1941). 36-7. "Rope for Haw-Haw." Time. 46 (Oct. 1. 1945). 30. Shirer. William L.. Berlin Diary, New York, A. A. Knopf, 1942. "Tale of a Turncoat." Xe-a's-..-eek-.'2S (June 11. 1945). 91-2. We.st. RiTU, "The Crown vs. William Joyce." Nnv Yorker. 21 (Sept. 29. 1945). 30-34. We.st, Kith. •William Joyce: Conclusion." Xrn' Vorker. 21 (Jan. 26. 1946). 28-32. Clock in the Ruins Through the somber scene of waste, the old city of Munich is visible. The old streets, narrow and twisting, are bordered by tall, narrow shops crowding each other onto the sidewalks. The ancient towers of medieval times stand in their ruins, marking the course of the old inner-walled and outer cities. The City Hall, but slightly damaged, continues to display its fascinating mechanical clock at eleven o'clock each morning. Residents and visitors stop traffic and mill about below the clock to watch the parade of mechanized figures whirl, dance and prance to the chimes as they revolve about the tower. — Elmer Thomas Owings. 36 The Green Caldron Seven W^eeks in a Miniature UNO Isaac Nehama Rhetoric 1, Theme 10, 1947-1948 THE HEAVY CLOUDS OF THE MOST CATASTROPHIC WAR in human history still darken the skies of two-thirds of our planet. The military battles have ceased. The finale of their morbid music was the explosion of the atomic bomb and the destruction of a large industrial city. But human beings, physically and mentally exhausted, still count their dead ; and there is no Pericles to make a funeral oration. The atmosphere of world politics is extremely tense. Even the most optimistic political weathermen predict a heavy storm. Humanity has placed its hopes for a lasting peace upon a child organization. A careful consideration of the present world situation, however, seems to prove that the UNO alone does not and cannot secure peace. It is only through the individual participa- tion of every human being on earth that misunderstanding among the peoples of the world will be removed. Only then, and not through treaties, will peace become a reality. It was not until last summer that I had the opportunity to live in an atmos- phere of, let us say, international mental cooperation. I was extremely fortu- nate to be able to participate in one of the International Service Seminars, sponsored by the American Friends Service Committee (Quakers). These seminars are only a small part of the multitude of projects directed by this peace-loving organization. Its tireless efforts for the promotion of good will among the peoples of the earth is internationally recognized. The award of the 1947 Nobel Prize for Peace to the British and xA.merican branches of the Society of Friends represents but a minute part of this international recognition. Thirty-two students, representing twenty diiTerent nationalities, formed the seminar in Woodstock, Illinois. A small town situated forty-eight miles northwest of Chicago, Woodstock has a population of 5,000 people. Although primarily it serves an agricultural area, it has two big factories, the size of which is not in proportion to that of tlie town. The first plant manufactures the well-known Woodstock typewriters, and tlie other produces automobile parts. We were housed in the buildings of Todd School, a private school for boys, completing its centenary this year. The school owns a large piece of land, operates an airfield and three planes, and conducts a motion picture studio. Its dramatic school is of high caliber, its most famous pupil being Orson Welles. 1 Afril. 1048 ^7 From tlie very beginning, an atmosphere of friendly informality eliminated many difficulties. With a minimum of organization, the program was in full swing in tliree days, with a schedule consisting ot a variety of activities. Each week a "faculty member," usually a university professor, visited the seminar for five days. During his visit he lectured on various fields of international interest, and conducted discussions amongst the students of the seminar. .\ committee was formed to plan lectures to be given by the foreign students to the group, concerning historical data, and economical and political conditions of their countries. Social activities and all sorts of recreational sports were in the daily agenda. With our fir.st "faculty man" we soon plunged deep into problems of world economy, and juggled in our minds terms like "free trade," "gold standard," "international fund." and "marginal utility." While many seminar members felt unsure of all the technical definitions, Professor Stolper, econ- omist at Swarthmore College, made all of us very much aware of the com- l^lexity of a situation which had been nebulous and unclear in our minds. The second week, under the guidance of psychologist Robert McLeod of McCiill University, brought us to the problem of human nature. We tried to see the interrelation of nationalism, war, and peace with the fundamental characteristics inherent in human nature. We learned that the "])sychological :i])proach" to peace would involve: U elimination of insecurity; 2) develop- ment of "invulnerable values"*; 3) development of non-aggressive reactions. On Monday. July 14, the third week began with our initiation into the mysteries of Chinese philosophy. Dr. T. Z. Koo, from John Hopkins Uni- versity in Shanghai, lectured on the great ideas set forth by the geniuses of Chinese culture. We became involved in heated discussions which left with us the realization that world problems can l)e seen from the "problem angle" and the "movement angle." Lucile .Maroze and Paulette Cuidoin. the two .seminarees from France, jirepared a French meal to celebrate Bastille Day. The French national anthem echoed through the dining room with a strong international undertone. It was during the fourth week that we took the jjroblem of world ])eace by the horns and examined many of the political, social, and historical roots of conflict. Or. Rayford Logan, historian at Fisk University, held our attention at higli level while he examined the weak parts in the United Nations Charter. More than anything else, the folktwing sentence kept ringing through our minds all week : "Yes. the UNO can do quite a lot — it can consider, it can study, it cati discuss, and it can rccov\mcnd!" I'nder Dr. Logan's direction we made a short survey of the colonial problems in the world. We saw the align- ment of races, the colonial powers vs. the "dark nations" in an ideological conflict between Russia and the L^nited States. We determined that in a * Invulnerable values : the term used in psychology for an "integrated philosophy of life." 38 TJic Green Caldron general solution to the peace problem of the world three vital factors were involved : 1 ) civil liberties ; 2) race tolerance ; 3 ) decent standards of living for all nations. These three points, of course, express the aims of political, social, and economic progress. Until they are achieved all over the world, most of us agreed, there can be no peace. Our fifth faculty man was Dr. Frank I.oesher. sociologist at Columbia University, and his lectures centered around the race problem. He outlined the "debits" and "credits" of the present race situation, and emphasized partic- ularly the position of the church in the American race problem. We started a new type of discussions in our morning sessions, with the foreign students sketching, one after the other, the prevailing prejudices existing in their countries. Again, we all agreed on three points : 1 ) prejudice is not inherited ; 2) prejudice is nurtured in young childhood; 3) education of young parents is the most important thing. A positive program for tolerance would have to include parent education, intercultural education, legislation, social and eco- nomic planning, research, and the fundamental point — the forming of a proper philosophy of life. Dr. S. William Sollman, former member of the German Reichstag, was our discussion leader in the sixth week. His first lecture — a general introduction to world politics — was followed by discussions on Germany, the British Empire, and Russia. In his last lecture, Dr. Sollman made some interesting observa- tions, and found general approval for his proposal of a "United Europe." Almost in o])position to Dr. Logan, he placed great value in the United Nations. He suggested that the position of the UNO could be strengthened by an annual "United Nations Day" which would be celebrated all over the world. The last week of our stay in Woodstock we spent in discussions, among ourselves, to evaluate our work and draw our conclusions concerning the present world situation. During this week a big meeting was held at the local theatre. Five hundred Woodstock citizens listened to a panel discussion pre- sented by the group. This sums up seven weeks of life in a miniature world, a world which, unfortunately, must be considered a utojna today. Our ultimate goal was to clarify the complicated problem of world peace, by throwing light upon the problem from different "angles." We did not intend to arrive at any solution. Our conclusions did not constitute either a blueprint or a stereotype. Upon numerous occasions we failed to reach any conclusions. The question marks left in our minds serve to stimulate our thoughts and actions. Singing each other's folk songs, dancing each other's folk dances, we lived in harmony for seven weeks. Free from prejudice and ill-will, we found brotherhood of mankind a reality at Todd School. When we think back and recall the summer of 1947, there will be such a wealth of memories from this seminar that future reunions will never lack matter for nostalgic reminiscing. Af^ril, 1948 39 Speaking or Houses Leo Arms Rhetoric I. Theme 9, 1947-1948 IS THE ARCHITECTURK BUILDIXC THE OTHER [)\\ 1 WAS talking to a junior about unusual designs. "Say, listen," he said, "talking about unusual designs, we had one here just before the war that tops 'em all. Made by a freshman, too! (lot a little time? I'll tell you about it." 1 said 1 had and laid down my pencil to listen. "Well, back about 1940, there was a freshman named Cyril Fraent in architecture. He was one of those fellows you usually associate with the Uni- versity of Chicago. Blonde, his hair combed straight back from a face that was obscured by a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses, he always had a heavy book which he was reading all the time ; and he seemed to be interested in matters far past the understanding of any other freshman — and of most instructors. But, he was rather quiet and received average grades. "One week, for a problem-sketch of a small house, he really turned in a monstrosity. They say that he worked night after night on "Lord knows what it was.' It looked like one of those optical illusion puzzles that you see in magazines. "Of course, it wasn't accepted, because none of the jury cmild determine what it represented. "Then a funny thing happened. Cyril got good and mad. He stomped into the instructor's ofitice and fought it out verbally for hours. Cvril was evidently slowly winning, for more professors were called in. and the battle continued all day. "The next day we got wind of what had hajjpened. It Mtnis tiiai Lyril claimed he had designed a house of the fourth dimension, and he got a math professor to agree that it might be possible ! " 'Well.' said the instructors, 'we guess there was nmre tliere than we >aw ; so we'll accept the drawing — yes, even give him a iH)int.' "But neither Cyril nor the math prof was to be stopped there. This was world shaking! Besides. Cyril had worked hard and long figuring this out. They wanted a full-sized house built in the fourth dimension to see what it would be like. "Well, some of the newspapers in Chicago got wind of it and really played it up. It even got to the Illinois Legislature. Someone wanted to appropriate money for the experiment. The Republicans were for it (whatever it was) and the Democrats were against it (whatever it was). "The thing grew and grew, praised here, denounced there. Molotov de- nounced it as a capitalistic trick ; some writer exposed it as a communist plot ; 40 The Green Caldron and the President refused to comment. The general consensus, however, was "let the kid go into the fourth dimension — it's a free country !' "Finally, to avoid a scandal, the money was appropriated, and the work was begun. After a while, a few problems arose. As you probably know, the fourth dimension is time. So when the workers got to the part that was four-dimensional (the house was vertical, one room above the other), they demanded overtime. One electrician, who didn't watch where he was going, fell out of a window and landed into next week. When he showed u\\ he demanded a check for a week's overtime. "In spite of accidents and a swarm of newsmen, the house was completed. Of course, the first to enter were Cyril and the math prof. It was declared a huge success. The professor was as overcome with ecstasy as a child with a new, wonderful toy. "Professor Sterner, assistant dean of architecture, was the next examiner, but the dean didn't return. The anxious authorities sent Cyril in after him fearing a fate similar to that of the electrician. Efforts were made to hush the aftair up, especially when Professor Sterner returned unharmed a few days later. It was rumored that his wife accused him of drinking and probably didn't believe his story. "But Cyril didn't show up. Weeks went by, a whole month, and still no Cyril ! Before long this new story had leaked out, or rather, stormed out, and the whole nation was excited about the house once more. A group of scientists came to inspect it. Cyril's parents came to mourn. The area was fenced off from people who wanted to get into the next week for several different reasons. But Cyril never came back. "A week later the city condemned the building as unsafe and ordered it razed. "Maybe Cyril will remain forever wherever he is, or maybe we will eventually catch up with him. It wouldn't surprise me at all to see him again, carrying another heavy book." The junior picked up his coat and left me wondering about Cyril. Of course you won't believe it, but the other day I did see a fellow that looked like Cyril carrying volume Xen to V of the Encyclopedia Britannica. New York Music Lover I went to the concerts at Lewissohn Stadium, in New York, quite often last summer. and I sometimes found the music-loving audience as interesting as the music. Once a real esthete of the old school sat in front of me. He was terribly thin and shabbily dressed, and he carried a huge volume on musical masterworks which he read through great, thick lenses at nose length. When I expressed my delight to my companion over Schumann's Fourth Symphony, the esthete thumbed through this battered volume to the piece on the symphony and offered it to me. This embarrassed me terribly. He wasn't quite clean either, but he wagged his head and enjoyed the music so that 1 wasn't quite so critical. — Sylvia Gettmann. Honorable Mention Albert J. Allen — Across the Road to Pre-FIighl Morton Corxcin — \^ heeling through Wheeling Richard W. Engle — Possibility and Prohahility Sylvia Gettnumn — The Vk'orld I Left liehind Me Harold A. Jonen — History of Guam 1521-1920 Con»uelo Minnich — I Am the Great Sphinx Richard Paine — Going to Press Alexander Poinsett — The Essence of Toleration Edicard Rudnicki — The Tax on \^'hat Income? Jan\e» S. Stein — Bui finches Greek Mytlioli»gy Caroline Taylor — Patience Reed Warnock — Cycles Daniel W'ollar — Kitten, an Outlaw Hors« Editor's Note : The theme "The Letter" in the Honorable Mention of Vol. 17, No. 3, was written by William Maloney. J ^ \=,M^^, r I E Green Caldron A Magazine of Freshman Writing THE LifiHA WOFTH£ CONTENTS t, L. Lehman: « .ourif*inii, I'-fi-i W illiani Rehm: Utopia . WiHiam E. Lucat: Sukiyaki . Alex C PoUtMetl: Why Not Federal Edumlionnl Sub«.idir« for Non«Vetcran» ? Donald Shaver: The Humbert istory Riehard Henry: Night in Uonoiuhi Ifimh l\ /.'. ' > Muin^s Inn — Last ot lii i M by trails, and the game has yet to learn real fear of man. For one wlu) wants peace, this is the Promised I^nd. In 1944, when the war with Japan was approaching its peak, the western forests were drained of manpower. At that time the Japanese were sending over balloon bombs ; the lumber companies were working twenty-four hours a day; and to top it all. tlie forests were as dry as tinder from the lack of rain. The Forest Service was frantic, because a big fire at that time would have disrupted the entire Northwest. So to swell their ft)rces to where elTective fire control was feasible, they were forced to call upon high school boys. I heard of this in the spring of 1944, wrote to the Forest Service, and in June was assigned to Avery Ranger Station at Avery, Idaho. There were ten of us who reported to the station on June 15. For two weeks we worked clearing trails, setting telephone lines, and reconditioning lookouts for the coming fire season. At the end of the two weeks there were seven of us left. Three days of schooling on the theories of fire control and 4 The Green Caldron lookout work completed our work at the ranger headquarters. We were then sent with an experienced lookout for one week of putting our theories into practice. The oldtimer I was assigned to was called Jim. If he had a last name I never heard it. He was rather silent about his past. In town, he was a sloppy, bleary-eyed drunk with a hang-dog look in perpetually frightened eyes. Since the lookout we were going to was a full day's climb away, I didn't see how he was ever going to reach it, let alone how I was ever going to live with him for a full week. The morning that we started out, Jim wobbled into the station just as bleary-eyed as ever. At five-thirty we were a mile up the trail, and Jim was beginning to look like another man. By noon the man ahead of me, except for his white skin, looked like one of the old time French-Canadian guides that you see in the movies. His eyes were clear, his head up, his back straight, and he was hiking at a pace that was slowly killing me. When we reached the lookout that evening, I was so tired that I could hardly stagger, while Jim was just as frisky as his fifty-eight years would let him be. Without going into the details, let it suffice to say that the next week was the roughest that I have ever spent. A fifty-eight year old drunkard was working me oflF my feet. The happiest day in my life was when I bade Jim a "fond farewell" and hiked the fifteen miles over to Gibson Tower, which was to be my home for the remainder of the summer. Gibson was a little twenty-by-twenty cheese box on the top of a thirty-foot tower, as were most of the other lookouts. A swinging stairway surmounted by a trap door that led onto the catwalk took up one side of the tower. From waist high up to the rafters, the house was windows. They were covered with heavy shutters in the winter to protect them from breakage ; in the summer the shutters were swung up and served as shades to keep the lookout reasonably dim and cool. Inside at one end there was a bed that folded into the wall. Adjacent to it on one side there was a table, and on the other a cabinet that was supposed to be mouseproof but wasn't. On the far side were the stove, a wood-burning monster, and the shelves for canned goods. The middle of the floor was dominated by the alidade, a sight used for the triangulation of a fire. When kept clean, neat, and painted the hut was a real home. The weeks that followed^ were so peaceful that I lost almost all sense of time. Look out the window twenty minutes in each hour, sleep, read, take pictures, shoot at a can on a stump, or else just sit and think were the only things to do. It was the time spent in just thinking that got me into the most trouble. On the next ridge there was a lookout with two fellows from Muncie. Indiana, in it. They were just as crazy as Hoosiers are sup}X)sed to be. So whenever I got lonely or they had a fight, which was quite often, we would call each other up on the telephone and spend hours just thinking out loud. One day we started talking about food, and more specifically, how roast Ditvbir, 1^48 5 gopher and mashed potatoes with gopher gravy would taste. That day an idea was born. When the ranger came up on his annual inspection trip we would feed him a gopher dinner. On the morning of the day my outfit was to be inspected, the boys came over with two large gophers that they had just killed. We cleaned them and after a long argimient on how they should be cooked, made them into a delicious meat stew with carrots, peas, and lots of potatoes. My two little Hoosier friends then withdrew to the attic, and I sat down to await the arrival of my friend. Mr. Higgens. In due time he arrived, I ushered him in with all due decorum, and after what my friends up in the attic described as hours we sat down to lunch. I must say the stew was delicious, though a little fat. In no time we had finished a very large pot of stew. After dinner Mr. Higgens asked me where I had got the meat, because he hadn't sent any veal up to the towers for a month. I showed him the drying gopher skins. He barely made the catwalk rail in time. The thunder storms were the only things that broke the tranquility, other than an occasional fire or practical joke. The towers were wired with five- eighths inch copper lightning rods and ground wires ; even so they were so exposed that lightning hit very close to them every time there was a big storm. One storm I remember especially started at eleven one evening and lasted until three the ne.xt morning. I could see the cknids rolling up all afternoon. By dinner time the sky was almost a solid layer of thunder-heads. When the last light started fading at about eight o'clock, the eflfect was eerie enough to give rows and rows of goose pimples. There was a dead silent calm. Nothing moved ; nothing. The air was supercharged with electricity. It was as if the day of judgment had come. I watched the lightning — gigantic, soundless bolts — slowly creeping toward me. Twenty miles away, ten, five — now I could hear a faint, continuous roar of thunder. Now the little wind that precedes the storm sprang up, then cea.'ied. With a rifle crack and a roar the first bolt hit. The resistance fuse in my telephone cracked: the windack of my neck start to rise. A little scurrying in the corner, from a mou.^ frantically trying to get out of the tower. I flashed my light in the corner ; the grounds on the lightning rods were buckling away from the wall. In a second I was on my bunk frantically reviewing all the ranger had told me about lightning. "The tower is grounded ; your bunk is the safest place ; lightning killed three men in this district five years ago." Lightning has killed, killed, killed ! . . . Eons passed. I opened my eyes. There were stars out. The storm rumbled in the distance. The ground wires were sagging limply against the wall. The storm was over. I lay back and slept the sleep of the exhausted. 6 The Green Caldron The next morning after I had checked on all of the strike spots, I climbed to the top of the tower and looked at the lightning rods. They were an inch shorter than they had been the day before. The summer passed, day after day. Don't do today what can be done tomorrow ; sleep, eat, look out the window and rest. Day after day the same procedure. Make life as simple as possible because this is Utopia. Sukiyaki William E. Lucas Rhetoric Extension XlOl, June 1948 THE AFTERMATH OF THE LATE WAR HAS SENT AMERI- cans into all the far corners of the earth. Everywhere they have gone they have brought back some strange new custom or food to enrich their Hves. The occupation personnel in Japan have been no exception to this fact. In addition to the "futons," "tanzens," and "getas" which the Americans have adopted for their own use, they have also developed a taste for Sukiyaki. Sukiyaki, pronounced "skee-yak-kee," is a combination of exotic oriental ingredients simmered in a small pan over a charcoal brazier. The variety of items in the dish changes with the seasons, but it usually consists of small thin slices of beef, bamboo sprouts, bean curd, onions, and green beans. Eel or chicken is often substituted for beef, but this does not find favor with Americans. The cooking takes place after the guests are seated on cushions around the low table. A small charcoal brazier, or "hibachi," is placed in the center of the table and a shallow pan placed over the coals. The meat and vegetables are arranged in the pan and sprinkled with sugar and butter. Liberal quantities of soy sauce and — of all things — sake wine are poured into the pan, and the whole mixture is allowed to simmer slowly while the guests watch and listen to the soft bubbling. The most wonderful part of this process is the delightful aroma which arises from the pan to tantalize the waiting diners. Sukiyaki must be eaten with chopsticks in order to enjoy the food in the manner of the true connoiseur. To eat this concoction with occidental knife and fork would be sacrilege equivalent to singing a hymn to the tempo of "Hey Bobba Ree Bop." Sukiyaki is prepared slowly and must be eaten slowly to savor the deliciousness of each ingredient. It is surprising to see how much more a person eats when Sukiyaki is served and chopsticks are used. The diners who eat in true Japanese style sitting on the floor will find they have only to .stretch out to lie down and digest the meal in solid comfort. The ancient Persian bard who sang of the delights of a loaf of bread and a jug of wine should have tasted Sukiyaki. The entire course of Persian literature might have been changed. October. 1Q4S 7 Wliy Not Federal Eaucational SiiDsiclies ror Non -Veterans? Alex C. Poinsett Rhetoric II. Theme 8. 1Q47-48 TODAY THERE ARE STUDENTS IN AMERICAN UNIVER- sities who are there not on the basis of their intellectual ability, but rather by virtue of the fact that they have the financial resources to expose themselves to a college education. There are also people outside of American universities who have the aptitude to enter but lack the necessary funds. We have taken for granted that we will have democratic education if we make clear that every citizen is entitled to it as a matter of right, and say that every citizen should have as much free education as every other citizen. But our assumption is false, since the amount of education the citizen acquires is proportional to the amount he can pay for. The problem is, what can be done for the impoverished individuals who deserve to be in college? Just as the G. I. Bill is i)roviding education for veterans, a federal educational program could make the necessary provisions for qualified non-veterans to attend a higher institution of learning. P'or fear that some may consider my proposal biased, let me say that I am a veteran, and federal educational subsidies for non-veterans would in no way affect me. Instead, my conviction stems from my belief that there are thousands of people who would be scholars if only they were given the oppor- tunity to develop their intellects. Nothing better indicates that more people would go to college if they had the financial means than the results brought about by the Ti. I. Bill. .According to John A. Perkins, author of "Higher Education and the State CJovernmcnt." fifty-seven per cent of the students in colleges by November, 1947, were veterans. In addition, the average veteran (who by the way might not have come to college otherwise) was proving his worth by making consistently better grades than his civilian classmates. But why should we be concerned with making higher education available to more people? Thomas JefTerson once said. "The only safe deposit for the functions of government is in the hands of the people, and not there unless they are educated." An educated nation is more likely to succeed economically than one which has great resources but does not know what to do with them. A good example of that is the contrast that exists between China and the United States. In the former we have a country that is rich in natural resources but is economically underdeveloj:)ed because of a shortage of trained personnel to build up a vast industrial empire. In the latter we have a highly industrialized 8 The Green Caldron society, because we not only have an abundance of natural resources, but in addition we have technicians who know how to gear these resources to our industrial machine. However, this is no cause for complacency, for the development of atomic energy is ushering in a new era of industrial progress. As a consequence, our nation is in need of more skilled technicians who are abreast of these new technological strides. Yet education should be made available to more people, not just for the purpose of maintaining our industries, but also to bring about the production of better citizens, for the success of a democracy is dependent upon the ability of its adherents to make it work. An unintelligent .population cannot put into practice such democratic principles as the equality of man, the subordination of government to the people, and the freedom of worship, expression, and conscience. On the other hand, a population that is thoroughly indoctrinated with these and other democratic principles is one that is conducive to the building of a democratic society. Lest this be construed to mean that the purpose of education is to spread democratic propaganda, let me say that a guide to better living is a major by-product of education. Robert M. Hutchins, chancellor of the University of Chicago, says, "... Every European country has long since made provision that those who show themselves qualified through a rigorous system of competition shall receive aid which enables them to live as well as to pay their fees and which enables them to study as well as live." It does not necessarily follow that what works in Europe will work here, but here is a program that is worth a try. What we need is a national system of competitive scholarships providing awards large enough to enable the qualified student to study as well as to live. (We also need a system by which those students who are not qualified may be excluded from the university.) Just as the government supplied needy college students with financial aid under the National Youth Administration during the depression, it could also subsidize those who have the ability to go to college but cannot afiford it. Opponents of this proposal would say, "A government-sponsored civilian educational program would bring about a heavy debt for the taxpayers to meet." It should be pointed out that a government that can spend enormous sums of money on armaments can also allocate funds for a project from which the benefits it will derive will outweigh the short-term financial disadvantage the government will be put to. There should be no excuse for a large segment of our national population's being ignorant of past and present developments in the world, since we take for granted that we are an enlightened nation. There also should be no excuse for the individual not being able to take his place in society because he has been denied a higher education. If finances are to be the barrier between the individual and a college education then the government should institute a program that will rectify this deficiency. I October, 1948 9 Tne Hunitert Story Donald Shaver Rhetoric II. Theme 7. 1947-48 SHEER AUDACITY AND AN AIR OF DISARMING INNOCENCE spelled success for adventuress Therese Daurignac in her scheme for power and riches beyond belief. She outwitted the best financiers of France with a stuj^endous myth so unusual that its very strangeness inspired confidence and enabled her to rise from peasant girl to toast of Paris on a bubble of deception.* In the year 1877 Therese Daurignac come into possession of the will of an American, one K. H. Crawford, making her the sole heir to his fortune of twenty million dollars in securities. The reason for this magnificent gesture on the part of the multimillionaire was that Mile. Daurignac had nursed him through a long and serious illness. Not waiting for the estate to be settled. Therese began borrowing money against her inheritance and swung easily into the fashionable life of Paris. With the bachelor wealthy soon at her feet, she chose for her husband the distinguished son of an ex-Minister of Justice, M. Federic Humbert. - Two years later a sensation was created when the late Mr. Crawford's nephews, Robert and Henry Crawford, api)eareetition for pretty Marie Daurig- nac's hand in marriage. Perhaps no other celebrity in history has been so close to marriage as many times as was Marie in her fifteen years of courtship, which in spite of its almost legendary color and ardour failed to end in marriage.* It appeared that Therese Humbert had the upper hand in the courts as the fir.st suits were decided in her favor. But the Crawfords were a litigious '"Crawford-Humbert Millions." Nation, LXXIV (June 5. 1902), 439. * Ibid. ' Ibid. *"Two Adventuresses." Nation. LXXIX (December 5, 1904). 474-5. * "Crawford-Humbert Millions." loc. cit. 10 The Green Caldron\ pair. They lost one suit only to file another, and still another, each one seem- ingly without a possibility of settlement. When it became evident that the fortune would not be awarded to either party in the near future, by writ of court it was notarized without inventory (at the time this was legal) and sealed in M. Humbert's safe until such time as its final disposition should be arbitrated.*^ Even though the fortune was inaccessible to both parties to the dispute, the notarization thereof brought the fortune legally into being. It became sound collateral for the floating of loans. It should not be assumed that during all this expensive legal action Therese and her husband were scraping together the last of their pennies to make ends meet. Quite the contrary was true. Bankers were only too willing to accept Therese's notes countersigned by Marie Daurignac (an alternate heir) made "payable at the conclusioa of my actions-at-law." ^ Using these "unquestion- ably valid" notes, the Humberts were able to borrow the staggering total of one hundred forty million dollars (700,000,000 francs) before the Crawford estate was settled ! ^ No wonder the Humberts became noted for their sumptuous residences and their extravagant parties and balls. At their com- mand were all the luxuries that France could provide.^ At times, Therese's creditors became impatient for the redemption of her notes. Whenever their demands became pressing, a marriage between Marie Daurignac and one or the other Crawford nephews became imminent. Such a marriage would have efifected a peaceful settlement of the long standing dispute, and the notes would then become immediately payable.^" Upon several occasions, then, the most insistent creditors were temporarily pacified by the impending marriage of Marie Daurignac.^^ Finally, after fifteen years of court proceedings, the entire Crawford fortune was awarded to Therese Humbert. But strangely enough, she exhibited no desire to claim her heritage. For another five years she left the fortune in her safe where it had been placed so long ago by the courts and continued to borrow money .^^ Imagine, if you will, the attention and comment attracted by a safe con- taining the collateral for thirty million dollars in debts which were still outstanding ^^ — a safe into which no eyes other than the Humberts' had gazed since the fortune in securities was placed there twenty years ago. Little by little, doubts grew to mistrust and mistrust to suspicion as Therese continued * "Two Adventuresses," loc. cit. ""Century's Greatest Swindle," Outlook, LXXI (June 7, 1902). 341. ""Last of the Humberts," Nation, LXXVII (September 10. 1903), 203 "T. P. O'Connor, "Criminals I Have Known," Harper's Weekly, LVHI (January 10, 1914), 11. " Research fails to disclose just why such a marriage would have settled the dispute, but it seems obvious that it was a legal point on one of the two wills. " "Crawford-Humbert Millions," loc. cit. " Ibid. ""Greatest Tragicomedy of High Finance," World's Work, VI (1903), 3947-8. October, 1948 11 to refrain from possessing her heritage. For the first time in her long and colorful career Therese's integrity was openly challenged. M. Rousseau,'* who was to become France's next Prime Minister, pointed out how strange it was tlrat an ambitious woman should be disinclined to claim so rich a prize as the Crawford fortune. And then, what of the Crawford nephews? Every- one had read of this fabulous pair spending evenings with the Humberts on numerous occasions, but was it not extraordinary that no outsiders were ever present at these affairs? Who had ever seen the Crawfords? Very few indeed.'" Once these implications were so plainly set forth, they could not long go without investigation. Therese's creditors could be stalled no longer. A search warrant was issued and the safe at last opened. A Shakespearean apparition could not have bespoken a more disastrous portent than did that which was now beheld. Instead of millions, there was one button, a few old coins, and some newspapers to tell of the tragic hoax. In one fell swoop a score of men were utterly ruined. Many took their lives. Firms became bankrupt. "The Republic it.self a])peared shaken to its very foundations." " After an attempted flight, the Humberts were apprehended and brought to trial. The story of the swindle was swiftly unfolded. Had anyone ever ventured to look into the existence of the Crawford fortune, he would have found that from the beginning it was as non-existent as the Crawfords them- selves. On the rare occasions when the "Crawford nephews" had to make an apiK-arance, the parts were played by lunile and Romain Daurignac, Therese's brothers.'^ The two wills, of course, were forget!. The sham lawsuits that went on for fifteen years were merely delaying actions to prevent the showing of the alleged securities. Therese's father-in-law, the former Minister of Justice, probably helped in jjlanning the fake lawsuits and other legal technicalities.'" By American standards the participants in this crime were given very light sentences. Thcrcsc and her husband received five years in prison ; Emile and Romain Daurignac received two and three years respectively. '° " "Century's Greatest Swindle," loc. cit. " Ibid. '• O'Connor, op. cit.. p. 12. " "Last of the Humberts," loc. cit. '" "Crawford-Humbert Millions," loc. cit. '""Humberts Convicted." Outlook. LXXIV (August 29, 1903). 1914. BIBLIOGRAPHY "Century's Greatest Swindle." Outlook, LXXI (June 7, 1902), 341-2. "Crawford- Humbert Millions." Nation. LXXIV (June 5. 1902), 439. "Greatest TraRicomcdv of Higb Finance." World's IVork. VI (1903), 3947-8. "Humberts Convicted." Outlook. LWIV (August 29, 1903). 1014. "Last of tlie Humberts." Nation, LXXVII (September 10, 1903), 203. O'Connor, T. F. "Criminals 1 Have Known." Harper's IVeckly, LVIII (JaMuary 10, 1914), 10-12. "Two Adventuresses." Nation. LXXIX (December 15, 1904), 474-5. 12 The Green Caldron u Ni^nt in Honolul Richard Henry Rhetoric I, Theme 5, 1947-48 GALESBURG DIVISION This was Honolulu, the city of romance. These were servicemen on liberty away from home — men who had spent lonely, long weeks at sea, or had been away from civilization much too long. They were men who had been living in a completely masculine world for months, or years. A few of them were new to this world, most had grown hardened to it. And now it was time to forget and have a good time. In the late afternoon they begin to trickle into town and wander around. As the big red sun sinks below the buildings, more and more of them are coming. Some are talking, some laughing, some just sitting quietly on the buses. The sun sinks lower, the neon lights begin to flicker on, the bars and bright, tawdry penny arcades open their doors. The small honky-tonk streets of Honolulu become crowded with uniforms of crisp white and khaki. From the Royal Hawaiian to Sad Sam's the saloons are full and the men begin to drink. They sit at the bamboo tables or they stand at the bar. The fog of cigarette smoke grows heavy and the juke boxes play continuously. Tired, bored, and wan-looking waitresses bounce rapidly from table to table. One sailor makes a pass at a blonde and she parries expertly. She bawls the sailor out and his shipmates lean back on their chairs and guflFaw loudly. Another man slaps a passing waitress on the backside, and she grins. The M. P.'s and S. P.'s begin to patrol their beats in pairs. Staff cars prowl the streets, now flooded with servicemen. The evening is nearly in full swing. I A hawker is standing outside an arcade in his shirtsleeves. "Come on in and get yer pitcher taken fer only a quarter ! Hey, soldier, pose with the little Hawaiian girl in da grass skirt fer only a quarter !" His raucous voice sing- songs the lines over and over. From inside the arcade comes the smell of beer, and sweat, and heavy perfume. The door of a saloon flies open and two waiters rush a bleary-eyed sailor out into the street. He curses loudly as the S. P.'s heave him into the wagon. Over on the corner two soldiers suddenly begin to swing at each other. They stagger and fumble but keep hitting each other violently. Blood spurts from one man's face. His buddy steps out from the crowd and hustles him away before the police arrive. A few blocks away a crowd has formed. Inside the ring of spectators one M. P. is twisting a man's arm. The man is standing quietly now and staring ahead defiantly. The second M. P. is kneeling on a struggling marine's stomach. 1 le is holding the marine's throat in one hand ; Uctabcr, 1^48 13 in his other upraised hand he clutclies his night stick. Both men are straining violently, making the muscles in their necks and arms stand out. The upraised hand with the club in it is poised and trembling like a leopard ready to spring. Suddenly the club descends swiftly upon the marine's head, and he relaxes with a great sigh. All night the men drink and laugh and fight. Tomorrow is something far away. Tonight is liberty. Some girls curse these men, some laugh at them, and some grin. The patrol wagons scream down the streets. Night time in Honolulu rages on. Sportsman's Inn — Last or tne Ola-Fasliionea Saloons Hugh F. Hough Rhetoric 1, Theme 10. 1947-48 TIIK R.>\TE AT WHICH THE OLD-FASHIONED SALOON HAS recently disappeared from sight is most alarming to lovers of true Americana, for the pre-prohibition saloon had an individuality that no amount of chrome, murals, and indirect lighting can replace in the present- day thirst emporium. One of the few remaining places that has preserved this old time atmosphere, despite the vicissitudes of time and the Volstead Act, is Sportsman's Inn. a tavern in Sandwich. Illinois. Located on Sandwich's Main Street, Sportsman's Inn, or the "Board of Trade" as many of the habitues refer to it, is like a page out of the past. A solid mahogany bar, well over half a century old, stretches down the greater share of the establishment's sixty fo(jt length. There are no chairs or stools at this bar, but a well-worn brass rail affords the patrons a foot rest. Five card tables line the opposite wall and are in use much of the time. Rummy, pinochle, euchre, and cribbage are the games that have been played most often through the long history of Sportsman's Inn. but recently two newcomers, rabbit and ten-down, have enjoyed a wave of popularity. Because a city ordinance prohibits open gambling, these games are played for tokens that may be traded for drinks, candy, and tobacco . While no money passes over the tables, those players with a yen for more action often "saw" for small sums that are settled on the side. The name "Board of Trade" probably fits this busy tavern better than any of the several others that it has had during its long existence. On rainy days and in the evenings the local farmers meet there to discuss prices and crops, and posters on the walls advertise farm sales and auctions that are to 14 The Green Caldrot take place. Business men drop in for a bottle of beer and a chat with their' customers after closing shop, and a great many workers stop when their day's work is over. The "Board of Trade" is principally a working man's spa, and for this reason the owners have kept its old-fashioned trappings intact. It is a place where the average man can feel at ease in his grimy work clothes or in his best Sunday suit. While the Inn has more than its share of the town's questionable characters in regular attendance, it is seldom that a drunk is seen there. This is due to the explicit orders given the bartenders to "shut ofif" anyone who appears to be imbibing too freely. In keeping with the old saloon tradition, women are conspicuous by their absence in the Board of Trade. Thus, the conversation is freer than in mixed company, and often it is spiced with terms and stories that might otherwise be lost to posterity. Further evidence of the limited clientele among the fairer sex is the single restroom in the rear marked "Gents." The Board of Trade has not retained this air of the nickel beer and free lunch days without a struggle, however. Throughout the prohibition fiasco, nothing stronger than Coca-Cola passed over the aged mahogany, but the swinging doors kept swinging. During the recent war Sportsman's owners succumbed to the moral element in Sandwich to the extent of closing on Sunday mornings for the first time. Now it is closed during the whole Sabbath day. Another threat to tradition was the coat of light blue paint that the interior received two years ago. But these minor setbacks have been taken in stride by the Old Guard that frequents the place. Their greatest fear is that the next blow may be a door marked "Ladies" back by the one painted "Gents" in this last male stronghold. Approadi to Tahiti The still, warm air was cooled periodically by a gentle ocean breeze as we slowly, tensely approached the island. The sea was beautiful, tossing and churning lazily about, and the swells rose and fell in perfect rhythm, breaking off at the top to form very picturesque white caps. The dark blue color of the water contrasted with the pale blue, cloudless sky, and I moodily watched the colorful display the water presented. Gulls Revf overhead in a never ending stream, squeaking wildly at each other, waiting for the cook to dump left-overs from the galley. Diving accurately downward, the gulls plunged savagely upon the scattered offerings which spotted the surface of the vast South Pacific. — Ernest L. Donoho. Just Words Disaster, calamity, destruction, slaughter, horror — it's amazing indeed when one picks up the daily paper and fails to find at least one of those words. Ugly words those words whose significance is almost lost in their unceasing barrage on our eyes and ears. "Men cry 'peace, peace', but there is no peace." In our headlong plunge into the bright new world of tomorrow, we somehow have passed up the little fellow ; we remember him only when we see headlines, "Disaster-Calamity" — or maybe when we find ourselves weeping over someone we love. — John S. Morris. '„ht'r. 104S 15 My Model T Dean A. Smith Rhetoric I. Theme 10. 1947-48 trnpURN HER OVER AGAIN. SHE'S BOUND TO START THIS I time." Turn her over, he says. I'd like to turn her over, right to the junk yard. Then suddenly, with a wheeze, a cough, and the deafening roar of a miglity motor, she starts and immediately becomes the best damn Ford Henry ever built. That's my Model T. I don't know why my Model T was superior to any other car; she just was. I could tell it the first time I saw her. I found my Model T sitting alone and forgotten in an old barn miles from the nearest town. She was covered with cobwebs, and the hornets had been using her for a home. All four wheels had sunk deep into the dirt floor, so that her rusty frame nearly touched the ground. No one could remember exactly how long she'd been sitting there, but the last time Old Man Woods had her out was in the summer of '32 when he went to a funeral down South somewhere. Old Man Woods is dead now, and the only person I knew from whom I could buy the Model T was his widow, who lived all alone in a small house on the edge of town. When I confronted her with the question, she said that she would have to write her son out in California about it. After days of waiting she received her answer and told me she would sell the old Ford for twenty-tive dollars. I bought it. Never having owned a car before, I liad no idea of the many problems that would arise. I knew how to drive, and I thought that all one would have to do was just get in and drive oil. Not so with a Model T. In the first place, my Model T didn't have a starter, or at least not a mechanical one. It did, however, have a crank. I suppose everyone has heard stories about how a Model T will "kick" when it is being cranked and break the cranker's arm. Well, those stories are all true. A Model T is really a ver\' sensitive machine, and when offended she sometimes becomes a trifle violent. This fact brought about many methods of starting these old Fords, but mine had a formula all its own. It was a particularly difficult one, and on most occasions my Ford had to be coa.xed into starting. This was done by turning on the key, pushing up the sjxirk, and vigorously turning the crank. Once the motor started I raced around to the driver's side, pulled down the spark, and got in. There I would pusii one of the pedals on the floor-board, depending on which way I wanted to go, and drive away. Contrary to public opinion, these old Fords consumed or leaked tremendous quantities of gas and oil. Since oil was the more expensive of the two, I went around to all the tilling stations and collected all the used oil they had drained 16 The Green Caldron out of other cars. The economy of this type of oil was fine, but the lubricating power was poor. After about a week of my using this ''high grade oil," my Model T developed a few knocks. I took her to several garages, but all that they said was, "Get that wreck out of here." My old Ford finally became so bad that I had to work on her myself. Fortunately this was the summer the W. P. A. was putting an alley through our block, and in no time at all I had plenty of help. The extent of the help was limited, however, to supervision only; they would sit around under a tree and direct me as I lay under my dripping Ford. Almost everyone in town came along at one time or another to give me words of advice, but about the only thing I accomplished was to kill the grass in the back yard with the oil and grease I spilled. When my neighborhood and I put my old lizzie back together again, they said that she ran like a new one ; but I thought she made a lot of strange, new noises. I don't believe my Model T had an innate knack for turning a pleasant motor trip into a hike, but once in a while she developed one. On Sunday afternoons when it didn't look like rain, I would pack my old Ford with boys, and we would take off for parts unknown. We would always venture from the main road deep into the country where the wooded hills and the twisting road made every turn a thrill, especially at twenty-five miles an hour. On the main highways the Model T was the slowest car on the road, and the farther she went the slower she got. Everyone could pass her. But once she got her tires on a good old dirt road, the life returned to her cylinders, and once again she became the queen of the road. She would roar down the hills, through fields, across creeks and never give a hint that she was tired. She did have a little trouble going up hills, especially steep ones. This was due to the band system she possessed instead of gears. When the low band became worn, the only one left was reverse, and it was usually pretty good. The thing to do then was to back up the hill. Everyone would pile out and guide me as I cautiously backed up the narrow and rutty road. These roads were seldom used, so we had little interference from other cars. If one did show up, we would keep him behind us and then go tearing along at top speed, showering him with dust. That would teach him to use our roads. We always tried to be home before dark because it seemed that the brightness of the lights was directly propor- tionate to the speed of the Ford. Since we could go no other way than slow, the lights were always rather dim. Having nothing better to do one day. I painted my Model T. You'd be surprised how much orange paint added to this already wonderful car. It really didn't cost much to paint her either, since I only spent thirty-five cents for some paint and a brush. My Model T didn't have a top, so there wasn't much to paint, but as it turned out it really didn't matter what color she was. It all ended with the scrap drive at our high school. The object of that was to go out after school and collect as much junk as possible and pile it on the lawn in front of the school. One night, while I was carefully decoyed into a show, my pals slipped into our garage and rolled out my Model T. The r October, 1948 17 next morning as I walked to school (I didn't drive because it was only a block and a half from home) I was surprised to see all the fellows out in front of the school laughing, and what's more, they seemed to be laughing at me. Stepping into the school yard I saw the joke, for there sat my Model T, orange and beautiful, covered with junk until nearly all that was visible was the radiator cap. The principal of the school thought it was quite nice of me to donate my car to the cause, and he told me he would give me seven dollars and a half worth of defense stamps for her if I turned her in for junk. I knew my answer, but my father thought that was where she should be — in the junk. Well, I left her there and finally they took her away, but if anyone ever asks me about her, I'll be glad to tell them that she was the best damn Ford Henry ever built — my Model T. Doubt Gets You an Education James F. Grant Rhetoric 102 Profictnuy Exam— 1948 xyy HEN A PERSON IS ATTEMPTING TO ABSORB AN EDUCA- \\ tion, he should have faith in the things projx)unde