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Fhe Green Caldron 



A Magazine of Freshman Writing 

'^Y OF THE 

JAN 23 

Charlea R. Goldman: Luck and Wheels 1 

John C. Brown: Winesburg, Ohio 3 

Harry Madsen: Should We Have a Democratic Army? .... 7 

Hollis Wunder: Hot 11 

Alfredo D. Vegara: Jose Rijal, Spokesman for the Philippmes . 12 

Shirley Giesecke: Tlie Storm 17 

Gwen Jean Satterlee: Orient of the West 18 

Anonymous: Holidays and Celebrations at Hull House .... 20 

Alta Mae Steele: America's 60 Families 24 

Fred K. Maxwell: My Career in Magic 26 

Don G. Morgan: Rain Prayer 29 

Rhet as Writ 32 

The Contributors 32 

VOL. 19, NO. 1 NOVEMBER, 1949 

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 



T 

JLhj 



.HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the 
Rhetoric Staff at the University of IlUnois. Material is chosen 
from themes and examinations written by freshmen in the Uni- 
versity. 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 John Bellamy, Beulah Charmley, George Conkin, 
Virginia Murray, Dona Strohl, and John Speer, Chairman. 

The Green Caldron is for sale at the Illini Union Bookstore, 
Champaign, Illinois, at twenty-five cents a copy. 



THE GREEN CALDRON 

Copyrighted 1949 
BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS 

All riohts reserved 

No parts of this periodical may be repro- 
duced ia any form without permission 
in writing from the publisher. 



(L^ 3 Luck and Wneels 

Charles R. Goldman 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

■SPRING VACATION .WAS RAPIDLY APPROACHING AT 
^ Culver Military Academy, and in an attempt to make the time of waiting 
go still faster I decided to get my twelve year old Plymouth coupe ready 
T the trip home. My counselor was a bit dubious about the idea, and his 
jubts quickly spread to the other members of the facult}'. Most of them 
anaged to wander out to the Motors shed to get a look at the old car. and 
mie of them were bold enough to insinuate that it wouldn't go many miles 
ithout trouble. It must be said at this point that their skepticism was not 
holly unwarranted, for the Plymouth in question was in numerous pieces all 
;er the shop. 

The faculty's light view of such a serious enterprise only put me on my 
ettle and drove me to greater efforts. I worked between classes, during recre- 
ion period, and frequently at night, in order to have the car in the best pos- 
ble running order by the beginning of vacation. My best friend, Dan Pope, 
;came interested in the project and decided to join me. At this point Major 
arper, who taught Motors, furnished valuable aid by putting some of his 
asses to work on the car. The problem of obtaining manifold gaskets for such 
1 old model almost stopped us, but again Major Harper came to our aid. 
icking the right rear tire in a friendly way with the wooden leg he had 
ought back from the First World War, he assured us that with little added 
Tort we could make the gaskets ourselves. 

As the day of departure approached, the faculty, further incited by the 
lowledge that we intended to add six hundred miles to the trip in order to 
)end a week-end in Bay City, Michigan, began to bet on the success or failure 
: our journey. A foot of snow was reported just north of the Indiana line, 
id as several inches had fallen on Culver the night before vacation started, the 
:ported betting was said to be strongly favoring the weather. 

My friend and I had agreed to wire from important points on route in 
■der that those concerned might plot our progress. We decorated the car for 
ir departure with slogans and streamers. An injection of light oil made it 
Dssible to produce a huge cloud of smoke from the exhaust for a spectacular 
.ke-of?. The night before I had called a girl friend in South Bend, Indiana, 
id asked her to send a wire saying that we had passed through South Bend 
30ut an hour after the time at which I had counted on our making our de- 
arture. We spent a little too much time driving and honking around the 
impus, so when the first wire arrived we had only been gone twenty min- 

[1] 



2 The Green Caldron 

utes. Upon receiving the wire a startled group of instructors in Physics and 
Mathematics announced to the other faculty members that by their nearest 
reckoning we were progressing northward as a speed slightly under eighty 
miles an hour. 

It was zero when we left Culver, and about ten below by the time we 
reached the Michigan line. The absence of glass in the side windows and the 
lack of a heater and of weather stripping on the doors made it a cold trip. We 
kept blankets over our legs and canned heat burning constantly in the door-less 
glove compartment to keep our hands warm. 

The only mechanical trouble on the trip arose from the poor workmanship 
of some well-meaning students in the Motors course, and was not of a very 
serious nature. The right front wheel had been set with a half inch too much 
toe-in, so that it rolled down the pavement at an angle rather than almost 
straight ahead as it should. If we left the tie rod as it was, we were almost 
certain to blow out the already thin tire. As we were miles from the next 
town when we discovered it, and going back was out of the question, I picked 
a grove of trees with a narrow lane and drove the car in for protection from 
the icy, night gale which was beginning to drive a fine snow from the 
northeast. 

While I jacked the fore end of the car up, and cleared away the snow from 
under it, Dan built a fire about a foot in front of the radiator to keep the car 
and us from freezing to death and to furnish light for the operation. The 
wheel correction was surprisingly easy ; we were ready to leave again in a few 
minutes. Then we discovered that it would be mo»-e difficult to get out of the 
lane than it had been to get in. Because of the density of the timber there was 
no way of turning around without serious risk of getting stuck, and the 
whirling snow made the visibility poor everywhere except directly within the 
beams of the head lights. Dan therefore very carefully directed my backing; 
yet in spite of this I bumped several small pines which retaliated by dumping 
their burden of snow on top of the car. The Plymouth was little more than a 
snow drift on wheels by the time we reached the highway. 

The wind gradually became more severe, gathering the powdery snow into 
dense clouds which seemed to bufifet the car from all directions. Because there 
were no windshield wipers it was necessary to make frequent stops to clear 
away the dry snow which piled rather than stuck on the glass. Trucks first 
appeared as only a faint glow through the swirling snow, then there was a 
sudden glare, a haze of snow and exhaust, and for an instant afterwards I 
could pick up the tiny pinpoints of red from their tail lights in my rear view 
mirror before they vanished into the night behind us. 

It was midnight. We were running several hours behind schedule by the 
time we reached Lansing, Michigan, and announced the fact by wire to Culver. 
North of Lansing it was colder, but the wind drove only the drifting snow now, 



November, 1949 . 3 

and a pale silver moon illuminated the countryside. Just west of Owosso we 
ran through several miles of small drifts. As long as we maintained a good 
speed, the light car navigated the annoying drifts surprisingly well. A thin 
layer of snow gradually sifted up from the drifts through the floor boards. 
More blew in around the cardboard which took the place of the missing win- 
dows. We stopped in Saginaw- to sweep this out, get a hamburger, and warm 
up a bit, then started on the last fifteen mile run into Bay City. 

We arrived a half-hour ahead of the train we had been advised to take and 
sent a final wire back to school. The story may grow some by the time I tell it 
to my grandchildren, and I suppose a lot of people think we were crazy for 
taking such an uncomfortable and dangerous journey ; still, it will always be 
something to remember when remembering eventually replaces action. 



Book Report on Winesburg, Oliio 

John C. Brown 
Rhetoric 101, Third Book Review 

MOST AUTHORS WRITE ABOUT THE OUTWARD OR 
external aspects of their characters' lives. Their novels are constructed 
around a plot or definite story plan which serves to direct the line of 
action of their characters in a preconceived pattern. And so these characters 
are consigned to the roles of actors who dramatize the story-form the author 
creates for them. It's true these character-actors may be very realistic and may 
be easily recognized as life-and-blood humans, but few authors attempt to 
describe the silent but persistent emotions which motivate their actions. 
IVinesburg, Ohio is one quiet, compassionate book that does tell of the inward 
longings, suppressions, and desires which shuttle unceasingly through a man's 
mind and which mold his personality. 

In this book Sherwood Anderson describes the lives of some of the citi- 
zens of a small town in Ohio. These citizens aren't the ordinary men and 
women who are normally happy and well content with their lot in life, but they 
are instead the grotesques of modern civilization. They are the lost people who 
have accumulated too much of one phase of life in their personalities, and 
therefore live an out-of-proportion life that sets them apart from their ordinary 
fellow townsmen. 

A normal individual has a well rounded personality which is subject to a 
change of mood by such emotions as anger, pity, and love, but he manages to 
keep these emotions in check. A normal man's personality is also affected by 
the motivations of many of the compelling forces of life — hunger, sexual de- 



4 The Green Caldron 

sire — . He will react to these forces in a manner whicli his intuition assures 
him is fitting. Most people are able to keep their desires, emotions, and ideas 
under control so that they will at least appear to be rational people. But prac- 
tically all of the grotesques in Anderson's book have personalities which are 
unnaturally receptive to just one particular phase of living, such as one man's 
fanaticism for religion, another man's abnormal habit of telling people all of 
the interesting ideas which suddenly tumble in torrents from his active brain, 
and a woman's futile love for a man for whom she waited in vain for many 
years. 

As the personality of Wing Biddlebaum developed from boyhood to man- 
hood, it became more strongly attached to the more tender, more kind, and 
more sensitive choices of reaction to life's bewildering problems than the per- 
sonalities of most masculine men tend to become attached to these more effem- 
inate reactions. When Wing Biddlebaum carelessly fondled and rumpled the 
hair of his boy students while he talked sympathetically with them, he was 
only physically expressing the affection his nature had for all living animals. 
But the wild imaginings of a dull-witted boy served to crystallize the suspi- 
cions of the townspeople, who branded Wing as a moral degenerate and who 
organized themselves into a howling mob which delivered upon Wing's inno- 
cent and frightened form the oaths and blows befitting indignant parents. 

You see. Wing hadn't talked enough to the farmer, to the housewife, or to 
the butcher. For these people who represent the townspeople knew him only 
l»y the occasional glimpses they had of him and by the loose-tongued gossip of 
their neighbors, who were more interested in startling their friends by eye- 
lifting exaggerations than by telling them the truth about savory morsels of 
news ; but none of these townsmen actually knew what Wing thought about 
life or people. This almost bald man with the long, slim, nervous fingers was 
to Winesburg's social men a stranger who conversed only with the shadows of 
his own mind. This sensitive man always moved on the outskirts of the com- 
munity's activity with the frightened eyes of a man who has been terribly hurt 
by a misconception which had stamped the ugly stigma of homosexuality on 
him. After the rude, jostling, vicious crowd had hysterically chased him out 
of town on a wild, rainy night. Wing's spirit was completely crushed, and he 
was never able to walk straight again. 

Many other characters in Wineslmrg, Ohio had abnormal quirks in their 
personalities just as Wing had. Probably the character in the book who had 
the most peculiar nature was an eccentric artist called Enoch Robinson. This 
artist had found himself too unimportant in his regular circle of friends, and 
so, because of this hurt pride that choked his throat, he stopped seeing these 
friends. After his withdrawal he lived alone for years in a small tenement 
room with only the strange, misshapen people of his imagination to converse 
with. Even though his dream world was illusory, and even though it was a 



November, 1949 5 

hazy, fanciful world tliat bordered on insanity. Enoch was a happy and con- 
tented man. He had found in phantoms love and security which his flesh and 
blood brothers were not able to give him. Probably the individual with the 
most normal temperament of all the grotesques was the school teacher, Kate 
Smith, who was, nevertheless, akin to the nearly insane artist Enoch. She too 
was searching for a love that would give meaning and warmth to her rather 
barren, frugal existence as a school teacher. What Kate Smith needed and 
what the other grotesques needed was to find a meaning to Life. 

The serious but futile words of a tall, red-haired, young stranger who had 
attempted to avoid the confusion of the modern world by drinking express 
what the grotesques were searching so longingly for. The red-haired man de- 
clared sadly to a small girl, "Drink is not the only thing to which I am ad- 
dicted ; there is something else. I am a lover and have not found my thing to 
love. That is a big point if you know enough to realize what I mean. It makes 
my destruction inevitable, you see. There are few who understand that." Most 
of the other characters in the book were also hopelessly searching for a chi- 
merical something that would satisfy their desperate hunger for love. Many 
of Anderson's characters found this elusive will-of-the-wisp for a short time, 
but inevitably their brief happiness w^ould be shattered by some implacable 
blind-spot in their characters which caused them to avoid making friends who 
could give their life fullness and richness, and which caused them to avoid de- 
veloping a useful and respected place for themselves in the community life of 
\\'inesburg. 

In this book men die deaths because they have lost their motivating inter- 
ests in life : women are seduced by men-opportunists while searching for a love 
that would fill their nights and days with color, but they only find an occasional 
excitement ; a thin, wiry man envisions himself a Biblical prophet ; and so these 
frustrated people move and stumble through this story with the unceasing pace 
of a march of ants, always searching for their grail of happiness. Men die ; 
women fall : a man calls hosannah. and the book moves on with the unhurried 
rate of a slow river. For Mr. Anderson is first and last a reporter who writes 
with an economy of detail that at times tends to repress the emotion of the 
book, until the culminating cries of urgent appeal from the distraught people 
become but a monotonous undertone. 

Because of the reporter's restraint, Sherwood Anderson presents his ideas 
in a very succinct and lucid manner. Many of the author's most thoughtful 
ideas are very striking in their simplicity of delivery, and their importance is 
noticeably increased by this well-defined shortness of presentation. Rarely 
does Mr. Anderson elaborate upon the basic thought of his ideas by philo- 
sophically discussing them in paragraphs of abstract thought. But there tends 
to be too much striving for eloquence of expression in many books today, 
especially when an author laboriously endeavors to explain the ambiguity of a 



6 The Green Caldron 

person's nature in the esoteric cant of modern psychology. Sherwood Ander- 
son felt it was sufficient to express the ideas of the people in the words of the 
people. 

Heavy-lidded people who wear the dull, expressionless masks of worldly 
cynicism and aloof sophistication may brand Wrnesburg, Ohio as a rather 
childlike book. And they may smile their weary smile of deprecation when 
they apologetically murmur their casual opinions as to the apparent naivete 
and brevity of expression of this book. However, ultimately they hurriedly 
add in a hurt tone of protest ( lest you misunderstand their liberal appreciation 
of ash-can literature), "Oh, the book is simply crazvling with imagination 
but — !" By the word "but," which they soften with an ingratiating smile of 
emphasis, these embittered people imply there is no great intellectual jig-saw 
pattern of words in this book which would fully exercise their intellectual ca- 
pacity and their vocabulary. And it is true, there is none of the dignified 
wording and sonorousness of expression of, say, Emerson or Jeflferson, found 
in this book. But there is something more ; there is an appealing quality 
present to which every thoughtful person will respond who has stood 
awkwardly before the glaring third-degree lights of his own self-scrutiny. 

When critically inclined, what man alive is there who hasn't mentally 
sweated great beads of worry, who hasn't grown sick and weak from the poig- 
nant discouragement of failure, who hasn't awakened tossing feverishly in the 
throbbing musicale of darkest midnight when silence is oppressive and won- 
dered at the inexorable enigma of human life : and what perplexed human be- 
ing hasn't asked himself, "Why am I alive, who am I alive, and where am I 
alive ?" If you have flirted with these unmapped regions or thought, or if you 
are only sympathetic with your less fortunate brethren — the grotesques^you 
will almost be able to feel the warm rush of human blood that is pumped 
throughout the pages of the book by the gently throbbing heart of this compas- 
sionate story about a confused race of men. If you have spent a thousand 
hours in the pursuit of the will-of-the-wisp abstraction called happiness, then 
the grotesques' search is your search. 



David 

The statue of David, by Michelangelo, has long been my favorite piece of sculpture. 
The slim, boyish perfection of David, the fearless, frank face, the confident stance, all 
these add up to a surging, rising tide of optimism. Then I see the hand. Swollen, mur- 
derous in appearance, the hand seems to contradict, yet to complement the boy. Fit only 
for killing, it symbolizes the deed to be done, the future of the man, and the imperfection 
of human-kind. The long, lank arm is fit also for the task ; yet, its strength seems to be 
a good strength — as if it reflects the strength of God behind the act. 

David was inherently good, yet he failed at the end of life. The hand is a prediction. 
In this case, the hand makes the man — crowding out the good of the boy and young man 
with its bloody and sullen strength. — John S. Holladay. 



Nove^nber, 1949 7 

Snoula We Have a Democratic 

Army? 

Harry Madsen 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 3 

"l-riHIS IS A DEMOCRATIC COUNTRY, AND WE OUGHT TO 
I have a democratic army." That is the cry that went up from citizens 
both in and out of uniform. When the war was over, a large part of the 
population was suddenly disturbed by what it sometimes even termed "un- 
constitutional caste diflferences" in the army. There was much evidence to 
prove that the army and other branches of the service did embrace prejudices 
which were adverse to the mode of living in the United States. Talk dilated 
into congressional investigations, and editors eagerly pressed the question, 
"Should we have a democratic army?" 

The Websterial interpretation of army holds that it is a body of men 
trained and equipped for war, and that democratic means socially equal. We 
shall be guided by these definitions in all further discussion. 

To the question cited there are the three normal answers: (1) Yes; (2) 
Maybe; (3) No. The first of these answers is supported by those who en- 
courage the assertion in the opening of the first paragraph. We shall ignore 
those members of the second classification who say, "Maybe" only because 
they are incapable or afraid to say anything else. We will consider though, 
those who sincerely believe that a solution lies in some sort of a compromise. 
Among the representatives of the negative group we will find a great many 
members of the civilian population as well as supporters from every rank in 
the army. Let us investigate the reasoning of each of these factions. 

The first faction maintains that the founders of independence in our 
country were men and the sons of men who were refugees from the religious 
and political persecution of the feudality of monarchial governments in Europe. 
When they drew up their laws and charters, they expounded upon the purpose 
for which they had fled their mother countries. In the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence and in the Constitution of the United States the roots of a nation 
took hold in the fertile ground of phrases entirely based upon freedom and 
equality. 

Since the penning of these original documents all legislation in the United 
States has been centered about the interests of the individual. If at any time 
a proposed bill violated any section of the Constitution, it was either voted 
down or amended. Throughout our history the rights of the individual have 
been closely guarded except where the military service has been concerned. 



S The Green Caldron 

Under the system now in effect it is impossible for a man to enter the army, 
voluntarily or otherwise, without sacrificing the very freedoms he is supposed 
to defend. 

The economic practice of free enterprise in our country is only a reflective 
magnification of individual freedoms. One does not have to delve too far into 
history to trace the day when all businesses were operated upon the same 
theory as the one our army operates today. The e:;ecutives of yesteryear were 
domineering individuals who, not unlike many of the officers in our army to- 
day, preferred to think of the commoner as a cog fulfilling a preordained des- 
tinv in a wheel of his little kingdom. "In the recent bitter years of manage- 
ment-labor strife we have learned the hard way. So far these lessons and the 
answers we have found have not been conveyed to the military phase of our 
national life. Well managed organizations in and out of business have come 
to see that men work best when encouraged thru {sic] proper executive en- 
vironment." ^ If the army would utilize those devices which have remedied 
parallel evils in the business world, not only would there be longer lines at the 
recruiting stations, but a greater service would be received from the individual 
soldier. 

The second faction holds that all of the sciences, including that of theology, 
assure us that no earthly thing is perfect. Undoubtedly this includes the or- 
ganization of the army. Scholars, research, and history lead us strongly to be- 
lieve that everything may be improved upon, and, even more assuredly, this 
includes the organization of the army. There is much room for improvement 
in our military services, but the system as it is now set up should not be un- 
dermined completely. 

It is understandable that in any society there must be leaders and there 
must be followers. The army should maintain a specialized group of leaders 
that would correspond to the present classification of officers. However, the 
distinction of separate uniforms and separate insignias which serve only as 
labels to classify the wearer for the convenience of his superiors does nothing 
to promote the efficiency of his contribution towards the unified effort. Rank 
should be maintained, but rather than being distinguished by a stripe or a bar, 
it should be at all times perceptible by the quality of the actions displayed by 
the individual. The respect of subordinates should be for the quality of their 
superiors rather than for the degree of their rank. 

The third group maintains that an army is an organization designed for a 
single purpose, and that purpose is success in combat.- Unless an army is 



'"End to Insignia of Rank Urged by Ex-General" (News item), Chicago Daily 
Tribune, Nov. 17, 1948, 28 : 3. 

' This is the definition accepted by the United States Army Infantry School in Ft. 
Benning, Georgia. 



November, 1949 9 

capable of achieving the stated purpose within the scope of logical odds, its 
existence is pure folly and the taxpayer might as well enjoy observing military 
allocations being applied to the reduction of the national debt. If a democratic 
army could accomplish the end for which it was intended, it would be entirely 
logical that we should have such an anny, but could a democratic army do its 
job? 

Initially it must be admitted that the term democratic army is conflicting in 
itself, because if an army is democratic it ceases to be an army in the military 
sense. The banishment of rank differences has not gone untested in history. 
The outcome of this practice has been well demonstrated within the last decade. 

While the smoke was gathering for the full fury of World War II, the 
world was amazed by the drama that took place in Northeast Europe. The 
way little Finland was apparently swinging the big, bad Russian Bear by the 
tail was an international source of mirth. Faces in Moscow grew red and 
military advisors were quickly dispatched to determine the source of the 
trouble. Dispatch was unnecessary, however, for within the Kremlin were 
men who understood the whole situation and the way in which it came about. 

After Nicholas II, the royal family, the military leaders, and any other 
sundry nobility that the revolutionists of 1917 could summon had been relieved 
of all burdens above their shoulders, everything was going to be fine in the 
U.S.S.R. There were to be no castes, no classes, and everybody was going to 
be everybody else's brother. The word comrade gained fresh significance. 
Even in the army everything became comradski ^ from top to bottom. Salut- 
ing was abolished, and the Russian equivalent of Yes sir and No sir was ex- 
changed for a slap on the back. It was in this state that the army of the 
U.S.S.R. attacked Finland in 1938. 

Says Ivan, "Let's take that hill from the left, comrades." 

Indignantly Mishka rolls over and says, "No, no, comrade Ivan; anyone 
can see that the proper way to take that hill is from the right." 

Pishka looks up from the kettle of borsch that he is stirring. "Comrades, 
to go to the left, or to go to the right would obviously leave us open to the 
greatest concentration of enemy fire. The only way to take that hill is to com- 
pletely circle it and attack from the rear." 

These three of the twenty million generals in the Russian Army each 
knew himself to be correct, for had not he reasoned to arrive at a solution, and 
had not the government said that his voice was to be heard in all decisions ? 
Each was puzzled until Pishka, the brightest, ignored for a moment his ragout 
stew and proclaimed, "Ivan! Mishka! Comrades! I have the solution! We 
will vote on which is the best way to take the hill." 

A poll was taken, and of the votes cast, one chose left, the second right, and 

' A non-dictionarial term which the author feels is self-explanatory. 



10 The Green Caldron 

the third was in favor of an attack from the rear. With scorn at the injustice 
of his uncooperative comrades each of the red doughboys snatched up his rifle 
and bottle of vodka before stomping off to take the hill by himself from the di- 
rection that he knew was best. 

The net result was that nobody got up the hill. The reader may say that 
this situation is fantastic, and the author will agree, for he is quite sure that 
this specific incident never took place. These circumstances were cited for the 
purpose of reducing the actual picture to a magnitude which may be observed 
freely. The moral, if you wish to call it that, which may be derived from this 
story is the same as that conclusion which was accepted by Premier Stalin as 
the reason for the poor showing of his armies in the Finnish campaign.* The 
story and the Russo-Finn War illustrates to us that in order to derive the 
maximum benefit from a military organization in combat there must be a cen- 
tralization of command.^ Not only must that command be centralized, but it 
must be clearly defined.* 

When you have a centralized command, you have a situation in which the 
one head man in a military unit has only to say, "Jump," and every man in 
the unit will jump. They don't stop to ask why or to investigate the logic of 
jumping, because as soldiers they have been taught that it is not particularly 
important that they know why they jump but very important that they do 
jump. In a combat situation a battle might easily be lost in the time it takes to 
explain to a company why forces should be deployed to the left flank. Chances 
are that if Pishka, or Mishka, or Ivan had been in sole charge of our hero trio, 
they might have been successful in making a unified attack from any one of 
the three directions. A winning army must operate on a policy that is often 
sneered at as the blind obedience of subordinates to their seniors. 

War is not the only time the application of this theory should be practiced, 
because it cannot be taught to a democratic army overnight in preparation for 
combat. I have seen instances in the service where a lack of this quality has 
been costly. 

The single track railroad running from Pusan to Seoul, Korea, was used 
principally by the United States Occupation Forces, but was operated by the 
Koreans. On September 16, 1948, a native switchman got his signals mixed 
and sent a single locomotive speeding southward. Heading north on the same 
tract was a military troop train which had stopped to take on water at Pang 
Jin Chuk. Two alert members of the Corps of Military Police noticed the ap- 
proaching locomotive and ran from one end of the train to the other shouting 



* Information from lecture given by Captain J. Wilson in April, 1947, in the Infantry 
School, Ft. Benning. Georgia. 

' Ibid. 

•Ibid. 



Noz'cmber, 1949 11 

into each car, "Evacuate this car immediately !" ' Two soldiers from my pla- 
toon were on that train, and they were among the few who obeyed the com- 
mand of the MPs. From a ditch fifty yards away they saw the entire train 
reduced to splinters, and the headlines back home read, "45 AMERICANS 
KILLED IN KOREAN CRASH DEATH TOTAL RISING." Before the 
end of the week twenty-two more men died of injuries incurred in the wreck. 

No, we're not too hard on the boys in service. It seems to me that rather 
than a democratic army, what we need is more discipline and a finer line of 
distinction between those who issue and those v/ho receive orders. When 
there is a variation of uniforms between ranks, there is more behind it than that 
motive which persuades Mrs. Van Upsnoot that she should wear her Persian 
furs in the heat of summer. A diversity of dress and insignia places a psycho- 
logical emphasis upon the differences in rank which must be observed. No 
member of a military organization should ever be in doubt as to whether or 
not he should obey the man speaking to him. 

Democracy is the best form of government in existence today, but there is 
no room for it in an army which defends any type of government. A well or- 
ganized army is the most rigid type of monarchy one may ever hope to observe. 

Let the reader then add to these thoughts his ov,'n, and determine only after 
due consideration the answer to the question, "Should we have a democratic 
army ?" 

' As told by an eye-witness. 



Hot 

HOLLIS WUNDER 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 5 

THE HEAT OF THE AFTERNOON SUN WAS AT ITS MAXIMUM. JOE'S 
Bar and Grill was doing a thriving business just selling dime beers. I tried to keep 
the heat away by drinking beer, but it didn't help. My clean, starched shirt had already 
become flaccid ; and the perspiration made it stick to my wet body. I motioned to Joe for 
another beer. I could hear a poker game going on in the back room. Shorty nodded to 
me as he came out and took a stool next to mine. It was too hot for conversation. I watched 
a bead of perspiration hang on the end of his bent nose, finally splattering on his pants' 
leg. Shorty put his hand down and scratched the spot, muttering under his breath, 
"Damn flies." I laughed and ordered another beer. Joe came over, picked up the glass, 
and wiped away the puddle which had formed. 

Looking into his beer, Shorty asked, "How come you no play cards today?" 

"Too hot," I replied. 

"Yeah," Shorty said, "too hot." He rose slowly, flicked his cigarette butt towards 
a cuspidor, and went into the back room. 



12 The Green Caldron 

Jose Rijal, Spokesman tor 
tne Pnilippines 

Alfredo D. Vergara 
Rhetoric 101. Theme 12 



ON DECEMBER 30 (OR ON THE SUNDAY NEAREST TO 
that date) Filipinos both in this country and in the Islands hold their 
annual Rijal Day Celebration, a day of festivity held to commemorate 
the death of Jose Rijal, the national hero of the Philippines. Why do Filipinos 
remember this man ? What did he accomplish ? Filipinos remember him be- 
cause he lightened for his countrymen the tyranny of the Spanish administra- 
tion of the Island and gave his life for the welfare of his countrymen. 

"Jose Rijal Mercado y Alonso, as his name emerges from the confusion of 
Filipino titles and terminology," ^ was born in the small town of Calamba, 
which is about a three hours' journey from Manila, on June 19, 1861.' Al- 
though he usually referred to himself as a pure-blooded Tagal, which is a native 
of one of the original Filipino tribes, he had some Spanish and Chinese blood. 
Rijal's parents were well-to-do rice growers, wealthy enough to give him an 
education far superior to the training that the average Filipino child received. 
The will to learn was put into Rijal's mind through the efforts of his mother. 
It was she who taught him to read Spanish and urged him to develop his tal- 
ents for writing and drawing.^ 

His parents both wanted him to become a priest, and it was with this in- 
tention that they employed a Tagal priest to tutor Jose at home until he was 
eight years old. On the recommendation of his tutor, Rijal was sent to the 
Ateneo Municipal, a school managed by the Jesuits in Manila. At this school 
Rijal distinguished himself by writing poems which won prizes in literary 
contests and by graduating at the top of his class.* After finishing his studies 



'"Rijal's Picture of The Philippines Under Spain," Review of Reviews, XLVII, May 
1913, 592. 

" "A Filipino Who Died for His Country," Literary Digest, LXII, July 26, 1919, 44. 

' "Rijal's Picture of the Philippines Under Spain." loc. cit. 

*Hjalmar Stolpe, "Jose Rijal, the Filipino Hero," Rez'inv of Reviezus, XIX, April 
1899, 471. 



November, 1949 13 

at Ateneo and receiving a Bachelor of Arts diploma. Rijal entered the Uni- 
versity of Santo Thomas in Manila, where he specialized in medicine.'* 

Rijal finished his work at the University of Santo Thomas in 1882 and 
received a degree in medicine. He then went to France and Germany to 
broaden his general education and also to take advanced courses in medicine at 
places which taught the medical sciences at a high level.** 

Rijal first studied at the Central University at Madrid, where he took his 
degrees "as a doctor of medicine and as a licentiate of philosophy and literature 
with ease." ' In 1885 he traveled to Paris to study art and to specialize in 
ophthalmology. He devoted his attention to the eye diseases prevalent in the 
Islands, diseases for which cures were not well understood.* From Paris he 
went to Heidelberg and Berlin, where he studied psycholog)' and mastered the 
German language. German was not the only language that Rijal had at his 
command. He was able to read and write Tagalog (a Filipino dialect), Span- 
ish, English, Greek, French, and German, and he had a reading knowledge of 
Latin, Russian, Dutch, and Msayan (another Filipino dialect)." 

Besides studying medicine, philosophy, and psychology, and mastering so 
many languages, Rijal was also a sculptor. "One statue, 'The Victory of Death 
Over Life,' represents a skeleton in the garb of a m.onk clasping the corpse of a 
young woman. Another, called 'The Victory of Science Over Death,' shows 
Science standing on a skull with a flaming torch upheld in both hands." ^^ 
His statues were very original and showed the signs of a skilled sculptor. 

After finishing his studies, Rijal traveled extensively in Europe and be- 
gan his practice of medicine as an oculist. As he traveled, he saw the great 
difference in advancement between European and Filipino culture. His mind 
was always seeking ways to improve the living conditions of his countrymen. 
He never forgot them as he traveled, because he was not content that he 
alone should enjoy the comforts Europe provided. In his mind he might have 
put upon his own shoulders the task of liberating his country. He began his 
one-man crusade by telling the world of the miserable conditions which pre- 
vailed in the Philippines. He hoped that he might enlighten the white man of 
Eurojje as to the wretched life of the Filipinos, and perhaps the European 



" Austin Craig, Lineage, Life, and Labors of Jose Rijal, Philippine Patriot, Manila, 
1913. p. 105. 

• Stoipe, op. f If., p. 472. 

'Hugh Clifford, "The Story of Jose Rijal, the Filipino," Blackwood's Magazine, 
CLXXII, November 1902, 621. 

° Craig, op. cit., p. 126. 

' "A Filipino Who Died for his Country," loc. cit. 

" Stoipe, loc. cit. 



14 The Green Caldron 

sense of justice would start a movement for reform.^^ In order to let the world 
know something of the Philippines, Rijal wrote Noli Me Tangere (The Social 
Cancer) and had the novel published in 1887 at Berlin. In 1891, the sequel, 
El Filibu^terismo (The Reign of Greed) was published at Ghent. '- 

In his first book, Rijal attacked the corrupt officials of the Islands. All 
offices in the Philippines were bought and sold in the open, and in one para- 
graph Rijal completely describes the government officials. 

The Spaniards who came to the Philippines are unfortunately not 
always what they should be. Continual changes, the demoralization 
of the governing class, favouritism, the low cost of passage, and the 
rapidity with which the voyage can be made, are the causes of all the 
evil ; hither come all the broken men of Spain ; if some of them be 
good the country quickly corrupts them.'' 

Rijal also criticized the methods of tax collecting. There was a heavy tax 
for land owned by the Church, one for crops, and even a tax for cock fighting. 
The Philipinos enjoyed cock fighting as much as Americans like baseball. Be- 
cause there was a large amount of wagering on the cock fights the Spaniards, 
instead of trying to put an end to this vice, encouraged it. The Spanish ad- 
ministration benefited from cock fighting by claiming ten per cent of all the 
wagers. It is said that this vice "more than aught else, contributed to the 
moral ruin and material impoverishment of the native peasantry." '* 

Even more than the rotten administration of the Islands, Rijal blamed the 
clerical party for retarding reform. The early friars were saints in the eyes of 
the people. They brought Christianity to a barbarous people, and they ac- 
complished their mission by suffering great ordeals. During Rijal's time, 
however, the priests were wealthy, owned sjilendid parish houses and large 
tracts of land which they rented to the natives. They were very influential in 
local politics. Because they had control of the majority of the schools they 
were able to restrict the education of the people. As long as the natives were 
ignorant of their conditions, the priests were free to abuse their power. '^ 

Faced with these conditions Rijal did not believe that his country 
could stand alone as a separate government. He therefore desired to pre- 
serve the Spanish sovereignty in the Philippines, but he desired also to 
bring about reforms and conditions conducive to advancement. To this 
end he carefully pointed out those colonial shortcomings that caused fric- 



" Clifford, op. cit., p. 622. 

" Stolpe, he. cit. 

" As quoted by Qifford, op. cit.. p. 624. 

" Ibid., p. 626. 

"/feid., p. 627. 



November, 1949 15 

tion, kept up discontent, and prevented safe progress, and that could have 
been perfectly easy to correct.'* 
His second book is not really a novel. It was 

A series of word paintings making up a terrific arraignment of the 
entire Spanish ecclesiastical regime in the islands. It represents Rijal's 
more mature judgment on political and social conditions. It is graver and 
less powerful in tone and is full of bitter sarcasm, although ostensibly a 
continuation of the first story.'' 

In this volume Rijal began thinking about a new kind of government which 
would replace the corrupt Spanish regime. In his first book he described the 
conditions under Spanish administration during his own life time ; his second 
book forecast what would happen in the future if Spanish policies were not 
changed. These two books destroyed Spain's prestige in the Philippines.'' 

Noli Me Tangcre was not as widely read in Europe as Rijal had hoped, 
but it was read with excitement throughout the Philippines, even though the 
book was banned by the Church and the Spaniards tried to suppress it. The 
influence of the book in the Philippines was tremendous. At last the Filipinos 
were enlightened as to their conditions. When Rijal returned to Manila in 
1887, he was greated as a hero. Jose realized that the Spaniards regarded him 
as a dangerous revolutionist and that his life was in danger. He therefore 
sought safety abroad early in 1888, making his residence in London after trav- 
eling through Japan and the United States.'^ 

\Miile Rijal resided in London, the effect of his book began to show 
among the people. Discontent and unrest prevailed, and soon many small re- 
bellions sprang up all over the country. Because these uprisings were not co- 
ordinated and were not led by capable men, the Spaniards were able to quell 
them ver>' easily. In 1892 the Philippines continued to be rebellious, and the 
Spaniards were finding some difficulty in suppressing the rebellions. Rijal 
believed that the only way for his people to get any reform in the Islands was 
through negotiation. He wanted to return in order to give his people the dip- 
lomatic leadership they needed. Knowing that he was a marked man, he feared 
to return unless the Spanish authorities guaranteed his safety. He offered his 
help in stopping the uprisings, but the authorities were reluctant to believe in 
him. The Governor-General of the Philippines finally consented and urged 
Rijal to return. Rijal, relying on the governor's pledge and in spite of warn- 
ings from his friends, returned to the Islands. In doing so he walked into a 
trap, for as soon as he returned, he was arrested on the charge of writing se- 



' Craig, op. cit., p. 3. 

'"Rijal's Picture of the Philippines Under Spain," !oc. cit. 

• Ibid. 

' Qifford, op. cit.. pp. 632-633. 



16 The Green Caldron 

ditious literature and was exiled to Mindanao, the largest southern island of 
the archipelago.^" 

For four years, 1892 to 1896, Rijal was allowed to practice medicine in 
Mindanao. During his exile, he was visited by leaders of various rebellious 
organizations, men who sought his advice. Jose was still opposed to any vio- 
lent action because he still hoped that someday the authorities would free him 
from exile, and then he could help negotiate an agreement. He had many 
chances to escape, but he refused to leave.-' 

Rijal's chance to show his loyalty to Spain came in 1896. During that year 
an epidemic in Cuba caused a shortage of medical men. His offer to help was 
accepted by the Governor-General and he embarked for Cuba. While he was 
on his way, another uprising started in the Philippines. Better organized than 
the previous rebellions, it took all of Spain's army in the Islands to put it down. 
That the uprising occurred just when Rijal was released from exile put him 
in a suspicious position. He had nothing to do with the revolt, but the Spanish 
authorities had him brought back to Manila on the charge of being one of the 
leaders of the uprising. 

He was tried on circumstantial evidence. By Spanish law, he was guilty 
until he proved his innocence. Rijal didn't have a chance against a jury com- 
posed of the people whom his books attacked. He was found guilty, and on 
December 30, 1896, he was placed in front of a firing squad and shot in the 
back." 

It was unfortunate that Rijal could not have lived a few more years to see 
his dream of reforming the Philippines come true. When that dream came 
true President Theodore Roosevelt had this to say about Rijal : "In the Phil- 
ippine Islands, the American Government has tried, and is trying, to carry out 
exactly what the greatest genius and most revered patriot ever known in the 
Philippines, Jose Rijal, steadfastly advocated." '' 

"Ibid. 

'^ Ibid., pp. 635-636. 

"Ibid., p. 637. 

" As quoted by Craig, op. cit., p. 19. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 
"A Filipino Who Died for His Country." Literary Digest, LXII, July 26, 1919, 44. 
Clifford, Hugh, "The Story of Jose Rijal, the Filipino," Blackwood's Magazine, 
CLXXII, November 1902, 620-638. 

Craig, Austin, Lineage, Life, and Labors of Jose Rijal, Philippine Patriot, Manila, The 
Philippine Education Company, 1913. 

"Rijal's Picture of the Philippines Under Spain," Review of Reviews, XLVII, May 1913, 
592-593. 

Stolpe, Hjalmar, "Jose Rijal, the Filipino Hero," Review of Reviews, XIX, April 1899, 
471-472. 



November, 1949 17 



Tne Storm 

Shirley Giesecke 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 8 

THE EVENING IS QUIET AND COOL. THE STARS ARE 
shining dimly in the sky. But in spite of this seeming serenity, there is 
a feehng that something is about to happen. 
The wind begins to come in puffy little gusts that bring a fresh green smell 
with them. The few old brown leaves that cling to the bare trees, like rags on 
a scarecrow, whip madly about in the air and then finally slip down to the 
bare earth. 

The clouds begin to roll up swiftly, trying to catch the moon before it can 
escape. The clouds come, first in dark feathers and then in even darker bil- 
lows, like the waves rolling into a beach. They move faster and faster and 
come closer and closer together, and soon the sky is completely covered by 
them. Thus the moon and stars are concealed by the monstrous cloud, and the 
world is in darkness. 

The trees begin to sway in the wind as the first flashes of lightning appear. 
The silhouettes of trees are outlines in the brilliant light for just an instant, 
and then the world is dark again, silently awaiting the crash of thunder which 
follows. 

The movements of the trees and leaves become more frenzied. The thunder 
and lightning become more frequent. There is an electrical feeling of suspense 
in the air. Somewhere a shutter bangs, and elsewhere a milk bottle is broken 
as it is blown over. Windows rattle, curtains blow, lightning flashes, and 
thunder crashes. 

Finally there comes a sound like a kitten scampering softly through the 
leaves. It's the long-awaited rain. It comes quietly at first and then in heavier 
gusts. It beats against the window panes, runs down the sides of houses, and 
collects everywhere in little puddles. The earth drinks the rain like a man 
suffering from thirst. After the earth's thirst is satiated, the rain steals softly 
away. 

Once more all the world is silent in sleep, but it is a different sort of sleep 
than before the storm. Now there is a washed, contented feeling in the air, as 
well as a feeling of quiet peace. 



18 The Green Caldron 



Orient of tlie West 

GwEN Jean Satterlee 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

LEE'S," I SHRIEKED JOYFULLY, AND MOTHER LAUGHED 
, at my wild display of enthusiasm. It was my eighth birthday, and she had 
given me the choice of seeing the circus at Madison Square Garden or 
going to "Lee's" in Chinatown. The choice wasn't a hard one to make, as I 
had seen the circus many times before, while every trip to Chinatown was as 
enchanting as the first. 

Dressing me for the affair was a contest of nerves ; I fidgeted during the 
buttoning process, wriggled while my shoes were being fastened, and pleaded 
for "pig-tails," as my hair was being shaped into long curls. 

Once on the bus, all tension ceased. I sat back placidly and received timely 
instructions from Mother on how a lady behaves in a restaurant. From the 
corner of my eye, I noticed that we were slowly making our way through a 
fantasy of contrast which typified New York City. From Third Avenue (the 
slum district known as "Hell's Kitchen") we swung onto Fifth Avenue, which 
was arrayed with elite shops, beautiful buildings, and stylish pedestrians who 
were walking their dogs. "Soon we will be at Lee's," I mused. Suddenly, the 
contrast was even more inconceivable — right in the heart of a typical Ameri- 
can city lay a truly Chinese village. Odd-shaped houses crowded against one 
another, brilliantly colored and adorned with gay, flying banners. 

We descended from the bus and walked along the narrow, curving streets 
towards "Lee's." We passed a church and stepped in to make a wish. Outside 
again, I pulled Mother towards a curio-shop window. She smiled as I pointed 
out the coveted articles and finally went in to purchase the silver bracelet on 
display. While Mother made the transaction with the storekeeper, I gazed 
through the window at the people across the street. I asked if they were going 
to church, for the building they entered resembled a Qiinese temple. The pro- 
prietor smiled, saying that it was a Chinese theater. From that moment on. 
Mother had no peace. She attempted to ex])lain that it was not a movie, but 
something that I wouldn't be able to understand. Tearfully, I persisted with 
the possibilities of visiting this intriguing site. 

We entered "Lee's" Restaurant and went directly to our table. When we 
were served, Lee brought chopsticks to us, and Mother groaned that it would 
take me hours to finish the meal. Lee replied tliat since is was my birthday, I 
could keep the chopsticks as a gift and practice at home. This was no comfort 
to Mother, and she vainly hoped that I would forget and leave them there. 



^ 



November. 1949 19 

Lee's young son continually walked past our table and tweaked my curls to 
see them bounce. I had to remind myself, on several occasions, that he was a 
mere roustabout of seven, and that it wouldn't become a lady to turn around 
and kick him in the shins. 

When we were ready to leave (I had, unwillingly, reverted to a fork), 
Mother asked Lee about the "S-H-O-W." The answer must have been fa- 
vorable, since that was our next stop. As we walked through the massive, 
carved doors of the theatre, I asked if we would be on time. Mother said that 
in a Chinese theater there was very little concern over the time element ; some 
productions lasted for as long as three days, and people rarely expected to see 
both the beginning and the end in one visit. In spite of this apparent handicap, 
I found that it was fairly simple to understand the action taking place. 

I must admit that this particular theater has never been equaled by any that 
I have seen since. True, the interior was very much like any other theater. 
The seats were arranged in the same manner, and die stage was in the correct 
place, but I was confused by the activity surrounding me. The actors on the 
stage were barely audible above the conversations going on in the audience. 
To the right of me, a little old woman was napping while her two small boys 
played leap-frog with every seat they found unoccupied. Most of the old men 
were smoking long, thin pipes, and the whole front row seemed to be reading 
the latest edition of China-town's Gazette. 

After I became familiar with my surroundings, I proceeded to pay more 
attention to what was taking place on the stage. I had noticed, on entering, that 
the stage was brightly lighted, and that gaily-clad figures were dancing to an 
exotic, sensuous tune which was being played by the orchestra. The orchestra 
consisted of two pieces, both mandolins, which were on stage throughout the 
performance. A girl stood in a balcony-affair, and sang in an eerie, sing-song 
style. On more concentrated observation, I saw that the costumes, which were 
so brilliantly colored, seemed to be arrayed with various shining jewels. The 
headdresses were huge and heavily ornamented. Both men and women danced 
and sang. They made love, killed one another, and then danced and sang with 
still more vigor. Every conceivable plot was used ; yet the backdrops were 
never changed. Whether the scene took place in a garden or a dining room, 
the same oriental mountains and rivers remained in the background. The 
dancers came on so frequently that it was impossible to keep any furniture on 
the stage ; consequently, propmen appeared often, bringing a tree to represent 
the garden, or small tables with dishes on them for a dining room. These were 
retrieved as soon as they had served their purpose. I sat quietly fascinated, 
wondering what they would bring out next. 

Suddenly, I felt Mother nudge me ; it was time to go home. Once outside, 
the spell was broken, and I trudged wearily towards the reality of the bus stop. 



20 The Green Caldron 

Holiaays and Celebrations 
at Hull House 

Anonymous 
Rhetoric X2, Assignment 7, Extension 

HOLIDAYS AT HULL HOUSE, WHERE I WORKED FOR 
some years, reflect the interest and traditions of the people who live in 
its neighborhood. During my residence, the neighborhood, a real melt- 
ing pot, was made up of Russian Jews, Greeks, Italians, and a scattering of 
Irish who remained after the Italians "took over" Taylor Street. There grew 
here a great sympathy, tolerance, respect, and understanding between the dif- 
ferent peoples of the old world who, on coming to the new world, found them- 
selves living side by side in our American slum areas. These could be seen 
especially in the holidays and celebrations. 

Early in my stay at Hull House I was fascinated by a crayon drawing that 
hung on the wall of an inner office. It showed, in uncertain outline on a dark 
background, figures of men trudging along Halsted Street, carrying lighted 
torches. There were many figures, but in each instance the faces seemed to 
have the same contour, the same expression. The coloring emphasized the 
gloominess of the picture — heavy brown tones with purple-black shadows. 
The artist, a Hull House resident, explained to me that the picture was in- 
tended to tell the story of the pre-Easter procession of the Greek people of the 
neighborhood. The Sunday before Easter, they march through the street to 
their church for a special service. "It is wonderful and beautiful. I didn't get 
it true." The explanation had not helped me very much to understand its 
meaning, but I planned to be on hand to see for myself. 

The next day, I walked down Polk Street to see the Greek Church. It was 
a dingy, old, red-brick structure, two stories high. The rounded steeple, with 
its crowning cross, gave it an air of importance, a kind of dignity ; but this was 
belied by the ugliness of the street below. It was cluttered with street rubbish, 
old newspapers, and tin cans. Ragged, dirty-faced youngsters were playing 
hop-scotch on the pavement marked with yellow chalk. It was like any other 
street corner in the neighborhood. 

On Sunday afternoon, the day of the procession, I looked out of the window 
onto Halsted Street. The phonograph shop on the corner was blaring its jazz 
tunes out to the street ; Mr. Cohen was much in evidence at his second-hand 
furniture store, selling his wares from his open door. The Mexican Pottery 



November, 1949 21 

Shop lights were on. Halsted Street noises and confusions were still there — 
business as usual. But in the tenement windows ever the shops, all along the 
street, I noticed squatty, wide-based, tallow candles like those Hull House had 
placed in the second floor windows for the occasion. 

The sun was going down. Suddenly, without any other signal, I was con- 
scious of a queer kind of stiUness. There was a hush of street noises. Mr. 
Cohen and Jennie, his wife, were carrying the brass bedsteads in from the 
street. The phonograph shop was closing ; the music was turned off, and the 
iron grating that protected the windows was being clamped into place. The 
lights went out at Marchetto's. There was Mr. Cohen reaching into his win- 
dow to place some candles. There were candles, too. in the Mexican Pottery 
Shop ! Unbelievable ! They couldn't be Greek ! 

I went to my room for my coat, and by the time I returned, the street was 
cleared of people. Even the streetcar clatter seemed to be mufifled. There was 
no need to clang the "get-out-of-the-way" foot gong ; automobiles and trucks 
had disappeared. 

Faintly, I could hear strains of music from a distant band. It sounded like 
brass instruments and a low rumbling drum. As it became clearer, the sound 
was a subdued, doleful tune, with a single melodic phrase repeated over and 
over again, like a funeral dirge. It was dark now, and one could see only the 
lighted torches in the distance and hear the shufTIing feet. The candles in the 
windows were lighted, framing groups of solemn faces in their golden circles. 

The men moved slowly toward us — dark, shadow-like figures with lighted 
torches. They walked on the sidewalk, in the gutters, on the open street — 
hundreds and hundreds of men. In the faces of these men there was something 
diflFerent, something I had never seen before. I was uneasy. I stepped back 
into the shadow of the doorway, my eyes glued on the marchers. On the 
shoulders of twelve men, six on either side, was the draped figure of the 
Crucifix. How carefully, how reverently they carried it ! Then I saw, clearly, 
that each man was walking alone — walking with his God. They were re-en- 
acting the tragedy of Christ on the Cross. 

I came back into the house on tip-toe to take my seat at the window and to 
listen for a while, not quite hearing. The music was fading away ; the trudging 
figures were disappearing into the night. Now only the sound of the shuffling 
feet remained and that, too, was slowly being swallowed up in the low, drum- 
ming sound as it rolled away into silence. I was still sitting at the window 
when the house lights went on. As I saw the picture again, I could understand 
why such a picture could not be painted. It had no definite form. It was a 
thing of such spiritual beauty that it could not be described. Our Greek 
neighbors had retold the story that belonged to the ages, and we were all 
grateful to them for it. 

The following Sunday evening I was on my way to a wedding at Bowen 
Hall, in the Hull House building. Benuto Colucci and Estelle Hogan were to 



22 The Green Caldron 

be married — at last! I had known the youngsters through the preceding five 
years as members of the Kismet Club, a Hull House sponsored social club for 
teen-agers. Benuto was tall, dark complexioned,, and handsome at twenty ; 
Estelle was eighteen, a red haired, freckle-faced Irish girl. I had had an op- 
portunity to see these young people grow up ; to see them, through their ado- 
lescent period, take on and discard friendships ; to watch them become surer 
with time that they were "meant for each other," as Estelle romantically put 
it. I had been the confidant of one and then of the other. I had watched them 
from the side lines as jealousies developed with new rivals. I had been called 
in to referee quarrels between their respective parents. 

Benuto was brought to this country from Sicily when he was two. He was 
the oldest of seven children, the pride of his family. Mr. Colucci was ambitious 
for Benuto. He was troubled about Benuto's interest in Estelle and came to 
me one day to say, "It's no good Irish mix with Italian." He wanted to enlist 
my help in keeping the young people apart. He had to learn that the House 
meant only to furnish a healthy place for recreation for the young people. The 
other disciplines that families wished to impose had to be their own business. 
Nor did Mr. Hogan like the idea, either. He announced in no uncertain terms 
that no daughter of his would "lower herself to like a wop !" The young 
people had a very rough time of it. 

Then Mr. and Mrs. Colucci were persuaded to join the neighborhood club 
where Mr. and Mrs. Hogan were also members. Time and opportunity helped 
to substitute friendliness for suspicion and kindness for enmity in the rela- 
tionship between the two families. Now, the young people were to be married 
with the blessings of their families. Estelle told me it had been easy enough to 
get the church wedding worked out because they were both Catholic, but the 
wedding party, that was something else ! Mr. Colucci expressed his opinions 
vehemently in eloquent Italian and English curses ; Mr. Hogan, with little 
provocation, had let his fists fly without too much concern about where they 
landed. But even these differences had been resolved, and the wedding party 
was about to begin. 

In true Italian tradition, a long narrow table was stretched the full width of 
the hall at the far end. The bride, the groom, and their parents, were seated 
behind it. At one end of the table, on a sparkling white cloth that extended to 
the floor, was a platter full of corned beef sandwiches ; at the other end was a 
collection of Italian pastry. In the middle of the table reaching up at least 
three feet from the table top, was an enormous pyramid of wedding cake, layer 
on layer with swirls of crusted-white frosting in roses and intricate designs. 
Perched precariously on the top imder a glistening white frosting bell were 
figures of the bride and groom. The cake was a specialty of the House of 
Sarantinos, an exclusive Italian bakeshop. There were four large, silver- 
plated platters set strategically at different points on the table, convenient re- 
cepticals in which the guests were to place their gifts of money or articles for 



November, 1949 23 

the liome of the couple. Packages were not to be opened until after the party 
was over ; the money was not to be counted until the young couple were ready 
to depart. This too, is an Italian custom. 

The liquid refreshments were red wines made by Benuto's uncle. Great 
quantities of wine in gallon jugs lined the floor just behind the drop of the 
white table cloth. In the side room, in large galvanized iron buckets, chunks 
of ice were surrounded by bottles of lager beer, the contribution of Mr. Hogan. 
Shortly after eight o'clock, the guests began to arrive. The early group was 
made up largely of the friends and relatives of the parents. They came to taste 
the sandwiches, drink a little, and wish the young people well. They brought 
the toddlers and young children with them, all dressed up in their Sunday 
best. 

The music was supplied by two accordions, played by brothers of Benuto ; 
a cornet player and a drummer, from Estelle's side of the family ; and a piano 
player, a member of the Kismet Club. The musicians had had no opportunity 
for rehearsals. Each player played when he knew the tune, or when he dared 
attempt it. Many times the accordions alone carried a gay Italian song, and 
Benuto's relatives nodded and smiled at one another while the others eyed 
them suspicioush'. A good old-fashioned Irish jig-tune gave Mr. Hogan his 
cue. He pulled Mrs. Hogan unceremoniously from her place of dignity at the 
table and proceeded to dance a jig. Other couples followed. I thought I was 
doing quite well until Mr. Hogan said, "You're O.K., but you've got too much 
Scotch in your fancy steps !" A Virginia Reel brought them all together again. 
This was a dance both the Italians and the Irish had learned at the neighbor- 
hood club, and they liked doing it. 

As the evening wore on the older people gathe'-ed their broods and shooed 
them down the stairs much as they would urge their pets out of the back doors 
with a flip of their aprons. They called back their good wishes and good-bys. 
They had enjoyed the party, but it was time to get the children to bed. About 
then, the younger set began to arrive to take over the entertainment for the 
evening. Confetti and broken balloons soon littered the floor. The young 
people were wild and gay. Coke, colored pop, and soda appeared. They ap- 
plauded so vigorously after each musical number that the musicians were given 
no rest. Benuto and Estelle joined the dancing. It began to look like a Kismet 
party. The dancing might have gone on through the night except for the Hull 
House ruling which required the hall be closed by one o'clock. 

At twelve forty-five Mr. Hogan said in his friendly, blustering way, "Get 
the hell out of here. The kids want to count their take!" The young people 
were leaving now. Benuto stood, red-faced and embarrassed, as he listened to 
the gibes of his close friends. Estelle was self-assured and radiantly happy. 
Everything was going to be all right now. The wedding party was over. 
Benuto counted the money. There was $347.18 and two telephone slugs. The 



24 The Green Caldron 

gifts included pots and pans, table linen and towels, and quantities of other 
household items. Mr. Hogan's friends with whom he worked at the tavern on 
Qark Street "pitched in" and bought the "bedroom suit" as Mr. Hogan called 
it. Estelle had had a difficult time to persuade her father not to have it brought 
down to the hall to be put on display at the wedding party. 

Mr. Hogan and Mr. Colucci helped to repack the gifts and to carry them 
downstairs to cars that were waiting on the street below. Then they came back 
to say goodnight to me. Estelle and Benuto walked out hand in hand. They 
were followed by Mrs. Hogan and Mrs. Colucci, who had locked arms and 
were walking along silently, each with her own thoughts. Mr. Colucci had 
his arms around the shoulder of Mr. Hogan, patting him kindly as the two dis- 
appeared down the staircase. In true Italian fashion, the young couple were 
to spend their first night together in the home of the groom. Even to this, the 
Hogans had become reconciled ! 



America's 60 Families 

By Ferdinand Lundberg 
Alta Mae Steele 

Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

FERDINAND LUNDBERG, AUTHOR OF IMPERIAL HEARST. 
through his latest bestseller, America's 60 FamiUes, adds another great 
book to the sociological literature so popular in this country since the 
stock-market crash of 1929. This important and useful book dealing with 
analysis and revaluation of American capitalism establishes Mr. Lundberg's 
place with men such as the Hinton R. Helpers, Henry Demarest Lloyds, and 
Gustavus Myerses. 

The five hundred page book, through carefully compiled financial figures, 
specialized study records, and congressional investigating committee reports, 
exposes in a vigorous and contemptuous tone the concentrated economic power 
of America's sixty wealthiest families. In the opening chapter Mr. Lundberg 
writes : 

The United States is owned and dominated today by a hierarchy of 
sixty of the richest families, buttressed by no more than ninety families of 
lesser wealth. . . . These families are the living center of the modern 
industrial oligarchy which dominates the United States, functioning dis- 
creetly under a de jure democratic form of government behind which a 
de facto government, absolutist and plutocratic in its lineament, has 
gradually taken form since the Civil War. 



November. 1949 25 

Through detailed account and with extensive examples, the author goes 
on to show how vast industrial empires have been built up, how government 
itself has been influenced, press and journalism monopolized and controlled, 
and philanthrophy and education used as a cloak to deceive the public and to 
perpetuate the reign of wealth over societ}'. In stressing the fact that our 
political democracy is being reduced by the practice of economic inequality, 
the author says : "The uprush of the American fortune . . . emphasizes that 
although the United States was once a great political democracy it has not 
remained one. Citizens may still be equal at the polls, where little is decided ; 
but thev are not equal at the bank tellers' wickets, where much is decided. 
. . . The United States has produced . . . industrial enterprises, what are 
essentially feudal, dictatorially ruled, dynastic fiefs." Then he explains how 
intermarriage of these families and the shifting of holdings among members 
of the families tend to keep modern capitalism a feudal affair — wealth confined 
to its own group where the lower classes may not attain it. 

All governmental administrations, not excluding those under the progres- 
sive Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and Franklin D. Roosevelt, are 
shown to have been influenced by, if not in actual intrigue and scandal with, 
monopolies, banks, and the industrial powers. We further see how public 
opinion has been shaped by a press "owned and controlled by the wealthiest 
families of American finance capitalism." Even the least justification for 
great wealth is taken from the reader's mind when he is told that the philan- 
thropic gestures of the rich are not what we have supposed — acts of charity 
or services to humanity. Instead these donations are actually investments — 
non-taxable — and both the funds and the control of the institutions remain 
always in the hands of the donors and their families. 

Mr. Lundberg's background for such a revealing book is undeniable. Born 
of Swedish-Norwegian parents in Chicago, Mr. Lundberg got his first experi- 
ence as a police reporter in the Qiicago gangster days. Then he went to the 
United Press and later served as financial reporter for the New York Herald 
Tribune, which gave him a unique position for viewing Wall Street trickery. 

Packed with factual information and humane in interest, this book will 
doubtless serve its purpose to awaken society to the dangers which threaten 
democracy through our economic power's being in the hands of a few. How- 
ever, we are inclined to believe that Mr. Lundberg, in his zeal to uncover the 
ruinous influence of the wealthy, may have overlooked the possible good deeds 
of some of the rich. For instance, because Starling W. Childs is a public 
utility man and gives but one million dollars annually for cancer research, 
Mr. Lundberg condemns him in that he does not give more. He also criticizes 
Mrs. Aida de Ascosta Root, wife of a traction magnate, a nephew of Elihu 
Root, for endowing a fund in honor of the surgeon who saved her eye sight, 
a fund which later resulted in the establishment of the Johns Hopkins Eye 



26 The Green Caldron 

Hospital. He contends that the character of the hospital should have been 
decided by others. 

The wealthy families Mr. Lundberg holds entirely responsible for condi- 
tions as we find them today. This may not be exactly fair, for has not legisla- 
tion been a willing tool in their rule, and could not this deplorable private 
exploitation be ended by a decree of government? Is not our elected govern- 
ment as much to blame as the sixty families in creating and perpetuating the 
unholy state of affairs? Such questions viewed in the light of the facts and 
records brought out by Mr. Lundberg invite serious thought by every Ameri- 
can, for we well know that only a successfully functioning democracy is the 
answer to the ever-increasing trend toward Communism. 



My Career in Ma^ic 

Fred K. Maxwell 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 6 

I WAS EXAMINING EAGERLY THE ALLURING ADVERTISE- 
ments in the Johnson, Smith Co. catalog one hot summer afternoon in 

August. Being at that rather restless age of thirteen, I was always looking 
for something new to occupy my attention, and here, in this handbook of cheap 
novelties, my prayers were apparently about to be answered. 

For prices ranging from ten cents to ten dollars I could buy jokes, cheap 
ornaments and trinkets, scientific toys, sports equipment, literally anything my 
heart desired. I hadn't quite decided on what I wanted to order, when I came 
to tlie section entitled "Magic Tricks and Books." Now from earliest child- 
hood the magician has held a particular fascination for me, as he has perhaps 
for every boy and girl. Thus, when my eyes fell upon the book ad, "125 Card 
Tricks You Can Do — 25c," I knew exactly what I wanted. A quarter was 
still a lot of money to me at that age, and I took one from my precious paper 
route savings only after some deliberation. But soon the letter was on its way. 

Then the book arrived. It was only a little, paper-covered volume, but I 
have treasured it ever since I got it, for it gave me the incentive to begin a 
hobby that was to bring me a great deal of pleasure. Soon I knew every trick 
described in that book, and I practiced each daily until I was certain I could 
efifectively "put it over." Now a deck of playing cards is found in nearly every 
household, and I found it usually an easy matter to persuade someone to let 
me show him a bit of my newly-learned sleight-of-hand. In no time I was 
fooling parents and friends, to my great satisfaction. They too got a kick out 
of it as soon as they learned I was earnestly trying to deceive them in polished 
magical style. Incidentally, one reason why card magicians are often avoided 



November, 1949 27 

or ridiculed is that they stutter around too much or think too hard about what 
to do next, giving, in effect, a rather jerky presentation of their trick and thus 
making httle or no impression upon the spectator. 

My next step was to see what else the novelty company had to offer. From 
then on a steady parade of ready-made tricks found their way to our mailbox. 
Cards that changed their spots with a wave of the hand, a ball that ascended 
and descended a string at a word of command, these and dozens of other de- 
ceptive contrivances in the category of "pocket magic" I added next to my 
repertoire. It was not too long before I learned that under number 793 in the 
Fine Arts section of the public library could be found a host of books devoted 
wholly to magic ! Here was truly a gold mine. Most of my spare time I spent 
devouring the contents of these old volumes (there were but few new ones 
among them, the librarj' board apparently feeling that magic wasn't a subject 
necessary to keep posted on), noting those tricks I felt I would like to know 
well, or for which I could build the apparatus, eventually using the tricks to 
good effect. 

It was at this time that I realized what a vast and comprehensive affair this 
art of legerdemain was. Thousands of treatises had been written on the sub- 
ject, many people made their living at it in some way or another, and a hocus- 
pocus of some type had been devised utilizing objects ranging from oranges to 
automobiles. Amateur magicians were sprinkled the country over, and several 
societies of conjurors had been organized. Magical supply houses produced 
new tricks and illusions continually for the magician who did not have time to 
invent and construct his own. 

My interest only increased as I learned more and more about my newly- 
found avocation. Then the idea came to me of branching out from pocket or 
impromptu magic to actually putting on shows for such profit as I could make. 
Of course I would have to practice more in front of a mirror and of my always 
obliging sisters, but it would be worth it in true enjoyment in playing 
Blackstone. 

My first performance, for a church supper, I shall never forget. My tricks 
weren't exactly super-colossal, and I was shaking like a leaf, but everyone was 
friendly that night and rather amused by my "grown-up" speech and airs. My 
opening illusion went well — production of silken brightly-colored handker- 
chiefs from home-made, mystically-painted cardboard boxes which had pre- 
viously been shown empty. My confidence bolstered, I proceeded to name the 
cards chosen from a deck by several different persons. Also in my presentation 
that night were the "passe-passe" ball trick where a blue ball and a yellow ball 
placed in different silks changed places mysteriously, and the disappearance of 
an egg from under a spectator-held hankie, whereupon it reappeared in a red 
bag, previously "proved" devoid of matter. Finishing by pushing a blue silk 
handkerchief through my fist and pulling out an American flag, I was quite 



28 The Green Caldron 

amazed at the nice hand of applause my simple show drew. But amazement 
turned to satisfaction, and I hoped subsequent attempts would prove as 
successful. 

Little by little people learned that there was a teen-aged magician in town 
who would do shows at their parties and functions for a nominal sum. As a 
result, over a year or so I performed at a life insurance business Christmas 
party, a Boy Scout supper, several birthday parties, some church young 
people's parties, and a community benefit show on the junior high school stage. 
My thus-acquired reputation prompted me to join the "International Society 
of Junior Magicians" and subscribe to their monthy organ, Tlie Dragon. I 
had my name put on the mailing lists of several large magic companies and 
made friends with several of the established local prestidigitators. In short, I 
went all out for magic, and it had all stemmed from that little card trick book 
I bought from the novelty concern. 

As is quite often the case when one enters high school, new interests and 
activities tended to replace the old. Because of increased homework and the 
greater attraction of music as a hobby, I found the magical "bug" gradually 
releasing its hold upon me. On occasion I would do a show for a school club, 
but then I would lay my wand aside and return to my studies again. Summers 
found me working and coming home too tired to even peruse mystic literature 
or originate new routines. Finally interest died out completely except after a 
friend's query at a card game "Are you still doing tricks, Fred?" Then I 
would of necessity recall an old favorite card trick and perform it with some 
of the zest of old. 

Now, my library card number is no longer the one most frequently stamped 
on the library of magic books ; on my closet shelf covered with dust lies ex- 
pensive apparatus ; my yellow-striped, black-satin magic table rots in the base- 
ment storeroom. Perhaps some day I will renew my interest and shake ofT the 
clutch of apathy, but for the present my magical career is but a happy boyhood 
memory. 



Isolationist 

What is an isolationist? He is a man who lives without society, for society has 
taught us to respect and aid others. He does not allow thieves and law-breakers to 
live in his community ; he contributes, perhaps generously, to organizations which aid 
the unfortunate in his own home town. Yet he says we should not meddle with thieves 
and lawbreakers in the world ; he says that misery beyond our borders is no concern of 
ours. If man punishes the thieves in his own community, should not nations punish the 
thieves of the world? Can we say that local law is inviolable, but that international law 
may be broken with impunity? Can we feed our own and remain indifferent to the 
starvation of all others? The isolationist is trying to wall his country off from the 
world cf which it is an integral part. — Lillian Gilbert. 



November, 1949 29 



R 



am Jr rayer 

Don G. Morgan 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 6 

FOR CENTURIES PEOPLE HAVE MADE PRAYERS FOR RAIN, 
each in his own unique manner. None of these prayers, perhaps, has at- 
tained the popularity and intricacy of the Snake-dance of the Hopi Indians. 
This ritual is the most widely known of all American Indian ceremonial 
dances. "^ 

This ceremony still remains secret in many phases. Even though it has 
been extensively investigated by numerous biologists, anthropologists, and 
writers, the full meaning of the Hopi Snake-dance has yet to be interpreted. 
Many theories have been formed and disproved, yet portions of this sacred 
rite proceed undisturbed by the prying eyes of the white man. 

As in many Indian rituals, there is a quaint legend behind the origin of the 
Hopi Snake-dance. According to this legend, a young Indian chief in quest of 
the source of the Colorado River came upon a snake kiva. He was cordially 
received by the people within, smoked and danced with them, and upon leaving, 
took with him a beautiful young maiden. These two became the mother and 
father of the Snake clan.- In this legend, the Snake clan and its ceremonies 
found their origin. To this day, these ceremonies have not wavered from their 
course of proceeding. 

Every year this dance, the culmination of a nine-day ceremony, takes place 
at one of five Hopi establishments located in N. E. Arizona. On the odd 
years it is held at Walpi or Mishongnavi and on the even years it takes place at 
Oraibi, Hotevilla, or Shungopavi. It invariably occurs between the middle 
and the end of August. Exactly what determines the date is not known. This 
is one of the phases of the ceremony that are, as previously mentioned, still 
entirely secret.^ 

(Jnce the date is determined, the preparations are put in full swing. All 
proceedings are handled by members of the Snake and Antelope clans.* The 
first move is the making of prayer sticks, erection of an altar, drawing sand 
paintings, and the making of intricate costumes.^ Great care is taken in all 

^ M. W. Stirling, "Snake Bites and the Hopi Snake Dance," The Smithsonian Report 
(1941), pp. 551-5. 

" Erna Fergusson, Dancing Gods (New York, 1939), pp. 145-6. 

'Julia M. Buttree, The Rhythm of the Redman (New York, 1937). pp. 96-9. 

' Fergusson, op. cit., p. 149. 

= Ibid. 



30 The Green Caldron 

these preparations since they are as much a part of the ceremony as the dance 
itself. 

The snake-dancers, once made-up in paint and miscellaneous decorations, 
are the wildest figures to be seen in the Southwest. From head to toe, they 
are painted in various patterns of black and white. Their hair is brushed with 
white paint and arrayed with arrangements of owl- and eagle-feathers.® To 
the non-Indian mind, such a sight would be more likely to scare away the 
gods than bring down their favor. 

Once all these preliminaries are concluded, the actual rites commence. Un- 
doubtedly one of the most picturesque ceremonies in the history of American 
Indian dances, the Hopi Snake-dance is also one of the most prolonged. Priests 
are constantly running to and from their subterranean kivas making prayers 
and collecting ceremonial instruments.' 

Four days before the dance the members of the Snake clan venture out into 
the desert wastes to hunt snakes. Each of the four days is devoted to a dif- 
ferent point of the compass. On the first day the North is hunted, and on the 
following days the West, South, and East, in that order. When the hunter 
comes upon a snake, usually a prairie rattler, he proceeds to capture the snake 
with a particular technique. First he uses a feathered stick to make the snake 
uncoil from its striking position. Next he sprinkles the reptile with a special 
sacred meal, whereupon he swiftly seizes the snake behind the head and places 
it in a skin bag.' 

Once in captivity the snakes are subjected to frequent handling and various 
treatments to make them more docile.' This docility caused by handling lessens 
the chance of the dancer being poisonously bitten. There are many theories as 
to the infrequency of fatal bites. Some of the most popular and reasonable point 
to the skill of the handler, his immunity through continuous contact with the 
rattlers, or the use of an emetic to clean out the dancer's system after the 
dance.^" 

Other popular theories suggest that the snakes are defanged or "milked" 
before the dance. The defanging is carefully done with a hoe-like instrument 
to assure that both sets of fangs are removed. The "milking" process involves 
a special whip used in such a manner as to make the snake strike repeatedly, 
thus "milking" it of all its venom. In such cases, the snakes are carefully ex- 



' Ibid., p. 161. 

' Stirling, op. cit., pp. 134-6. 

' Fergusson, op. cit., p. 150. 

' Mischa Titiev, "Hopi Snake Handling," Scientific Monthly, LVII, July 1943, 44. 



November, 1949 31 

amined before the dance to check their innocuousness." These theories have 
been proved and disproved, leaving us to conchide that method is entirely de- 
pendent on the fortitude of the dancer. 

Shortly before the dance the snakes receive a final rite. They are dipped in 
a jar of herb-treated water and then thrown in writhing handfuls on a pile of 
clean sand. Small boys have the gleeful job of confining the snakes to this 
sand-pile. I say gleeful because these boys make a game of this day-long job.^^ 

Once the rattlers have received their treatment, the dance is ready to begin. 
Preceded by the Antelope clan, who go through an array of chants and dance 
steps, the Snake clan puts in its appearance, twelve men headed by an albino.^' 
In a symmetrical formation they dance around a given area. While dancing 
they hold the snakes in their teeth, pass them from hand to hand and man to 
man, and allow them to crawl at will. Eventually the snakes are tossed on the 
ground, where they are teased with whips, sprinkled with sacred meal, and 
kept in a state of complete frustration.^* 

By this time the dance has reached its height of frenzy. There are thirty- 
odd snakes sciuirming about the dancing area and dancers facing the four 
winds. As if by a silent signal each dancer scoops up an armful of snakes and 
dashes oi¥ into the distance, where he releases his load. The reptiles are then 
expected to carry the message for rain to the Sky god.^° 

The entire ceremony is concluded by a grand feast at which the entire popu- 
lace gorges voraciously. Apparently, it is taken for granted that the prayer for 
rain is infallible. As it has been said, "The Snake-dance always brings rain." ^^ 

"C. M. Bogart, "The Hopi Snake Dance," Scinice, XXXIX, May 10, 1941, 297. 

"Fergusson, op. cit., p. 160. 

" Buttree, loc. cit. 

" Fergusson, op. cit., pp. 164-7. 

^Ibid. 

" Ibid., p. 167. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Bogart, C. M., "The Hopi Snake Dance," Science, XXXIX, May 10, 1949, 297. 

Buttree, Juua M., The Rhythm of the Redman, New York, A. S. Barnes, 1937. 

Fergusson, Erna, Dancing Gods, New York, A. A. Knopf, 1931. 

Stirling, M. W., "Snake Bites and the Hopi Snake Dance," The Smithsonian Report 
(1941), pp. 551-5. 

TiTiEV, MiscHA, "Hopi Snake Handling," Scientific Monthly, LVII, July 1943, 44-51. 



32 The Green Caldron 

Rliet as Writ 

Forty thousand rr.Iiicd rapid raped football fans watched the game. 

* * * * 

Before he met Rosemary, he dated as many girls as he could squeeze in 
twenty-four hours. But with Rosemary he formed a plutonic friendship. He 
decided to keep her at sword's length, and he kept her at sword's length until 
the sword became a pocket-sized knife. 

* * * * 

In international war doctors and nurses are neutralized. 

* * * * 

I remained in their village overnight, and the ne.xt morning we started for 
the base in a canoe which was some three hundred miles distant. 

I quickly packed my clothes in a suitcase with my roommate. 

* * * * 

But in 1941 the great war started and he was caught in his middle twenties. 

T^ -f* T" -P 

Robeson should have stuck to singing and left his mouth shut. 

* * * * 

The development of the cotton picking machine has removed the slow 

working hands of the laborers. 

* * * * 

By attending the University of Illinois one can learn to be unprejudiced 
and tolerable. 



The Contributors 

John C. Br own — Central Y. M. C. A. (Chicago) 

Shirley Giesecke — Belvidere 

Chnrles R. Goldman — Culver Military Academy 

Harry Madsen — Lane Technical (Chicago) 

Fred K. Maxivell — East Rockford 

Don G. Morgan — Champaign 

Gwen Jean Satlerlee — Litchfield Community H. S. 

Aha Mae Steele 

Alfredo D. Vegara — Hyde Park (Chicago) 

Mollis Wunder — Evanston Township 



"he Green Caldron 

A Magazine of Freshman Writing 

THE vm''^^ «'' "^"^ -^ 

......uiiiCON TENTS 

James T. Johnson: What Became of the Strategic Concept 

of Air Warfare? 1 

Reta C. Byers: Neighborhood Nuisances 3 

Mary Shannon: Of Time and the River 4 

Harry Madsen: Paksa 6 

Don E. Sweet: Faults of the High School Education System . . 8 

Ardeth Huntington: Number, Please 10 

Jeanne Peterson: The United States Should Have 

National Health Insurance 12 

William F. Beckman: Uncle Anthony 13 

Eugene Stoner: America's Most Terrifying Fire 14 

Don Northicay: Atomic Americana <..... 15 

Arthur Wimpenny: A Pause in the Night 16 

Joan Harmon: Student Government as Training for Democracy . 17 

Joe Frey: One Man 18 

Byron C. Staff eld: On Getting Up in the Morning 19 

Franklin J. ISiensted: Appearances and Realities in History . . 21 

Lucille C. Crow: New York Journey 24 

Robert Ralph Zemon: The Rolling Stone 28 

Rhet as Writ 29 

Vol. 19, No. 2 JANUARY, 1950 

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. 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 John Bellamy, Beulah Charmley, George Conkin, 
Virginia Murray, Dona Strohl, and John Speer, Chairman. 

The Green Caldron is for sale at the Illini Union Bookstore, 
Champaign, Illinois, at twenty-five cents a copy. 



THE GREEN CALDRON 

Copyrighted 1950 
BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS 

All rights reserved 

No parts of this periodical may be repro- 
duced _ in any form without permissiou 
in writing from the publisher. 



Wnat Became or tne Strategic 
Concept or Air Warrare? 

James T. Johnson 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 4 

THE CONCEPTS OF AIR WARFARE, AS WE KNOW THEM 
today, reached their peak of development in World War II. World War 
II was the first major conflict in which heavy bombers and lighter tacti- 
cal aircraft were employed in a decisive role, because, principally, aircraft be- 
fore this time were not efficient enough to be effective. This war provided a 
very realistic proving ground for the effectiveness of military aircraft and the 
concepts devised for their use. These overall concepts for employment of air- 
craft in war are divided into two classes, commonly referred to as the tactical 
concept and the strategic concept. Tactical air warfare, which is air action 
against an enemy force in direct support of our own forces in the field, is gen- 
erally thought of as having immediate effect on the battle situation, and is 
carried out within the combat zone itself. Strategic air warfare is bombard- 
ment from the air of enemy war production centers and key industries, with 
the intent of destroying the enemy's ability to provide logistic support to his 
forces, thereby making it impossible for him to wage effective war. 

Until very recently, it was universally accepted that both tactical and stra- 
tegic air warfare had a definite and important role to play in the National De- 
fense Establishment. Within the past months, however, the U. S. Navy, 
fighting for increased appropriations in the House Armed Services Com- 
mittee, has chosen to try to discredit the concept of strategic air warfare. One 
navy admiral has charged that strategic heavy bombardments of industrial 
centers are costly campaigns which have only remote, delayed, and indirect 
effect on the primary task of disarming the enemy by destroying his military 
forces. Spokesmen for the air force point of view have claimed that the stra- 
tegic concept of air warfare is sound and that to discontinue the development 
of heavy bombardment aircraft would jeopardize the security of the United 
States. It has, therefore, fallen to the House Armed Services Committee to 
decide if the U. S. Air Force should cancel projects for improving the strate- 
gic bomber force and concentrate all the effort on development of more modern 
aircraft for use in tactical roles. In making this decision, the Committee must 
decide whether the strategic air warfare concept of the U. S. Air Force is 
sound and whether discontinuance of the development of heavy bombardment 
aircraft would jeopardize the security of the United States. 

It is agreed that strategic air warfare is costly, as are all other forms of 

[1 I 



2 The Green Caldron 

warfare today, but the effects of strategic warfare are not so remote, delayed, 
and indirect as the navy admirals would have the public believe. Modern 
warfare is mechanized warfare. In a modern war, large forces must be able to 
move rapidly from place to place, there must be a great deal of flexibility within 
the forces, and the forces must be capable of rapidly concentrating destructive 
power on single objectives. These requisite capabilities necessitate a vast array 
of mechanized equipment. A high rate of industrial production is required to 
equip and maintain a modern military force. A great quantity and variety of 
mechanized implements are required before a campaign may be begun, and 
the attrition rate of this material is high. 

Strategic air warfare envisions devastating bombings of specific industries 
in order to destroy the enemy's ability to resupply effectively these essential 
means of waging war. Elimination of productivity of certain critical items 
cripples the whole range of war industries. A large military force cannot con- 
tinue to fight without this logistic support. How soon the effect of strategic 
bombing is realized by those engaged in tactical warfare is dependent upon 
the quantity of war material which the enemy has in reserve, whether these 
stockpiles can be located and destroyed by the strategic bombers, and whether 
strategic bombing has been able to disrupt the main arteries of communication 
between the stockpiles of reserve material and the users. 

The navy spokesman insisted that the primary purpose of war is to disarm 
the enemy by destroying his military forces. The opposite opinion contends 
that it is foolishness to attempt to destroy a military force without first at- 
tempting to disarm it. An enemy cannot be effectively disarmed if his logistic 
services can continue to reequip him. Disrupting of industries engaged in the 
business of re-arming the enemy, and the means of distributing the material 
which these industries produce are very direct, and not at all remote, methods 
of disarming an enemy. 

Further, the air force point of view insists that strategic bombardment of 
key industries in conjunction with tactical air and ground action against en- 
emy military forces results in the quickest and most convincing defeat of the 
enemy nation. An aggressor nation will capitulate when the capability of 
supplying war material to its fighting forces is destroyed. An enemy who can- 
not replace his supplies will discontinue his offensive activities and eventually 
desist altogether. All these reasons combine to reduce the total number of 
casualties on both sides. 

If the arguments of the admirals win and the development effort is re- 
duced to apply only to tactical type aircraft, the security of the United States 
will be endangered. The existing long range bomber force will soon be obso- 
lete, because improvements in aircraft design and construction techniques will 
continue at a rapid p>ace in all other industrialized areas of the world. It is 
evident that other nations recognize the value of heavy bombers as a strategic 



Jannnry, 1950 3 

weapon because they have been busy since the cessation of hostilities in the 
development of hea\'y bombardment aircraft. If war were to come, the United 
States would be faced with the prospect of being bombed by the enemy's long 
range heavy bombers without any means of retaliating in kind. A strategic 
air force for immediate action against the aggressor would not be available. 
An attempt to fight a war under such conditions, and fighting with only a view 
to disarming the enemy's military forces without attacking his war-making 
abilities, would be futile. The chances of success would be questionable, and 
success, if it came, would take too many years and cost too many lives. Such a 
war would dissipate the resources of our own country to an unacceptable de- 
gree. Admissions of error and repentance after a catastrophe of this nature 
would not repay the people of the United States for the dis-service which al- 
ready would have been done. 

It follows that the strategic air warfare concept of the U. S. Air Force is 
sound and that an adequate portion of the aircraft development effort should 
go to produce better long range heavy bombardment aircraft. 

Nei^ntornooa Nuisances 

Reta C. Bvers 
Rhetoric 101, Theme B 

\y /HY, I OFTEN WONDER, AREN'T PARENTS COMPELLED 
\\/ to lock up mean children just as owners are required to confine vicious 
dogs. Compared to some of the little prides and joys that overrun the 
otherwise placid corner of the Midwestern town that is my home, a Great Dane 
is but a gentle creature. Sometimes I am inclined to believe that my neighbor- 
hood was singled out from all the others to harbor the trickiest, most diabolical 
imps in all Missouri. Surely I exaggerate you say ; and I grant that your 
reasoning seems logical ; but believe me— if you could visit my city block for 
ten minutes on any fair summer afternoon, you would immediately become an 
arch supporter of the Society for the Abolition of Children. 

Perhaps the most difficult to endure, of the three-score and eight or so pre- 
schoolers who clutter the lawns and sidewalks visible from my window, is the 
little boy who lives directly across the street. His screams for "Momma" are 
certain to rise above the general din with the precise regularity that radio 
broadcasters use to change programs. Karlie is definitely the abused type. It 
seems that even the toddlers persist in torturing this plump, defenseless 
champion of squallers, or so the story goes when Karlie reports it to 
"Momma." 

The most accomplished tease in the neighborhood is not, as you might ex- 
pect, a husky boy, but a very dainty, blue-eyed, blond-haired maiden of five. 



4 The Green Caldron 

She is dreaded by every man, woman, child, and pet within a six-block radius. 
Her three-year-old brother is fast becoming a callous cynic, hardened to the 
ways of the world by the tricks of Angeline. There was the time she put sand 
in his cereal just to "hear him chew." But Angeline does not confine her ac- 
tivities to home and brother ; she finds innumerable ways to disrupt the entire 
neighborhood. Once she hid the evening newspaper from every house in one 
square block. The interesting part of this aflfair was that the papers were dis- 
covered three days later under the front porch of the home of Mr. Edison 
who made the most ado over their disappearance. 

The followers of Angeline are almost as deadly as she. With amazing pre- 
cision they carry out the plots that she devises ; once they even — but I must 
expose the antics of Angeline no further. I have a notion that she will some- 
day be a famous person, perhaps a union agitator, and will not want people to 
know of the life she led as a child. 

There are, I am sure, some quite lovely kindhearted children in the world ; 
but what baffles me is where they are. Why can't two or three of them be per- 
mitted to inhabit and to restore to normalcy the neighborhood into which I 
must venture — perilous though the journey be — whenever I go home. 



Or Time and Tne River 

by Thomas Wolfe 

Mary Shannon 

Rhetoric 102, Tfwmf 15 

THE AUSTRIAN COMPOSER, GUSTAY MAHLER, ONCE RE- 
marked to Jan Sibelius that every symphony should contain within its 
structure the entire world. We do not know whether Thomas Wolfe was 
familiar with the works of Mahler, but a kinship exists between the two, 
a kinship of striving by vain eflfort to say everything inside the limits of a 
single work of art. 

Just as Mahler buries us under masses of sound, so Wolfe hurls upon us an 
avalanche of words, returning again and again to a central theme that is elab- 
orated in a series of variations. 

We are told in Wolf's sub-title that Of Time and The River is a "Legend 
of Man's Hunger In His Youth." I might almost say "warned" for hunger 
can hardly denote the voraciousness of Eugene Gant, the book's chief character. 

Eugene Gant is, of course, Thomas Wolfe. We follow him through a series 
of wanderings and discontentments as the story develops. We stand with him 
on a bare station platform in his home town, waiting for the train that will 



Jdiiuary. 1950 5 

take him to Harvard, surrounded by all the banality, vulgarity, pettiness, and 
malice that passes for idyllic family life in small town America. The trip on 
the train is almost a book in itself. One shudders to read in Wolfe's "Story of a 
Novel" that it was actually several times this length before undergoing the 
skillful surgery of Maxwell Perkins. 

In Boston we move among strange contrasts. There are the young men of 
Professor Hatcher's playwriting class, and there is also Uncle Bascom, that 
irrepressible maniac who has all the miserliness of Scrooge and the wordiness 
of a William Jennings Bryan. Francis Starwick, the precise prig, brilliant and 
homosexual, is perhaps the most important character at this time, next to the 
ever-dominating Eugene. But Eugene is never ofif the stage. This is his book, 
and no sparrow falls without his consent or at least his carefully recorded 
notice. 

A complete synopsis of the book would be rather tedious. It moves on 
almost imperceptibly. Like the river of its name, there are a thousand small 
streams running through it. Whether we are in London, Paris, Orleans, or 
Altamont it is all the same. Eugene is still frustrated. He is still Tantalus 
in Hell. 

Wolfe seeks to be a part of all that he has met, but desires an incorporation 
that is not humanlj' possible. Every face must be remembered. Even the 
numbers on box cars of the casual freight that once barred a road for a few 
minutes must be recalled. Surely one is entitled to ask if this does not bear a 
marked resemblance to certain symptoms which are usually indicative of an 
emotional disturbance known as "obsessional neurosis." But this is no place 
for a clinical attempt to analyze Wolfe's personality, although such a task ofTers 
fascinating possibilities. 

The question is, what did Wolfe attempt in this book and how well did he 
succeed ? It is my own feeling that Wolfe sought to find himself by a complete 
artistic revealing of himself. I think he was still trying to find himself when 
the book ended and that he remained as unsatisfied in the quest as he had 
been at the book's beginning. 

Eugene Gant is not a person. He is a muttered curse in the darkness. He 
is the fear of death and the love of death united in one impulse complex, a 
great ego trying to untangle and reach out toward a million objects. 

In some respects he is adolescent frustration and awkwardness, but this is 
only part of the answer. The other part is made obscure by obvious neurotic 
involvements in the character. Instead of a flight from reality, we get a tre- 
mendous flight into reality. Every leaf, every stone, every passing shadow 
becomes magical and almost possessed of life. Such a feeling, Ferenczi has 
told us, is normal in very young children, but in a young man of twenty-one it 
becomes a pathogenic factor full of tragic implications. 

When one remembers Eugene's over-powering grief after the death of his 



6 The Green Caldron 

father, his feeling that his own life was ruined, broken, without further mean- 
ing, the foundation of his neurosis becomes evident. 

". . . But you are gone : our lives are ruined and broken in the night, 
our lives are mined below us by the river, our lives are whirled away into 
the sea and darkness, and we are lost unless you come to give us life 
again." 

Thus, it is guilt that drives Eugene toward a magical solution : a formula 
that will be both redemption and liberation, and will allow him to find gratifi- 
cation and achievement. This then, in essence, is the story, if story it can be 
called. Around it is clustered a multitude of small stories that possess signifi- 
cance only as they come in touch with Eugene. 

The charm and power lie in the language. It is possible to pick out long 
passages that stand quite well alone as prose poems. The main body of the 
work suffers nothing from such amputations. 

There are hundreds of characters in the work of varying importance, but 
there is after all only one real character, Eugene Gant. He is a young man, 
but I am afraid he is not the young man that Wolfe would have us believe. It 
is in this attempt to create a prototype of "the young man" that Wolfe most 
conspicuously fails and it is in this failure that his story's greatest weakness 
lies. 



Pal 



ansa 

Harry Madsen 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 2 

YOU WILL SEE HIM SAUNTER UP THE BON SHON MARKET 
Place in the Capitol City of Seoul ; he will bow to you as you pass him 
along the Ascom-Inchon Highway ; you will often find him squatted 
placidly in discussion amid a group of village huts, and you might encounter 
him almost anywhere in Korea. The paska is easy to recognize in his billow- 
ing breeches and flowing robe. All his garments are of the ceremonial white, 
save the black horse-hair cap which looks like an undersized transparent derby. 
The bamboo and brass pipe he carries is of proportions in keeping with his 
station and age, for the older and more reverent the individual, the longer the 
pipe. The shortest of paksa pipes is eighteen inches. 

When you see a paksa, you see a man drinking in the leisures of life. This 
hard-earned reward for a life of toil is a felicity which stands as a goal for every 
boy that is bom in Korea. To become a paksa is the greatest of honors, and 
the honor increases in magnitude if the man has been zealous and sincere in 
the pursuit of his life work. 



January, 1950 7 

Each year has been dubbed by the Koreans with the name of an animal. 
According to these people, as the horns blew on last New Year's Eve, you 
were passing from the year of the rat to the year of the ox. The animal desig- 
nations change annually in accordance with a sequence derived from Korean 
folk-lore until the entire paksa- cycle of sixty animals has been completed. A 
Korean boy born today would be referred to as "The-boy-of-the-year-of-the- 
ox," or he would be better known as "Boy-of-the-ox." When Boy-of-the-ox 
again encounters the year of the ox, he will have completed the paksa cycle, 
and he will be a paksa. 

The attainment of this rank does not go unheralded. For weeks, in antici- 
pation of the great day, all the members of the immediate family work to pre- 
pare the feast that goes with the occasion. Word is sent out to the outlying 
members of the family who might have forgotten that the paksa was due to 
take place. Three days before the actual date, the relatives start to arrive, each 
bringing a contribution to the feast. Sacks of rice, a young pig, strings of 
dried fish, great bowls of fresh clams, bundles of celery cabbage, and large 
baskets of mountain pears are gathered in the court. An uncle who is a wine 
merchant has a contribution which is appreciated only less than that of the 
children who had to explore far into the hills to gather the many fragrant 
do-ra-chis and other flowers. 

When the ceremony begins, the paksa is seated with his wife in a floral 
booth in the center of the court. Within easy reach is a gourd of rice wine and 
many trays of such delicacies as candied tomatoes and pickled bamboo shoots. 
Now the oldest son of the couple enters and bows all the way to the ground, 
first before his father and then before his mother. He thanks them both for 
the life they have given him and vows that from this day forward he will do 
all that is in his power to make their days happy and comfortable. When the 
son is finished, his wife comes in to bow and vow in the same manner as her 
husband. Their children follow, and then the second son and his family do the 
same as the first and his. Daughters and their families, cousins, aunts, uncles, 
brothers, sisters and the families of grandchildren all pay their homage, re- 
spect, and devotion. 

When all the relatives have finished, the line may not yet be through, for 
then come all those friends who through the years have received favors from 
the new paksa. They will also want to attend this ceremony to show their 
appreciation, and pledge what they can to the suppwrt of the paksa should he 
find he needs it. A poor fisherman might say, "In the year when the great 
winds broke up my frail vessel, you took me in and fed me rice from your field. 
In tribute, to your table on this day I bring three of the finest eels in the land. 
If the day arrives when the dragon of drought drains the blood of life out of 
the fields of your family, oh but speak, and I will give you half the fish I draw 
from the sea." 



8 The Green Caldron 

When all who so desire have made known their thoughts to the paksa, the 
feast and the merry-making begins. There is singing, dancing, and circles 
where the poets of the family tell tales of kings, tigers, dragons, and frogs. 
The women flitter off to their own court to sew, cook, and exchange tales of 
things that have been since last they were together. The mirth clings through 
the night and continues for many days. It is not until the rice wine has been 
spent, and until the last kim-shi jug is light, that the occasion comes to an end. 

Exhausted children are roused from where they sleep on the cool grass 
mats. The tree of the family is pruned once more, and each limb drifts away 
to be grafted again into the life of a far village. Here and there a branch or a 
single leaf will seek its own way up a mountain pass, or down a gorge, away 
from the rest. The paksa is done, and only another paksa will bring them all 
together again. 

When you use the word "paksa," you cannot think only of the man, only 
of the sixty year cycle, or only of the celebration, for the essence of the word 
embraces all three. It means all these things, and to the Koreans it means 
more. Honor, respect, family, and security are all synonymous to paksa in the 
eyes of Son-of-the-ox. Even I can see another synonym for paksa in the 
word "retirement." I wonder how many government officials that fathered 
the introduction of Social Security in our country realized that at best, they 
were four thousand years behind the Koreans. 

Faults or tne High Scnool 
Education System 

Don E. Sweet 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 

EVEN THOUGH THE EDUCATIONAL PRACTICES IN HIGH 
schools have been improved, they are still far from reaching perfection. 
Many of the shortcomings of these systems are outgrowths of present 
day customs and laws, and these drawbacks cannot be corrected until the pre- 
vailing laws are changed. Though the following information is based upon 
the conditions which exist in one large midwestern high school, these condi- 
tions undoubtedly are present in most of the secondary schools of the nation. 

If a nation is to maintain a high standard of education, it is obvious that 
some provision must be made for compulsory education, at least up to a cer- 
tain age. This law, however, can be detrimental. It causes both money and 
time, which could be used to great advantage, to be wasted on the "I-don't- 
care" type of pupil, those who have no desire for an education, and what is 



January. 1950 9 

worse have none after the exposure process is complete. These students slow 
up an otherwise progressive class if a conscientious instructor attempts to put 
something across to them. A physics instructor in one high school had the 
right idea. He thought that if a pupil was interested in learning from his in- 
struction, it was possible ; if the pupil didn't care, neither did the instructor. 
Unfortunately, that attitude is looked down upon by those higher up in high 
school education. 

Along with the time wasting "I-don't-care" pupil, comes the naturally 
slow student. Through no fault of his own, he cannot assimilate knowledge 
as fast as the average student, and as a consequence, he slows down the whole 
class. 

Other faults of education are direct results of the present system and could 
be corrected by comparatively minor changes. An example of this is the con- 
cept of tenure. A new teacher will extend himself for the trial period and 
then, once on tenure, he will allow his teaching to degenerate. Unless the com- 
plaint against him is a serious one, he continues in his capacity, immune to 
discharge. As a typical case of this, in the same midwestern school, a teacher 
who taught a social problems class and doubled as an assistant coach was heard 
to say, "After this year when my tenure begins, I'm going to tell them to take 
this coaching job and go to hell." It is this type of attitude which undermines 
the efficiency of the modern high school teaching system. 

Under the "correctable" heading falls yet another fault. This is the fact 
that high schools are so different from either grade schools or colleges. In the 
case of the grade school, the fault lies in the grade school itself. If grade 
schools, especially in the upper grades, were taught more as high schools 
are taught, the reorientation program which takes place in the freshman year 
of high school would not have to be as extensive or time consuming as it is. 
High school, however, is vastly different from college. That there is such a 
radical departure from teaching methods and standards of work required, 
probably accounts for the failures in college of many high-ranking high school 
students. 

Probably the greatest correctable fault of high school teaching, however, is 
that the emphasis is placed on the wrong subjects. Opinions vary on which 
subjects should be emphasized, but the two year concentration on history 
appears extremely asinine. The study of history as, for instance, a contribut- 
ing factor to the literature of the world is perhaps of some value, but the 
random commitment to memory of the various kings of Egypt in the year 
8000 B.C. is a waste of time. More time should be spent in training the stu- 
dent to express himself orally rather than on paper. A reasonably small pro- 
portion of high school students will become writers, but 100 per cent of them 
will have to speak and be understood. In the same midwestern high school, 
physical education is a farce. This situation has been corrected, to a small 



10 The Green Caldron 

extent, in college. In the high school, the boys meet twice a week for one hour 
and shoot baskets or play knock-down-drag-out basketball with little or no 
organization and absolutely no emphasis on sportsmanship. 

The answers to all the faults outlined above are not all immediately forth- 
coming. Nothing, for instance, can be done about the pupil who is in school 
against his will, if the "high" standards of education in this countrj' are not to 
suffer. If, however, pupils were given aptitude tests upon entering high school 
and made to take the subjects which would prepare them for the work to 
which they were best suited, there would be perhaps fewer unwilling students. 
For the slow sti:dent, aptitude classification is again the answer. Put the slow 
student in a class with others of his kind. The faster students in another class 
would progress at their own speed, and the efficiency of both groups would be 
greatly increased. Further, if teachers were placed on a civil-service type plan, 
the dead-heads who ride along on their tenure would be eliminated. 

Since each year a higher percentage of high school graduates are going on 
to college, some form of preparation and exposure to college teaching methods 
should be injected into the present curricula of high schools. Junior high 
schools are now being introduced between grade schools and high schools in 
an effort to prepare the grade school graduate for high school. A similar com- 
bination of the last year of high school and the first year of college could per- 
haps be made, much to the advantage of the student who plans to enter college. 
Qianging the required subjects and eliminating the useless ones would allow 
a student to make full use of his time in high school and provide a more 
rounded education for him, regardless of his future plans for education. Per- 
haps someday we may look at our high schools and see that they have been 
transformed into more efficient, more useful institutions as a result of elimina- 
tion of these and other faults. 

Number, Please? 

Ardeth Huntington 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 7 

GIVE ME STATE 1959— ALICE, YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN 
his face ! Blush ? Why, he was so embarrassed ! He — no, operator, I 
said State 1559, or did I? Alice, what's Jim's new number? 1955? 
1595? Never mind, operator, I'll look it up. . . ." 

You quickly unplug the connection before hearing the sharp clash of the 
telephone receiver as the irate customer slams it on its base. But you have no 
time to speculate on the ways of women, for it is now 11 :15 :6 by your switch- 
board clock ; Saturday, June 10th, by your mental calendar ; and an increas- 
ingly busy morning at any city telephone office, especially yours. Or so you 



January, 1950 11 

think, watching the myriad white lights in front of you bhnk quickly on and 
just as quickly vanish as you make connections and answer calls, one by one 
in rapid succession. 

"Op-er-a-tor ! Op-er-a-tor ! !" 

You repeat the proper, well-learned phrase, "Number, please?" 

"Op-er-a-tor! Op-er-a-tor!" That woman shouts in a thick, foreign accent 
and disregards, obviously not hearing, your repeated question. Is she in 
trouble — is she angry — or is she merely ignorant of the use of the telephone? 
Silent queries like wind-driven sliadows dart through the back of the brain, 
and automatically you turn the customer over to a supervisor trained in the 
answering of odd requests. 

Another call. "Number, please?" Routine. More routine. Plug cord — 
open talking switch — watch connect signals — red — green — disconnect cord — 
customer flashes — open switch quickly — respond properly — 

"Operator . . ." 

"You cut me off!" Like a whip those four words lash out, but draw no 
response other than mechanical from the robot-girl who sits at her switch- 
board and connects — disconnects, opens switches — watches lights — speaks 
distinctly — 

"I'm sor-ry, sir. One moment, ple-ase . . ." 

And now the operator in the next position goes to lunch, leaving you with 
two switchboards to watch and handle, but the "traffic" is slower now. You 
don't mind. Now it is lunch time, noon time, such a dull time, giving you the 
opportunity of dropping the mask of automatic rigidity which encases you 
during most of your working hours. It slips easily from your voice, and you 
pick up a call with an easy drawl that is half yawn, half sigh. 

"Number — please?" 

If a young man jokes with you, you reply. If an elderly lady launches into 
her troubles, you sympathize. If a small child begs for his Mommy, or laughs, 
or cries, or repeats gaily ". . . hello . . . hello . . . hello . . . hello . . ." 
you respond as you please. But such freedom lasts only a second when com- 
pared with the years, months, weeks of eight-hour days during which time you 
use your brain quickly and faultlessly in putting through police calls, fire calls, 
ambulance calls. And just as faultlessly, although perhaps not as quickly, your 
mind and hand reacts to the temperature calls, time calls, business calls, social 
calls. Angry customers, cheery customers, old men with gutteral voices, and 
children who giggle and lisp ; people who swear at you, people who call you 
"honey" and "dearie," voices and more voices causing the trans-city wires to 
buzz with busyness while you sit at your switchboard playing the role of 
heroine, life-saver, joy-giver, and death-announcer. You weary of the endless 
routine ; your voice has long ago lost its smile. 

But this is your job. 

"Number, please?" 



12 The Green Caldron 

Trie United States Snoula Have 
National Healtn Insurance 

■ Jeanne Peterson 

Rhetoric 102. Theme 3 

JUST LAST YEAR THREE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE 
thousand of our fellow citizens died because they couldn't afford to have 
adequate medical attention. When I first read these figures, I was amazed 
at the fact that we allowed such a condition to continue to exist. There is a 
remedy for this situation. This year, when our Congress votes on the revised 
Wagner-Dingle-Murray act, the fate of these thousands will be decided. 

The opponents of this i)lan have made a tremendous battle to defeat it and 
so far have been successful. Leaders of the opposition include the patent 
medicine manufacturers and the American Medical Association. In 1947, 
these two alone declared a donation of three million dollars to the lobby oppos- 
ing the adoption of this bill. It is easy to determine the reason for the opposi- 
tion from the patent medicine people. The adoption of this plan would mean 
that the public would be able to secure good medicine and not have to rely upon 
curealls. Apparently the American Medical Association fears that it will lose 
its present stranglehold on the medical profession. 

The opponents of National Health Insurance have managed to talk the 
majority of the people into referring to it as "Socialized Medicine." Thus 
attaching an odious term to a commendable program was a neat advertising 
trick and has resulted in a tremendous victory for them so far. National Health 
Insurance is not socialization ; it is merely a plan for distributing the risk of 
sickness among the whole {xjpulation. Certainly we do not call the various 
state-sponsored plans for workmen's compensation socialism, and yet the pat- 
tern followed by them is exactly the same as that proposed for medicine. This 
program will merely change the method of paying for medical services ; in- 
stead of paying when we are sick, we will pay ahead of time while we are well. 

At the present time over seventy million people, about half the population 
in the United States, make less than sixty dollars a week. People in these 
lower income brackets cannot afiford medical care at its present high rates. 
There are some doctors who generously give these people a lower rate, but 
this procedure is not true of the vast majority. There are also charitable or- 
ganizations whose mission is to provide this relief, but how many of us are 
humble enough to accept charity? National Health Insurance solves this 
problem ; it is not charity, but it is a serv'ice for which they pay. 



January. 1950 13 

One of the most vigorous individual opponents of this plan is Dr. Morris 
Fishbein, formerly editor of the Journal of the American Medical Association. 
Today Dr. Fishbein offers as the solution to America's medical problem the 
Voluntary Group Insurance Plans ; in 1932, Dr. Fishbein violently condemned 
all of these same Group Insurance plans as socialistic and leading to revolu- 
tion. I believe that this doctor is fairly representative of the people who oppose 
National Health Insurance ; they either oppose it for selfish reasons, as the 
patent medicine people, or, as Dr. Fishbein, for no particular reason. 

America depends upon the family. The strength of the family rests in its 
security. The man who works for a living must have National Health Insur- 
ance. The support of his family depends directly upon his earning ability which 
in turn depends upon his health. We must spread the risk of sickness among 
the whole populace rather than letting it destroy individual families because of 
their inability to meet the financial demands of their doctors. 

Uncle Antnony 

William F. Beckman 
Rhetoric 100, Theme 6 

I NEVER LIKED UNCLE ANTHONY. TO ME HE REPRE- 
sented the terrors of sarcasm and repression, epitomizing a generation as 

cold and brittle as ice. I remember him well as he stood very straight in the 
darkened living room, looking about in seeming disapproval of everything in 
general and me in particular. 

Anthony J. Bickford, a man of nearly sixty years, was a despicable, utterly 
selfish, and a false individual. Though tall, his figure was emaciated and 
warped, while his face and hands were browned like a piece of old parchment. 
His fingers were knotted and slender, resembling the grasping limbs of an 
aged oak, and often he toyed nervously with his watch chain which dangled 
from a vest pocket. His rather heavy body was supported by two ridiculously 
thin legs terminating in long, slender feet upon which he wore black, pointed 
shoes. His suit, a lifeless grey, accentuated his doleful countenance, which 
was framed by a coarse ashen beard and hair. 

Uncle Anthony's appearance mirrored his cold and heartless personality. 
His whole bearing suggested supreme confidence and conceit. I'll always re- 
member his thin, white lips moving in disapproval of my existence, as he said, 

"Remember, youth, keep your silence while among adults." 

His knotted fingers reached for the watch chain as he turned and left me 
staring at a narrow stream of sunlight which had dared to enter the dark 
sanctity of his dismal living room. 



14 The Green Caldron 



America's Most Territyin^ Fire 

Eugene Stoner 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 15 

ON SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1894, ONE OF THE MOST 
terrible fires in the history of our country occurred at Hinckley, Min- 
nesota. The inhabitants of this town had lived all summer in a semi- 
twilight caused by the burning of stumps and slash piles left from lumbering 
and clearing operations. 

A few people noticed, early in the morning of that ill-fated day, that the 
fires seemed to be burning a little worse than usual in the swamps west of 
town. By noon the smoke was even denser and a stiff, hot breeze blew up. 
The people in the outlying country showed the first signs of nervousness. On 
the rising wind rode embers and firebrands, starting little fires on dry hand- 
hewn shakes of a dozen roofs. By two o'clock, great black bellows of smoke 
completely obscured the daylight. The winds blew in gusts that were hotter 
by the moment and hot cinders fell like black snow. 

In the south, the sky grew a sullen, ugly red and great sheets of flame 
appeared in the smoke clouds themselves. Suddenly the distant rumblings, 
which had been heard for some time, turned into a frightening roar and a 
horrendous gale of wind and fire ripped through Hinckley from the south. 
Great balls of fire were seen to fall from the sky and explode as they ap- 
proached the forest below, scattering fragments of fire before the hurricane 
and setting fire to everything they touched. 

This fire, born in the crowns of the giant forest pines was a "blow up," the 
like of which has seldom been seen. No power on earth can stop such a fire. 
Incredible heat sends the air swirling up in speeding currents, creating a tor- 
nado of flame. As oxygen burns off in the center, superheated air, carbon, 
and swamp gases rush to the outside and explode in huge sheets of flame. The 
people in Hinckley saw such sheets of flame that day, two hundred feet high, 
roaring across fields where there was nothing to burn and starting fires in 
places where an ordinary fire would never reach. In the flashes of fire in some 
areas in and about Hinckley, boulders were split and acres of ground were 
burned off, topsoil and all ; in a hardware store barrels of nails were melted 
into solid lumps of metal. People running down the streets were snuffed out 
like bugs in a campfire as the huge walls of flame and exploding gases swept 
over Hinckley again and again. 

Some of the frantic people fled to the river for shelter. Because of the long 
drought, the river held no more than fifteen inches of water, and terrible walls 



1 



January, 1950 15 

of flame swept over that area time and time again. Only those who had 
buckets with which to drench themselves with water survived. One hundred 
and twenty people ran out on the road north of town, seeking shelter in a 
swamp in that area. They might have made it if it had not been for the first 
sheet of flaming air. In that qne sizzling instant their lives were snuflfed out. 
A large number of people sought protection in the op)en space of the railroad 
yards. Although the fire never reached them, the heat did. Ninety people lost 
their lives at that spot. 

That was the fate of Hinckley. By dawn the following morning not a stick 
of wood was left standing, and more than one-quarter of the town's 1200 citi- 
zens lay dead. In that same great holocaust, more than half a dozen other 
towns were wijjed out. In less than twelve hours a region of about 2,500 
square miles was for the most part wiped from the face of the earth. 



Atomic A 



ortiic i\niencaiia 

Don Northway 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 4 

IT MAY, WITH SOME DEGREE OF ACCURACY, BE MAIN- 
tained that I take a great deal of liberty with the subject suggested. 

Should I be penalized because I prefer to follow a less orthodox train of 
thought — a train of thought which, I believe, possesses a certain basic validity? 
For too long has America been defined as the land of Coca Cola and hot dogs. 
The very insistence with which this bit of nostalgic trii>e creeps into every dis- 
cussion of Americanism is an indication that something is essentially wrong 
with our American way of thinking. Why can we not typify .\merica as the 
land of modern culture, of heterogeneous harmony, or of individualistic enter- 
prise? Must our reflection or deliberation as to what really constitutes our 
American way of life run the gamut from ice cold cola to red-hot sizzling 
puppies wrapped in a bun? Is that what America means? 

I would like to think of America in another way. A Chinese once marvelled 
at the exactness of American engineering science. He was amazed at our 
ability' to construct a tunnel by excavating on opposite sides of the mountain 
and joining the two excavations in the center of the mountain. "In my 
country," the Chinese said, "if we attempted that, we would wind up with two 
tunnels." He paused a moment and continued philosophically, "But, since 
two tunnels are twice as good as one tunnel, p>erhaps that is just as well." 

By whatever means you may dispute the logic of this philosophy, you can 
not as easily dispense with the contrast in Oriental and Occidental psychology 
that makes these differences of philosophy possible. The American pride in 



16 The Green Caldron 

exactness, as emphasized by our engineers, is typically American. The reac- 
tion of this Chinese is typical of China. Frankly, I do not know whether this 
anecdote is true or not. It does not matter. The point is that it could be true ; 
it has a basis in human nature. Can one learn as much about the real America 
from a bottle of cola which can, by the way, be purchased with equal cer- 
tainty in Suez, Australia, Panama, or the corner drug store? 

Where, then, must we look to find the real America? Not in things, but 
rather in people, and in their thoughts. People are no better than their 
thoughts, for thought is the eternal enigma. If one looks about him the things 
which he sees are, at first, only thoughts. Did the thought also produce the 
intellect that would allow us to use the end product, increased leisure, con- 
structively to increase our capacity for happiness ? Are scientific achievements 
beyond our social capacities a blessing or a curse ? Is Americanism becoming 
synonymous with materialism? It is for that final proving ground, the mind 
of the reader, to discover the answer. Oscar Wilde once said "A cynic knows 
the price of everything, and the value of nothing." I would like to alter these 
words somewhat to ask, does the typical American know the monetary value of 
everything — and the real worth of nothing? Has he acquired knowledge sans 
wisdom, learning sans intelligence, and information sans understanding? In 
twenty-five hundred years of acquiring knowledge have we equaled the real 
civilization of ancient Greece? Two thousand years after the Sermon on the 
Mount, is our practical application of Christ's teaching any in advance of the 
people of ancient Judea? 

Ask the men from Madang, or the Battle of the Bulge, or Verdun. If that 
fails, ask the scientists at Oak Ridge. They know everything. They are the 
ace in the hole of the typical American. They, for better or for worse, for Hfe 
or for death, for preservation or for extinction, are our way of life. 



A Pause in tne Ni^nt 

Arthur Wimpenny 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 6 

THE NIGHT WAS DAMP, RAINY, AND DREARY IN THE 
small railroad yard near Crete, Illinois. A small clapboard shack sat near 
the main right-of-way providing a simple shelter for the few switchmen 
who tended the needs of the seldom-passing trains. Across the many slim steel 
ribbons of track stood an abandoned grain elevator, occupied only by swarms 
of now sleeping birds. 

A fast freight train was busthng along towards the silent railroad yard. A 
tall signal tower, with a dull orange light showing, winked at the approaching 



January, 1950 17 

train. The train began to slow down with its brakes screeching and sparking. 
As the powerful beam from the headlight of the engine swung into the yard, 
the yard jumped to life. Strange and grotesque shadows formed mysterious 
figures on the high walls of the grain elevator. Several figures ran from the 
small shack to tend the switches. The train finally ground to a halt. Then 
after a minute's pause the whistle of the train sounded, and again the monster 
was ofi into the rainy night. 

In a few brief moments the train was far down the disappearing rails, 
leaving only the yard, the shack, and a thousand puddles of water to stand 
idle and without life through the dreary night. 



Student Government as Training 
tor Democracy 

Joan Harmon 
Rhetoric 100, Theme 3 

STUDENT GOVERNMENT PLAYS AN IMPORTANT PART IN 
training young people to be responsible, well-informed citizens of to- 
morrow. Participation in student government demonstrates to the indi- 
vidual the mechanics of the American governmental system. 

Putting acquired knowledge into practice makes an effective impression on 
the student. Through student government, the citizen-to-be is given the priv- 
ilege of voting on issues pertaining to school affairs, just as he will later vote on 
issues concerning national problems. He is anxious to have a part in introduc- 
ing reforms and better methods, and he carefully considers the issues at hand 
so that he may cast a wise vote. When candidates are announced for election 
to office, the student learns to choose wisely and to vote for the person best 
suited for the particular office. 

Through student government, the individual student is able to notice the 
effects of lack of interest and lack of participation on the effectiveness of gov- 
ernmental organization. He sees that a passive attitude on the part of voters 
leads to bad government. He realizes that cooperation and participation are 
needed in order to have an ideal type of government. He learns to appreciate 
the problems that confront officials, and he realizes that he can help solve these 
problems if he is willing to do so. 

Student government gives the individual student practice in carrying out 
the principles of democracy. 



18 The Green Caldron 

One Man 

Joe Frey 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 2 

ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A MAN BORN IN AN IN- 
conspicuous village, the son of a peasant woman. He grew up in an- 
other obscure village. He worked in a carpenter shop until he was 
thirty, then became a preacher and traveled the countryside. He never owned 
a home. He never had a family. He never wrote a book. He never went to 
college. He never held an office. He never set foot inside a big city. He never 
traveled more than two hundred miles from the place where he was born. He 
never did one of the things that usually make a person great. He had nothing 
but himself. 

While still a young man, the tide of popular opinion turned against him. 
His friends ran away — one of them denied him. He was given over to his 
foes. He went through the pretense of a trial. He was nailed to a cross be- 
tween two thieves. While he was dying, his executioners gambled for the only 
piece of property he had on earth — his coat. When he was dead, he was taken 
down and laid in a borrowed grave only because of the pity of a friend. 

Nineteen long centuries have come and gone, and today he is the axis of 
the human race and the leader of the progressing world. 

All of the armies that ever marched, and all of the navies that have ever 
sailed, and all of the parliaments that ever sat, and all of the kings that ever 
reigned — all put together have not aflfected the life of man upon this earth as 
powerfully as has that One Man. 



Hatter's Castle 

Hatter's Castle is not merely a composition which relates the processes and events 
characteristic of a novel. Rather, it is essentially a study of society which is continually 
suffering from the wounds inflicted on it by the greed, hate, jealousy, and suspicion that 
is truly characteristic of modem culture. A. J. Cronin handles this theme very effectively 
as he weaves it into the physical portion of the plot. Unfortunately, though, Cronin per- 
forms this unwittingly, for it is evident that he lacks the necessary genius to transform 
successfully the physical deviations of plot into an influential essence of ethical definition. 
Nevertheless, it is a powerfully effective story and deserves the attention of readers 
everywhere. — Roger Hansen. 



I 



January, J950 19 

On Getting Up in trie Morning 

Byron C. Staffeld 
Rhetoric 101. Theme 11 

IT IS SAID THAT ONE CAN BECOME ACCUSTOMED TO ANY- 
thing if the act is repeated often enough. As I grow older I beUeve this 

assertion less and less. I have been getting up early every morning for a 
little more than eighteen years, and I am not used to it yet. It was as difficult 
for me to arise this morning at is was a year ago, or, for that matter, ten years 
ago. 

I have often wondered why it is so hard for me to get up in the morning. 
Why should I wish to lie in bed until the last minute ? I am no bed-lover. A 
bed in itself holds no attractions for me ; it is only a bundle of paradoxes : we 
go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret ; we make up our minds 
every night to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every morning to keep 
it late. After I once get up, I am not anxious to lie down again. 

I once asked a good friend of mine to solve this problem for me, and he 
said that the seat of the trouble was in the manner in which I was awakened. 
He advised me to buy a good alarm clock, and said that if I were awakened 
suddenly and regularly every day the habit of wishing to stay in bed late could 
easily be overcome. I bought the clock and used it without success. If I put it 
close to my bed at night, I would reach out the next morning and cut the alarm 
off when it rang, and then go peacefully back to sleep. On the other hand, if I 
put it out of reach, I would lie in bed and wait patiently for the spring to run 
down, and then turn quietly over and begin another snooze. 

After the alarm-clock episode, I tried the oldest way known in the world, 
that is, having some hardy soul who gets up early to wake me. For nearly a 
month various friends of mine volunteered to do this service for me, but no 
one of them ever succeeded in getting me up on the instant. Some went to 
the trouble of banging our best Revere copper and brass ware together ; al- 
though it seemed like a feasible plan to them, it only tended to annoy me to a 
point of not wanting to rise out of bed with such a commotion going on. Even 
their threats and their blows failed to rouse me. I would open my eyes, smile 
sweetly, and go back to that land of serene slumber again. 

One of my father's friends heard of my malady and delivered me a long 
lecture on the subject. He apjiealed to my ambition, but my ambition refused 
to be stirred. In vain did he call to my mind the. early-rising habits of Wash- 
ington, Franklin, and Jefferson. I looked innocent and asked him if it was not 
a fact that Burr and Arnold were also early risers. I ventured to ask him if it 



20 The Green Caldron 

were not likewise true that at least a million and a half other men who had 
lived during the Colonial period and got up early every morning had in the 
end died unknown. After this I was even emboldened to inquire if Doctor 
Johnson did not make it a habit to stay in bed until two o'clock in the afternoon. 
Before he could reply, however, I had left the room. 

The next time I saw him he told me a story about an early bird's catching of 
a worm. I was not as much impressed with his narrative as I should have 
been. I felt too sorry for the unfortunate worm. If that worm had stayed in 
bed a little longer he would not have been caught by the bird. But, after all, 
it was wasted sympathy because the worm had no one to blame but himself. 

It makes no difference what the season of the year is ; I have always had a 
hard time getting out of bed. In the winter the bed is warm and the room is 
cold. Why should I suddenly change from the warm and comfortable to the 
cold and uncomfortable? Dante would have us believe that lost souls are 
effectively punished by such sudden changes in temperature as these. Should 
then any living man suffer this punishment before his time? 

In the summer how cool and comfortable it is in my bed with just a sug- 
gestion of a breeze blowing across my face, while on the world outside the 
fierce sun is shining. When finally I get up on summer mornings, how differ- 
ent I must appear from the punctually early risers, who impress me as being 
hot and tired and dusty. 

I am afraid I shall never relinquish my habit of late rising. For after all, is 
there any advantage in getting up early ? A chicken obeys the old adage of 
"early to bed and early to rise" all his life, and finally his head is cut off and he 
is made into a pie ; while the owl, reputed to be the wisest of birds, stays up all 
night, sleeps all day, lives to a ripe old age, and is never eaten. 

Are they that rise early any happier than I? Do they enjoy life more? If 
they do, their happiness must be supreme. 



Bridge Fanatics 

Even though it is customary for a bridge game to cease when the players leave the 
card table, bridge fanatics insist on a heated postmortem of every hand played. This 
involves grumbling, then roaring; shaking a finger, then a fist. They become apoplectic 
because a partner trumped an ace, or even because he forced a bid. For those who play 
for pleasure, to match wits for an hour or so, it is difficult to understand the fanatic 
who sits with Culbertson at his right hand, thirteen tightly clenched cards before him, 
and a "Now-do-something-else-stupid" glint in his eye. — Doris Davis. 



January. 1950 21 

Appearances and Realities 
in History 

Franklin J. Nienstedt 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 13 

PEOPLE OF THE WEST, THAT IS, PEOPLE WHO HAVE 
grown up in the culture of Western Civilization, have developed a biased 
view of history. From grammar school to college these people have learned 
only of the Greeks and the Romans and the Middle Ages — in short, of Europe. 
They remain wholly unaware of the history of China, of India, or of Persia. 
Responsible for this condition are the Western historians and educators who 
overlook Eastern history and overemphasize Western. They do this partly be- 
cause they don't know very much about the history of the East but mostly 
because of a certain unjustifiable pride in the history of the West. 

These men claim that Western civilization, which today has achieved great 
success, is founded on the ancient culture of the West, and hence that when 
people study this past culture, they are really studying the foundation of the 
great civilization we have today. The stupidity of this belief is amazing. In 
the first place, the Western civilization in existence now is no more related to 
past civilizations of the West than to the past civilizations of the East. The 
Roman Civilization passed out of existence about A.D. 400, and the Western 
Civilization, which didn't begin until a thousand years later, merely happened 
to be built on the earlier ashes. In the second place, there is no sensible reason 
for studying the West of the past simply because the West of today is great 
and for not studying the East of the past simply because the East of today is 
stagnant. To suggest how much the history of the West is overemphasized 
and that of the East overlooked, let us examine two corresponding empires 
and civilizations: that of the Roman Empire (27 B.C. to A.D. 395) in the 
West and that of the Chinese Empire (202 B.C. to A.D. 220) in the East. 

We find that the famous Roman Empire was not as great as Western 
writers have made it appear to be. Culturally this empire was quite decadent. 
The great culture of the Greeks had already flourished in Greece from 500 
B.C. to 300 B.C. and throughout the Eastern Mediterranean region from 300 
B.C. to 100 B.C. ; by the time the Romans entered the Eastern Mediterranean, 
the Greek writers, philosophers, and scientists were disappearing. Moreover, 
the Romans were a race which cared little for culture ; they were interested 
chiefly in war and conquest. In fact, the Romans suppressed and even de- 



22 The Green Caldron 

stroyed much that remained of the Greek culture when they ruthlessly in- 
vaded and exploited the lands of the Eastern Mediterranean and when they 
subjugated and made slaves of the Greeks, thus discouraging that free creative 
genius which had brought about the Greek culture. 

Many Western readers are led to believe that the Roman Empire was one 
of luxury and refinement of living. It must be remembered, however, that this 
was true of only the very small upper class — a wealthy landowning aristocracy 
— and that the vast majority of the people in the empire lived in abject pov- 
erty. The rugged small-farm owner who had built up the Roman Republic dis- 
appeared under the empire or became a slave of the wealthy landowner. The 
morals of the Romans, moreover, were disgusting ; they had no coherent, 
dominant religion to restrain them, and the wealthy became corrupt and de- 
bauched while the masses became hard-hearted and cruel. 

Although politically the Roman Empire was very powerful during its first 
two centuries, it did have a number of short-comings which writers often over- 
look. Probably most important was the lack of foresight and judgment among 
the rulers. To be sure, not all of them were greedy and irresponsible, and 
there were some very earnest and sincere Roman emperors, but even the best 
of them could not see beyond their boundaries. If they had known anything 
about world geography or of the events taking place outside the empire, they 
would have realized the necessity of subjugating Central Europe. They could 
have done it, but they didn't even try. Another short-coming was the lack of a 
systematic succession to the throne. The imperial dignity was the posession — 
and the all too elusive possession — of any ambitious soldier who was able to 
fight his way to the top. This procedure, of course, resulted in frequent re- 
volts and civil wars. 

As the empire was composed of many nationalities, there was little patri- 
otism, and the armies soon had to be filled with foreign mercenaries — many 
of them northern barbarians, who later invited their relatives from across the 
border into the empire. We might mention, too, that although the Roman 
Empire centered around a large body of water — the Mediterranean — it never 
had a navy ; true, there was a merchant marine, but there were few or no ships 
specifically for defense or transport of troops. Finally the court life was so 
completely filled with jealousies, murders, intrigues, lust, and crime and im- 
morality in general, that efficiency in the government was nearly always 
lacking. Nero was more typical of the Roman emperors than was Augustus. 

Now let us examine the Chinese Empire ( or more correctly, that period of 
the empire between 202 B.C. and 220 A.D.). Although most people of the 
West are unaware of its existence, this empire produced a culture higher in 
many respects than that of Rome. The Chinese pursued many of the fine arts 
with success and did particularly well in painting. Their landscapes rank with 
the most beautiful paintings ever produced. 



January. 1950 23 

The useful arts — industry, commerce, engineering — were given much at- 
tention. The government ordered the erection of the Great Wall at the be- 
ginning of this period, and also constructed roads, bridges, and canals. There 
were many skilled artisans in the cities ; porcelain manufacturing was highly 
developed; textile industries, flourished; there was much work done with 
metals ; and the volume of trade between the cities, and across Asia to the pros- 
perous markets in Turkestan, to Persia, and even to Rome was tremendous. 

There was much written work done in China, for paper was in use after 
the first century A.D. ; and toward the end of this period printing was devel- 
oped. The economy of the empire was in a sound condition. The majority of 
the people were farmers — free farmers — and there were no wealthy land- 
owners ; there was no concentration of wealth and little poverty. The Chinese 
did not have any religion as we think of religion but they followed religiously 
the code of ethics laid down by Confucius and thus maintained a decent moral 
standard. 

All this prosperity and culture could not have existed if the Chinese gov- 
ernment had not been stable. Except for one instance, we find that there were 
no civil wars or disturbances of any kind in China for four hundred years! 
The administration was justly and efficiently carried on in the beautiful capital 
of Chang An by the Han dynasty, which produced a number of capable em- 
perors. The basis of their strength of purpose and prudent management was 
found in the vigorous foreign policy of the Hans, set up by the great emperor, 
Wu Ti. They had been beset by the barbaric Huns on their north and west 
frontiers during their first half-century, but under Wu Ti the Chinese pursued 
a forward drive, completely routing these Huns and forcing them westward to- 
ward Rome. The Chinese emperors knew what had been happening among 
these barbaric tribes and acted accordingly. 

The Chinese then moved into these vacated regions, always pushing far- 
ther west and spreading their authority and culture far into Central Asia. At 
the same time, the Chinese leaders encouraged friendly relations with their 
more civilized neighbors ; the great emperor Wu Ti established the "Silk 
Route" from Chang An to the flourishing cities of Turkestan and beyond into 
Persia and the West, exchanging goods and ideas freely. Surely if there was 
ever a "world empire" and a "universal civilization," the Chinese Empire has 
a better claim to it than Rome ever had. 

Of course, there were some good qualities about the Roman Empire and 
some faults in the Chinese Empire, which I have deliberately neglected to 
mention. I have simply tried to show that the Chinese Empire was as good as 
the Roman Empire, or better, and therefore people of the West should give it 
the credit it deserves. Yet we who study "history," study Rome, and hear 
never a word of any world beyond the narrow little borders of Europe. 



24 The Green Caldron 



New York Journey 

Lucille C. Crow 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

n\W/ELL, IT PROVES THAT ONE NEVER KNOWS WHAT 
VX/ will happen next," I thought aloud and turned to look out the window 

at friends waving from the station platform. Blinking red lights on 
the black and white crossing guards warned traffic of the slowly moving train, 
and friends and the station retreated from my window. Business buildings, 
factories, and apartment houses gave way to white cottages, then sprawling 
farm houses and open fields, and I knew that at last I was on my way to New 
York City. 

My going still seemed like a dream because everj'thing had happened so 
unexpectedly. Six hours ago, if someone had told me that I'd be leaving on a 
thousand mile trip that evening, I'd have pegged him as being as goofy as my 
Aunt Minnie. That, of course, was before a long-distance telephone call spun 
my little world around, heading me East. My husband had called that after- 
noon to tell me that he was safely back from the Mediterranean and would be 
in New York three days before his ship left port again. It was wonderful to 
hear his voice and to know that he was all right, but when he asked me to 
come to New York to spend the three days with him and to attend an open 
house aboard the ship, I was so surprised that only reasons for not going 
danced before my eyes— The money, it would cost so much — My job, how 
could I ever get three days off? — Clothes, I'd need a new dress — Train 
reservations, impossible without all sorts of wartime priorities — Making that 
long trip alone. No, I couldn't. 

"But, Luke," he said, " all the other fellows' wives will be here." 

"There just isn't time to get ready or anything," was all I could answer. 

"Throw some things into a suitcase. You can get ready after you get here. 
Wire me when your train will arrive." 

And before I realized what was happening, I had promised to catch the 
next eastbound train. 

And here I was, suitcase packed and safely stowed overhead, Vincennes- 
to-New York City round-trip ticket carefully folded in my purse, the Cosmo- 
politan and Reader's Digest beside me for company on the twenty-two hour 
trip, on my way at last. I pulled off my gloves, eased out of my coat, and 
settled back for my first bit of relaxation in six hours. 

Wartime travel conditions being what they were, I had pictured myself 



January. 1950 25 

standing in the aisle of an ancient day coach the entire trip or sharing my seat 
with either a drunken sailor or a nervous mother herding several small, sticky 
children. This coach, however, was obviously new, with a pale green interior 
and forest green lounge chairs. I stretched my toes to the foot rest, sniflfed 
the air-conditioned comfort, and glanced about the car. The seats weren't 
half filled. Wasn't I lucky? 

As the miles flew by, I sat looking out the window, hypnotized by the 
marching grey telephone poles and southern Indiana's colorless winter 
panorama broken by occasional small towns, each with its identifying squat 
depot lettered Bicknell, French Lick, West Baden, Paoli. I began thinking 
of the three days ahead. I wondered about my husband ; would the eighteen 
months overseas have changed him ? Would war and killing have transformed 
the boy I remembered into a diflferent man? Couples grew apart in spite of 
letters and common memories. I wondered whether we would have trouble 
bridging the year and a half gap in our lives. I thought about poor Dorothy 
back at the office and wondered how she would get along doing both my work 
and her own. Would my black dress be all right for dress-up in New York? 
Six hours hadn't included shopping time for a new dress. 

Approaching darkness and the porter's dinner call brought me back to 
earth. Surreptitiously inspecting stocking seams and applying fresh lipstick, 
I gathered up my purse and the Cosmopolitan and made the precarious 
promenade through the swaying coaches to the dining car. Having never 
patronized a dining car before, I was a bit dubious about what to do next, but 
a smiling colored waiter directed me to a table as graciously as if I were 
Princess Elizabeth. I sat down and ordered dinner, secretly marvelling at 
the water-filled vase exhibiting a single rose without spilling a drop in spite 
of the lurching train. I even wished for a cigarette to impress my new friend, 
the waiter, as I sat fiddling my fingers waiting for my roast veal and mashed 
potatoes. 

"Cigarette, Miss ?" someone asked. 

"Gad, who's reading my mind?" I gasped mentally and turned to the 
owner of the voice and proffered cigarette. A handsome young man, a 
sergeant, stood smiling beside my table. 

"That's funny," I exclaimed. "I've never smoked a cigarette before, but 
I was just thinking this is the time and the place for one." 

"Perhaps I'm psychic," he laughed. "May I sit at your table?" 

"Oh, oh," I thought. "Slow down a little, Luke." But it seemed rather 
silly and unfriendly to say anything other than, "Yes. of course." After all, 
there was the empty chair, and everyone was supposed to be kind to service- 
men. I did refuse the cigarette, however, so that he wouldn't think I was too 
friendly. 

He also ordered roast veal, and we sat waiting in a sort of companionable 
silence for our dinners. 



26 The Green Caldron 

"Going far ?" he asked finally. 

"New York City." 

"Ever been there ?" 

"No, but my husband is going to meet me. I wired him when to meet the 
train." And I found myself telling a perfect stranger all about the telephone 
call, my frenzied preparations for the trip, and how I was looking forward 
to three days in New York. I suppose train passengers are like shipboard 
acquaintances. Persons thrown temporarily together with a single destination 
soon become friends. When I learned that the sergeant was going to New 
York City, too, that served almost as an introduction, a recommendation, and 
a common meeting ground. Soon I knew all about him. His name was 
Benjamin something or other. He had been an accountant in civilian life, was 
now stationed at Scott Field near St. Louis, and was going home on furlough 
to visit his mother and sister. We chatted along, lingering over a second cup 
of coffee. The colored waiter winked slyly as he filled my cup a third time. 
Obviously he figured I was doing all right for myself. Gathering my respect- 
ability about me, I paid for my dinner (remembering a tip for the knowing 
waiter), bade the sergeant a pleasant but definite good evening, and walked 
sedately back through the two cars to my seat and buried myself in the 
Cosmopolitan. 

Myriad twinkling lights flashed past my window marking unknown towns 
and villages, while a cold December moon played hide and seek through the 
passing trees. Soon we were pulling into Cincinnati. I had lived there as a 
girl; so Cincinnati was a friendly, familiar city. When the conductor 
announced a forty minute stop over, I decided to go for a short walk to stretch 
my legs and to see some of the city once more. I might even call my Aunt 
Mary, who lived here, to say hello and to let her know that I was passing 
through town. I hurried down the steps onto the platform, and ran through 
the gate literally into the arms of the smiling sergeant. 

"Hey, this isn't New York. Where are you rushing off to?" 

So I explained about calling my Aunt Mary. He agreed this was a splendid 
idea and could he help me find a telephone ? I suppose I really shouldn't have, 
but I said, "Uhhuh," and ofT we dashed with forty, no, thirty-eight minutes 
left now in Cincinnati. I pointed out places I remembered from the past — good 
old Government Square, unchanged, with the same hungry pigeons and 
sauntering crowds, the Apollo Theater (now showing Cab Calloway in 
person), and the Netherland Plaza's beautiful golden spire. All too soon it 
was time to rush back to the station. And I never did call Aunt Mary. 

Back in the train once more, Ben helped me ofT with my coat. I brushed 
the Cosmopolitan and Reader's Digest aside so that he could sit beside me to 
chat a few minutes. I don't remember how the conversation got around to it, 



I 



January. 1950 27 

but finally we began discussing wartime marriages. He was against them 
because his had been unsuccessful. 

"The war changes people," he explained, "and when couples who have 
rushed into marriage are separated for a long period of time, they meet again 
sometimes as strangers. You think about a person, dream about her, build 
her up in your mind until, when you see her again, you're so disappointed 
because she isn't what you remembered or imagined that you never get over it." 

What the sergeant said made sense to me after a fashion. I knew that I 
wasn't the same girl Vernon had left eighteen months before. I had grown 
up since then, successfully assumed new responsibilities, become self-sufficient, 
and had hobnobbed with so many majors and colonels at work that I some- 
times wondered whether I would still find an electrician's mate, second class, 
interesting company. Not that I didn't love Vernon ; it was just that so many 
things had happened since I had seen him. A year and a half is a long time. 
What if he had changed as much as I had ? 

I don't know how long the sergeant and I talked. I don't even remember 
falling asleep, but the next thing I knew, the sun was in my eyes and it was 
morning. I straightened my cramped legs, wondered where I was for a second, 
opened my eyes, and shut them quickly. There was the sergeant, calmly 
smoking a cigarette. When you've told a stranger practically your life history, 
it's quite a shock to wake up the next morning to find him sitting beside you. 
Besides, I knew I looked a mess. He was spic and span, freshly shaved, and 
as wide awake as if he'd been up for hours. I muttered some sort of something, 
struggled to get my overnight bag down from the rack, finally thanked him 
for getting it for me, and beat a hasty retreat to the lounge. 

Lots of soap and water and a fresh blouse made a new woman of me. I 
was ready for breakfast. I'd dismiss that sergeant, if he was still there when 
I got back to my seat, and go to the dining car for a cup of coffee. Back at the 
seat, lo and behold, there sat the sergeant, holding a tray of toast and two 
cups of the most aromatic coffee imaginable. I was beginning to believe that 
man was psychic. "Oh, well," I chided myself, "after all, he won't bite ; enjoy 
yourself." 

We were coming into Washington, D. C, now, and I caught a glimpse of 
the famous Washington Monument. My only other impression of the Capitol 
was a line of plain pine boxes atop baggage trucks with an honor guard of 
white-gloved soldiers waiting alongside the train. Yes, there was still a war 
on. I wondered whether any of those fellows had been electrician's mates or 
even sergeants. We didn't talk for a long time, and when Ben silently oflFered 
me a cigarette, I lighted it and drew a couple of puffs before realizing that this 
was my first cigarette. I was glad when the station with its silent, eloquent 
boxes was far behind. 

We had fun that morning, playing gin rummy, watching the ever changing 



28 The Green Caldron 

landscape, and talking. He was the easiest man to converse with that I have 
ever met. About ten o'clock we strolled through to the dining car seeking 
waffles and more coffee. I had a few qualms about facing my waiter of the 
night before, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

We waited to have lunch in the station restaurant in Philadelphia. Soon 
we would be in New York itself, and our journey and little adventure would 
be over. 

Back on the train again, Ben said, "The terminal is at Jersey City. We 
change trains there to go on into Grand Central Station. I'll help you with 
your bag during the transfer and on into New York until you find your 
husband. Grand Central is a big place." He paused, then continued, "Lu, if 
things don't work out all right for you in New York, look me up, will you? 
I'll give you my telephone number and address." 

Suddenly I felt grateful to the sergeant, because I knew in my heart that 
I wasn't at all sure how things would work out in New York. Vernon might 
even seem more like a stranger to me than the sergeant. 

Outside snow was beginning to fall. Trenton — Elizabeth — Bayonne — 
and now Jersey City. Ben went back into the other coach for his suitcase while 
I gathered my belongings together, discarded the neglected magazines, and 
nervously inspected my make-up. All the passengers were getting ready for 
the transfer, and now we were pulling into the big terminal. We drew into 
the long, shedded runway, and the train slowed to a stop. 

Suddenly, through my window I saw a sailor, my sailor, waiting on the 
platform with the white snow flakes dusting his curly black hair. It was 
Vernon ! He had come all the way down to Jersey City to meet me. All at 
once, positively and without a vestige of doubt, I knew that the sergeant and 
I had both been wrong ; people didn't change, they couldn't. 

And I ran down the steps and into Vernon's waiting arms. 

Tne Rolling Stone 

Robert Ralph Zemon 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 5 

THERE'S A RACE OF MEN THAT DOESN'T FIT IN. TRACES 
of this race may be found in every city, town and village. Its members 
are sneered at, scoffed at, and treated cruelly by society in general. And 
yet, these very people have usually done more in the course of their lives than 
the average chaps who persecute them. 

Jim Brennen exemplified this race. His "echological niche" was an alley- 
way between a pawn shop and a saloon in New York's Bowery. He could 



January, 1950 29 

generally be found stretched out horizontally on the pavement, but with a 
little probing and a buck shoved into his palm, Jim would usually sit up and 
talk. 

He would tell of days gone by, of hearts he had broken. He would relate 
tales of his army days and of. the women he had seduced in his youth. He 
would describe fields that he had crossed and mountains that he had climbed. 
He would talk of the "curse of the gypsy blood" that kept him from resting, of 
his unyielding desire for the new and different constantly driving him onward. 
And be would start each new venture certain that he had at last found his 
groove in life ; but each fresh move proved only to be a fresh mistake. 

Then, suddenly, the realization that his youth had fled and his prime was 
past made Jim look around. .\nd he noted that it was the quiet, steady, 
plodding ones who were winning the lifelong race. And Jim laughed, as he 
always had, at the life that had played such a joke on him. Only this time, 
there was a bottle in his hand. 

For a while Jim continued roving about the country doing all sorts of odd 
jobs. But as the gin and whiskey slowly pickled his insides and ruined his 
coordination, Jim Brennen, the rolling stone, came to a sudden halt in the 
Bowery, the meeting place of his race of men. 

About a year ago, Jim packed his duds for the last time on earth and 
jumped the westbound express to the beyond. But I somehow get the strangest 
feeling, as a fluffy cloud passes overhead, that Jim Brennen is sitting right on 
top of it, smiling down at the world. 



Rket as Writ 



Chri.stmas to me this year is not what presents I will receive but a two 
weeks' vacation from school and bookies. 

* * * * 

It took many years to develop juvenile delinquency to the point which it 

has reached today. 

* * * * 

My two favorite classicals are 'Cheharizad' and 'The Nut-Cracker's Sweap.' 

* * * * 

Finally we reached the movie and seated ourselves three rows from the 

front upon his suggestion. 

* * * * 

One of my roommates loves to talk, esp)ecially when I am in the mist of 

concentration. 

* * * * 



30 The Green Caldron 



The Contributors 

William F. Becktnan — Kankakee High School 

Reta C. Byers — Southwest High School, Kansas City, Missouri 

Joe Frey — West High, Aurora 

Joan Harmon — Alvenia, Chicago 

Ardeth Huntington — Amundsen, Chicago 

James T. Johnson — New Hanover, Wilmington, N. C. 

Harry Madsen — Lane Technical, Chicago 

Franklin J. Niensted — Riverside-Brookfield 

Don Northicay — Sullivan High School 

Jeanne Peterson — Crossmont High School, Calif. 

Mary Shannon — Portageville, Missouri 

Byron C. Staffeld — Carl Schurz 

Eugene Stoner — Cairo High School 

Don E, Sweet — United Township, E. Moline 

Arthur Wimpenny — Lindblom 

Robert Ralph Zemon — DeWitt Clinton, New York 



6reen Caldron 

A Magazine of Freshman Writing 

THE Ll^:.^^v "' y:-.<: 

^ MAR r 

U.\l/i»K^llY ui 1... ., - 
CONTENTS 

Peter J. Moore: Tliree Men and a Lady 1 

Joseph Dorgan: Everyone Has Some Kin<I of Religion ... 4 

Charles E. Reel: Jazz, A Different Music 5 

Joel Cord: The German Soul Exposed 6 

Benjamin T, Brown: Brown in Defense of Polygamy .... 8 

Margarelh Strout: How to Spend Your Time Profitably 

While Standing in Line 10 

Anonymous: "There are Millions and Millions of Chinese Who 

Do Not Like Communism and Will Fight It."" .... II 

Barbara R. Hanim: The Rorschach Test l.t 

Willard L. Baker: Riding a Pony to an Examination . . l.'j 

Ralph Butler: A Day on the Mississippi Sloughs 17 

Sally Rirhardson: Boom 19 

Jo Garrison: Our Own Little Jungle 20 

John James: Whirling Snow 21 

Merrill Thompson: A Brief History of the National 

Basehall League 24 

Robert Simon: Mass Production 27 

Gene Windchy: Anna Karen ina 29 

Ernest Kaufman: Why Be Afraid? .31 

The Contributors 32 



Vol. 19, No. 3 MARCH, 1950 

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. 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 John Bellamy, Marjorie Brown, Beulah Charmley, 
George Conkin, Virginia Murray, and John Speer, Chairman. 

The Green Caldron is for sale at the Illini Union Bookstore, 
Champaign, Illinois, at twenty-five cents a copy. 



THE GREEN CALDRON 

Copyrighted 1950 
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. 



Tliree Men and a Lady 

Peter J. Moore 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

^ /^OME ON, COME ON, WE'LL CRANK IT UP AGAIN, ONLY 
I this time, let nie do it!" With what I thought was unseeming haste 
and with an unconscious smirk on my face, I handed Bob the crank. 
He proceeded to the front of the car, inserted the crank, and twisted violently. 
Silence. Another violent twist brought more silence. Ten or twelve twists 
later, and the air was still as soundless as it had been when Lewis and Clark 
first came to Montana. Right about then Lewis and Clark could have led me 
back to civilization without any argument on my part. 

You've heard the war stories about being "10,000 feet up in the air in a 
bomber, both motors gone, the tail shot away . . ."? We were 7,000 feet up 
in the mountains, with one (the only one) motor dead, at 1 :00 A.M. in the 
middle of Montana. Perhaps I am getting ahead of my story, however, because 
life was peaceful at one time. 

The men were Bob Parro, a happy-go-lucky lad of twenty-one who thought 
that he could put a car through the same evolutions you could a racing plane ; 
Fred Smelter, "Fearless Fred," who could be counted on to drive safely day or 
night ; and last but as usual, not least, I made the third man of our merry trio. 
The lady was the most unique female I have ever had the pleasure to meet. 
Her name was Melinda, and although she was old (she had seen her twentieth 
birthday), with makeup on she could outshine any of the women in her class. 
She had no chaperon ; she never needed one. We coaxed her like children to 
get her to do this or that for us, and she responded like the darling old grand- 
mother that she probably was. She was fast without being loose, but she was 
mighty expensive to have along on a trip like ours. Her top speed was 55 
m.p.h. on the highway. What's that? Who was Melinda? Why Melinda, sir, 
was our 1927 Buick, and a finer car never took to the road ! 

The saga of "Three Men and a Lady" started in the winter months of 1947, 
when Bob, Fred, and I were all wondering what we would do on our vacations 
in the coming summer. The previous summer we had taken a steamer from 
Detroit to BuiTalo and spent a week looking the city over and making short 
excursions into Canada. This time we wanted to do something bigger, with 
more excitement, and get away from civilization if possible. As usual, we 
explored the various impossible possibilities, such as going to Europe on a 
tramp steamer, flying to Hawaii, or the like. Finally, after a long bull session, 
w-e tossed out all the ideas except two. We would either go to Canada to see 
Banff National Park and Fred's uncle, who lived near there, or go to Mexico 
City to see what it looked like. Of course we had no car, nor was there any 

I I I 



2 The Green Caldron 

immediate possibility of getting one, but we knew that we were going. Canada 
was decided upon without too much trouble, and a montlij:later we bought 
Melinda from a man who said that he would turn over in his grave if the car 
had been driven any farther than 48,000 miles in the twenty years of its 
existence. We believed him of course ! 

It wasn't a bright June morning when we left Chicago, but grayish black, 
portending perhaps the bleak outlook we had for the trip. Judging from what 
happened en route, we should have been downcast. Melinda was loaded to 
the running boards with junk that was so unnecessary that more than half of 
it could have been left home and never missed. We had an arsenal of three 
rifles and three pistols, all with enough ammunition to hold off a tribe of 
Indians or even bears. I imagined myself another Stanley, and wore a sheath 
knife with a seven-inch blade, while Fred carried one of the pistols with him 
most of the time, continually assuring us that we had nothing to fear at night. 
Bob's only concession to our general air of fierce explorers was to grow a 
beard and frighten away all of the halfway decent-looking women that we 
saw on the trip. We must have looked like refugees fleeing from an oncoming 
horde of Japs. The back seat of the car was piled high with duffle bags, rifles, 
a tent, sleeping bags, three five-gallon cans of extra gasoline, mosquito repel- 
lent (later christened "Mosquito Martini" because of the Canadian mosquities 
came from miles around to lap it up), flares, canteens of water — yes, all the 
comforts of home. 

After Melinda chugged away from Bob's house amid the cheers of an 
obnoxious crowd of pessimists who loudly predicted that we would never reach 
the city limits, we began to get a sense of excitement and accomplishment that 
was to carry through the entire trip. We drove on and on, feeling like Byrd 
on his way to the South Pole. But at Western Avenue, still inside the city 
limits, the right front tire went flat. We had not reached the city limits, and 
already our enthusiasm started to play touch tag amid the debris in the back 
seat during our hunt for tools and a new spare tire. Dirtier than before, still 
smiling, we started oflf again, only to have trouble with the carburetor, ten 
miles outside Chicago. We traveled at a top speed of ten miles an hour for 
fifty miles because of the sniffling carburetor. Occasionally Bob would get out 
and rearrange a few nuts and bolts, but the carburetor still refused to give 
results. We got the creature doctored at a small gas station in central Illinois, 
paid the doctor and drove on, deciding to drive all night to make up for lost 
time. We would make Canada yet ! 

This was how the trip started. We had planned to drive all day and sleep 
beside the road at night in our sleeping bags. We didn't see the inside of our 
sleeping bags until the return trip when we stopped over in Yellowstone Park. 
When I was tired of driving, I would wake Bob or Fred, climb back in the 
back seat, pound a soft spot among the dufifle bags, and collapse for three or 
four hours until it was my turn to drive again. All the way across the country, 



March, 1950 3 

Melinda wanted to stop and take a good look at the landscape. If the tires 
weren't sufficiently worn out, she would have trouble with her spark plugs. 
If the spark plugs had been fixed, the carburetor would have a relapse. Then, 
as if we didn't have enough diseases already, we discovered that the body was 
out of line with the frame, giving the tires much more wear than usual. We 
did have a scenery-loving car however, because whenever anything went 
wrong, Melinda took care to break down on some mountain road with a 
beautiful view, or near a rushing river or a peaceful lake, or ... in the absence 
of all of these, she would try to get a beautiful sunrise or sunset in view before 
coming to an abrupt halt. 

A week out of Chicago found us in the mountains of Montana, 7,000 feet 
high, at 1 :00 A.M., the motor dead, and the only way to start the car was-with 
a crank and a lot of pull. We had driven all night the night before, and had 
slept in the city park of Great Falls for a short time that afternoon. All three 
of us were in bad shape now, but the thing that kept us going was the thought 
of going back to Chicago without reaching Banff and Lake Louise. The ob- 
noxious pessimistic crowd would still be waiting, and the smirks of unsaid 
"I told you so's!" would cover their faces. I was finally pressed into service 
again to crank the car. I decided, just as an experiment, to use two hands 
when cranking, a very unorthodox procedure. My arm almost broke when 
the motor caught, but at least the experiment got us rolling again toward 
civilization. 

Tempers began to get short, and the lack of sleep began to irritate our 
nerves considerably. Scenery didn't interest us much any more. We had to 
get to Banff and Lake Louise, no matter what happened. After many forced 
stops, we steamed up to the customs station at the Canadian border. We 
finally reached Canada, but Banff lay 150 miles further north. The American 
officials laughed at us, but the Canadian officials were amazed both at our feat 
of driving and Melinda. They were very helpful and gave us several maps and 
valuable information regarding their rather poor roads. 

Canada is an amazing country. The scenery in the Canadian Rocky Moun- 
tains is beyond comparison or description. The Canadian people themselves 
were very friendly everywhere we went. After we crossed the border into 
Alberta, we came upon a detour. Bob and I were sleeping in pieces, pieces of 
tires, of gasoline cans, of dirty rags, dreaming that we were traveling in a 
Cadillac and stopping at the best hotels. Fred ignored the sign and drove 
around because he thought that no matter what lay ahead, unless the road was 
washed out, Melinda could plow through. Twelve miles further up the road, 
exactly at mid-night, he found a gang of men working on the road and pouring 
new asphalt on the crushed stone. They flagged him down and politely asked 
him what he was doing driving down a road under construction. We awoke 
at once, and after we stopped laughing, apologized for our little moronic friend, 
turning back the way we came. The next day after going forty miles out of our 



4 The Green Caldron 

way to avoid the construction gang, we discovered that it was Dominion Day, 
or the Canadian fourth of July, and all the gas stations were closed. After 
running all night, Melinda needed her vitamin juice, the sooner the better! 
None of the small-town stations were open, and Calgary was our only hope. 
We cursed Melinda, begged her in the next breath, and pleaded to her sense 
of justice. Then we murmured a prayer, poured in all our extra gas, and 
headed Melinda for Calgary, forty miles and three gallons of gas away. Im- 
possible as it sounds, we did make Calgary, even though prior to this long 
haul we were getting only twelve miles to the gallon. 

Once we were out of Calgary, the prospects began to look better, because 
Lake Louise was only thirty miles from the city limits. Melinda began to 
sense that she was snorting toward the goal of the trip, putting all her eight 
cylinders into her efforts. We knew that the tires, one or all, might decide to 
relax at any time, so in order not to put a jinx on the tires we made a pact 
that under no circumstances was anyone to ask about their condition. This 
way we made sure that there would be no blow-outs. 

We entered Banff National Park with some elation, but Lake Louise was 
our goal, and we weren't going to settle for less. The last obstacle was a three- 
mile mountain road. Melinda had had some climbing experience, but never 
three miles straight up. Puffing, steaming, snorting like an old fashioned 
locomotive, the old girl put her entire heart, or what there was left of it after 
a 2100-niile trip, into the effort. 

Then we saw the glint of the sunlight on the ice-cold, blue-green glacial 
water. Maybe there are prettier sights, or ones that are more satisfying to 
behold, but all three of us will never forget the first glimpse we had of those 
sparkling waters. We made it. We could walk home, or even take the train — 
after we shot Melinda — but we had done what we set out to do. The "Lady" 
had listened to our prayers. 



Everyone Has Some Kind of Religion 

Rhetoric 101, TheiM 13 

Everyone needs some kind of religion. Some will agree with this statement ; others 
will not agree. Agreement or disagreement rests on the meaning — to the individual — of 
the word religion. 

If by religion we mean one of the ordinarily labeled codes such as Christianity, 
Hinduism, Mohammedism, or Judaism, then the statement admits of some exceptions, 
for we see many people about us who have none of these formally organized religions. 

However, if we think of religion as a belief in something, then the statement holds 
true for everyone. It is not for nothing that we say of someone, "Money (or power, or 
science) is his God." The belief of a person in something is evident in his pursuit of it. 

There are those who say they believe in nothing. Possibly. But to believe in nothing 
is to deny; denying is believing. 

Life depends on belief. If we think of belief as a religion, it becomes evident that 
everyone has his religion — Joseph Dorg.^.n'. 



I 



March, 1950 5 

Ja^z, A Different Music 

Charles E. Reel 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

\W / HEN MANY OF OUR PRESENT DAY MUSIC CRITICS AT- 
\V/ tempt to pass judgment upon jazz they do so by the same standards 
they would employ with any other form of music. This is indeed unfair 
because jazz is, in itself, a new art form. It contains chords never before heard 
and at times it defies all existing rules for harmony and rhythm. The critic 
who uses these differences as destructive criticism of jazz obviously fails to 
recognize jazz as a new form of art and consequently fails to recognize its 
purpose. 

When a jazz composer deviates from present day musical standards he 
does so to create new standards which may be applied to jazz, and not because 
he lacks knowledge of musical composition. It is through the use of these new 
standards that jazz fulfills its artistic purpose. 

One of the distinct features that distinguish jazz from other music is the 
use of the blue note. The critic must understand that these blue notes — used 
as a harmonic device — are distinct departures from traditional harmony. By 
playing flat and natural of the same note in the same chord, jazz becomes a 
combination of the blue scale and the pentatonic scale, resulting in a harmony 
possessing something of a primitive vitality in the sound of a large number of 
instruments playing simultaneous melodies based on the two scales. This prim- 
itive vitality resulting from the combination of these two scales is the effect the 
jazz composer is striving for. 

Besides understanding the structure of jazz, the critic must realize that the 
artistic purpose of jazz is different from that of other serious music. The 
European tradition was always epic, romantic, or lyric, and art for art's sake. 
The jazz composer is personally interested in the expression of folk reactions 
to everyday life. 

Romanticism to such masters as Liszt and Beethoven meant modernity, the 
spirit of unrest, and desire for progress. To Mendelssohn and Schuman, lyri- 
cism meant an attempt to make their instrumental composition sing. All of 
these European composers achieved their purpose through the concept of the 
individual rather than that of the folk. They made no attempt to express the 
feelings of a whole nation or a whole race of people in their compositions. 
The works of these masters express their own feelings, and they make no 
attempt at anything else. 

The jazz composer attempts to express more than his own feelings in his 
compositions. Jazz did not issue from the individual efforts of one composer, 
but from the spontaneous urge of a whole populace. We might say that jazz 



6 The Green Caldron 

is a combination of the work song, the spiritual, the blues, dance music, and 
many other forms of music. It is the combined emotions of all of these types 
of music that the jazz composer is trying to express in his compositions. 

Jazz is a variety of folk music, and the distinction between folk music and 
other serious music is so profound that it is almost absolute. Jazz makes a 
simple, direct appeal that may be felt to its fullest extent by the populace who 
are, in general, only mildly interested in music. 

In our day, many audiences are accepting jazz as serious music only when 
it appears under the name of George Gershwin ; but as they become more 
accustomed to his music, they will be ready to accept the more radical jazz 
compositions and know jazz as it deserves to be known. 

During some of Gershwin's very popular concerts, some conductors are 
playing one or two compositions by other jazz composers. As the American 
public learned to understand and accept the music of Gershwin in this manner, 
they are learning to understand and accept the works of other jazz composers. 
This is becoming more and more obvious with the increasing popularity of 
such works as The Jaac Ballet by John Alden Carpenter, The Blues Sonata 
by Maurice Ranel, and a jazz piano concerto by Aaron Copland. 

Rather than compare jazz with serious music, the critics should note the 
extraordinarj' development that has taken place in jazz music since 1900 — 
the enriclunent of harmony, rhythm, and melodic writings ; the birth of a new 
instrumentation ; and the growth of a rich vocabulary particular to music itself 
— he would then see that jazz is a new art and that it has a future. 

Not only the critic, but all music lovers must realize that the story of jazz 
has actually only begun. 

"Tomorrow should prove the valid conclusions of today's argument just 
as forcefully and eloquently as yesterday has provided its premises." 



Tne German Soul Exposed 

Joel Cord 

Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 

Dr. Faustus by Thomas Mann 

DR. FAUSTUS IS A TREMENDOUS BOOK;' IT CAN BE DE- 
scribed in no other words. Thomas Mann has taken an expression of 
human culture, music, and has fashioned it into a symbol that repre- 
sents the awesome workings of a soul — the German soul. Through the medium 
of this symbol, and facilitated by a singular simplicity of style, Mann has 
fabricated an intensely complex web of interrelating allegories, analogies, and 



March, 1950 7 

symbols that, when viewed from the proper perspective, reveal to the reader 
the mysterj' that the author was bent on illuminating — the mystery of what 
makes a German Gemian. 

The book is ostensibly the biography of the great (fictitious) German 
musical genius, Adrian Leverkuhn, as told by his friend and devotee Serenus 
Zeitblom. The narration follows Adrian's life from his early precocious years, 
years of intellectual maturing, to his final tragic ones. By the time the reader 
has finished the epilogue, he has been exposed to every field of study that 
man's intellect has found fit to explore : psychology, philosophy, the physical 
and biological sciences, politics, art, and theology ; to all of these erudite ex- 
periences, Mann exposes his protagonist. Were it not for its manifold other 
aspects, the book could be called a panorama of a great ubiquitous intellect. 

Adrian at first intended to become a theologian, but, after attending an 
academy for two years, he tired of his studies and took up music as his pro- 
fession. Though he was to study music for the rest of his life and never again 
come in direct contact with the dogmas of theology, it was not with a light 
musician's airiness that he was to create his music ; his music was always to 
bear the mark of his theologian upbringing ; stark, medieval, irrational, and 
demonic was the music that he created. 

At about the time that Adrian begins to study music seriously, a psycho- 
logical incident occurs to which Mann attaches much importance. Adrian 
makes a pact w^ith the Devil. He, who had never sought out female companion- 
ship, visits a prostitute and is infected with syphilis. He imagines that the 
Devil appears before him and offers him twenty years of unparalleled creative- 
ness in return for his soul at the end of this period. Adrian was thus married 
to hell. The Devil, upon leaving, makes the most memorable speech of the 
book : "Thy life shall be cold : therefore Thou shall love no human being." 

Adrian created three tremendous masterpieces during the twenty-year 
period. They were Phosphorence of the Sea, The Apocalypse, and, the in- 
comparable. The Lameniation of Dr. Faustus. With the finish of this last great 
work, he was seized with an attack of his latent insanity and was mentally 

incapacitated. Thus ended a genius's life. 

* * * * 

Adrian Leverkuhn was a great man, not because he was a tragic genius, 
but because he was many tragic geniuses. He symbolizes Wagner, setting the 
German legends and terrible demonic philosophies to music — the one language 
that all Germans understand ; he represents Goethe, trying to accomplish 
everything, attempting to be universal — indeed, does his story and last de- 
monic piece not take the name of Goethe's immortal drama? He represents, 
probably more obviously than any other person, Nietzche, the mad German 
philosopher, the man who, like Adrian, chose aestheticism over every thing, 
and who, like Adrian, paid his awful price when latent syphilis-induced 
insanity claimed him ; he represents Dr. Freud, who, together with Nietzche, 



8 The Green Caldron 

brought Germany to the peak of its intellectual golden age ; and also, perhaps 
more than anybody else, he symbolizes Thomas Mann, Thomas Mann who, 
too, created three great works — The Magic Mountain, The Joseph Trilogy, 
and perhaps his greatest. Dr. Faiistiis. Isn't it Mann, like Adrian, whose 
creations were burned by Hitler? Isn't it really Mann, not Serenus Zeitblom, 
who utters the last words that typify so much Mann's attitude towards his 
beloved Germany: "I have clung to one man, one suffering, significant human 
being, clung unto death ; and I have depicted his life which never ceased to 
fill me with love and grief. To me it seems as though this loyalty might atone 
for my having fled in horror from my country's guilt." 

But most of all Adrian represents Germany, Germany who made a pact 
with the Devil, her own Devil, to be satisfied with nothing short of the world, 
the universal, and if unable to realize her ambitions, to let the Devil take her 
soul. 

BroTvn in Derense or Polygamy 

Benjamin T. Brown 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 3 

I WANT THIS FIRST PARAGRAPH OR TWO TO BE, IN SOME 
measure, an explanation of as well as an introduction to the following 

discussion. I think that the explanation will be necessary because the topic 
arose, in a manner of speaking, from a bottle of Scotch. 

The other evening Waldo and I were sitting at home with my children 
while my wife attended one of those interminable (and to me intolerable) 
bridge parties. The conversation began innocently enough with the subject 
of my domestic attachments and responsibilities. It waxed steadily more pro- 
found as the hours grew smaller and the Scotch level lower. Evidently my 
wife returned home and I found my bed at some time of the morning, but I 
cannot be absolutely sure. At any rate, it was several days later that Waldo 
related to me the discussion as I have given it below. (He was able to do this 
for he was sitting somewhat farther away from the bottle than I.) Although 
Waldo seemed to be amused by it, I find it quite good and am marvelling yet 
at my astuteness. Truly, "in vino Veritas." 

As Waldo recalled it the last thing that we agreed upon that evening was 
the fact that modern monogamous marriage was definitely on the rocks, or at 
the very least in dangerous shoal water. The main difference of opinion lay, 
however, in the methods by which it should be saved. I contended that the 
only possible out was a complete change in the marriage system. Waldo main- 
tained that such a drastic move was unnecessary and dangerous ; that all that 
was really needed was a sound system of education for modern adults. This 



March, 1950 9 

educational rehabilitation would supposedly prepare the mature person to 
meet and overcome the myriad problems that confront the married couple in 
modern society. I disposed of this argument by gently but irrefutably pointing 
out that modern man refuses to be taught. 

The need for a change then being definitely established, I proposed po- 
lygamy as being the most advisable plan. If there are those of you who are 
amazed at the daring of my conceptions, let me say that I have never been one 
whose mind lacked scope and imagination. However, I digress. This proposal 
of mine was met, very feebly, by Waldo, with a reference to his plan of edu- 
cation as being of higher merit. I patiently reminded him that this point 
had already been dealt with and that I thought it small of him not to realize it. 

Because I had thus shown myself to be the master of the discussion, Waldo 
became somewhat confused and began throwing at me what I can only term 
"petty" arguments. For the sake of thoroughness I include them here, and 
I hope that the reader will not take them as an insult to his or her intelligence. 
Waldo stated first that polygamy would be impractical for most men because 
it would be too expensive to feed and clothe more than one wife. The answer 
is of course obvious. With one of the wives to do the housework and care for 
the children, all the rest would be in position to secure some form of employ- 
ment. W'ith the added income thus achieved, polygamy would be less expensive 
than monogamy. In the ideal situation a man would have a sufficient number 
of wives so that he would not need to drudge for subsistence, but could devote 
himself to the pursuit of more aesthetic occupations. 

Secondly, Waldo maintained that the dissension in a household of more 
than one wife would be more than mortal man could bear. This seems to me 
to be absurd. The variety and interest that would be lent to connubial life by 
the constant friction between wives would be an advantage, not the contrary. 
If I may be permitted a rhetorical question, what is more soothing to a man's 
ego than the sight and sound of women bickering over him ? Nothing ! 

Disregarding his ignominous failure to make his last point, Waldo stated 
that children would be given a warped attitude toward life by having more than 
one mother. He cited me many weary instances of the drastic results incurred 
by splitting a child's affections and loyalties into too many camps. But I say 
that anyone who has read the works of Dr. Freud cannot fail to see that even 
more horrible things can happen to a child with only the ordinary number of 
parents. 

Waldo, looking properly quashed, then brought up his trump card. Re- 
ligion ! It was against the religion of Christian to marry more than one person. 
That is true. It is against Christianity. But who is really a Christian now? 
Who follows the precepts laid down as laws and requirements by the authors 
of the Bible ? Who indeed ! The term Christian has become almost synonymous 
with hypocrite. Since this is the case, is it not reasonable to assume that 
Christianity is outmoded? And should it not then follow that the system of 



10 The Green Caldron 

marriage advocated by Christianity be also obsolete ? I say yes ! Waldo said 
nothing. 

In conclusion I wish to deal with his (Waldo's) contention that the system 
of polygamy would give rise to dangers that do not exist in monogamy, dangers 
that would be such as to contra-indicate its adoption. He mentions surfeit as 
one. Would not the man who has five wives become five times as tired of 
marriage as the man with one and therefore five times as eager for divorce? 
To a person who considers the case only superficially, this might seem so. 
However, there is a simpler method for a man to relieve his boredom or 
surfeit. All he need do is to take another wife, being careful to choose one who 
is in no respect like his others. Simple ! 

For the record, I might say that I broached this topic to my wife in the 
attempt to obtain the woman's point of view. It is fruitless to set down her 
answer, since, as I might have suspected, it was typically feminine. All men 
know that it is impossible to argue logically with a woman. But even without 
the women's viewpoint, it is obvious to the reader that the victor in the argu- 
ment was . . . Well, perhaps I really should leave it to you. 

How to spend Your Time Proritatly 
Wnile Standing in Line 

Margareth Strout 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 6 

NOW THAT PEACE HAS BROKEN OUT IN SOME PLACES 
and we are no longer faced with ration lines, shoe lines, sheet lines, and 
all the other lines that compromised civilian life during the war, it is 
possible to turn one's attention to a fine point of line-standing that was over- 
looked before — how to spend one's time profitably while standing in line. The 
line-stander of the war era did not have this problem. His time was consumed . 
in pushing, shoving, shouting, and trying to sneak up in the line. The only 
people who made any profit were those blackguards who sold black-market 
goods at terrific prices to the unfortunate people in the rear of the line. 

Now, however, we are faced with the problem of placid, peacetime lines 
with absolutely no prospect of a riot. If one is accompanied by an acquaintance 
of the pleasanter and more intimate variety, this problem of line-standing 
presents no chore. Time flies while the two chatter gayly. But let us suppose 
that such a friend is not around. As an example I shall use the line of my 
high school cafeteria. To begin with, I was always last in line. This meant 
I had about fifteen minutes to sit on the hall radiator and do my Spanish. The 



March, 1950 11 

Spanish quite often was not done. Once inside the cafeteria there were several 
intellectual pursuits, such as memorizing the menu, erasing certain letters on 
the menu so that funny or spicy sayings were left, figuring out the capacity 
of the cafeteria by either algebra or plain counting, or trying to guess the cost 
of each tray before it reached the cash register. Life in this line was always 
heightened by some student's dropping his tray. Sometimes a friendly teacher 
would help me slip into the faculty line. This section always had the fastest 
service and the best food. 

On the occasions that I stood in line for tickets to sports events I spent my 
time very profitably figuring a parlay. I really don't know much about them, 
but there is always someone willing to give hot tips. 

While at the University of Illinois, I have spent my line-time in making 
friends. I consider my time wasted if a session of line-standing does not 
produce an interesting friend or a date for the near future. If a man's wealth 
is counted in friends, then I am wealthy ; and if wealth is an indication of time 
and effort well spent, then my time in line has been spent profitably. 

As a last desperate resort, one can always twiddle his thumbs, dance a 
snappy jig, or do motor-fitness exercises. 



'^Tnere are Millions and Millions 

of Ckinese Wto Do Not Like 

Communism and Will Fidnt It7 

— Claire Chennault 

Anonymous — A Chinese Student ' 

Rhetoric 102, Theme 13 

^W / HEN HE RETURNED TO THE UNITED STATES FOR A 
\\/ visit. General Chennault made this statement. I have no doubt that 
many Americans agree with his statement, but the puzzling point at the 
present moment is the indifference shown by the nation as a whole toward the 
threatening situation in East Asia. Except for a few sharp statements made 
by Republican Congressmen, the State Department and the people appear 
strangely acquiescent. 

As leader of the "Flying Tigers" in China during the Second World War, 
General Chennault has mixed with all ranks in the Chinese Army and Air 
Force, and he certainly knows better than any other American the mentalitv 



12 The Green Caldron 

of the Chinese fighting forces. When the war ended he remained in China and 
helped to organize the Chinese National Airways Corporation. He bought 
many shares in this corporation and has since lived more or less the life of a 
Chinese. With such a background, I believe that General Chennault's state- 
ment is made from first-hand knowledge and direct contact with the Chinese 
people. 

There are many practical issues which can support General Chennault's 
statement. 

The most important is the conservative mentality of the Chinese people. 
Communism is something new, radical, and entirely foreign to the Chinese, 
and such an ideology is in direct opposition to conservatism. Although the 
Chinese are mostly poor agrarian people, they are practical, contented, individ- 
ualistic, easy-going, and indifferent toward any government system. It used 
to be said that the most popular government among the Chinese was the 
government that was least heard of. This statement still holds true in some 
of the interior parts of the country. The Chinese were roused to action in 1937 
to fight the Japanese because the latter interfered with the conservative ideas 
which most Chinese treasure highly. The Communists are now rousing many 
Chinese to fight against them because they bring in ideas that are threatening 
the happiness of the people. They import a disciplinary and stern type of 
government which interferes with Chinese individualism and freedom. The 
Communists force almost every male to fight for them, and there is no way of 
escape for anyone. This act is perhaps the most disgusting to the Chinese. 
This is the main reason why so many people, both rich and poor, flee to other 
places in face of the Communist advances in North China. 

There is another important factor which causes many Chinese to rise up 
against the Communists. Many active Chinese Qiristians are spreading Chris- 
tianity throughout the country, and this force is gaining influence daily. The 
Communists hate the Christians intensely and regard them as Public Enemy 
Number One. To aggravate this hatred, many of the Christian institutions 
are supported by American and British Christian denominations, and the 
Communists regard Chinese Christians and American and British "imperial- 
ism" as one whole group of "arch enemies." This situation explains why so 
many Christians, both Chinese and foreigners, are being persecuted and mas- 
sacred by the Communists the moment they occupy a new territory. These per- 
secutions cause more Chinese to hate the Communists and fight against them. 

With the exception of Acting President Li Tsung Jem, many Chinese 
leaders are Christians, and the persecutions of their own creed reveal to them 
the importance of mustering the full support of the people against Communism 
so that the Chinese may follow the path of democratic nations in attaining the 
most precious birthrights given to men — freedom of worship, freedom of 
speech, and freedom to choose their own way of life without an iron hand to 
force slavery upon them. 



March, 1950 13 

Tne Rorscnacn Test 

Barbara R. Hamm 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 9 

ONE OF THE MOST ACCURATE PERSONALITY TESTS 
known is the Rorschach Test. Since this test requires the services of 
experts, it is not the purpose of this paper to conduct a learned discus- 
sion of its cHnical appHcations. The layman is interested in such a test more for 
its information value than for its practical value. Here will be given the gen- 
eral background and method of giving the test, including the process by which 
a pattern of personality is formed. 

The test was devised by Hermann Rorschach, a Swiss psychiatrist. Dr. 
Rorschach had never intended to become a doctor, but following the death of 
his father he was advised to leave his study of natural science for the study 
of medicine. In 1910 Hermann Rorschach qualified as a psychiatrist and 
served in several European institutions. Unfortunately for Swiss psychiatry, 
Dr. Rorschach died at the age of thirty-four.^ It was during the last decade of 
his life that he devised the personality test which bears his name. 

For some time ps3'chiatrists had been considering ways and means of 
testing human personality. One day it occurred to Dr. Rorschach that a 
childhood game of inkblots might prove useful. He made the first test card by 
dropping a blot of ink on non-porous paper, folding the paper across the blot, 
and applying pressure. The result was a symmetrical pattern. The next step 
was to secure people's reaction to the blot. Since each person gave a different 
answer. Dr. Rorschach decided that certain tendencies of personality might be 
indicated. His last work was to standardize several thousand inkblots into ten 
usable ones and to begin the arduous task of analyzing the answers. These 
two procedures form the basis of the Rorschach Test.- 

The actual test is simple, although careful preparation must be made. The 
two people involved in the test are the subject and the examiner. The latter 
must create and maintain a friendly, unhurried atmosphere. During the test 
the subject sits with his back toward the examiner. This encourages concen- 
tration on the part of the subject and permits the examiner to write without 
being observed. When the stage has been properly set, the examiner hands 
the subject the first inkblot card, and the test has begun. 

The first portion of the test is called the free-association period. At this 
time the subject tells the examiner everything he sees in the inkblot. If the 
subject sees nothing, the examiner must tactfully encourage him to look again. 

'Hermann Rorschach, Psychodiagnostics (Berne, Switzerland, 1942). p. vi. 
'John Langdon-Davies, "Your Off-Guard Personality," Science Digest, XXIV (Octo- 
ber, 1948), 54. 



14 The Green Caldron 

Through encouragement and non-leading questions by the examiner, most 
subjects will see several objects in the blot. However, if the subject gives too 
many items and shows signs of continuing ad infinitum, each card should be 
removed tactfully at the end of ten minutes. This procedure continues until 
ten cards have been observed and all items recorded.' 

The second portion of the test is called the period of inquiry and is dom- 
inated by the examiner. The subject now faces the examiner and together 
they go over the responses. The examiner questions each response, and the 
subject points to that part of the blot which induced his answer. This con- 
tinues until all ten cards have been reviewed and the responses justified. The 
test itself is now finished. 

The scientific scoring of the Rorschach test is complicated and involves a 
weighing and balancing of responses.'' The first item of interest to Rorschach 
interpreters is whether or not the subject viewed the inkblot as a whole or only 
as a series of parts. From this the examiner can tell the subject's reaction to 
a situation. If most of the blots were whole responses, the subject has the 
ability to size up the situation in its entirety. If the subject became absorbed 
in minute dots and fuzzy edges, he generally has a small outlook and a pinched 
personality.^ The former is apt to become an executive, and the latter probably 
would make a good bookkeeper. 

The second method of interpreting the test is by the use of "determinants," 
that is, the extent to which the subject's responses were influenced by form, 
color, shading, and movement. The form responses are the result of intellect 
and the effect of civilization upon our basic nature. Such a form response might 
be "zulu heads" or "lobster claws." * The second "determinant" is color. The 
response stimulated by color has a direct appeal to the emotions. Too much em- 
phasis on color reveals a person easily overcome by his emotions. A response 
influenced by color and form combined indicates self-control. 

Probably the most common thing seen in the blots is movement. This can 
be further subdivided into human, animal, and inanimate movement. Re- 
sponses showing a great deal of human movement indicate contentment and 
happiness. Responses showing a great deal of animal movement indicate an 
appreciation of the simple life and the acceptance of primitive instincts. The 
inanimate movement response, such as falling leaves, shows a person who 
lives in a world of wishes.^ 

The third way of interpreting the responses is through content. Did the 
subject see human beings, animals, parts of anatomy, maps or figures of fan- 
tasy? Each category brings its own character indications. Many ferocious 

"Samuel J. Beck, Rorschach's Test, Basic Processes (New York, 1944), p. 2. 
* Howard Whitman, "Blots On Your Character," Woman's Home Companion, 
LXXIV (January, 1947), 10. 
'Ibid., p. 11. 
'Ibid., p. 48. 
' Ibid. 



March. 1950 15 

animals would indicate an overbearing, hostile individual, while Mr. Milque- 
toast may see only lambs and rabbits in the same blot. From these examples 
it is easily seen why only a Rorschach expert should interpret the test. 

The Rorschach Test has proved its value in many instances. During the 
recent Nuremburg trials several choice Nazi subjects were given the tests. 
During World War II the Army used the test to select officer material and 
even for secret service assignments.* Since there are only about one thousand 
qualified examiners in the country, the use of the test has been limited." 

The Rorschach Test uses the projective technique to attain its results. The 
inkblot actually reveals nothing. The responses come from the subject's inner 
self, and for this reason, the examiner must use discretion in what he says 
during the test.'" During the period of inquiry, the subject further reveals 
himself by justifying his responses. This is one personality test in which the 
subject cannot cheat. He may try to distort his answers, but he can seldom 
distort them consistently. For this reason the Rorschach Test has proved its 
worth. Perhaps in the future the test will prove its worth in medical diagnosis. 



' Langdon-Davies, op. cit., p. 56. 
* Whitman, op. cit., p. 48. 

10 ri • I 



'Ibid. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Beck, Samuel J. Rorschach's Test, Basic Processes. New York : Greene & Stratton, 
1944. 

Langdon-Davies, John. "Your Off-Guard Personality." Science Digest, XXIV (Octo- 
ber, 1948), 53-58. 

Rorschach, Hermann. Psychodiagnostics. Translated by Paul Lemkan and Bernard 
Krovenberg. Berne, Switzerland : Verlag Hans Huber, 1942. 

Whitman, Howard. "Blots On Your Character." Woman's Home Companion, LXXIV 
(January, 1947), 10, 11,48. 

Riding a Pony to an Examination 

WiLLARD L. Baker 
Rhetoric 101, Theme B 

RIDING A PONY TO AN EXAMINATION IS NOT NEW; IT 
probably began many, many years ago with the honor system. Under 
this system, the student was expected to be on his honor to complete his 
work without assistance. The result was that the professor had the honor and 
the student devised and used the system. Most students have at one time or 
another ridden a pony to an examination. For those who plead innocence, the 
term means using a previously prepared source of information as an aid during 
the testing procedure. This, of course, is a method of cheating, perhaps not 
the lowest form, but cheating nevertheless. Human nature being what it is, 



16 The Green Caldron 

the term is applied only to relieve the conscience and does not in any way 
lessen the crime. 

The pony can and does assume many shapes, though it is of necessity small, 
as is the animal after which it is named. The riding quahties, that is the value 
of the pony, depend entirely upon the abihty of the student in determining the 
information to be entered therein and his ingenuity in planning the best means 
of using it without detection. Although some ponies are produced commer- 
cially and are passed like heirlooms from one class of students to another in 
turn, the majority of students prepare their own individual ponies. 

The pony riders, those who use these choice bits of information to facilitate 
their classroom work, can be divided into three separate and distinct types : 
the beginner, the bungler, and the veteran. Each type has certain character- 
istics and mannerisms that are quite apparent to the professor. While ob- 
serving each type carefully, he experiences humorous incidents, feelings of 
indignation, and moments of anger. 

The beginner is marked by telltale signs of timidity and uncertainty. He 
may be compared with a person approaching a horse for the first time. He ob- 
serves the animal, noting its size, shape, and actions, but is hesitant to do 
anything that might result in an injury. The novice pony rider likewise gives 
particular attention to his class environment. He counts the students in the 
class and hopes for security in numbers. In addition, a cautious check is made 
on the alertness of the professor as well as the condition of his eyesight. After 
weighing his chances, the thoughts of a failing grade gradually overcome the 
fear of being detected, and he is then ready to formulate some sort of plan to 
assist him on his journey. His first attempts can be compared to those of a 
man attempting to mount a horse from the wrong side. Unless he has obtained 
a commercial pony, he will in all probability design his so that his notes are 
of little or no value. At the beginning of the test, he will find that in the place 
of having a pony available for a ride, he has the small long-eared equine with 
which all are familiar. The beginner is usually overlooked by the professor, 
since he is neither humorous nor exasperating. 

The beginner, however, soon progresses into the group known as bunglers. 
The bungler furnishes a source of pleasure for the professor. At this stage the 
would-be pony rider is recognizable by his awkwardness. Even though his 
pony is concise and correct, his antics in utilizing it closely resemble the move- 
ments of a gymnast. The pony placed in the upper part of the shoe slides into 
the shoe proper, making necessary the removal of the foot covering if the 
information is to be used. There is always a sleeve or cufT available for notes ; 
however, once in the classroom, he finds that his carefully prepared notes have 
receded to the vicinity of his elbow and that their use will require a feat of 
bodily skill. The bungler, using the palm of his hand as a note pad, looks for 
his information at classtime, only to find it smeared beyond legibility by 
nervous perspiration. The bungler's situation closely parallels a person's first 



March, 1950 17 

ride on horseback Neither the horse nor the rider is coordinated, and the 
ultimate result is one of fatigue and dissatisfaction. 

After many uncomfortable incidents, the bungler graduates into the veteran 
class. This is a select group and the one that causes the professor anguish 
eventually leading to anger. The veteran pony rider, however, is unperturbed 
and in his actions compares favorably with Roy Rogers and his famous horse 
Trigger. With clever assuredness, he smoothly applies the devious methods 
experience has taught him. Although the male is the worse offender, pony 
riding is not wholly restricted to that se.x. Many pretty coeds of reasonable 
proportions have, rather than rely on their charms, calmly removed their 
compacts from purses, opened them, and transcribed the valuable information 
written therein. 

Riding a pony is a sport to only a few. To most students the furtive glance 
at the prepared notes with one eye on the professor is a serious game, one of 
playing, obtaining a goal, and winning. If they would visualize the professor 
as both the opponent and especially the scorekeeper, the futility of pony riding 
would become manifest. 



A Day On tne Mississippi Slou^ns 

Ralph Butler 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

TEN YEARS AGO THE MISSISSIPPI SLOUGHS SOUTH OF 
Galena were a forest-infested swamp ; but since a dam was built on the 
Mississippi below the sloughs, the backwater of the river has changed the 
appearance of the land. A flood seems to have inundated the area. Trees, bare 
of bark, stand upright, ghostly white skeletons of what they used to be, and 
deadwood lies cluttered on the beaches. Today, the sloughs present a desolate 
landscape ; however, the dead trees are rapidly rotting and falling, and soon the 
green growth on higher ground will return. 

The sloughs have always been a favorite camping spot for anglers, and 
erection of the dam did not harm fishing. I was first introduced to slough 
camping by my Aunt Marie, who is a fishing enthusiast, and spends much of 
her time at a friend's camp on the sloughs. In the summer she is tanned a deep 
brown, presenting an unusual complexion for a lady who makes dresses as a 
living. 

Early one morning we drove the twisting downhill road from Galena to the 
ferry in my aunt's old Model A, holding the gear shift in second while the 
tar-paper and chicken-wire roof flapped merrily. As the ferry is the nearest 
one can get to the camp by car, we boarded a flat-bottomed, blunt-nosed boat 



18 The Green Caldron 

for the second leg of the trip. (In the winter we could have skated.) These 
barge-type boats are the most practical fishing craft on the sloughs. They can 
be navigated in shallow water, are almost impossible to tip, and provide ample 
space for storage of fishing gear. 

Seeing the camp for the first time around a bend in the slough, I thought 
the largest building looked like a small two-story cabin. In reality, the cabin is 
built on stilts to keep it dry when in spring the river rises. The first floor is 
only a shell construction of boards and roofing paper surrounding the pilings. 
It often has been almost completely covered with water. In fact, the severity 
of the annual flood is measured by the number of steps leading to the second 
floor which have disappeared. Board walks connect the cabin with the other 
parts of the camp : the little house, garden, and chicken house. 

In order to avoid a submerged island, we had to approach the camp in a 
wide arc. After tying the boat up at the floating dock, I entered the cabin and 
was greeted by "Slug," its owner, a man of seventy-odd years whose wrinkled 
brown head looks like a big butternut. "Slug's" given name along with the 
story behind his nickname has long been forgotten. A "river rat" or com- 
mercial fisherman, he is rich in the lore and knowledge of fishing, often having 
traveled up and down the river in his younger days. And when serving 
chicken and noodles along with vegetables from his garden, "Slug" can't be 
beaten as a cook. 

My other companions on the slough were to consist of people who, like my 
aunt, discard all the conventions of their working life when they go down to 
the river. Like "Slug" they don't use their given names but nicknames. Marie 
Duerrstein becomes "Rock" ; Edith McDonald, "Rusty" ; and Marie Vonder- 
drink, "Mope." They dress in old clothes and go barefoot, abandoning their 
cares as they bask leisurely in the sun. Judged by enthusiasm, their projects 
remind one of children's ventures rather than those of adults. Whether clean- 
ing fish, painting chairs, or bailing water out of the boats, these men and 
women are happy and content. 

I had just time to hear the names of a few of the group before five of us 
and "Slug" left the cabin and set out to take in trot lines in the Mississippi. 
Traveling in the Rusty Rock, my aunt's boat, we passed the shallow inlet 
of Dead Man's Slough and soon reached the entrance to the Mississippi. The 
clash of strong undercurrents at this point caused whirlpools to form on the 
surface of the water, and the outboard motor groaned noticeably. I can re- 
member wondering what would happen to me if I fell out of the boat at this 
spot. But the surface of the Mississippi itself was quite placid as we headed 
toward Kiddoe's Point, the head of an island close to which our lines were set. 

A trot line consists of a long cord to which several lines two feet long are 
fastened. It has to be kept in special boxes to prevent it from becoming tangled. 
At one end of the long cord is a bobber ; at the other end, a weight. The line 
is dropped close to shore away from the main current, with the bobber on the 



March, 1950 19 

surface of the water to show where the line is located. To "run" the Hne one 
hauls it in, with a dip net ready to scoop up the fish before it leaves the water. 
Because one must have had experience to handle the dip net, line, and boat 
correctly, I wasn't much help on this first fishing trip. If the fish is able to 
maneuver himself under the boat, he can easily get away. Our quarry that 
day was the big channel catfish, but we had to be satisfied with perch. As it 
was nearly time for lunch, we headed back to camp. 

Tlie afternoon passed quickh'. I practiced my rowing while my aunt and 
I tried some pole-and-line fishing on Harris slough. Later "Bood" took me 
on an excursion through the extensive network of sloughs in the region. I 
suppose the Mississippi sloughs are similar to the bayous of Louisiana, except 
that the vegetation is of a less tropical nature. Certainly one could easily be- 
come lost if he weren't familiar with the territory. One slough looks much 
like another, and for miles at a stretch the only sign of life is the multitude of 
birds overhead, mostly gulls and herons. 

When "Bood" and I returned to the camp, it was already dark. That night 
the cabin was crowded ; its two small bedrooms and porch were uncomfortably 
full. I was uneasily situated on a wicker couch ; but I wasn't annoyed, because 
my mind was happily occupied with anticipation of a new day of fishing on the 
Mississippi sloughs. 



B 



oom 

Sally Richardson 
Rhetoric 101, Final Examination 

BOOM! THAT WAS THE ADJECTIVE WHICH WAS AT- 
tached to our little town. Boom! When oil was discovered outside of 
town, taverns and various other buildings sprang up over night. Boom ! 
The whole pattern of life had been changed. Boom! This was the sound 
which, at first, we loved ,and later learned to hate. Boom ! Another oil deposit 
had been discovered. Boom ! Boom ! Boom ! 

Ours was a small town in the southern part of Oklahoma. It had been a 
quiet town which knew only the simple routine of getting up, doing a day's 
work, going to bed, seeing a show in the square on Saturday night, and going 
to church on Sunday. Then the lives of all the people in town were changed. 
Some government geologists came to search for oil — and they found it. Soon 
the word was "rush." Rush the meals ; rush the machinery ; rush the drilling ; 
rush people's lives until they dropped from sheer exhaustion. 

My father was one of those caught in the maelstrom of the oil fever. 
Before, he had been content to run a small garage ; now he was planning on a 
chain of them. Before the oil, he had plenty of time to do everything and 



20 The Green Caldron 

anything ; now he gulped his food down, rushed to the oil fields, rushed home 
for supper, and caught a few hours of sleep. 

By this time the population had grown to four times the normal number. 
There were more children running the streets, more shacks on the outskirts, 
and more uneven dispositions. The gambling rate was high. Often I heard 
my father and mother arguing over the amount of money he had lost in 
gambling parties. The situation was the same all over town. 

But all the thrill of drilling for the black gold and reaping the profits was 
soon to be over. One day the boom sounded, but with more force and violence 
than had ever been heard. Then the sound of firetrucks heading for the oil 
fields told us that the expected had happened. One of the wells had blown up. 
Looking out the window we could see the flames licking the clouds, destroying 
the oil fields. Quickly my mother herded all of us children into a bedroom and 
hurried of?. 

The next morning it was all over. Everyone knew what had happened. 
One of my father's wells had been ignited by a spark from a generator. He and 
six of his men were unable to get away from the derrick and were killed in the 
conflagration. The fire had destroyed more than three-fourths of the fields 
before it was stopped. 

The funeral preparations were quickly made : and on the day of the funeral, 
the thing that stood out in my mind was the dull thud of the cannons as Father 
and his fellow workers were laid by the fields which had caused their destruc- 
tion. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. 



Our Own Little Jungle 

Jo Garrison 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 5 

NATURE MAY BE ALL RIGHT IN THE GREAT, WIDE, WON- 
derful out-of-doors, but when all the foliage moves into the house, that 
is going too far. It all started when my brother and I gave Mother a 
plant for Mother's Day two years ago. All the lovely flowers fell off the next 
day, and, though the plant never bloomed again, it grew like a weed. Mother 
credited this growth to her loving care and New Life plant food. 

Then one fateful day Mother joined the Garden Club. One plant led to 
another until we were running a home for aged and sick plants. Our house 
was a jungle overrun with creeping greenery. Ivy hung from the mantel, the 
walls, and picturesquely twined around the banister. It was entirely possible 
that some poor soul might have tripped on the undergrowth, fallen down the 



March, 1950 21 

stairs, knocked over the potted plants at the foot of the stairs, and awakened 
with a hly in his hands. Shding down the banister was out of the question. 

But that was not all ; the whole garden had moved in with us for the winter. 
All the fragile plants had been placed in flats in the basement. I was forever 
losing ping-pong balls in our neat little jungle. New bulbs were being started 
in all the dark closets. Each east window contained violet slips which were 
rooting in all the jars around the house. The west windows were lined with 
African violets. Not a single one ever bloomed ! Maybe they didn't know that 
Mother belonged to the Garden Club. 

The crowning experience happened one Saturday. I was rummaging 
through the ice bo.x when I noticed some "onions" in the freezing compart- 
ment. I later found that Mother was trying to force the tulip bulbs the way 
the garden book said. 

The abundance of floral life had had a decided effect on the family. We no 
longer could spend our evenings sitting by the fire playing bridge or monopoly. 
No, we were looking at seed catalogs, or reading Flozver Groivejr or the 
Gardener's Encyclopedia. Mother even talked to her plants, encouraging them 
and urging them to grow. 

But salvation came ! The plague of oritocioluas perenosis set in with its 
devastating results, causing all of Mother's precious little treasures to shrivel 
and die. She mourned their passing, while the rest of us secretly rejoiced. 
But not for long, for to our dismay, the plants were replaced by a more fore- 
boding enemy. Mother had joined the Association for the Preservation of 
Dilapidated Antiques. 



Wnirlin^ Snow 

John James 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

CLICKITY-CLACK, CLICKITY-CLACK SANG THE WHEELS 
of the elevated train as it sped toward the Loop. The wind and rain 
pelted the sides of the car, and the passengers shivered and read the 
morning Tribune. The iron wheels screeched and screamed as the "el" jolted 
around a turn. Then the conductor opened the door and, amid a rush of cold 
air and rain, sullenly announced, "Laramie Avenue." Everyone winced from 
the cold and the thought of more people crowding into the car. The people 
were all wet and they did crowd and stand over you and drip water on your 
paper, but, as the "el" climbed skyward and became elevated, more stops were 
made and more people entered to drip water on your paper. "Central Avenue. 
All off for express to Canal Street. Garfield Park local. Cicero Avenue next." 



22 The Green Caldron 

It stopped raining; and the sun attempted to break through the dirty 
clouds. Unconcernedly I glanced out of the window. It was the usual sight, 
tenement houses with their rotted back porches facing the "el." This morning 
they were wet and starting to glisten from the sun. They were the same 
ugly, filthy tenement houses that I had seen every time I traveled the "el." 
Puddles of water collected on tarred roofs of the buildings, and some gutters 
still gushed water. Taverns and pool halls filled in the spaces between the 
taller structures, and drunks still lingered in the gutters and vacant lots. 
Little children pressed their noses against the dirty window panes and waved 
excitedly at the speeding, ungrateful train. The rocking and clattering of the 
"el" and a general lack of excitement caused me to doze. The last things I 
remembered seeing were tenement houses, dirty and rundown. 

***** 

"Now behave yourself, Jackie, and we will get some nice toys while we are 
downtown. And for heaven's sake sit still and keep your clothes clean." 

Today was my birthday and I was going downtown with my mother for 
some gifts. It was all exciting for me, and I tried to take in everything that 
I saw. 

"See those dirty apartment houses, Jackie," whispered my mother. "Poor 
people have to live in those places. Always remember how fortunate you are 
that you have a nice home and good parents to take care of you." 

I didn't hear her. A large crane was knocking down a wall and my mother's 
words were lost in my exclamations of wonder at the crane. As we descended 
the platform and entered into the magic of State Street and the thousands of 
rushing people, even my mother forgot the tenements along the "el." 

***** 

"The letters are S. M. C. M. C." 

"Aren't you going to give any hints," asked one. 

"No, that would give it away. It's too easy anyway. S. M. C. M. C." 

"Hmmmm, S. M. C. M. C. — Samuel Majowsky Chapel and Funeral Home 
— no, that's not it, hmmmm." 

"Smoke My Cigarette — Milder Chesterfield ! It's my turn now." 

"Where was it?" 

"See, on the Chesterfield sign, next to Del Monte and Austin Rug 
Cleaners." 

"Oh ya ! That was easy ; I don't know why I missed it." 

"Let's see now— umm, ohh— P. D. N. S. I. C." 

And so went our game of Car Card advertisements as we rode downtown 
on the "el" train. We were in the eighth grade now, and we were going to 
the Loop to see Lake Michigan and a Telenews. It was Saturday fun when 
nothing else could be done. While I was the leader for the game, I could sit 
and look out of the window while the other fellows tried to answer my clue. 



March, 1950 23 

We passed tenement districts and my mind wandered and remembered 
something familiar about them. I had seen them before. All of the tenement 
windows were open, and cots were set up on the rotted back porches to escape 
the heat. Some blankets and pillows were lying on roofs and fire escapes. 
An odor arose from the area and it mixed with the smoke of the factories and 
formed a sickening stench. Small children played in streets that were heaped 
with rubbish. Walls were plastered with advertisements and filthy words. 
Small urchins wandered the streets and alleys grubbing through garbage cans 
and refuse piles. 

"Did you see that street back — ," I started to say but caught myself. 

"Please Do not Spit In Car! I got it," a voice interrupted. 

"That's right," I said looking away from the window. 

***** 

"State Street Transfer" 

I rose and shoved and was carried by the crowd of people out of the car 
and onto the station platform. Running up the stairs and over the bridge to 
the other side, I caught another train. "Kenwood Express, Congress Street 
next. Congress." With a grinding of wheels the train started to move. Gain- 
ing speed, it screeched and screamed around a turn and began a Southside 
jourrtey. Warshawsky Auto Parts, Ace Iron and Junk Service, great piles of 
rusting iron and odd parts and automobiles bodies lay in block-long lots. 
Sometimes the lots were broken up by old, run-down structures. Unbeliev- 
ably, the dilapidated buildings housed people. 

The whirling snow covered the wounds and sore spots of the city. The 
junkyards were transformed into panoramas of surrealistic objects. The 
trash-filled and weedy vacant lots were the plains of Canada. The tenements 
were plastered with white. The missing bricks and rotted porches weren't 
noticeable under the blanket of white. The much-used black sloppy streets 
were vivid against the white of the snow. The whirling snow covered the 
wounds and sore spots of the city. 

REPORTERS SPEND TWO WEEKS ON SKID ROW. Every day 
I feverishly read the newspaper articles of those two weeks on Skid Row. 
I couldn't realize that anyone lived under those conditions. The complete 
destitution that they lived in ! Alcohol, alcohol in any state, was being drunk 
by these derelicts of Skid Row. Cheap wine, ten cent whiskey, canned Stemo, 
anti-freeze. Any of these variations usually caused death or blindness. Filthy 
flophouses, scores of taverns, and brothels line the streets just outside of the 
busy, proud Loop. 

POLICE PROMISE ACTION. Taverns to be cleaned up by police. 

MAYOR ORDERS INVESTIGATION. "All the men need are good 
steady jobs and a will to live. Cut down on the number of taverns in the area." 

EXPOSE OWNERS OF SKID ROW TAVERNS. Some of the richest 
and most respected citizens of the city are represented among the tavern owners. 



24 The Green Caldron 

POLICE BEING PAID OFF. "I have to pay off about a half a dozen 
cops in order to stay in business," cried Max S. Golds. 

SKID ROW INVESTIGATION SHELVED. "It is a long and compli- 
cated process," explained the Chief of Police. "I can't fire half of our police 
force just because of a small misdeed." Papers came out informing the public 
of the tremendous cost involved in the correcting of Skid Row. Most people 
tired and, too involved with the present taxes, quickly forgot about the region 
known as Skid Row. Others that weren't directly involved forgot, and those 
that were interested couldn't get any more information about it, so they forgot. 
Still others, for lack of an audience, discontinued their campaigns. The dere- 
licts of Skid Row kept on drinking cheap wine, ten cent whiskey, canned 
Sterno, and anti-freeze. The derelicts of Skid Row kept on dying or going 
blind, and the taverns and brothels kept on paying off the cops. 

The whirling snow covered the wounds and sore spots of the city. 

Screech, screamed the iron wheels as the Loop-bound "el" rounded a turn. 
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack sang the wheels as the train sped through the 
morning. The rain had begun again and it pelted the windows and sides of 
the car, and the passengers shivered and read the morning Tribune. 



A Brier History or tne 
National Baseball League 

Merrill Thompson 

Rhetoric 102. Theme 9 

ON JUNE 12TH, 1939. A CROWD OF TEN THOUSAND 
hushed Americans looked on while the Museum of the Hall of Fame 
was being dedicated. There were plenipotentiaries present from both 
the American and National Leagues and a small group of eleven living Hall 
of Famers. It was truly a great moment in the lives of all these men. This 
event took place in the small town of Cooperstown, New York. Why was 
such an insignificant spot chosen as the site for the shrine of baseball? In this 
dot on the map baseball was first evolved. In 1839, Abner Doubleday was 
out in his garden, setting up a diamond and founding the game that had grown 
into a major sport. Can you think of a better spot for the Hall of Fame 
Museum than the place where baseball was born? Perhaps you don't know 
what the Museum is. It is a square, brown, brick building, neatly kept up 
despite the many visitors. Across the street from it is Doubleday Field, where 



I 



Marc li, 1950 ' 25 

the annual games are played. This institution is kept up witli the proceeds 
from these annual games between teams from each major league. This series 
is young and bound to grow in importance. You can't describe the Hall of 
Fame factually and understand what it is. It holds the bat of the great George 
Herman (Babe) Ruth ; the spikes of Ty Cobb, the Georgia Peach ; and so on 
down a long list of treasured items. ^ No true baseball fan can go into the 
Hall of Fame without being awe-stricken at the wealth of history surrounding 
him. In that little building you can trace the history of the National League.^ 

After Abner Doubleday discovered this baby giant, baseball teams began 
to organize all over the country. It was only natural that the teams should 
combine into some sort of league in order to schedule their games. The first 
important one was the National Association. The Association was made up 
of teams in all the major cities of America. It is ironic that the National 
Association was responsible for the founding of the National League. William 
Hulbert, owner of the Chicago entry in the National Association, wanted 
some better players for his team. He proceeded to lure such stars as A. G. 
Spalding, Cap Anson, Barnes, McVey, and Jim White from other teams in 
the league. The National Association didn't like it and decided to blacklist 
Hulbert and the players. The penalized players and Hulbert came to the 
conclusion that the only way to get around the blacklist was to start a league 
of their own.^ 

Hulbert called a preliminary meeting in Louisville, Kentucky, and received 
the backing of the Cincinnati Reds, St. Louis, and Louisville. Then on 
February 2, 1876, he called an important meeting in the Broadway Central 
Hotel in New York City.* The eight charter members adopted a constitution 
drawn up by Hulbert and A. G. Spalding.^ The constitution eliminated such 
common evils as contract-jumping, gambling, drunkenness, and rowdyism. ° 
Morgan G. Bulkeley was elected first president. The next year he was suc- 
ceeded by William Hulbert, who held that office until he died in 1882. The 
league included Chicago, Boston, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Louisville, Hartford, 
New York, and Philadelphia.' In 1877 the constitution had its first test. 
Four Louisville players were found guilty of being friendly with gamblers and 
were dismissed from the league. The constitution had passed with flying 
colors. For financial reasons, in 1899 the league decided to drop four teams. 
These were picked up and organized into the rival American League.* 

'Hub Miller, "The Cooperstown Series," Baseball, LXXIX (July, 1947), 279. 
' Ibid. 

'Warren Brown, The Chicago Cubs (New York, 1946), pp. 6-7. 

■•Ford Frick, "Through the Years With the National League," Sport, II (April, 
1947), 35. 

' Brown, op. cit., p. 7. 
' Frick, op. cit., p. 35. 
' Brown, op. cit., p. 7. 
* Frick, op. cit., p. 36. 



26 The Green Caldron 

The National League is now seventy-two years old. In that time many 
great teams have come and gone. John McGraw, fiery little manager of the old 
New York Giants, was stolen from the American League. His hard-boiled type 
of play brought the Giants many pennants and him much fame. Tinkers, Evers, 
and Chance were contemporaries of McGraw. These three men played short- 
stop, second base, and first base respectively. They were the greatest double 
play combination baseball has ever seen, and they brought the Chicago Cubs 
three straight pennants.'' Those were the times when feuding, fighting Wilbert 
Robinson, manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, had his famous diiTerences with 
Muggsy McGraw. His Dodgers won the pennant in 1916. The marvel of the 
decade was the rise of George Stalling's Braves from last place on the fourth 
of July to first in September.^" 

Baseball has gone through many changes during the life of the National 
League. An important one is the livening-up of the ball. In the early 1900's, 
the home run king hit from ten to fifteen round-trippers per season. In the 
present day we have such records as sixty in a season, and the year's champ 
always hits over thirty. It hasn't been decided whether this has harmed or 
helped the game.'^ Changes in the rules were necessary because there was 
always someone who would get around them. Catchers were snapping their 
fingers to sound I'ke a foul and then catching the ball for an out. This neces- 
sitated making all but the third foul a strike. In the days of one umpire the 
ballplayers would pull all sorts of tricks behind the poor umpire's back. It was 
impossible to watch the whole diamond at once. That is the reason for the 
three umpire system of today. '° 

There may have been a few lean years during the last war, but baseball 
continued to put on as good a show as possible. Baseball has given Americans 
that wholesome competitive entertainment that the people enjoy. Men such as 
Mathewson, Wagner, Hornsby, and Dean have made themselves idols of the 
younger generation." Baseball, and the National League in particular, has 
made its way into the hearts of millions of people and has become an important 
factor in the lives of many. 

'IbwL. 

" Ibid., p. 102. 

"Dan Daniel, "Are Home Runs Ruining Baseball?" Sport, V (August, 1948), 16. 
"Bill Byron, "Here's Why They Changed the Rules," Baseball Digest, VII (Feb- 
ruary, 1948). 26. 

" Frick, op. cit.. pp. 34-7. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 
Brown, Warren, The Chicago Cubs. New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1946. 
Byron, Bill. "Here's Why They Changed the Rules," Baseball Digest, VII (February, 

1948), 26. 
Daniel, Dan. "Are Home Runs Ruining Baseball?" Sport, V (August, 1948), 16. 
Frick, Ford. "Through the Years With the National League," Sport, II (April, 1947), 35. 
Miller, Hub, "The Cooperstown Series," Baseball, LXXIX (July, 1947), 279. 



Mofch, 1950 27 

Mass Production 

Robert SIMO^f 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

A CUTTING WEST WIND PUSHES SHAPELESS MASSES OF 
gray cloud rapidly across the lowering sky. The few remaining dead 
brown leaves on the trees rustle forlornly, and the smoke from the 
chimneys is blown to shreds as it emerges. The factory, bearing the inscription 
"Pickard China" on a corroded brass plate near the door, crouches low. seem- 
ingly to escape the wind. 

At 7:45 the first car can be seen turning the corner a block down. It 
lurches over the chuck holes that pock mark Corona Avenue and comes to a 
halt in front of the factory. The driver reaches into the back seat for his lunch 
pail and emerges sleepily from the car. Shivering slightly he walks up the 
sidewalk at the right of the building to the door marked "Employees Only." 
The warmer air of the clay shop is welcome to him as he pauses at the time 
clock near the door. The clock clangs "good morning" to him, and he walks 
on, disappearing momentarily into the locker room to hang up his hat and coat. 
When he reappears he is struggling to tie the strings of his dusty white apron 
in back. 

More cars pull up in front of the building, and each driver goes through 
the same ritual — lunch pail, time clock, apron. Little groups of people form. 
In the deathlike silence a low hum of talk begins, a quiet laugh, then several — 
all seemingly reluctant to break the unnatural stillness that crept in when the 
machinery was shut down the night before. 

Suddenly the telephone bells all over the plant ring in unison. Machinery 
rumbles and whines into action, belts clicking, shafts, wheels, and gears spin- 
ning. The groups of people break, hesitate a moment for a last word, and 
finally explode, scattering workers to their benches. Backs bend to pick up 
tools ; fresh boards of newl}- made ware are set in front of the women ; the 
dryers click into motion, and work is under way. 

The plaster shop is located at the front of the plant. It is always much too 
warm in the plaster shop, but old John Lippert likes it that way because he 
takes cold easily. He is carefully soaping the shiny surfaces of the plaster dies 
from which the molds are made. John's work is highly skilled and in his 
many years of experience (beginning as an apprentice in Germany) he has 
become a master. Presently he will pour the creamy plaster mix into the 
cases, wash the pouring bucket, wait for the plaster to set, and then he will 
take the molds out and begin again. 

Johnny Mizzen is preparing a batch of body in the huge cylindrical ball 
mill. Soon all the raw materials — feldspar, china clay, talc, ball clay, water. 



28 The Green Caldron 

sodium silicate — will be in the mill and the long grind will begin. The cover 
will be tightly clamped on, and the mill will be slowly revolved, the stones 
with which it is partially filled grinding and scraping the raw materials against 
each other and against the sides of the mill with a deafening roar. 

The jiggermen are running, in preparation for the day's run, their plastic 
clay through the pug mill to remove all the air bubbles trapped in it. They turn 
the circular shapes which are made by setting the round mold in a rapidly 
spinning wheel. After spreading the clay over the mold, they lower a metal 
jig on it which cuts and pushes the clay into the desired shape. 

Finishers are busy sponging and cutting ; stickers are putting handles and 
feet on cups and cream soups ; casters are pouring a liquid mixture of clay 
called "slip" into molds ; kilnmen are loading and unloading the tunnel kiln 
which bakes the ware; glazers are spraying the abrasive, once fired (bisque) 
china with a thin coat of pink colored material that one would never expect 
to become a glossy glaze ; more kilnmen are loading and unloading the glazed 
ware in another tunnel of the kiln ; ware in all stages is being inspected and 
either passed or rejected ; decorators are stamping, decaling, and hand painting 
glazed ware ; small decorating kilns are being emptied of yesterday's run to 
make room for today's ; packers, inspectors, and stock room clerks are busily 
prejiaring to send the orders out ; and the office people are doing routine office 
work, totally apart from the rest. 

Lines of production move slowly past stationary workers, grinding on in- 
evitably, seemingly eternally. Smaller sub-lines feed into the main line, all 
timed perfectly to present the right thing at the right place at the right time. 
People moving, doing things ; at first glance they seem intent only on their 
jobs. But they are not looking at their work! Their eyes seem to be focused 
on some brick on the opposite wall, or on the lone, leafless tree outside the 
window. They seem to be working mechanically, like living, breathing, human 
machines. Each movement is carried out automatically, quickly and efficiently, 
but without apparent thought — as though their bodies belonged to the par- 
ticular job that they were doing. As though when they began the job, their 
minds were suspended in space, having no control over their actions. 

Time hangs nearly motionless. Arms rise and fall regularly, run through 
a cycle and start over. China is being made ! As though on a huge belt run 
by clockwork the chain operations that make up each finished shape progress. 
Tick . . . the raw materials for a cup are mixed. Tick . . . they are ground 
and screened. Tick . . . the cup is jiggered. Tick . . . the cup is dried and 
taken from the mold. Tick ... a handle and foot that have been prepared 
along a parallel line are stuck to it. Tick . . . the cup is finished. And so on 
until the cup is ready to be sold ; each human machine picks it up as it stops 
before him, does one operation, and returns the cup only to pick up another. 

The sleepiness of the early morning seems to merge and lose itself in the 
fatigue that spreads over one and engulfs him as the day wears on. To a 



March, 1950 29 

factory worker the question isn't "Are you tired?" but "How are you tired?" 
Are you sleepy because it's early morning and you hate to wake up fully enough 
to know that another drab day has begun? Are you mentally tired from trying 
to think about something that could take your mind away from this dusty 
gray room with its incessant roar? Are you stuffed from eating too much lunch 
in your attempt to substitute one of the baser animal pleasures, eating, for 
those which you must give up in order to make a living? Or are you physically 
tired, but mentally vigorous at the prospect of going home soon? 

In a factory, work is monotony and monotony is work. Each day follows 
regularly on the heels of the preceding day and is its exact duplicate. Yet if 
one is to progress, he must do his work better than someone else is doing it, 
or better than it has been done before. He must think about the job while all 
his impulses warn him that if he is to continue this torture, his mind must be 
focused on something else or he will surely go mad. 

After a time, one who has not been careful must inevitably slip into the 
stoical mental immobility of the machine for which lie is a substitute — a ma- 
chine which as yet may not have been invented but could be and will be when 
labor costs rise high enough. In this complacency a worker has arrived at a 
position far worse than the stormy dissatisfaction he held before. He has 
achieved the sublime : the absence of thought for a period of eight hours a 
day, forty hours a week. He is an empty shell utterly devoid of imagination 
and originality. 

But he has also achieved happiness. At five o'clock he stops work, again 
disappears into the locker room and reappears struggling into his coat, grasping 
his empty lunch pail in one hand. One by one the machines stop, plunging the 
building back into stillness. The time clock clangs ''good night," and he dis- 
appears around the corner. Motors cough and start ; car lights blink on ; the 
cars back around and bump happily away over Corona Avenue's chuck holes. 



Anna Karenina 

Gene Windchy 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 

THE THEME OF^TVA^^ KARENINA IS THE SEARCH FOR THE 
meaning of life, the key to the social, religious, and economic problems 
that arose in Russia during the 1870's. 
Russia of the 1870's was in a state of turmoil. Social and' economic con- 
ditions were fast becoming untenable because of the co-existence of the feudal 
and capitalistic systems. Because of this antagonistic situation, the period was 
necessarily one of political and social reform. What the Russians wanted to 
know was how they could eslabli.sh harmony. In what direction should they 



30 The Green Caldron 

head ? What should be their goal ? Should they follow the Church ? Should 
they follow a code of moral principles ? If so, what principles ? 

Each of the principal characters in Anna Karenina is guided by a different 
philosophy which he takes to be the meaning of life. With the exception of 
Anna, each is representative of some element in the Russian aristocracy. 

Though their codes are diverse, the characters other than Anna are all 
motivated "in terms of the role in society." Anna believes that the only im- 
portant thing in life is to love and be loved and is therefore motivated from 
within. 

Anna decided to abandon her husband and child because of her love for 
Count Vronsky. She later decided to kill herself because she could no longer 
love — she had come to hate Vronsky. 

Count Vronsky represents the shallow urban aristocracy which acts ac- 
cording to a fixed set of principles based on "honor." To Vronsky it is dis- 
honorable to evade a gambling debt but not so to avoid paying a tailor. It is 
proper to give an insult but disgraceful to accept one. 

When Vronsky is confronted by a situation (the birth of his child by Anna) 
not covered by his principles, he thinks of self-destruction and does attempt to 
kill himself. 

Alexey Alexandrovitch, Anna's husband, is representative of that element 
guided by formalities. Whether of marriage or money, Karenin's problems 
are solved rationally according to social conventions and religious traditions. 
Deserted by Anna, Karenin is in an unconventional position and therefore must 
lose himself in religion. 

Levin represents the liberal landed nobility and is the medium of Tolstoi's 
own philosophy. Until late in the story, Levin believes the meaning of life lies 
in his work, the management of his farm and the welfare of his peasants. 
When he becomes convinced of the unimportance of his work and can no longer 
act in accordance with his role as a landowner. Levin almost attempts suicide. 

Vronsky and Karenin, in effect, merely intensify their former codes of 
conduct. Levin, however, accepts an entirely new philosophy. Where Anna 
failed, Levin succeeds. Anna searched for love and placed her trust on the 
shaky foundation of an earthly person. But Levin finds an unshakable love, a 
spiritual love. 

Levin decides that it accomplishes nothing to live for one's work or anythir^ 
else temporal, but one should live for God. 

Levin's motivation thenceforth comes from within, and the tragedy of the 
story is softened by this continuation of the spirit of Anna. 



March, 1950 31 

Why Be AfraiiJ? 

Ernest Kaufman 
Rhetoric 101 

THERE WAS A TIME WHEN I WAS AFRAID TO ADMIT THAT 
I am Jewish. I was so afraid that I believed onh' complete assimilation 
could save me and my fellows. It is only natural that I should think that 
way, for all I had ever known was fear and discrimination. 

When I was six years old, my parents left Germany to escape Hitler's 
hatred for the Jews. When the Fuehrer overtook Holland, our new home, I 
could not understand why my parents were so grief-stricken. Soon, however, 
I learned the reason for their sadness. Hitler's heroes began to restrict our 
freedoms. Many of us were sent to concentration camps. At first there were 
some who were exempt. We were among those. How we rejoiced ; we were 
safe. Safe, no, safety did not exist with the Nazis around. 

Thus I learned the futility of all attempts to escape discrimination. I saw 
my relatives being dragged away never to be heard of again. My friends 
disappeared one by one, until only my mother and I were left to return. 

Then I began to wonder, "What makes them hate us?" I could not find 
the answer to this question. As far as I could see there was only one difference 
between them and me, and that was religion ; therefore I concluded that our 
own ways of praying to God should be abandoned, and the ways of the others 
should be accepted. This feeling was strengthened throughout the two years in 
the concentration camps. It became almost an obsession when I finally learned 
what had happened to my relatives. They were murdered in cold blood. Why, 
I cannot understand to this day ; but of this I was sure, I was not going to end 
up that way. Rather than that I would give up Judaism. 

Then I came to the United States. I met new people. What surprised me 
most was that they were not afraid to say that they were Jewish. On the 
contrary, they were proud of their religion. I heard of Thomas Jefferson's 
great words: 

"We believe these truths to be self-evident ; that all men are created equal ; 

that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights ; that 

among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness." 
Then it slowly dawned on me that I must not be afraid. I am one of the people 
Jefferson spoke about. I, too, have these rights, not only in the United States, 
but everywhere ; for this world belongs to Him who gave us these inalienable 
rights. 

I know now that giving in to fear is foolish. Only if I myself stand up for 
freedom from discrimination can I hope to persuade others to do the same. 
Perhaps some day we will see a truly free world. 



32 The Green Caldron 



The Contributors 

Willard L. Baker — Brookfield H. S., Brookfield, Mo. 

Benjamin T, Brown — Rantoul Twp. H. S. 

Ralph Butler — West Rockford H. S. 

Joel Cord — Von Steuben, (Chicago) 

Joseph Dorgan — Libertyville 

Jo Garrison — Marion Twp. H. S. 

Barbara R. Hamm — Paxton Community H. S. 

John James — Oak Park High School 

Ernest Kaufman — Princeton N. J. High School 

Peter J. Moore — Loyola Academy 

Charles E. Reel — Harrishurg Twp. H. S. 

Sally Richardson — Springfield H. S. 

Robert Simon — Antioch Township H. S. 

Margareth Strout — La Salle-Peru Twp. H. S. 

Merrill Thompson — East Aurora High 

Gene Windchy — Concordia College H. S. Dept., Milwaukee 



.SL ' 



Fhe Green Caldron 

A Magazine of Freshman Writing 

THE LIBRARY OF THE 

:am 2'> 1952 ^ 

L'NIVLrtSllY Oh ILL!.<OIS 

CONTENTS 

Ronald Carver: The Need for the Study of Great Books ... 1 

R. L. Watson: Those Swinging Doors 4 

Lorence Collins: Delightful Observation of Birds 5 

Anita Mae Stahl: Stahl in Defense of Monogamy 8 

Marvin E. Mayer: Black Magic 9 

William Loyd: Attic Reminiscence 12 

Benjamin T. Brown: Voice in the Wilderness 13 

Ralph Butler: Dead End 15 

j Joel Cord: The Dreyfus Affaire 16 

Marilyn Minks: Wanted: a Gal 22 

Bernard Slebel: A Nourished Mind — the Engineer .... 23 

Frieda Post: Fallacy Fannie 24 

Anonymous: Scientific Analysis or Propaganda? 26 

Tom T. Wilson: Cross-Currents 27 

Rhet as Writ 28 

ri The Contributors 29 



Vol. 19, No. 4 MAY, 1950 

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 



T 

JLh] 



_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. 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 John Bellamy, Marjqrie Brown, Glenn Carey, 
Beulah Charmley, George Conkin, Virginia Murray, and 
John Speer, Chairman. 

The Green Caldron is for sale at the Illini Union Bookstore, 
Champaign, Illinois, at twenty-five cents a copy. 



THE GREEN CALDRON 

Copyrighted 1930 

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 Need ror tne Study or 
tne Great Books 



Ronald Carver 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 3 

THERE IS A VITAL NEED FOR THE STUDY OF THE 
world's great books. The most compelling reason for this study is the 
decline of popular taste in literature. Writing of the so-called "simple" 
and "human" varieties is in the ascendant, and there are few indications, if 
any, to show the existence of a reverse tendency. The great literature of the 
world, to the creation of which men with fine minds devoted their lives and 
their energies, has become synonymous on the mass level with stodginess, 
dullness, and even "highbrowism." 

The great writers have been replaced by the "new" writers, who are 
considered clever because "they have discovered sex," and because they bor- 
row liberally from the latest scientific findings in psychology, sociology, etc. 
Too, they are considered clever because "they know what the people want," 
and give it to them in copious and unending doses. 

The cry is raised in many quarters that the study of the great books by the 
masses is merely another form of the "mass snobbism" set in motion for 
reasons of profit by the book clubs and other publishers. In answer to this 
charge it can be said that the study of the great books was instituted by a 
group of learned men whose motivation was the sincere desire to help their 
fellow men to enrich their lives by encouraging them to exercise their own 
powers of thought. In this they may be compared to certain figures of the 
Northern Renaissance who sought to bring the writings of the ancients to the 
widest possible audience. Simply because some alert publishers have exploited 
the movement for their own profitable ends by bringing out expensive and 
beautiful editions of great books, thus appealing to the snobbish elements 
of the nation, does not mean that the originators of the popular study of the 
great books are trying to spread snobbism. 

Then, too, it is claimed that the people are not hungry for knowledge so 
much as they are anxious for diversion. But the mistake here is in the impli- 
cation that diversion must necessarily be "unprofitable leisure." Why must 
this be so ? Must a hardworking man necessarily flop into his easy chair at 
the end of his day's work and always switch on the radio, or pick up his funny- 
book, or go down to the corner tap to guzzle beer and chin pointlessly with 
his cronies? Can workers generally divert themselves only by joining bowling 
teams, by playing cards, by going to the motion pictures, or by attending 

[1 I 



L 



2 The Green Caldron 

parties ? Certainly, all of these can be considered a part of the class of things 
that divert one. 

But they are only a part of the class. There are many other things or 
pursuits in which diversion may be found, or from which diversion may be 
gained. Study can divert. "Of course it can," the argument persists, "but it 
does not entertain." Well, this is but the statement of taste. Those who are 
against study as such claim that it does not entertain. Those who believe 
otherwise say that study can entertain. The originators of the popular study 
of the great books feel that study can entertain. Thus leisure time can be 
profitably employed, because the person studying for diversion in his leisure 
time will actually be working towards the betterment of himself. The profit- 
able employment of leisure time is considered to be a mark of the civilized man. 

Now, an important question arises. Can the study of the great books really 
bring about a reversal in the downward trend of popular tastes in literature. 
It can, and for the following reasons. First, most people are interested in 
developing themselves. They want to be aware of what is going on in the 
world, and what has gone on in the world. By aiding this desire, the study 
of the great books helps to set off a trend against inferior tastes. It encourages 
the individual himself to determine the issues in important discussions, to 
weigh more carefully the sides in disputes or arguments, to look more closely 
into the nature of things, and to avoid flinging himself into the whirlpool of 
unworthy mass trends. The study of the great books will foster a love of fine 
writing among those who apply themselves to the study. People who study 
the great books will soon come to recognize the difference between inferior 
writing and fine writing. Finally, they will devote themselves to the reading 
of good literature. And even if a person reads only cursorily in the great 
books, he will still come into contact with great ideas and thoughts. Such a 
meeting cannot fail to have the consequence of making a person take closer 
stock of himself. 

It is more beneficial for a person to struggle with a good book that is diffi- 
cult to read, and to attempt to master it, than for him to read a hundred so- 
called "light" books. For in struggling with the material of the better book 
he will be forced to use all of his intellectual powers, to drive deeper into him- 
self. It is argued that this "intellectual struggling" is useless for those who i. 
are not intellectually inclined and capable. It is said that this sort of struggling ' 
leads on to despair and frustration, that it is an utter waste of time if one can 
never hope to understand the nature of the material. But this is not so. No 
person who studies with the end of improving himself is wasting time. Despair 
he may, become frustrated he may, but he is always moving forward. He is 
not sliding backward into slothfulness. Perhaps he may never become a 
scholar. But it is not necessarily the object of the originators of the popular 
study of the great books to make scholars out of ordinary men and women. 
The major objective of the study is to make more and more men and women 



May, 1950 3 

aware of the world they Hve in and their true place in it as "thinking" beings 
who will not easily be taken advantage of by scoundrels ; who will not easily 
succumb to the hasty generalizations and the mass attitudes which do so much 
to submerge the individual. 

No one can deny that the wisdom of the past belongs to all men. It is 
theirs for the taking. And the wisdom of the past should always be a part of 
the cultivated man's intellectual equipment. Not merely for ornament, but 
for use and enjoj^ment. His knowledge of the past will provide him with an 
insight into the actions and events of the present time, and even into the future. 
Some might reply that this knowledge can be gained only over a long period 
of time and by great effort. No one denies this, least of all those who originated 
the popular study of the great books. They believe one should devote not just 
a few minutes a day to the study of the great books, but rather a lifetime. 
They believe that men should never cease learning. No man can ever hope to 
gain even a fraction of all the knowledge of the world. But he can constantly 
learn. 

There can be no doubt that the widespread study of the great books would 
widen the intellectual horizons of men and aid greatly in helping them form 
cultivated tastes. The individual intellectual effort required for their study 
is far more valuable than the slickly contrived "How To . . ." articles of the 
"Digests" and "Women's Magazine," or the flow of books, offering tailor- 
made philosophies for $3.50 and two evenings of one's time, that constantly 
clutter up the horizons of knowledge. The study of great books encourages 
every man to be his own philosopher. Others would deprive him of this 
privilege and need, and would foist off on him their own ideas and thoughts 
without regard to his own intellectual powers. No other approach to the 
problem of bettering popular tastes in literature can be as effective as one 
which aids the individual to be his own arbiter in matters of judgment and 
taste. And enough individuals, thus equipped, will be able finally to reverse 
the decline of popular tastes in literature and in other important things. The 
study of the great books can bring this about. 



m 



The Green Caldron 



Tk 



D. 



ose D\\^inging .Uoors 

R. L. Watson 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 13 

THE MASSIVE DOOR BEGINS ITS CLOSING SWING, AND 
another poor, unsuspecting student bites the dust. The student picks 
himself up, assumes a determined stance, and again charges at the door. 
He hits the door with a resounding thud, and barely sneaks through. As he 
walks up the final flight of stairs, a mild complaint is heard, "I'll be damned if 
I'll ever take another course in Engineering Hall!" 

Engineering Hall is the home of engineers. Not only does it house most 
of the records and offices, but it supplies a test on all who enter. Yes, one 
really has to be an engineer to open the door into that den of higher learning. 

I have often imagined that the Dean of Engineers stands at the top of the 
stairs and watches the students enter. He can pick out his bright-eyed boys 
by the attack they use on this barrier. The door is continually swinging, due 
to the numerous people that pass through those portals, and the engineer al- 
ways bides his time until the door is at the peak of its swing. Then with a 
small amount of pressure on the right places, the door majestically swings 
open. 

I can also imagine that the Dean gets in a few chuckles, now and then, 
when some non-engineer, who happens to get stuck with a course which meets 
away up north, tries to battle his way into his class. The P.E. major gets a 
running charge, and usually, after the three or four tries, manages to batter 
his way in, using his head as a club. The L.A.S. major walks confidently up, 
gives a little push, grunts in disgust, and then decides he had better not go to 
class today. The campus queen tries waiting it out, hoping that some engineer 
will generously hold the door open for her. She usually waits in vain though, 
for engineers haven't time to look at women. 

The Dean is in great fear of agriculture students. One of them, after 
several futile attempts, disappeared and returned again in a few minutes with 
a team of mules. "Lose more doors that way," the Dean exclaimed as he sent 
out a set of special instructions to be read to all future farmers. 

The Dean of Engineering along with the other professors who reside in 
Engineering Hall, has come to the conclusion that it takes brains to be an , 
engineer. I am inclined to agree with him, for it takes brains to try to \ 
maneuver that massive door. If, perhaps, you are wondering why there are 
still so many small, puny, weak-looking engineers, walk around to the side 
door of Engineering Hall and see how the engineers are using their brains 
and saving their brawn by going in the side door. 



May, 1950 

Delidntrul Otservation or Birds 



LoRENCE Collins 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

SOME ONE ONCE. SAID THAT WHEN GOD FINISHED CREAT- 
ing the earth He had a few colors left over from the rainbow, so He 
created the birds. 

Who can deny the beauty of brilliant blue-green indigo bunting perched 
high on a limb of an oak tree ? The sudden appearance of that little bird always 
makes me stop to hear its beautiful song and gaze at its splendid colors. 

I shall never forget the awe and admiration I had for a beautiful scarlet 
tanager as it was flitting through the trees. Its brilliant red and black body 
shining in bold contrast among the green leaves in the blazing sunhght was 
like a sparkling red ruby rolled onto a green felt cloth. I was very sorry when 
it finally flew away, for I could have spent the whole afternoon looking at it. 

Once, while hiking along a railroad, I saw a gold finch eating thistle seeds 
on top of a prickly thistle plant. Its brilliant yellow body, black cap, and black 
wings contrasting with the purple flowers of the green thistle plant as it 
swayed in the gentle breeze, furnished a lasting and beautiful memory in my 
mind. 

Ruby-throated hummingbirds have always gained my admiration. I spent 
fully one-half hour at the bottom of a dip in a road watching them. The road 
crossed an old ivy-colored bridge. A cool, clear stream bubbled underneath 
the rocks and tangled masses of grass and sticks. The banks were covered 
with billowing masses of golden yellow flowers of the jewel weed, and that 
was where the hummingbirds were feeding. The ruby-throated hummingbirds 
with their brilliantly glowing vests and pale green bodies floated ghost-like 
through the air, paused on imaginary ledges in front of the dewy, bejeweled 
flowers, and drank their fill of nectar. My enjoyment of watching these in- 
teresting creatures fully made my hike worth while. 

The sight of a blackburnian warbler, a black-and-white striped bird with 
a brilliant orange head, catching minute insects in a newly-leafed soft maple 
as the sun flashed its rays upon it ; the sight of a blue bird with its soft color- 
ing and rosy-red breast winging its way to its nest in a tree ; the sight of a 
purple finch high in a sycamore tree early in the_ morning picking seeds from 
the sycamore balls ; or a glimpse of a cardinal with its brilliant red plumage 
and yellow bill picking up corn on the snow only convinces me that observation 
of bird life is an intriguing hobby. 

Some of the prettiest music I have ever heard comes from the throats of 
birds. The warbling, musical, bubbling song of a wood thrush deep in the 



6 The Green Caldron 

woods, like a stream filled with joy ; the sweet soothing call of a field sparrow, 
as it sweeps the fields for insects ; the mournful call of a sleepy mourning dove 
sitting on a telephone wire ; the cheery call of a cardinal ; the musical caroling 
of a rose-breasted grosbeak eating cherries in the spring ; the musical burst of 
the song of a house wren in the back-yard grape vines ; the bell-like ring of 
the j unco's call as it works north in the spring; and the spontaneous call of a 
brown thrasher perched high in a tree ; all these songs are much prettier and 
lovelier to me than any of the music produced by man. 

The unusual songs of other birds always provide me with an unlimited 
amount of amusement. The tufted titmouse is continually calling for a lost 
friend. "Peter, Peter, Peter," can be heard everywhere when a tufted tit- 
mouse is around. Then there is the clear call of a white-throated sparrow 
calling: "Old Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody." The oven bird sounds as 
if it were yelling — "Teacher, teacher, teacher," and the more familiar blue jay 
calls everyone a thief. The killdeer, phoebe, peewee, whip-poor-will, and 
chickadee announce their arrival by singing their own name. The belted king- 
fisher makes a dry wood-like rattle as it flies with peculiar uneven wing-beats 
from one fishing area to another. 

One of the interesting things about birds is the antics that they can display 
which are like a side-show at times. Each bird has a few characteristic tricks 
of its own. A black and white warbler starts up a tree in one direction and 
then heads the other way, which results in a zig-zag motion all the way up 
the tree. The brown creeper starts at the base of a tree and works its way 
upward as if it were climbing a spiral staircase. Around and around it goes. 
The gold finch also has an unusual peculiarity. When it flies, it doesn't fly 
in a straight line. It flies in an up-and-down motion. First flapping its wings 
with a tremendous effort, it gains altitude. Then, like a clowning diver who 
holds his arms at his sides, the gold finch plunges earthward for three or four 
feet. Resuming its wing motion again, the gold finch regains altitude, thus 
starting the whole process all over again. Why it doesn't flap its wings contin- 
uously I cannot explain, but it always bounces through the air. The oven bird 
also can be most startling when you first see it. It is a bird about the size of a 
sparrow. Most birds do their traveling on the ground by hopping. But no, not 
this bird, it just calmly comes walking out from under a bush, gives you the 
eye, and struts majestically back in. The phoebe seems to have an itch in its 
tail, for it continuously wags its tail whenever the bird is resting on a limb. 
The Louisiana water thrush appears to be dodging unseen missiles, for it is 
always bobbing up and down. 

It is always the unexpected that gives me a thrill. While on a bird hike 
once, I was astonished to find a little bird, not much bigger than a chicken 
egg, flitting through the low bushes. So tiny, but not afraid, it would let me 
come within ten feet of it. At first I though this drab, olive green little bird 
was rather unattractive. But I was soon to discover differently, for it tipped 



» 



May, 1950 7 

its head over toward me, and in the bright sunHght glowed a brilliant red spot 
on the top of its head. It looked as if a painter had accidentally dropped some 
red paint upon it. This ruby-crowned kinglet, as it is justly called, may be a 
small bird in itself, but it had more beauty than I first suspected. 

Another one of my entertaining, unpredictable birds is the crested fly- 
catcher. Perhaps you have heard the "woody-woodpecker" laugh, the great 
Gildersleeve laugh, a loon laugh, or a friend who has a, crazy laugh. I have 
heard them all. and I thought that for laughs, they were tops ! This was before 
I heard a crested flycatcher laugh. Every time I hear it, a big smile spreads 
from ear to ear. and before I know it I am lying on the grass, rolling over and 
over with laughter. It can't be described and can only be appreciated when 
one has heard it, but it has provided me with no end of amusement. 

Not all of my trips have been in a woods. I have walked, during the spring 
migration of birds, as little as four blocks away from my home in Champaign 
and have seen as many as forty different kinds of birds. 

But the most unusual bird that I have ever observed was discovered while 
I was camping on the shore of Lake Michigan. The day was hot, but the 
sand of the dunes felt comfortably warm. I was laboring up the side of one 
of the larger dunes when I suddenly heard a sound like a child's horn on a 
tricycle — "Beep, beep, — beep." That seemed very odd to me, for a sandy dune 
was certainly no place for a child on a tricycle. Again I heard the sound — 
"Beep! Beep!" and then I discovered it. Flitting through the top of a pine 
tree was a little bird which had absolutely no more respect for gravity than a 
man on the moon. Out across the limb, back underneath the limb, and straight 
down the tree-trunk, head first it went. No other bird ever does this. A bug 
just hasn't a chance against this "up-side-down" red-breasted nuthatch. 

But the biggest thrill I ever had in observing birds was the time when I 
was on a canoe trip in Wisconsin. Camp was set up, and I was enjoying a 
short hike through the woods. Suddenly a tremendously loud, penetrating call 
echoed through the trees. I knew it was a bird, for the call sounded similar to 
a flicker's call, but I was totally unprepared for what happened next. A large 
shadow went through the trees above, and then I saw the bird alight on the 
side of a tree ahead. It looked like a bomber as it came swooping down to the 
tree. It was an enormous woodpecker fully a foot and a half tall. The solid 
black body with a large white stripe on each side of the neck, the brilliant red 
pointed crest, and the large bill made it resemble a man dressed in a tuxedo, 
going to a dance. The moment I saw it I knew that it was a pileated wood- 
pecker, but I never dreamed that I would ever get to see a real one. 

So I have come to believe that in the realm of nature there is always some- 
thing unusual, unpredictable, and unexpected to discover. Each bird note 
draws my attention like a magnet and helps me to appreciate the beauties and 
wonders of creation. 



8. The Green Caldron 

Stanl in Derense or Monogamy 

Anita Mae Stahl 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 4 

HOW VERY MUCH THE TYPICAL, EGOTISTICAL, MAN MR. 
Brown did sound in his discussion of polygamy ! I, as a woman, feel 
that the only thing which he need be praised for is the courage he must 
have had to put before the public his false and thoroughly ridiculous ideas. I 
am sure that had he not been a trifle under the weather (this is merely a 
lady-like way of saying "plastered") he would never have been brave enough 
to voice them even to a close masculine friend. 

Needless to say, I heartily disagree with what Mr. Brown says. Please 
don't misunderstand me. I have nothing against Mr. Brown. He, I am sure, 
is really a meek, submissive little man with a receding forehead and spectacles 
before his near-sighted eyes, definitely not the type to speak back to one wife, 
let alone five. Rather, I am opposed to Mr. Brown's ideas, which are really 
the ideas of the conceited, self-centered, average man. How little they know 
about women ! 

Mr. Brown stated that his friend lacked imagination, but he himself is the 
one without it. His thoughts brought him only the points he considered good 
and left him there. He did not consider the obvious bad points. How blind 
men are ! Lacking time and space, I will not repeat the arguments of Waldo 
of Mr. Brown's theme. These were all good points, showing that Waldo is a 
man of great intellect and culture, even if his name does make him sound like 
a trained seal. I will try to look at this from a man's point of view and show 
that all of the little things that a man finds disagreeable would be multiplied by 
the number of wives he had. 

For instance, I wonder how Mr. Brown feels about his mother-in-law. 
Would the happiness he achieves by having five wives make up for having five 
mothers-in-law? I doubt it. 

Early in his article Mr. Brown stated a definite dislike for women's bridge 
parties. Would five bridge parties be better than one? I think not. (Please 
note I refrain from any derogatory remarks about men's poker games, which 
are thoroughly disgusting. ) 

Mr. Brown was staying home, taking care of his children. With five wives 
he would have five times as many children, five times as many childish ques- 
tions to answer, five times as many sticky lollipops to sit on, and, unable to 
handle about twenty-five children alone, he would have to hire a whole crew 
of baby sitters. Did this occur to Mr. Brown when he so staunchly fought for 
polygamy? Apparently not. 

Mv strongest and last point is one which I feel rather guilty about since it 



May, 1950 9 

means I am telling a feminine trade secret. I will tell it, if only for the pleasure 
of deflating a few male egos. Does Mr. Brown realize how his wives would 
manage him ? Few men know it, but they say and do e.xactly what their wives 
tell them to, even if they think they are their own boss. Women accomplish 
this in various ways. Perhaps the most frequently used method is the con- 
trarv one. We know that men (such obstinate things) will do exactly the 
opposite of what we tell them. Therefore, if we want the door open we tell 
a man to shut it, and we. can be sure that it will remain open. I can not divulge 
any more methods because they are universal secrets, but I think you get the 
idea. Mr. Brown now does exactly what one wife wants him to do. Five wives 
would make Mr. Brown a very busy man. 

I feel that no more arguments are necessary. In fact, none were ever 
really necessary because no matter how long Mr. Brown and other pompous 
males will argue, they can never win. You see, they are opposed by women 
and that makes all the difiference. 



Black M 



agic 

Marvin E. M.-wer 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 9 

M.\NY YEARS AGO THERE LIVED IN BOLOGNA, ITALY, A 
cobbler named Vincenzo Cascariolo, who pursued the interesting art 
of alchemy. During an expedition to Mt. Pesoro, his attention was at- 
tracted by the sparkle of a heavy rock which glistened with an unearthly 
brilliance.^ Greatly excited, he lugged it home and heated it in his furnace, 
hoping it would enable him to produce gold. But much to his sorrow, it did 
not. 

In the spring of 1944, three hundred and forty-two years later, a scientist, 
not an alchemist, brought another rock back from the mountains. Beneath 
ordinary light it was a drab, gray stone which no one would look at twice. 
But in darkness, under ultra-violet light, it burst into a mass of exuberant 
red, flecked with spots of vivid green. ^ In the last few years, dozens of men 
like him have been bringing home rocks, natural and synthetic, grinding them 
up, causing them to emit weird hues, and doing astonishing things that the 
old cobbler never dreamed of doing. Where Cascariolo failed, they have suc- 
ceeded, producing wealth that would have made the old man dizzy. 

They call this peculiar behavior "fluorescence," a word that will do as well 

^"Fluorescence," Encyclopedia Britannica, vol. 9 (1946 ed.), p. 422. 
"Judith Richardson, "Color Magic with Black Light," Popular Mechanics, vol. 891 
(June, 1945), p. 107. 



10 The Green Caldron 

as any other. The name was first used because fluorspar is one of the long Kst 
of substances which emits light of various specific colors upon stimulation by 
certain wave lengths from a part of the spectrum which man does not ordinar- 
ily use. The cobbler's curious find sparkled as it did because the ultra-violet 
part of the sun's rays evoked its fluorescence. If he had possessed the equip- 
ment of our modern laboratories, he would have been even more astonished 
by its brilliance. 

Armed with invisible ultra-violet light and varieties of materials which 
fluoresce, physicists and illumination engineers are playing a fascinating game 
these days. From the array of bottles, they pour little mounds of powder on a 
bench, powders which are all white under daylight or ordinary lamp light. 
When the "black light" is turned on in the dark laboratory, each mound glows 
with its own characteristic fluorescence color, and the experimenter is con- 
fronted with a dazzling rainbow spectacle of pastel blues, greens and yellows. 
The familiar color of an object which happens to possess fluorescence has no 
relation to its hue when stimulated by ultra-violet. We call a fresh egg white 
or brown because it looks that way under ordinary light. Under ultra-violet 
of the right wave length, it has a reddish glow. "Black light" can analyze a 
pretty girl's face with very uncomplimentary keenness : the powder around 
the roots of a girl's hair is purple ; the dye in her hair is gray ; the wash ap- 
plied around her eyes to make them sparkle is yellow ; her rouge is yellow, and 
if she smokes, there is a yellowish color around her mouth due to nicotine 
atain.' 

However, the difference does not stop there. The light which comes from 
an object under daylight is only a reflection, but a fluorescent object activated 
by ultra-violet becomes an extraordinarily efficient converter or middleman 
of light on its own account. Because of this property, the "black magic" of 
1602 is a modern tool which within a single decade has become indispensable 
in industry, commerce, and scientific analyses. "Fluorescence," which yester- 
day was an obscure and poorly used word used only by physicists, is now on 
everyone's tongue, and there is hardly a street in America v.here its effect is 
not visible. 

When the big fairs of New York and San Francisco opened their gates in 
1939 with their bright prophesies of a brave new world, one of the first things 
that impressed the visitors was a glass wand which gave out a new kind of 
light.* At the Flushing spectacle, more than ten miles of these tubes produced 
a soft, diffused, yet powerful illumination, unlike anything that had been seen 
before. Glowing in many colors, they flooded the streets and exhibits with 
hues unrivaled in purity and brilliance and played a major part in creating 
the atmosphere of a futuristic wonderland. 

What people saw was the public unveiling of fluorescent light, the first 

'Jim Marshall, "That New Black Magic," Collier's, vol. 113 (Sept. 30, 1944), p. 66. 
* Harland Manchester, New World of Machines, pp. 66-67. 



May, 1950 11 

radical departure in illumination since Edison's invention of the filament 
electric bulb. Dazzled by the glittering parade of novelties, spectators dis- 
missed the luminous tube as only another new toy for the decoration of fairs 
and carnivals. In this opinion, they were not alone. Even many lighting 
experts who recognized the revolutionary nature of the new light believed that 
it would be used only for advertising and display, like a neon sign. All 
doubters were caught off balance, for since that time, fluorescent lighting has 
swept the country in a boom of amazing proportions. 

The new lamp uses a completely new method for converting electricity into 
light. It has no filament like the ordinary light bulb. Mercury vapor in the 
tube gives oflf ultra-violet light when the current is passed through it, and the 
ultra-violet light, striking a chalklike chemical coating with which the tube 
is lined, is converted into light suitable for illumination.' It is pleasanter, 
cooler, easier on the eyes, and vastly more efficient than any other light ever 
invented for general use. 

In offices, stores, and restaurants, the quality of the new light is quickly 
noticeable, for every corner of the room appears to be flooded with soft, evenly 
distributed light. Overhead in clusters, or perhaps fixed vertically on the walls, 
are the gleaming tubular fluorescent bars, sometimes bare, sometimes partially 
shielded with grids made of glass or a translucent porcelain-like plastic. In 
either case, you can look at the tubes without hurting your eyes. You will 
notice that like Peter Pan, you have lost your shadow. This is because the 
sharp "point lighting" of the ordinary bulb has been eliminated. The tube has 
ten times the surface area of a regular light bulb of the same wattage, so the 
light is spread out as evenly as melted butter on a piece of toast. 

But this use is only one phase of the fluorescent boom. The active principle 
of the lamp has been adapted to a score of important uses. It has given pathol- 
ogists a valuable new weapon in the study of disease ; it saves the crops of the 
potato farmers ; detects mould and adulteration in foodstuffs, and it has a 
multitude of combat uses where "seeing in the dark" may save lives. ** Re- 
activated fluorescent dye powders have saved many aviators forced down at 
sea as the addition of this powder to the water tints a large area, making it 
visible to rescue planes. Maps may be encased in a fluorescent plastic which 
makes them visible when exposed to a "black light." ' Another modern 
achievement is the answer to the problem of marking laundry. People mark 
their clothing with a fluorescent dye and the man who makes up the packages 
and sorts the garments works under invisible light. 

Many years ago, Dr. Robert W. Wood, noted for his brilliant contributions 
to the knowledge of fluoresence as well as for his scientific pranks, brought 
forth the spectacular stage effect by which a line of chorus girls could be 
suddenly transformed into dancing skeletons or a row of bodiless shoes, 

' Ibid., p. 69. 

'"Safer Future Promised," Science News Letter, vol. 15 (May 13, 1944), p. 317. 

' Ibid. 



12 The Green Caldron 

gloves and hats.* This is done by painting the costumes with fluorescent mate- 
rial which cannot be seen under ordinary theatre lights. When the lights are 
turned out and the stage flooded with invisible ultra-violet light, only fluores- 
cent markings are visible ; advertising billboards have used the same technique 
to make a sign carry a double message at night, when lit alternately with 
ordinary bulbs and "black light." Night clubs also use it. At the turn of a 
switch, walls which are ordinarily blank blossom forth with romantic, tropical 
vistas. These uses and numerous others make this mystery of yesterday the 
hope of the future. 

From the cobbler's discovery of the "Bologna stone," as it was then called, 
to the experimentations of today, fluorescence has helped revolutionize the 
modern age. 

' Harland Manchester, New World of Machines, p. 79. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

"Fluorescence," F.ncyclopcdia Americana, 1946 ed., vol. 11, p. 401. 
"Fluorescence," Encyclopedia Britannica, 1946 ed., vol. 9, pp. 422-426. 
LucKiESH, M., The Lighting Art, McGraw-Hill Book Co., Inc., New York, 1917. 
Manchester, Harland, New World of Machines, Random House of Canada Limited. 

Canada, 1945. 
Marshall, Jim, "That New Black Magic," Collier's, vol. 113, pp. 66-75 (September 30, 

1944). 
"More Light Urged," Business Week, vol. 871, pp. 39-41 (May 11, 1946). 
Richardson, Judith, "Color Magic with Black Light," Popular Mechanics, vol. 891, pp. 

106-112 (June, 1945), 
"Safer Future Promised," Science News Letter, vol. 15, p. 317 (May 13, 1944). 



Attic Reminiscence 

William Lovd 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 15 

XS,r^PRlNG CLEANING." UGH! WHAT A WORD! JUST BE- 
^^ cause it's that time of year, I have to piddle around doing work for my 
mom. 

"Bill, I want you to clean out that box of junk that's cluttering up the 
attic," she says. 

What I say shouldn't be mentioned. 

The idea! Just because it's a gloomy rainy day, I should do some work 
around the house. Oh well, I guess there's no getting out of it ; the law has 
been passed, and the penalty for refusing is high. I might as well dump the 
whole box. There's nothing in it except some old shoes, a dance program, a 
red hat, and some old letters. 

Hmm. I haven't seen the loafers for a long time. I wonder where I bought 



May, 1950 13 

them? Wasn't it in Portland, Oregon, three years ago? Of course, and that 
dance program — it's from the Junior-Senior Prom at Gresham High School. 
On the last page of the program there is a note signed with the same name 
that is stitched on the red hat : Gay Wilson. 

Gay lived in Portland, fifteen miles from Gresham, and, during the sum- 
mers, stayed at her uncle's farm which was next to ours. We met late in the 
summer before the prom, when my family moved to Gresham. Soon she was 
wearing my class ring, and during the school year I went into Portland every 
week-end to see her. The other fellows were clearly resentful of a newcomer 
going steady with the best-looking girl in town, and I was very jealous of 
anyone who even looked at her. We used to take long walks and discuss how 
we would be married and settle down in some little town after graduation. 

Then, one day after the prom, some of the fellows at school told me a rumor 
that Gay was going out with a boy from Portland. Like a fool I believed it, 
and the next week-end I went to see her, building up jealous hate as I drove 
along the highway. When I accused her of going out with another boy she 
denied it, but I was so mad I wouldn't believe her. In the quarrel that fol- 
lowed, she gave back my ring and said she didn't want to see me again. 

Then, to make things worse, my father decided he didn't like the Oregon 
climate, and we moved back to Illinois. I wrote letters telling her that I was 
sorry and wished to come back to see her, but the letters were returned with 
"address not known" stamped on them. After awhile I forgot about her and 
found a new girl, but even now 1 can see her face and hear her voice. 

"Bill." Her voice seems to float out of the past and find my ears. 

"Bill ?" The voice comes again — this time questioningly. 

"Bill !" There's no question in the voice now as its indignant tone cuts 
through the haze. "Haven't you finished with the box yet?" 

"Yes, I'm finished." 



Voice in tne Wilderness 

Benjamin T. Brown 
Rhetoric 102 

AN ENGLISH TEACHER IN A SMALL HIGH-SCHOOL RE- 
cently asked his pupils to name one of the works of Heinrich Heine. 
No one answered. In exasperation, and perhaps desperation, he asked 
for the name of one of Thomas B. Costain's books. This time the show of hands 
was gratifying. Or perhaps gratifying is hardly the word. At any rate, the 
instructor was appalled to realize what most thinking people have known for 
quite some time — the classics are simply no longer read. 



14 The Green Caldron 

Of course, when we say that they are no longer read, we merely mean it 
figuratively. In fact, the classics have never been widely read in this country, 
and the present day book clubs make it more and more unlikely that they ever 
shall be. When senior students in high school do not recognize Heine, the 
time is certainly long past for a change in the nation's reading habit. 

The mail order book clubs are the one most important factor in controlling 
the book selection of the vast majority of our people. They are guilty of an 
actual crime in the way in which they meet this responsibilit)' — if it can be 
said that they attempt to meet it at all. 

Those addicts of the popular printed narcotic have certain standardized 
arguments that are presented with monotonous regularity as justification for 
themselves. It is said that people read more now than ever before and that 
the book clubs are responsible for it. Sadly enough this is quite true, to a 
certain extent, but the fault lies in the fact that the reading is indiscriminate. 

Indiscriminate reading makes a jumbled mind and provides no basis on 
which a discriminating criticism may be made, and therefore the average per- 
son depends on the Sunday supplement to tell him which books are good and 
which are not. It is an insult to imply that one has not the intelligence to 
choose for himself, but it is an insult that is swallowed along with the pabulum 
of modern fiction. 

It is said that the book clubs are bringing a broader outlook and a more 
liberal education to millions of people to whom it would ordinarily not have 
been available. But the "outlook," if we may be excused the ambiguity of the 
term, is not only broadened, it is warped and twisted. Those historical novels, 
so called, of which there has been such a deluge recently, do not present a true 
picture of history. History is exciting and romantic, yes, but it is so because 
of its reality. History obtains its drama and force by the comparison of every 
day life in the past with that of today. We are quite certain, moreover, that 
the impression of an epoch left in the mind of the reader of a modern novel con- 
cerned with that particular bit of time, is a jumbled mass of inaccuracies and 
faulty conclusions. The genuine information that may be present is obscured 
by the reader's concern over the Junoesque heroine who seems to fall into 
everyone's bed more or less automatically. 

The staunch supporters of book clubs may always be heard to say, at some 
time in the discussion, that people couldn't read and understand the greats if 
given the chance. This attitude is only attributable to an ignorance on their 
part of what makes an author truly great. It is first of all the simplicity and 
universality of his writings that makes him or her remembered. It is the fact 
that these authors are on a common footing with every man and they write 
in the universal language of power and passion that all men can understand. 

The fact that the book clubs are huge money makers is not an argument 
in their favor. The money obtained by fraud from another person carries a 



May, 1950 15 

taint that cannot be erased by all the platitudes and aphorisms contained be- 
tween the covers of their publications. Moreover, the very ignorance of the 
person on whom these scavengers prey is fostered and abetted by the same 
method by which they are robbed. 

However, the picture is not quite so black as we may have painted it. There 
are a few book clubs who do bring out the works of those worthy of acclaim 
and who make them available in price to most people. Yet it is not enough. 
The flood of erotica now on the market acts as an impulse to a conditioned 
reflex, and people buy the book with the greater expanse of bare skin dis- 
played on the dust jacket. These dust jackets themselves are reason enough 
for the abolition of book clubs and are contributing factors in the general 
insane attitude toward sex in this country. 



Dead End 

Ralph Butler 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 7 

SIDNEY KINGSLEY'S DEAD END URGES REFORM IN THE 
slum environment existing in many American cities. The story concerns 
a group of boys, a cripple and his girl friend, a prostitute, and a murderer. 
All the characters are represented as helpless in determining their fate. Be- 
cause of his physical affliction, the cripple will have to go through life dreaming 
of the architect he wanted to be. It is ironic that this man, possessing the 
ability to design slum clearance projects, is prevented from doing so because 
of the same slum conditions which he could correct. The future of the boys 
is exemplified in the murderer who had grown up in the poverty of the same 
street and was well steeped in the apprenticeship in crime offered by slum 
life. Although sweet and unspoiled, the girl friend seems fated to follow in 
the steps of the prostitute. 

I believe that Kingsley was very skilful in choosing the title of his play. 
The two words Dead End have a twofold meaning. Superficially the words 
describe the setting of the play, a street ending in the East River of New York. 
Considering the purpose of the play, however, of more importance is the con- 
ception that Dead End represents the wall of poverty and ignorance which 
keep the characters from rising above their present state. The neat apartments 
they hope for will never supplant the dirty tenements for these people, unless 
others more fortunate help them. The author stresses the fact that without 
outside help his protagonists are destined to sink deeper into the mire of frus- 
tration and disappointment. 



16 The Green Caldron 

In the play, the group of people who might have aided the slum inhabitants 
are oblivious of their humanitarian opportunities. By introducing for brief 
moments in the play people who live in a luxurious new apartment building, 
Kingsley makes sharper the contrast between the people who seem to have all 
they desire and tliose who have notliing. As street repairs prohibit use of the 
front door, the bacl: entrance which opens onto the dead end street must be 
used by the residents of the apartment. Their elegance and wealth is vividly 
compared with the degradation of the urchins and other inhabitants of the 
street. Sociahties emerging from the gateway see the paper littered pavement 
and filthy river and hurry up the street to escape the distasteful sight. 



Tne Dreyms Atrair 

Joel Cord 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 5 

FRANCE IN THE EARLY 1890's WAS CONFRONTED WITH A 
struggle between two opposing political traditions, Liberalism and 
Nationalism. The conflict arose from the constant clashing between the 
diametrically opposed doctrines employed by the respective ideologies. Lib- 
eralism, on the one hand, stood for the then existing Third Republic, for 
social justice, for separation of Church and state, and for the allaying of mili- 
tary influence in the government. Nationalism, on the other hand, stood for 
everything the liberals resented : unity of the Catholic Church and the govern- 
ment, return of the monarchy, greater military influence in the government, and 
the formation of arch-reactionary domestic and foreign poHcies. All of these it 
stood for, and all of these it came very close to realizing.^ 

Of these two traditions it is the latter that interests us most. The liberal 
tradition was a direct heritage from the Revolution, while the nationalistic 
tradition found its roots in much more complicated, not to say less noble, 
sources. 

The French "integral nationalism," as it was called, was an outgrowth of 
a coalition of Jesuit, military, and aristocratic elements. This nationalism 
found its popular backing in the reaction of the French people to the military 
defeats, the financial scandals, and the political indignities that they had so 
recently experienced in the Franco-German War of 1871, the Panama inci- 
dent, and the Commune of Paris. This nascent nationalism was manifested in 
growing anti-Semitic sentiments, ultra patriotism, and the return of the 
Catholic Church to power in France.^ 

' Adele Cross, British Reactions to the Dreyfus Case (Urbana, 1935), p. 3. 
"Wilhelm Herzog, From Dreyfus to Petain: The Struggle of a Republic (New 
York, 1947), p. 18. 



May, 1950 17 

The cause of the rise and spectacular growth of the "integral nationalism" 
at this time has been traced directly to the Church by many historians.^ The 
Church, through the agents of its secret societies, sought to regain its past 
power in France. Its influence was seen once more to manifest itself in the 
working class, and in the military and royalty circles. 

The institution that fell most heavily under the Church's influence was the 
army, the most powerful and unimpeachable institution in France. It was 
backed and attended by the aspiring monarchists and power-thirsty clergy, 
and by the propertied bourgeoisie. In the army the bourgeoisie saw their only 
chance of survival and protection from the "rule of the mob" era that the 
Republic supposedly had ushered in. So, in the strength of the army, the 
propertied class saw their only strength and salvation.'' 

Thus in the early 1890's France, politically, was in what could be described 
as a state of tranquil uneasiness. Only a minor incident was needed to 
"awaken and inflame all the latent antithesis, all the passion, ideas, and emo- 
tions slumbering in the French People." ° This incident was not long to be 
waited for. * * * * 

Alfred Dreyfus was born on October 9, 1859. He was the fifth son of 
rich, factory-owning, Jewish parents — members of the upper bourgeoisie. All 
his brothers entered into their father's business, Alfred being the only one to 
choose the military profession. Alfred studied at Ecole Polytechicene, entered 
the army as a lieutenant of artillery, and rose to the rank of captain in 1889. 
He then received an appointment to the Ministry of War." He was the first 
Jew (despite resistance from several superior officers who did not want him 
on the staff) to obtain a place on the General Staff. He is described as a per- 
son of superior intelligence, as an extraordinary worker, and as very am- 
bitious. Nevertheless, due to some disagreeable traits of character, he was 
unpopular with his fellows.'' Some sources found his personality nil. He was 
described by these sources as being "incapable of arousing personal enthusi- 
asm," * and of having "a pure and simple nature, utterly devoid of personal 
magnitude." ^ Clemenceau, one of his great champions, once observed of 
Dreyfus' personality : "No one will ever be able to reproach us that we were 
carried away by his personality. He did not possess any." ^° He married a 
wealthy Jewish girl in 1890 and became a father to two sons. 

So much for Dreyfus ; for, you see, his was really a part of very minor 

'"Clericalism and the Dreyfus Case," Current Literature. XLI (August, 1906), 1445. 
* Herzog, op. cit., p. 20. 
'Ibid., p. 10. 

' "Alfred Dreyfus." Encyclopedia Britannica, VII, 661. 
' Cross, op. cit.. p. 9. 

' "Clericalism and the Dreyfus Case," p. 1445. 

""Ten Years Later — The most Celebrated Case in History," Bookman, XVIII 
(1908), 154-62. 

"' Herzog, op. cit.. p. 103. 



18 The Green Caldron 

importance in the great affaire bearing his name. He is symbolic of the un- 
fortunate innocents who are always being hurt when great forces, with which 
they are totally unconnected and unconcerned, clash. 

In and around 1890 French documents had been "leaking out" to the 
interested German and Italian Governments. Colonel Schwarzkoppen, Ger- 
man military attache to the Paris embassy, formed a connection with Colonel 
Panizzardi, Italian military attache; and together they bought French military 
documents from a draftsman named Dubois. They referred to him only as 
"D." One of the notes, in which "D" was mentioned, was intercepted by the 
French Secret Service. Thus the French intelligence Service were aware of 
this traffic in official secrets for sometime before the affaire occurred. 

In 1893 a Major Walsin Esterhazy of the French Army Staflf agreed to 
sell military secrets to Schwarzkoppen for 2000 francs a week and a bonus 
for especially valuable information. This Esterhazy bore the most miserable 
reputation imaginable : he was known as a profligate and rogue, was dis- 
trusted by his colleagues, and was universally considered a dishonor to the 
army. One day, during the spring of 1894, he had dropped into the letter box 
of the German Embassy a memorandum enumerating five documents which 
he promised to obtain. This was the famous bordereau. 

One Bruckner, a discharged secret agent seeking to return to the good 
graces of his employers once more, saw Esterhazy drop the bordereau into the 
German mail box. He retrieved it and delivered it to Major Henry of the 
Secret Service. Henry accepted it and told Bruckner to return the next day. 
Bruckner was never heard of again. Henry, upon Bruckner's leaving, tore the 
bordereau up into little pieces. As he was depositing the pieces in a tr&sh 
basket, a Colonel Sandherr entered. When questioned by Sandherr about 
what he was doing with the scraps of paper, Henry replied that a charwoman 
spy had just delivered them to him and that he was trying to piece them to- 
gether. The two of them did manage to piece the note together and a search 
for the spy was immediately begun. Henry, of course, was the only one who 
knew the identity of the real culprits, and it was later proved that Henry was 
Esterhazy's partner in these clandestine deals. 

The victim of the search was Dreyfus. His name began with "D" ; he was 
in a position to possess the documents enumerated in the bordereau ; there was 
a similarity between his and the handwriting on the bordereau ; and, above 
all, he was a Jew. 

Dreyfus was arrested on the morning of October 15, 1894. Colonel du 
Paty de Clam had dictated phrases from the bordereau to Dreyfus, and, on the 
assumption that he saw the latter's fingers tremble, ordered him placed in 
prison. 

Forzinetti, the governor of the prison, impressed by the sincerity of the 
protestations of innocence on the part of Dreyfus, declared his belief that the 



May, 1950 19 

prisoner was not guilty. He was relieved of his position shortly after, in 
consequence of his candor. 

The case, because of the fragility of material evidence, might have been 
dropped had it not been that du Paty and Henry released some reports of it to 
the anti-Semitic press . The press at once began to stir up public hatred. 
General Mercier, head of the Ministrj' of War at this time, disliked by this 
powerful reactionary group, in order to gain their favor, ordered an indictment 
drawn up against Dreyfus. The report, dated December 3, 1894, consisted 
mainly of presumptions, vague stories, conjectures, and unproved accusations. 

Mercier, his office and popularity now hanging in the balance, did not 
hesitate to commit illegality in order to secure a conviction. A secret dossier 
was made up, consisting of eight documents which had been stolen from 
foreign embassies. Because these were not damaging in themselves, du Paty 
de Qam wrote a "covering letter" in which he spoke of each, stressing the 
unapparent implication, so that they tried to indict Dreyfus. One note men- 
tioned "D." The other note was a forgerj' of a telegram that Panizzardi had 
sent on November 4 to the Italian government. The note, truly interpreted, 
indicated Dreyfus' innocence, but by forgery it was made to directly implicate 
him. 

On December 19, 1894, the court martial of Dreyfus was held behind 
closed doors. The dossier, without the knowledge of the accused, or his 
counsel, was communicated to the judges. Thus, what would have been an 
acquittal was turned into a conviction, and Dreyfus was sentenced to life in 
prison and public degradation. On January 9, 1895, the French Chamber of 
Deputies passed an unconstitutional law, unconstitutional because it was ex 
post jacto, designating Devil's Island as the place at which Dreyfus was to be 
imprisoned. Dreyfus arrived there on April 13, 1895. 

The reactionaries and anti-Semites were in triumph. They were turning a 
minor political incident into a major political victory. 

Now only the Dreyfus family believed in Alfred's innocence. 

It was about April 13, 1895, that a change in the erstwhile thought helpless 
case occurred. In 1896, Colonel Georges Picquart, newly named head of the 
Intelligence Bureau, came across evidence that indicated that a French officer, 
no other than Major Esterhazy, was the culprit. Picquart laid this information 
before his superior officers. General de Boisdeftre and General Gouse, the 
chief and deputy chief of the General Staff. They were convinced of Dreyfus' 
guilt and, unwilling to have the matter reopened, forbade him to pursue his 
enquiries. To prevent his reopening the matter, they had him sent to Tunisia. 

In November, 1897, Mathieu Dreyfus, a brother of Alfred, by the merest 
chance learned that the handwriting of the bordereau was that of Esterhazy, 
He sent this information to the Minister of War, accusing Esterhazy. He also 
published the letter containing the information sent to the Minister of War in 
the Figaro, thus precipitating the feelings of all involved to greater passions of 



20 The Green Caldron 

violence. The general was unwilling to own that a mistake had been made, for, 
as the saying was then, "No matter who is wrong, the army is right." ^^ 

The Republic, in recognition of the liberal element's demand, had Ester- 
hazy sent before a military tribunal ; but, in a travesty of justice, the General 
Staff secured his acquittal. Thus, the honor of the army was temporarily 
saved. 

The Dreyfusards were enraged. On January 13, 1898, two days after 
Esterhazy's acquittal, Emile Zola published in Clemenceau's journal, L' 
Aurora, under the title "J' accuse," the famous open letter to the president of 
the Republic in which he accused the General Staff of perpetrating a mis- 
carriage of justice. At the instance of the Ministry of War, proceedings were 
taken against Zola. He was condemned to two years imprisonment, but he 
took refuge in England where feelings were high for the Dreyfusard cause. 
The French reactionary press was quick to heap their vituperation upon him. 

Due to the unhushable calls for revision sounded by the French liberal 
political wing, the Court of Cassation, as a result of a long review of the case, 
annulled the Dreyfus sentence and ordered a new trial before a court martial 
at Remmes. This decision came in 1898. 

The court martial was in session for a month. Dreyfus, who had been 
brought to France on the order of the government, attended this second 
mockery of justice. On September 9, 1899, an incredulous world heard the 
sentence — guilty witli e.xtenuating circumstances and condemned to ten years 
imprisonment. 

On September 19, 1899, the government decided to pardon Dreyfus. He 
was immediately set at liberty. 

At the end of 1903, further facts which came to light led to a demand for 
a second hearing and a long, detailed enquiry. C^n July 12, 1906, the court of 
appeal finally quashed the sentence of 1894. Dreyfus was reinstated in the 
army with the rank of major of artillery. He resigned in July, 1907. 

In June, 1908, on the occasion of the transfer of Zola's ashes to the Pan- 
theon, an anti-Semite journalist, Gregori, fired two shots at Dreyfus and 
wounded him slightly. Thus another infamy was added to the long list of 
those perpetrated against him. 

He re-enlisted in the army during World War I and was promoted to 
lieutenant colonel in 1918. Shortly afterwards, he was awarded the Legion 
of Honor. 

He lived quietly in retirement after the war in Paris, and died June 12, 
1935." * * * 

The effect of the affaire on French politics was that of a tornado on a calm 
wheat field. From a relatively tranquil nation, France was changed into a 
veritable mad house. Every base and mean human instinct was projected into 

^ Cross op. cit., pp. 9 ff. 

" Encyclopedia Britannica, p. 661. 



May, 1950 21 

a civil war to break out, and thus consummate the tragedy. There were times 
the press of the world sat on edge, waiting for news of revolution or at least 
a civil war to break out. There were times when the charges and counter 
charges of the participants seemed to be pushing France headlong into a war 
with Germany and Italy. There were times, a great many times, when the 
world, stunned and appalled by the ridiculousness of the case, the absurdity of 
the charges, and the vicious travesty that took place in the name of justice, 
could express its reaction only by an incredulous shaking of its head. Yet, 
what was the outcome of it all ? Were the forces of hate and reaction dealt a 
death blow? Was a nation united under the proud banners of a rejuvenated, 
liberalized Republic ? 

In effect, the Dreyfus case concluded only in compromise. The arch- 
reactionary influence grew passive ; the bourgeoisie Republic had obtained a 
short lease on life. 

The great intellectuals who had identified themselves with the Dreyfus 
cause were outraged from beginning to end by the events of the affaire. Men 
like Clemenceau, Zola, and Anatole France, to name a few, declared that either 
truth or injustice must be brought to complete triumph. To compromise was 
to court disaster. History, in the form of the Vichy Government, teaches us 
how right they were. 

In the Dreyfus affaire, Fascism, for the first time, reared its ugly head above 
the chaos of European politics. All that Germany was to use so successfully 
in later years was here first utilized : the control of the passions of the masses 
through great hate campaigns directed at minorities ; the idea of the dominance 
of the military over the civil in delegated governmental powers ; the dissemina- 
tion of mass propaganda to achieve their ends. All this, and more, was ushered 
in by the Dreyfus affaire. A new era manifested itself in the trends of 
European politics. 

And how did the world react, as a whole, to the Dreyfus affaire? I think 
it would be reasonable to say that, judging from the international press, the 
world opinion fell strongly on the side of the Dreyfusards. The British press 
was so virulent in its attacks on French justice, French reactions, and French 
politics that a breaking oiT of diplomatic relations was almost effected between 
the two countries. ^^ 

Another international effect was the strong reaction against Catholicism 
displayed in some countries, notably England and Germany, because of the 
Church's hand in the ignominious affair. The raging anti-Semitism did not 
spread beyond the borders of France, and within these borders it, in its or- 
ganized form, soon grew passive. 

And so the Dreyfus affaire. There have been other great scandals in the 
history of modern civilization, but this one happened in France — and who can 
rival the French in the realm of the spectacular ? 

"Cross, op. cit., p. 119. 



22 The Green Caldron 

Wanted: A Gal 

Marilyn Minks 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 5 

TTTANTED: ONE ELIGIBLE GIRL TO ACCOMPANY A 
yy chicken-loving male to a feather-loving contest. Must be not more 
than 6' 7" tall, mentally able to distinguish a duck from a chicken, and 
physically able to pull a feather. Qualified prospects please call Dateless Dudes 
Dating Den before Saturday. 

Perhaps this example is somewhat exaggerated, but it helps to make clear 
the situation of blind dates. 

A blind date is really just two people who have never met and who are 
going out on their first date. In most cases there is a third party who "fixes 
them up." This person is usually a friend, roommate, or maybe just an ac- 
quaintance who knows someone who wants a date. 

What happens then ? This person first thinks, "Who do I know that would 
like to go, or would go as a personal favor to me?" Then comes that ques- 
tion — "Gonna be busy Saturday night ? I wish you would go with a friend of 
mine — he's really swell — six feet tall, and a wonderful conversationalist. You 
would like him ! How about it ?" 

Maybe the fellow lives clear out where he doesn't have a chance to meet 
girls, or all of his classes consist of nothing but boys, so that he never even 
sees any girls. Or he could even be a visiting friend or cousin from some far 
away place who wants a movie date. 

If the description suits, and the girl is agreeable, they should be all set to 
go — but where? The fellow nearly always has something in mind when he 
asks for the date, so that isn't a big problem. 

When the appointed time arrives, which should be more than a half hour 
after the invitation, there comes the problem of getting together and being 
introduced. The person who has arranged the date sometimes doubles with 
them, and he or she must make the introductions. From then on it's up to the 
fellow and girl to make the date as interesting and enjoyable as possible. 

Blind dates make it possible for fellows and girls to meet and become ac- 
quainted who would not otherwise have the opportunity. They start many 
friendships and tend to broaden the person's scope of interest. 

Of course they are not all successful, but if not they can always be another 
mark in the huge book of experience. 

Whether you get her through the Dateless Dudes Dating Den to enter a 
feather-pulling contest, or through a mutual friend for a coke date, you will 
find blind dates a part of being young and having fun ! 



May, 1950 23 

A Nourisnea Mind — tne Engineer 

Bernard Stebel 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 7 

MY MOTHER ALWAYS BEGAN HER STORIES WITH "ONCE 
upon a time." Being a very affectionate and sentimental lad, I dedi- 
cate the first four words of this paper to my mother. 

Once upon a time, in my impressionable childhood, I thought of an en- 
gineer as the epitome of intelligence, the highest product of higher education. 
Since the passing of the "growing pain" stage of my development into the 
more fertile period of serious thought and wise actions, my opinions of the 
wielder of the slide-rule have slipped down the scale to where they now stand 
— disgust. 

To my knowledge there is no more empty, mal-nourished, and duller mind 
than that of the graduate engineer. ( Those still studying have a minute chance 
of recovery.) Being a tolerant person, I try to understand these men, but 
find it a difficult task to accomplish. Last month I wrote a friend of mine, a 
student of chemical engineering at Carnegie Tech, inquiring about the usual 
things: sex, studies, the cold-war, and various other topics which require a 
measure of thought. Perhaps his reply may be interesting and timely if in- 
serted at this point. It read as follows: 

Dear Bernie, 

Why do you always write such unimportant nonsense. Tell me, 
how do you feel about 

S*-rSi*Sf? dx+SM---k Jx^^gpfd^+^a ZvfrW)? 

Doesn't this make for an interesting bit of thought? 

Your buddy, 

AX + B 

(X^ + pX -f 9)" 

There was more to this literary masterpiece, but it all followed the same 
pattern. No doubt it sounds a bit exaggerated, but if one were to spend a week 
or two at the Gym Annex dormitory, he would develop the same feelings for 
these organic machines as I have. In analyzing the -Annex populace, one 
finds a mixture of lawyers, commerce students, philosophy majors, liberal- 
arts men, and engineers. With all but the latter it is possible to carry on an 



24 The Green Caldron 

intelligent, stimulating, and at times valuable conversation. But the engi- 
neers, smartly dangling their polished leather slide-rule cases as they flutter 
from formula to formula, have no time for petty things like speech and 
thought. They either will not or cannot think. Those who will not are the 
new-comers trying desperately to ape their elders ; those who cannot are 
those elders whose gray matter is already saturated with derivations, integra- 
tions, and parametric and polar equations. 

If the question is put to an engineer, he laughs it off with a snappy and 
well-rehearsed, "Ya can't eat thought. Any boss'll hire a trained and sf>e- 
cialized man before one who knows a little about everything, but nothing 
about anything." 

This reply is justified. We are living in a competitive society. But what 
does all this specialization do for the man himself. Will it make him a boon 
to family and community? Possibly it will if his salary is high enough. Will 
it get him a niche in the world's Hall of Fame ? Again possibly it may if he 
makes good enough use of one or two formulas. Will it make an individual 
of him ? Never, for individuality and thought are not offered in an engineering 
curriculum. 

This course of study does not nourish a mind ; it greases and primes it as 
any mechanic greases and primes a machine. For engineers are not individuals, 
nor are they educated. They are robots who need no education. Their pre- 
requisites for a contented life are differential and integral calculus, a slide-rule, 
and a competitive society. 



Fall 



acy 



annie 



Frieda Post 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 4 

FANNIE OPENED HER EYES, STRETCHED, AND GLANCED 
at the clock on the desk. It was seven o'clock. She would barely have 
time to dress, eat breakfast, and arrive promptly at Kinley Hall for her 
eight o'clock class. 

While she was contemplating whether or not it would be wise to take her 
accounting book to class, her roommate interrupted her thoughts by admon- 
ishing, "Fannie, you're wearing my blouse. How many times have I told you 
to ask my permission?" Fannie quickly retaliated, "Well, you borrowed a 
scarf from Margie without asking her. So there !" Then, deciding that her 
accounting text was much too heavy, she picked up her other books and 
scurried out of the room. 

Fannie was very fortunate today. She slid into her seat just as the bell 



May, 1950 25 

rang. After taking the attendance, her instructor directed the students to turn 
to page four hundred in their accounting texts. "Well, wouldn't you know it," 
thought Fannie, "just because I decided not to take my book today. That's 
life for you." 

The rest of the morning passed quickly. Fannie had the afternoon free, 
and she thought it would be a good opportunity to complete the last task of her 
initiation. She was required to determine the pledgees' reaction to their initi- 
ation. Luckily, all the pledgees were at home, and Evelyn obtained all the 
necessary information. She then proceeded to write her report, stating, "All 
pledges felt that the initiation was a fair one and a good deal of fun was derived 
from it." She concluded her report by stating, "Therefore, if the same initiation 
is given next semester, the new pledgees will have the same reaction toward 
the initiation." When the task was completed, it was time for dinner. 

That evening Fannie and her roommate were discussing various topics, 
including the courses they were taking, when Margie interrupted them to ask 
for her scarf. She had a date that night with Dwight. Fannie, looking at the 
light on the ceiling, teasingly chanted, 
"Since Dwight is light 
And light is bright 
Dwight is bright." 
Margie frowned and returned to her room to dress while Fannie and her 
roommate continued their discussion. 

"You know," Fannie said, "I don't like Rhetoric." 

"Why not?" asked her roommate. 

"Because it won't be beneficial to me." 

"Why do you say that?" 

"Well, I won't learn anything," replied Fannie. 

"How do you know ?" queried her roommate. 

Fannie replied after considerable thought, "Well, since it won't be beneficial 
I can't possibly learn anything." 

Then, feeling rather tired, Fannie proceeded to get ready for bed. 



26 The Green Caldron 

Scientific Analysis or 
Propaganda ? 

Anonymous 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 

THE GENERAL PUBLIC HAS VERY RECENTLY BEEN WIT- 
ness to a violent disagreement between the U. S. Navy and the U. S. Air 
Force. Organization and use of air power was the basis of this disagree- 
ment. News distributing agencies carried many accounts of information con- 
cerning this incident. I wonder how many people took the necessary time to 
analyze the published information and to separate the facts from the propa- 
ganda? Those who did could not miss the card stacking device so often used 
in naval press releases. 

Naval press releases continually carried the statement that "wars cannot 
be won by bombardment of large cities and helpless civilians." No statement 
was made that Strategic Warfare by the U. S. Air Force was based on the 
bombing of large cities of helpless civilians. It was left for the reader to as- 
sume this fact after reading the naval information. Most people, no doubt, 
fell into the well-planned trap. 

All air force personnel will agree that wars cannot be won by bombing 
large cities of helpless civilians. They will also be quick to add that this is not 
strategic bombing. To win a war by strategic bombing, an air force must strike 
at the industrial vitals of the enemy until that enemy no longer has the will 
nor the capacity to wage war. 

Industrial potential is the backbone of any nation engaged in conflict; 
however, no nation has a completely balanced industrial potential. All have 
weak spots. If that weak spot can be completely destroyed, armies in the field 
will come to a halt because of lack of supplies necessary to conduct warfare. 
This fact was well demonstrated in World War II when German armies were 
immobilized because of lack of gasoline. The gasoline processing industry had 
been destroyed months earlier by strategic bombing. 

It is true that many civilians are killed in any bombing raid. This is due 
to the fact that the homes of industrial workers are concentrated as closely as 
possible to their work. Large concentration of industry means large concen- 
tration of population. Using this fact together with the card stacking device, 
we very easily arrive at the statement that "wars cannot be won by the bom- 
bardment of large cities of helpless civilians." 



1 



May, 1950 27 

Cross-Currents 

Tom T. Wilson 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 3 

ywi HEN THE NIGHT NOISES BEGIN IN EARNEST AND THE 

XV/ witching hour is long past, have you ever awakened and found your 

mind jumbled with a medley of weird thoughts? The brain seems to 

be very unsettled, for it jumps from one memory to another without rhyme 

or reason. 

The thoughts of a remembered party are cut by the tension of a fast car 
race. A jagged brain tremor starts the memory of a heated argument, and 
then it slips into the melancholy of a long-forgotten ballad. The image of a 
face is focused in the mind's eye, but it soon drifts away to make room for the 
vivid picture of an imagined drowning. The pride one feels when something 
turns out right is shattered by the mortification of an ill-spoken word. 

The thoughts shift and turn, subside and rise again, pass and crisscross 
one another. An illusive pattern is formed, and a helpless sensation envelops 
all the senses. 

But as an exhausted child falls into a profound slumber, the currents fade 
and die away, and oblivion again reigns. 



28 The Green Caldron 

Rhet as Writ 

When it was suggested that we go to Bridal Cave, I agreed to the idea, 
mostly for the sakes of curiosity and cohesion. 

Few men have or will ever have the solution to the problem of finding a 
happy medium between the sexes. The various methods that have been tried 
are numerous and complicated. 

:^ ^ :t: st! 4^ 

Blanche DuBois is a frustrated, neurotic English teacher. 

^ :|e :}: ^ :)e 

The Spring ascends upon the campus like an Autumn leaf flying to the 
ground. 

A glittering generality is painting a rosy picture and trying to make the 
sucker swallow it. 

Most boys are good drivers, but they get careless and wreckless. 

:fc 4^ :|c :^ 3le 

A man can usually park a car much better than a woman. 

^ :f: ^ ^ ^ 

Losing my temper, I picked up a broad and brought it down on his head. 
He had long, shaggy, red hair and freckles on his face. 

T* T* *!* •1* 'F 

It was quite a heart rendering experience. 

Hi H^ ilfi ifji 4: 

Since all Indians are bad, I was to be burned at the steak. 

3|: ^ ^ ^: ^ 

Making a home is a job for three people, not just two, but, I would like to 
know how a woman can raise children and be a carrier girl to. 

***** 

Plastic surgery deals with two kinds of physical deformities, congenial 
and acquired. 

:(; :jc :)( 3jc :(c 



p K, 



HE 6reen Caldron 

A Magazine of Freshman Writing 

TriE LIBHARY Or !.-._ • 

^ JAN ^ -^ 1961 



u.M.vLRSlTY CF ILLINO!^ 



CONTENTS 



Daniel Cohen: Out of My Life and Thoughts 1 

Carol Dornfeld: The Corn Will Grow Without Me 3 

Anne Martin: Molly . ♦ 

Manuel Reines: Freedom is Everybody's Job 6 

Hiok Huang Lee: Highlights in Chinese Festivals 8 

y^nne PoH/iost; I Hfive a Kingdom! 14 

George Troutman: "Hamp" 15 

Irene L. Shuett: Watch Out! Here Comes a Pedestrian .... 16 

Charles Boughlon: Blind People with Pink Velvet Poppies 

in Their Hair 18 

Margaret Graham: A Tax Review Board 19 

James Decker: Safe and Sane Serenades 20 

David A. Traeger: And the Rains Came Upon Us 21 

Richard M. Bartunek: No Place to Hide 26 

Don Coe: Wealth Can Be as Dangerous as Poverty 27 

Audrey Wilse)': My First Taste of Maturity 29 

F. J. D. Martin: Deathly . . . Silence 30 

Ron Carver: The Menace of Television 31 

Rhet as Writ 32 



Vol. 20, No. 1 October, 1950 



UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 



T 



I 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. Permission to publish is obtained for all full themes, 
including those published anonymously. Parts of themes, how- 
ever, are published at the discretion of the committee in charge. 

The committee in charge of this issue of The Green 
Caldron includes John Bellamy, Marjorie Brown, Glenn 
Carey, and George Conkin, Chairman. 



THE GREEN CALDRON 

Copyrighted 1950 

BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS 

Alt rights reserved 

No parts of this periodical may be repro- 
duced in any form without permission 
in writing from the publisher. 



Out of My Life and Tnou^nts 

Daniel Cohen 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 

The Ghetto 

\ SK ANYONE IN BROOKLYN WHERE BROWNSVILLE IS 
/A and they'll tell you to go to Pitken Avenue. Pitken Avenue is easiest 
to find at night. That's when all of the neon lights are ablaze and the 
street looks like a miniature Times Square. The side streets are all dark. 
The tenements are always dark, and the people seem to feel this darkness. 
Like moths they flock to the neon lights of the main street or the less at- 
tractive electric bulbs of the candy stores that periodically illuminate the solid 
front of tenements. A bus runs along Pitken Avenue with its bulging load 
of tired, disheveled garment workers. The workers fall against each other 
with each lurch of the bus. In their hands they clutch newspapers that have 
been read, reread and will be read again. The lifeless eyes speak of the 
monotony of the days that have passed and those which are yet to come. At 
each street the bus discharges its load and rumbles on to the next corner. 

In summer everyone takes his chair and sits out in the street to gossip, 
talk about baseball, pitch pennies and drink Pepsi-Cola. Some of us tried to 
escape the city, but Prospect Park was packed with people and Coney Island 
didn't have an empty patch of sand to lie down on. We went instead to the 
air-conditioned movies and in the darkness escaped the world. 

Georgia 

I know it's 6:00 A.M. because the guy on my right has just switched on 
his radio and "I'm Alabamy Bound" is pouring out of its speaker. The guy 
on my left yells, "Whoops, late again" and hastily turns on the same program. 
In ten minutes the sergeant will be down the aisles mumbling his perpetual 
slogan of "Let's go men. Let's go." At that point my buddy Johnny Bauer 
across the aisle will turn over on his other side. This was his one gesture of 
rebellion against the army, and he made a ritual of it. The sergeant seemed 
to sense this and would inevitably return to tip him out. This morning, how- 
ever, Johnny and the rest of us got up without a fight, for it was Sunday and 
we would be going to town. All week long we lived for the moment when we 
could leave the sandy, treeless, barracks-filled, uniformed camp and hop the 
bus to town. What we wouldn't do to take that bus to the end of the world 
and leave behind us the crushing machine that had conquered us. Nervously 
we entered the office for our passes. Was the "old man" in a good humor, or 
had he found some job that couldn't wait and was looking for "volunteers"? 
The "old man" smiles. God bless him, we're free ! The bus takes us into the 
center of town. Five Points. We get of? and look at the shops all filled with 



2 The Green Caldron 

non-uniform clothes. The sun is hot, but the girls dressed in cottons look 
fresh. We see some old people and some children and it's wonderful to know 
that the whole world isn't in the army. We decide to take a bus to see some 
of Johnny's girl friends. The bus is crowded in front but empty in the rear. 
We go to the empty seats in the rear and sit down. The people in the front 
silently glare at us, and the bus driver turns around in his seat to stare at us. 
The few people in the back of the bus anxiously gaze out of the windows 
pretending not to notice. We had seated ourselves in the part of the bus re- 
served for Negroes. I let Johnny go on to the girls alone, and I went back to 
camp. 

Galilee 

Dawn is always beautiful at Sasa, for from our hilltop we can see the sun 
rise out of the Arabian desert, quickly shake the sand from its shoulders, and 
soar into the heavens. I hurry to the mule shed and feed and harness a team. 
Before long they are hitched to the wagon, and, after breakfasting, we are off 
to the fields. The trip down is always a dangerous one, for the road is very 
steep and the mules are unable to maintain their footing on the smooth pave- 
ment. They usually try to pull the wagon off onto the shoulders where it is 
soft. The shoulders, however, are narrow and beyond them is a sheer drop 
of many yards. The trip down is always a battle full of eloquent threats in 
order to keep the animals on the road. None of the other members of the 
crew ever make the trip down with me. They prefer to walk the mile or so 
to the fields. At the end of the day, however, they take the wagon back. 
The field is, as usual, full of stones, and we will spend the day picking up 
stones by hand, putting them into rubber baskets, loading them on the 
wagon, and dumping them at the edge of the field. Our months of work can 
be seen in the rows of stones that line each finished field. Each man knows his 
job, and the routine we have established works efficiently. We work in 
silence. The sun grows hot, and the desert winds bring little respite from 
the heat. Our back and arms begin to ache from the constant labor, and the 
sun seems to sear its way into our heads. It is noon and we walk to the shade 
of a nearby fig tree to eat our lunch. Lying beneath the tree, we look up and 
see the village at the top of the hill. The new, corrugated metal roofs reflect the 
sun, and we can hear the sounds of life coming from its buildings. On the 
hillside beside it we can see the figures of the forestry crew planting trees. 
We look at the little patch they have finished and the many hills that are 
yet to be done. We look at the few fields we have finished and the many fields 
we have yet to do. We look at those few shining roofs in the midst of all of 
the desolation and we wonder. 

Home 

Each time I return to New York, it's the same. "By God," I think, "it 
hasn't changed." I felt that way when I arrived after being discharged from 
the ami}-. Walking down the streets, listening to people, looking at the shops, 



October, 1950 3 

riding the subways, I knew that the city hadn't changed. London had changed. 
Paris and BerHn had changed. Things had happened to those cities. Things 
outside of those cities had made themselves felt. The way of life was different. 
New York had only superficially experienced the war, and it was disappoint- 
ing for me to realize that. Somehow you want your city to grow with you. 
You realize that unless it does you are cut off from your neighbors by what 
you have seen and done. There is no greater loneliness than being alone in a 
big city. What right do they have to live as usual after all that has happened? 
My second homecoming was no different. The city remained the same. 
The people looked at me as they had always looked at me and listened with 
the ears of good listeners. I knew they were deaf. "They listen but they hear 
not." To whom could I tell of what I had learned ? "Isn't it great to be back?" 
they asked. The styles have changed, but the tastes remain the same. The 
subway still stops at the same stations and the same people get on. I cross 
the paths of my own existence in the city and hurry on for there is a train to 
catch to new places and new growth. 

Tke Com Will Grow Witkout Me 

Carol Dornfeld 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 3 

TO WATCH THE LIFE CYCLE OF A FIELD OF CORN IS TO 
watch the life cycle of man, set in green leaves and rustling stalks. 
See for yourself. First the field is barren, but the earth is rich and 
full of latent power to produce. The seeds are sown, and soon the tiny green 
shoots appear — shy, simple, and beautiful. They grow to scrawny adolescence 
and their few leaves stick out at awkward angles. The plants grow taller. In 
youth they are strong and lovely, yet they are still not ready for the business 
of reproduction. But at last they have stretched to their uttermost height, 
and their long glossy leaves are richly green. It takes little time after the 
tassels bloom for the corn to begin forming. Now is the fullest period in the 
life of each cornstalk in the field. Their leaves whisper together in the wind, 
and they bear the ever-growing ears with evident pride. At last it is time 
for harvest when all of them will be forcibly separated from their progeny, 
and they will stand, shorn and bereft. For a while they try to carry on. But 
their purpose in life is over. Slowly at first, then more quickly, they droop 
and wither and dry, and finally die. 

* ♦ * 

When I was young, I used to believe that by carefully watching over my 

little cornpatch, I could help it grow. By keeping the weeds from encroaching 

I on the earth around the corn and by loosening the soil, I would promote the 



4 The Green Caldron 

growth of the corn. Yet, somehow in places where the soil was hetter than 
that in my plot, corn would grow better unattended by me. Finally, one time 
someone else took over my corn-patch when I was ill, and I discovered that 
my pet corn, which would grow only under my loving hands, flourished with- 
out me. 

Later on in life, I began to think that I must someday be great. Someday 
I must show the people what was wrong and set them straight. But now I 
realize that I am ordinary, common, one of many in many diflferent groups. 
Others are much greater than I can ever hope to be. I am weak. I am small. 
My great ideas are narrow in reality. I am no Baruch, Stravinsky, or 
Marshall. The people will be born, have their first impressions, grow older, 
older, and yet older, passing through youth and maturity, when their young 
will be snatched away by Nature. The people will grow old and wither and 
die. And nothing I do or ever will do will influence them. They will go on. 

They — and the corn — will grow without me. 



Moll^ 



Anne Martin 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 

%y /E HAD A COW. EVEN TO THE ORDINARY FARMERS 

\X/ she would have seemed a strange animal in the biological sense. She 

ate at least two bales of hay per day ; most cows eat only one, especially 

if they are the small Guernsey type. She gave milk for two years after the 

last calf had been born — a very strange accomplishment biologically. 

However, we were not ordinary farmers interested in amazing feats of a 
seven-year-old family cow. We were interested in and continued to support 
Molly only because of her personal characteristics. And these were many 
and astonishing. 

She had powers of observation. Never would she budge from her vantage 
point over the pasture without first surveying the yard, the house, the pasture, 
and the surrounding farms. If a piece of paper had blown from one side of 
the field to another, she stopped, gazed thoughtfully, and moved majestically 
over for a nasal investigation. If a strange car had parked in the barnyard, 
she sauntered casually around within the area until the driver appeared. Per- 
haps this constant surveillance over her domain accounted for the enormous 
appetite she still retained when she retired to the cow-cafeteria. 

Retired is the proper term. Never was this cow incarcerated in a stan- 
chion. If she chose to heed the noisy rattle of a pail from the other end of the 
pasture, she would gallop to the barn and plunge into the food with rough 



October, 1950 5 

slaps of her tongue. On the other hand, if she chose to heed rather her dis- 
taste for human domination, she was impervious to any incentive. 

We were at a loss to account for the dominating character of our cow. 
We played with the thought that because we were only women, she recognized 
her basic superiority and used us with contempt. Her original docility when 
delivered by three massive farm-hands and her subsequent subservience in the 
hands of men bore this out. Yet, we preferred to ascribe her differences to a 
fundamental intelligence' unknown to previous cows. Her answering moo 
whenever we called to her, whether she intended to obey or not, convinced 
us this assumption was true. 

Any doubt on the question of her mental powers, and our own feebleness, 
was alleviated by our results in presenting our Molly to the bull. Cows be- 
come quite violent when feeling that way, and we were sorely distressed. We 
had heard violent tales of horrible fates met by those who lead their cow to 
the bull. 

First we tied her to the car and drove off. She tore the bumper of? the 
car. Then we formed a triangle with the car racing in front and the others 
tearing down the road beside her — or at least within sight of Molly. Women 
and children in the neighboring houses peered from second story windows 
for a mile and a half; men snatched their frightened dogs (Molly had a ter- 
rible animosity for dogs) and barricaded the front doors. 

Unfortunately, in our amateurish efforts, we did not realize that the fact 
that Molly proceeded home in much the same fashion indicated an incompetent 
job on the part of the bull. When this fact did penetrate, we were encouraged 
by the fact that our constant perusal of the agricultural bulletins indicated that 
this bull had been of inferior quality anyway. 

As Molly's cycle evolved, the time came when she decided to dispense with 
our ignorant efforts and take the problem into her own hands. The fact that 
she chose to take her trip to the bull on a frozen January morning via flights 
over five barb-wire fences and a frozen stream did not bother her. Neither 
did our uncomfortable efforts of the next soggy, muddy day disturb her as 
we returned her to her throne. 

We were thrilled at Molly's discretion. She had chosen a hitherto un- 
known progenitor, a short-horn bull of massive proportions. When she did 
us the service of presenting a blue-eyed calf with his build and her brains, we 
were doubly convinced of our Molly's superior qualities. True, after the birth 
of Monty, she still refused to grant more than a pitiful gallon of milk per day, 
but he was such a darling prince that we forgave her completely. 

As a postscript to this story, though we had hoped that Molly's peculiar- 
ities were due in part to her solitary existence, and that her role as queen- 
mother would relieve us of some of her idiosyncrasies, we were wrong as 
usual. Instead of one cow to leap across the fence into the peas (carefully 
refraining from stepping on the scattered squashes as would any conservative 



6 The Green Caldron 

owner), we now had two. Two pairs of haughty, inquisitive eyes now ob- 
served every pail of chicken feed which was transported and all the traveling 
salesmen who visited. 

Our love for Molly's appetite overcame our appreciation of Monty, her 
son, and we sold her successor. We were sorry, but Molly had to eat to 
maintain herself. If she would refuse to do so in the pasture as a proper cow, 
her son had to be sacrificed to foot the bill. 

Freeaom is Everytody's Jot 

Manuel Reines 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 10 

THE YEAR WAS 1937. ADOLPH HITLER HAD TAKEN CON- 
trol of the German Reich and had already managed to "whip" the 
League of Nations. His goose-stepping Stonu Troopers had marched 
into the Rhineland. Messerschmitt was busy building the finest, most de- 
structive fighter planes ever devised. The German people were enjoying the 
benefits of their dictatorship. "Guns, not butter!" was the motto in Germany. 
Konrad Henlein was instigating discontent, race hatred, and revolt among 
the Germans in the Sudeten. In Austria the Nazis were actively undermining 
the existing government. Peace-loving nations were being devoured by 
power-hungry dictators ; peace-loving people were being slaughtered because 
of their religion, — killed because of their beliefs — murdered because they 
simply wanted to live as honest, decent, free people. The whole of Europe 
was in a turmoil — a turmoil that was to spread like a monstrous octopus, en- 
gulfing freedom-loving people wherever its ugly, slimy tentacles could reach. 

Where was I while all this was going on ? I was right in the middle of it, 
on a train one hundred miles out of Berlin headed toward the French frontier. 
My parents had taken my sister to Europe for medical purposes, and we were 
returning from Rumania where we had visited my grandparents. 

I was a brat ; I suppose most children are at that age. During my stay in 
Rumania I had learned to speak the Jewish language quite well. But I pre- 
ferred to speak Spanish, my native tongue, simply because my mother would 
have liked me to speak Jewish to her parents. The only time my mouth would 
emit a Jewish phrase would be when my parents would have preferred a 
Spanish phrase. This was one of those times. 

In 1937 trains were not quite what they are today. A first-class accommo- 
dation was no better than the accommodation received on a "Student Special" 
to Chicago — and just as crowded. My father was waiting for us in France, 
and my mother, sister, and I were alone in the train. Sitting directly across 
from us was a young Nazi Officer. I was much impressed by his well-cut 



October, 1950 7 

uniform, and while I sat there admiring his shiny buttons, medals, and gun 
holster, my mother and he were engaged in pleasant conversation. Then it 
happened. Frankly, I cannot remember the beginning of the incident, but 
to this day my mother has never quite figured out why I did it. Right there, 
with the Nazi Officer in front of us, and a carload of other Nazis all around 
us, I began to rattle ofif a steady stream of Jewish to my mother. 

The officer turned pale. He had been speaking to a Jew in public. Im- 
mediately he stood up and proceeded to curse at and insult my mother, amidst 
the cheers of the other Nazis in the car. Looking up at his huge figure hover- 
ing over us like a storm cloud, I was terrified. My baby sister burst into a fit 
of convulsive shrieks. The yelling of the crowd became intolerable. My 
mother's face became red as anger forced the blood into her head. She leaped 
out of her seat and screamed at the top of her voice, "Yes, I am a Jew- — but I 
am a Colombian Jew. In my country we treat you Germans as decent human 
beings, though you don't deserve it, and when I travel through Germany I 
expect to be treated with the same courtesy afforded any other foreigner. 
You can be sure that the Colombian Embassy in Berlin will hear of this 
tomorrow." 

These last few words did the trick, for the Nazi Officer immediately stilled 
the crowd, and after apologizing sincerely to my mother, passed a petition 
around which stated that he had merely been acting in the line of duty. Ob- 
viously this great "Superman" was not the "Superman" Hitler claimed him 
to be, or this officer would have realized that the Colombian Embassy did 
not carry much weight in politics. This, however, is not the point. To the 
end of my life I shall not be able to eradicate the impression that this incident 
left upon my mind — the Nazi's face, my sister's shrieks, the cheers of the 
crowd, and my mother's screams. 

It was because of this incident, and others like it, which I have witnessed, 
that I appreciate the freedom under which I live. If I were to ask you, 
"Which do you prefer, a totalitarian system, or a democratic system," I am 
sure that without hesitating you would reply, "A democratic system, of 
course." But why do you prefer democracy? Why do you prefer living in 
the United States to living in Russia? Do you prefer democracy because 
you've had your choice of government and have chosen it ? No ! You prefer 
democracy because you were born into it. You accept it because it is all 
around you. You can read any newspaper you wish and know that the news- 
paper you are reading is true. You can walk down the street without being 
stopped every two blocks by a soldier asking for your papers. You have never 
been subjected to any other way of living. 

Have you ever stopped to think why you hate a totalitarian system ? You 
hate it because you have read in books that in a dictatorship people have no 
freedom of the press, no freedom of worship, and no freedom from fear. But 
those are just words. Have you ever seen a soldier walk over to a seventy- 



The Green Caldron 

year-old man and rip off his beard, a fistfull at a time ? Have you ever been 
cursed at and threatened because of your rehgion ? Have you ever been afraid 
of walking in the streets? The chances are that your answer to all of these 
questions is, no. In my case the answer is, yes. 

That is why I not only prefer democracy, but I appreciate it. That is why 
I love the freedom which is granted me. And that is why I hate the totali- 
tarian systems which I have seen operating in Germany, in Austria, in Ru- 
mania, in Italy, and in Russia. You have democracy. Keep it, love it, and 
learn to appreciate it as I do. Remember, democracy is not a commodity that 
comes naturally ; you make it. Just as easily as you can preserve it, you can 
lose it. Freedom is everybody's job! 



Hignlignts in Cninese Festivals 

HioK Huang Lee 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 13, Sumtncr 1950 

THE CHINESE ARE, AS A RULE, HARDWORKING PEOPLE. 
They have no Saturday half-holidays ; neither do they have idle Sun- 
days. They cannot afford such luxuries, for "life competition is too 
keen in their densely populated country." ^ But if the pathway of the seasons 
brings few days of rest to the toiling masses of China, there are at least three 
great festivals to break the monotony of everyday life — the New Year Fes- 
tival, the Dragon Boat Festival, and the Harvest Moon Festival. These 
festivals are, in a way, social ceremonies which relieve emotional strain and 
give the participants a sense of increased social security.^ During these fes- 
tivals every man lays aside his work for as long as he can afford leisure. 
Frugal fare gives place to feasting. Reunion takes the bitterness from habitual 
separation. And amusement, like a bright thread, colors the drab pattern of 
dull, daily life.^ 

"The Chinese term for festival means a joint or node which marks the 
critical time in the breathing of Nature when it passes from one mood to an- 
other." * The most important of these nodes is the New Year Festival. It 
is the greatest, the longest, the gayest, and the noisiest of all festivals in China. 
Preparation for this festival begins early in the Twelfth Month. The house 
is first thoroughly cleaned and washed. Then old mottoes on the posts and 



1 Juliet Bredon and Igor Mitrophanow, The Moon Year, Shanghai : Kelly and Walsh, 
Ltd., 1927, p. 69. 

2 Maria Leach, ed., Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology and Legend, New York : 
Funk and Wagnalls Co., 1949, p. 225. 

3 Bredon and Mitrophanow, op. cit., p. 69. 

* Lewis Hodous, Folkways in China, London : Arthur Probsthain, 1929, p. 1. 



October, 1950 9 

doors are scraped off and new ones pasted in their places. These mottoes 
are "fortunate phrases" or expressions of ideals in Hfe, written on strips of red 
paper.^ Since red is the color of joy and prosperity, these mottoes are sup- 
posed to be luck-bringing. As a protection against malignant spirits in the 
coming year, new "gate gods" are also put up on the double panels of the 
front door. Their brilliantly-colored figures, pictured in full panoply of war, 
are guardians of the home par excellence. ° Legend traces their origin to two 
generals of the great Emperor Tai Tsung (A. D. 627-650). After his un- 
lucky expedition to Korea, this sovereign, a prey to rage and mortification at 
his ill-success, fell sick, and night after night teasing imps surrounded his 
uneasy couch. The court physicians were powerless to help him. Then two 
favorite generals of the Emperor begged that they be permitted to guard the 
palace gate and prevent evil ghosts from entering into the palace. Though 
Tai Tsung doubted their ability to deal with supernatural beings, yet in order 
not to disappoint them, he granted their request. Fully armed, the faithful 
servitors posted themselves on gjuard outside the palace. Strangely enough, 
the devils and nightmares that had been disturbing the Emperor disappeared 
at once, and he soon recovered.' As a precaution he commanded the court 
painters to have the portraits of the two generals painted and pasted on the 
palace gates so that he might never be troubled again by ghostly enemies. 
This custom of using pictures of warriors to protect the house spread from 
the palace to the humblest home. It still persists in the present age, a curious 
and typical example of the continuity of Chinese superstitions." 

New Year's Day is the first of the three settling-days for the settlement of 
accounts in China. It also serves as a common birthday to 470,000,000 
Chinese." No matter when one was born, one is reckoned to be a year older 
on New Year's Day. 

"New Year's Day is regarded by the Chinese not only as the beginning 
of the year but also as the root from which the events of the future grow." ^° 
Accordingly, what a person does or what happens to him on that day has a 
great influence upon his life for the whole year, and the Chinese people take 
every precaution to begin the year in the right atmosphere. No sweeping in 
the house is allowed on New Year's Day, for it is feared that good fortune 
and prosperity may be swept out of the house by this action. Great care is 
also taken to say nothing and do nothing on the first few days of the year as 
a small mistake may bring bad luck for the rest of the year. 

New Year's Day in China always begins with a salvo of firecrackers in 
an apotheosis of noise. "Noise is a national necessity in China and crackers 



'^ Bredon and Mitrophanow, op. cit., p. 83. 

« Ibid., p. 87. 

' Ibid., p. 87. 

8 Ibid., p. 88. 

»J- Duer Ball, Things Chinese. Shanghai: Kelly and Walsh, Ltd., 192S, p. 79. 

'0 Hodous, op. cit., p. 10. 



10 The Green Caldron 

an essential part of every ceremony." ^^ The supposed rationale of their use 
by the Chinese is that a fusillade of this holiday artillery will put to flight the 
devils and foul spirits which lurk about the haunts of men. From a scientific 
point of view, the plentiful supply of sulphur fumes liberated when this up- 
roarious din is in full swing does have the power of exorcising foul spirits of 
disease from the surrounding atmosphere. 

The most complete and ultimate expression of Chinese filial piety is the 
ceremony of ancestral worship observed during the New Year Festival.'^ 
Early in the morning of the New Year's Day, all the members of the family, 
attired in their best garb, gather in the room where the cabinet with the an- 
cestral tablets is kept to pay due respect to their ancestors." The head of the 
family begins the ceremony by lighting three sticks of incense and holding 
them in both hands as high as his forehead. He next bows to the tablets of 
his ancestors. Then he places the three sticks of incense in the incense burner 
before the tablets. After this he kneels three times, and at each kneeling he 
kowtows (literally it means "to knock the head") thrice." The other mem- 
bers then follow according to their rank. 

"Later, the master and mistress of the house seat themselves on two stiff 
chairs in the reception hall, and all those living under the roof kowtow to 
them in the order of seniority." '^ Then the head of the family rewards each 
of them with a generous sum of money wrapped in red paper for good luck. 
Thus, the New Year is begun with joy and confidence. 

The Dragon Boat Festival, celebrated on the fifth day of the Fifth Month, 
is one of the most generally observed and picturesque festivals in China.'" 
"Economically, it marks a turning point in the seasons, for till this day Nature 
has been gradually ripening, and, from now on, she gradually declines." '' 
Here then is a milestone in the calendar of growth, celebrated in different 
ways all over the world since the dawn of civilization as the "Festival of the 
Summer Solstice." 

Various legends have been connected with this festival, and, because of 
the happenings described in these legends, it has become a day of remem- 
brance as well as one of the three chief festivals of China.'* 

The most popular legend connects this festival with the death of a high- 
minded statesman and poet called Chu Yuan who lived in the feudal period 



11 Ball, op. cit., p. 240. 

12 Arthur H. Smith, Chinese Characteristics, New York : Fleming H. Revell Co., 
1894, p. 185. 

13 Bredon and Mitrophanow, op. cit., p. 98. 
i*/6iW., p. 102. 

15 Ibid., p. 101. 
i« Hodous, op. cit.. p. 126. 
1' Bredon and Mitrophanow, op. cit., p. 300. 

1^ J. G. Cormack, Everydav Customs in China, Edinburgh : Grant and Murray, Ltd., 
1935, p. 157. 



October, 1950 11 

in the Fourth Century B. C.'° An honest and upright figure in a troublous 
and dishonest age, he vainly urged reforms on a prince who turned a deaf 
ear to his good counsel. Those were the days when loyal patriots believed 
in the duty of suicide as a moral protest — a suitable remonstrance against 
shameless conduct on the part of one's lord, imperative when all other means 
of persuasion had been tried in vain.-" Thus, when he found himself powerless 
to check the abuses of his age, Chu Yuan calmly composed the poem "Li 
Shao," which is an allegorical description of the writer's search for a prince 
who would listen to good counsel in government, and, clasping a great rock 
in his arms, he jumped into Tung Ting Lake on the fifth day of the Fifth 
Month. ^^ When his death was known, the people of the country wept in 
admiration of his sacrifice and threw rice cakes into the water to feed his 
ghost so that he would not be starved in the other world. 

According to another story, there was a rebellious rising south of the 
Great River over two thousand years ago. The King of Lieh appointed a 
high official named Chu Yuan to go and quell it.-- Although Chu Yuan did 
his best, he was unable to suppress the rebellion. He was deeply grieved be- 
cause of his failure and besought the King to relieve him of his post and to 
send another general in his stead. The King was unwilling to do this, but 
Chu Yuan felt his lack of success so keenly that he took his own life by throw- 
ing himself into the River Mih Loh on the fifth day of the Fifth Month.-' 
Some fishermen who witnessed the act hastily launched their boats to save 
him but could not even recover his body. Since then, on the anniversary of 
the suicide, the fishermen's attempt at rescue has been commemorated by a 
procession of dragon boats over the inland waters of China.-* The procession 
of the past, however, has now developed into races between rival clans who 
own dragon boats. 

Another legend explaining the festival tells of a maiden, Tsao O, whose 
father, a wizard by profession, was drowned on the fifth day of the Fifth 
Month. Inasmuch as the body could not be found, the daughter, then four- 
teen years old, wandered along the bank of the river and finally threw herself 
into the water. After a few days her body rose to the surface and in her arms 
was the body of her father.-' 

It is hardly probable that the suicide of a disappointed statesman or the 
exhibition of filial piety on the part of a daughter could be the real motive for 



^° Bredon and Mitrophanow, op. cil., p. 301. 

2» Ibid., p. 302. 

-1 Herbert A. Giles, A Chinese Biographical Dictionary, Shanghai : Kelly and Walsh, 
Ltd., 1898, p. 200. 

^2 Cormack, op. cit., p. 157. 

23/fc,U, p. 158. 

-* W. S. Walsh, Curiosities of Popular Customs, Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott Co., 
1897, p. 349. 

2' Hodous, op cit., p. 136-7. 



12 The Green Caldron 

such a widely observed festival. However, Chu Yuan or Tsao may be taken 
to represent to everyone all the drowned who are regarded by the people as 
powerful deities that control the waters. The offering of rice cakes is no 
doubt intended to propitiate these supernatural beings so that they may send 
the waters down, not as destructive floods, but as fructifying rains bringing 
bountiful harvests and prosperity.-" On the other hand, the dragon boat 
races may be taken to represent fighting dragons in order to stimulate a real 
fight between the Dragon Lords in Heaven. According to old myths, such 
fights were always accompanied by heavy rains which were badly needed 
in the draught season.-' 

The Harvest Moon Festival, celebrated on the fifteenth day of the Eighth 
Month, is one of the most joyous occasions of the year. It is also one of the 
most important dates in the Chinese calendar as it coincides with the moon's 
birthday.^* According to an old Chinese theory, the moon and the sun are the 
two great principles that control Nature. The sun is considered as the source 
of virile energy, light, and heat. The moon is regarded as typifying darkness 
and cold. The sun has been the dominating power in the early part of the 
year, but in the Eighth Month, when summer heat gives way to autumn 
coolness, the moon begins to take the upper hand in Nature. "The fifteenth 
night of the Eighth Month is the moon's apogee; at no other time is she so 
bright and brilliant." ■" The background of this festivity, however, is not 
only the worshipping of the Queen of Night but also in the nature of thanks- 
giving as at this time harvest is assured and a part of it is already gathered in.*" 

The moon-cake — a round pastry filled with sugar and fragrant petals — is 
made especially for this occasion as an offering to the Queen of Night. Its 
shape not only symbolizes the moon but also stands for unity. ^* A story is 
often told of the leading part it played in liberating the Chinese people from 
their Mongol oppressors. 

In the Fourteenth Century, the Mongols gained control of China, and 
many Chinese patriots were massacred. Fearing that in time the Chinese 
people might be strong enough to retaliate, the Mongol rulers commanded 
that each Chinese household should have a Mongol as one of the inmates of 
the house and that he should be treated as one belonging to the family. These 
Mongols stationed in Qiinese homes were in effect spies, and they prohibited 
intercourse between one household and another.'^ They were exceedingly 
overbearing, taking to themselves the power of rulers in the houses and forc- 
ing all to bow to their will. The women esf>ecially were treated like slaves 



2« Ibid., p. 137. 

"'' Bredon and Mitrophanow, op. cxt., p. 303. 

28 Ibid., p. 303. 

2» Ibid., p. 398. 

30 Hodous, op. cit.. p. 179. 

'1 Bredon and Mitrophanow, op. cit., p. 399. 

32 Cormack, op. cit., p. 173-5. 



October, 1950 13 

under their yoke. There was no chance for the Chinese to organize a rebellion 
since they were closely watched bj' the Mongol spies. They were utterly 
helpless under the Mongols' oppression. But the deep hatred they had for the 
Mongol oppressors urged them to look for means by which they could rally 
all the people for a wide-spread rising without the suspicion of the spies. 
Their efforts were not unrewarded. One day they hit upon the idea of writing 
a secret message on the little red paper squares stuck on the moon-cakes. 
When sent, as they still are, from neighbor to neighbor and friend to friend, 
the pastries carried the order for a rising en masse at midnight on the fif- 
teenth day of the Eighth Month.^^ Though the oppressed Chinese people 
were without weapons save their kitchen choppers, hatred strengthened their 
arms. The surprise attack succeeded, and the revolt ultimately led to the 
complete overthrow of the Mongol Dynasty. For this reason, the festival is 
specially celebrated by the Chinese women in remembrance of the deliverance 
of their forebears from the oppressors. It is also called the Festival of Re- 
union by the Chinese jjeople in memory of the day when it was made possible 
for them to become closely united after years of isolation.^'' 

It is no exaggeration to say that "festival is the most concrete expression 
of collective emotions." '^ It has already become one of the most important 
factors in the social life of the Chinese. Though the wasteful expenditure 
lavished by the people on occasions of festivity has been blamed by the gov- 
ernment as one of the causes of the economic difficulty in the country, yet it 
seems only fair to say that the government itself neglected the many social 
advantages to be derived from festivals and has shown no interest in using 
the solemnity and pageantry of festivals as means to cultivate civic loyalty 
and patriotism. 



33 Bredon and Mitrophanow, op. cit., p. 400. 

3* Cormack, op. cit., p. 175. 

35 Edwin R. A. Seligman, ed., Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences, New York : Mac- 



millan Co., 1944, p. 200. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 



Ball, J. Dyer. Things Chinese. Shanghai : Kelly and Walsh, Ltd., 1925. 

Bredon, Juliet, and Igor Mitrophanow. The Moon Year. Shanghai : Kelly and Walsh, 

Ltd., 1927. 
Cormack, J. G. Everyday Customs in China. Edinburg: Grant and Murray, Ltd., 1935. 
Giles, Herbert A. A Chinese Biographical Dictionary. Shanghai : Kelly and Walsh, 

Ltd., 1898. 
HoDous, Lewis. Folkivays in China. London : Arthur Probsthain, 1929. 
Leach, Maria, ed. Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology and Legend. New York: Funk 

and Wagnalls Co.. 1949. 
Seligman, Edwin R. A. Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences. New York: Macmil- 

lan Co., 1944. 
Smith, Arthur Henderson. Chinese Characteristics. New York: Fleming H. Revcll 

Co., 1894. 
Walsh, William S. Curiosities of Popular Customs. Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott 

Co., 1897. 



14 The Green Caldron 

I Have a Kin^aom! 

Anne Potthast 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 11 

MY KINGDOM CONSISTS OF A HARD, WOOD DESK, PILED 
high with books, and a straight-back chair, scratched with use. Here 
I sit for hours on end and rule. I rule each author whose books are 
in my kingdom, by choosing to read or to ignore his works. I rule the printed 
words and voiced words of my friends, my teachers, and my superiors, decid- 
ing which I shall use, and which I shall cherish. My kingdom is small and 
cluttered, but rich in inspiration and silent consolation. 

Just to the left and above my throne, the pictured likenesses of a few close 
friends are tacked on a dull blue blotter. Above these snapshots a likeness of 
the Sacred Heart of Jesus holds the place of honor. Next to it, a yellowed 
piece of cardboard bears the scrolled inscription — IF, FOR GIRLS. "If you 
can be a girl and glory in it, because it is the place for you to fill, if you can 
be a lady every minute — if nothing less than what is best can win you, you'll 
be the girl God meant for you to be !" This poem was a gift from my mother 
on my sixteenth birthday. The few elaborately printed lines have become a 
source of comfort and act as a booster shot, building up added immunity 
against the little temptations that beset me on all sides. 

Then comes my calendar, with its scribbled reminders and memoirs of 
meetings, parties and dates. Last but not least on my bulletin board can be 
found the souvenirs of my last year in high school — dance bids, gay colored 
paper napkins, football programs, a fuzzy comic valentine, limp corsage rib- 
bons, and newspaper clippings — stabbed into the wall with straight pins and 
thumb tacks. 

Right next to my desk, within easy reach, is my bookcase, bulging with 
text books and stacks of hastily-written notes. A small wine-colored radio 
graces the top shelf, together with Humpy, a soft, yellow rabbit, who fills the 
ofifice of mascot in this peculiar kingdom. 

Confusion reigns supreme on the desk itself. A wooden letter-holder, 
carved by the stubby hands of my younger brother, takes up at least four 
square inches ; a tiny blue vase, souvenir of Washington, D. C, is in constant 
danger of tottering to the floor and smashing to pieces. Two framed pictures, 
a study lamp, a dust-covered ink bottle, and a lost button occupy the outer 
edge, while on both sides the most frequently used school books are heaped, 
leaving only a small open space down the middle to actually work on ! 

Pinned to my study lamp are abbreviated notes to myself — "See advisor, 
see psych, quiz instructor about grade, buy soap" — . In hurrying to and fro 
these busy days, forgetfulness results from the fierce battle of the many 



October, 1950 15 

thoughts, ideas and worries that fight for recognition in my small brain. The 
notes help to refresh my memory, and as I complete each task, I cross it off 
the list. 

Every evening, I struggle to enrich my mind with the great works of other 
men, and from the same spot conies all creative work of my own — inspired 
themes, Spanish assignments and term papers flow from my pen to either do 
me honor or to bring disgrace. 

So you see, I have quite a kingdom. Although no blaring bands or scarlet- 
coated footmen greet me on my return home, there is the soft swish of wet 
leaves on the window pane, and my stuffed, jolly rabbit and tall, straight 
lamp stand in dumb respect while I once more ascend the throne. 

Hamp 

George Troutman 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 

PSYCHOLOGISTS SAY THAT PERSONS AND EVENTS CON- 
nected with childhood are among the strongest factors influencing the 
remainder of an individual's life. For this reason, if for no other, I 
have always felt extremely fortunate that I knew Hamp Peterson. 

Hamp was an elderly colored man who did odd jobs about the farm on 
which I was reared in south Georgia. Since the jobs were largely inconse- 
quential and not overly time-consuming, and because his two sons were grown 
men with families of their own, he spent a large portion of his days and often 
his nights teaching my two brothers and me the things which he enjoyed 
doing most — hunting, fishing, and trapping. To Hamp these things were 
uppermost in life. He was happiest doing them, and, indeed, his actual 
livelihood often depended upon his ability to do them well. 

He gave us an insight into many of the secrets of the woodsman. From 
him we learned where to find the biggest fish in the streams and how we 
should walk on the bank away from the sun so that our shadows would not 
be cast onto the water. He taught us how to tread lightly and silently on the 
leaves and grass in order to avoid frightening the squirrels and other small 
game when we were hunting. We learned to tell whether the rustle of a tree 
branch was caused by a breeze or by a small animal and whether the tracks 
beside a stream were made by a bear, by a racoon, or by a skunk. He told 
us what bait to use in our traps, where we should set them, and how to 
camouflage them so that they would look natural. Before long we were able 
to recognize many different plants, berries, and trees, such as the sassafras 
tree, whose flavorful root we boiled in water and made into a very tasty tea 
for many of our camping trips. We learned to find our directions in the woods 



16 The Green Caldron 

and to determine which snakes were poisonous and where they would lurk. 
He taught us to recognize the calls of many birds and animals and to differ- 
entiate between the chattering of an excited wood thrush and the bark of a 
feeding fox-squirrel. 

As Hamp influenced my childhood by familiarizing me with the friendly 
curiosities of the outdoors, he left for my manhood many unforgettable mem- 
ories and an undying love of nature. Unwittingly, he taught me the priceless 
ability to relax. The jostling crowds and blaring automobile horns are far 
away when I make camp at dusk and look up at the twinkling stars as they 
make their appearance behind the disappearing sun. The tribulations of my 
everyday life are dwarfed or forgotten when I hike across a green meadow 
surrounded by serene and majestic trees. Because of Hamp I learned a set 
of values which makes me place contentment ahead of overwhelming material 
success. 

As I wandered through the woods with Hamp, I thought, as a boy does, 
of only the excitement and pleasures of the moment. Now as I look back, 
however, I realize that my associations with Hamp have served to make my 
life a fuller, richer, and more enjoyable one. 

Watck Out! 
Here Conies a Pedestrian 

Irene L. Shuett 
Rhetoric X-101, Assignment 3 

1 MONG THE NATIVE POPULATION, CHICAGO IS A CITY 
/-\ of stoppers-in-their-tracksers. We are all familiar with the ambling 
tourist who stops and gazes around every few dozen paces, and any 
Chicagoan worth his salt can recognize him half a block away and avoid him. 
The dangerous ones are the natives who trot along at the usual rapid pace, 
then stop dead with no warning. I can be tolerant of the weave-in-and-outers 
and the poke-alongers and can even go along with the don't-quite-know- 
where-they're-goingers, but if I ever can get from Monroe Street to Wacker 
Drive without whamming into some sudden stopper it would be a red-letter 
day for me. This species in its advanced stage stops and bends over in one 
motion, leaving the fellow behind him with a 50-50 chance of going fanny 
over forelock. 

The usual pace of the experienced downtowner is a sort of half gallop 
with considerable body English, closely resembling broken field running. The 
scout for the Chicago Bears is missing a bet if he fails to spend a little time 
watching the Dearborn Street swivelhips during the five o'clock rush. He 



October, 1950 17 

could learn a few new angles from watching them take advantage of a hole in 
the line to gain a few yards. Of course there are no ground rules here, and a 
straight arm or shoulder and elbow thrust are not considered foul unless they 
are tried on someone bigger than yourself. 

Those who go through a revolving door and then stop right in the door- 
way are a little unnerving, too, as they leave only the choice between giving 
them a shove and going around again. Since few persons care to make like a 
merry-go-round, these stoppers usually get their richly-deserved shove. Close 
kin to these are the Revolving Door Deadheads. Nobody minds giving the 
door an extra push for an old lady, but usually it is the old lady who is doing 
the muscle work while some sweet young thing strolls through without soiling 
her hands. 

I can never understand how (or why) the street corner conferrers live so 
long. These are usually ten or twelve teen-agers or half a dozen assorted 
fortyish females standing right in the cross traffic, giggling and nudging one 
another as they decide which movie or restaurant is suitable to all, while the 
air gets bluer and bluer from the comments of the passersby. 

We won't discuss the spitters-on-the-sidewalk. They belong in the same 
category as the pigeons, only the pigeons don't know any better. But to 
round out our study of the pedestrian, we surely cannot overlook the sturdy 
fellow who gets in the back corner of a crowded elevator in a twenty-story 
building and wants out at the second floor ; or those who will stand out in the 
middle of the street when a fire engine is screaming for clearance ; or those 
who take a lead of? the curb when the traffic light is against them. What's that ? 
Crossers-in-the-middle-of-the-blockers ? Well, that was unkind ! 

Downtowners are a stolid lot, too — not easily surprised. A tandem bicycle 
manned by a couple in gay 90's clothes, advertising the recent opening of 
"The Drunkard," rated no more than a second glance. A little colored boy 
leading a Shetland pony down the middle of the street car tracks got attention 
only from the irate motormen behind him. A disheveled man with a black 
eye, so badly beaten up that he could scarcely stand, lurched along one morn- 
ing ; not a soul offered him help. Uniforms of all kinds and nations raise no 
eyebrows ; and the designer of the backless, strapless, topless sun dress can 
find it sauntering around downtown along with its cousin the bra-and-shorts 
combination any sunny day. 

It takes a man in Scottish kilts to turn the heads of these stout folk. With 
knees agleam and bonnet tilted at an impossible angle, he stopped traffic when 
he strode down Wabash Avenue with his bright red plaid kilts and sporran 
swinging in time to every step. Heads turned that day. Not only did people 
stare ; they stopped and stared, started on, and stopped and turned and stared 
some more. I didn't think anything could rouse these blase pedestrians, and 
when I saw the sensation he was creating, I wanted to fling my hat in the 
air and cheer. 



18 Tlie Green Caldron 

Blina People Tvitn Pink 
Velvet Poppies in Tneir Hair 

Charles Boughton 

Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 

DOROTHY PARKER ONCE WROTE A SHORT STORY 
called "Arrangement in Black and White". In it, she presented a 
satirized situation — no moralizing, no comment, no pain, no strain. Its 
overall impression might be illustrated by the final speech : 

"I liked him," she said. "I haven't any feeling at all because he's a 
colored man. I felt just as natural as I would with anybody. Talked 
to him just as naturally, and everything. But honestly, I could hardly 
keep a straight face. I kept thinking of Burton. Oh, wait till I tell 
Burton I called him 'Mister' !" 

Granted, the "woman with the pink velvet" poppies twined round the assisted 
gold of her hair" has been exaggerated for purposes of clarity, but she is a 
pretty good example of all the hypocritical do-gooders who read Kingsblood 
Royal and immediately become enlightened and prejudice-free. 

Actually, these people do more harm than good. They repress their 
prejudices and force themselves to act as they imagine the heroes in our 
current crop of anti-prejudice fiction would act. It is much more important 
to recognize the prejudice we all have for what it is and to try systematically 
and sincerely to combat it. 

The "pink velvet poppy ladies" (and gentlemen — using the terms loosely) 
are easy to recognize. When they have recently forced themselves to behave 
"properly" in an "embarrassing situation," you will hear them boasting loudly 
of their accomplishments. They almost never succeed in realizing that these 
very boasts are a conspicuous attribute of the prejudice they claim to lack. 
The person who has truly conquered his prejudice thinks no difiFerently of 
social contact with a Negro than he does of social contact with someone who 
happens to have blue eyes. There is nothing for him to brag about. 

The "pink velvet poppy league" has another characteristic that stems from 
a failure to understand what its goals should be. Members of this league be- 
come social workers. They petition legislatures to alleviate the miserable 
housing conditions in "colored districts" Period. These things are all well and 
good, but they are in the nature of temporary relief and do not, in themselves, 
constitute any kind of permanent solution to the problem. 



October, 1950 19 

The object is not to force themselves to become friendly with all the "poor 
underprivileged Negroes"! The object is to meet every person you come in 
contact with as an individual ; evaluate and treat him accordingly, without 
regard to his race or color. 

Many people have come this far without understanding the last paragraph. 
If a Negro does not measure up to personal standards, the fact that he is a 
Negro does not give him special privilege or place him in a separate category. 
Further, physical repulsion alone does not constitute prejudice. It is just as 
easy for a white person to be repulsed by a member of his own race as by a 
Negro. If that repulsion stems from reasons other than color of the skin, 
there is no reason why it should be stifled. That way lies insincerity, artifi- 
ciality, and nothing constructive. Neither is it fair to argue that I am wrong, 
that the Negro is a special case, that his environment is responsible. Environ- 
ment is just as responsible in the case of his white counterpart. But prejudice 
has made it nearly impossible for the Negro to rise above his environment. 
That's where the social workers come in. They make it possible for an ever 
increasing number of Negroes to prove their individual worth and merit. 

We must take this regrettably slow and painful path — the individuals 
must slowly (but permanently) refute the malicious rumors and misconcep- 
tions that surround their race — if this problem is ever to disappear. 



A Tax RevieTv Board 

Margaret Graham 

Rhetoric 101, Theme 4 

OUR PUBLIC SCHOOLS AND MANY OTHER PUBLIC UTILI- 
ties are maintained by the taxing of property owners. Since there is 
much room for error in making true valuations of properties, a tax 
review board has been set up in nearly every county in Illinois to protect the 
taxpayer. This board is composed of a chairman, who must belong to the 
dominant political party of his county, plus three other property-owning 
members. One of these three members must represent the opposing political 
party. The function of the board of tax review is to equalize and correct any 
discrepancies in assessed property valuation. 

Each year the local tax assessor inspects each of the parcels of property 
within his district and sets a valuation of what he considers eighty per cent of 
its current sale value. Since his time is limited, he must sometimes make 
hasty sur\^eys of this property and often this results in erroneous assessments 
and unfair tax bills. 



20 The Green Caldron 

Some of the most common errors made by the tax assessor are : ( 1 ) 
assessing improvements or buildings which are not completed; (2) assessing 
over the eighty per cent true valuation standard; (3) assessing farm land on 
the same scale per acre as urban property ; (4) including on the personal 
property tax roll items such as automobiles which have depreciated beyond 
taxing value; (5) neglecting to assess new improvements; (6) assessing 
properties of comparable value unequally. 

Whenever the taxpayer feels that he has been unfairly assessed, he may 
file a complaint with the board of tax review, stating the reasons for his com- 
plaint and stating what he believes would be a true valuation. The board 
members then make a thorough investigation of the property in question and 
a hearing is set in order that the taxpayer may hold a personal interview and 
express his opinions. At this time the board hands down its decision. In the 
event that the property has been unfairly assessed, a writ of error is issued, 
a change of assessed valuation is recorded in the tax books, and the tax bill 
is lowered to its proper amount. 



Sare and S 



ane Serenades 

James Decker 

Rhetoric 101, Theme 5 

TTT^LAGUE UPON YOU, LOVESICK RASCAJLS! GET YOU 
V"^ gone, you noisy villains !" These lyrics from a song written by Haydn 
show that even in his day the amorous serenader was not popular 
with the unmusical slumberer. The fact that this condition remains may dis- 
courage a newcomer to the art of musical wooing. However, if a prospective 
charmer is careful and benefits from past experience as I have done, he will 
find that by and by he will be offensive to only a few of the immediate neigh- 
bors of the fair maiden being serenaded. 

Unfortunately, my first serenade suffered from the blunderings that are 
so typical of impetuous youths. It happened like this. The lady had confined 
herself to her room with the inadequate excuse that she had to do homework. 
My friend asked me to help him gain an audience with her, so I suggested a 
serenade. That was my first mistake. My next mistake was ringing the door- 
bell. The person who opened the door was some pale, ghastly creature with 
metallic objects fastened to her head. She identified herself as the lady in 
question, whereupon I ordered her to her room so that we could serenade her 
in the more obscure darkness outside. While I was singing Italian arias 
jortissimo, my friend, who had not forgot his original purpose, was scaling 



October, 1950 21 

the wall to the damsel's window. It was in this awkward situation that we 
were discovered — or caught if you like — by a perturbed neighbor. Mumbling 
something about testing the acoustics, we made our apologies and fled, our 
serenade a complete failure. 

Nevertheless I learned many things from this valuable experience which 
has made me more popular with everyone concerned. First, I learned that 
you should be fairly sure the person being serenaded will enjoy it. Second, 
always throw pebbles to attract attention. It frightens the person so much 
that she is relieved to see it is only a harmless warbler. Third, sing soft love 
ballads with beautiful words. Actually the words are more effective than the 
music because the listener thinks the lyrics pertain to her and is often quite 
moved by their sentiment. In this manner a usually inept conversationalist 
may become eloquent enough to profess the passion that is in his soul, and 
even some that is not. But the important rule is to keep your feet on the 
ground and travel light. By following these simple rules, I have reduced the 
occupational hazards of the serenade considerably, making it a more pleasur- 
able experience. 



And tne Rains Came Upon Us 

David A. Traeger 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 

DURING ONE OF THOSE LATE SUMMERS IN MY MIDDLE 
teens when things were beginning to drag a little and school was not 
quite ready to revolutionize once more my way of living, Ron Blair 
mentioned to me that his father had promised him the car for a two-week 
vacation if he had any worthwhile plans for a trip. Now Ron seemed to have 
the urge to go to Canada and when he asked me to go with him, I thought 
the trip would be fun. 

The first problem was to obtain my parents' permission ; and though 
Mom and Dad were somewhat shocked at my request, I received their 
approval. I suppose they figured that the trip might bring out the man in 
me ; Mom and Dad were always looking for the man in me, and I did so want 
them to find it. 

Ron and I began making plans for the trip. We decided to make it a canoe 
trip. Canoe trips always sounded exciting to me ; and although I'd never 
before been in a canoe, I felt quite qualified for the venture because I had 
been a Boy Scout and I had read a couple of books about canoe trips — Captain 
Rowlings Goes Over the Falls and The Go-Ahead Boys in the North Woods. 
Ron and I decided that the trip could be taken most efficiently if we had two 



22 The Green Caldron 

more boys with us. We asked Len Koenen and Bob Lock, and they were 
quite willing to risk the trip. Bob wanted to know if there were any girls 
in the crew ; fortunately there were none. 

We all did some calculating as to the expenses of the trip, and Ron was 
elected to purchase all the food we were to take. We always split the food 
bills in four, but I noticed later that the food was not always distributed as 
exactly. As for equipment, the other three boys had the idea imbedded in 
their thinking that the Canadian rain season had already passed ; and there- 
fore, tents would be not only heavy but quite unnecessary. As gullible as I 
am, I believed the boys ; however, I finally persuaded them to take sleeping 
bags. 

We decided to make Ely, Minnesota, our starting point. There we planned 
to leave the car, rent two canoes, and begin our journey. To me the whole 
plan seemed well organized though there was some quibbling about the type 
of food Ron had purchased. Ron had not bought much meat of any kind. 

Early on a Monday morning, we left home in Ron's car. I can still see 
my parents — in that worried, uneasy stance they sometimes have when I am 
involved in a leavetaking — at the door ; Mother was trying so hard to smile. 
Ron's father had given him explicit instructions to drive carefully — under 
fifty miles an hour. We managed to follow orders well for the first twenty- 
five miles. We all took turns driving, but Ron always saw to it that he was 
in the front seat. I noticed when I was driving that Ron was trying to help 
me. He often would stamp his foot on an imaginary brake when he thought 
we were approaching danger. Once I even caught him shifting gears with a 
fishing pole he had resting between his legs. He seemed quite nervous. 

We couldn't make Ely the first day. We stopped along the way and 
practiced using our sleeping bags by the roadside. Lord knows why we 
needed the practice because we had plenty of practice sessions in the immediate 
future. However, the next morning we drove on. We arrived at Ely that 
afternoon and went to the Canoe Country Outfitters' agency. We checked 
out two canoes for ten days — the boys decided to make the trip ten days 
instead of two weeks because they were getting homesick. After taking in a 
movie called Up in Central Park — Judy Garland was in the movie ; I remem- 
ber her because she used to be my favorite actress — we spent the night in 
Ely Central Park. The boys thought they needed more practice with their 
sleeping bags. 

We arose early in the morning and went to the agency in the car. We 
put the canoes on the car and rented three pack sacks into which we put all 
the food and small equipment. Then we drove over to the waterfront. After 
Ron had parked the car on three different safe-looking spots and had locked 
each door twice, we were ready to start. 

After we had put the canoes into the water, we placed the pack sacks in 
the canoes. The canoes seemed as if they were loaded to capacity even though 



October, 1950 ' 23 

we were not in them as yet. Somehow, we managed to make room for our- 
selves ; we shoved off singing the "Volga Boatman." 

I would not say that we were expert mariners, and at first, we made very 
little, if any, progress. The canoes didn't seem to sense the direction we had 
so carefully planned to follow, and several times one canoe would pass the 
other going in the opposite direction. Before long, everyone was very tired 
and aching, but we were not the ones to quit so soon. 

Our first portage was the worst. The pack sacks were loaded to the brim ; 
we were tired, and the canoes seemed so awkward to carry that even the 
portage itself seemed long. We had to make several trips back and forth 
before we were ready to continue. 

Once again, we were in the water. Some Girl Scouts passed us, and I 
think they were laughing at us. We passed the Ranger Station separating the 
United States and Canada. The realization of the fact that we were now in 
foreign territory occasioned a rather general attack of nostalgia. As dusk 
approached that day, we pulled into a small island and made our camp for 
the night. No one had much to say. In a sort of listless confusion we prepared 
a meal consisting of bacon, baked beans, dried noodles, gelatin, canned milk, 
tea, apricots, and dill pickles. We should have been hungry because this was 
our first meal that day, but there was no great display of that enthusiasm so 
often shown by people eating a picnic supper. Somehow, the food we ate did 
not taste as good to me as Mother's cooking. My fellow-travelers must have 
had similar reactions, but we evaded the issue and agreed to take turns cook- 
ing thereafter. We finished our meal and crawled into our sleeping bags 
early ; I for one was grateful for being physically tired. 

Each day carried us farther into Canada. The days seemed about the 
same except for little incidents. We would stop only to eat, sleep, and rest. 
We intended to paddle into Canada for three days, find a camp, and stay there 
for four days. We allowed three days for the return trip. We noticed, as we 
progressed, that there were very few people in the area besides ourselves. 
Of course, we didn't mind looking at each other for the first few days, but 
later, I'd have given a day's rations to see another face besides that of Len, 
Ron and Bob. 

The outfitters had supplied us with a map which we were trying to follow. 
Once, when we referred to the map for our position, we found that we were 
supposed to be in a narrow channel ; we happened to be at the time on a very 
wide lake. We concluded that the map was misprinted and threw it over- 
board. The boys claimed that the sun was used as a guide by the ancients, 
and who are we to argue with the ancients ? Many cloudy days were to follow. 

Eventually, we came to the conclusion that we were lost. After some 
frustration among the crew, we spotted a lone cottage on the shore to the left. 
We paddled toward the structure and found an old fisherman sitting on a 
pier leading out from the cottage. The old man was chewing tobacco, and 



24 The Green Caldron 

he had his eyes set firmly on the waters beneath his overhanging feet. His 
hands tenaciously held a fishing pole which he apparently had been using 
since he was a child. We asked the man if he could tell us where we were 
and how we could get back on our planned route. After some deliberation, 
the fisherman gave us some directions. I think he resented such intrusions 
on his peace and quiet because he kept muttering, "Damn kids, always 
scaring my fish." 

We made two unnecessary portages just to get back on the route. By the 
time we made the portages, we had been traveling for three days. The food 
was still holding out, and the weather had been favorable. We were ac- 
customed to our sleeping bags at .last, and we seemed in better physical con- 
dition than we had been previously. The time had come to look for a four-day 
camp site. We found a beautiful island surrounded by huge boulders. The 
island seemed uninhabited, and we thought that the boulders would make 
excellent diving platforms. Later we discovered that the boulders were also 
suitable for playing "leap-frog." 

Here on the island, we began to see the intensity of Canadian night rain- 
fall. Each night on this island, the rains would descend just after we were 
neatly tucked inside our sleeping bags. We had no tents, and, although we 
were surrounded by huge pine trees, the rain seemed all the more determined 
to drench us. We soon arranged to take turns waiting up for the rain. The 
rains would usually come without much warning, but as soon as the "rain- 
scout" realized showers were coming, he would quickly awaken the rest of 
the crew. Then we would stuflf all the perishable food and valuable equip- 
ment in our sleeping bags and spend the rest of the night sleeping among 
oranges, pancake flour, bacon, sugar, tea, and potatoes. I spent the most 
uncomfortable nights of my life on that island when I was sleeping in the 
water. We always managed to dry out our sleeping bags during the sunny 
days only to have them soaked again at night when new rains would seep 
through the canvas and bathe our feet. 

Rain was not the only worry we encountered at this time. Quite a bit of 
our food was gone. Some of the food had been destroyed in the rains, some 
had been used as fish bait, and some had been wasted in a food war we staged 
one morning when we were in a peculiar mood. We found that we had no 
meat left at all except when someone would bring back a fish. After we had 
completed taking inventory, we actually had three boxes of pancake flour and 
two boxes of Bisquick. That was all. I didn't care much for the fish the boys 
infrequently brought home, and I soon became tired of pancakes for breakfast, 
biscuits for lunch, and pancakes for supper. I swore that I would never eat 
pancakes or biscuits again if we ever got back home. I think the meals might 
have impaired our health somewhat. We didn't talk to each other much at 
all. Len and Bob had a big argument when Len found that Bob was hiding a 
box of sugar in his sleeping bag. Bob had been using sugar on his pancakes 



October, 1950 ■ 25 

and biscuits. The only other disturbance was when Ron thought be heard 
Indians in the woods one night. We finally convinced him that the noise was 
made by a bear or snake, and he seemed relieved as he quietly turned over to 
sleep again. 

When the time to start back home came around, we were almost too eager. 
The realization that soon we would be back in civilization, that soon we would 
be able to nourish ourselves with decent meals, and that soon we would be 
able to shelter ourselves from the mighty rains seemed to drive our paddles 
deeper and faster into the choppy blue waters. 

We arrived back at Ely two days after we had left the island even though 
we had been delayed four hours one afternoon by a violent thunderstorm. 
We pulled the canoes ashore and literally raced to the nearest restaurant. 
Unshaven as we were, we all indulged in one of the biggest feasts we had ever 
eaten. Finishing the meal, we returned our canoes and pack sacks to the out- 
fitters' agency ; and after we had paid the bill, we had very little cash to spare. 
Consequently, we slept that night in the park again. That night I saw the 
Aurora Borealis for the first time. The sight was one of the most beautiful 
I have ever seen, as all kinds of colored formations darted in and out among 
the clouds. 

We arose early the next morning, and we started back home in the car. We 
seemed to drive very fast, and even Ron seemed in a hurry when he drove. 
By nightfall, we were on the Chicago side of Madison, Wisconsin. Ron re- 
fused to let the car be driven at night, but Len and I were so eager to get home 
that we decided to hitchhike the rest of the way that night. We had moderate 
luck until four o'clock in the morning. We had been picked up seven times, 
but most of the rides were of short duration. With fifty cents between us, 
we were halfway home and couldn't buy a ride from there. We fell asleep 
along the roadside without sleeping bags. In the morning, I found a tele- 
phone and called my mother. She hesitantly agreed to come to the rescue 
and pick us up. 

That ride home in our familiar family car, — with my mother at the wheel 
asking innumerable questions, admonishing a little but sympathizing a lot as 
I looked at her with my sleepless, lean, bearded face — is one of the most 
pleasant rides I can remember. I was beginning to feel normal again, antici- 
pating the comforts and security of home. Len and I were just complimenting 
ourselves on not waiting for the other boys when Mother turned into the 
driveway. There on our front lawn sat two smiling boys, Ron and Bob, 
looking clean, refreshed, and ever so pleased with themselves. They had 
had a full night's sleep at the place where Len and I had left them — and they 
had been home already for six hours. Such is life. 



26 The Green Caldron 

No Place to Hide 

Richard M. Bartunek 
Rhetoric 102. Theme 6 

THE TIME IS ABLE DAY MINUS THIRTY. IN ONE SHORT 
month the world will have an answer to the riddle of the effectiveness 
of the atomic bomb against naval weapons. Do these thirty days repre- 
sent the remaining existence of the Bikini fleet, or of the world, or neither? 
Can the blasts spark a fission reaction between the billions of water molecules 
of the Pacific Ocean? Are the ports of the west coast in danger of being 
smothered and smashed by herculean tidal waves? 

The answers to these questions are now history, due to the efforts of the 
scientists of Operation Crossroads who observed and interpreted the great 
experiment and formulated the log of events before, during, and after the 
detonation of the Bikini bombs. Doctor David Bradley was assigned to the 
Radiological Monitors Division of Joint Task Force One. No Pla<:e to Hide 
is his diary. 

The book is written for the masses. The language is simple ; anyone with 
a smattering of high school chemistry or merely an understanding of barber 
shop nuclear physics will not be troubled by the author's scientific terminol- 
ogy. Had the book been written otherwise. Doctor Bradley would have de- 
feated his own purpose. He is an exponent of, "Ye shall know the truth, and 
the truth shall make you free." He believes, and who doesn't, that atomic 
energy is here to stay, wanted or unwanted. He believes that men must either 
come to understand atomic energy and learn to live with it, or return to their 
caves and prepare for a third Dark Age. 

The scientific arm of Joint Task Force One assembled in May of 1946 
aboard the converted hospital ship the U.S.S. Haven in San Francisco Bay. 
The date set by President Truman for Test Able was July first. In one month 
the largest scientific army in history had mustered its forces at Bikini, a here- 
tofore unimportant dot in the vastness of the Pacific. The "game" was about 
to begin. Navy was playing host to the Army Air Corps. The spectators 
were 40,000 technicians. The participants of the game were a huge target 
fleet comprised of ships of almost every type, drawn from the navies of many 
nations, and two seemingly insignificant bombs. Although there would be no 
winner, the "smart money" was bet on the Air Corps. The object of the game 
was, supposedly, to determine the better method of destroying an enemy's 
fleet. The plan for the first half, called "Test Able," was to detonate a bomb 
several hundred feet above the masts of the test fleet. The "knockout punch," 
if one was required, was to be delivered in "Test Baker" — a detonation at the 
water line. When the balls of fire that had been first used in New Mexico 



October, 1950 27 

and later at Hiroshima and Nagasaki had ditTused themselves into live steam 
and seared battleships, the hardest job of Operation Crossroads, the work 
of the so-called ''ground keepers," began. The task of determining the far- 
reaching effects of the two explosions was left to the scientist. Marine biolo- 
gists began their studies of the effects of radiation on fish and marine plant 
life. Doctors, physicists, and chemists worked side by side safeguarding, or 
trying to safeguard, the health of the men who were assigned to the inspection 
of the dead, but still deadly fleet. Oceanographers began their study of the 
effects of the tremendous shock waves up>on the coral formations of the atoll. 
By October the necessary data had been assembled, confiscated, and swal- 
lowed in a maze of military security. Operation Crossroads was dissolved. 

The Bikini tests were a failure not because of error in observation, but 
because of error in publicity. Had the world been presented with the real 
results of the twin explosions and been allowed to examine what was left of 
the once proud Enterprise, the New York, and the Pensacola, Tests Able 
and Baker would not have been in vain. Our civilization is doomed unless 
people begin to think in terms of peace rather than in the "safety" fabricated 
from stockpiles of death and destruction. There is no real defense against 
atomic weapons. There is no place to hide. 

Wealtn Can Be as Dangerous 
As Poverty 

Don Coe 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 

THE REAL DANGER IN BOTH POVERTY AND WEALTH 
lies in the reaction of the individual to extremes of wealth or poverty. 
For the purposes of this discussion, wealth will mean the abundance of 
material goods, and poverty will mean the lack of material goods. It is 
possible to be spiritually wealthy while lacking material wealth ; Christianity 
teaches us this virtue. We shall not concern ourselves with spiritual wealth. 
There is an old proverb passed down through the ages which reads, Satan 
finds some mischief still for idle hands to do. This is a fitting proverb for 
this discussion because it describes in two words, idle hands, the danger which 
lies in wealth. 

Man's ego is endowed by nature with an expressive or creative desire to 
produce material goods and to further the progress of civilization. Combating 
the creative urge in man is a natural instinct which is called laziness. These 
two urges are in constant conflict every minute of the day. 

If a person is endowed with material wealth, his necessity to produce or 
create material goods is removed, and the forces of laziness will dominate his 



28 The Green Caldron 

personality. Unless he is of a strong will power, he will degenerate into mental 
stagnation. This degeneration in itself is not harmful. The danger lies in the 
creative ego of man seeking expression through a degenerate and shrinking 
personality. 

In order to satisfy the ego and attract attention, the creative urge goes to 
the negative extreme. Your attention is invited to the daily newspapers for 
proof of the preceding statement. Witness the number of brilliant and wealthy 
people of this nation who have embraced the doctrine of Communism. Is 
there a logical reason for the acceptance of Communism by wealthy people 
when the Communistic doctrine seeks to destroy their wealth? Is it logical 
to assume, then, that wealthy people accept a doctrine which seeks to destroy 
them because of a suppressed desire for self-expression which was suppressed 
by their own wealth ? 

A poor man is easily persuaded to accept a doctrine that will give him 
more goods for daily consumption. His philosophy of life could easily be that 
he has nothing to lose and everything to gain by a doctrine such as Com- 
munism. How easy it is for a shrewd man, gifted with organizational ability, 
to weld the manpower from the ranks of the poor people with the wealth 
from the ranks of the rich people, and create a powerful force to spread the 
doctrine of Communism. The wedding of wealth and poverty- is gaining 
momentum in many parts of the world. 

If wealth is as dangerous as poverty, what is the answer to the ills that 
plague mankind in his relationship with his fellow men? I do not propose a 
new doctrine to solve the world's ills. The answer lies in education of the 
individuals in their responsibilities to mankind. Moral and spiritual values 
must be taught to each individual before these values will be reflected in inter- 
national relations. The education of the individuals will be a huge task, but 
the results will warrant the eiifort. 



SCR-E-E-CH . . . C-RUNCH ... A BROODING SILENCE . . . 
then two simultaneous barrages of profanity shatter the atmosphere. 

A peaceful afternoon on John Street is interrupted, and bleary-eyed students wander 
from the indeterminable shadows to investigate this clamor. Upon my arrival at the 
scene, two bespectacled chauffeurs were vehemently appraising each other's ancestry and 
character. The cause for all this hullabaloo was clearly evident in the form of two 
slightly outmoded roadsters ; roadsters with crumpled radiators. 

Deriving little satisfaction from the verbal battle, the chauffeurs' accusing fusillade 
dwindled to occasional bursts of censored remarks, mumbled threats, and belligerent 
grunts. At last, at a loss for words, tliey recorded one another's license numbers and 
stalked away with treacherous gleams in their eyes. 

The spattering of student onlookers that had accumulated reluctantly dispersed, 
but not before proclaiming the criminal. I, curious as to the outcome of this episode, 
sought vainly for more information. Seemingly, it was just another happenstance of 
which life is composed and which will be swept into the doubtful yesterday. 

F. J. D. Martin 



October, 1950 29 



My First Taste of Maturity 

Audrey Wilsey 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 10 

I RECEIVED MY FIRST TASTE OF MATURITY ABOUT FIVE 
or six years ago, but yet I can remember every detail. How old was I? 

About twelve. I used to go to Hines Veterans Hospital to play the piano, 
entertain the boys, and give them cigarettes. Twelve years is a very young 
age, and I was young ; I was innocent of the things life entailed. 

One night in December, I entered the Hines Hospital with the purpose 
of entertaining the patients. I hopped up onto the movable piano ensemble, 
and the head nurse wheeled me along the corridor to Ward A. 

Each ward contained forty boys, and as we entered the first ward, I saw 
forty heads duck under the covers. The room was silent. Suddenly one of 
the patients peeked out from beneath the covers and yelled, "Hey fellas, it's 
only a kid." In almost perfect unison, each man lifted his head from under- 
neath his blanket. They greeted me with enthusiasm. I played a few ballads 
on the piano, and then with a sudden bang, I burst into a red-hot boogie 
woogie piece. The sounds of a loud, appreciative applause and shouts 
clamoring for more came like the first sight of a welcome mat. I played two 
additional boogie woogie pieces, and I stopped. 

I reached for a large box filled with cigarettes and proceeded to distribute 
them to the veterans. One of the veterans had paralyzed hands, and he asked 
me to light his cigarette. Qumsily, I pushed the cigarette between his lips 
and lit it for him. I lingered a few moments to exchange polite conversation 
with him. During the conversation, he said to me, "You know, honey, you're 
the prettiest girl I've seen in a long time." I was flattered, but because of the 
self-consciousness of a twelve-year-old girl, I blushed and walked away. 
Later, my young mind started to function when a nurse mentioned to me 
that he was blind. 

I went to four other wards ; I played for four more hours, almost con- 
tinuously. My thumb started to throb with pain as I beat out the boogie 
basses. I did not stop because I knew that I had only one more number to 
complete, and then I would be finished for the evening ; then I could go home. 
My throbbing thumb kept in rhythm with my music. It seemed to beat out, 
"You are pretty ; he is blind. You are pretty ; he is blind. ..." 

When I finished the piece, the head nurse asked me to play for a patient 
down the hall. He was in a private room, and only the hopeless patients had 
private rooms. I told her that I would be glad to do anything that I could 
for him. The piano was pushed just outside the room. He could see me, but 



30 The Green Caldron 

I could not see him. He requested boogie woogie, and with my throbbing 
thumb, I played boogie as though my blood kept in rhythm with each beat 
of music. How my thumb ached ! The beat, beat, beat of the pain again called 
out, "You are pretty ; he is blind. You are pretty ; he is blind. ..." My 
thoughts were confused, and I wanted desperately to stop playing. I could 
not endure the pain in my thumb any longer. I had to stop, but yet I had to 
continue. That boy in the room wanted to hear it. Just at that moment, the 
head nurse whispered to me, "You may stop now. He can't hear you any 
more." 

That night, I left the hospital with my first taste of maturity. I did not 
like it ; it was bitter. 



Deatnly . . . Silence 



F. J. D. Martin 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 

THE CADILLAC SPED TOWARD THE CROSSROAD FROM 
the south, and from the east came an old Ford. Two autos, each from 
a different direction, were approaching a common point. It was in- 
evitable that they should meet. 

The night is quiet. Someone has died. The quietness is broken by a 
wailing siren. Police arrive and place the red accident flares. Men in white 
uniforms are busy gathering fragments of men. A wrecker backs up to a 
twisted heap of metal. The wrecker's tires track through sticky blood and 
splintered glass. The metal shrieks its protest at being dragged away. A siren 
wails again and the men in the white uniforms are gone. A policeman mum- 
bles, "They never knew what hit them. . . ." as he sweeps up the broken 
glass. Another is sprinkling saw-dust over the bloody highway. There are 
skid marks which will remain for days. The flares go out— the police get into 
their car — a starter whines for a moment and once again the night is quiet. 

Ten miles away an old farmer is awakened by the ringing of the telephone. 
The caller whines ... an accident . . . the old farmer mumbles his thanks 
and silently hangs up the receiver. A thousand miles away a telephone rings 
and is answered by a portly, gray haired business man. He clutches at a 
chair and collapses. 

Later, the telephones are used again — friends and relatives must be in- 
formed and arrangements must be made. The two old men are alone by 
telephones with a story ihat must be told. 



October, 1950 31 



Tne Menace or Television 

Ron Carver 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 11 

THE CONTEMPLATIVE LIFE BEGINS TO VANISH BEFORE 
the menacing rise of television. When this rout of thought is completed, 
then nothing will remain of the intellectual dignity of this nation. The 
appeal of the new medium is so great that it draws its supporters from every 
level of life. Doctors, lawyers, scientists, teachers, and other such supposedly 
culturally advanced members of our society are just as liable to fall before 
the television menace as the man who drives the fruit truck for the store down 
the street. Television will eventually cover the nation as effectively as radio 
does now. When that day comes, then the softening-up attack on individual 
privacy (begun twenty-five years ago by commercial sound radio) will have 
been completed. The thought processes of men cannot at one moment enter- 
tain great thoughts and take in the offerings from the television screen. 

Whatever works against the contemplative life is evil — or if this be too 
harsh, then call it inane or stupid. True cultural progress is only possible 
among those who believe in the contemplative life. And if these persons are 
subjected to constantly increasing invasions of the private life, then they will 
be drained of their strength and of their desire to continue on their chosen 
path. Their numbers will be decreased. Mental discipline — won over such 
fearful opposition — will wither away and become— even more than it is now — 
an object of derision. Why bother with the fuddy-duddyism of this discipline, 
cry the votaries of television, when such sweet pleasures await you, without 
requiring any effort of either your mind or body ? 

Television is evil. It destroys ideals that have taken long periods of time 
to gain favor. It increases the worship of the vulgar. It idealizes such men 
as Milton Berle, men who offer nothing worthwhile. Perhaps their slapstick 
comedy brings pleasure to people, and a certain amount of slapstick may be 
all right. But to have it in such and regular and unending flow, that is 
nonsensical. 

As contemplation dies, so, too, do values lessen and become weakened. 
And when this happens, then a civilized society begins to lose its reason for 
being. Radio, or rather the misuse of radio, originated the menace to con- 
templative life. Television, its successor, will probably complete the task. In 
the light of its menace to contemplation, I can only repeat that television is 
an evil. 



32 The Green Caldron 

Rket as Writ 

The coal mine shaft has been filled in to some extent by the city directors. 



* * + 



"Life is sacred and no one has a right to limit the allotted spam of an- 
other human being." 

"Aunts and bees are examples of natural Communists." 

* * * 

"In this particular story he tells of a doctor giving birth to a baby by 
Caesarian operation." 



The city claims the distinction of having the shortest thermometer in the 

U. S. 

* * * 

"I thought at that time the statement was very true and void." 



"Picasso lived with various women and was never without a practical 
joke." 

"If parents would teach their daughters the truth about sex, there would 
be a lot less misconception." 



One of the major problems I have run up against in college is the lack of 

mother. 

* * * 

All in all, the new transmissions do away with a great deal of the drivers 
and do it better than most drivers are able to do it themselves. 



I 



I 



^ 



[he 6reen Caldron 

A Magazine of Freshman Writing 

THE LlBPvARY Or i.;Z 

u.i.v'CRSltY OF ILLIN''^'^ 
CONTENTS 

Charles Broughton: Sentiment Rears Its Ugly Head .... 1 

Ann Lankford: On the Threshold of Eternity 3 

Evelyn K. Bohneberg: Grandma's Plan 5 

Ruth Tash: Fay 6 

Elizabeth Yeatter: The Smell of Greasepaint 8 

Ivan Davis: What Religion Means to Me 9 

Frieda Wallk: The Atom and I 10 

Virginia Ann Stigleitner: Autumn 11 

Donna Corydon: What Winter Means 12 

Richard Wright: Misty Morning 13 

John Massey: The Pinto 14 

Mary A. Roser: Sugar Is Bad for News 15 

Harry C. Kariher: Sugar Is Good for News 16 

Ronald Bushman: The Newspaper's Role in Molding 

Public Opinion 17 

Carol Stewart: Seven Come Eleven 18 

Marlene Geiderman: Chicago and I 20 

Shirleyann Jones: A Week End in My Home Town . . . . 21 

Robert S. Hoffman: A Friendly Game of Poker 23 

John W, Jacobs: Comradeship 25 

Rhet as Writ 28 



Vol. 20, No. 2 December, 1950 



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. Permission to publish is obtained for all full themes, 
including those published anonymously. Parts of themes, how- 
ever, are published at the discretion of the committee in charge. 

The committee in charge of this issue of The Green 
Caldron includes Marjorie Brown, Howard Reuter, 
Robert Stevens, Harris Wilson, and George Conkin, 
Chairman. 



THE GREEN CALDRON 

Copyrighted 1950 

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. 



Sentiment Rears Its U^ly Head 

Charles Broughton 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 13 

ONE OF THE MORE POPULAR WORDS IN MODERN LIT- 
erary criticism is sentimentality. Literally, this word means emotion- 
alism. This, we are told, is the literary equivalent to the bubonic 
plague, which the well dressed twentieth-century American author will avoid 
at all costs. The good little twentieth-century American author will retire to 
his garret and write bad imitations of Ernest Hemingway. 

Pardon my sacrilege, but I think this sort of thing has gone on quite long 
enough. Ever since the very beginnings of American literature, there has 
been a tendency to pedestal things European. From this perspective, 
"European" has developed several connotations which make unfortunate 
models — a cool aloofness, sophistication, etc. The European plane is some- 
thing devoutly to be wished — something a little above the crudeness of the 
New World. The unfortunate result of all this is that we have so enslaved 
ourselves to aping European culture, that it has become nearly impossible for 
us to be ourselves. The "American spirit" has become a very elusive thing. 

Sentimentality is a part of that spirit because Americans are sentimental. 
Before un-American activities proceedings are started against me, let's see 
whether there isn't just a remote possibility that the foregoing statement is 
not an insult. I have already stated my conception of the literal synonym of 
sentiment, that is, emotion. Sentiment is some degree of emotion. To get 
more specific, sentiment implies the higher, more refined emotions, such as 
sympathy, tenderness, and sensitivity. Now what is so horrible about that? 
Oh, I grant you, the enemies of sentimentality are pitted against the extreme 
case — where emotion overrules the reason, and it's the sentimental author 
they loathe, not the sentimental plot or incident. But I will not grant that this 
is justified. I praise the skillful sentimental author. If he can jump all the 
emotion out of an incident, I cry hooray. It is only the unskillful, "gushy" 
author who is to be damned. He is to be damned, not because sentimentality 
is involved, but rather because bad writing is involved, which is quite another 
thing. 

In their book, Modern Rhetoric, Cleanth Brooks and Robert Penn Warren 
condemn Bret Harte for a piece of sentimental writing. The following is the 
passage in question. It describes the last days of an innocent and of a 
prostitute. 

"The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery drifts of snow, 

shaken from the long pine boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled 

about them as they slept. The moon through the rifted clouds looked down 

1 upon what had been the camp. But all human stain, all trace of earthly travail, 

I was hidden beneath the spotless mantle mercifully flung from above. 

I [1] 



2 The Green Caldron 

"They slept all day that day and the next, nor did they waken when voices 
and footsteps broke the silence of the camp. And when pitying fingers 
brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely have told from the 
equal peace that dwelt upon them which was she that had sinned." 

Messrs. Brooks and Warren begin their criticism by pointing out an un- 
speakable crime. Mr. Harte "in his anxiety to stress the pathos of the scene 
and the redemption of the fallen woman, is not content to let the scene speak 
for itself." Think of that, he went so far as to interpret the scene ! What's 
worse, he uses "pseudopoetic language" ! Just exactly what, I would like to 
know, is "pseudopoetic language"? An afifected term invented to cover up a 
weak argument, I think, or perhaps I have been wrong in thinking that 
language rich in poetic imagery and connotation is a supreme and rare virtue. 
I must be sadly behind the times, indeed. As a proof of which, I had better 
hurry to locate that catalogue of words which belong so exclusively to poetry 
that to use them elsewhere brands one as a "pseudo." Finally, Harte is ac- 
cused of making a deliberate effort to arouse the reader's emotions. Need I 
go on? The authors' big criticism is, of course, that the situation doesn't 
warrant the emotion aroused. Good heavens ! There is no earthquake, no 
seven county flood, merely the death of two human beings. Can you imagine 
anyone getting all worked up over that? I think this illustrates to what ex- 
tremes this dread of sentiment has led us. 

Let's break down these poses, this assumed ennui. When the point is 
reached where death is not considered a sufficient motivation for excessive 
emotion, I think it's about time, don't you? Surely the American people are 
not that cold blooded. If literature is to be an expression of the people, surely 
such suppression should not be one of its regulations. Sentiment is not an 
unmanly trait. It is a fundamental human quality — nothing to be ashamed of. 
Those who condemn it — or even those who condemn an occasional excess of 
it — are merely exhibiting their own affectation. 

If there is anyone who doubts that sentimentality is a part of the so-called 
American spirit, let him look at the spontaneous period of American literary 
endeavor — the period before we had learned artifice — the period of tent shows 
and showboats. This was before we had time or desire to compare ourselves 
to our "European betters" of literature — before we learned to suppress natural 
exuberance. What did our grandmothers and great-grandmothers read and 
see and hear? Uncle Tom's Cabin, East Lynn, He Still Pursued Her, Ten 
Nights in a Bar Room. But that was all a long, long time ago, you say? Not 
so long. But, all right, did you not listen to the six-or-seven-plot variation 
Lone Ranger programs when you were a child? Don't the "good-girl-goes- 
wrong-and-is-forgiven" stories sell millions of copies every year ? No, Amer- 
icans are a sentimental people. 

I know of at least one modern, purely American expression that has not 
denied this ; Jerome Robbins' short ballet. Interplay. It is a very mature 
work — a little beyond the concept that in order to illustrate the American 



December, 1950 3 

spirit you have to have cowboys and Indians. In fact, it has or suggests no 
locale and is set in no romantic period of the historic past complete with con- 
venient traditions. The ballet makes many comments on the American char- 
acter, among them breeziness, energy, spontaneity, inventiveness, playfulness, 
competition (particularly physical competition, sometimes going to the 
"show-off" extreme), unconventionality, and last, but not least, sentimental- 
ity. I say 'not least' not just because it is the specific quality I'm dealing 
with; the sentimental pas dc dcii.v (appropriately accompanied by dance-hall 
blues) has real choreographic emphasis — and incidentally usually draws the 
loudest applause. 

Symbolic theatre is one of my favorite varieties, and understatement a la 
Hemingway requires much the same sort of "audience participation," so Mr. 
Hemingway has a place on my bookshelf. But real skill in consistent under^ 
statement is a rather rare individualistic gift. To hold it up as a goal to any 
large group of writers is a mistake. We'll get stufif like this : "He looked at 
the huge gash in his side. There was pain. He watched the blood gushing 
out of the wound and trickling down over his new, blue suit." Don't you 
think this can come as close to being a bubonic plague in literature as senti- 
mentalism can? 

On tne Tnresnola or Eternity 

Ann Lankford 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 

I ONCE SAW A PAINTING WHICH, BECAUSE OF ITS STARK 
realism and tragedy, I have never been able to forget. It is called "On 

the Threshold of Eternity" and pictures an old man sitting by a dying 
fire, with his face buried in his hands, and fear and foreboding in every line 
of his body. The picture is so realistic because there are many old men like 
that, men who reach an age late in life where they stop and wait in the empty 
present of their existences, reaching back longingly into the past and dreading 
to raise their eyes to the future. And it is because of these men that I con- 
sider my grandfather more than slightly remarkable. For his present is not 
filled by that foreboding or resigned patience, but by the still tangy taste of 
life and what it has to oft'er. 

The resiliency of youth is perfectly illustrated by his physical resistance. 
Fifteen years ago, at the age of seventy-one, my grandfather fell from the 
high upper branches of a cherry tree. With his feet planted supposedly 
firmly on the top rung of a ladder, he was reaching out in his customary 
vigor when his foot slipped and he plunged down twenty or thirty feet to the 
concrete sidewalk. Later, outside Grandpa's bedroom door, the doctor shook 
his head somberly at my grandmother and warned her that her husband 



4 The Green Caldron 

would probably never walk again. A year later Grandpa was making his 
habitual daily trip to town without the aid of cane, crutches, or any other 
such "nonsense." 

Today at the age of eighty-six. Grandpa has finally condescended to 
employ the use of a cane, but he slaps it down briskly as if it were the orna- 
ment of a Park Avenue gentleman and occasionally even leaves it standing 
forlornly in the corner of the grocery store while he trots merrily home 
without it. In walking, sitting, or standing, his back and whole posture are 
as little inclined to bend as if he were strapped to an ironing board. "I hate 
to see a man all hunched over," he says decisively. "If he's a man, let him 
walk like a man." 

Perhaps the hard, active life Grandpa has led has something to do with 
his seeming inability to grow very old in spirit or body. From his boyhood, 
his days have been filled with the necessity of hard work. In Germany, the 
place of his birth, he was a homesick little apprentice to a wagon-maker at 
the age of fourteen. When he came to America at the age of twenty, he had 
nothing but the skill of his hands to help him in his business — wagon-making. 
During these years, he himself helped to build the home in which he still lives. 
Although he retired from work at seventy, he and my seventy-nine-year-old 
grandmother still maintain their large house, and they do all the work, not 
only for themselves but for two other people as well. It is certainly true that 
his life has given him not a hatred for work as perhaps might be thought, but 
a lasting respect for it and for the satisfaction it has brought him. 

Every piece of work and every hobby engrosses him entirely. He enters 
upon everything he does with the same awareness and vigor. He is an ardent 
ball fan, and nothing short of the house burning down can distract him from 
a broadcast of his favorite team. With the avidity of a small boy on the 
bleachers, he cheers and mutters advice, all directed to the radio at his side. 
He reads the newspapers from first page to last and enjoys nothing more than 
a lusty argument over politics. Everything he sees about him is vitally 
interesting to him, especially because at his time of life he has more leisure 
to examine things properly. 

I am never able to conceive of an end to Grandpa's life. In my mind the 
thing doesn't exist that could defeat him. One thing, though, I'm sure of: 
when the end comes, it will be as vigorous and untangled and clean as the 
life he lived. 



By mixing with people, a person can distribute his character over a larger ;' 
group of people. i; 



December, 1950 5 

Granama's Plan 

Evelyn K. Bohneberg 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 3 

MY GRANDMOTHER-IN-LAW HAS BEEN GETTING READY 
to die ever since I've known her. When my husband and I first 
started going together, she told me, in a very confidential manner, 
that she was seventy-two years old and wouldn't have much time on this earth. 
I was nineteen at that time and seventy-two sounded like a very ripe old age 
to be. After a lapse of ten years, it doesn't seem quite so old. 

Grandma is a typical grandma, white-haired, fat, and eternally living in 
the past. She was left a widow at thirty-five with a boy of nine. She lost her 
son seven years ago. Since almost everyone she knows has already died, she 
is more than willing to join them, only, however, if they are in heaven. 

Last summer while grandma was visiting us she gave my husband specific 
instructions, even to the most minute details, as to just what should be done 
when she dies. The conversation between them seemed somewhat morbid to 
me, and I commented on it when my husband and I were alone ; but he pointed 
out that it is the only thing she has left to look forward to, and she is planning 
it as younger people plan a picnic. 

Out of a small income she has bought her burial plot, coffin, cement box 
and headstone. She has even gone so far as to have her name and date of 
birth chiseled on the headstone, and my husband was advised that the chiseling 
of the date of death has also been paid for, and that he should make sure that 
the monument dealer doesn't charge for it again. 

A few days after that morbid conversation, grandma and I went shopping. 
While we were in one of the department stores, we passed the yard goods 
counter, and I noticed some pretty blue material. I called grandma's attention 
to it and laughingly suggested that it would be just the kind of material for 
a dress for the occasion we had spoken of only a few nights before. An hour 
and a half later we left the store with pattern, buttons, thread, and six yards 
of material for grandma's burial dress. The next day grandma started work- 
ing on her dress lest she die before she could finish making it, and fearful 
perhaps that no one else would make it just the way she wanted it. 

We have received a letter from her since she returned home in which she 
thanked me repeatedly and, as she put it, "It would never have been made if 
you hadn't been so thoughtful." She also advised us that she is now working 
on a blue slip for the same occasion. 



Fast drivers don't cause accidents because by the time the accident hap- 
pens a fast driver is past the place it happened. 



The Green Caldron 



Fay 



Ruth Tash 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 3 

THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS WHICH HAPPEN DURING 
the course of one's life that it is difficult to determine just when the 
power of objective reasoning leaves and its successor, human emotion, 
gains full control. 

Perhaps in the case of Fay Baron this loss of the power to reason ob- 
jectively could be traced to the death of her parents. More probably, however, 
the loss could be attributed to the fact that she had no choice but to witness, 
during the first World War, the desperate plights of her family and the fam- 
ilies of others. The war destroyed everything whicli symbolized stability to 
her. But so many others fit into this category that one cannot generalize to 
such an extent as to say that she suffered more than others. There are tragedies 
occurring daily which leave for others the same devastation that the war left 
for Fay. No, it is not enough to find reasons. Human emotions go far beyond 
reasons. They venture into the very depths of the soul. "Why" is a most 
difficult word to understand and an even more difficult one to explain. 

Prior to the war, Fay was, I imagine, not much different from others 
her age. There are times, if she is not too tired, when she will retell eagerly 
the anecdotes of her childhood days. Most of her early life was spent on a 
Lithuanian farm. Nature was her most intimate friend. She knew and under- 
stood it better than anything else. Those hours spent out-of-doors, whether 
it was winter or summer, were her happiest. She climbed trees with the 
agility of a skillful trapeze artist and was not even frightened by the terror 
of the countryside — a large, easily-excited bull. In fact, she and her two 
brothers spent many a delightful hour being chased by it. Once, however, it 
almost caught her, and from then on Fay and the bull were vicious enemies. 

Her education was limited by necessity rather than choice. At the time 
of the war, she had completed what would be equal to our eight years of ele- 
mentary education. Because of the death of her mother and father and the 
enlistment of her older brother in the National Army, she was forced to stop 
any further schooling she might have been capable of obtaining and leave her 
homeland. 

It was a very frightened and bewildered fourteen-year-old girl who de- 
scended the gang-plank of the tramp steamer that spring day in the early 
'20's. She knew but a few words of English. Helplessly, she looked about 
for someone who could assist her. But even these problems, no matter how 
perplexing at the time, were no different from those which confronted the 
hundreds of other refugees who were with her. Yet she could not cope with 
them. She became ill and could not leave the point of disembarkation for 
several weeks. 



I 
J 



December, 1950 7 

A new environment is something to which one needs adjustment, and 
although it was difficult, her natural instincts told her she must become ac- 
quainted with her new homeland and the people who inhabit it. Because of 
her unusual shyness, she was an extreme introvert. Nevertheless, she wel- 
comed the opportunity of going back to school. She learned to speak English, 
in a broken fashion, at a relatively fast rate. Unfortunately, circumstances 
prevented her from continuing school, and even today a slight foreign accent 
is detectable. 

Her friends were few, and as a result, her only companion and teacher 
was the aunt whose home she shared. She was never a very attractive girl, 
for there was no one to help her choose her clothes or to teach her how to 
arrange her hair. When she met the man she was later to marry, she was a 
shy, uninformed girl of twenty. 

Her husband became ill after the birth of their third child, a boy, one they 
had hoped for since their marriage. When this baby was sixteen months, her 
husband died. She tried from this point on to bear the burden alone. Then, 
five years later she had to sit back miserably and watch the state officials put 
her children in the homes of other people. There was no finer parent in the 
world. She came to visit them whenever the rules permitted, and never once 
did she fail to bring them something with which to cheer them. 

Time passed almost too quickly, and her children were growing. But 
during this passage of time she, too, had grown. She had grown old and 
tired, and although thirty-one, she was nervous, physically exhausted, and 
completely out of social contact. She dressed the way her meager salary 
would allow. She always wore practical clothing in order to save enough to 
refurnish a home for her children. Her once coal-black hair was already 
streaked with grey, and her wonderful complexion became wrinkled from 
over-fatigue. The only characteristic feature which she retained was her 
pleasingly plump figure. 

She tried not to miss the small luxuries which most people take for 
granted, but she lived only on the barest essentials. All this she did with the 
thought of having her children home again. She wanted this more than she 
wanted the power of life. It was not until six years later that her dreams were 
realized and her family was once more together. 

Today her neatly combed hair is almost entirely grey. She still wears 
serviceable black oxfords and never goes oflf her carefully planned budget. 
She often insists that one black dress is good enough for factory work, and 
jokingly complains when one of her children buys her a gift of a new one. 

She has based the remaining part of her life on her children's success ; at 
times, she is unable to realize that she cannot lead their lives for them. 

This wonderful person, who has realized so few of her own dreams, and 
who has given her entire life so that her children might live normal ones, is my 
mother. 



8 The Green Caldron 

Tne Smell oi Greasepaint 

Elizabeth Yeatter 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 

IT'S A HALF-HOUR UNTIL CURTAIN TIME, AND THE HOUSE 
seats have begun to fill. The props and costume crews are making final 

checks, and the directors are still arguing about the blue lights in the death 
scenes. People with unknown destinations are scurrying everywhere, and the 
whole set is alive with anticipation. Now is the time for the most exciting 
preparation of all — making up. 

A make-up kit is set out. In it are the basic materials of theatrical cos- 
metics. There are bases, rouges, liners, powders, false hair, and nearby, and 
just as necessary, lots of cold cream and Kleenex. Ready? Then let's start. 

First a base is applied. It may be the old standby, greasepaint, or it may 
be a liquid with an oil base. Whatever its form, the base must cover all 
visible skin. It looks a trifle strange to see an actor whose face and neck are 
different shades, no matter how well they look together. The base must also 
be applied sparingly lest the face look pasty onstage. 

Next comes rouge. Wet rouge is used for the lips, wet or dry for the 
cheeks, although dry rouge usually assures a more even job. Eye-shadow 
should be applied in dabs to the centers of the eyelids and gently smoothed 
outward to make the eyes appear wider. Eyelashes, if pencilled, are extended 
slightly beyond the outer corners of the eyes. Lashes, brows, and wrinkles 
follow the natural lines. Smile-wrinkles are the easiest to trace. White liner, 
used to accent wrinkles, is tricky, and the more miserly the amount the better. 
The whole painted surface is finally doused with powder, the excess dusted 
off, and the lips repainted and blotted. 

The final complexion of the subject depends on the number of base, 
powder, and rouge used. These are numbered in order of lightness from one 
to eight. Lighter shades are used by blonds and redheads, while brunets 
take a darker shade, one ranging from four to six. Boys take darker make- 
up than girls with the same skin and hair tones. In liners, blonds take blue 
eyeshadow and brown pencil, while brunets take brown shadow and black 
pencil. 

The age and physical state to be portrayed are also factors to be con- 
sidered. Darker bases make the skin look more faded. Deeper hollows in 
the eyes, less rouge or even a touch of blue on the cheeks, less lip-rouge, and 
lined wrinkles all give an older look, while a ruddier or lighter base, few 
wrinkles, pinker cheeks, and red dots on the inside corners of the eyes tend 
to accent youth. To make cheekbones and nose more prominent, a touch of 
white liner gives the needed emphasis. 



December, 1950 9 

False hair is applied with spirit gum. Liberal amounts of hair are glued 
lightly to the skin, then trimmed to fit the specifications. 

These, of course, are the most basic of rules, but they can produce an 
unlimited variety of effects. Make-up, however, is a dangerous thing. Too 
little is no good at all ; too much is worse than none. The effect must be 
subtle but unmistakable. Skillfully applied makeup gives new meaning to a 
character portrayal by allowing the actor to make the fullest use of facial 
expressions. A skillful job will eradicate certain elements of the actor's own 
personality and place an emphasis on or introduce traits dominant in the 
personality of the character. 

It's a hard task, but it's well worth the effort, for, after all, that tube of 
greasepaint is a key to that wonderful land of make-believe that is the theater. 



Wkat Religion Means to Me 

Ivan Davis 
Rhetoric 101, Theme B 

SOME PEOPLE FEAR RELIGION. SOME RESERVE SUNDAYS 
for religion. Some claim not to possess any religion. It is not for me to 
decide whether they are right or wrong. I can only say that my religion 
is something I enjoy. I live my religion every day and every hour. I value 
my religion. 

My religion is in the bustle of the cities — the streetcars, the trucks, and 
the automobiles. I see it in department stores, in railroad stations, and in 
restaurants. It is in the crowds of people, surging restlessly threugh the 
streets. 

My religion is in the sweet sanctity of the country. It includes the ever- 
patient trees, the grass, and the gently whispering meadow streams. It is in 
part the hummingbird, the meadowlark, and the eagle. In my religion there 
is room for the skies, the clouds, and the rain. 

My religion is not stiff or dignified. I enjoy my religion as much on a 
picnic as I do in a church, or alone. It is with me while I walk to and from 
classes, or while I study. Still, I enjoy the dignity of a church service, for 
much can be gained from such a ceremony. 

My religion does not need pomp or grandeur, for I find it in the laughter 
of children and the quiet joy of parents. I feel it in the comforting sun, and 
the restless breeze. It is in Jupiter and Venus, the moon, and the Milky Way. 
Yet my religion sees the awe-inspiring ocean and covers the majesty of a 
towering volcano. 

Nothing is too great or too insignificant, for to me religion is a way of 
life, and my religion loves life. 



10 The Green Caldron 

Tne Atom and I 

Frieda Wallk 
Rhetoric 101, Placement Test 

I DO NOT HAVE A SCIENTIFIC MIND. OF ATOMS, PROTONS, 
and neutrons I know practically nothing. Nevertheless, I have been 

forced to the conclusion that these scientific terms are very important to 
me. I must have as great an interest in them as I have in my personal welfare 
because my very existence may depend on how the knowledge of atoms is 
employed. No longer do I blithely say, "Oh, I never could understand things 
like that," and continue on my way. I am taking a new attitude toward the 
atom because I am interested in staying alive. 

Scientists, the benefactors of mankind, worked for many years to discover 
the intricacies of the atom. Now there are people who are sorry these facts 
were ever discovered at all. They charge that the scientists have gone too 
far. I do not share their opinion. It is not the scientists who have gone too 
far ; it is the people who haven't gone far enough. Knowledge of the atom 
is wonderful, for there are many benefits which can be obtained from it. The 
duty lies with the people to take an active interest in the atom, to learn about 
its potentialities in all fields. It is this belief which has changed my own 
attitude toward the atom. 

I am seventeen years old. In a short time I shall be accepting my re- 
sponsibilities as a citizen. All around me there are people shaking their heads 
in dismay. They say that my generation is facing a crisis ; perhaps they are 
right. Bewailing one's condition is hardly ever a solution to a problem, 
however. I want to be able to face the problem with a certain amount of 
knowledge concerning it. If I am unable to meet the situation, I am not 
keeping pace with a rapidly advancing world. 

For these reasons I have listened and tried to learn. The social results 
of the knowledge about atoms is something I can understand. I need little 
understanding of science to know that my entire home town could be de- 
molished by one bomb developed by our modern knowledge. 

Yes, I realize that the atom affects me, but I also realize that it is some- 
thing that can be controlled by man. We have but to use our reasoning power 
to this end. This is an era in which I am afraid to become frightened. I must 
instead become informed. The atomic age is a challenging one. I want to 
meet the challenge. 



World War III must not happen, even if we must fight in Korea, Iran, 
Yugoslavia, Turkey and other places for years. 



December, 1950 11 

Autumn 

Virginia Ann Stigleitner 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 2 

\ UTUMN IS NATURE'S MOST COLORFUL WAY OF CHANG- 
/-\ ing her mind. From the monotonous green of summer she gradually 
shifts to faint yellow and red. Then, her mind made up, she plunges 
into scarlet and vivid yellow, into rich browns and bright oranges. 

Autumn is death for small boys. Gone are the lazy, joyous days of fun. 
Buried are the thoughts of knights and dreams of adventure. A falling leaf, 
a gust of wind changes his life from beautiful summer to pencils and books. 

Autumn is money for an ambitious department store manager. Down 
come the pinks and whites, the mint greens and soft lavenders of dresses. 
White sandals are put on sale and bathing suits are reduced to half price. 
Out come myriads of sweaters and skirts in dazzling colors. The store fairly 
dances with autumn activity. 

Atutmn is football to thousands of men and women. Thermos jugs are 
filled with steaming cofifee. Blankets and warm coats are brushed and made 
ready. The cheering, excited voices of fans parallel the rising voice of the 
wind. The throngs of people leave the stadium and scatter in all directions 
just as leaves scatter at autumn's touch. 

Autumn is sleep for the many resort towns. Cottages are swept and 
sheets folded away. Canvas tops are put on the white sign which says, "Pine 
Tree Lodge — 5 miles." The lakes are still and marred only by occasional 
ice-cream wrappers — remains of a lively season. The blue, spaceless sky 
puts on her cloak of gray, for autumn is here. 

Autumn is a hurry-scurry pause for the woodland creatures, a pause before 
snow leaves her mark everywhere and food is hard to find. Squirrels are busy 
selecting choice nuts for their winter diet. Birds are preparing maps for their 
trips south. Yes, autumn is the busy season for God's woodland children. 

It is strange to realize how reliable Mother Nature is. For century after 
century she has been kind enough to pause before she hurls ice and snow into 
our lives. 

Autumn is here and I am glad. 



Already one atomic bum (one of the old and important ones) has killed 
more people than the U. S. of America has. 



12 The Green Caldron 

Wkat Winter Means 

Donna Corydon 
Rheioric 101, Theme C 

KAREN, WHO IS ONLY SIX AND WHO LIVES A FEW 
houses away from me, could spend hours telling what winter means. 
Her words might be simple, but the many and imaginative ideas be- 
hind those words would be highly complex. 

The first impressions called to her mind would probably be of snow. 
Snow means wearing leggings and overshoes, but who could mind when there 
are snowmen to build or snowballs to throw. 

Snow usually means dark nights, too. But there is always a fire in the 
fireplace, an extra fluffy quilt on the bed, and hot cocoa at breakfast. 

Snow means games that you could never play in the summer. The Fox 
and the Geese and the Flying Angel give lots of excuses for lying in the snow 
or jumping in huge piles of it. Skis, sleds, and toboggans turn a plain old 
hill into a real paradise. 

Of course, the best thing about winter is Christmas. Nobody could help 
loving the tantalizing odors of roasting turkey and baking cookies in the 
kitchen. Only a person colder than the snow itself could fail to be thrilled 
by the downtown crowds and shiny displays, the carols and bejls and Christmas 
trees. Then there's Santa Claus, everybody's friend, with his big smile and 
still bigger bundle of gifts. 

Certainly Karen could go on about winter until it was summer, or at least 
until the television set interested her more than her own talking. But there 
is a namesake of Karen's somewhere in Chicago who could not talk like this. 

Our second Karen is also six, skinny though, and pale as the snow that 
blows into her window every night. Pale as the bold, cold snow that makes 
her shiver under her thin blanket and in her little jacket, and that makes her 
mother sick and her father cross. That snow is the reason there is nothing to 
do but huddle around the stove all afternoon. It's the reason there's no food 
from the window-box garden, no food at all except canned meat and soup. 

Karen can tell when it's Christmas too. She knows by all the bright trees 
in the store windows, not by one in her parlor. She knows because there is 
a clean special red cloth on the table, and a little present for her, and a sad, 
sad smile in her mother's eyes. 

And somehow Karen knows that more Santa Clauses are needed in the 
world. When we get them it will surely be a sweet and simple matter to tell 
what winter means. 



December, 1950 ' 13 

Misty Morning 

Richard Wright 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 

THE STATION WAS PERCHED ON THE SIDE OF A DEEP 
cut where it watched stoHdly over the wanderings of the rails in the 
switchyard below. The impassive, gray stone face which had stared 
silently at the spouting, struggling steam engines throughout their heyday 
now looked with the same lack of excitement on the colorful diesels and their 
shining cars. The old building seemed intent, listening to the big oil burners 
hum by or murmur among themselves as they glided back and forth along the 
sidings. 

The station was built like a great, grey mastiff sitting on its haunches. 
Its hindquarters rested on the top of the bank, and its heavy forepaws 
reached down to brace on the floor of the cut. 

It wasn't raining exactly, but a heavy fog hung in the air. The droplets 
seemed suspended, waiting for some passing body to shake them loose. The 
greying promise of dawn in the east was hardly discernible. The blanket of 
mist caught the gaudy light of the neons as they shot skyward from the front 
of a restaurant next to the station and reflected them playfully back to the 
ground. 

The sidewalks were almost empty. A boy and a girl, both nearing their 
twenties, accompanied by an older lady came slowly up the street, talking. 
They entered the restaurant and were lost behind the coat of steam which the 
cool moist air of the morning had spread on the window. They reappeared 
shortly and walked down the street again, away from the station. 

A steam freight engine pulling a train of empty coal bunkers moved 
slowly along a siding, leaving a trail of smoke hanging in the mist. As it 
passed beneath the highway bridge spanning the tracks, the smoke welled up 
in angry clouds on either side of the structure. The smoke tumbled and 
twisted agonizingly until the two clouds finally clasped hands and merged 
without a sound. 

The boy and girl returned, this time alone, and passed through the glare 
of the restaurant's neons and went on toward the station. They stopped 
beneath a streetlight where he set down the suitcase he had been carrying 
and leaned against the post. As they talked the older lady drove up in a car 
and blew the horn. The girl looked at her watch, allowed herself to be kissed 
and got into the car. 

As the tires buzzed away on the moist pavement, the boy stood on tiptoe 
to see over the row of parked taxis and waved. The reflection of the red tail 
lights in the wet street pursued the car around a corner and out of sight. The 
boy picked up his suitcase and walked into the station. 



14 The Green Caldron 

Tne Pinto 

John Massey 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 4 

DAWN CAME SLOW, COLD, AND GRAY. THE WASTELAND 
strained under the impact of a vicious northern gale. The elements 
clutched and tore at my sleeping bag. Angry dirt and grit sifted their 
way through minute rents in my bedding and clothes. I rolled, and every 
jagged grain in the vast wasteland clawed me and scratched my skin. I was 
cold, miserable, and dejected. The northern blasts toyed with my huddled 
form, its iciness enveloped me. I clamped my teeth and felt them grind on 
dirt and sand. I tried to spit, but it did no good. Painfully I struggled to an 
elbow and with tired, burning eyes searched the whirling dawn for the pinto. 
In vain — he was gone. I dropped my head back to the hard saddle and 
shielded my face with a sleeve. I wondered whether I ought to get up or stay 
in the roll. There wasn't much choice. A shivering, hungry, and destitute 
animal, I crawled from between the ragged blankets. The driving onslaught 
struck me. I bundled up the bed-roll and reached for my boots. One of them 
lay half buried in the sinister, shifting sands. I turned it heel up. Millions 
of particles spilled out and were swept by the wind to recesses of the barren 
no man's land. The black traces of last night's fire were completely obliter- 
ated. Nature in time covers all. The boots were tight and rough on my feet 
as I drifted south with the gale. That pinto better not be far. 

The whistling, swirling sand danced into my eyes, nose, and mouth. I 
tried blowing the irritating grains from my clogged nostrils, but always I 
drew in more than I blew out. I pulled the dirty red bandana over my stinging 
nose and parched mouth. Collar high and hat low, I trudged southward. The 
raging wind was forever at my back, forever clawing at the saddle and bed 
roll clutched in my numb and weakening arms. We had camped near an 
abandoned water hole. I figured the pinto would drift with the sand-sea to 
the south after having pulled his stake rope. He would head for the Cotton- 
woods we'd passed the afternoon before. Meawhile the elements flew past my 
dark, haunched-over figure. Dirt and tiny plants swished past, and fanned 
out before me. The two-faced wind would tease the terrified Buffalo Grass, 
then would uproot the weakest plants and fling them southward. During the 
lulls I would lean back, slowly raise one foot then the other, and let the wind 
boost me on. The Cottonwoods loomed from the darkness on my left. I had 
almost missed them. Near the middle of the clump, the taller trees, wildly 
bowing, yielded before their master — the wind. I staggered cross-wind and 
fell exhausted into the scant, tempest-tossed underbrush. I left the heavy 
saddle where it fell — and blindly crawled toward the thicket's center. There : 
stood the dark outline of the shivering pinto. 



December, 1950 15 



)uoar IS 



Bad ror Ne^vS 



Mary Alice Roser 
Rhetoric 101, Placement Test 

TO THE FOUR FREEDOMS— FREEDOM FROM WANT, FREE- 
dom from Fear, Freedom of Worship, and Freedom of Speech — Amer- 
icans through the years have gradually added a fifth freedom — 
Freedom of the Press. We Americans are rather proud of that freedom as 
any nation is particularly proud of an asset which almost no other nation 
possesses. But if we were to examine this fifth freedom more closely, there 
is some doubt that all of our claims would be justified. 

We, as a people, have pampered ourselves into believing that the news- 
papers give us all the news, but the editors and news commentators cater to 
our desires by telling only those things that sound good to our ears, that lull 
us into a sense of security and well-being. This is never more true nor more 
disastrous than in time of war. 

The people of America realize that they should not be told of troop move- 
ments, of special weapons, or the exact detailed plans of battle. Such a 
knowledge would be dangerous and would jeopardize the lives of those whom 
we love, upset the plans of our leaders, and bring about those very complica- 
tions which we are trying to avoid. Nonetheless, the people of America do 
ask that the "prophets of print" feed us with war news that hasn't been 
diluted to take away the bitter taste. Only through the combined efforts of 
soldier and civilian, of man and woman, of housewife and statesman, can any 
war be won. The news sources often lead one to believe that the fighting man 
is "advancing steadily and the war will be over in a few days or weeks." Is 
there any incentive for the man at home to double his efforts to help the war 
effort when he hears daily that it's practically all over but the shouting? 

Of course, the American people want to know when their army is advanc- 
ing. Of course, they want to know when their army is victorious — those are 
their sons, their husbands, brothers, and sweethearts. They also want to 
know when that army has been driven back, when it didn't have enough men, 
medicine, and machines. They want to know what was listed in the agree- 
ments between one nation and another and precisely why certain agreements 
were made. They want to be spoken to as level-headed adults and to be told 
what has happened, why it has happened, what to expect, and what to do 
about it. They want to know the score. 

Before we become so agitated about all the lost causes and freedoms in 
foreign lands, perhaps we should work on that sixth freedom — the right to 
hear the TRUTH. 



16 The Green Caldron 

Su^ar is Good tor News 

Harry C. Kariher 
Rhetoric 101, Placement Test 

DURING WARTIME, WHICH IN THE LAST DECADE AP- 
pears to be most of the time, we Americans pride ourselves on our 
accurate presentation of war news, from our victories to our worst 
defeats. There has, however, been criticism from some circles that we have 
been in many cases following a process known as "sugar-coating" — or releas- 
ing only the favorable news of the hostilities. 

As an employee of the Champaign Neivs-Gazette, I realize that certain 
parts of these criticisms are true. Yet, the grumblers often fail to take into 
consideration certain facts by which the newspaper, radio and magazine have 
been guided since Pearl Harbor. 

One of the first things that a pro-realist should understand is that it is 
not so often withheld information but rather it is the manner in which un- 
pleasant facts are presented that invites criticism. An effort is made to 
feature cheery items, and to include news of defeats, casualties, or other set- 
backs in inconspicuous places. This is not always possible, but when it is 
accomplished, it does much to forestall war panics. 

The calm, emotionally well-adjusted man will read or hear all of a sum- 
mary comprehensively. On the other hand, the less wise member of the public 
skims the highlights and is off to read the comics or listen to Jack Benny. It 
is not the first fellow that we fear but the latter. He will fail to catch the 
overtones and optimistic notes in bad news, and at the first sight of unwelcome 
tidings he will panic others, spreading and exaggerating his tale to unholy 
proportions. 

This brings us to another important point in the news business. That is 
one of public morale. The comic-reading man, loosed in society with his 
bloated mouthings, would turn into a sort of bug-eyed monster as far as 
public morale is concerned. He would convince some, terrorize others, and 
leave the balance of the populace in a wondering, confused state. There is no 
one more convincing than a misguided moron. 

If such a catastrophe should take place, the news bureaus would have to 
come up with some real fact-manipulating. This would include the holding 
back of information, and, in some cases, the telling of white lies. Such 
measures are necessary to restore a frightened people to a more normal 
state of mind. 

So, sugar-coating is necessary. Man is naturally a pleasant, hopeful sort 
of an individual, and a little sweetness helps to keep him that way. 



December, 1950 17 

Tne Ne^s^spaper's Role 
In Molain^ Putlic Opinion 

Ronald Bushman 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 

THE MOST IMPORTANT SOURCE OF INFORMATION ON 
daily events and activities is the newspaper. To find out what's at the 
theaters, what's going on in Korea, or what the weather will be, one 
turns to his newspaper, but few realize that their thoughts and attitudes are 
being formed and controlled by this medium. 

The United States-Russia situation is an ideal illustration of the above. 
Our general attitude toward Russia has certainly changed in the last five 
years. After World War II Russia was more or less a "hero," being vic- 
torious over Germany and being an important card in the deal for peace. 
But now the cards are well shuffled and through propaganda and other in- 
fluences, Russia is at the bottom of the deck so far as we are concerned. Also 
many words have taken on new meanings as a result of association and the 
careful work of newspapers. Communism no longer is merely a form of 
government, but it now represents something evil or vicious ; to be called a 
"Red" is the worst possible insult. But how did all of this come about? How 
did Russia become a villain in the eyes of Americans? The answer lies in 
the conglomeration of facts and propaganda put forth by newspapers, other 
periodicals, radio, columnists, and others ; but the dominant influence lies in 
the newspaper, for it reaches more people than all the others put together. 

Perhaps the most important and efficient method of forming public opinion 
lies in the headlines — the emphasis and the way they are stated. Recently the 
Daily Worker, which is the mouthpiece of the Communist party in America, 
stated a United States bombing in Korea as : "Korean Civilians Slaughtered 
by MacArthur Bombs," while the average American paper would report it 
as : "United States Nears Victory with Bombing of Reds." Thus, the reader 
receives different implications from the two headlines reporting the same inci- 
dent. Results are also acquired by keeping Russia in the headlines. In the 
last three months news and propaganda about Russia have rarely been 
subordinated. 

Another part of the newspaper which greatly influences public opinion is 
the editorial. Here the newspaper gives its policies to the reader. Here ideas 
are presented which can directly and quickly change and develop the readers' 
attitudes. However, most readers realize that the viewpoints presented in 
editorials are entirely personal and generally reflect the position of the paper ; 



18 The Green Caldron 

therefore, editorials are not as powerful in forming public opinion as are the 
headlines and ways of presenting the news. 

Another method of molding public opinion is by the means of word 
association. Newspapers, by always connecting "Reds" or Communism with 
something immoral, have brought new connotations to many words. 

In Russia, newspapers also have a strong influence on the people's minds. 
While American newspapers attempt to present all the news, Russian news- 
papers print only certain carefully selected parts of the news and leave the 
rest up to the individual's imagination. The result is inaccurate and to 
Americans often ludicrous. 

Usually the newspapers' efforts result in a greater degree of nationalism. 
The American attitude toward the United States and Russia situation has 
become synonymous with the idea of right versus wrong. A general an- 
tagonistic attitude toward Russia has been achieved because this attitude 
promotes nationalism. 

The newspaper has succeeded in forming the attitudes of Americans and 
continues to influence public opinion from day to day. 



Come El< 



Deven ^^ome nieven 

C.-VROL StEW.\RT 
Rhetoric 101, Theme B 

NUMBERS HAVE ALWAYS HELD A FASCINATION FOR 
mankind. Through the ages numbers have been thought to possess 
power for good and evil. The greatest inconsistency in this kind of 
thinking is that a number considered lucky by one group may be avoided as 
an ill omen by another. 

Almost all the numbers have power attributed to them, sometimes forj 
good, sometimes for evil. Four in particular seem to be fairly universal in 
their portents. They are two, seven, eight, and thirteen. The numbers two 
and eight are practically always considered bad luck. The Pythagoreans 
made eight the symbol of death, and the modern term "behind the eight ball"! 
carries out this same idea. 

Two is the most abused of all the numbers. The kings of England who 
were the second of any name seemed to have met with misfortune. In card 
games the "deuce" is often a bad hole card. Many people will refuse a two-i 
dollar bill, while others immediately tear off a corner to ward off the curseJ 
This tendency to mutilate two-dollar bills is the despair of the treasury de-j 
partment. One of the reasons for this general antipathy toward the numbed 
two may be its nickname "deuce," which seems to suggest evil because of its 
connotation of the devil. 



December, 1950 19 

Seven is supposedly one of the most powerful numbers. Wherever sujjer- 
stition involving numbers exists — and that includes the entire world — seven 
plays a prominent part. In East India, for instance, the natives refuse to 
work six days and rest the seventh. They believe that would be calamitous. 
Instead, they rest on the eighth day, missionaries notwithstanding. To the 
Hebrews seven was a sacred number. The Bible is full of the number seven. 
God made the earth in six days and rested on the seventh. Likewise, "there 
were seven years of plenty, and seven years of famine ; Jacob served Laban 
seven years for Leah and seven for Rachael, and his children mourned for 
him seven days at his death. There was a whole complex of sevens involved 
in the fall of Jericho — on the seventh day the city was encompassed seven 
times by seven priests bearing seven trumpets. Balaam demanded seven 
altars, with seven bullocks and seven rams ; Elijah sent his servant seven times 
to look for rain ; and Elisha healed Naaman of leprosy by making him wash 
seven times in Jordan. Later we find Jesus casting out seven demons from 
Mary, speaking seven words from the cross, and commanding his followers 
to forgive their enemies, not seven times, but seventy times seven." ' The 
Greeks, too, considered seven lucky as did (and do) many other races. Our 
week is based on this same belief in the potency of the number seven. 

Thirteen is usually considered unlucky. Many buildings have no thirteenth 
floor; either the number is skipped, a mezzanine numbered 12A is built in- 
stead, or some other device is employed to avoid the necessity of using the 
number thirteen. Also, most hotels and office buildings have no room number 
thirteen on any floor, for the simple reason that it would be extremely difficult 
to rent. Many people will leave a dinner rather than eat at a table where 
thirteen people are seated. A disturbing thought for anyone who fears the 
number thirteen is to be found in an examination of the Great Seal of the 
United States — it has thirteen stars and thirteen bars ; an eagle, with thirteen 
feathers in its tail, holds in its left claw thirteen arrows and in its right an 
olive branch bearing thirteen leaves and thirteen olives, and the motto 
E Pluribus Unitiii contains thirteen letters. 

In general, odd numbers are considered lucky. Although this idea varies 
slightly in some areas, and thirteen is a general exception, these irregularities 
only prove the rule. There is great disagreement, however, in just what kind 
of good or bad fortune the various numbers foretell. This, of course, is due 
to the fact that there is no real basis for the belief in numerical omens. Co- 
incidence, fear, and a great desire to be "forewarned" and therefore "fore- 
armed" have led mankind through the centuries to set up some system, no 
matter how fallacious, of determining the future. Numbers, with their great 
propensity for mystery, are a natural choice for the superstitious. 



1 Breton Berry, Kom and Your Superstitions, Columbia, Mo. : Lucas Brothers, 1940, 
p. 131. 



20 The Green Caldron 

Cnica^o and I 

Marlene Geiderman 
Rhetoric 101, Theme B 

x^yrONDERS NEVER CEASE IN THE EXCITING CITY OF 
\X/ Chicago. From as far back as I can remember, this metropolis, with 
its assorted figures, smells, and dialects, has been my home. Yes, 
it has been my home, as well as that of my parents and friends, and if I ever 
leave this city for even a short time, I always leave some part of myself 
behind. 

Funny how something like a city can grow in your system and never 
leave you at peace. At night when I step out onto the back porch and see the 
reddish tint of the sky, then I know that the steel mills are working overtime. 

During the day, I walk down to the dunes ; thousands of people are trying 
to escape the heat by sitting on the hot sand — licking popsicles. 

It is August, 1950; Dave and I have just heard the Grant Park Concert 
through to the end, and the "Moonlight Sonata" lingers in my ears. The 
grass has a warm, wet smell to it that kind of tingles my nostrils and makes 
me feel strange — a little tense. Walking down toward Buckingham Fountain, 
which is now, with its many colors, in full force, I can see the Chicago skyline 
off Lake Michigan, and as the Palmolive Beacon sweeps a circle around us I 
know that as soon as possible we will make our own home in this wondrous 
city. 

Yes, Chicago ! Riverview on a Saturday afternoon ! The crowds shove 
themselves in and out, and for a thin dime anyone can get a million death- 
defying thrills. Mary wants an ice cream cone, Jackie wants the Merry-Go- 
Round, and Mama's patience is almost at an end. And what do I want? Well, 
just win another Kewpie Doll for me, dear, and then we'll go home. 

Walking down Roosevelt Road, I see assorted windows; I come in con-l 
tact with assorted smells. The pushcart peddler and the high school boy, the 
hoodlum and the priest, the easy woman and the righteous reformer ; all can 1 
be seen on this same street, and because of these people, it's a wonderful 
street. I often get hungry, however, because any restaurant in this vicinity is 
just the place for the wondrous delicacy, a hot corned beef sandwich with a 
big pickle. Yet, somehow, I forget the vile language and the dirty streets, I 
the hoodlums and the pickpockets, and the different races and religions, and | 
I remember that these are the people that make up my city, and I love them. 

Michigan Avenue, with its skyscrapers and exclusive shops, is truly a I 
magnificent street. This street of dreams has people there too, but, somehow, 
I know that they are far above my reach. As the limousines speed by, I wait 
for my bus, and I have an uncomfortable feeling in my heart, but deep down 



December, 1950 21 

inside of me, I know that in Chicago there is equaHty, and the shoe shine boy 
may one day be mayor. 

Lincoln Park has always meant a picnic lunch, a camera, and a visit to 
the zoo. There, people can forget world problems, junior can forget his home- 
work, and sweethearts can fall in love. 

But the happy August days have at last run out, and now Chicago and I 
are separated for a while. Soon, however, we'll be back together again, and 
the part of me that's in Chicago, I hope, will help me to appreciate my new 
surroundings and make me a better person. 

A Week End in My Home To^vn 

Shirleyann Jones 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 2 

SIX MILES FROM THE JUNCTION OF THE LITTLE WABASH 
and the beautiful blue Ohio, so-called by those who have never witnessed 
its annual rampages, a Southern Illinois farming community snuggles 
comfortably against the edge of the Ozark foothills. 

If anyone should chance to stray from the main highway. Route One, and 
drive slowly into the thriving little town of eleven hundred souls, a spanking 
white sign would proudly inform him that he is now entering the popcorn 
center of the world ! Awarding due respect to that significant piece of news, 
he would continue down the road, and if his eyes wandered past the Pabst 
Blue Ribbon advertisement shouting for its share of attention on the opposite 
side of the smooth pavement, he would quietly and gravely be reminded that 
he is invited to attend the Presbyterian Church this Sunday. 

Fields still green prove emphatically to the driver that he is no longer in 
upstate Illinois ; forests that swallow dusty lanes, meandering innocently from 
the paved road, make a last desperate attempt to fight winter while the wind 
tugs at the few remaining leaves until they flutter gaily in the soft Indian 
summer breeze and then float gently to the ground. 

A picturesque Roman Catholic Church extends a welcome from the dis- 
tance ; a gold cross atop the steeple gleams in the sunshine. A fleeting glimpse 
of Zircklebach's Junk Yard, punctuated by a mass of rusty machinery, and 
the driver is in Ridgway — my home town. 

This, briefly, is the greeting I receive each time I return for a week end 
at home, varying only with the seasons ; and the same warm feeling always 
comes rushing back. 

My home town recalls a flood of nostalgic memories. I meet old friends, 
renew high school acquaintances ; sometimes I am pleased to find that there 
are so many who have remained the same ; other times I am startled at the 
vast changes in others. The Sunday School superintendent pauses to chat. 



22 The Green Caldron 

and then the window of the insurance office in which I spent one year trying 
mightily, but vainly, to satiate the whims of a temperamental Irishman with 
my feeble efforts to understand and carry out the noble art of writing insur- 
ance policies, twinkles knowingly at me. I wave jauntily at the unfortunate 
girl who has filled my vacancy and continue my merry way home. 

When I find Daddy sentimental as ever and just a trifle pessimistic over his 
daughter's college career. Mamma a bit concerned but making a futile attempt 
to hide the faintest sign of anxiety, and Don eager to tell me the major details 
of an engineering job and reluctant to speak of his romantic life ; I realize 
once more how really fortunate I am to have such an understanding and truly 
wonderful family. 

The Friday night thrill of an exciting basketball game rushes back as I 
sit crammed among a screaming crowd of bobby soxers and root for the home 
team with almost as much enthusiasm as I had during my cheerleading days in 
high school. A funny sensation spreads over me. There is a catch in my throat 
while I keep my eyes trained on the younger brother of an old beau as he 
races down the floor for a trick shot. I look for and find familiar faces, and 
I'm shocked when I hear that a former girl friend is planning a fall wedding 
and another one is fervently hoping that she will too. 

Afterwards I stroll past the confectionery, packed and overflowing with 
the victorious mob, and the blare of a juke box beckons intermittently as the 
door slams open and shut. I linger momentarily and then begin the short 
walk home, preferring mother's steaming hot chocolate and just-melts-in- 
your-mouth coffee cake. We spin a few records, protest at the hour, and soon 
I climb the stairs to my room and let the first hesitant pattering of raindrops 
from a shy little shower lull me to a dreamless sleep. 

The aroma of coffee wafted up the stairs and into my room awakens me, 
and I realize with a start that the sun tumbling through my yellow denim 
drapes can only mean that it is rapidly becoming high morning. I slip into 
my robe and slippers and literally trip down to the kitchen for a leisurely 
Saturday morning breakfast, traditional with the family. Crispy fried chicken, 
fried potatoes, brown flaky biscuits, golden waffles, home made butter, and 
maple syrup straight from New Orleans are on the menu. 

Saturday morning duties, innumerable trips up town, phone calls, duty 
visits, Saturday afternoon nap, and finally porcupine meatballs for supper 
keep the day fairly buzzing. 

For the entertainment of the evening, Roy and I take in the local Western, 
three years old, and then drive over to the Townhouse for refreshments — 
refreshments including sandwiches, french fries, and thick chocolate malts. 
We return home early to insure our presence in church the next morning; 
at the door he kisses me goodnight too few times and departs. 

Sunday morning means church and Sunday School, and I dress in feverish 
haste in order to avoid the embarrassment of tip-toeing up the aisle of the 



December, 1950 23 

Presbyterian Church during the first hymn. Streams of light, stained by the 
window panes fall softly across the impressionable face of a tiny girl sitting 
intently in the front pew, and I think how quiet and holy she looks, how abso- 
lutely pure she is, and how free from petty grievances she must be. 

The services over, I chat only briefly with some friends, give a report to 
the minister, and hurry out to the car. We fly over to catch the fast passenger 
train and arrive as it clamors into the station. Hurried goodbyes are said 
accompainied by traces of tears ; Mamma and Daddy remind me one more 
time to write more frequently ; I promise, and with a final hug from all, I dash 
up the high steps, hastily find a vacant seat next to a window, and wave 
goodbje until another week end at home. 



A Frienclly Game ox Poker 

Robert S. Hoffman 
Rhetoric 102, Theme 4 

IT'S A COLD, DREARY, AND FRIENDLESS NIGHT IN THE 
twin cities of Champaign-Urbana. The winds sweeping across the Bone- 
yard try to penetrate the thick walls of the lam A Foole fraternity house. 
Again and again the winds hurl themselves against the sides of the old 
Colonial style house only to bounce off. Inside, the cheery, always friendly 
boys of this great "frat" are gathered around the cheery fireplace in a jolly 
"bull" session. 

A stranger coming into this room would be impressed by the way these 
boys always agree, even though the other fellow may be wrong, in order to 
prolong the friendly atmosphere of the house. Let's eavesdrop on their "bull" 
session. 

"It's rather cold out tonight, isn't it, good fellows," says one of the 
brothers. 

"Yes," they all chant back. 

"You know, boys," suggests one brother, "it would be a swell night for a 
good friendly game of poker." 

"I would enjoy a game of poker, but it must be played with the friendly 
spirit that is always associated with this fine fraternity," answers a jolly 
brother. 

"We all agree to this congenial game of poker," answers one of the officers, 
Charles Lifeboyer. 

"Will one of the happy pledges go and get us a deck of cards?" asks the 
president of the house, Harry Ape. 

A pledge shoots out of the room and returns with the cards before his 
image has faded, because he knows that getting the cards would mean a gold 



24 The Green Caldron 

star on the good deed chart. Because it is the first of the month and everyone 
has received his allowance, the stakes are exceedingly high, twenty match 
sticks for a penny. Even with these high stakes the friendly atmosphere still 
prevails. AH the brothers know that money alone can't buy their friendship 
here at old I A F. 

The poker game goes along smoothly until one of the jolly fellows thinks 
he sees a brother cheating. He can't believe his eyes so he casually says, "I 
think that one of our contented brothers at this table is cheating. I know 
that this can't be true, but if the someone who is cheating does it again, I will 
punch him in the nose for the honor of old I A F." 

"I wasn't cheating and you won't punch me in the nose," shouts everyone 
around the table in unison. 

"You were all cheating or else you wouldn't all declare your innocence," 
shouts the accuser. 

As he shouts, he waves his hands and from one of his sleeves falls an ace. 
All the brothers jump at the sight of the card, fling back their chairs, and 
move toward this unforgivable sinner of this friendly fraternity. The sinner 
realizes that his error has been discovered and now he must fight. He punches 
in the nose the first brother that comes near him. 

The first brother, his nose bleeding and his eyes filled with tears, punches 
back wildly, hitting an innocent brother by mistake. This touches oflf bedlam. 
All the brothers punch other brothers. Now and then there is heard the sound 
of breaking bones and tearing flesh. A brother jumps up on the table and 
shouts for peace and friendliness, but before he can finish he is hit over the 
head with an IM trophy. 

As we slowly leave the friendly fraternity, ducking now and then from a 
stray object, we hear oaths being screamed by everyone. Even with the door 
of the "frat" closed, we still hear the noise. A friendly game of poker has 
developed into an open revolution of good fellows, raising to new heights 
their good spirits and causing several old alums, long since gone, to chuckle 
contentedly in their graves. 



It was a cold, dark, and dreary morning in downtown Chicago. From all 
directions people were rushing to reach their homes before the predicted rain- 
storm arrived. 

On the corner of Fifty-fifth Street a taxi-cab driver was listening to an 
address on the radio commemorating Abraham Lincoln's birthday. The 
significance of the address was that "All Men Are Created Equal." 

A fair-haired woman laden with packages on the opposite corner of Fifty- 
fifth Street frantically signaled the taxi-cab. The cab-driver, completely 
ignored the lady, proceeded to pick up a Negro couple on Fifty-sixth Street. 

The driver was a Negro. — Sonia Spiegel, Rhetoric 100. 



i 



December, 1950 25 

Comraaesnip 

John W. Jacobs 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 12 

COMRADESHIP, THE AFFECTION OF MAN FOR HIS FEL- 
low beings, is a character trait which my experience in World War II 
brought to my conscious attention for the first time, though I had ex- 
perienced it in my early youth. In later years I have come to recognize its 
value to the individual and its need in a nation. Family relationship and love 
for a particular member of the opposite sex are excluded from my discussion 
of comradeship because I believe the emotions dealing with these relationships 
are of a higher order than those of pure comradeship. However, these emo- 
tions are related and one may foster or improve the other. 

I came from a rather large family of seven children, and I was never 
accustomed to being alone. I enjoyed being with a crowd for whatever pur- 
pose a crowd gathered. Childhood games, athletics, birthday parties, camp- 
ing trips and other forms of group recreation I found a source of many 
pleasant associations with my playmates. I liked school and all the social 
functions involved. By reading good books and listening to radio serials for 
the young, I supplemented my real life associations with artificial ones. Now 
I look back with pleasure upon the associations of my youth and recognize 
them as truthful expressions of comradeship. 

My military service during World War II helped to bring the importance 
of comradeship to my consciousness; what I had enjoyed during my youthful 
associations I now recognized as the invisible bond of comradeship. 

My first connection with the military came when I was accepted for train- 
ing as an aviation cadet. The army gave me a serial number to identify me 
as a person and an M.O.S. to identify me as to class ; about the same thing 
happens to a G.I. shirt. I soon realized that I could befriend the guy who 
slept in the next bed or the fellow who marched next to me. A few friendly 
words disclosed that both of them had the same problems and were just as 
lonely as I was. Later on at flying school we all had the same check rides and 
the same ground school examinations to pass. Failure by one of us was 
sincerely felt by the entire group. These men who ate, slept, worked and 
played together were more than just friends ; they had become comrades. 

Eventually I was assigned to command a combat crew. These crew mem- 
bers came to me first as a group of names, serial numbers, and M.O.S.'s on a 
sheet of paper called activation orders. Our first meeting took place on a 
train en route to a training base. Ten total strangers now faced the prospect 
of living almost as one and perhaps dying in the same manner. At first simple 
crew loyalty and pride bound us together ; this bond grew with association 
and training and before long blossomed into real comradeship. These ten 



26 The Green Caldron 

men were together so much that soon the pilot's name appHed to all of them. 
Within the crew we retained our own names, but to everyone else Sergeant 
Kessler soon became Jacobs' engineer and Lieutenant Bronaugh became 
Jacobs' bombardier. 

Soon we were given a new B-24 and handed secret orders to report to 
the Eighth Air Force. Each of us was required to make a will, execute a 
power of attorney, allot his pay and complete numerous administrative forms. 
These mututal problems of departure from the States and the goodbyes to 
our families brought us even closer together under the bond of comradeship. 
It was evident that our crew was blessed with complete mutual trust. Each 
man had worked hard at the task of training and knew his job well. I rarely 
issued an order to the crew, for they did their work on their own initiative. 
Two or three of them were not especially ambitious, but they would not let 
the crew down through their own neglect. 

Combat operations for a combat crew can be no more successful than the 
efforts of the crew to perform as a team. Team work and comradeship go 
hand in hand. The comradeship we had developed was of great benefit to us, 
and it continued to grow as time passed. One day our group was sent on a 
special mission. Our lower gun turret was removed so that we could para- 
chute supplies through the hole, besides dropping twenty canisters from the 
bomb bays. Since we did not have the gun turret, there was no need for the 
gunner to go on the mission. Our gunner. Sergeant Bill Laseter, attended 
briefing with us and reported to the airplane along with the crew. He wanted 
to go along but could not because of official orders. Seven hours later when 
we returned from the mission, Laseter was waiting at the end of the runway. 
As we turned on the taxi strip, he fell in behind us and ran along until we 
reached our hardstand. I don't recall ever seeing a man so happy as he was 
when we started piling out of the airplane. I later learned from the crew 
chief that Laseter had remained in the hardstand all day and had not eaten. 
He was not afraid to go on a mission himself, but he was afraid for the crew 
to go out without him. 

Several times_ one or more of our crew members flew with a cold when 
they might have avoided the mission by asking for a replacement. Two 
reasons prompted this action. Sergeant Laseter's experience explained how a 
crew member felt while the remainder of the crew was out on a mission. 
There was also the possibility that after the crew had finished the required 
number of missions any member who had missed a mission might be required 
to fly that mission as a replacement on another crew. Our crew completed 
our tour of combat without any member having missed a mission, and I was 
able to obtain Laseter's relief from combat duty without his having to fly a 
make-up mission. 

A more humorous example of trust and comradeship among the crew 
took place near the end of our combat tour. For some time we had been the 



December, 1950 27 

top ranking crew on the mission board where the mission records were kept. 
That day the enHsted men on the crew were stopped on their way to mess by 
the Group Adjutant who was a major. The Major was upset because Ser- 
geant Mitchell was not wearing a cap. After giving Mitchell a lecture for 
being bareheaded, the Major turned away and the boys continued on to the 
mess. The Major called to him again to return to the barracks and get his 
cap before going to mess. He also informed Mitchell what would happen if 
he failed to comply. After this second lecture Mitchell lost his patience and 
said to the Major, "My pilot can fix anything you can think of." It was good 
to know that Mitchell had that much faith in me, but also it was a little dis- 
concerting to be placed on the spot. A couple of days later my Squadron 
Commander called me in to show me the letter he had received. He was 
having a big laugh about it. His indorsement to the letter stated that the 
group needed more crews like ours and fewer majors like the Adjutant. 

Sergeant Kessler was the ranking enlisted man on the crew. Although 
he hated flying, he w^as the best engineer in the squadron. After he had pre- 
fiighted an airplane, there was no doubt as to its condition. When we flew 
our last mission, Kessler informed me that it was his last flight. I asked him 
why he wanted to quit now that the worst was over. He said that since the 
crew would be disbanded when we returned to the States, he didn't want to 
fly with any other crew in combat or out of combat. 

Our crew arrived home in the States on December 23, 1944. We reported 
to Fort Dix where the ofificial bonds of our crew were dissolved by inactiva- 
tion. There were tears in the eyes of ten men who said good-bye that morning, 
tears that even the joy of being home for Christmas could not dispel. 

Out of this experience with my crew has grown a genuine affection for 
the human race. Often when a first impression causes me to look upon 
someone with disfavor, I can at least defer judgment by thinking that maybe 
this is another Bill Laseter or another Joe Kessler whose true character I 
will come to know by closer association. There is some good even in the 
worst of us. I have learned to look for the good and to try not to notice that 
which is not. 



As he squinted down the long, white coral landing strip, fascinated by the 
infinite number of heat waves squirming toward the blistering sky, a jeep 
started across. It had been a normal enough appearing jeep until it drove onto 
the coral strip. Now it appeared to be put together with rubber in place of 
bolts as it changed from one shape to another continually while floating 
through the shimmering blanket covering the strip. The jeep turned and 
bounced toward the plane. As he flipped the sweat out of one eye with the 
side of his index finger, he could see that the remainder of the sweltering 
crew was in the steaming jeep. In a very few minutes he would be hurtling 
down that scorched coral strip into a fresh, cool atmosphere free from the 
suflfocating heat and boiled stench of the jungle. — Dewey Connor, Rhetoric 
102. 



28 The Green Caldron 



Rket as Writ 



Six months ago, if I had asked 99% of the American people what Korea 
was I probably would have received many different answers. The American 
people as a whole never even heard of this South Sea island. 



So this Saturday I am going to be out at Memorial stadium sitting with 
my figures crossed and routing for Illinois. 

* * * 

While cleaning out the waist basket, I met the most beautiful blond in the 

whole world. 

* * * 

The tractor also has a flexible production schedule where as three or four 
years are required to produce a horse. 



One advantage of a girl going to the university is she becomes well 
rounded. 



The lack of sufficient money may entail the necessity of furnishing the 
house with various unused pieces of their in-laws. 



When you marry, you naturally want to provide for your wife as well, if 
not better than other people. 

* * * 



T. V. assembly lines produce sets in a rustic manor. 



I 



I 



Honorable Mention 

Claudia Bachman 
Richard Cannon 
Fred M. Cooper 
Allan J. Francisco 
Carol A. Hodges 
John Krupka 
Emil Malavolti 
William Nyland 
James C. Pritchard 
Robert Smith 
Andrew Turyn 



The Contributors 

Charles Broughton — John Greer 

Ann Landford — Champaign 

Evelyn K. Bohneberg — Fosdick-Masten Park, Buffalo, N. Y. 

Ruth Tash — Roosevelt 

Elizabeth Yeatter — University of Illinois High 

ivan Davis — Champaign 

Frieda Wallk — Woodruff, Peoria 

Virginia A. Stigleitner — Downers Grove 

Donna Corydon — North Park Academy 

Richard Wright — Shelbyville 

John Massey — New Trier 

Mary A. Roser — Carmi Township 

Harry C. Kariher — Champaign 

Ronald Bushman — Central, St. Joseph, Mo. 

Carol Stewart — Southwest, St. Louis 

Marlene Geiderman — South Shore 

Shirleyann Jones — Ridgway Community 

Robert S. Hoffman — ^Lake View 

John W. Jacobs — New Liberty, Ky. 



Fhe 6reen Caldron 



A Magazine of Freshman Writing 



rHE LIBRARy OF THE 

JAN 2"^ 1G52 
iNiVtKSirv u^ lui.vois 



CONTENTS 



Ann Lankford: The Audience 1 

Russell Stackhouse: The Instrument That Does Everything 

but Talk 2 

Ryozo Sitnobe: Tokyo in 1946 5 

Lessing Silver: In the Gale 6 

Ted Schreyer: I Disagree with Sentimentality in Writing ... 7 

Donna Cory don: Bus-Stop 8 

Charles Ream: On Writing a High School Play 10 

Mary Fahrnkopf: Alexandra 11 

Wary A. Kula: Animal Farm 13 

Carol A. Hodges: The Legend of John 14 

Caroline Cramer: Mr. Blank 15 

Harry Kariher: Divorce — An American Pastime 16 

Alice J. Cohn: Soap Opera — The Housewife's Bible .... 17 

Jim Bray: And Into the Pan 23 

John Krupka: Controlled Destruction 25 

Fred M. Cooper: The Competitors 26 

Rhet as Writ 28 



Vol. 20, No. 3 March, 1951 

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 



T 



JL 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. Permission to publish is obtained for all full themes, 
including those published anonymously. Parts of themes, how- 
ever, are published at the discretion of the committee in charge. 

The committee in charge of this issue of The Green 
Caldron includes Marjorie Brown, Howard Reuter, 
Robert Stevens, Harris Wilson, and George Conkin, 
Chairman. 



THE GREEN CALDRON 

Copyrighted 1951 

BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS 

All rights reserved 

No parta of this periodical may be repro- 
duced in any form without permission 
in writing from the publisher. 



Tne Audience 

Ann Lankford 
Rhetoric 101. Thniu- 8 

LIKE BROODING GIANT SPECTATORS, THE FOUR WALLS 
of the auditorium stared down somberly on the riotous crowd gathered 
in their midst. Within the circle of their silent expanse, color and sound 
ruled supreme over a huge audience of brightly-dressed children, dismissed 
from school for the day, and exploding their bottled-up energy in motion and 
noise. High-pitched voices, undermined by the rhythmic beat of clapping 
hands and stamping feet, shrilled without pause in a deafening roar. On the 
main floor and in both balconies, the children squirmed restlessly, forming 
the links in a magic chain of excitement, which encircled the room. Small 
heads swiveled busily, alert eyes darted swiftly about, missing nothing, but 
returning always to the central point of interest — the stage with its secretive 
expanse of dark curtains. 

Suddenly, like the first spark of existence, the footlights gleamed and the 
stage came to life. As at a signal, the roomful of sound rocketed to an un- 
bearable crescendo, and then, as the curtains moved like slowly lifting eyelids, 
the din broke sharply and dropped into a silence as abruptly as if a soundproof 
door had suddenly been slammed shut. Anticipation hung almost bodily in the 
silence ; then hundreds of intensely watching eyes saw a small man in gray 
walk briskly across the stage, and the quiet was splintered by a returning roar 
of applause. 

The long-awaited magician show had begun. Throughout the performance, 
the real show was the audience, possessing, with its constantly shifting motion, 
the fascination of the bright patterns of a kaleidoscope. Unlike the calm, 
serene rippling of an adult audience, the mass of restless children bobbed and 
twisted like the waters of a choppy, swirling sea, swarming over the aisles 
and backs of chairs, and even threatening to engulf the stage itself. Beneath 
the dominant tones of the magician's voice, there moved always the undertone 
of scuffling feet and hissing whispers, sometimes breaking out into a roar, as 
the children screamed their messages of wonder or disbelief. 
^ Inevitably though, like a thread stretched taut in constant pressure, the 
[tension broke. Slowly, the waves of excitement began to ebb away, and, by 
he end of the performance, there was left only the weariness of strained 
I'oices and emotions. The closing curtains drew only light, half-hearted 
ipplause, and the shrill voices were subdued and quiet. The magic chain of 
excitement which had unified the crowd was gone, and the audience was only 
his child and that child, wanting to go home to supper. 

[1] 



2 The Green Caldron 

Tlie Instrument tnat Does 
Everytnin^ But Talk 

Russ Stackhouse 
Rhetoric 101. Theme 1 

SINCE ITS INTRODUCTION TO THE WORLD IN APRIL, 1935, 
the Hammond electric organ has had phenomenal success. This paper 
will try to explain some of the reasons for its success, and it will also 
try to explain why I enjoy the Hammond so much. 

The electric organ consists of two main parts ; namely, the tone cabinet, 
or speaker baffle, and the console. These beautiful pieces of furniture are 
connected by a thick cable, and the whole instrument may be connected to any 
alternating current outlet. Hammond has provided a safety device which will 
enable the organ to function properly within the range of 110 volts to 120 volts. 
Tones are mixed and generated in the console by means of a permanent magnet 
surrounded by a coil of wire. When a key is depressed, a current of about .05 
of a volt attracts a small wheel with humps to the magnet and its coil. This 
wheel, about the size of a silver dollar, is continuously rotating on the shaft of 
a synchronous motor. The number of humps on a wheel determine the pitch 
of a given note, and a greater number of humps will render a higher tone. 
This tone-generating system is the most intricate and expensive part of the 
organ. 

This voltage created by the tone-generating system is passed on to the 
tone cabinet where it is amplified and broadcast on an ordinary loudspeaker. 
I spoke of the continuously rotating shaft a moment ago. Since this shaft with 
the little "silver dollar" wheels is run by a synchronous motor, the organ 
never gets out of tune. It is perfectly pitched in the factory, and it will stay 
that way unless it is dropped over a clilif. 

Among the special desirable features of the Hammond are its magnificent 
harmonic drawbars which enable a musician to create his own desired tonal 
effects. I once asked my high school algebra instructor to figure out how 
many tonal combinations are available on the Hammond. He determined by 
factorial eighty-one, with the use of logarithms, that there are over ninety- 
four quadrillion combinations of tones to be had on the organ. Many of these 
tones are too discordant to be used, and Hammond advertises that there are 
really twenty-one million tones which can be considered useful. 

What the inventor, Laurens Hammond, has done is to divide many octaves, 
thirds of octaves, and fifths of octaves into pure tones. By means of a sliding 
drawbar, these pure tones are available in eight different degrees of volume 
and may be cut out entirely by pushing the drawbar all the way in. With these 



March. 1031 3 

magic bars the organist can create the soft timbre of a vioHn, the mighty 
cliorus effect of a pipe organ, or the harsh discord of the old steam calHope. 
If an organist changed a combination of drawbars every five minutes for the 
rest of his hfe, he would never use up all the possible combinations. 

Besides this wonderful new feature which enables the organist to create 
anv tone he desires, Hammond has incorporated into the organ tone a true 
vibrato which has never been surpassed for brilliance and beauty. As it is 
generally known, the pipe and reed organs have a tremulant effect created by 
sending continuous blasts of air across the pipe or sound chamber. This effect 
is only a variation in loudness of a pitch, but it tires one's ear after a while. 
The Hammond vibrato is a definite wavering of the tone, first slightly sharp, 
then slightly flat. This variation in pitch is accomplished by employing the 
use of a sliding rheostat and scanner which increases and decreases the small 
voltage which is sent to the tone cabinet. There are three degrees of vibrato 
instantly available at the turn of a knob. Number one is effective for church 
use, while two is more informal and warm. Number three, the old Hammond 
stand-by, brings in the fine quality and warmth of the old theater organ. With 
this vibrato, most popular numbers are best rendered. 

When a Hammond is installed in a small room, which may be accoustically 
dead, there is no need for concern. The organ has a device called the re- 
verberation unit. Reverberation is the echo of a tone just after it has been 
sounded. If the room in which one plays is a huge brick cathedral, then suffi- 
cient reverberation time is already supplied, but most of today's churches and 
homes have rugs and draperies which absorb sound instead of reflecting it. 
The reverberation unit "speaks" the signal sent from the console about one- 
fifth of a second after the real tone is broadcast on the loudspeakers. It is 
indispensable to most installations. 

Since the Hammond's tone is entirely created by electricity, the action is 
spontaneous ; the key is depressed, and the tone travels one-hundred-eighty- 
six-thousand miles a second towards the speaker. Fast music, which would 
be impossible to play on a reed or a pipe organ, can be executed on the Ham- 
mond faster than on the piano. During the winter, it sometimes takes two or 
three seconds for the low notes on a pipe organ to sound, so one can see the 
advantage of Hammond's fast action. 

I have already mentioned some advantages of the Hammond over other 
types of organs. Among many other reasons, the Hammond is also very 
portable and can be carried through an ordinary doorway. The console 
weighs only 345 pounds. Compare this with even the smallest reed organ, the 
weight of which is well over 500 pounds. ( I'm not speaking of the old one 
keyboard pump organ.) The lightest pipe organ weighs several thousand 
pounds, at least. Also, the average pipe has to be tuned at least once a year. 
Many churches do not tune their pipe organs regularly, and when the dis- 
cordant noises are too much to bear, congregations realize that they must 
completely repair the organ or junk it. The common procedure follows: they 



4 The Green Caldron 

return the old organ to the factory and buy a Hammond. The reed organ, 
of which Wurlitzer is a well-known manufacturer, also will go out of tune. 

The Hammond's volume can easily be taken care of ; when the organ is 
used in a large building or out-of-doors, extra speakers may be added to the 
console. The expression pedal of the Hammond works on a rheostat, and the 
tones can be loudened instantly. It has the fastest expression accent of any 
organ on the market. 

Of course, nothing man-made has ever been perfect : the Hammond has 
a few quirks in its operation. Technicians are continuously working to 
improve these imperfections. The reverberation unit is quite delicate, and, 
unless care is taken in locking the unit, it may break. It should always be 
locked when the speaker baffle is moved even a few feet. The greatest dis- 
advantage is an objectionable pop in the loudspeaker which sounds before 
some fast moving solo notes ; however, if the organist keeps a moving accom- 
paniment, this pop is not noticeable. 

As one can plainly conclude, the advantages which a Hammond offers 
outweigh its disadvantages. Therefore, I am quite disappointed that the organ 
teachers on campus do not use even one Hammond for instruction. Of course, 
Professor Paul Pettinga plays the Hammond at the University Place Christian 
Church, but the University does not own one. Too many organists are 
prejudiced against the Hammond because it is comparatively new. Their 
noses are stuck high in the sky of tradition. They must cling to that which is 
"accepted." However, many leading musicians own Hammonds, and just 
recently, Ethel Smith played a concert on her Hammond with the Boston 
"Pops" Orchestra. 

Proof of Hammond's complete public acceptance is backed by the fact that 
20,000 are in use in churches all over America. Huge Canterbury Cathedral 
uses the Hammond Organ for all of its services, because the pipe organ in 
the cathedral hasn't enough volume. There are as many Hammonds in homes 
throughout the world as there are in churches. Hammond has sold more 
organs than all makes of reeds and pipes combined. One can be thankful for 
the American way — mass production. By this means, Hammond is made 
more readily available to people of middle-income brackets. The first Ham- 
mond was worth over $30,000, because it was a hand-made experimental 
model. Now, with other prices rising to the skies, Hammond sells for less 
than $3,000, and most models cost as little as $2,400. Once bought, Hammond 
consumes only as much electricity as two 11-watt light bulbs. It has little 
depreciation and is worth about as much on the market used as it costs brand 
new. 

I have mentioned many technical reasons why I like the Hammond so 
much better than the pipe or reed organs, but probably the main reason for 
me is that the Hammond Electric Organ affords a new and different means 
of self-expression in music. The combinations of tone, the true vibrato, the 
richness and quality, all these combine to create what I call the perfect musical 
instrument. 



March. 1951 5 

Tokyo in 1946 

Ryozo Sunobe 
Rhetoric 101. Theme 1 

I KNEW THAT TOKYO HAD BEEN BOMBED OUT AND BADLY 
burned down. Newspapers as well as rumors carried the most dishearten- 
ing stories. Newsreels gave us some ideas of the ruin and destruction. 
Still, until I was repatriated and saw Tokyo in August. 1946, for the first 
time after spending nearly six years in China, I could not visualize how 
desperately miserable and helpless Tokyo looked in its destruction. It indeed 
surpassed all of my imaginings. Before my eyes lay the cruel and bitter reality 
of a defeated country. 

In spite of one year which had elapsed since the surrender of Japan in 
September, 1945, the only sign of the rehabilitation in Tokyo, if any, was the 
pitiably small huts assembled from burned corrugated plates and whatever 
other junk available, dotting miles and miles of the flattened metropolitan 
area. I could not recognize even the street corner which had been most 
familiar to me. In the place of a bank, a three-storied building, and the row 
of busy shops, I saw only the skeleton of the bank standing on a wide clearing 
covered by a thicket of summer grass. Pavements were badly in need of 
repair. Trees which lined the street and in the shade of which I used to walk 
were gone. They had also been burned down or, perhaps, been cut down for 
fuel. Several people were still living in the air-raid shelters dug in the gardens 
of their homes. 

The industrial district had suffered even worse than the metropolitan 
area. Huge plants, demolished by direct hits of bombs and swept by fire, 
stood, like deformed monsters, roofless, windowless, deserted, and rusty. 
From a hilltop commanding a view over the industrial belt northwest of 
Tokvo, I could see a vast stretch of the wrecks of factories and plants and 
hundreds of half-fallen or tilted chimneys. No smoke arose ; no siren blasted. 
Now contaminated neither by smoke nor by soot, the clean, clear sky extended 
endlessly far and high over the heart-breaking devastation caused by the 
foolish war. 

The destruction, economic dislocation, inflational spiral, and acute shortage 
of foodstuff — all these had brewed and stirred an unprecedented wave of 
crimes, immorality, and social disorder in Tokyo. Burglar mobs with trucks, 
whom the weakened police could hardly stop, were rampant. Blackmarket 
profiteering was an open business, aggravating the daily livelihood of the \a.\v- 
abiding and decent but powerless small citizens. People, particularly women, 
did not dare stay out after dark. At subway stations there were loafers, old 
and voung. who might turn thieves any moment. Even ordinary citizens on 
1 the street, clad shabbily and looking haggard, were smileless, moody, and 



6 The Green Caldron 

selfish. I realized, with depressing gloom, that Tokyo had worn out with the 
war in mind as well as in body. 

After four years, the rehabilitation of Tokyo has now progressed re- 
markably. With new shops and houses, although mostly wooden barracks of 
temporary nature, lining the streets in a wide part of Tokyo, and with industry 
coming to life again, Tokyo is rapidly recovering its healthy gaiety. However, 
the hopeless Tokyo which I saw in the summer of 1946 and which will never 
fade in my memory keeps me reminded of the fearful destructiveness of 
modern warfare which must be averted by all means for the sake of happiness 
and even the existence of the human being. 



In the Gal< 



Lessing Silver 
Rhetoric 101, Theme 7 

I PUSHED MY WAY THROUGH THE SWAYING CROWD IN 
the companionway. Faces flashed past me. I stopped, braced myself, and 

grasped a tottering passenger as the ship began another roll. I saw more 
faces, strange, unfamiliar faces, all staring at me, all with the same expression 
— sick. Now and then I was able to pick out a few more familiar ones : the 
truck driver who came aboard with a huge cigar and grin to match ; the 
elderly couple who had previously tormented me with all kinds of questions, 
and the wide-eyed boy I remembered seeing racing up and down the deck. 

The truck driver's cigar was out now as was his grin, and he was holding 
his head between his hands. The elderly couple's lips were drawn tight, held 
there in a sorrowful expression. The little boy sat huddled in his mother's 
lap. The lake had turned rough, violently rough, and everyone was sick. 

The blaring beat of the juke-box was splitting my head. Almost desper- 
ately I pushed past a few people who were too drunk to be sick, past a hardy 
couple attempting to dance on the rolling floor, pushing, shoving, until I 
reached the ladder to the second deck. On the second deck I could still hear 
the juke-box play and smell the stench rising from the sawdust covered spots 
left by those who didn't quite make it to the rail. I raced up, grabbing the 
rail for support as the ship lurched and rolled. Finally I reached the Lido 
deck, just behind the ship's bridge. 

Here in the black night the full force of the gale hit me. The wind tore at 
my clothes and roared past my ears. Ahead of me I could see the bow rising 
and plunging with the swells. Waves cracked against the ship's side. She 
rolled and she plunged. This was living ! The wind was cold ; I shivered but 
did not mind it. Gone were the sick expressions, foul stenches, and drunk 
couples. Here there were only the ship, the elements, and I. Here time 
stopped and worry ceased. Enveloped in the black night and rolling sea, I 
could not imagine men causing a world of chaos and confusion ; for here, in 
the midst of turbulence, was peace. 



March, 1951 7 

I Disagree Witn Sentimentality 
In Writing 

Ted Schreyer 

Rhetoric 101. Thcnw S 

ANY DISCUSSION OF SENTIMENTALITY AS FOUND IN 
writing must necessarily include a correct interpretation of sentiment 
and sentimentality. Strictly speaking, sentiment means personal feel- 
ing ; susceptibility to emotional reference ; a mental attitude. Sentimentality, 
as it will be used in this theme, means the quality or state of being sentimental, 
especially to excess ; of being guided by feeling rather than reason. 

Sentimentality in writing may show itself as simply gushiness or as 
emotional sensitiveness. To apply the term sentimentality to a piece of writing 
would mean that the author, instead of portraying the story with frankness, 
has introduced his own emotional reactions and has thus tried to persuade the 
reader of the emotional qualities of the story. If the situation is really such 
that emotion or sentiment should be felt by the reader, then the author should 
not have to write in his own emotional or sentimental reactions. 

The theme "Sentiment Rears Its Ugly Head," by Charles Broughton, 
discusses sentimentality in writing and its appearance elsewhere. Mr. Brough- 
ton believes that sentimentality is necessary in some kinds of writing. He also 
points out that sentiment "is a fundamental human quality — nothing to be 
ashamed of." I will certainly agree that to be sentimental is to be human, but 
I disagree that sentimentality need be found in writing. Certainly, if people 
are sentimental by nature the author need not force emotion upon the reader. 
The emotional response should come genuinely from the situation which is 
presented by the author. 

Mr. Broughton suggests a new ballet. Interplay, as illustrating the Ameri- 
can character and its inherent sentimentality. However, the ballet in itself is 
a perfect example of a highly emotional presentation, and it is without the 
sentimentality of overdone writing. The music and dance must be suggestive 
of emotion, but the emotional situations must be interpreted by the audience. 

Mr. Broughton uses a passage from Bret Harte's writing to show how- 
sentimentality may be used effectively, or so he would have us believe. How- 
ever sentimental Mr. Broughton may think the description of the death of 
these two women, he has misinter])reted the criticism of sentinientalitv as 
applied to this writing. The criticism lies in the fact that Harte has the 
emotion already written into the scene. It is gushing out ; he is not content 
to present the story and let the reader respond with legitimate sentiment. 

Despite my criticism of Mr. Broughton's ideas of sentimentality, I must 
agree with him wholeheartedly on his stand against suppression of sentiment. 



8 The Green Caldron 

It seems to me tliat this mechanical world needs nuich more sentiment and 
refined emotion than it now has. The American peoples still have the ability 
to appreciate sentiment, and it should not be denied them. 

Sympathy, tenderness, and sensitivity are to be regarded as emotions of