L 1 E) RAR.Y OF THE U N IVERSITY Of ILLI NOIS blO.5 V. 19-22 C0Pe3 The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was withdrawn on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilafion, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN T^t' r>\V .tr I^K APR 9 ■/^t"^ BUILDING U NOV 2 91377. .£ ONVi MOV ??19f7 JAN f^ r\ *Z004 L161 — O-1096 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 1952 ^ L'NIVLrtSllY Oh ILL!.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 high order, and the author who wishes to bring forth those emotions within the reader must do so subtly in order that the effect produced is genuine. Bus-Stop Donna Corvdon Rhetoric 101. Theme 1 iij^EEX WAITING LONG?" AS I SPOKE, THE SLIGHT, DARK- Vj haired girl with large, questioning brown eyes looked up. It seemed an effort for her to summon her thoughts to present reality and to fix them, like her gaze, on me. "Not too long," she said, and slowly smiled. "This is the stop for the bus that runs between Fort McCaulay and the town, isn"t it?" I asked this hastily, sensing her intent to lapse into silence again. "Yes. Thev run non-stop between Litlleville and the base at 7 and 11 in the morning and 4 and 8 at night. That's on week days. On Saturdays there's an extra bus running at 2 a.m. And on Sundays there's just a single bus at 7 a.m. because most of the townspeople are at home or at church." The length of her reply surprised me. From its detail I inferred that she was a local girl, whereas my first supposition had been that she was a stranger like me, and a rather reticent, uneasy one. Somehow, she seemed out of place to me. She stood by the rusted bus-stop sign at the otherwise deserted rural intersection, and all around were vast fields of tall yellow corn and great brown trees enameled with strong orange sunlight. The countryside was simple and rugged, and so were most of its inhabitants. But this girl was different. She had a fragile beauty, a quiet refinement, and an intense and almost aloof manner. Since there was a fifteen-minute wait ahead, I risked being considered forward or inquisitive and asked. "Are you going to visit someone at the base ?" "No," she replied, "I'm meeting someone here." "Oh, someone from camp?" There was a moment's hesitation. "Yes, my fiance." As she spoke, her face virtually glowed with pride and anticipation. To draw her into conversation I questioned and commented gently, cautiously, and she responded. It was as if she had been looking for someone to be trusted and confided in. Mcnrh. 1051 9 Her story was a heart-warming one. one that might be told again and again in America's small towns in war-time. Rick Kramer, her soldier, came into Littleville one weekend to have some off-duty fun. They met at Clyde's delicatessen Saturday morning when she was buying some groceries and he was indulging in a fifty-cent banana split. He sat at the counter in his khaki uniform and smiled at her while she paid the cashier. Apparently she appealed to him more than his ice cream because he left it half-eaten to follow her out of the store. Of course, "pick-ups" were generally frowned upon in town, but Rick seemed sincere and clean-cut — and lonesome. His home, she soon discovered, was northern Oregon, and during his six weeks with the Army at Fort McCaulay he had had little chance to see the midwest or to become acquainted with its people. That day was the most exciting of her life. Rick helped her carry her bundles home, and he stayed for lunch. Her mother, too, realized what a fine boy he was and urged her to put on a good dress and go with him to a movie. .After the show they strolled hand in hand down Main Street, looking in sho]) windows, though she was not anxious at first to have him see the town. .Suddenly, strangely the place acquired new color and beauty as she saw it through his eyes. Pop and his antique shop were not prosaic : they were unique and full of personality. Mr. DiBlasi was not to be appreciated for his fruit wagon alone, but for his good nature — despite his familv troubles — and his good words for America — despite the hard time the country seemed to be giving him. All the little people became big people and all the butcher shops and barber shops, hardware stores and clothing stores were no longer commonplace ; they were founded and run on hopes (and credit) and were alive with individuals. She and Rick had a homecooked dinner in Edith's Diner. Afterwards they went to a carnival on the outskirts of Littleville. They rode the Whip and the Merry-Go-Round and waved to people they had never seen before. They ate sugar-candy and visited every concession and side-show. She was only eighteen, but it had been years since she had acted or felt so wonderfully young. It had been a long time, too, since she had liked a boy so much. Late that night as they walked the two miles back to town, they talked of their dreams for the future and of their surety that theirs was a true, pre- destined love. And he boarded the bus to Fort McCaulay at 2 a.m. with a promise that next time he would come on Sunday, so they could be married on the townspeople's favorite day. At that moment the bus rumbled to a halt in front of us, its doors snapping open. We waited breathlessly, both eager to glimpse the young man. No soldier, in fact no one at all, emerged. The bus driver watched impatiently as I took the girl's hand and said, "He must have missed the bus. Perhaps you should go home and wait." "No," she insisted, "there's one more tonight. Pll wait here." 10 The Grccu Caldron "All right," I smiled. "I do wish you two every good fortune and happi- ness. Good-by." She nodded in response, her eyes barely reflecting the disappointment she must have felt. After the driver took my fare, I settled down beside a large, jovial and voluble woman. It took onh* five minutes of conversation for me to identify her as the town gossip. Thinking she might furnish some interesting details about my new friend, I casually mentioned my long and intriguing discussion with the young lady at the i)us stop. "Why," she exclaimed in amazement, "you're surely the first person she has spoken to for a good length of time. How did you ever manage to get a word out of her?" "It was quite simple," I replied amusedly. "Actually all I said was, "Have you been waiting long ?' " "Long !" my companion burst in harshly. "It will be two years tomorrow !" On Writing a Hi^li Sckool Play ClI.\RLES Re.\M Rhetoric 102. Theme 3 AFTER HAVING PLODDED THROUGH ONE SEMESTER OF rhetoric here at the University, I am glad that I still retain the memory ' of once having achieved fleeting distinction as a high school playwright to comfort me. The caustic comments of a thousand rhetoric instructors could never dull the memory of those moments I spent, chumming around with Shaw, Williams, and the Bard. Of course, from an aesthetic viewpoint, the play was strictly a "dog," and I must confess that the brainwork involved in writing it didn't create enough cerebral heat to warm my hat band. Yet, since classes were dismissed for the performance, the students hailed the play as a histrionic masterpiece. Realizing that anyone who caused them to be excused from classes was, to them, a paragon of greatness, I received their praise with the well-known grain of salt. During the performance I behaved in the best traditional playwright manner. I paced the floor like a man expecting a letter from his draft board. Every burst of laughter was like a god's giggle to my ears, and every dead line made me wince as from a toothache. Finally, when the play was over, and the students, who had expected a longer reprieve from their studies, strolled reluctantly back to their classes, I settled down to wait for the "reviews," as we playwrights called the written opinions of the local drama critics. Since the only school paper was a bi-weekly, I had quite a wait ; but, after ten days, the review finally came out. It commented rather cryptically on both my writing and the small role I played in the play. The review, which I don't yet know how to take, read "Charles Ream writes as good as he acts." March, 1951 11 Al exandra Mary Fahrnkopf Rhetoric 101. Theme 9 GLADYS SCHMITT, ONE OF THE MOST POPULAR AMERI- caii novelists of ovir clay, has again proved her ability to write an unusually interesting and stimulating novel. In Alexandra she has surpassed her other two famous novels, The Gates oj Aulis and David the King. Ale.vandra is the intimate story of a great actress who rose from the depths of povert}' and obscurity to the highest pinnacles of success obtainable in the theater and then suddenly turned away and rejected everything that she had lived for — fame, success, and glory. Although the novel was written primarily for entertainment, it is a source for much thought and consideration, for it is a deep and searching story about people. It is an account of people and their weaknesses and their struggles toward a goal. It is a story of people against people and people against human nature and inheritance. It does not show the glamorous side of success and fame but exhibits the hardships and obstacles blocking the way to glory. Gladys Schmitt has written a very personal story, using only a minimum of characters and being careful not to distract the reader with unimportant subplots. There is Sophie, a warm-hearted Jewess, who tries to help and guide Alexandra throughout her difficult life. It is around Sophie's desire to know what had happened during the last three days of Alexandra's life that the story is built. There is Emmanuel, Alexandra's first love, who finds himself incapable of leaving his mother and the bounds of his race to live his own life. There is Kenneth Ellery, a talented actor whose brilliant career was destroyed by infantile paralysis, who becomes absorbed in Alexandra's career, "... knowing that here was the one in whom he could ripen the green greatness that soured his own spirit. ..." However, his selfishness and bitterness eventuallv become two of the main causes of Alexandra's defeat in her attempt to be happy and satisfied. The reader is constantly aware that this is Alexandra's story ; her life, her loves, her decisions and failures. Much attention is given to the details which make Alexandra seem more like a real person. A good example of the effective use of details is this paragraph which de,scribes .'Xlexandra when she was a girl :"...! t'nought of her as a precocious alien from another room, a jmle, silky-haired gir! with narrow hands and feet, so slight and unassertive in her chair that, when she stood up to recite, she amazed you by being taller than 12 The Green Caldron yourself. If I try to see her face as it was in those early days, I see it always isolated from other faces — alone and white and startled in front of the black- hoard, alone and dark-eyed and solemn in the four o'clock dusk, in the school- yard, near the Indian Toby tree." Alexandra seems to me to be a representative of our civilization, so that in her happiness, sorrows, achievements, and failures we all find something of ourselves. As a little girl she had the burning ambition to become a great actress. We see her climb the long road from a high school platform to Broad- way and fame. We see the changes that occur, even in her physical appear- ance. "... she could feel her happiness moving like a nourishing liquid through her body. It warmed her and took away forever the cold that had always lain, only half-realized, at the marrow of her bones. Joy had made her prettier than slie had ever hoped to be ; the eyes of others told her so." She had developed new philosophies through hardship and disappointment. Once she said : "It isn't good, it isn't safe to let anybody see what you really think, to let anybody knov^- what you're like inside." Perhaps the secret of Alexandra's dream and undeniable need to become famous is found in these two statements: "I thought that people would love you if you were famous. That's what I worked for all these years" and, "... when you are an artist, when you act on the stage or sing like Caruso or paint a picture, then you are somehow fixed at the very crest of a great arc of merging light ; you stand at exactly that point where the light of the sun and the reflected light of the moon touch upon each other ; you are illumined from both sides by earthly and celestial love. There nothing can touch you, nothing can wound you." The reasons for her failures are partially given in this paragraph in which she said: "I was cursed from my childhood with an oversupply of those things which are acceptable only in properly limited quantities. I had too much faith, too much desire for perfection, too mucli devotion to truth, and above all, too great a capacity for love." The success of this book lies in the style of writing employed. It is of a personal, reminiscent air with a definite sense of reality. The author con- tinuously repeats certain descriptions, phrases, and impressions in many cleverly hidden ways, so that the mood and true nature of the characters are never forgotten. There is little attempt by the author to give elaborate explanations for all the actions of the characters and the reasons behind these actions. The reader is left to make his own conclusions and deductions from the material supplied. He is put into the questioning mood tliat Sophie was experiencing when she asked herself whether or not things might have been different if she had put forth just a little more efifort to help Alexandra. March. 1951 13 Animal Farm Mary Ann Kula Rhetoric 101. Theme 9 CU.MMUNIST TROOPS PUSH BACK UNITED NATIONS forces in Korea : more than half the world suffers under Communist domination ; miirions of people are kept without any contact with the world outside the Iron Curtain. These conditions, needless to say, are terrible. The present world situation is critical. But how did all this start? Were these people always intent on destruction ? Just what is their basic philosophy ? These are a few of the questions George Orwell attempts to answer in his political satire, Animal Farm. In his story of the animals' revolt, he draws a picture of the Communist revolt, of its first aims, and of the gradual warping and changing of these ideals. The novel traces the story of the animals' revolt from its idealistic beginning, as a rebellion against the unjust conditions under Mr. Jones, the farmer, up to the time when the pigs of the farm, in complete control, introduce a slavery more encompassing and far worse than life under Mr. Jones ever was. Napoleon, the pig leader, is a symbol of the Communist leader, ruthless and cunning, working his way into leadership and stomping down all who would defy him. Slowly and skillfully he takes away more rights and privi- leges of his workers, giving, in return, only more work and a few empty celebrations. The Marxian theory of Communism, wherein man is all, is gradually turned into an extreme form of Socialism, wherein government is all and man is nothing but a machine, doing the biddings of those few on top. George Orwell, an English writer who is at his best as a critic, compares the animals of the farm with the masses and Mr. Jones and the other humans with the upper classes of the country. In simple but eftective manner, he sketches the character of the sincere but misguided party member in the form of Boxer, the work horse who is deluded into working night and day for the cau.se, and who is finally turned upon. Animal Farm seems to have served as a basis for another of Orwell's novels, 1984, inasmuch as both deal with the same problem. The author, who died very recently, brings out the horror of the Communist political system in both these novels, the difiference in the two lying in the fact that Animal Farm deals with the past and present of the political system, while 1894 treats the not too unbelievable future. Mr. Orwell did not attempt to moralize ; we who see the causes and results realize the moral ourselves. The seeds of Communism lie in oppression and persecution. The only way that we shall be able to combat this weed is to remove the seeds so that it cannot continue its growth. 14 The Green Caldron Tne Legend or Jonn Carol Ann Hodges Rhetoric 102, Theme 8 \\rt HEN JOHN WAS A LITTLE BOY HE PLAYED COWBOYS \\ just like other little boys his age and said that when he grew up, he was going to be a real cowboy. However, he kept on saying that even when he was high school age, and people began to wonder if it wasn't about time he outgrew that stage. They particularly began to wonder when he had a saddle mounted on his bicycle and began to ride standing up on the saddle. This was all the more spectacular because John was a gangling six foot four and looked decidedly top-heavy in this position. Also, he would come to a stop by slamming on the brakes and rearing the bike on its hind wheel like an angry horse. People were beginning to regard him with suspicion and say he was even more odd than his father, "Empty," had been at that age. But when the war came and John went to the Navy, folks said confidently that the Navy would take it out of him. One fellow told me John had to pitch six new pairs of cowboy boots overboard because the sea water rotted them, and no doubt that would be the end of his cowboy fling. And when he came home, it seemed to be true. He no longer thought he was a cowboy. Instead, he had grown a magnificent beard, and it was, like his hair, a screaming orange. (This was a bit unusual, since when he went away, his hair had been a rather uninteresting reddish brown.) The beard and hair alone would have caused comment, but in addition, he had his ears pierced and a silver chain run from one lobe to the other. Under his chin a silver medallion hung from this chain, shimmering against its orange back- ground. It seemed that for the time being he had forgotten about cowboys and was now playing the pirate. He carried a long, wicked looking knife with a carved ivory handle in a sheath between his shoulder blades ; and, when he was sure people were looking, he'd pull it out and pick his teeth with it, sneering as he did so at the quaking landlubbers. When John got out of the Navy, he came back to farm with his father, but this of course was not very e.xciting and he ran off w-ith a rodeo. When he came back that fall during the Homecoming celebration, jaws began dropping all over town. The orange hair had subdued to a glowing auburn and was now almost shoulder length and rolled under on the nape of his neck. The beard had divided into long sideburns and a well trimmed moustache. He rode out to the high school on a palamino with a two-hundred dollar tail. He swaggered into the school and oiTered to let them build their carnival around him and his bull whip cracking act. and to prove his point he uncoiled the whip from his shoulder and took a crack at the superintendent .\farch. 1951 15 who had just said no. The sii]ieriiitendent had admirable ctjurage, however, and kept on saying no, so John went to find the president of our senior class. He offered to get us a stage coach and six horses for our float and further- more to drive it himself. We said no, too, and thought that was that. But on that day of the parade there was John, dressed all in black from his Stetson to his boots, except for the red satin sash at his waist ; and he an- nounced that he was leading the parade on his palamino horse and he had his whip, knife, and six guns (in black holsters, of course) to prove it. Un- doubtedly if anyone had called his blufif, it would have turned out to be just that, but there was no intrepid soul amongst us, and so John was given an opportunity to display himself before the awestruck citizens. There are many legends about John, each one a little more fantastic than the last, and most of them built around his desire for show and his actual cowardice and blufif. One of these is pretty well accepted as the truth, how- ever. That is the story about John and his friend, Lloyd, who was about the same caliber. They went squirrel hunting one afternoon and got into an argument. Finally John said, "We'll settle this with a duel.y And they agreed to stand back to back, take ten paces, turn and fire. They began counting. On nine, Lloyd fired his rifle in the air, and when he turned around, John was gone. It's said John didn't stop running till he hit the city limits, and I imagine that's just about so. Mr. Blanl aiiR C.XROLINE Cr.\MER Rhetoric 101. Theme 4 HE WAITED ON THE CORNER FOR THE BUS FOR SOME ten or fifteen minutes with his hands thrust deeplv into the jjockets of the grey covert overcoat which he wore. His hat was set on his head rather crookedly, giving the impression of carelessness and hurry rather than of jauntiness, and his brows were knit in that peculiar expression which waiting persons assume as a blind for the diverse thoughts which meander thrciugh their minds. The bus came presently, and the man was able to find a seat bv a window. He stared vacantly out, his expression changing ever so slightly from boredom to pleasure as he saw a tall, well-moulded blonde round a corner ; then he hastily covered the pleasure with a fleeting frown, which resolved itself into an aspect of mere passive disgust at his own humanism. As he strode swiftly past the rows of almost-identical houses between the bus stop and home, he came upon a child working hard at tightening a screw on a battered roller-skate. The man started to step around the child ; then he turned quickly and gave the needed assistance. His ill-humor having made 16 The Green Caldron this concession, he walked on more breezily, and declared to his wife upon entering his house that the smell of her beef stew had set his mouth watering a block away. She smiled wanly, thus indicating both her "hello" and "thank you". The man scanned the sports page of the local newspaper until dinner, tapping his foot against the leg of a table in preoccupation. The meal was eaten quietly, with little conversation ; the man was absorbed in listening to "Big Town." With a martyred look shadowing his lucid eyes, the husband insisted on helping his wife with the dishes. As he removed his coat in favor of an apron, a parchment certificate fell from his pocket. His wife stooped, scooped it up. and read, "Awarded to Mr. Blank, Brown and Kuhl's Personality Prize of the Year." Divorce — An American Pastime Harry K.ariher Rhetoric 102, Theme 1 DURING THE TURBULENT WAR YEARS, BOTH THE AMER- ican marriage rate and the divorce rate increased to gigantic propor- tions. These accelerated marriages were looked upon with favor by the majority of the public, but the subsequent divorce rate appalled the citizenry. It is still appalling. It was the general opinion that the divorce rate would level off following the war, as our economy and existence began to be re-stabilized. This, how- ever, has not been the case. Reno, as well as other points of facile divorces, continues to be jammed to the bursting point. The separations are a fine barometer of the social, emotional, and economic unrest in the country today. The fast pace of living, coupled with an almost nation-wide desire for security, will produce a marriage today and a separation tomorrow in one out of three instances. To a social expert, this means that the American people are all too close to a national nervous breakdown. The aftermaths of divorce are for the present its most detrimental factors. Confused children, disgusted and dismayed parents, and split economics can contribute little to the public welfare. In many cases, the actual support of divorce-struck children will fall on society. Juvenile delinquency and crime draw direct sustenance from the divorce courts. As long as ten-minute engagements are possible in America, divorce lawyers will coin money. As long as a husband or wife can journey to Reno for mercurial separation proceedings, homes will be broken. As long as people continue to treat marriage as lightly as in the past, divorce will remain the great American pastiiue. Yet with the proper legislation and popular combat, there is hope that large-scale "liberations" will become as extinct as the dodo bird. March, 1951 17 Soap Opera-Tne Housewire s Bible Alice Jean Cohn Rhetoric 102, Theme 9 THE PLACE IS CHICAC.U. THE YEAR IS 1928. SEVERAL radio men have migrated to the "Windy City" from New York and Hollywood, weary from their unsuccessful attempts to promote them- selves.^ Our story opens as the e.xplorers of soapland, taking advantage of the simple facilities available, begin to develop radio serials and sell them to advertisers as "soap operas." The idea of the daytime radio program was to entertain the housewife and to sell her a bill of goods at the same time. Though the soap opera originated in Chicago, its headquarters are now in New York. There was a wait of approximately fifteen years before serious research was done on this subject, and during that time there were few competent critics. None of the serial writers ever saved their scripts. If the more than 4,000 scripts (8,000,- 000 words) of "Just Plain Bill," the oldest serial now on the air, had been saved, they would fill 20 trunks, and the entire wordage of soap operas to date, roughly 275,000,000 words, would fill a good sized library." ^ During the four years following the birth of the soap opera, dozens of people attempted to take the old art of story-telling and adapt it to radio. The principal figures were Mrs. Gertrude Berg, Mrs. Elaine Carrington, Irma Phillips, Paul Rhymar, Frank and Anne Hummert, and Robert D. Andrews. However, the progress of these serial pioneers was extremely slow because of certain handicaps involving the wariness of advertisers and the thin resources of talent in the Middle West. Their efforts were indefatigable. They studied "Amos and Andy," a sequential story, as a model in the field of radio narrative. The many listeners devoted to this program proved the American desire for a continued story on the air. Mrs. Gertrude Berg, a New York woman, did her early writing in Chi- cago. She was one of the first to have a popular and durable soap opera, "The Goldbergs." This program began as a nightly show twenty-two years ago and transferred to daytime a few years later. The show ran until 1945 when Proctor and Gamble dropped it ; however, the show has recently been continued. W^hen the show was first dropped, life became bewildering to Mrs. Berg who, portraying Molly Goldberg, had ripened many worthwhile friendships. Since it was an impossibility for her to give up the Goldbergs, she brought them back to the stage in a production called "Me and Molly." This showed the critics who saw no art or significance in her play why the 1 James Thurber, "Soapland," AVic Yorker, XXIV (May IS. 1948). 34. - Ibid. 18 The Green Caldron beloved family could not die. It transferred to the stage simplicity, honesty, and the warm belief in humanity which distinguished her serial' The woman who has been crowned queen of the soap opera is Elaine Carrington of New York. "When a Girl Marries," "Pepper Young's Fam- ily," and "Rosemary" are three better than average serials through which Mrs. Carrington may make her claim for fame.* Her salary for such work may be as high as $3500 per week. Elaine Carrington began her career by writing short stories for magazines, but during the years of depression she turned to writing for radio. In 1932 NBC sponsored Miss Carrington's "Red Adams," a half-hour evening show, broadcast once a week. Three months later Beechnut sponsored the program as a daytime serial three times a week. However, the Beechnut company offered to sponsor the show only under the condition that the name be changed. xAdams represented to them the name of their rival ; thus, the show was changed from "Red Adams" to "Red Davis." In 1936 Procter and Gamble offered Elaine Carrington twice as much money as she had been receiving if she would write five scripts per week. It was at this time that the name of the program became "Pepper Young's Family." Mrs. Carrington is one of the few soap opera writers who has been wise and firm in retaining ownershi]) of literary properties.^ She leases broadcasting rights to sponsors and specifies that her name be mentioned before and after each show. Most dialoguers receive credit only once a week. Among other pioneers prominent in soap operas are Anne and Frank Hummert, the manufacturers of fifteen serials in the soap opera factory. Frank Hummert was formerly a St. Louis newspaperman who switched to radio as the copy chief for Blackett and Sample advertising agency in Chi- cago. His wife, the former Anne Askenhurst, became his assistant and to- gether they worked out their first daytime serial, "Betty and Bob." This soap opera lasted approximately eleven years before it was taken of? the air. For its plot, the story depended upon the unsteady, jealous relationship be- tween the name characters. The serial reached its climax at the birth of a baby but ended as a failure because the listeners would not accept the old relationship in a married couple with a child." Through experience the Hum- merts found that three problems were inherent in soap opera writing : finding names for the hundreds of characters, keeping the dialogue fresh, and pre- venting the endless story from ending.^ The last difficulty is the greatest. There has not been another woman writer of soap operas who has written as many words or made as much money as Irma Phillips.** This soap opera 3 Ibid., p. 35. ""Soap Opera," Reader's Digest. XLVIII (July, 1946), 97. ^ Thurber, op. eit.. p. 35. •^ "Hummerts' Super Soaps," Nexvswcek, XXIII (January 10, 1944), 81. ■Ibid., p. 80. * Thurber, op. eit., p. 36. March. 1951 19 pioneer became studio-struck after her graduation from the University of Illinois. Following some years of teaching and writing, Miss Phillips was asked by WGN to write a serial which she called "Painted Dreams." Writ- ing serials involving the family was reasonably simple to her as she was one of ten children. Her subsequent soap operas included "Woman in White," "Right to Happiness," "Road to Life," and "Lonely Women." .All of these programs are still being broadcast except "Lonely Women." Sandra Michael's serial dramas seldom fall in the uncomfortable category as do many soap operas!' Her most notable work, ".\gainst the Storm." made its debut in 1939 with extensive praise and many blue ribbons. In 1943 the serial was given the Peabody Award for dramatic presentation. Radio ed- itors favored its literary quality, war-conscious continuity, and occasional personal casting of such notables as John Masetield and Edgar Lee Masters.'" However, "Against the Storm" didn't appeal to the housewives and went ot¥ the air in December, 1942. Although earlier soap operas were broadcast in the evening, the accepted definition of today's soaper is : "a patronizing term loosely applied to popular daytime dramatic serial programs because the early sponsors of these pro- grams were soap manufacturers." The story is continuous, concerning the same set of characters all of the way through the series with additions and sub- tractions in less important roles in the story. It is intended for an adult audience.'- Generally, the same actors play the same parts. The same director handles the show, the same sound man and engineer are assigned, and the show is always broadcast in the same studio. The element of continuity touches many factors in the program. The serial production directors and writers are all constants. The director has less to do with the script because the writer is usually a highly skilled craftsman who knows the medium intimately. Because most of the programs are agency-produced, the radio executives in the agency have gone over the scripts carefully in advance. Thus, most of the editing necessary fqr other programs is eliminated. The main concern of soap opera producers is time. The problem of talent arises due to one of two circumstances. First, the client or agency becomes dissatisfied with the way a part is being played or with an actor's behavior ; then it is necessary to recast. This seldom happens, but when it does it is a major operation. The prominent role is the subject of , hearings and auditions for a week before the decision is made. Recasting is I done with a thoroughness involving the account executive of the advertising agency and the sponsor. Secondly, minor casting problems arise with the new characters and the use of dramatized commercials. Stafif needs, studio needs, and studio layouts are constant. Teamwork in 9"Scented Soap," Nnvsz<.'cck, XXII (July 5. 1940), 110. '0 Ibid. " Radio Alphabet, New York. 1946, p. 67. '2 "Soap Opera," op. cit., p. 95. 20 The Green Caldron this field brings simplicity. There are few special effects. Sound is held to a minimum and music usually appears only as the opening and closing theme. There is a simplicity of movement, structure, and sound in the soap opera because the housewives constitute the majority of the audience.'^ Housewives have work to do ; therefore, the serial cannot have a complicated, fast moving plot requiring undivided attention that would distract women from their work. The actual playing time of the dialogue in soap operas is nine or ten minutes ; the rest of the program's time is required for the announcer, com- mercials, and music." In the procedure for rehearsals, the script is first read through by the cast for content and general daily development and then re- read for notation of further corrections. Good timing is achieved in this manner. If there is relaxation on the part of the director in timing the show, the result shows a definite sloppiness in the actual broadcast. In scoring soapland locales results showed that small towns outnumbered big cities two to one ; five actual cities in the United States are mentioned, but names of small towns such as Hartville, Rushville Center and Great Falls are mistv and unreal.''' After listening to many serials, one may note that "Our Gal Sunday" is set in \'irginia, but that no states are mentioned for towns in other serials. Differences between small town people and big city people are exaggerated and over-simplified by most writers. Distinctions between good and evil are most easily made in the old-fashioned terms of moral and immoral towns. Soap opera time manages to coincide with mortal time in the case of holi- days. For example, Memorial Day in Hartville is Memorial Day in New York. Every year on that day Bill Davidson, Hartville's leading citizen, makes a Memorial Day address — a simple arrangement of words in praise of God and the Republic.''' "Soapland is a peaceful world, a political and economic Utopia, free of international unrest, the menace of fission, the threat of inflation, depression, general unemployment, the infiltration of Communists and the problem of racism." '" There are no colored people in the world of soap except for minor servant parts. David, in "Life Can be Beautiful" is the only Jew since "The Goldbergs" was discontinued as a soap opera. Lynn Stone and Addy Richton, soap opera writers, were once told by a sponsor's representative to eliminate a Jewish woman from their show. The reason given for such action was not to antagonize anti-Semites.'** Though formerly the sexual aspect of daytime morality burned up and down the dial, there has been a profound cooling oft'. Now the question of sex is handled with care. Nothing is shown but coy and impregnable chastity 13 Albert R. Crews, Radio Production Directing, Boston, 1944, p. 470. " Ibid., p. 471. i^Thurber, op. cit. (May 29, 1948). p. 30. 16 //„■(/., p. 31. 1- Jbid. '« Ibid., p. 32. ' March. 1951 21 in women. Helen Trent is soap o])era"s nunil)er one tormenter of men, all in the virtuous name of indecision.''' Suitors in soapland are usuall}' weak. Miss Trent's frustration of them is aimed to gratify listening housewives, brought up in the fine .American tradition of female domination. People of soapland are subject to a set of special ills. Temporary blind- ness, ]ireceded by dizzy spells and headaches, is a common affliction of soap- land people. There are also many amnesia cases. Children of soap towns are subject to pneumonia and strange fevers, or killed 1iy autos. Infantile paralvsis and cancer -are never mentioned in serials.-" Outside of physical ills, the most common misfortune in the world of soap is false accusation of murder. At least two-thirds of the good male characters have been indicted and tried for murder since the beginning of soap op>eras.^^ The soap opera is rarely discussed without passion. Many are heartily in favor of its existence while others are violently in opposition. Defenders of the daily serial believe that it relieves the tedium of the housewife and teaches \aluable lessons in living. However, innumerable critics say, "At its best, the soap opera is a tedious bilge and at its worst, is revolting morbidity." ^- It rationalizes frustration and provides an unhealthy escape from reality. This is evident by the pretense of an economic and political Utopia. Also, many soap operas may be considered money-saving because expenses are lessened on talent. Educators, social scientists and psychiatrists deplore the soap opera's in- fluence.-^ Dr. Louis Berg, a New York psychiatrist stated that the relapse of his patients was due to listening to soap operas. He listened and found the soapers full of jealousy, pain, rage, frustration and insincerity. "Truly the authors have screened the emotional sewers for their material." ^^ Both NBC and CBS were worried by Dr. Berg's accusations because of their profitable association with soap operas. Therefore, NBC delegated a committee to investigate the serials. The committee found that there was a tendency of all dramas studied toward ethical solutions and that their effect tended toward helpfulness.-^ The soap opera's shortcomings seemed to be outweighed by its virtues. CBS made a study to find out whether women who listen to daily serials are substantially different from those who do not. A tabulation showed that the percentage of listeners varied with the educational, not economical level. Forty-one percent of soap opera listeners have graduated from high school and may have had some college education ; fifty-nine per cent are not high school or, possibly, grammar school graduates.-" The CBS committee, composed of well-known educators and psychologists, devised a recommendation for the is/fciU, p. 35. 2» Ibid., p. 37. =1 Ibid. -- "Soap Opera," op. cil., p. 95. -^ Lloyd Morris, Not So Long Ago, New York, 1949, p. 472. -^ "Soap Opera," of. cit.. p. 98. =5 Ibid., p. 99. =« Ibid. 22 The Green Caldron improvement of serial programs and offered these eight definite suggestions for writers : 1. Make characters motivate the plot. 2. Develop the social and economic structure of characters more fully. 3. Play on wider themes. 4. Let the motives be plausible. 5. Use more logic, less contrived accident and coincidence in the story. 6. Use less narration, more live action. 7. Set higher standards of production. 8. Be sure that the total outlook of each serial is socially desirable rather than socially harmless."' Major networks devote 79% of their daytime commercial hours to soap operas.^^ In 1945 NBC had a total of $30,000,000 in time charges.-' From this, one can easily see why networks investigate accusations made against soap operas. Due to the continuity of the soap opera, it becomes habit-forming. Thus, the housewife after months of conditioning becomes extremely devoted to the involved characters. One woman who was a faithful listener to "Pepper Young's Family" continually heard Mr. and Mrs. Young's nightly discussion in bed. When the part of Mr. Young was recast, the listener ceased to listen to the program because she could not bear to think of Mrs. Young in bed with another man.^° The question of banning soap operas from the air is a topic for heated discussion. In many soap operas a permanent question of inner struggle, doubt^ or indecision is implied every day by the serial narrator. And so that I may leave the reader with the soapland environment, I, too, shall ask the question in closing, "Will the housewife continue to leave her cakes burning in the oven and her children dying from malnutrition?" Tune in some fifty years in the future and hear the thrilling climax ! ! -" G. T. Busvvell, "Radio's Daytime Serials," Elementary School Journal. XLVI (Jan- uary. 1946). 251. =* "Question of Soap." Time. XLI (June 7, 1943). 66. ^^ "Soap Opera," op. cit., p. 95. =>» Ibid., p. 96. BIBLIOGRAPHY Crews. Albert R., Radio Production Direction. Boston; Houghton Mifflin Company, 1944. Morris, Llovd, Not So Long Ago. New York: Random House, 1949. Radio Alphabet. New York: Hastings House, 1946. BusWELL, G. T. "Radio's Daytime Serials," Elevientarv School Journal. XLVI (Jan- uary, 1946), 249-251. Thurber, James. "Soapland." AVic i'orker. XXIV (May 15. May 29, 1948). 35-38; 30-38. "Hummerts' Super Soaps." A'e-ci.'S7i.'eek, XXIII (January 10, 1944), 79-81. "Question of Soap." Time. XLI (June 7, 1943). 66. "Scented Soap." Nezvszaeck, XXII (July 5, 1943), 110. "Soap Opera." Reader s Digest, XLVIII (June, 1946), 95-99. March. 1051 23 Ana Into tne Pan Jim Brav Rhetoric 101. Theme 5 THOSE VACATION PICTURES OF THE JUBILANT FISHER- man stepping out of his boat and holding aloft a large pike or perch always bring exclamations from the women and whistles of admiration from the men. Then the questions start. "How much did he weigh?" "Did he put up a good battle?" "What did you use to get him?" The picture under discussion is not laid aside until everybody knows every detail of the capture of the fish. I never bring my vacation pictures to a group of this type because all of my photos show me with a few panfish that don't weigh over two pounds in all. Panfish are the smaller varieties of fish which don't get much larger than a foot, are usually much smaller, and are a mess of bones. As far as I am concerned, the fisherman with his big fish has not just stepped out of the boat ; he has missed it completely. He may have the admiration of all the men and women, but I'm the fisherman who gets to sit down to a dinner table that is heaped with the best tasting fish in Wisconsin, the panfish. And they aren't as easy to catch as some people think. The average fisherman would gaze in horror at the fishing equipment I use to get my fish. I don't have forty or fifty pounds of equipment that cost several hundred dollars. All of my equipment but my rod fits into a two-pound candy box. Ten fishhooks (size 1), one stringer, five lead weights, and fifty feet of line on my reel will provide me with equipment enough for any situ- ation which I will encounter while fishing. The only one of these terms which may not be clear to the reader is the stringer. It is a cord that is inserted through the gill of the fish and out through the mouth in order to retain control of the fish. My reel is a very inexpensive one and is not absolutely needed in order to catch fish. One of my major expenses is a five-dollar fishing license which legally enables me to fish in the lakes of Wisconsin. Although I have never seen another person fish from a canoe, there is nothing that is better adapted for this purpose. The advantages of the canoe over the highly lauded rowboat include maneuverability, comfort, and acces- sibilitv to the various equipment. When I have a canoe, I don't always need to be putting in and taking out wet oars. My paddle may be laid across the canoe so that its drippings will fall into the water. The canoe is usually drier than the rowboat because people seem to take good care of something that is fragile, while they tend to mistreat the supposedly sturdy rowboat until it leaks freely. Furthermore, my paddle, anchor, and all my tisliing equipment may be put within arm's reach in the canoe ; a rowboat must be rowed and anchored from difl:'erent fixed positions. A canoe may also be easily carried from lake to lake on top of a car or transported by packing it on tlie shoulders with a carrying frame. Although August may not be the best time to catch fish, it is the time 24 The Green Caldron during which I escape the tortures of the August drouth in IlHnois. Hoping the weather will be nice and sunny for swimming and hiking, but cold and drizzly for good fishing, a climatic improbability, I usually attempt in August to go fishing on one of the many lakes of Wisconsin. Since the type of lake on which I fish is largely determined by the location of my cabin, I will consider instead, the ideal conditions. A good lake for fishing will have numerous weed beds and abundant plant life in its waters. A sandy-bottomed lake is not too good, nor is a complete lake of weeds or wild rice. In a lake where there are abundant minnows, the fish will not be too hungry for the fisherman's bait. Therefore, a large lake, two or three miles long, will usually ofifer the best opportunities for good fishing. Another wise thing to know is the type of fish which is most abundant in a particular lake. Tourist literature will give many hints about this information. It is very important to know what type of floor the lake has. Some lakes have been improved by dumping brush into them to provide better protection from the larger fish for the fingerlings that will some day be of legal size. When a suitable lake has been found, the exact spot where the fish are located must be discovered. It will usually be about twenty feet off shore on a weed bed and will be about ten feet deep. Lily pads almost always ofifer good spots for perch and bluegill. Although the type of fish which a lake contains does not readily change, the best fishing spots do. As a result, the fisherman can only hope he is in the right place. After anchoring myself in what I hope will be a good "fishing hole," I put a hook on the line and place a lead weight above it so that the bait will not float. The hook must not be so big that the fish will be unable to take it into their mouths, nor should it be so small as to encourage minnows. Whether to use worms or minnows is still uncertain in my mind. For this reason, I use the cheaper worms, which are threaded down their centers onto the hook. I lower my line into the lake until the bait touches bottom and then reel it in until it is about a foot off the floor, or where I hope that the fish will be. I attempt to attract them by bobbing my bait up and down with short jerks on my line. If a fish jerks back, I give another quick tug which I hope will pull the hook through the mouth of the fish and thus secure him on my line. The panfish is not large enough to cause any further trouble, so that I can reel him in. put him on my stringer, and then put him back into the lake so he will not die before I get him back to shore with what I hope will be enough for a meal. A good hard blow on the top of the head will kill a panfish. Cutting off his head, taking off his scales and fins, and taking out his innards will ready the fish for the skillet. The fish should now be dipped in corn meal batter and slowly fried in a small amount of fat. Panfish taste best if eaten immediately after being cooked. For this reason, it is best to eat them as they are fried, instead of cooking them all at once and keeping them warm in an oven. One should watch for the small bones. A larger fish won't have them, but neither will it have the sweet, juicy flavor of the panfish. March. 1951 25 Controllea Destruction Joiix Krupka Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 \ \' AMERICAN FIELD-ARTILLERY PIECE IS THROWING /-\ death and destruction. The first shells explode on first contact with the target, spreading their deadly concussion over a wide area. Then arrives an order to knock out a concrete blockhouse. Instantaneous detona- tion of shells against the outside of this target would be useless. Therefore, the gunner gives a small screw on the next shell a quick quarter turn. This shell strikes the blockhouse, and its speed carries it through the concrete. Then, inside, it explodes with devastating effect. It is a perfect hit on the first shot. Excitement runs high in the gun crew. Eager to get ofT another shot, one of the ammunition-passers stumbles. A shell, exactly like those which had slain enemy troops and knocked out concrete fortifications, slips from his hands. Its sensitive nose rams into the steel base of the cannon with sledge-hammer force. Nothing happens. White-faced, shaken, but unhurt, the crew continues its work. The accurately timed explosion of the shells on or in the target but their refusal to detonate by accident are the result of a very fine piece of mechanism known as the fuse and booster assembly. A small pellet of very sensitive mercury-fulminate mounted in the nose of the shell explodes at the first shock of striking the target. This explosion flashes through the fuse and ignites the booster which fires the shell. This pellet no doubt exploded when the soldier dropped the shell, but two small pins blocking the passage to the booster saved the lives of the gun crew. When a shell is fired from the gun, these pins are drawn back by centrifugal force due to the shell's spinning motion. This leaves the passage open during the shell's flight but tightly closed before it is fired. To delay the detonation of the shell to allow it to penetrate a wall, the gunner turns a screw that locks these centrifugal pins permanently. By blocking the instantaneous flash, these pins allow another part of the fuse to function. C)n impact, the shell is suddenly slowed down by contact with the target. Inertia causes a small cylinder of brass inside the fuse to slide for- ward against a spring, driving a pin into a second pellet of explosive. The flash from this explosion must thread its way through a baffle before it can reach the booster. This delays the detonation of the shell for a vital fraction of a second. The operation of this mechanism is resisted by a spring, and the relatively light impact of dropping the shell will not affect it. I The light, quick flash of the fuse is not, however, strong enough to det- onate the T.N.T. bursting charge of the shell. This small flash must be amplified by a mechanism already referred to, the booster. The booster also contains a complex safety device. A small pin must be 26 The Green Caldron first drawn back by the inertia caused by the firing of the shell from the gun. This releases another pin which is drawn back by centrifugal force. This, in turn, releases a circular metal plate or rotor which pivots to bring a small explosive charge into position to receive the flash from the fuse. This charge is set ofif by the fuse and fires a larger, more powerful pellet which, in turn, detonates the shell. This mechanism, the fuse and booster assembly, serves as an indication of the great value we Americans place on the lives of our men. The fuse and booster are made with the utmost care and precision. They are comparable, in quality and cost, with a fine watch, yet they are standard equipment on each of the millions of artillery shells used by the armed forces. Their sole purpose is to protect our men without loss of efifectiveness against the enemy. This is just one of the many ways in which American mechanical skill pro- vides the weapons to win the war. Tne Competitors Fred M. Cooper Rhetoric 101. Theme 1 IT WAS THE NIGHT OF MY SCHOOL'S ANNUAL BASKET- ball game with her traditional rival, Edgewood High. The whole town of Swissvale was screaming for blood — Edgewood's. I was mixed up ; in fact, I had been terribly confused all day. I respected the whole Edgewood team, especially Larry Harms, who was the star and captain of this fighting aggregation. Yet I hated them, mainly because I felt that I must hate them to win the approval of my teammates and local fans. To add to my confusion, the coach appointed me captain for this game. It was in this particular game that I actuallv realized that competition should produce friendships, not bitter rivalry. The usual pre-game ritual failed to fully relieve my tension. I began to realize, however, that we should try to win the game in a civilized way, with- out displaying such undesirable emotions as hatred and extreme anger. The whole team was inspired. We heartily cheered the junior varsity as they struggled for victory in their preliminary battle. We taunted our op- ponents, and they, in return, belittled us. I watched Larry — quiet, at ease, and apparently disgusted by his teammates' aggressive attitude. I was certain that he felt the same as I. I resolved to control myself at all times throughout the game. Tension mounted higher and higher as the junior varsity game progressed, and then the third quarter ended. It was time to dress. Both crowds broke into frenzied roars as their respective teams went into their locker rooms. I wanted to nod and smile at Larry, but I dared not ; instead I pretended to look at the scoreboard and walked directly past him. March, 1951 27 Once inside the dressing room, we all broke into school pep cheers as we opened our lockers and proceeded to put on our uniforms. I looked carefully at my outfit, number eleven. It had been my faithful companion for three basketball seasons. With it on. I felt more confident, and my tightened muscles seemed to ease somewhat. I glanced up at my teammates. Glenn, my best friend, who played center, winked at me and took a deep breath. I was rather frightened, because Glenn had a terrific temper which could easily be aroused in the course of a hotly contested game. I winked back. Suddenly the whole dressing room became silent — dead silent. It was G-Hour. and for the first time in my life before a game I prayed. The next few minutes were vague in my mind. I remember running through warm-up drills amidst the tumult of shouts and cheers. I could faintly hear the coach giving us our last instructions, and then I found myself shaking hands with Larry as the referees reviewed the court rules with us. We lined up for the tip-off. The centers were eager to tap the ball. My job was to guard Larry, and I was determined to do it in a sportsmanlike manner. The ball shot into the air, and Glenn managed to outjump his op- ponent and get the tip-oft'. We raced down the floor, the ball zipping around from man to man. Suddenly I caught a short quick pass and had the ball under the basket. I rose and shot blindly. Two points ! Now my mind began to clear as I fell back on defense — too late — Larry had two points ! First one team was ahead, then the other, throughout the first half. At halftime we were leading by a margin of two points. Noise and confusion filled the whole gym. Larry and I had not even spoken to one another. Soon the second half was under way. Edgewood slowly pulled away from us, and we became frantic. We had to get the ball and score. In the excite- ment. I knocked Larry over. I helped him up and he promptly made a free throw. Not a word was said. We now had possession of the ball with one minute left to play. As I dribbled toward an opening in the defense, something struck me hard and sent me sprawling. Jumping up. half-angry, I saw that it was Larry. I grinned at him and proceeded to make two free throws. Still we said nothing. Edgewood was two points ahead, and, before the ball could be put in play again, the game was over. I cursed the buzzer and started to stalk off the floor with tears in my eyes. As I reached the steps, something compelled me to turn, and I recognized Larry as he stood and received the congratulations bestowed upon him by his hometown fans. I walked toward him, smiled, and shook hands. Almost simultaneously we said "Nice game, fella !" Since then I have had the pleasure of becoming a good friend of Larry's. It is only natural, therefore, for me to believe that competition should not breed serious rivalry but should blend the lives of the competitors into a pattern of friendship. 28 The Green Caldron Rket as Writ ■'The sign said, "Ten beautiful girls inside, plus beer and whiskey,' so I began to enter this den of satin." * * * Engineers are people even though they don't know where to put comas or how to spel. * * * The two main streets in my home town run north and south and east and west. After his first months of strangeness the new student settles down and is resigned to become better educated. * * * Althougli many people disagree, I believe that having puppies and train- ing them is a problem. * * + The type of girl that 1 think is ideal may be quite different from some men. * * * England was the chief navel power for three centuries. * * * When he became sick, he went into a comma. 1 don't know where he went but when he came out of it, he was a changed man. Honorable Mention Arlene Arenberg Rolf Cedertcall Fred L. Creager Earl Doty George Fearheiley Arlei Fender Eugene Fenton Don Herrington Eugene Priesto Curtis Robinson Pal Ryan Arnold M. Tatar The Contributors Ann Lankford — Champaign Russell Stackhouse — Tuscola Ryozo Sunobe — Tokyo Imperial University Lessing Silver — Hyde Park Ted Schreyer — Main Township Donna Corydon — North Park Academy Charles Ream — Feitshans Mary Fahrnkopf — Champaign Mary A. Kula — Resurrection, Chicago Carol A. Hodges — Girard Caroline Cramer — Casey Community Harry Kariher — Champaign Alice J. Cohn — Hyde Park James Bray — University High John Krupka — Niles Township Fred M. Cooper — Williamsville Uu m^ i.3. Fhe Green Caldron A Magazine of Freshman Writing •k THE LmRARY OF THE JAN 2^ 1952 UNIVlkSiIY JI- ILLINOIS CONTENTS i Robert Doran: Parachute Jump 1 OlfiaEgger: Terror 5 Carl W. Fuss: Mr. Wilder and Our Teeth 6 Patricia Malone: The Re-creation of a Historic Period .... 7 Louis Theofilos: Thought and Imagination 8 Elmer R. Switzer: The Barhershop 11 Caroline Cramer: Over the Hills and Through the Woods . . 12 Ben Watson: Fields Open For Chemical Engineers .... 14 Ann Lankford: From the Past 15 Jean Crowley: Pretty Baby 17 Emil Malavolti: The V-Mail Letter 18 Dorothy A. Olson: My First Semester at the U. of 1 19 Carl Krumhardt: Long Hours 20 Carol Ann Hodges: The School 22 Rhet as Writ 24 Vol.20, No. 4 APRIL, 1951 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T _L 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 parts of this periodical may be repro* duced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Paracnute Jump Robert Doran Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 I HAD JUST SPENT THREE WEEKS OF THE HARDEST WORK in my whole life at the parachutist's school at Fort Benning, Georgia. During that time I had received intensive training in parachute packing and in every phase of parachute jumping. I was all ready for the fourth week of training in which I would make five parachute jumps. At the time I attended the school, every step of the instruction, every piece of training equipment, and every action during a parachute jump had been developed to the greatest possible efficiency by the thousands of men who had gone before me. When I volunteered for the paratroops, I hadn't thought of fear. I had thought of the fifty dollars a month extra pay, and I had thought of the excitement and prestige of being a paratrooper. During my final week of training, I wasn't afraid — I was merely miserable. I had just finished Infantry Basic training, and I had thought I was in good physical condition. Somehow I survived that week, but my bones and muscles still ache when I remember the calisthenics and forced marches — an hour of calisthenics and two hours of marching every day. I had to drive myself to the very limit of physical endurance to keep up. Besides the physical conditioning program, I was taught how to fall. I learned how to hit the ground and take up the impact with my legs and body without being hurt, but I collected a crop of bruises in the process. The second week was somewhat easier. Calisthenics continued, but I wa.s used to them by then. I learned how to control a parachute during descent. I also learned all the steps in leaving an airplane from full-size models of a C-47 fuselage. I can go back in my memory and hear the sergeant barking, " Stand up ! Hook up ! Stand to the door ! Ready — go !" The command "Hook up!" meant to fasten the safety catch on the end of the static line to an overhead cable that ran the length of the fusilage. The static line is a twenty-five foot piece of heavy canvas webbing attached to the back of a parachute pack. When a paratrooper jumps from a plane, the static line opens the parachute pack and pulls out the parachute. The plane is too close to the ground for a paratrooper to use a rip-cord and pilot chute such as are used on standard parachutes. During the second week I also started classes in parachute packing. I had to pack my own p>arachute for the five training jumps I would make. I began to wonder, as the fatal day crept closer, but I wasn't too worried because that day was still somewhere in the future. The third week was rough. On Monday morning I was introduced to a new torture device. It was a thirty-five foot wooden tower with a ladder [1] 2 The Green Caldron going up one side and a door on the other side. Parallel to the door-side was a cable attached to two poles about sixty feet apart. One end of the cable was higher than the door, and the other end sloped down, passing over a big pile of sawdust. Attached to the cable was a pulley with a cross bar beneath it to which was connected two long pieces of canvas webbing with iron rings on their lower ends. All a student had to do was put on a standard parachute harness, with safety catches where the parachute shroud lines would normally be attached, climb the ladder to the top of the tower, clip the catches in the rings at the ends of the webbing coming down from the pulley, and step out the door. The platoon lined up. I was the fifth man in line. The first man in line climbed the ladder. He walked over to the door and hooked up. He hesitated a moment when he received the command to go and then jumped. He fell halfway to the ground before the cable stopped him. He then coasted down the inclined cable and landed in the sawdust pile. The rip was brought back and the next man hooked up. "That looks like fun," I said to myself. Then it was my turn. I buckled on the harness and climbed the ladder. When I got to the top, I looked around. "It's funny," I thought, "but this tower didn't look this high when I was on the ground." The rig came back. I moved briskly over to the door and hooked up. I received the command to go. I tensed my muscles — and froze. Fear hit me like a fist in the stomach. Again I received the command to go. I started for- ward and froze again. The third time I received the command. Desperately I closed my eyes and jumped. I felt myself falling, and then I felt a nasty jolt. I opened my eyes just in time to meet the sawdust pile. During that day and the next I jumped from the tower thirty times. Those jumps were never fun. I could never rid myself of a twinge of fear just before I left that door. Thursday, the class went to the parachute tower. This tower was two hundred fifty feet high with four cross arms at its top. Five steel cables dropped from each cross arm terminating in an iron ring twenty feet in diameter. Above the ring was a hook with a release mechanism. The apex of a special parachute was clipped to the hook, and a steel ring held the para- chute out like a partially open umbrella. My turn came to go up. I buckled on the regulation parachute harness. At a signal from the sergeant to the operator I started to rise. I reached the top of the tower, dangling beneath the parachute and wishing myself some- place on the ground. I looked down at the ground. That was too much for my nerves. I closed my eyes and prayed. I felt myself being lifted several more feet, and then I heard the click of the release mechanism. For several seconds there was a sickening sensation of falling and then the parachute filled. I drifted down and away from the tower. I hit the ground easily, unbuckled my harness where I lay, got up, and helped carry the parachute back to the tower. April, 1951 3 All during the third week I continued parachute packing classes. Friday afternoon, the equipment I would use the next week was issued to nie : para- chute and harness, reserve parachute, and a football helmet. I inspected both parachutes carefully for damage and then packed them just as carefully as possible. I was really worried by then. I don't remember much about that week-end except that I was miserable. No matter how hard I tried to banish thoughts of fear and worry from my mind, the}' kept popping into my consciousness. Monday mornings— the big day had come at last — the day that I had been looking forward to with mingled feelings of dread and anticipation. I was going to make my final parachute jump. The morning was beautiful. All the bright colors of spring seemed brighter and clearer than ever before. I had never seen the sky look so blue nor the trees and grass so green. The air was still. It was a perfect day for a jiara- chute jump — and I wished it were raining. I was scared stiff. I had breakfast with the rest of the fellows. None of us ate very much. We were far too nervous. Shortly after breakfast the whistle blew, and we formed ranks and marched down to the airport. At the airport the jump-master took over. He was a master-sergeant who would be in charge of our group of twenty-four men during our little trip that day. The sergeant gave us our final instructions. "You will make your first jumps in sticks of twelve men. You will jump on individual command. When each man moves into position in the door, I'll holler 'go' and give him a slap on the back. When you get that slap, take of?. You'll be jumping from twelve- hundred feet. There's no ground wind and only a ten mile breeze upstairs. You're lucky. When I give the word, you'll pick up your 'chuter and get into them. You'll move out to the plane on command, climb in, take your seats, and fasten the safety belt. There'll be no smoking in the plane till after take ofif. Any questions ? "All right. We've got about a half-hour to wait. At rest. You can sit if you want to and smoke. But stay put." He walked away. We sat and talked a little and smoked a lot. In what seemed like five minutes the sergeant was back. "All right, men, on your feet. Attention ! Left face! Forward march." We marched into the hanger. "Fall out and get your 'chutes." I picked up my parachute, climbed into the harness and buckled it up, put on the foot- ball helmet, and got back in rank. The segeant came down the line checking each man's harness to see that it was properly adjusted. He made me readjust mine. When I buckled it back up, I felt as if I were in a strait jacket. The airplanes, battered looking C-47 transports, were standing in line on the concrete apron in front of the hanger, their motors barely ticking over. .\t th.e command, we filed out and climbed into the plane, took our seats, and 4 The Green Caldron fastened the safety belts. The sergeant cHmbed in and went forward to the pilot's compartment. We saw the plane on our left pull out, and then with a growl of plane motors we began to move, taxiing to the runway. At the beginning of the runway, the pilot locked the plane's brakes and revved up the engines. The sound of the engines changed from a growl to a deafening roar, and the plane quivered and rocked. The engines subsided to a growl and then quickly rose to a louder and sharper growl. We were moving. I could feel the jolt as the plane's wheels crossed each joint in the concrete runway — bump, bump, bump, faster and faster. Then the bumps stopped, and 1 twisted in my seat and looked out tlie window just in time to see the ground fall rapidly away. The plane went into a climbing turn, and the ground tilted to an impossible angle. The plane leveled. The sergeant came back from up front. "O. K.," he said, " You can unfasten the safety belts and light up." I'd just finished my cigarette when the sergeant said, "Butts out. First stick stand by." I wasn't lucky ; I was in the second stick. The plane's motors lessened their roar. We were down to jump speed — one hundred miles an hour. "First stick, stand up! Hook up! Stand to the door!" Twelve times the slap on the back and the shout, "Ready — go!" As I watched each man disappear through that door, leaving only the fluttering static lines behind, fear clamped tighter and tighter on my insides. The first stick was gone. The plane picked up speed and began to circle for the next run over the jump field. During the circling I held out my hand before me. To my surprise it was steady : I had expected it to match my quivering nerves. Again the plane's motors lowered their roar. We were slowing down. "Second stick, stand up! Hook u]) ! Stand to the door!" I remembered that I was supposed to count, one thousand, two thousand, three thousand, when I left the door. If my parachute didn't open at the end of the three seconds taken by the count, I was to pull the rip cord on my reserve parachute and hope that it would open in time. "Ready — go!" The first man vanished. "Ready — go!" The second man vanished. I was standing in the door. I heard the shout, "Ready — go!" in my ear and felt the slap on my back. I jumjied, turning to the left and tuck- ing my head down against my chest. As I left the door, I started screaming my count with all the power of my lungs. "One thousand, two thousand, three thou . . ." A terrific shock almost tore me apart, and my parachute was open. I looked up to check my parachute. Everything O. K. I looked around. In front and below me I could see the open parachutes of the two men who had jumped before me. To my left and right, some distance away, I could see other open parachutes drifting down in step formation. I looked down and watched the ground rise to meet me. As I came close to the ground, I reached up and grasped the risers, four canvass webbing April, 1951 S straps going up from my shoulders to the parachute liner. I bent my knees and forced my body to relax. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't watch the ground and stiffen my legs. There was a quick, hard jar, and I was lying on my back with my para- chute settling over me. I'd made it. I was a paratrooper. Still lying on the ground, I unbuckled my harness and crawled out from under the parachute. I stood up on shaking legs, rolled up my parachute and stuffed it into the bag I had brought for it. Carr)-ing the bag, I walked quickly to the edge of the field and to the truck that would carry me back to the barracks. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and I was very, very tired. T error! Olg.\ Egger Rhetoric 101, Theme B IT WAS ON JULY 13, 1944. FOUR OF US ; HERTA, HEDI, HANSI, and I were returning home for a vacation from a camp where we had spent the summer of that year. We were on a train going from Bad Toelz to Munich, chattering as only girls can chatter. Suddenly that innocent pleasure was rudely interrupted by the humming of airplanes overhead and the sounding of the warning siren. Never had this happened to us before, and at first we were dreadfully confused in our actions. Soon, however, we remembered instructions given to us by our parents for cases of such emergencies. We left the train which had come to a standstill and found ourselves in a huge meadow bordered in the distance by woods ; for those woods we headed. But our twelve-year-old legs could not carry us fast enough, and soon the enemy airplanes were upon us, bombing the train and shooting at us with machine guns. People yelled, mothers shrieked and cuddled their babies closer ; then I saw the first bodies falling. Not touched by that scene too much, however, for I had seen dozens of bodies lying in the streets of Munich after an air raid, I ran on and on, stumbling, falling, and praying. Hansi and Hedi were before me. TIerta behind. Then Hansi fell. In my panic I did not realize what I was doing and tried to drag her along with me. Then I saw the bloody mass of her head and the blood streaming from her throat. I dropped her, scrambled on, but soon, exhausted, fell for the last time and lay there. After hours of crouching in the grass and watching the enemy airplanes bomb and shoot. I went back to Hansi. But it was too late, for Hansi was dead. I shall not describe the terror of the following events. I shall not even describe Hansi's funeral. I shall only say that I will never forget July 13, 1944. 6 The Green Caldron Mr. Wilder and Our Teetk Karl W. Fuss Rhetoric 101, Theme 6 THORNTON WILDER PRESENTED TO THE FIRST-NIGHT- ers at New York's Plymouth Theatre a three-act comedy that nearly scandalized the theatrical world of 1942. Mr. Wilder, who had pre- viously written The Merchant oj Yonkers, a brilliant, standard comedy, and the Pulitzer Prize winning Our Town, had written a play summarizing the history of mankind. This play, a comedy named The Skin of Our Teeth, eventually won for him another Pulitzer Prize. Mankind is represented in the play as the Antrobus family : George and Maggie ; their children, Henry and Gladys ; and their maid, Sabina. By showing how man has survived three great disasters ; the ice age, the great flood, and a world war (the first, second, and third acts respectively), Mr. Wilder pays tribute to the indestructibility of the human race. It is the manner in which this tribute is presented rather than the idea itself that scandalized the first audience. The manner of presentation, how- ever, is the direct cause of the play's charm, originality, and greatness. The stage, during most of the production, is a bedlam. Actors get sick, .sets fall down, and the star, Sabina, has a disconcerting habit of stopping proceedings whenever she feels like it. All these interruptions, besides having an hilarious effect, serve to emphasize the fact that the real play, the struggles of the Antrobuses, must not be taken seriously, for, after all, it is only life. Mr. Wilder also uses the play as a vehicle for some biting jibes at people who take themselves too seriously. The theater itself is satirized by the slipshod production the play is apparently given. Throughout the play, there are many stinging lines such as this one of Sabina's in the last act. "He (Mr. Antrobus) says that now that war's over we'll all have to settle down and be perfect." The author plays upon all the emotions during the course of the allegory, but the scenes are as perfectly balanced and organized as those of Shakespeare. The audience has hardly got into the riotous exuberance of the opening scene of the second act (on the board-walk in Atlantic City), when it is plunged into an atmosphere of mystery and gloom by the appearance of the fortune- teller. These contrasts completely fill the structure of the play, but only in the last act does Mr. Wilder relinquish his good humor. In the last act Henry and his father have a terrifying fight. This fight symbolizes the fight between peace and war that mankind is always waging. Despite this touch of seriousness, the play sums itself up in all its good- naturedness in Sabina's final speech : "This is where you came in. We have to go on for ages and ages yet. You go home. The end of this play isn't written yet. Mr. and Mrs. Antrobus? Their heads are full of plans and they're as confident as the day they first began, — and they told me to tell you : good night." AprU, 1951 7 Tlie Re-creation or a Historic Period Patricia Malone Rhetoric 102. Theme 8 ESTHER FORBES IS AN AUTHORITY ON HISTORIC NEW England. This was demonstrated in her earlier novels, and her schol- arly treatment of this period is very evident in Paul Revere and the World He Lived In. This is not only a biography of an artisan of the revo- lutionary day ; but it is a re-creation of the environment in which he lived, and an authentic picture of his community, his country, and his contemporaries. The author has produced a historically accurate book, well annotated and documented, and established, in so doing, her reputation as an excellent historian. But this is not the dry bones of history. She has drawn her characters as carefully as a novelist, yet this characterization is always based on accurate knowledge of the people as we find it in the diaries, letters, and records kept by this remarkably articulate generation. These people became, not the stilted figures of history, forever signing the Declaration or riding a black horse down the lanes toward Concord, but humanized and real. We finish the book with a genuine liking for most of the founding fathers to whom it introduces us. The years before the American Revolution, as we know, were imjx)rtant years. In this book Esther Forbes traces the growing discontent which grew into a final furj', the American Revolution. And, through this mount- ing tension, moves the steady, tireless, and patriotic figure of Paul Revere who is, I believe, recognized for the first time as the man who directed the anti- British activity of the workingmen of Boston. But he never becomes the demi-god which we are prone to make of our heroes. With a never-failing humor and an attitude of personal liking for the man about whom she writes, Forbes presents him just as he must have been : a slightly stolid, calm, and tireless worker for something in which he believed. In all the sound and fury of this restless time, he stands out as the very essence of that rocklike strength which must underlie any successful upheaval of an existing social order. In this book we find much more than the biography of a great American. Here is the whole kaleidoscopic picture of a brightly-colored period. The customs and habits of our ancestors are vividly and humorously reported by Esther Forbes. She demonstrates that she is an authority on the dress, customs, families, architecture, and society of this era. We meet the leading figures: the Hutchinsons, the Hancocks, and "that brace of Adam.ses." There is evidence in this book of a great amount of historical research. 8 The Green Caldron While Paul Revere is, of course, the central figure, a vast amount of detail is told of his relations with other famous men of the time. We are presented with minute and authentic sketches of James Otis, Joseph Warren, and Robert Newman, who hung the lanterns, and many, many more familiar people, who in this book become real to the reader. All of this makes a very vivid and memorable four hundred and sixty- four pages of reading. Here is history at its most enjoyable — a perfect blend of storytelling and authenticity. Tnoudnt and Imadination Louis Theofilos Rhetoric 101, Theme 11 ART HAS BEEN RIDICULED AND DISCOURAGED BY MAN since the beginning of time. This abuse was due, not merely to man's ignorance of art, but to the challenge it offered him. In general, he has been content with the sheiU of prejudice he has built around himself. He has been opposed to anything that would penetrate this shell and disturb his way of living. Renaissance art, which was modern in its time, was not accepted by the masses who were contented with their tempo of living. It was accepted by the nobility and the clergy, for whom the artists painted, and was eventually forced upon the masses. Impressionism, the first real break from the tra- ditional imitation of nature, met with the same fate. There were only a few people who accepted this new approach to art. Unfortunately, they did not have the power to force it upon the masses, who rejected Impression- ism because it penetrated their shell and forced them to think. Imjiression- ism, then, acted only as a base for abstract art ; it was too weak in character and vitality to last. Cubism, which began in 1908, possessed the vitality, energy, and inspira- tion that was lacking in Impressionism. The Cubist tried successfully to paint an object, not simply as it existed, but as he saw it. He broke down form into its basic elements in search for balance, measure, and spatial value in terms of the cube, cone, sphere, and cylinder. By so doing the Cubist has made Cubism the first conscientious movement toward abstraction. Many artists have influenced the various movements in modern art. There were several outstanding artists in each movement. Among them were Seurat and Cezanne, Impressionists ; and Picasso and Braque, Cubists. In my opinion these four pioneers contributed more than anyone else to modern art. Seurat, who was influenced by the Impressionists, was the founder of Neo-Impressionism. He perfected the technique of the "spotty brush-stroke" April, 1951 9 and "fine broken colors" of the Impressionists. In perfecting his technique, he used the six primary colors in light and dark tones and applied them as a series of dots. Seurat, who died in 1891, painted a half-dozen masterpieces. One of his most criticized paintings is The Side Shaw, which was finished in 1889. In this j^ainting, Seurat, through the use of color, intersecting planes, and a simple scene, has captured the beauty, the excitement, and the warmth of the circus. He has used vivid figures and a well organized canvas to bring abput the mood he wished to create. The actual interpreta- tion of the action of The Side Show is left to the observer. Cezanne, who was born in 1839, is considered by many as the greatest of all modern artists. His paintings have had a great influence in the style and technique used by the Cubist. His perception of geometrical and angular forms, his abandonment of perspective, and his fusing of foreground and back- ground into an "active curtain of color" have been controversial issues among all modern painters. He has mastered the art of thinking in terms of abstraction. Almost all of his paintings are considered masterpieces. How- ever, I feel that Pines and Rocks, one of his later paintings, is by far his greatest work of art. One can sense the decline of each pine tree behind the masses of rock. This depth was achieved, not through the use of per- spective, but through the molding of masses. Picasso, one of the greatest contemporary painters, has mastered the use of the cube, cone, sphere, and cylinder. He was born in Spain, but most of his creative work has been accomplished in Paris. His career is a thirty years' war in which the opposing forces of classical formalism and romantic feeling and of geometry and sentiment are alternately victorious, but always to the greater enrichment of the age in which we live. Picasso's work, which many would-be artists have tried to copy without success, has appeared in almost every modern art exhibit since the beginning of Cubism. Almost every one of his paintings is a masterpiece. His early work was influenced by Negro-sculpture and the work of Cezanne. His paintings have since progressed through various stages of Cubism. Today, his objects are so abstract as to seem nearer geometry than representation. One of his most interesting paintings is called Violin. At first gl.ince, the observer will have a difficult time visualizing even the presence of a violin, but after careful study the subject becomes apparent. Picasso has broken Violin into rectangles and cubes and has woven a pattern of mystery and intrigue around the bare elements of the violin. The effect obtained is superb and fascinating. The work of Seurat, Cezanne, and Picasso acted, not only as a stimulant for the advancement of modern art, but as a stimulant for the advancement of mankind. The work of these artists has affected the lives of their con- temporaries. At one time art was considered "dead" by many people. They claimed that everything that could be done had been done. This theory was disproved by the modern artists. They refused to accept it, and, as a result, a door to a new world was opened. To illustrate that art is not dead. 10 The Green Caldron let us examine the work of two artists. One imitates what he sees ; the other paints what he feels. The scene of the two paintings is the "Battle of Dunkirk." The first artist, leaving nothing to the imagination, has painted photographically. In the lower right hand corner there are swarms of British troops waiting to be evacuated. In the foreground are ships departing for England, and in the background is a haze of black smoke. One can hardly tell from looking at this painting that it represents one of the crucial moments of the war. The second artist did not imitate a single scene from the battle ; however, his painting captures the significance of "Dunkirk." One can feel the suffering and the agony that the people went through, yet no real figures appear in the painting. The artist has used an ancient symbol of torture and pain, the ball and chain, to bring about this effect. He has shown heaps of metal and wreckage thrown on top of the mangled bodies of people. The tendency of modern art, merely to hint to the observer and force him to think in order to interpret the message contained in each painting, is one of the important contributions of art to progress. Man can advance only through thinking. Modern art has influenced the surroundings of the people of this decade. The artist's search for a "new conception of space" has been responsible for the hidden feelings behind contemporary architecture. If one examines contemporary architecture with a critical eye, he will find traces of the ideas conveyed by the modern artist. The breaking up of mass, the repetition of vertical and horizontal planes, and the horizontal rows of windows, all of which prevail in modern architecture, have been evident in contemporary art since its inauguration. Modern art is still in its infancy. The artist of today has barely scratched the surface of an art that has already contributed a quality of beauty and a new attitude toward reality to this world. The next fifty years offer a chal- lenge to the artist and to the public who must accept any art before it can become meaningful. As soon as the light changes, a great horde of traffic surges eagerly forward to fill the street with streetcars, roaring busses, and honking automobiles. On an adjacent corner an accumulated pool of people spills over the curb to cross the street and dissolve on the other side into a steady stream of a million lives. The incessant shuffle and babble of the crowd generates a feeling of excitement which is echoed and reflected by impatient horns and flashing neon signs. Sheer walls and awesome grey heights of towering build- ings add a sense of grandeur to the scene and distinguish it as a part of a strange and wonderful world of constant commotion. — Cari. Jouxsex, 102. April, 1951 11 Tne Barbersnop Elmer R. Switzer Rhetoric 101. Theme 6 \y I ITH MY HAND ON THE DOOR LATCH OF THE BARBER- \\/ shop, I hesitated. I needed a haircut for Thanksgiving Day, but the temperature was near zero, and a cold wind was blowing flurries of snow across the deserted sidewalk. I thought of my bare ears in this howling wind. Surely this was no weather in which to be getting a haircut. Still, I had needed one for the past week and was beginning to look rather shaggy about the ears. The warm cheerful appearance of the shop drew me inside. The barber interrupted his conversation long enough to tell me hello. He was a large bald man who wore thick spectacles. He smiled easily and often, but he was not smiling now. He was talking about his son in Korea. I listened as I took oflf my coat and found a seat by the stove. On the preceding day the barber had received a letter from his son. The son was all right but was very tired of Korea and anxious to come home. Two men were sitting near the stove waiting their turn for the barber chair. The stove was very hot, and I moved away from it. The customers were all silent while the barber talked about his son. Later the talk shifted to football. The man in the barber chair and another customer began arguing about the outcome of the Indiana-Purdue game that was scheduled for the coming week end. These men must have been good friends, for they said bitter things to one another yet were not angry. After a while the argument became less heated, and the barber changed the subject by asking another waiting customer something about an accident. I soon learned that is was an automobile accident in which the customer had been involved. The customer said the accident had been the fault of the other driver although the police had not agreed with him. This man and the barber talked for several minutes about insurance companies, garages, hos- pitals, and policemen, and we all listened. I did not understand all that the customer said. Although he spoke slowly, he had difficulty enunciating cer- tain words. Later he explained that he had bitten his tongue in the auto- mobile collision, and several stitches had been required to close the wound. The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a man and woman into the shop. The man had come to get a haircut and had brought his wife along. The conversation in the shop was not resumed. The barber greeted them both very politely, and the seated man glanced around nervously to see that they had seats together. The barbershop became very quiet. The snip of the barber's scissors and the ticking of a battered old alarm clock were the only sounds heard in the room. 12 The Green Caldron The lady was reading a magazine. She was quite unaware that she had invaded a male stronghold ; however, the men in the shop were well aware of her presence. The free and easy conversation was gone. There was no further talk of football, soldiers, Korea, or automobile accidents. Men said only what they had to say and were very careful of their language. When the barber had finished cutting my hair, I paid him and departed. The barber- shop did not seem so bright and cheerful as it had when I had entered. I did not notice the cold wind for a moment. I was wondering if there would ever be a soprano in a barbershop quartet. Over tne Hills ana Tnrougli The Wooas Caroline Cramer Rhetoric 101. Theme 6 AFTERMY FATHER'S FAMILY HAD INCREASED FROM ONE bouncing baby boy to two husky, red-headed, freckled future football tackles and two equally husky, red-headed, and freckled daughters, all of whose stamina and inexplicable ability to get into difficulties was the marvel of the town, dad and mother decided that only on a quiet, secluded farm would they stand the remotest chance of raising their brood without seriously affecting their own emotional stability. My father chose our farm wisely, for. though its wooded hills and winding creeks are admittedly more charming than practical, we children loved even,- useless foot of it. Mother must have, too, because every time dad suggested cutting any of the towering, graceful sycamores or oaks to make more farm land, my mother tossed her head in disdain and scathingly observed that "a thing of beauty is a joy forever". Father never cared to argue the point, and the trees still provide beauty for our souls rather than bounty for our pockets. We moved to the farm one fall, and when spring came, we all declared that everything we had heard about the quiet, the peace, the beauty of the country was true. At that point, however, an ostensibly innocuous development which was to become the bane of our lives showed itself ; our relatives, both far and near, also learned of the quiet, the peace, and the beauty of our farm. They were not slow in taking advantage of so splendid an opportunity, and, from Chicago and Ft. Worth, from California and New York, they converged upon us that summer to "enjoy our vacation with you adorable people" (which meant, of course, to enjoy our vacation on your adorable farm). And, of course, they brought their children, all of them. I don't know how the legend got started, but there seems to be a standard list of pleasures which every true city lad or lassie feels is The Thitig as far as country children go, and which must, therefore, be The Thing with him when he is on a farm. Our exuberant little guests were determined to con- April, 1951 13 form to this niytli to the letter, and my brothers, my sister, and T fell in line with the plan of events rather than expose our ignorance concerning the ingenious activities which our kinfolk firmly believed made up the greater part of our daily lives. We found ourselves getting up with the chickens to start a long, grueling day of riding bareback on horses which were quite obviously meant for pulling log wagons, chasing up and down through the woods in search of trails and treasures that we knew darned well weren't there, and "riding down" hickory saplings until both we and the trees were in shreds ; and all of these endurance tests were interspersed liberally with that chief delight of the city visitor — egg-gathering. All the cousins who charmed us with their visits seemed possessed by a mania for gathering eggs, and my brothers' and my valiant attempts to cure them of it were in vain. Even the radical treatment of inducing them to stick a nail into a rotten egg left them, after the odor had cleared away, quite as egg-loving as ever. What could we do in the face of such perseverance ? After this failure, we didn't even try to discourage them from milking although the cows would have loved us dearly, I am sure, had w-e succeeded in doing it. The thing which left us absolutely cold, however, was my cousins' insisting, in defiance of the warm bathroom and tub which waited invitingly in the house, that when one is on a farm one always bathes in the creek. Dutiful to the end, we went along w-ith even this trial, but our very souls rebelled, and I shiver now to think of it. Summer after summer of these gala, refreshing visits were beginning to leave their mark on our once carefree family. Then, with the purchase of a lovely new car a year ago, my mother announced triumphantly that she saw revenge — now we could visit them! The family rejoiced, and plans for a trip that very fall were gleefully begun. Our joy, however, died an early death ; the next mail brought an announcement that the very family we had planned to descend upon had been granted an extra week of vacation. "So," the letter read, "since farmers are always home, we aren't even asking you ! We're just coming up this fall for a lovely week of quail-hunting on your farm! Hope you don't mind." We didn't, of course — not at all ! * * * From the first moment, I knew it was going to be one of the "singing" days. The early sun, streaming through half-open windows, fell in geometric patterns across Grandmother's best Rose of Sharon quilt. In the garden be- low. Grandmother was already picking beans ; the wings of her faded sun- bonnet rhythmically flapped and swayed as she moved up and down the rows. The chickens in the yard beyond were busily scratching and clucking while sounds of whistling and briskly-slammed doors drifted across from the barn. Eager not to miss any part of the day, I skipped down the steep, dark stairwell and burst into the kitchen. No other place ever held the magic of Grandmother's kitchen, so bright and cheerful, filled with tantalizing frag- rances. What better place for a tafify pull or puffy, homemade doughnuts? Who could estimate the number of meals that had come out of the enormous old cookstove or the families of chickens fostered between the chimney and the woodpile? M.\ry Alice Roser, 102. 14 The Green Caldron Fielas Open For Cnemical Engineers Ben Watson Rhetoric 100, Theme 6 THE USEFULNESS OF CHEMICAL ENGINEERS IS BECOM- ing more obvious with each new discovery in the reahn of chemical research. The chemical engineer is finding that his profession is of a highly practical value to humanity. A miracle drug is worthless to the public unless a process for manufacturing it cheaply is developed. It is the task of the chemical engineer to reduce the prohibitive cost of labora- tory curiosities to a level that permits their use by ordinary individuals. Because of the intense research now being carried on in regard to synthesifying the highly complex and, so far, elusive protein molecule, a vast new field will be opened to chemical engineers in the near future. Once a process for forming a synthetic protein has been discovered, the entire field of vitamin research and therapy will be greatly advanced ; to meet this rapid advance, chemical engineers must be able to develop new methods for manufacturing these compounds. Because chemists readily admit the exist- ence of many hitherto undiscovered vitamins and because doctors are inclined to believe that their discovery will enable vitamin therapy to be expanded, chemical engineers will be faced with the responsibility of manufacturing vitamins in quantities sufficient to meet all medical demands. Within the last ten years, the manufacturing of antibiotics has become a major part of the business of pharmaceutical concerns. The discovery of the anti-histamines has created a demand for mass production on a quanti- tative level. Such companies as Abbott Laboratories and Chas. Pfinger and Co. have expanded their facilities to include the recent advances made in the field of bactericidal agents. Every such expansion has of necessity provided more and more jobs for chemical engineers. Along with bactericidal agents, most firms usually produce fungicides in order to keep up with the ever-in- creasing demands made by our armed forces. The DuPonts of Delaware have been pioneers in the development and subsequent mass production of synthetics of all types. During the war their chemical engineers were largely responsible for providing synthetic rubber at a time when the need of it was critical. And, of course, it is a well-known fact that nylon (the material used in parachutes and stocking) was discovered by the DuPonts. And before they gave us nylon, we had already become accustomed to rayon. The possibilities in the field of synthetics are unlimited. The young and energetic chemical engineer can find a score of other fields in which to test his capabilities. The dye industry, water sanitation, electroplating, dehydration of food products, and, of course, atomic energy, are but a few of the vast territories which lie open to improvement by men in this profession. AprU, 1951 15 From tne Past Ann Lankford Rhetoric 101. Theme 11 IT IS STRANGE HOW THE MIND CAN MOVE BACKWARD into time and brush aside the curtain of the past just long enough to catch a glimpse of people and events left far behind. Life and body can go only forward, but the mind, less hampered by the inevitable rules of existence, can creep back for a little space to relive what can never actually be relived again. The past is dead, yet it exists always in a body of memories which lie on the mind and grow heavier with the years, commanding more and more attention as the future dwindles before it. Old people are burdened heavily with these memories, but even the young sometimes slip back into the far past, their memories like planets of dim light in a dark universe of forgotten things. I remember my mother by a series of incidents, hazy and dim, as if they were seen through a cloudy mirror, yet strangely vivid somehow, slipping one into the next, like movie slides in a dark room. Sometimes the few memories a person has of his earliest years are among his most vivid, for a young, pliable mind is easiest to impress. Because my mother died when I was eight, my only memories of her are in these first, impressionable years. I don't remember her clearly ; I did not know then that I would have to depend on memories to know her. I remember only a gentle- ness that enveloped and protected me in my first eight years and a presence that made home a place of security and warmth. I also remember a face bending over me one night as my mother tucked me into bed — a face con- taining something which 1 couldn't understand but which impressed me deeply. And I recall my own voice saying seriously, "You know, Mother, you aren't pretty, but I love you very much." I can still see the surprise in her eyes, and I was suddenly afraid for I had meant to say something quite different, and it hadn't come out right at all. Then she laughed and, dropping the covers, ran out into the living room to tell my father with wry humor "what this child of mine said about me." But I just lay there stunned, for I hadn't meant to hurt her, and I couldn't understand what had made me blurt out such a thing. I know now that the something in her face that had puzzled me was pain and a little weariness, for she was ill even then. I hadn't known enough to recognize it as such and so had thought its unnatural- ness was ugliness. This growing, nagging illness of my mother's finally culminated in her going to the hospital for an operation. I had been carefully prepared ahead of time for her absence, but as she stood in the doorway in her hat and coat, 16 Tlic Green Caldron I was suddenly stricken with a sense of fear and loneliness. I burst loudly into hot, wet tears, and my mother came over quickly and held me, answering my pleas that she mustn't go by saying that she would be home in time for my birthday. This comforted me a little until I caught, in an unguarded moment, a glimpse of something like uncertainty in her eyes. Doubt and fear overwhelmed me again, and my parents finally had to leave me to end my rain of tears on the knees of the housekeeper. But children, sometimes in unconscious thoughtlessness, easily forget, and the next few days passed quickly as I played with my friends and was reassured by my father's remarks as he came home each day from the hos- pital. Then came the day of the operation, and my father didn't come home at noon as usual. Late in the afternoon, as I sat on the front sidewalk with the kindergarten set of the neighborhood, my father drove into the driveway and got out of the car. I started to call to him and then stopped abruptly, for there was a look on his face I'd never seen there before. His mouth was com- pressed into a thin line, and his eyes were wells of blindness. He passed swiftly into the house with me stumbling after him. The next I remember was his voice telling me that "my mother was gone," and I recall my bewilderment at the simple phrase, for I didn't know what he meant. When I finally understood, there was even more bewilderment and a bottomless dis- belief, as if to accept the truth would be to fall down into darkness. I looked around in my daze of unreality to find something familiar at which to grasp, and I saw, pressed against the screen door, the faces of my playmates, looking in — wide-eyed and staring — like idiots, I thought. They sickened me and I hated them as intruders, and I turned my back on them in my hate. Then I saw the housekeeper standing by helplessly, but I did not hate her ; for I saw understanding in her eyes, and I knew she pitied us. This saving sense of unreality did not leave me for a long time ; it stayed as a fragile veil between me and the people coming and going in the house at all hours. It stayed until right before the funeral when the whole family was standing in the hall at home, ready to leave for church. As we waited there, my nine-year-old cousin with whom I had always quarreled, turned and looked at me with pity and almost tenderness, and said with awful simplicity, "Oh, Ann, now you have no mother!" Suddenly, the world seemed to drop from under me, and there was only a whirl of light and sound and a numb feeling of too much pain. Of the funeral itself, I remember only the terrible grief of my family and the rows of staring faces as we walked slowh' up the endless aisle of the church. There were eyes on all sides, curious, staring eyes, intruding in the private grief of my family, looking at my father and grandfather and the pitifulness of their men's tears. I remember too the outward strength of my grandmother and aunt, a strength which made the grief of the men even more terrible. April, 1951 17 Long afterward, I can remember coming in from my play and seeing my grandfather crying in great, racking sobs that horrified me with their intensity. Althougli most outward signs of grief were carefully hidden from me, the inward grief of my family hung over us always like a dark cloud. This sorrow was all the more shocking to me, because, either through a child's lack of understanding or his strange wisdom, I accepted my mother's death calmly. I was lonely and hurt and insecure, but still, somehow, I could accept what had happened without frenzy or resentment. Perhaps it was because in death, my mother seemed to me as peaceful and as gentle as in life. Gradually, though, and painfully, I have seen my family come out from under the shadow of my mother's death. This is perhaps the last of my memories connected with my mother, and together, they all form one great, searing memory of the event that split my life in two at that point. My mother's death gave me a feeling of insecurity and loneliness, two emotions which I had never felt before but which I have felt many times since. But it left me also a remembrance, lovely and delicate in its gentleness and peace- fulness — the memory of my mother. Pretty Baty Jean Crowley Rhetoric 101, Theme 11 I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN FOND OF DOGS, AND I WAS CER- tainly crazy about Jap. Even when the baby came I spent more time witli Jap than I did helping my mother. I didn't want a brother anyway, and besides, what can you play with a baby ? Maybe I felt left out when people came to admire him and say what a pretty child he was. But there was one good thing ; Jap didn't really like him either. The dog never even counted him. Jap had a habit of looking for everyone before going to sleep at night, and if someone wasn't around he stayed in the front hall until that someone came home. Jap never looked for the baby. He didn't count. It happened when my brother vi^as about six months old and just crawling around on the floor ; Jap saw him there and jumped at him. Mother pulled Jap ofT but not until he had bitten my brother. The blood trickled out of the tiny tooth marks and seemed to cover the child's entire face. I guess Jap understood what he had done for he slumped of? to hide. And I went with him. Jap had bitten my brother, but I had the strangest feeling that I might have done it myself. It's funny, but I never could play with Jap in the same way after that day. 18 The Green Caldron Tke V-Mail Letter Emil Malavolti Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 HUGE GUNS, HUGE SHIPS, HUGE PLANES— THESE AND a hundred more clanking, groaning monsters exemplify modern war- fare. By contrast, let us consider the tiny V-mail letter. The need for an improvement in the handling of mail was apparent im- mediately after our entry into World War H. The volume of mail reached staggering heights even before our troops were sent overseas. With the advent of global warfare and the dispatch of our troops to every corner of the world, the number of letters increased to incredible proportions. For conquering the vast distances involved in global warfare, the ordinary steamship was hopelessly inadequate. Inherently slow, the steamship was further handicapped by the convoy system, which reduced the speed of all ships to that of the slowest. Under these conditions an average of two hundred miles a day was considered excellent speed. An ancient clipper ship, given a fair wind, could beat that average by fifty percent ! Much mail was lost because of the vulnerability of the surface ship to underwater attack. Fast enemy submarines took an appalling toll of ships before the undersea menace was controlled. Confronted by the triple evils of vast distances, of slow transportation, and of the enormous amount of mail being delivered to Davy Jones's locker, the military postal service applied the newly developed art of micropho- tography to letters. The result was V-mail. In this process, letters were written on a sheet of special paper in the form of a self-sealing envelope. These letters were then taken to a convenient local military base where they were opened and speedily microphotographed on sixteen millimeter film. A few special techniques had to be mastered but essentially the procedure was simple. A conveyor brought the opened letters under the camera to be photographed, the film was developed and wound on reels, and in this form the letters were ready for shipment. Since eighty-five thousand letters, weighing about a ton, could be pro- cessed on twenty pounds of film, the transportation problem simply disap- peared. A single transport plane could easily carry the equivalent of several million letters and effect delivery with phenomenal speed. Loss of mail was avoided because the original letters were not destroyed until certification of delivery of the photo copies was received by the transmitting station. Upon delivery to a receiving station, either in the States or near an active front, the process was reversed. Letter size enlargements were mailed in envelopes, differing in this respect from the orginal letter which was written on the inside of a self-sealing envelope. April 1951 19 The effect of V-mail upon the men in service was inestimable. Gone were the days when a letter from a loved one arrived six months late as was so often the case with ordinary mail. Because of V-mail, news from Iionie was regular and on time. My First Semester at tne U. or I. Dorothy A. Olson Rhetoric 101. Theme 1 E\'ER .'^INCE MY SISTER GR.VDUATED FROM THE UNR'ER- sity some six years ago, I have had definite plans concerning my future on the campus. Although my father did not agree that the U. of I. was the best school for me, he consented to let me come to Champaign-Urbana last fall for a trial run. I cannot truthfully say that I have retained my high opinion of my home- state university through the course of the past five months. Repeated disillusionments have forced me into the admission that mass-production can- not be successfully employed in the field of education. The emphasis placed upon grades at this school transforms most students into back-biting politicians, striving to out-cheat their fellow students. A freshman soon learns the futility of attempting to write an honest term paper when his must compete with those copied directly from reference books. Perhaps this condition exists because of the generally defeatist attitude among the instructors. I haven't had a teacher this semester who appeared to be honestly interested in the future of those sitting before him in the classroom. The majority of college teachers seem to agree that it is a thankless profession, particularly so in a state university when the state capital holds the purse strings. I imagine there are many students who come to the U. of I. with high ambitions and hopes and leave in a semester or two with all their youthful vigor and integrity shattered. There is so little personal interest displayed by any instructor in the individual, it is small wonder that one feels lost in a world of man-eat-man competitiveness. Several times during the past few months I have desired to talk to someone about some small happenings — a book, or lecture that interested me. Outside of a few close friends in my residence on campus, I have acquired no new friends with whom I would care to discuss the time of dav. Perhaps this is my fault ; perhaps I haven't looked in the right places for the personal side of college life. At any rate I will always feel as though I had wasted a fairly important five months of my college career here at the U. of I. I am looking forward to attending a small school next semester. I onlv hope I won't regret the step. Possibly I haven't given Illinois a fair trial, but I am afraid to remain and acquire the intellectual immaturity which flourishes in this campus atmosphere. 20 , The Green Caldron .onj Hours Carl Krumiiardt Rhclnrk 101. TUcmc 11 IT WAS RAINING, AND THE DARKNESS AND RAIN MADE the station seemed isolated, a small island of light piercing the gloom of the highway. Because it was late, traffic was limited to single cars which whirled by with a glare of lights and a great scattering of water. Objects near the road became uniformly splashed with mud. The garage building itself looked dreary and rain-soaked. Inside, Kelly leaned heavily on the window ledge and stared at the darkness. There was a little light in the room and Kelly's form blended into the shadows. The same grime that spotted his clothing was thick on the floor and on other objects about the room. There was always grease. He would scrape it from his garage uniform and hands, only to become quickly covered with the stuff again. He could feel it now, coating his fingers, thick under his nails. He hated it with a dull, unspecific hatred that took in all his sur- roundings and the boredom of his work. He sighed wearily, his breath im- mediately condensing on the rain-streaked glass. He turned his back to the window. Across the room, warming thin hands over the radiator, was a man in a dripping raincoat. A soggy howling ball case stood at his feet. He spoke — "Shouldn't have stopped here, Kelly ; the wife is waiting for me. But I was so cold, I just had to." His voice droned on, thin and nasal. "I bowled a good game tonight. Almost 160. Fella down at the office told me I could'a been a pro if I'd wanted to. You ever go bowling, Kelly?" Kelly disregarded the question and said vindictively, "You're lucky, Heorge. You're lucky you don't have to work nights like me.'' George stirred uncomfortably. Kelly had a reputation for unloading his troubles on anyone who would listen. George did not feel like listening to troubles. He had forgotten his overshoes that morning, and his feet were cold and wet. There was a long moment of silence. Then he spoke, somewhat hesitantly — "I sujipose the time does go slow here at night," aware that this would lead Kelly on but unable to think of anything else to say. Kelly snapped it up. "You're damn right it goes slow. Workin' nights, the hours seem twice as long as workin' days. Why . . ." "Yeah, well listen, Kelly. I gotta get home. The wife is waiting for me. I'll see you soon." George pulled his collar up and stepped out into the rain. Kelly watched him burr)- through the bright circle of light and disappear. He thought of George going home to a warm house and became more acutely conscious of his own wetness. He shivered violently, making the cups on his boots April, 1951 21 jingle. His body gratefully settled deep into the chair. He looked up at the, clock and sighed again. One o'clock. Seven more hours to go. "This is a lousy place to work," he mused aloud. His voice sounded dull and empty in the lonely room. Other little noises accentuated the stillness rather than disturbed it. The radiator clanked and hissed and gave off feeble heat. The electric clock made a small droning sound, a reminder of the slow passage of time. Outside, water from a broken gutter splashed on the window ledge. He looked away quickly. It was not good to look too often at the clock. He had talked to the boss and had told him that his hours were too long. The boss had reacted as Kelly might have expected, sucking on his cigar for an uncomfortable moment before answering acidly, covering viciousness with a thin smile, "You don't do much work around here after I go home, so why should you get tired?" Kelly had been very angry, but he could do nothing but smile back weakly. The boss made Kelly feel insignificant and stupid. Gradually, Kelly's mind wandered to other less disturbing things. Soon his head nodded to his chest, and he fell into a shallow sleep. It was almost an hour later when a huge truck slid ponderously out of the darkness and stopped before the station. Its driver was exhausted. As soon as motion ceased, he slumped forward on the wheel and closed his eyes. His arms and hands ached from his long vigil at the wheel. He sat motionless for several minutes before the vibrations moving along the steering column reminded him that the motor was still running. He reached out and switched it off, sitting up in the same movement. He looked toward the station, realiz- ing that no one had come to service his truck in the several minutes he had been there. Irritation flared in him. "I'll bet that bastard is asleep again." He reached for the cord that controls the air horn and jerked it savagely. The shrill blast tore at the driver's nerves as well as snapping Kelly into startled wakefulness. Kelly rushed out of the station in such haste that he forgot his coat. The rain began to soak into his uniform. He turned back to get his coat but was stopped by the truck driver's weary voice, a tired voice, yet containing a note of sharpness and anger. "Put some gas in my truck, you sleepin' moron." "Wait'll I get my coat." "Coat hell, put some gas in my truck." This spoken in unreasoning anger. "Put some gas in my truck or I'll go someplace else." Kelly hesitated, torn between resentment of the driver's demands and the fear of the boss' anger at the loss of a customer. He gave in to resentment and went in for his coat. He was putting it on, his back to the window, when he heard the truck start with a roar. He spun around to see the huge vehicle move with increasing speed off the driveway, onto the road, and beyond 22 The Green Caldron into the darkness of the highway. He could hear it for a time after he could no longer see it. The engine would build up speed until it sang with a high pitched whine and then cut suddenly as it dropped into a higher gear. Finally it was no longer audible. The little room lapsed back into its silence. Kelly stood for a time at the window before sitting down again. He drew a cigarette from his crumpled pack, lit it, and pufifed it slowly. The new wet that seeped to his shoulders and back met an inner coldness that said with a turbulent voice — what will the boss say — what will the boss say. Kelly listened to the voice and the drone of the clock and the water splash- ing from the broken gutter. He slumped back in his chair. It was still a long time until morning. Tne Scnool Carol Ann Hodges Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 ANNIE'S MOTHER SHOOED HER OUT OF THE DOOR AT 7 :30 in the morning to start the mile walk to school. It was one of the warm sweet days in early May, and so she wore no wraps except a little navy blue sweater and high buckle galoshes that reached half way to her bony, band-aided knees. One hand lugged a black metal lunch bucket, heavy with its burden of sandwiches and fruit, cookies and milk. She walked on the wooden planks, laid like bridges through the back yard puddles, around to the fresh green grass in front. Annie picked the grassy places to walk. The heavy boots retarded her steps enough when they were clean; when loaded with clay they could bring her to a standstill. She fol- lowed the bank of the road with its cover of new green sprouts creeping up beside the stiflf, tan stubble of last fall. And then came the slope, the Dog- Tooth Violet Hill she'd named it, with the small, hand-high lilies nodding on juicy stalks. She squatted down and began picking them. A bee crawled out of one near by, his legs heavy with pollen. Annie watched as he balanced on the edge of a petal and then launched himself into the air and zigzagged away. She imagined she too was no bigger than that as she gazed into the center of the flower, pretending that in reality she was walking around in there. After a while she got up, picked up her bucket and went on down the hill. At the bottom was a little creek, not more than a foot deep, and she began wading in very carefully so as not to muddy up the water. Then she noticed how new and shiny her boots looked when they got wet, so she waded in deeper, trying to get them wet all over. Once or twice the water ran over the tops, but the results had been obtained, and she stepf>ed out on the other bank and admired the glossy finish. Jl^ril. 1951 23 Then Annie saw the turtle. He was plodding his way up the side of the iiiil. She ran up after him. Putting down the lunch pail and the flowers, she began to crawl along beside the turtle, stroking his back with a stubby finger. This made the turtle pull in his parts. She waited. Out came a beak, then the left foot, then the right, quickly followed by the hind feet. Last of all came the tail. Annie tried to take hold of it. She thought it was a very cute little tail, pointy and slender, but every time she touched it he swung it sidewise and under the edge of his shell. She turned him over. "Now you can't run away, turtle," she said. But much to her surprise he put his head out ver\' far and pushed it hard against the ground, hard enough to rock himself back and forth and finally to flip right over. "Well," she said, "Charlie wasn't right. He said turtles drowned if you left them upside down in the rain cause they couldn't turn over." She turned the turtle on his back again and watched him repeat his performance. She would have to take him to school and show Charlie. She put the flowers in the lunch bucket and, picking up the turtle, started off again. When she came to the big creek, she had to slide down off the bank and into the road to cross on the bridge. The ruts had turned into miniature rivers, winding slowly in places, quickening as they split on either side of clods, making islands, falling in muddy cascades. She stood and daydreamed, straddling one of the ruts. She imagined she was a giant and this was a huge river. She dammed the river with her foot, and the water eddied and swirled into the hole it left. She crossed the bridge, stomping the clay off her boots. Turning onto the oiled road leading up to the school house, she found a toad that had been run over by a car and pressed flat as a paper doll. She took a stick and poked at a front foot. It was like a little hand with five fingers. The long back legs were stretched out behind, half again as long as his body. She felt very sorry for the poor toad and thought people should honk or some- thing so that toads could get out of the way. But then she saw her turtle crawling away, so she jumped up and caught it and went on to school. There was no one in the yard when she got there, but when she went into the hall she could hear someone reading aloud in the classroom. She kicked off her boots and put her bucket on the shelf. Then she decided to put the turtle out by the steps. He couldn't go too far away before recess. She quietly tip-toed into the classroom, but the teacher saw her. "You're a little late today aren't you ?" asked the teacher. "Were you playing on the way again?" "No, Ma'm." "Well, you missed your reading lesson. You'd better study it now, and I'll listen to you read at recess." 1 Annie sat down to read, but her eyes saw far beyond the reading lesson. Mentally she scolded herself; this wasn't the way to learn anything. You learned out of books. 24 The Green Caldron Rket as Writ "When hunting, the gun was accurate enough to shoot crows, and light enough to follow a rabbit." "She was in love with the leader of the mountain gorillas." "The plot . . . reminds me of some of the stories told me by the gorillas in the Philippine Islands." * * * "In this plant he makes ice cream from the milk of his own cattle and a few picked dairymen." * * * "A girl applying for a job should be cool, calm, and collective." * * * "Apollo angered by the way Chryse was treated descended and reeked havoc among the Greeks." * * * "Without having to think very hard, I turned and started for the nearest exit, only to catch my big toe in my left pajama leg, falling flat on my face and ripping it up to my knee." "A person shouldn't hug or kiss when meeting, a friendly handshake — that is nearly as effective." * * * "This little tail has caused me no end of embarrassment." * * * "During this period the lovers found refuse in the newly built movie houses." * * * ' "The cornfields mentioned in the title came in after the food was eaten." Honorable Mention Lynn Clausen Ashley Craig Richard Hardy Barbara Jessen Mary Ann Kula Rae Sachse Carol Seibert Suzanne Shepard William Shewchuk Harold Weber The Contributors Robert Doran — Lakewood, New Jersey Olga Egger — Urbana Carl W. Fu»s — Mattoon Patricia Malone — Ciirisman Louis Theofilos — Industrial Art, N.Y.C. Elmer R. Sivilser — Indianapolis Manual Caroline Cramer — Casey Community Ben Watson — Farmersburg Public School Ann Lankford — Champaign Jean Crowley — ^New Trier Emil Malavolti — Toluca Community Dorothy A. Olson — Mallinckrodt Carl Krumhardt — Lane Tech. Carol Ann Hodges — Cirard Twp. lU HE Green Caldron A Magazine of Freshman Writing THt LIBimRY OF THE UiNiVuit^ll Y Or iLLlWOlS CONTENTS Carol Seibert: "The Lady or the Tiger?" 1 Richard Seid: Movie Villains — New Style 3 Raymond Yockey: The Fabulous Oscar 4 Elmer Stvitser: The Airplane Graveyard 8 Edward Jenison: It Was Not Meant to Be 9 Mary J. Shinn: Should Knitting Be Allowed in the Classroom? . 11 Mar got Tibbits: Television 12 Ben Watson: A Summer Experience 13 Richard Gier: Culture — Custom and Tradition ,14^ Howard Balson: Just One Bomb v'l^- Donald McW^ard: An Autopsy 17 Andrew Turyns Government Control of Radio Broadcasting . . 19 Robert Poggi: Modern Residential Architecture |23 Mary Alice Roser: Gamblers for Black Gold 24 ISorman Emmerich: Can the Playing of Popular Music Ruin the Classical Musician? 26 Richard L. Wright: Why Doesn't Anarchy Answer the World's Problems? . . ' 27 Rhet as Writ 28 Vol. 21, No. 1 OCTOBER, 1951 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T, 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, how- ever, are published at the discretion of the committee in charge. The committee in charge of this issue of The Green Caldron includes Maurice Crane, Iris Mueller, Raymond O'Neill, Benjamin Sokoloff, Robert Stevens, Harris Wilson, and George Conkin, Chairman. THE GREEN CALDRON Copyrighted 1951 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 Lady or tne Ti^er?^ Carol Seibert Rhetoric 102, Theme 2 IN NOVEMBER, 1882. A STORY APPEARED IN THE CENTURY Magazine that aroused debates throughout the nation. Literary critics published innumerable columns expounding upon and debating the ques- tions raised by the story. The author, a gentle, whimsical man, was besieged with letters demanding an explanation of his curious story. But if Frank Stockton had any interpretation of the writing, he did not disclose it. "The Lady or the Tiger?" has continued to create suspense in the minds of its readers throughout the past half-century. The puzzling and wholly unconventional ending will probably bafifle readers in years to come, for it presents a problem which has no answer except in the interpretation or indi- vidual desires of each reader. The aim of "The Lady or the Tiger?" is to create unrelieved suspense in the mind of each reader. The theme of the story, whether the barbaric nature of a princess in semi-savage times is dominant over the soft, lovable nature inherent in all women, is developed to an intense climax in a brief four or five pages. The basic question is presented vividly and unmistakably to the reader : is the character of the princess as barbaric as the times in which she lived ? The riddle is left unanswered in the story ; the reader himself must decide — if he can. The author has skillfully molded this theme into a ston,' in which no word is wasted and in which motives of love, hate, and preservation of life are exemplified. By the use of very realistic language, he relates a tale set in a picturesque and unreal background. The plot is fantastic and striking because of its characterizations and its dramatic climax. Here is a legend of a barbaric king whose custom it is to try all accused men by placing them in an arena onto which opens two doors. Behind one door crouches a savage tiger; behind the other awaits a lovely girl. The accused must open one door; if he chooses the former, he succumbs to the jaws of the beast, but if he selects the other he immediately marries the girl. In the particular trial of this story, the victim is the lover of the princess. Unseen by the attending crowds, she indicates the door which he is to open, and he immediately follows her directions. Here the actual narration abruptly ends, and the reader is never told the fate of the young man. The author has developed his theme by cleverly describing the character of the princess. In one sentence he tells of her fierce, jealous temperament, of her fury at the thought of her lover in the arms of another woman ; in the next, however, the author describes the princess's horror at the mental picture of her loved one being torn to pieces in such a bloody fashion. The two sides of the girl's nature are con- trasted with such vividness and equal emphasis that the mind of the reader is in a turmoil at the termination of the story. [1] 2 The Green Caldron The first half of the story is devoted to setting the scene ; it is descriptive and slow-moving. The pace, however, gathers speed with the introduction of the specific problem and moves rapidly to the end. The author could not have profitably omitted any episodes ; they all contribute toward the presen- tation of his theme : Was the princess more a barbarian than she was a woman ? Stockton's intention in writing this story was probably a desire to create this very perplexity. The title "The Lady or the Tiger?" is significant. The author never actually admitted his intention in writing the story except for a few comments in The Ladies Home Journal, November, 1893. Entitled "How I wrote 'The Lady or the Tiger?' " this article was written to appease the public demands for an explanation . In the article, he repeated his desire to puzzle the reader, reaffirmed the opinion that the outcome was totally one of choice and revealed the fact that Robert Browning had decided "such a princess under such circumstances would direct her lover to the tiger's door." Frank Stockton, whom biographers describe as possessing a daring, quaint, and fanciful mind, might also have desired to create a sensational story that would startle the placid literary minds of his time. The author employs narration in the development of his plot, and he also draws upon description to produce characterizations and the setting of the scene. The story opens with a series of descriptions of the barbaric king, his fanciful whims of ruling, his unique system of administering justice, his beautiful semi-savage daughter, her handsome young lover, and their startling love afifair. From this point, narration is instrumental in the unfolding of the theme. Exposition is used to a small degree at the end where the author addresses the reader from an entirely new viewpoint, though here again description dominates. The story displays no argumentation ; it is expository in the manner in which it presents both sides of the question and allows the reader to take his choice. The writing is unbiased ; though an endless argument could evolve from its various interpretations, no argumentative discourse is used for its actual content. The need for decisions like the one placed on the shoulders of the nameless princess has been abundant throughout history. How often have people had to choose between sacrifice and selfish interests? How many times have they been faced with the need for conscientious thinking? Those who profess true love have often been guilty of selfish love in which they sacrifice their loved ones for their own peace of mind. It is an interesting situation from a psychological point of view. Frank Stockton has written in "The Lady or the Tiger?" a story which is unforgettable, not so much for its literary perfection as for its startling originality and curious individuality. If the story had been any longer, I might have felt cheated by its unsatisfactory ending. Now I am eager to read more of his writings, perhaps not as a steady diet but as a refreshing change from the usual trend of short stories. In fact, my curiosity has been so whetted that the next short story I shall read will undoubtedly be "The Discourager of Hesitancy," a sequel to this tale. October, 1951 3 Movie Villains-New Style Richard Seid Rhetoric 101, Theme 9 GONE ARE THE DAYS OF THE NICKELODEON. THOSE days of the moustached villain and the inevitable hissing are a thing of the past. Gone are the Cagneys and the Bogarts of the thirties. There are no more unshaven gangsters who make their last stand against the police in some deserted cabin or dark cave in Connecticut. Edward G. Robinson in a 1951 movie role would more likely be a quiet, law-abiding citizen instead of the likes of "Little Caesar." No, Hollywood has created a new type of movie villain ; he is a hollow -cheeked, glassy-eyed fiend who invariably is good looking. This criminal is usually a sadist. He is a psychopath whose mental illness can be traced back to his early childhood. He has a spine curdling laugh and a perpetual scowl on his lips. One recent movie had as its main character a young tough known as Tommy. Tommy represented the real beginning of the now stereotyped movie villain that has stepped into the limelight of the movie underworld. Seeking to "get even" with another of his kind who had "squealed" on him, Tommy did just what any modern "bad guy" would have done ; he pushed the "squealer's" wheel-chaired mother down a flight of stairs. The audience loved this shocking scene, and they made Richard Widmark, alias Tommy, a star overnight. Another movie introduced a young hoodlum named Chester. He was not quite as violent as Tommy, but he still had the same basic characteristics. This thug took delight in cracking the butt of his automatic on people's heads and then swiftly kicking the floored unfor- tunates in the kidneys. He did this while laughing in his own inimitable way. The modern villain is appealing to the audience. He makes the movie- goers feel sorry for him and afraid for liim. Nevertheless, he is inhuman and unbelievably cruel. Typical of the dialogue which might be heard in any such movie as the afore-mentioned would be, "So you think you're a big man, eh Nick?" (He kicks Nick in the ribs.) "You ain't such a big guy, are you Nick?" (He stamps on Nick's kidneys.) "No, you ain't so big, Nick!" (He laughs fiendishly.) * * * Perhaps the reason they walked into the smoke-filled room arm in arm was that they needed each other's support. Thus they entered, two men in khaki, far from home, with only the jazz music and the faces of their buddies to remind them of what they had left and would probably never see again. There was a crap game in one corner of the room, and they walked over to watch and to play. What use was money if one couldn't be certain of life beyond tomorrow. I The bones rattled and the music played in time with the shaking. It was ^ silent game for high stakes. ! The shorter of the two G. I.'s walked over to the beat-up bar and returned with a couple of beers. He stared at the bottle, perhaps wondering if he'd oe able to look at an American beer label again. — Donald Klugman, 102 4 The Green Caldron Tne FaDulous Oscar Raymond Yockey Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 THE ACADEMY AWARD TROPHY, THE OSCAR, IS THE most highly prized award presented in the motion picture industry. Throughout the year many movie stars are honored with more pre- tentious gifts, but none of these equals the significance that has become at- tached to the Oscar. High esteem is held for this trophy since the Oscar represents superior work as defined by the motion picture people themselves. The life story of the Oscar begins twenty-four years ago when some two- hundred members of the film industry founded the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for the purpose of elevating the cultural tone of the screen.* At that time movies were considered more of a business than an art. At one of the academy's meetings it was proposed that annual awards be given for outstanding work in the motion picture industry. This proposal was readily accepted ; however, Cedric Gibbons, art director of M-G-M, was quick to veto the idea of giving a plaque or scroll. It was his impression that these awards lacked significance. As the discussion continued, Gibbons sketched an outline of a figure on the tablecloth. The figure, holding a two- edged sword and standing atop a reel of film, quickly won the approval of those present, and thus, Oscar was born. Three years later Oscar was christened. Mrs. Margaret Gledhill, now the executive secretary of the academy, was visiting the academy offices for the first time. Upon seeing one of the statuettes, she made the casual remark, "Why, he's like Uncle Oscar." - Her comment was a joke around the academy for several years. Then Sidney Skolsky, a movie columnist, con- nected the naming of Oscar with the lips of Bette Davis to give it class.' Immediately the name became popular, and now it remains the commonly accepted title of the Academy Award trophy. The gold statuette, which is worshipped throughout movieland, is ten inches high, weighs seven pounds, and is made of bronze covered with two layers of gold plate. It is commonly believed that the Oscar is made of solid gold, but this is a false impression. Actually, on the open market, the Oscar would be valued at about forty dollars, a small price for such a treasured prize. Incidentally, winners of the award do not have to declare its value on their income tax because it is a gift for achievement rather than for services rendered. •^ F. M. Stanley, "Oscar; His Life and Times." New York Times Magasine (March 18, 1945), p. 18. 2 Ibid. 3 Thomas Wood, "Oscar Is Worth $40, But Film Folk Prize Him Highly," Chicago Sun Times (March 25, 1951), sec. 2, p. 2. October, 1951 5 During the last war, when metals were scarce, the academy gave out token Oscars made of gilded plaster. However, after the surrender of Japan, these substitutes were called in and replaced with real ones. The Oscar is awarded by the motion picture academy for many distinct achievements — from the year's best ])icture to the best job of "special effects" with sound. Because the members of the academy are interested in a fair and accurate selection of winners, the process is complicated. Although the final selections for all Oscars are made by secret vote of the 1,981 members of the academy, the nominations are made by the entire membership of the |7iilds and unions representing the various classifications. This year the best actress award was won by Judy Holliday. Miss Hol- liday was first nominated by the 5,900 members of the Screen Actors Guild. Then she won the popular majority of the votes cast by the 1,981 members of the academy to win over her highly favored competitors. The selection of the year's best picture is also accomplished in a demo- cratic manner. Each studio nominates films produced by its organization which it thinks most worthy of the award. These nominations are put on a mail ballot which is sent to about 8,000 eligible voters. From this ballot the top five films are voted upon by the members of the academy and by the members of the following guilds : The Screen Actors Guild, Screen Writers Guild, and the Screen Directors Guild. The film receiving the popular majority is consequently designated the "best film of the year." Among the films which have received this award are such all-time favorites as: "All Quiet on the Western Front," "Gone with the Wind," "Mrs. Miniver," "Going My Way," "How Green Was My Valley," "The Lost Weekend," and "The Best Years of Our Lives." * Special awards, voted upon by a separate committee from the academy, are presented each year along with the more coveted Oscars. Some special awards presented in the past were the juvenile-sized Oscars for Shirley Temple, Deanna Durbin, Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland, and a wooden Oscar with an oversized mouth for Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy. In 1932, Walt Disney was also honored with an award for creating Mickey Mouse. A few years later Walt Disney was again honored, this time by one full-sized Oscar and seven pint-sized ones, for "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs." Among the actors and actresses who have won best actor and actress awards are many of the well-known stars of Hollywood. A few of the more popular winners include Lionel Barrymore, Katharine Hepburn, Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert, Gary Cooper, Greer Garson, Bing Crosby, Ray Milland, Joan Crawford, Loretta Young, Barry Fitzgerald, Bette Davis, Olivia de Haviland, Fredric March, and Spencer Tracy. ^ The last four persons men- * Bennett Cerf, "Trade Winds," Saturday Reviczv of Litcralure, XXVIII (May 26, 1945), 20. ''"Academy of Motion Pictures," World Almanac and Book of Facts (New y<-.rV World Telegram. 1951), pp. 613-614. 6 The Green Caldron tioned deserve special recognition, for they are two-time winners of the Academy Award. Despite the earnest efforts to make the Academy Awards democratic, there are frequently charges that the selections are not representative and that "politics" plays too great a role. It is only natural that studios make efforts to draw attention to their candidates, for the Oscar means valuable prestige to both the winner and his studio. For example, after Claudette Colbert won her Oscar in 1935, her salary was upped from $35,000 a picture to $150,000.'^ Annually there are fourteen-hundred full columns of newsprint devoted to the presentation of the Academy Award, not including the numerous magazine feature stories used to draw attention to the likely candidates. Also, even though the voting is done in secret, the studios urge their employees to vote the "right way." But even with these weak points in the selection of Academy Award winners, the method remains fairly democratic and the trophy remains the most highly prized. The Oscars are awarded at the annual Academy Award banquet which takes place during the latter part of March. Prior to 1942, this event was a very formal function noted for its ceremony. It was usually held in hotel ballrooms with the dinner costing twenty-five dollars a plate. The function was always noted for its "gigantic bouts of oratory and tears." ^ Charles Curtis, former Vice-President of the United States, holds the record for the longest Awards dinner address, as he once clocked off forty-five minutes and put to sleep a fellow speaker seated at the main table. Since the war, these functions have lost a great deal of the glamour of previous years. Now the dinners are much more informal, and the national broadcast of the event is played up. In 1948, the presentation event was very undersized compared to earlier performances of Hollywood's most profitable yearly publicity stunt. Only two searchlights cut into the overcast outside the Academy Award Theater, while but a half dozen blocks away three Hollywood searchlights blazed gaudily for the opening of a new self-service gas station.* The annual Academy Award presentation is a very exclusive event, and only the aristocrats of filmland have the opportunity to attend. Mr. and Mrs. Average American must be content to stand in line outside the Academy Theater or to listen patiently to the radio broadcast of the event. In all his greatness, Oscar has proved to be a problem child to the academy. Constant efforts must be made to maintain the dignity of the trophy. The academy is very insistent that none of the Oscars fall into un- authorized hands. When Sid Grauman died last year, his Oscar sold at public auction with his estate. The academy immediately raised an emergency * Stanley, p. 19. T Gordon Kahn, "The Omnipotent Oscar," Atlantic Monthly, CLXXVII (April, 1946), 141. 8 "The Oscars," Time, LIII (April 4, 1949), 98. October, 1951 7 fund and purchased the trophy for $450 to prevent it from falling into the hands of private collectors. The winners this year were asked to sign a pledge promising that should they wish to dispose of the award, they would give the academy first option on its purchase. On authorized uses of the Oscar, however, the academy is the symbol of co-operation. When the statuette appears as a prop in a film, one may feel assured that he is seeing a genuine award which has been loaned to the com- pany by the academy. It is only when the dignity and integrity of the Oscar is threatened that the academy challenges the violators. Considering the fact that in the twenty-tw^o years of its existence more than six-hundred Oscars have been given out, it is remarkable that there are none on the open market. Occasionally, stray Oscars have been reported in bars, pawnshops, and ashcans, but none of these stories has ever been verified. The fate of the Oscar is generally a pleasant one. The trophy is usually found in a glass showcase in the home of its winner where it may be admired by all visitors. And in a few cases, the Oscar has found novel uses in the home. Some of the trophies have had their heads reamed out and have become candlesticks. Others have been put to use as doorstops and one is known to be used as a nutmeat pounder. Some people regard the Oscar as being too little and too late. Many critic groups publish their selections of the year's "best" long before the academy makes its decision. Thus, the Oscar is left bringing up the rear. But the academy is unperturbed with this criticism. Its feelings are adequately summed up in the folowing statement made by one of its presidents : "Every newspaper picks its own All-America football team. But there is only one each year which is the real official All-America team. The academy's selections are just that — the sterling mark of celluloid." " The Oscar has become an idol to the people of filmland. Every year it wins greater respect and recognition as it plays its role by inspiring the writers, the actors, the directors, and every one connected with the production of a motion picture. As long as the Oscar serves this purpose, it is bound to maintain its high esteem as the greatest prize in the film world. 9 Stanley, p. 19. BIBLIOGRAPHY "Academy of Motion Pictures," World Almanac and Book of Facts, New York. New York World Telegram, 19SI. Cerf, Bennett, "Trade Winds," Saturday Review of Literature, XXVIII (May 26, 1945), 20. Kahn, Gordon, "The Omnipotent Oscar," Atlantic Monthly, CLXXVII (April, 1946), 140-141. "The Oscars," Time. LIII (April 4, 1949), 98. Stanley, F. M., "Oscar: His Life and Times," New York Times Magacine (March 25, 1945), pp. 18-19. Wood, Thomas, "Oscar Is Worth $40, But Film Folk Prize Him Highly," Chicago Sun- Times (March 25, 1951), sec. 2, p. 2. 8 The Green Caldron Tne Airplane Graveyard Elmer Switzer Rhetoric 102, Theme 10 THREE AIRFIELDS AND THEIR NETWORK OF CONNECT- ing runways were still in use on the Island of Biak in 1948. The mem- bers of the Netherlands Indies Air Force, who operated the B-25 flying school, periodically chopped at the vines and creepers which attempted to encircle their installations. Their runways, taxi strips, and parking areas were neat and orderly. However, a trip to the far parts of the island revealed washed-out bridges, unkept roads, and makeshift paths that taxed even the energy of our ambitious little jeep. When the Americans left the island at the war's end, the jungle had begfim to reclaim its lost territory. At the end of a particularly washed out and crumbled runway, we came upon a curious mixture of jungle and B-24 aircraft. The tails and wing tips of the forgotten giants peeked through the brush and trees as though they had grown there but were being crowded out by some process of evolution. After climbing up on a wing of one of the abandoned planes, we could survey the entire scene. Row after row of four-engine bombers stretched through the jungle. Most of the propellers had been removed, and the engine housings had been smashed by a sledge hammer. The landing gears were crushed and broken, and the jagged ends of struts were pushing into the coral. Here and there was evidence of a long forgotten crash landing. Some faithful old bucket of bolts with a gaudy blonde painted on the nose had been shot up over Rabaul or Wewak but had lived long enough to limp home on two engines and pile her grateful crew on the hard coral runway. Then a bulldozer had pushed her to this final resting place at the end of the island. Nestled close to the bombers lay the wreckages of P-47 and P-38 fighter planes. In death, they were near the big brothers they had guarded in life. Many of their wing panels were still there. It was not hard to imagine these plucky little fighters flying high cover to ward ofif the Zeros. Even in death they looked as though the shark teeth painted on the nose might bite. It is good that Biak is so far away. I would not want to be present if the men who flew these planes were to return and view the graveyard. * * * South Hotel Street, Honolulu. . . . Open door. . . . Comma ti yi yi ya. . . . Rainbow bar and blue lights. A small table in the corner and a girl with a far-away look. . . . comma ti yi yi ya. . . . comma ti yipee yi ya. . . . A solid row of backs along the bar. . . . Aloha skirts and khaki pants, and in the center of the blue-fogged room, a honky-tonk five piece band, featuring the usual peroxide blonde and slit skirt. . . . comma ti yi yi ya. . . . Comma ti yippee yi ya. . . . An empty space at the bar and the small table in the corner is vacated. . . . Comma ti yi yi ya. . . . comma ti yippie yi ya ! — Ted Bell, 102 October, J 951 9 It Was Not Meant to Be Edward Jenison Rhetoric 102, Theme 11 ONE OF THE MOST UNUSUAL AND TRAGIC OF THE MANY ventures recorded in American railroading annals occurred where one would least suspect — on the Atlantic Ocean. In the mid 1920's, near the end of a great period of railroad expansion throughout the United States, a daring plan was proposed by a corporation of Florida rail enthusiasts. At that time the only connection between Key West, a flourishing fishing community at the tip of the Florida keys and the main- land, was by boat. Although looked upon as lunatics by most of the southern citizenry, these p)eople proposed to run a rail line betwen Miami and Key West, crossing islands and open sea. An underwater survey revealed that, for the most part, water depth averaged around twenty feet, and the plan was to drive pilings for a right-of-way roadbed. Financed by eastern backers, the Miami-Key West railroad grew rapidly despite severe storms which halted construction at times. The tropical calm of the everglades was rent by steam engine and man. Brilliantly plumed birds shrieked defiance, alligators growled their warning, giant sea tortoises snapped at pilings, but still the oversea railroad stretched on. Silent Seminoles, seeing their ancestral homeland thus invaded, refused to work on the line or in any way to aid its construction. Leather-faced men in swamp boats drifted along side pile drivers and muttered, "It was not meant to be . . . aie-oh ! The gods of life v/ill never permit it . . . the great shark, the great alligator, the great tortoise — they will destroy it. aie-oh !" But the work continued ; ties and rails were set down ; and soon the last over-water stretch, seven miles in length, had been completed. The "im- possible" was done. It was in the fall of the year, just at the beginning of the annual tourist season, that the first test train rolled by wildly cheering crowds of Key West. Gone was the skepticism of scofifers who voiced long and loud that the line never could be built. People fought for the honor of riding on the world's first ocean-going railroad. All but the Indians — their chant never changed. "It was not meant to be ; wait and see." Several months later the railroad company announced, with appropriate fanfare, that an official dedication of the new line would take place shortly, with a special excursion train leaving for a day on the Keys. Complimentary tickets were sent to Florida's greatest men — the Governor, state and national legislators, and famous winter residents. Four coaches of this special were quickly filled. A chamber-of-commerce type morning greeted these dedicators meeting in Miami that fateful autumn day. Following due honors at the northern ter- 10 The Green Caldron minus, this festive group rolled down the famous route, saluting fishing boats and pleasure yachts. From train crew to the company president, all breathed in an air of gaiety. Late that afternoon, after the dedicators had been royally entertained by Key West with more speeches, food, and drink than was possibly prudent, the train pulled out on its way back to the mainland. For several hours skies had become overcast, but wind and sea remained calm. As no storms were reported in the vicinity, those aboard the special felt no anxiety for their return trip. Shortly a strong, rolling swell was noticed. The light became diffused, gray, as if seen through oiled paper. Then gusts of wind sprung up, forming water spouts where they bent down to touch the ocean. Stopping to refuel on one of the mid-point keys, they held a short confer- ence as to whether to remain or chance a possible approaching rain squall. Against the advice of a section master who had been a fisherman and long resi- dent of the keys, it was decided to run for shelter. Mainland was less than an hour's time away. The five-car train moved again and approached the re- markable seven-mile sea bridge. By this time seas were steeper and beginning to crest. Patches of foaming water dotted the ocean and royal palms moaned in the rising wind. Another conference was held, and again, against the wishes of the train crew, it was decided to proceed. The train started across the swaying causeway. Seminoles call it a "witch wind" ; key residents say hurricane. What- ever its name, this most terrifying of nature's rampages had, unknown to the excursion train, slowly been building up off the islands of Cuba. Whirl- ing, surging on and up, gaining new strength and velocity with each island slashed into wreckage, the hurricane swept up the Florida keys, destroying all in its path. Rails twisted like hairpins ; ties and pilings were thrown like thin, brittle toothpicks. Northward the train ran, but the express of destruction roaring behind could not be out-raced. The train surrendered at Point Two Mile, on the last bridge. The following day broke warm and gentle. Everglades were once again quiet, save for the constant chattering of tropical wildlife. The sea serenely washed Florida keys, but keys no longer strung together by man's lacing of steel rails. The rails, the ties, the gaily decorated excursion train and many of its passengers lay far below, where sunlight could not reach. And in silent columns, leaning crazily at various angles like headstones in an ancient grave- yard, pilings of the Miami-Key West railroad marched through the ocean. The Indian fishermen saw, nodded, and said nothing. "It was not meant to be." * * * His hands were rough and red. Almost always they were grasping and groping as if inactivity were a sin. The veins were raised so high that one could almost count the rhythmical pulsations of the blood. They might well have been the hands of a butcher or a farmer had they not the skill and touch of an unrefined, yet unexcelled artist. — Arlie Fender, 102 October. 1951 11 Snoula Knitting Be AlloTvea In tne Classroom? Mary J. Shinn Rhetoric 102, Theme 2 DURING THE PAST FEW YEARS, IT HAS BECOME A rather common belief that the human being has the abiHty to concen- trate on several matters at the same time. This belief has been put into actual practice. People read books, listen to radios, and carry on con- versations simultaneously. These people, however, do not, or will not, realize that they have received nothing from any of their various projects. Their reading is not progressing ; their radio program is not entertaining ; their conversation is certainly not brilliant. The principle of concentration can be demonstrated by drinking a glass of water and talking at the same time. It is an utter impossibility to do more than one thing at a time and do this task well. Yet many students in the University insist upon dividing their attention between lectures and knitting. They believe that knitting needs no concentra- tion ; they knit automatically. The students, however, realize that there are stitches to be counted and to be dropped, rows to be counted, and heels to be turned. The most experienced knitter has to concentrate on these. Knitting should not be allowed in the classroom. To the instructor who has spent years, even a lifetime, in acquiring the knowledge that he is im- parting to them, these students who persist in knitting are being very dis- respectful. If his material were not important, he would not be before the class. These students present themselves as ill-bred, thoughtless little children with no regard for their rudeness to the instructor. The student, furthermore, is a charity case. The public is paying her way through college. The public wants to be rewarded for its money by a well-informed citizen, not one well-informed on the number of stitches in a row. The student who knits in classes is stealing the public's money. The student who claims that knitting is the only thing that keeps her awake in class is fooling herself. By taking detailed notes she will not only stay awake but will also absorb some of the information handed her. When the time comes for concentrated study, she has heard the lecture material and has written it down where it can easily be reviewed. Knitting should not be allowed in the classroom. Aside from being ex- tremely rude to the instructor, the student deprives herself of the valuable material that is being presented. 12 The Green Caldron Tel evision Margot Tibbits Rhetoric 102, Theme 4 A WIRE CONTRAPTION IS ADDED TO THE ROOF OF YOUR neighbor's house. It isn't a device for sending secrets to Russia, but an announcement to all that your neighbor has television. So, you visit your neighbor. For future wrestlers and students of the puppet theatre, television is edu- cational. Most of the programs are frankly to amuse. If you can be amused watching a little whippersnapper lacking any real talent tap dance or sing, or an ancient class "B" western, or two muscular, partly clothed men try to beat each other into unconsciousness, watch television. If you enjoy apache dances, third-rate night club entertainers, and people staring blankly out at nothing while they awkwardly try to find something to do with their hands, watch television. As a guest, you have no choice. It is generally assumed that your social call was only to see television. To turn off the set and sit up straight and converse beyond monosyllabic words is unthinkable. After you put your coat on a dining room chair or the front hall table, your hosts will point at an overstuffed chair for you to slouch in. "Want some ?" they whisper, pointing to some gummy, noiseless food in a dish on the table, and any polite comments on your part about the wonders of modern science, the war, or the neighbor who had her baby six months after she was married, are all met with glances of extreme disapproval. Conversation must be attempted, if at all, during commercials. Commercial time is also time to refill the food dish, see that dinner is not burning on the stove, let the dog in or out, tell the children not to forget their homework, and do what picking up and dusting gets done in the house. You are not encouraged to attempt conversation when everyone gets up and leaves the room. This is the time for you to notice that your neighbor's bookcase is blocked by chairs, his phonograph is turned to the wall and used as a table for the television set, and magazines and newspapers are only opened to the section on TV. At the sound of the tone signal, everyone is back in his poor-posture position in the semi-darkened room to see what little thrill the telecasting company has to offer. Your opportunity for conversation is gone, the pro- gram adds nothing to your wit, store of knowledge, or memory. At the next commercial you go home. October. 1951 13 A Summer Experience Ben Watson Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 I STRADDLED THE NARROW COCKPIT, BRACING MY LEGS against the short, sharp pitching motion of the deck. Behind me in the cockpit. Murphy shifted his bulk in the fishing chair, heaved himself from it, and handed the big rod to me. "Here, you take it a while. I gotta stretch my legs." So, I sat down and fitted the butt of the rod into the socket of his fishing belt. I tested the drag and reset it, but I didn't really expect anything. Unexpectedly the rod tip jerked. I waited cautiously, then set it hard and began to reel. The line sang out, wheeling, screaming, looping freely across the lake. The big one had hit ! Tightening up on the drag, I began to get a little line back between lunges by raising the rod tip and reeling fast as I let it down again. Each time it was like lifting a horse. Suddenly, the line started coming up, leveling of?. Not more than twenty or thirty yards behind the boat, the big fish surfaced. A barracuda doesn't jump much ; instead it mostly stays down and pulls like a mule, but this one jumped. He shot straight up out of the water, tall and solid, in a shower of spray. In the split second he stood there, I could see him trying to spit the lure, his gill plates standing out like elephant ears. The three in the cockpit held their breaths, waiting for the big, viciously- barbed jig to come slamming back into the boat, but the hooks held. The barracuda hit the water with a sound like the crack of a pistol. He dived deeply and swam straight for the boat. Reeling as fast as I could, I struggled to my feet and moved to the gunwale. Please, God, I was thinking, don't let him foul up the line. Please let it be all right. And it was all right, and Diego, our boatman, was there with a gaff and got the big fish in the cockpit. With a short lead pipe, Diego tapped the barracuda twice at the base of the skull. Then he disengaged the hooks from between the needle-studded jaws. Murphy tossed his dead cigarette into the water and nudged me with his elbow. "Gimme a hand with this tiger. I'll show you how to clean 'em." + * * As the slight breeze from the door struck the dusty chandeliers, it tinkled the glass piece and sounded like the gay laughter of the people who had once gathered there. The dim light from the half-opened door which played on the white sheets covering the chairs made them seem almost ghost-like in appearance against the somber grey background. At the far end of the room, over a huge marble fireplace, hung a portrait of a young man in the uniform of the Confederate Army. His eyes had the look of a man who had, like the room, known gaiety and laughter. The room had generally the appearance of a rose that when still in full bloom was pressed between the pages of a book and then forgotten. — Colleen Cody, 102 14 The Green Caldron Culture - Custom and Tradition Richard Gier Rhetoric 101, Theme 6 THE WORD "CULTURE" ITSELF WAS ADOPTED BY OUR language during the Middle English period from the Old French word "couture," which had in turn been taken from the Latin word "cultura," meaning tending or cultivation. From the time it was incorporated in the English language until about 1776, the word "culture" was used in the same sense in which it first made its appearance. During this century the word was used to mean the raising of certain animals or natural products such as silk. Culture took on several meanings along this general line while still retaining its original sense. In the Sixteenth Century the word was used to mean the development of the mind by education and the refinement of manners by training. In the Nineteenth Century the word came to mean the intellectual side of civilization. The particular form of the word that I am interested in came into use in the Seventeenth Century. During that time the word came to signify a particular form or type of intellectual development. Culture as I will attempt to write about it is not the word which means tending tilled ground ; it is that meaning of the word which implies all the advances made by man during his period on earth. Man is an animal, but, because of his lack of body structures for protection and competition, he is not suited for a life in nature. His physical stature does not permit him to compete with other animals who have the same needs. Man could not long exist if he were given the brain of even the most highly developed anthropoid and then placed in an environment in which he would have to defeat other animals in order to survive. A well-developed brain and a pair of opposed thumbs are all that man has with which to protect himself from the fate of extinction. Early in the life of mankind these limitations of size were realized, and man began to band together with others for the common good. He began to use the well-developed brain to manipulate the opposed thumbs, and was thus able to overcome his anatomical shortcomings and successfully meet his environment. With his hands, man was able to harness physical objects and become master of them. His brain saw the possibilities for using sticks and stones, and his hands carried out the biddings of the brain. Sticks be- came rods for threshing wild grain and clubs for thrashing wild beasts. Stones found their way into primitive mills and their way out of primitive slings. Man was using his brain to fashion a set of artifacts. This accumulation of materials made it necessary for man to use his brain to invent symbols for their designations. The members of the group October. 1951 15 had to have a set of spoken symbols to use in describing wliat artifact was needed. Thus, the crude material possessions of man have been a deciding factor in the development of understandable sounds. The value of words lies in what they achieve by causing concerted action. The spoken word is important because it makes easier the handling of the environment. The primitive groups of early man began to form as families banded together for greater protection. Each group brought its own set of artifacts and its own verbal symbols for them. Thus, the society began its life with a well-supplied stock of materials, but the problem arose of deciding which words to use to identify the various material goods that it had. This problem was solved as the society evolved new words, agreeable and understandable to all the components of the group. Larger and larger groups had to be invented to meet these demands, and these languages were necessarily passed on to the succeeding generations. Man has always held in awe the workings of nature. From earliest man to the present, natural phenomena have always been held in respect and dread. This fear of the unknown resulted in the foundation of explanations. Religion and magic were set up to explain the workings of Nature in terms that man could understand. To explain these occurrences, man originated tales of the supernatural beings which he believed to inhabit the earth. Each group had its own explanations for natural phenomena, and when groups gathered together, the society incorporated these legends as its own. These, too, were passed from generation to generation. The animal nature of man exhibits itself in various ways, the most important being the se.x drive. When mankind became aggregated, it became apparent that these basic drives would have to be channeled to prevent disintegration of the unit. As a means of doing this, the society established certain patterns of behavior which had to be followed. The penalty for failing to conform to these patterns was social disapproval. As the individuals became more and more adjusted to sublimating their desires, these cultural patterns became fixed customs. Customs then were broken down into the mores which are patterns pertaining to basic drives and folkways pertaining to minor human needs. These behavior patterns became established and were passed along through the years along with the artifacts, the religion, and the spoken and written language. As societies became more firmly established and their behavior patterns became more entrenched, the individual became less and less a separate unit. His entire life, from birth to death, was prescribed for him. All his movements had a social precedent. Certain patterns of behavior were not questioned but were considered as the only thing to do under the circumstances. This is culture — the artifacts, the language, the social customs, the moral laws, the religion — everything that has its established basis in society and is passed from generation to generation until it becomes the guide to correct living for its particular society. 16 The Green Caldron Just One Bomr) Howard Balson Rhetoric 102, Theme 5 NOTHING SEEMED UNUSUAL OR OUT OF PLACE TO THE average Japanese citizen of Hiroshima as he rose from his bed on a dreary, humid August morning in the year 1945. The day would be like so many days that had gone before. He would eat an early breakfast, report to the munitions factory for a full day's work, return home and dine on fish and rice, listen to the government-censored news broadcast if he was lucky enough to own a radio, and then go to sleep. It would be just an average day. Even the wail of the air-raid siren and the steady drone of American bombing planes failed to worry him greatly, for he was used to an occasional air-raid. A raid, at the most, caused nothing but inconvenience. A bomb or two would cause him no trouble. Little did he know that one bomb would be enough. As he huddled in the underground air-raid shelter, he noted with satisfac- tion the complacent expressions on the faces of his fellow workers. The Japanese didn't worry about war. They'd been told that they would be victorious in just a few more months. They knew that there wouldn't be many more raids on Hiroshima. They were right. As the soft thump of the anti-aircraft guns began to blend in with the moan of the siren, the Japanese began to wonder just how serious the raid would be. There weren't more than two planes. It couldn't last long, and it certainly couldn't be serious. The first part was correct ; it didn't last long at all. He was suddenly shocked into semi-unconsciousness by a deafening explo- sion. He was thrown hard against the side of the shelter, and the trembling of the earth made it nearly impossible for him to regain his balance. The tremendous roar seemed to last for hours, though in reality it lasted but a few seconds. The Japanese wondered if what was happening might not be some horrible dream. As he struggled out of the shelter, he stared unbelievingly at the sight before him. The devastation was beyond even his wildest imagination. It seemed as though every building had been leveled. The trees, once bleached white by a strong summer sun, were now alive with red and yellow flames. It seemed as though Hell had erupted. His gaze swung down to the bodies littering the streets. There were bodies everywhere. Some he recognized ; others he was unsure of because they were mutilated. He was then suddenly seized with a severe pain which seemed to penetrate through his skin and sear his insides. He fell to the ground and lay still. October, 1951 17 An Autopsy Donald McWard Rhetoric 100, Theme 6 THE MEDICAL TERM AUTOPSY COMES FROM A GREEK word, autopsia, which means "seen by oneself." The English deri- vation means personal observation, inspection, and partial dissection of a dead body to learn the cause of death and the nature and extent of the disease. This is a condensed statement of what really occurs in a post mortem examination. Actually, performing an autopsy is sometimes as difficult as operating on a live person, and it certainly requires as skillful a surgeon and doctor to reach good results. The doctor who is trained and skilled in performing an autopsy and in diagnosing the morbid tissue changes of organs due to disease is known as a pathologist. The pathologist begins his examination by cutting through the skin down to the organs in three Hnes: one from each shoulder diagonally to the breastplate and one from the place where these two lines meet straight down the abdomen to expose the organs of the abdominal and pelvic cavities. He then removes the chest plate, which consists mainly of the ribs, by sawing through the bones. This exposes the organs of the chest cavity. There are two ways of continuing the dissection. One is the Virchow method in which each organ is removed separately, examined, and diagnosed. The other way is the Rokitansky method in which all of the organs are removed from the body in one piece at one time. They are then placed in the position they occupy in the body, dissected one at a time, and separately diagnosed. In either method, each organ of the trunk of the body is dissected and examined. If no diseased condition exists in any of these organs, the brain is then examined. In adults the brain is reached by sawing the entire skull cap ofif and removing it to expose the brain. In post mortems on babies, only one incision is made in the skull because the bones are not completely joined and there is danger of not preserving the shape of the head for burial. After the pathologist has examined the body and reached his diagnosis, he returns the organs to the body, sometimes keeping some that he wishes to study and dissect further. He then proceeds to sew up the incisions he has made. Doctors generally use baseball sutures which leave no trace of an incision when used on the scalp. If the embalming has not taken place before the post mortem, it is done afterward. However, both the pathologist and the mortician desire that it be done before. An autopsy permits medicine to approach an exact science more closely. It is highly desirable that the correctness of a diagnosis be proved or dis- proved in every case that ends fatally. This, of counse, would probably be 18 Tlie Green Caldron impossible, but post mortem examinations are made when the members of the surviving family desire it, when the deceased has requested one in his will, and whenever there is a suspicion of criminal activities. There are certain arguments in favor of post mortems : ( 1 ) if the cor- rectness or incorrectness of diagnosis is proved in a given case, the medical attendants in this case will be more capable of rendering assistance when another patient presents the same type of symptoms ; (2) conditions or diseases that are of importance to surviving relations are discovered, or surviving rela- tives may be comforted by finding that some disease they thought the deceased to have was not present; (3) every person who has an autopsy done on his body, even in death, makes a contribution to science, to surviving relatives, and to those who live in the future; (4) rare or new diseases are often dis- covered; and (5) the autopsy gives important medical statistics and aids in the study of hereditary characteristics of disease. Some people object to post mortem examinations because they feel that they are ghastly and mutilating procedures to which one should hesitate to subject a member of his family. In reply, it should be said that those who constantly deal with death develop a respect for the dead body which probably is not possessed by those who do not have that training, and an autopsy performed by a capable pathologist leaves no more visible mutilation than an ordinary operation performed by a capable surgeon. After an autopsy has been per- formed, the body may be so completely restored that those viewing the body will fail to recognize that an autopsy has been done. A funeral service is for a body they know by name, for a bit of prospective dust they hold dear. No single thing abides. The body is not their beloved one ; it is the thing which they have named and called their loved one. And yet, without a soul it was dust ; until a soul was given it, it might have been a rose. And now, again without its soul, it cannot forever remain the single thing, that of their loved one. It must disunite and once again be lost in the sunshine and rain. jj,^ gj^^Y^ jOi. It was late in the afternoon. The careless sky seemed streaked with the wind, which moved petulantly this way and that like a great rag shaken by a puppy. With a strange, compelling eagerness, the girl half stumbled, half floated over the grassy ground. A few old trees, having shrugged ofif their last leaves, swung tall and carefree in the wind. She walked breathlessly through a wide, gateless opening in the corner of the orchard between a weathered fence and a low hedge. On the other side, the hedge, grown high, sheltered a large garden which lay resigned and empty after the summer yield. Peach trees straggled along the fence, their pendant leaves capricious in the wind. From the garden the uneven fields sprawled into the distance. The girl swayed slightly from the small limb of a peach tree. She looked into the great windy sky and an irresistible idea swept through her : life was good, and nothing mattered, nothing in all the world. — Jean Alverson, 102 October, 1951 19 Government Control Or Radio Broadcasting Andrew Turyn Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 THE RADIO INDUSTRY SINCE ITS INFANCY HAS BEEN confronted with the problem of governmental control. This control of the industry began at the time of Marconi's first experiments in the year of 1895 and will probably continue forever. While the different experimenters proceeded to adapt Marconi's system, which was that of wireless transmission of the Morse Code, to the voice, governments recognized the importance of this type of transmission to their countries' defenses. This war interest caused them to bring all wireless transmission under their control. In England this was done as early as 1904 through the Wireless Telegraphy Act which gave the controlling power over wireless to the Post Office Department.^ Surpris- ing as it may seem to most Americans, the Post Office in most countries has control over radio. In all countries which did not possess control over radio, such control was legislated in the ninteen-twenties. This power of control over radio broadcasting was granted originally for one or more of the following three reasons : the importance of wireless com- munication to the armed forces, the desire of the government to pre-empt, wholly or partially, the field for itself, and the need to allocate the wave lengths granted the given country by international agreements. The first reason turned out to be the one with the least significance and became incor- porated into the third one. The other two reasons are of equal importance to radio broadcasting, even though at times the third one influences the second. The importance of the allocation of wave-lengths was stressed by the Director- General of the British Broadcasting Company, Sir William Haley, when, in explaining the reason for the fact that the Third Programme can be heard by only 50% of the people, he said, "The problem is one of wavelengths. Broadcasting in Europe is starved of wavelengths." - Since I shall discuss the pre-emption of the field later on in discussing the different types of broadcasting systems, I shall now touch upon the prob- lem of the allocation of wavelengths — a problem which makes it fairly certain that there will always be some governmental control over radio. Briefly, the nations of the world have allocated a certain band of the frequencies to AM broadcasting with which we are concerned here. This band can accom- modate only a limited number of stations in a given area. Those stations ^ R. H. Coase, British Broadcasting (Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1950), p. 4. - BBC Yearbook, The British Broadcasting Corporation (London, The Hallen Street Press Ltd., 1947), p. 9. 20 The Green Caldron must be equitably divided among the different countries in the area. It is also necessary to limit the power of the different stations to prevent inter- ference between stations on the same frequency. Both these conditions have caused many quarrels and much bitterness in the radio world. This crowding of the radio spectrum does not cause as much trouble in North America as it does in Europe, where England is limited to two frequencies.' This situ- ation, as I mentioned, has a profound influence on the type of broadcasting system used by a given country and will play a part in my recommendations for a change in the system used in this country. In general, though, public policy plays the most important role in the type and amount of political control of broadcasting employed by the different countries. The range of types, all adapted to the political philosophy of the given country, is extremely wide, ranging from an organ of propaganda di- rected by the highest authority, as in Russia, to a completely commercial system as in the United States. In between, we find modifications of the above types, and the four most interesting ones will be described below. These four are discussed in accordance with the amount of governmental control present in them. The first type is that in which the government not only owns all the broadcasting stations, but also directs their day-to-day operations just as it directs any other department of the government. This type is best exemplified by the Russian radio system which is supervised by the propaganda branch of the Party. This branch is mainly concerned with molding the people's minds instead of entertaining them. This combination of slanted news, party-line music, plays, and sports makes the Soviet radio the dullest listening in the world. The other government owned and operated systems outside the Iron Curtain have the advantage to the listener of a minimum amount of propaganda, but, in general, are badly programmed. The next type, that of a broadcasting system owned by the govenment but operated by a completely independent board, is well represented by the British system. It is important to remember that while the British Broadcasting Cor- poration, best known as BBC, is government owned, its control is vested in a governing board, composed at the present of seven members.* This board has full powers to run the Corporation as it pleases, but it must always remember, as Sir William Haley points out in his report, "The duty laid upon it in its Charter is to be a medium of information and education as well as of entertainment." ° This duty has brought about the fact that the most interesting and contro- versial facet of BBC's operations is its progamming policy. It offers three different program services : The Light, Home, and Third Programmes. The Light Programme's broadcasts are very much like those on any American 3 Charles A. Siepmann, Radio, Television, and Society (New York, Oxford Univer- sity Press, 1950), p. 122. * BBC Yearbook, p. 135. = Ibid., p. 10. October, 1951 21 network. The Home Programme brings to its listeners a higher type of broadcasts, comparable to those of WILL. The Third Programme, on the other hand, is unlike any other one carried by any network or station in the world. The listening fare on this program is so high-brow that Mr. Charles Siepmann, well-known critic of commercial radio, has said, and I am forced to agree with him, that it "is caviar to the general public." ° This program carries plays and operas lasting without interruption for almost three hours, thereby disregarding the well known fact that "all listeners are subject to the strain of 'listening blind.' " ' In general, the BBC is the best radio system in the world, but it has faults which could be eliminated very easily. The third type of a broadcasting system, that in which government and private ownership exist side by side, can be best described by a discussion of Canadian radio. "Broadcasting in Canada constitutes a compromise, a hy- brid version of British and American radio practices." * In Canada there is a handful of government owned and operated stations combined with the privately owned ones to form a network. This network, the CBC, is divided into three separate networks to bring different services to the country. These networks also transmit commercial programs from America. When not carrying network transmissions, the commercial stations broadcast local programs w'hich are usually commercial. The main fault with this system is that "CBC is not only a broadcasting system but a regulatory agency, hav- ing powers similar to those of our FCC." ® In other words, the CBC regulates the stations with which it competes. This is not good for either side. The last type of a broadcasting system I shall touch upon is that of the United States. This is a completely commercialized system, except for a few university and municipal stations, with the stations privately owned. The only government control in this type, the Federal Communications Com- mission, is concerned with frequency allocations, keeping the commercials down, and seeing to it that the stations do not slant news. There seems no need to discuss American radio in detail since most people are familiar with it. There have been many proposals to change the system of radio broadcasting used in this country. All the persons making those proposals recognize the truth of the statement made in the report by Sir William Haley, that "Broad- casting is the most powerful device yet conceived to serve the end of bringing about an informed democracy." '" This means that most of them are against day-to-day governmental control of radio. All the proposals seem to argue either for complete government ownership, like BBC, or, for an even freer commercial system than in the United States. Strangely enough, the most vocal of the reform groups is the one which wants fewer controls than there are at the present time. This group is led by Brigadier General Sarnoff, * Siepmann, p. 135. ' Ibid., p. 136. 8 Ibid., p. 157. »/Wd.. p. 161. "BBC Yearbook, p. 10. 22 The Green Caldron chairman of the RCA, who in so doing has reversed completely the position he held twenty-eight years ago. As he envisaged it then, radio broadcasting would be insolvent for a long time, being supported in the meanwhile by an endowment, and would, therefore, be a public service.^^ As he sees things now, the FCC is interfering too much. A much smaller, and less vocal, group advocates that the government take over the operations and ownership of radio broadcasting immediately. I do not completely agree with any of these different systems. My pro- posal is made feasible only by the fact that the United States has a large area. I would leave part of the stations in the hands of private owners and have the rest owned by the government. The government stations would be owned by a public corporation, on the TVA model, which would be financed from the general government funds. I would leave the FCC as it is without impairing or restricting its functions which would not cause it to have a split personality like the CBC. This broadcasting system would have two basic, nationwide networks and several regional networks. One of these networks would carry programs like those on BBC's Home Programme. The other nation-wide network would transmit something like the Third Pro- gramme because it "is designed not for the few but for the many who are in the mood for serious listening." " The regional networks would carry pro- grams of local interest and would encourage local talent. This system would have both commercial and government stations working independently side- by-side and would, I believe, satisfy most people. '1 Siepmann, pp. 8-9. 12 Ibid., p. 37. BIBLIOGRAPHY BBC Yearbook, British Broadcasting Corporation, London, The Hallen Street Press Ltd., 1947. Coase, R. H., British Broadcasting, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1950. Siepmann, Charles A., Radio, Television, and Society, New York, Oxford University Press, 1950. Modern Residential Arcnitecture Robert Poggi Rhetoric 101, Theme 11 MODERN RESIDENTIAL ARCHITECTURE JUSTIFIES ITS drastic changes from conventional styles by two facts : first of all, radical changes in modes of living require equally radical changes in house planning ; and secondly, the ever-increasing inventions of this highly industrial age make possible radical changes in the modes of construction. October, 1951 23 These factors, which receive little attention in recent homes of traditional type, become primary in the new architecture. Although the designers of traditionally styled homes may use the products of recent invention such as equipment, prefabricated parts, and new materials, these tend to be mere accessories, leaving the standardized form almost un- changed. To modern architects, however, each of these offers opportunity for new expression. The mode of use may translate the characteristic of the material in question. The materials and fixtures derived from modern tech- nology lose value when enclosed in traditional forms. Modernists consider it absurd that concrete should be made to look like natural stone, or electric light fixtures like candlesticks. Each in its use may honestly reveal its peculiar nature and purpose. The new materials make possible thinner walls, lighter construction, new proportions, and new textures. Again and in quite another sense, it is seen that "form follows function." Modern architects, then, seek not style but substance, not ornament but simplicity, not standardized plans but proficiency in exposition, not fitting the family to the house but the house to the family, not imitation but creation. Ideally, they strive to give a fresh approach to the problem of design by the study of the latest findings concerning the nature of man and of social trends. They seek fresh achievement in construction by thorough understanding and mastery of new materials and processes and their potentials. They study intensively the client and the members of the household, the site and its neighborhood, the available local organizations and materials for construction. In short, they attempt to develop a home to fit the purpose. The result is a house, not a machine for living. The products of machines, however, facilitate and even inspire each process of daily living for each member of the family. It is characteristic of good residential architecture that it should provide for man's six fundamental housing needs : health, safety, convenience, com- fort, privacy, beauty, and each of these with reference to economy. Modern architects have, however, made a fresh analysis of these needs and have not been forced into the compromise so frequently dictated by other architectural forms. Since they are free to develop their plans from a close study of the interest of each member of the household, instead of first considering what architectural style to apply, the plan may become the logical solution of the family's needs. Just as plants develop from seed, modern architecture seeks to be the organic expression of the interests of the family for which the house is to be built. The house develops outwardly from the core or center of the family life. Specifically, needs may run the gamut of work and play, domestic life and social life, chores and hobbies, love and worship, and the obvious routines of sleeping, eating, bathing, and dressing. Thus, consideration is given to areas of family life under such groupings as service areas, sleeping areas, living areas and recreation areas. Each of the.se, though requiring many sub- divisions, is planned as an operative unit for its specific purpose and is care- 24 The Green Caldron fully interrelated with the other areas within the house. This is a wide de- parture from earlier types of planning in which each room tended to serve one purpose alone. Though there are obvious needs for efficiency in all house- hold operations, there remains a greater requirement, that the home should as far as possible unite or coordinate the lives of the people within. Peculiarly characteristic of modern architecture is the adoption of both the house and the lot to the man. Attention is paid to the orientation of the warming rays of winter sunshine and for protection against the intense rays of the summer. Windows, doors, decks, and terraces are placed to take advantage of the things which nature offers while protecting the family from the curiosity or intrusion of neighbors and passersby. In warm and temperate climates there has also been a high development of the "indoor-outdoor house" ; the indoor space is "enlarged" by the view of the outside offered by large glazed areas which can be thrown open. The sense of confinement is all but eliminated. Thus does architecture seek to fulfill the goal of housing, which is not mere shelter, but the opportunity for unhampered and gracious living. Gamtlers ror Black Gold Mary Alice Roser Rhetoric 102, Theme 10 FEW THINGS COULD BE SO FASCINATING, SUCH A GAM- ble financially and physically, and still be a hard-working, honest busi- ness as is the oil industry. It is a business which employs many people ; engineers, geologists, fieldmen, roughnecks, electricians, scouts, claim ad- justers, clerks, secretaries, receptionists, pbx operators — all of whom play their part in seeing that the business of drilling and producing goes as smoothly as possible. Many of these men are quiet, soft-spoken men with homes and families, men who are making down payments on cars and putting their children through school. The oil operator, however, is a class unto himself. Here is a man who must have a great amount of imagination, cunning, and the urge to gamble. Fortunes in his field are made at the turn of a valve. They may be lost with even greater rapidity and ease. An average well is completed in two weeks. The cost for a single dry-hole is approximately $18,000. An independent operator is his own scout, claim adjustor, and landman. He learns to evaluate rumors and to ferret out carefully guarded information. Recognizing the psychology of persuasion in driving a bargain, he soon learns the wisdom of keeping his own counsel. Craftiness and bluffing are tricks of his trade. No matter how aimless or irresponsible an act may seem, it usually has a cold, clear purpose behind it. October, 1951 25 Mr. Hill is a typical oil operator. Born in Tulsa, the oil capital of the world, he was practically raised on a rotary table. High cheek bones, dark eyes, and jet-black hair speak of an Indian ancestry. Perhaps this ancestry also accounts for his cunning. His body is hard and browned from many hours spent under a blazing sun. In earlier years, he was caught between two winch trucks and today he moves with an ever perceptible limp. Mr. Hill's introduction to oil field work was not startling. During summer vacation while in high school, he earned extra money by roustabouting. Perhaps it was on some evening tour, as he stood high on the monkey board and listened to the put-put of the caterpillar engine and the whine of the winches as they sent the long arms of pipe spiralling into the hole, that he decided to study petroleum geology. Mr. Hill did not complete his geological training but left school to accept a position as scout for a large company. Although scouting was interesting work, chances for advancement in a large company were slow ; soon, he chafed under the restrictions placed on him. At the age of twenty-five, he closed his eyes on security and gambled his life savings on his own ingenuity, ability, and instinct. Geologists and engineers, through careful study, can often predict where deposits of oil lie ; however, only through drilling can one be positive. After drilling thirteen dry holes in succession, Mr. Hill's resources were gone and he was deeply in debt. During the drilling of the fourteenth hole, he was forced to tell his crew that he could not pay them. He asked that they help him finish that well without pay and told them that if he lost, they all lost, but should he gain, they all would gain. The well was a producer. He had gambled and won. From that day forward, Mr. Hill pulled himself upward by his own run tickets. Today, a young man of thirty-nine, he is extremely wealthy and his name is a by-word in the oil world. There are many others like Mr. Hill, though perhaps not so successful. Through the years, they have learned to be tough where it counts and tender when it matters. A single word in an agreement may mean thousands in the bank for them — or that they lose every penny they have. Competition is strong ; they have to be crafty, often ruthless players to stay in the game. Living a life that is colorful and exciting, these people seem to have a spirit of recklessness moving through their very being. To the uninitiated who do not know of the hours of toil and careful planning, they and their lives may seem very glamorous. In such a ruthless business, some men must of necessity lose all that they possess. The true oil-man never admits defeat. The tang of oil is too strong in his nostrils. He starts from scratch, fighting until he scrapes together another rig, another prospect, and another lease. He'll never quit as long as the urge to gamble and the lust for oil control his very being. 26 The Green Caldron Can tne Playing or Popular Music Ruin tne Classical Musician? Norman Emmerich Rhetoric 101, Theme 4 AMONG MUSICIANS, WHETHER IT IS POSSIBLE TO PLAY popular music and, at the same time, retain the requirements of a classi- cal musician is an extremely controversial subject. Although some musicians claim that flexibility of style can be obtained through conscientious study, I have found that no two styles, such as popular and classical, can be obtained on a wind instrument at the same time. The difference in playing in these styles are basically physical in nature ; they tend to oppose each other and, eventually, become fused, leaving the musician with poor styles in both fields. The most important of these physical styles — which result in musical styles — is embouchure, the shaping of the mouth to produce tone. The em- bouchure of a classical musician must be firm enough to allow delicate control of the tone, and yet it must be flexible enough to allow the musician to reflect in the tone his deepest feeling and most sincere personality. However, when this same musician begins playing dance jobs, he discovers that he cannot maintain a tense embouchure, since very few dancers listen to the music any- way, and those who do would rather listen to a tone with a carefree vibrato than one reflecting a sincere personality. After the musician's jaw muscles become trained to endure long hours of playing with a vibrato, he cannot completely and successfully coordinate these muscles to the rigid classical requirements. The second physical property of musicianship is technic, the actual ability to perform on an instrument. The fine classical musician has a smooth, even, precise technic and gives painful attention to the most minute inflections in the music. The popular musician, on the other hand, just sits back and lets himself go, so to speak. If he misses several notes, it makes no difference ; if he slurs a passage when it should be tongued, he will probably be praised rather than criticized. A musician cannot be technically sloppy one day and technically precise the next. If a classical musician imitates a popular musician, he will undoubtedly lose his classical technic. As a result of the physical differences between the playing of popular music and the playing of classical music, it is necessary that the professional musician make his choice of styles and then stick to it. Should he attempt to perform both classical and popular music, he will soon find himself with proficiency in neither field, rather than in both of them, and the musical world has no use for hvbrids. October, 1951 27 Wny Doesn t Anarcny Answer Tne Worlas Protlems? Richard L. Wright Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 DURING THE PAST FEW CENTURIES, SINCE MAN HAS discovered himself as a citizen of a state or federation, or, more recently, a world, he has been seeking an answer to the problems which neces- sarily arise when men try to live together. While our distant ancestors were content and able to live in isolated places and search for their own fortunes and livelihood, few matters arose which could not be solved by resisting force with force, applying instinctive ingenuity or by simply packing up food, funds, and family and moving toward happier hunting grounds. This simple and, in many ways, easier mode of life was revived briefly as settlers came to find peace in the new world. But even at that time, most of the migrants felt a loyalty to some government or people which led them to become involved in various political and military conflicts either to preserve the sovereignty of an old government or to obtain the freedom of a new one. This feeling of loyalty and pride which prompted them to enter into such conflicts was, as it reached the level of love for the fatherland, called Nationalism. Nationalism is an emotional force to be ranked with those of self-preser- vation and race-preservation, and one which has caused much of the dissention and bickering with which we, through the United Nations and earlier through the League of Nations, have become all too familiar. This force is the menace which makes our search for a central world government necessary. This force is, I believe, our major world problem. There are two possible ways of handling the problem. One is to ignore it completely by leaving the countries of the world to seek their fortunes as the families of the world did so long ago. This would, indeed, be the path of least resistance. It would be analogous to letting a city without a government be exploited by those who happen to be strong. It would be an Anarchy. Anarchism has long been admired from afar by many idealists as a method of obtaining peace within a nation. That is, they would like to turn everyone loose, guided by his own conscience, to carry on his business without inter- ference of national agencies and law enforcement officers. This would be fine, of course, if the entire population could be guaranteed to possess (per capita) one mind, complete with conscience, in good working order. Past experience has proved such a condition improbable at best, and, therefore, no nation has thus far adopted the plan for any length of time. 28 The Green Caldron The other method of coping with the problem is to set up a central world government which has the backing of the nations of the world and the power to punish any nation showing hyper-nationalistic or imperialistic tendencies. This is the plan that we are now attempting to follow. Although it has been softened by the member nations' fear that it would become too powerful and perhaps tend to throttle the growth of their own beloved nations beyond their normal bounds, it is, at least, a step in the right direction. Every time a nation makes a concession at the United Nation's council table, another blow is struck against oversensitive nationalism. If our planet is to avoid another global war, it will be through concession and arbitration and not through Nationalism and Anarchy. The college man is both a sneak and a pervert. He crawls stealthily home in the wee hours with a can of beer under his arm and, once he has drunk it, hides the empty can. His eyes burn feverishly at the sight of anything that wears a dress. If the thing is beautiful, he may go raving mad. He is temper- mental ; he throws dishes during meals. He is antisocial ; he spends his nights under the glare of a study lamp and will not speak to anyone. He is juvenile; he throws snowballs and plays in the mud. He is eccentric ; he cannot stand the radio or the merest conversation. He is beastly ; he cuts fiendishly on dead sharks, cats, and live frogs. He is gross ; he curses at the slightest provo- cation. He is filthy; his hands reek of rotten eggs, fish, and formaldehyde. And all of these symptoms are marks of an education. At any rate, this creature is the Illinois college man. — Ralph Beck, 102 Rket as Writ It is much simpler to spend the day glued to a television screen watching every program, no matter how unsuitable it may be. * * * George's father was killed in an accident before his birth. * * * She was a clean, upstanding girl, unspoiled in all ways. She became a prostitute to support her younger brothers. * * * Often if the bus is ahead of schedule it will stop just to pick some of the wild berries which grow along the road. * * * Other dancers gave the movement new life when they jointed Isadora Duncan in 1907. Honorable Mention Margaret Birtwell Richard Groggins Ernie Levy George Lewis Neal Partnenter Corliss Phillabaum Letus Smith Robert Smith I The Contributors Carol 5etberf— Riverside-Brookfield Richard Seid — Harvard School for Boys Raymond Yockey — Bement Eliiier SwUser — Manual, Indianapolis Edward Jeniaon — Paris Mary J. Shinn — Proviso Twp. Margot Tibbits- — Lyons Twp. Ben VTatson — Farmcrsburg Public School Richard Gier — Topeka Howard Balson — Hirsch Donald McWard — Champaign Andrew Turyn — Ann Arbor Robert Pogfgi— Ottawa Twp. Mary Alice Roser— Carmi Twp. Norman Emmerich — Springfield Richard L. Wright — Shelbyville i Fhe 6reen Caldron A Magazine of Freshman Writing : LIBRAKY OF IHE . j/\,r,l o' if>C*? VthSliV Ur iLLl.nUlS CONTENTS R. Larry Slanker: The "David" 1 Corliss E. Phillnbaum: Lucia and Lucy 2 Leonard Zapinski: You Can't Go Home Again 3 Leona Robbins: Intelligent College Students Should be Deferred ■ 'S Thomas N. Harvey: Interested Youth can Solve Paris' Problem . 6 Hugh Davison: An Interesting Hobby 7 Jo Ann Davidson: A ToM-n That Needs to Relax 8 Toni Hribal: A Day I Will Remember 9 Ryoso Sunobe: Japanese Views on the American Occupation in Japan . II Jennis Bapst: Don't Outlaw the Communists 15 Emily Brown: Registration, Short Order 17 Eleanor J. Bunting: Come, Live Here 18 Jeanne M. EcJdund: One of THE MEN 19 Arlie Fender: Wit and Humor 21 Mary Shinn: Should the Anti-Vivisection Law Be Passed? ... 22 Rhet as Writ 24 Vol. 21 , No. 2 DECEMBER, 1 951 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T, HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the Rhetoric Staflf at the University of Illinois. Material is chosen from themes and exaiminations 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 Maurice Crane, Iris Mueller, Raymond O'Neill, Benjamin Sokoloff, Robert Stevens, Harris Wilson, and George Conkin, Chairman. THE GREEN CALDRON Copyrighted 1951 BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS Alt rights reserved No parts of this periodical may be repro- duced in any form without^ permisftioa m writing from the publisher. Tne ^Davia R. Larry Slanker Rhetoric 101, Theme 8 I THINK I WAS FIRST ATTRACTED BY ITS SIZE. I HAD BEEN rather aimlessly wandering through the museum from one exhibit to another when I suddenly came upon an enormous sculptured head. There was a defiant frown on the white immobile face as though I had trespassed where I had no right to be. For several minutes I stood there in awe. The stern look and massive weight seemed to have some strange power over me. I think for a moment I experienced the same primitive emotion that allowed our ancestors to wor- ship graven images. The godlike features of the face were noble and simple. The carved locks of the hair crowned the head in flamelike profusion. The wrinkled brow revealed a mind intense upon meeting a foe. The tenseness of the lips and eyes hinted that perhaps there was some consternation along with the determination. At first, I had supposed it to be the bust of some Greek god. It looked familiar to me, but I was unable to identify it in my mind. Upon closer investigation I discovered a photograph of the original in its entirety. I then recognized it as a replica of the head from Michelangelo's marble "David." It was apparent from the picture that the plaster cast sufifered in reproduc- tion, but enough of the likeness of the original remained to give me some idea of the mastery of that great sculptor. I had seen this piece of sculpture pictured many times before, but until then I had had no conception of its true proportions. I had previously supposed it to be nearer life-size. It now appeared to me to be more of a Goliath than a David. However, the size was not the only aspect that troubled my mental image of the Biblical David. I had always thought of him as being a slight romantic youth who, through an act of God, had been able to kill a giant with a mere sling. But here was a young man who visibly had the potential strength to accomplish such a feat without divine aid. The only indications that he had not yet reached full maturity were his somewhat oversized hands and head. The countenance and noble bearing denoted a mind beyond its years. The seemingly relaxed body was betrayed by the tenseness of the face. This was not the Jewish boy hero of the Bible but that of a more universal picture of youth preparing to meet a challenge. Perhaps the sculptor was saying that youth has the potentialities to overcome problems which seem insurmountable and that youth must have not only faith in God but also the personal strength and force of spirit to win the battle, whether it be physical or moral. The "David" of Michelangelo was such a youth. [1] The Green Caldron .ucia and Lucy Corliss E. Phillabaum Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 ONE OF THE BEST-LOVED OE ALL ITALIAN OPERAS IS Donizetti's Lucia di Lmmncrmoor. This opera is an adaptation of Sir Walter Scott's novel, The Bride of Lammermoor, which was based on an incident in Scottish history. A comparison between t he two works shows the different forms which the same story can take when it is presented in different art-forms. Of course, in his novel Scott was really more concerned with his setting than with his plot. The book abounds with minute historical detail, and its characterizations are obviously designed to give an insight into the people of the period rather than to make them participants in the story. In spite of this attention to setting, Scott's characters do work in the story well, with one exception. The character of Caleb Balderstone, servant to Edgar, seems to have intrigued the author and he devotes undue attention to his escapades. This seriously impedes the plot. Significantly, this character does not appear in the opera, a fact which illustrates the necessity of plot simplification in a dramatic presentation of a story. The important factors in both versions are the motivations of the plot. In both, Lucy and Edgar fall in love, meet insurmountable obstacles to their union, and find death the only solution to their troubles. In a general way, the insurmountable difficulties are the same. However, certain important differ- ences appear. The most obvious of these is the absence of Lucy's parents in the opera, whereas they play a vital role in the novel. Instead, in the opera we find only Lucy's brother. Actually, the reason for this change was the same as the reason for the omission of Caleb. There is much delicate interplay between the parents in the novel which could not be effectively presented on the stage. Thus, the important actions of both characters are given to the one character of the brother. This again shows the need for simplification. The total effect of each method amounts to the same thing : Lucy's family prevents her marriage to Edgar and forces her into the ill-fated marriage with Lord Arthur Bucklaw. In addition to the action being the same for these characters, the motive is the same — ambition. On the stage it is made a little more ap- parent by having her brother in desperate financial straits, while in the novel it is a case of political ambition on the part of the mother, but the general idea is the same. Several minor characters, such as Old Alice, Raymond, and Norman hold slightly different positions in the two works, but these positions do not alter the basic plot line or any of its significant details. December, 1951 3 The other really obvious difference between the two works lies in the endings. It appears at first glance as though Donizetti had completely changed the ending and thus the whole idea of the story. This, however, is not the case. Despite the fact that he makes Edgar commit suicide after Lucy's death, whereas Scott kills him oft' in quicksand, the basic ending is the same. A duel is arranged between Edgar and Lucy's brother which is averted by the death of Edgar. The basic cause of death is the same ; in the opera he com- mits suicide on learning of Lucy's death, while in the novel his distraction over the situation causes him to ride bhndly into the quicksand. The difference is a purely mechanical one. Despite its dull excursions with Caleb, Scott's book has somewhat of an edge over the opera in the matter of quality. Parts of Lucia are rather superficial or of mediocre value. However, it has the edge on the novel as far as present day popularity goes. Donizetti's work has many beautiful melodies and contains several moments of genuine dramatic quality, and is, therefore, well-loved by opera fans the world over. On the other hand, the greater age of the novel makes it rather dry reading for people today in this age of .speed. Nonetheless, each is, in its own way and field, a masterpiece of a great artist. You Can t Go Home A^ain Leonard Zapinski Rhetoric 102, Theme 5 IT STANDS TO REASON THAT ANY WORK OF FICTION MUST have some plot — if nothing more than a figurative hall tree on which to drape the fine clothes of narration, characterization, and moral, among other things. An intricate and fascinating plot adds tremendously to the reading enjoyment of the majority of the various authors' works. However, in entering Thomas Wolfe's hallway of literature, a visitor would scarcely notice the insignificant, perfectly simple hall trees of his plots alone. It is the sight of the breathtaking raiment which hangs on that tree that attracts the reader of Thomas Wolfe ; raiment such as the wonderful display of an extensive literary and vernacular vocabulary which educates in itself ; the perfect characterizations which run the gamut from that of a Brooklynese bystander to that of a cultured society couple of fine means ; the vivid descrip- tion of scenes ; and lastly, the free flow of narration and mental expression. These qualities are abundant in any of Wolfe's books, but especially so in You Can't Go Home Again, his latest published novel. It has a plot, yes; George Webber, a young writer from North Carolina, acquires a localized notoriety in his home town, owing to his profession and selection of material 4 The Green Caldron for his first book. George Webber visits his home town after a prolonged absence and later decides on a trip abroad. That is the plot, without complications and not very novel. But after reading only the first three printed pages, I became so profoundly interested that I wrote at the bottom of the page, "This man Wolfe is good 1 I'm going to enjoy this book immensely." To separate the author's style, characterization, description, and philoso- phical tendencies would be impossible. The obvious fact that the book is semi-autobiographical imparts an intimate feeling to the reader ; thus, to speak merely of literary style, neglecting the laying bare of the lives in various strata of society, would be sacrilegious. Each chapter is almost a complete short story in itself. One could read a single chapter and have his vocabulary enriched or sharply renewed by more than ten words, and after reading this chapter, this person would indeed wonder if this was the man who invented the adjective and the adverb and their uses in respective dependent clauses. Of particular worth is Wolfe's characterization of Mrs. Esther Jack, the confident, self-satisfied and capable career woman who admires George Webber ; of Foxhall Edwards, a shrewd publishing editor, whose knowledge of human nature and behind-the-scenes insight is a revelation to a staid reader who would pass up a "commonplace" news item ; of the German, Helig ; the Dutchman, Bendien ; the girl, Dorothy ; and the hardboiled hatcheck girl. Wolfe is the type of writer who could set a scene in a railroad station, and before half the description had been read, the reader would be inhaling the pungent locomotive fumes, hearing the incessant, overall murmur of crowd noises, seeing the time on the station clock, and visualizing the displays of the concessionaries. Fine examples of this art are the dialogue and descriptive narration of an apartment house fire, a suicide's leap, and a search of a European trans- continental train by Nazi authorities. George Webber, and, therefore, Thomas Wolfe, is a cynic, a detached observer of personalities and human events. Wolfe aptly expresses the philosophy of a fatalist who is motivated by a throbbing desire to do every- thing there is to do, to see everything there is to see, to feel and know every- thing there is to feel and know in the world before death's oblivion folds over him. Style, description, portrayal of various levels of society, satirical and philosophical studies — what more can a reader ask ? All are present in a Wolfe novel, particularly You Can't Go Home Again. December, 1951 Intelligent College Students Sliould ne Dererrea Leona Robbins Rhetoric 102, Theme A IN CHOOSING TO SUPPORT THE PRO SIDE OF THIS ARGU- ment, I realize that I am coming to the defense of an action that is already a jait accompli. The colleges and universities have begun to administer examinations, the purpose of which is to separate, on the intellectual level, the "chaff" from the "grain." I am not sure, but I believe that the results of these tests are already being used in determining the status of draft candidates. Nevertheless, I should like to present my reasons for my belief that this action is a just and proper one. First, I would like to make reference to the moral implications ; in advocating the deferment of intelligent college students I do not thereby underwrite war as the necessary solution to international conflict. On the contrary, I consider the fact that the nations of the world still rush into rearmament races as the deplorable evidence of the lack of achievement and advancement we have made in the field of international statesmanship. That is another province and another problem, however. I think the realist, no matter how idealistic he may be, must accept the fact that for better or worse, the United States is rearming and rebuilding its armed forces for what may eventually become a costly and prolonged struggle. More and more money is being appropriated for the research into and the expansion of more modern, more deadly and more complicated weapons (by the term weapons I mean everything from the gun the infantryman will carry to the huge bombers, airplane carriers and radar-detecting units) . While we engage our- selves in this manner, other nations through fear are bent on like activities — in other words, the race is on ! It is obvious by the nature of the problem that one of the most important ingredients of our efforts will be intelligent, competent, skilled men — men who will be capable of understanding and directing still further research and still more complex units of machinery. If we draft indiscriminately, we run the risk of losing our reserve of those youths whom we will need in ever- increasing numbers as the race gathers momentum. To some, the implication of the deferment of our most intelligent young men is that the less intelligent are being penalized or used as cannon fodder. But would we not be wasting the greatest contribution that those with high I. Q.'s could make if we denied them the opportunity to finish their studies, so that in the future we could use 6 The Green Caldron the results of their mature knowledge? And are we not, in the final analysis, protecting the interests of those who have to participate actively in combat by encouraging the development of those whose talents and skills will be used to develop the weapons and techniques to shorten or to avert the conflict we fear ? Interested Youtn Can Solve Paris^ Pronlem Thomas Nelson Harvey Rhetoric Placement Theme A STRANGER PASSING THROUGH PARIS, ILLINOIS, MY home town, would see a thriving community of ten-thousand residents and would conclude from all appearances that Paris is a very progres- sive city. However, progress is sadly lacking here; Paris has not taken advantage of available resources which could make it prosper and grow. Although there are a few factories — a broom company, an advertising goods manufacturer, a truck body firm, a shoe factory, and a drill company — there could be many more. Three railroad lines, three bus lines, four highways, and numerous trucking companies which serve Paris make it an excellent transportation center ; there are many possible roadside and railside sites for factories which lie vacant and unused ; Paris is close, yet not too close, to such cities as Chicago, Saint Louis, and Indianapolis. Thus, good transportation facilities, excellent building sites, and convenient location make up Paris' qualifications for growth through industrial development. One thing, however, is lacking ; it is the will or spirit of the people. They allow themselves to be misled by certain selfish factory owners. Having paid low wages for many years, these factory owners do not want new industries with higher wages to come into Paris and force them to pay better salaries. The Paris Chamber of Commerce is controlled by these so-called leaders of industry, and all attempts of manufacturing concerns to enter Paris are some- how thwarted. Perhaps the people allow themselves to be duped becau.se many of them are retired farmers, contented with things as they now exist. But that the merchants of Paris have a similar attitude is not easy to understand. Although they should welcome new industry and an increased population which would bring increased business with it, these drug, department, and clothing store operators sit idly by, watching industry fight industry. This is, indeed, a very unfruitful situation for all of Paris except the home- town factory owners. In order to remedy this malady, a new interest in Paris must be instilled in its citizens. This must be an interest in Paris as a growing. December, 1951 7 progressive city, not just as a nice, quiet place in which to Hve and spend one's old age. Paris must look to its youth for such spirit, and this youth must recognize its duty — to bring Paris to the state of progress parallel to that of its neighboring cities. Youth must take control of the affairs of the Chamber of Commerce in order to promote rather than to prohibit the growth of Paris. Industrial growth means growth in all other fields — population, gross income of merchants, and, of course, importance and influence. This growth should turn the passive attitude of Paris' citizens into a lively spirit favoring the progress of their city. Thus, it must be renewed spirit incited by youth spurring on industrial growth which will enable Paris to take full advantage of its opportunities to grow and prosper and to act as it appears to tourists — progressive. An Interesting Hobby Hugh Davison Rhetoric 101, Theme A DARK WATER AND A COLD, GRAY FOG. A JAGGED COAST and desolation. High upon the tallest cliflf he stands — Davison, the hunter, a tawny carcass at his feet. Through the dank Scottish crags the kilted chieftain has stalked a mountain lion, and now — home to breakfast. The hound dogs howl. A shot rings out. There on the Texas plain he stands — Davison, the hunter, a wild fox bleeding at his feet, and now — home to breakfast. These are my ancestors. Their blood is my blood, and it is only natural that I, like they, am a hunter. However, I am a hunter, not of the cumber- some mountain lion or the wild fox, but the golf, the ferocious white golf, the thing with the speed of the gazelle, the deception of the fox, and the smashing power of the stallion. These things are pursued desperately until they are overtaken and then the golf is bludgeoned mercilessly with long steel clubs. These beatings continue until the golf is finally forced to retreat into a small hole in the ground. The average hunter can subdue his prey and drive him into this hole with only three or four beatings. However, I find this very difficult because of the extremely peculiar reactions the golf has to being hunted. These strange little things, when being pursued, will endeavor to slither off into clumps of high weeds and lie completely silent until all the danger of a hunter nearby has passed. They have also been known to attempt self-burial in huge sand pits or to drown themselves in ponds. Some have even been known to climb trees to escape their pursuers. However, this wild stamina and determination to remain unconquered is what has drawn many men to hunt the golf. 8 The Green Caldron If on some dismal afternoon, you think that you might enjoy going out on a golf hunt, there are two places where the little white demons are quite abundant. One of these is just opposite the southeast corner of the stadium, and the other is out on Route 45, near Savoy. At heart every man is a hunter. That is why golf hunting is such a satis- fying hobby for the modern man. A Town Tnat Needs to Relax Jo Ann Davidson Rhetoric Placement Exam MY HOME TOWN, MONTICELLO, ILLINOIS, NEEDS TO relax and to enjoy life. The main problem in Monticello is over- organization. Although the population of the town is only two thousand five hundred, there are over thirty active civic organizations now functioning. Instead of bringing pleasure and recreation, as should be expected, this over-abundance of clubs brings only general chaos and dissatisfaction. Because there are so many worthwhile organizations that the people must give their time to, no one can give enough time to one certain job to do really well in it. The same small group of people rush from one activity to another, doing a little here, a little there. Monticelloans have their fingers in so many pies that they really get just a tiny taste of each of them. A solid citizen's weekly activity schedule would look something like this : Sunday — Church Officers' Meeting ; Monday^Community Club Dinner ; Tuesday — Downtown Sages Meeting ; Wednesday — Rotary Club ; Thursday — P. T. A. ; Friday — Chamber of Commerce Meeting ; Saturday — Masonic Lodge. And then, of course sandwiched in between all the very important regular meetings are the numerous committee meetings and special planning get-togethers. You will find in Monticello just about every club tliat exists: D. A. R., Woman's Club, Rotary, W. C. T. U., church organizations, Masons, Elks, Eastern Star, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, 4-H, three P. T. A.'s, Chamber of Commerce, Community Club, School Clubs, and Bar Association. The list could go on and on. But there is one very important group that Monticelloans have neglected to organize lately. That is the Family Group. Families in my home town just aren't as tightly knit as they should be. The reason for this can be traced directly to the over-exaggerated importance of clubs and organizations outside the home. Sometimes members of the family may not even see each other all day, except for the few minutes when everyone runs home for a bite to eat before running ofT again for a meeting. Life in Monticello has become all dash and no rest. The speed of living has I December, 1951 9 kept getting faster and faster until now things are whirring away at a mad rate. This fast way of Hfe is not good for peace of mind. Each person in Monticello needs to take mental stock of just what he is accomplishing. I believe the results would astound some of the organizers. They would see that all the trouble that arises in the work of clubs is because of lack of honest interest in the club. Too many people are "joiners" and not enough are "doers." I believe that if every Monticelloan would limit himself to two or three clubs, he would lead a much happier, more peaceful life. It's not good to be on the go all of the time. If one is constantly on the run trying to get too much done, he will end up getting nothing done. What's more, he will get no enjoyment out of life. My home town needs to organize a Family Club. The club should meet at least three evenings a week. All members of the club would have to be present to make the club work. The place of the meeting should be the home. The purpose of the club : To Help Monticello Relax. A Day I Will Rememter ToNi Hribal Rhetoric 101, Theme A THE ARENA IS FILLED TO CAPACITY BY THE TUMULTU- ous crowd as tense chatter and unsuppressed excitement dominate the scene. Upon a given signal the band strikes a chord and taciturnity reigns over the niultiude. The bullfight is about to begin, and once more the drama of life versus death is to be enacted before the audience. Two massive doors at the periphery of the arena are opened to permit the parade procession to pass forth. The constable of the event, mounted on a prancing steed, leads this procession while directly behind him, on foot, follow the matadors, picadors, and banderillos that comprise the cast in this barbaric display of skill. Attired in costumes of heavy metallic brocades and brilliant silks, they serve as an excellent illustration of the pomp and pageantry that is identified with bullfighting. Soft kid slippers, similar to those of a ballet dancer, serve as shoes and thus enable the torreo, or bullfighter, to master the gracefulness and agility that are so important in the arena. The small black cap cocked on the torreo's head scarcely belies the inner turmoil he must feel as he goes forth to meet Death's emissary. The procession advances to the box of the president of the correa, or bull- fight, the constable secures permission to begin the event, and the procession disappears once more behind the doors, accompanied by the strains of the primitive music. The silence is ominous. 10 The Green Caldron Then the torro, or bull, charges into the arena. He is a fierce beast of magnificent stature and his eager horns and savage hoofs match his anger. The picador, el torro's first opponent, rides into the arena, mounted on a heavily-padded horse. He endeavors to maneuver the bull into such a position as to use his long lance to lacerate the neck of the bull. His task accomplished, he retires from the arena, frequently minus his mount. The maddened bull is then faced by another opponent — the banderillo, who is on foot. This man's sole protection consists of the two long, barbed darts he holds in either hand, which he must plunge into the bull's neck. The banderillo's skill and survival depend entirely upon his agility. As the angered bull charges him, the banderillo jumps aside at the last possible moment and thrusts the barbs deep into the bull as he thunders by. He repeats this daring performance twice. The matador himself is next on the scene. Immaculately attired, he carries a pink cape with which to torment the bull. The bull charges viciously at the cape and the man, only to be confronted by empty space as the man steps gracefully aside from the enraged bull. The matador displays his perfected turns and veronicas to the applause of the crowd, the ovation increasing to match his daring. This contest nears its climax as the matador exchanges his pink cape for one the color of blood-red, thus signaling the audience of his intention to kill the bull. He carries a vnielta, or sword, beneath the cape and proceeds to entice the bull into charging him. As the bull races past, the matador thrusts his sword to the hilt into the bull's neck, attempting to strike the heart. If his thrust is perfect, the sword will pierce the bull's heart and kill him instantly. If not, the matador must try again. The matador is not always the victor, but death is never to be cheated as man and beast vie for superiority. The bullfight, with its primitive savagery, pomp and splendor, background color, and dangerous atmosphere, constitutes a day that I shall always remember. Sitting on the edge of the pier, I gazed in wonder at the sight that was unfolding before me. The sun, a glowing bronze spotlight, was passing over the trees, and a tensed, expectant audience was waiting for a show to begin. A slight breeze was blowing the cotton-candy clouds to the evening shadows. Suddenly, the breeze stopped. The spotlight went out. There was a mantled hush over everything. The main attraction was about to commence. Slowly, one by one, the stars like ballerinas flashed into the arena of the slcy. Each one did her own dance as she moved across the stage. Almost without warning, as if from nowhere, a prima ballerina appeared to do her dance of the night. She moved slowly, leaving a trail of silver in her path. She glided into the darkness only to emerge again more beautiful than ever. Slowly, the stage began to light up once again, and the prima ballerina faded from view as gracefully as she came. The show was over. Dawn had come. — Marlene KiMBARK, 102. J December, 1951 11 Japanese View^s on tne American Occupation in Japan Ryoso Sunobe Rhetoric 101, Theme 11 nTTTy HAT DO THE JAPANESE PEOPLE THINK OF THE \\/ American occupation?" is a question which has been frequently addressed to me since my arrival in the United States. The answer comprises various aspects and facts. My subject in this short paper, however, is confined to some critical views which are generally expressed among the Japanese people on the American occupation in Japan. It is to be noted in this connection that remarkable achievements, particularly social reforms in the feudalistic agricultural society, which have been attained only through the guidance and assistance of the occupation authorities, are being highly appreciated by the Japanese people. It is to be added consequently, for the sake of giving a correct picture of the Japanese feeling, that their critical views are always accompanied by expressions of appreciation for the occupa- tion authorities. No one would ever deny in Japan today that the personal relation between the occupation forces and the Japanese people has been maintained in a remarkably friendly manner. American GI's have shown excellent conduct. There are, of course, some exceptions such as drunkenness, wild driving, and a few cases of burglary. The exceptions, however, are amazingly few in number. I do not hesitate to state that the occupation forces have succeeded in establishing an unshakable sense of friendship among the Japanese people toward the Americans. In the course of these five years, the primary objective of the occupation has manifestly shifted from the initial one of destroying the militaristic Japan to the second one of constructing a politically and economically stabilized Japan. The occupation authorities have, on various occasions, revealed that the destruction of the militaristic and ultranationalistic regime in Japan has been completed. In its place, the "democratization," the revamping of practi- cally all aspects of the Japanese society along the democratic, or, to put it more siiecifically, the American line, is what is being pursued. The unanimous cooperation which the Japanese people extended to occupation authorities in the first stage of the occupation was largely a reflection of their disillusionment in their once glorious and seemingly trust- worthy national leaders and their government. Being disgusted with the suffocatingly rigorous regimentation and control by the war-time government 12 Tlie Green Caldron that failed to make good its promises in spite of the tremendous sacrifices on the part of the people, the Japanese were willing to cooperate with the occupation authorities in eliminating the militaristic and the ultranationalistic institutions and practices. As the second stage sets in, however, the Japanese people have become divided. As for the future course of Japan, they do not always concur with the recommendations and suggestions of the occupation authorities. To do away with the past is one thing; to plan for the future is another. The general feeling among the Japanese people regarding the American democratization policy is, in brief, that the democratic institutions and practices of the present American pattern are, in some respects, unworkable in Japan, although they agree in principle to the democratic way of living. Social and economic backgrounds are too different in both countries. This point, however, needs further elucidation. When the war ended, the Japanese people, utterly exhausted both physi- cally and morally and living in a completely dislocated society, looked forward, first of all, to the restoration of stability in their daily life. They had been aspiring for a principle which would replace the militaristic nationalism and, at the same time, which would tend to unite the worn-out country again as a coherently functioning unit. And what they got was the democracy as inter- preted in the light of the present prosperous United States. Personal freedom, individual rights, and other individual aspects of democracy were the keynote of the democracy as expounded by the occupation authorities. Democracy is, indeed, based upon the principle of individual liberty. At the same time, however, it calls undeniably, I believe, for faithful execution by each person of his responsibilities and duties to the whole society. Exces- sive stress on either one of the individual or the collective aspects of the democracy will bring about an unbalanced society. In a chaotic period, the latter aspect must be more emphasized than the former, because, otherwise, the society cannot maintain the minimum basis of a society worth the name. The Japanese people, supplied with the individualistic version of the democracy and lacking sufficient background to assimilate it in its entirety within a short period of time, talked only about their egoistic rights, indulged in the pursuit of their selfish happiness, and forgot about their duties, responsibilities, and sacrifices due to the other people. The transitory chaos is subsiding now. But some Japanese still wonder whether the democracy of the American pattern as it is now is necessarily the only way for the Japanese people to attain the ideal society where individual liberty is well balanced with each person's consciousness of his duties to the whole society. Financial difficulty involved in putting the democratization plan into practice is another problem. The occupation authorities, it sometimes seems to the Japanese people, have unwisely shown too much haste in introducing the current American institutions into Japan all at one time. Essential December, 1951 13 reforms, the Japanese people certainly understand, must be carried out by all means. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the post-war financial chaos has been further aggravated by some revampings which were apparently incon- sequential, which could have been postponed, or which exceeded the depleted financial resources of the Japanese communities. Too hasty overdosing of democracy, it is sincerely feared, might result in wearied resignation on the part of the Japanese people that the democratic society is, after all, utterly out of their reach financially, an outcome just contrary to the expectation. Skepticism of the Japanese people, particularly among tlie educated people, over the economic free-competition principle advocated by the occupa- tion authorities is another point to be referred to here. Rightly or wrongly, the principle is considered to be outmoded and does not appeal to them. It connotes to them something which neglects mercilessly the interests of the social underdogs to the advantage of the well-to-do class. The American free competition is certainly not the laissez-faire of the nineteenth century pattern. The advantage of free competition is obviously enormous, too. It must not be forgotten, however, that, under the prevailing economic situations in Japan, any loser in the competition is literally doomed to be starved to death. Economic planning to a much wider extent than in the United States is primarily essential in Japan for no other reason than for the sake of main- taining the minimum degree of social justice. The urgent necessity to accumulate capital out of the current low national income makes it impera- tive to manage the national economy under a comprehensive planning. The impact of the free-competition principle upon the restoration of well- balanced world trade is another subject of concern among the Japanese people, whose economic rehabilitation is predominantly dependent upon the prosperity of their foreign trade. The post-war world has disclosed complete disintegra- tion of the pre-war world trade pattern. Soviet Russia and her satellites have secluded themselves behind the iron curtain. Western European countries are intensifying the trade rivalry among themselves as their national economies recover. Asiatic nations are still involved in political and economic recovery. American advanced industrial and agricultural productivity far exceeds that in other countries. How can the world be organized again into a unit which would trade with mutual profit as in the former years? Would the free competition principle alone be sufficient to deal with the situations ? Could it not be that a certain degree of economic planning on the world scale is the only way to bring about the equilibrium of world trade ? This is what the Japanese people earnestly want to know for the sake of a stable economic future. The criticisms of the occupation policy, should they be constructive, are, I believe, far from being inimical to the interests of the occupying country. Under the prolonged occupation, however, the critical attitude easily turns to a bitter feeling toward the occupation. The occupational control over Japan has lately been markedly eased. Nevertheless, the occupation is the occupation, whose policy stands above the public criticism and attack by the Japanese 14 The Green Caldron people. Irreparable discontent tends to brew cynicism and turns into passive resistance which will easily be taken advantage of by radical demagogues. In this connection, a remark should be made regarding the administrative caliber of the occupation officers in the lower echelons. Those on the policy- making level are certainly all men of experience and knowledge. It is, however, the working-level officers who give directions and make suggestions to the Japanese government in daily execution of the occupation policy. They have, in fact, tremendous authority in determining the course of Japan in the future. Most of them are experts in a line of business. But not all of them are. Some of them are apparently only insufficiently qualified to give guidance to the Japanese people in the second, constructive stage of the occupation. No one questions their sincerity. But their strenuous efforts, it must be observed, have sometimes resulted in alienating the Japanese people in spite of, or perhaps because of, their hearty sincerity and good intention to re-educate the Japanese people. Should the choice be between the United States and Soviet Russia, the Japanese people are willing, I am confident, to stand on the American side. A majority of them feel antagonistic to Soviet Russia, which, it seems, is shrouded in something enigmatic. The Russian failure to account for the Japanese prisoners of war, exceeding 300,000 not yet repatriated from that country, has definitely alienated the Japanese people from the Russian cause, except for a handful of the Communists. The Japanese people are also con- vinced that, in view of the American industrial potentials, the United States would emerge victorious in case of a fight with Soviet Russia. The main reason, however, that they believe in the American cause is that the American democratic principle would permit Japan to follow the course which the Japanese people would choose by themselves. They have expected and still expect that by siding with the United States, they can recover their political freedom, both domestic and international, within a shorter period and to a wider extent. Permitted to act freely, they do not intend, I believe, to deviate from the democratic line. They are also aware that allied political supervision must continue after the conclusion of the peace treaty. They realize, too, that the establishment of American military bases in Japan is necessary for their own safety as well as unavoidable because of the prevailing international tension. They want, however, to restore the basic freedom to work out their own future with their own hands. Rearmament of Japan is causing deep concern among the Japanese people. Being under the military occupation, however, the Japanese people have no final voice in deciding the problem. All policy decisions come ultimately from the occupation authorities. The problem of rearmament, though critical to the Japanese people, is, to put it in a cynical way, other countries' business, not theirs. Their lukewarm attitude toward the rearmament, in spite of their knowledge of the unpropitious development of events in their neighboring area, December, 1951 15 is partly due to their earnest, if naive, desire to remain neutral, but primarily attributable to their apprehension that the rearmament, if not accompanied with full recovery of their political freedom, might be utilized only for the purpose of picking chestnuts out of the fire for the interests of other countries. Restoration of the peace as expeditiously as possible, even excluding Soviet Russia and her followers, was, I am convinced, the only way to deter the Japanese people from falling into cynical apathy. Let them have their free- hand both internally and diplomatically ! They will prove themselves to be an active and enthusiastic member on the democratic front in the world alignment today. Don't OutlaTv^ trie Communists Jennis Bapst Rhetoric 102, Theme A L\ST JULY, SOON AFTER THE SUPREME COURT HANDED , down its decision to uphold the conviction of eleven prominent com- munists under the Smith Act. Ernest K. Lindley, chief of News^veek's Washington bureau, in an interview with Attorney General J. Howard McGrath, asked bluntly how far the Justice Department intended to extend its prosecutions under the Smith Act. Mr. McGrath answered, "We do not intend to tip our hand. We have already obtained indictments against twenty- one communists in the so-called 'second echelon.' We will prosecute others who continue to carry on the conspiracy." Legally this was the conspiracy to teach the violent overthrow of the government, but actually, as Mr. McGrath indicated in that same inters'iew, the conspiracy in question was the Communist party. Mr. McGrath's last statement in that interview, "We will prosecute others who continue to carry on the conspiracy," reflects the view of many people, congressmen, and state legislators on how to meet the Communist threat in the United States. Ask the man on the street. He will tell you that the only way to get rid of communism is to lock up or to deport all communists. Look at the bills which have been and are being offered in Congress and in state legislatures : the Mundt-Ferguson Anti-subversive Bill, the McCarran Bill, Maryland's Ober Law, and the Illinois Broyles Bill. All of these are directed toward virtually outlawing the Communist Party. But is this the only way to combat communism, and, more important, is it the most effective way? Let us see. The main objection which democratic people hold against communism is its subjugation of the individual to the state with the attendant loss of freedom 16 The Green Caldron of thought, speech, and action. Democracy advocates the subjugation of the state to the individual, thus leaving thought, speech, and action free. Inherent and basic in the democratic ideals is the right of the individual to his own opinion and his right to publish and speak that opinion. Take the case of a political dissenter in Russia as compared with a similar one in the United States. In Russia any individual who speaks against the state is immediately arrested and imprisoned as an enemy of the state, but in the United States such a dissenter should be allowed to speak and to publish his opinions. By out- lawing the Communist party we are in effect limiting the freedom of all communists. Therefore, we are hypocritically destroying one of the basic precepts of democracy. Moreover, the Communist party gains more than it loses by being out- lawed. First, it gains two fine propaganda points. It can maintain, as has been pointed out, that democracy is hypocritical and must violate one of its basic precepts in order to defend itself against communism. Also, it may maintain that democracy is unable to meet criticism in order to stand. Second, communism gains a unity and a certain kind of glamour from being secret and underground. Third, from the fact that communism is outlawed, the people of the nation are lulled into a false sense of security. For example, if a group of outlawed communists went into a certain district and began their teachings, naturally they would be arrested. But since they would work secretly, it would be a time before they were discovered. In that time they could have converted many people into communists. If they were then arrested, they would appear as martyrs in the eyes of the converts. Moreover, no further effort would be made to refute the arguments of communism, for official opinion would consider the matter closed when the conviction was made. Thus, the converts would remain communists. What then shall we do to meet the communist threat? Shall we let the communists run free ? Yes, let them go free to publish their doctrines ; then let us refute them and prove them wrong. Let them make their promises ; then let us show that democracy has realized already the promises of com- munism. Let them hurl their accusations against democracy ; then let us answer them and hurl back their accusations. John Stuart Mill in his essay "On the Liberty of Thought and Discussion" aptly proved that an opinion is only as true as its ability to withstand all attacks made upon it. Let us, therefore, show to the people of the LTnited States and to the world the truth of the way of democracy by proving its ability to withstand any attack, com- munistic or otherwise, not by trying to stifle these attacks. Finally, let us heed the words of Illinois" Governor Adlai Stevenson as he said in his veto of the Broyles Bill, "We must fight traitors with laws. We already have the laws. We must fight falsehood and evil ideas with truth and better ideas. We have them in plenty. But we must not confuse the two." December, 1951 17 Registration, Snort Order Emily Brown Rhetoric 101, Theme A EACH SEMESTER DURING REGISTRATION THE STU- dents of the University of Illinois undergo an ordeal similar to that of the bread lines in England, 1945. The proceedings take place in the University Library, where a prospective student stands in a seemingly endless line, shifting his weight from a tired left foot to a tired right foot to some other tired foot behind him. When he finally reaches the head of the line, a registration clerk bobs up and gaily posts the neatly-lettered sign, ALL SECTIONS CLOSED. Hence, the footwork begins all over again. This experience is enough to make any average freshman wake up shrieking and clutching at the bedsheet; and after several years of torture, the idiot senior shufifles mechanically from line to line muttering to himself and folding his IBM cards into little squares. But to the rebellious youth who refuses to submit to this semi-annual humiliation, I say, "Rise up ! And square your shoulders ! And stride to battle like 'Childe Roland about to fight the Paynim !' " I have toyed with several ideas on how to "beat" the lines at registration. First of all, the direct and honest approach is simplest. If confronted by a particular line of staggering length, be nonchalant. With a polite, yet firm "Pardon me, please," step directly in front of the very first person in the line, present your cards to the clerk, tell him what section you want, pick up your class card, and walk away. However, this method takes a tremendous amount of courage and is recommended only for those who are made of strong "stuff." In my second plan of making quick work of registration, the object is to keep up a steady flow, or even onrush, of conversation. Pretending to recog- nize the stranger standing second in line, rush up to him and with a hearty clap on the back engage him in a conversation that might sound something like this : "Well, say ! Hello there." "What? Oh-hello." "Gad, it's good to see you. I just said to myself. No, it can't be! But it is. It is. How've you been, kiddo?" "Uh, er, fine, I guess." "Great, great ! Listen, try to guess this one. Why couldn't the animals play cards on the Ark ?" "Look here ! I don't think I know y — " "Of course you don't know. Because Noah was sitting on the deck. Haw ! Good, huh?" "Listen—" 18 The Green Caldron "Yeh, listen. Here's a corker. Who was the greatest actor in the Bible? I'll tell you. It was Samson. He brought down the house !" By this time, the person ahead of you is gone, and it is time for you to direct your full attention to the registration clerk. There is no need to worry about meeting your indignant "friend" in class ; you will be neatly side-stepped the very first day. A third method of "getting up" in a line is by pretending to be a registra- tion clerk. By simple manipulation accompanied by appropriate remarks such as, "This section is closed from here on," or "The clerk over there will take care of you," the lines can be juggled about effectively. For instance, in lines A and B, move half of line A over to an empty space along the desk. Then move half of line B into the space left by Line A. By the time the others figure out what happened, you will be registered and on your way. Lastly, a radical way of clearing the lines is by dashing about the library, arms flailing, and shouting, "Help ! Fire ! Fire !" No doubt the building will be almost instantly cleared, save for a few trampled bodies in the doorways; but there is also the probability that the registration clerks would be among the first to "leg" it for the nearest exit. Of course, the only "sure-fire" answer to the question, "How can I beat the lines at registration ?" is "Get a job ; don't go to college !" Come, Live Here Eleanor J. Bunting Rhetoric 102, Theme 4 MAGNOLIA, ILLINOIS, ALTHOUGH IT HAS A POPULATION of only 350, is the "best little village in the world." Magnolia has one church (sparsely populated even on Sundays) and four taverns (densely populated even on Sundays). But the greatest amusement for the inhabitants of Magnolia comes from observing their fellow inhabitants. Let's walk down main street and see who is in town today. Why, here comes Antone Brown. You remember my telling you about him. What did you say? Oh, yes, he is rather heavy. On his birthday he drinks a bottle of beer for every one of his seventy-three years. There goes Dawson Hill, the town liar. He just came home from the hospital. He had to have an operation on his neck. His neck had been hurt- ing him, so he took a knife and cut out the part that bothered him. No, he isn't very good looking, is he? Why yes, as a matter of fact, he has been married — seven times. Once he was sent to the state penal farm for bigamy. He was almost married eight times, but that time, after the arrangements were all made for the wedding, he sent his brother to bring his future bride to the December, 1951 19 ceremony. On the way to the cliurcli, she decided to elope with the groom's brother, and Dawson never saw her again. Yes, Dawson has quite a reputa- tion for his tales, too. He claims that he has a copy of the Declaration of Independence which Lincoln WTOte on the train to Gettysburg. That man across the street is Bert Miller, the town villain. He and his wife separated many years ago. He wants a divorce so that he can marry another woman, but his wife won't give him one. If he tries to sue for divorce, she has some papers w^hich he once forged with her name, and she can bring charges against him for that. Here comes Bess Williams. She is the most religious woman in the town. She is so religious that she won't even let sinners come into our church. Once the preacher's wife invited an ill-famed woman to come to church. The woman attended the services the next Sunday. Bess said that if she came again, they might as well never expect Bess to come back. We're lucky to have Bess. Not many communities can boast of having a woman that concerned over her church. On our way back we mustn't forget to stop in to see Mr. Starck, the principal of our high school. He is known all over our county for his timely sayings. Once a mother was complaining to him about a grade which was given to her son. "I don't think my boy deserves an F," she protested. Mr. Starck quickly replied, "I don't think your boy deserves an F either, but that's the lowest we give." No, Magnolia may not have much in the way of professional entertain- ment. We have no theaters, no skating rinks, no swimming pools. But for genuine characters, our town breaks all records. For actual entertainment, there's no place like a home-town. One of Tke M Jeanne M. Ecklund Rhetoric 101, Theme 4 en IN THE DAYS SINCE WORLD WAR II, THE TERM PARA- plegia is understood by the laity as well as by the medical profession. By definition, a paraplegic is a person who has incurred paralysis of both lower extremities usually through injury to the spinal cord. Probably the greatest publicity given these people was Stanley Kramer's recent movie, Tlie Men, which portrays the story of paraplegic patients at the Veterans' Hospital at Birmingham, California. I know well over two hundred of these patients through my experience as a nurse at the Veterans' Administration Hospital, Hines, Illinois, but Stanley Roberts is the one who is most outstanding in my memory. He is one of the two in this entire group who have learned to walk again, although neither 20 The Green Caldron one has had return of normal function through repair of the injured nerves. Mr. Roberts has a striking appearance as he strides down the hall in a four-point gait by means of bilateral leg braces and Canadian crutches. He is a tall young man, only twenty-nine, but he often appears older because of the fatigue caused by the great effort in walking in using only his arm and shoulder muscles to lift the weight of his body. Although he is not particularly hand- some, his smile-wrinkled face, brown wavy hair, and mustache typify his character and personality. These physical characteristics show his good and yet determined nature. Since he is from ' a relatively poor Chicago family, Mr. Roberts had to assume a great deal of responsibility during early life because of the illness of his father. Even though he was employed after classes, his high school scholastic record earned a University of Illinois scholarship for him. In three semesters' work, he accumulated two years' credit toward a degree in mechanical engineering. However, his educational career was interrupted by army service during World War II. In the infantry Sergeant Roberts led his squad in Germany until in early April, 1945, when he was wounded for the third time. His final injury con- sisted of several pieces of shrapnel striking all over his body with one severing the spinal cord above the waist and another causing the removal of one kidney. During the following years of convalescence and rehabilitation in both army and veterans' hospitals, Mr. Roberts' refusal to accept defeat has driven him to achievements acquired by very few with his handicap. This is truly exemplified by his desire and, later, by his ability to walk. He was so persistent in this desire that he would not go home on leave from the Army hospital until he could walk, and, to this day, his family has not seen him in a wheelchair. After discharge from the hospital, he drove to California to attend the University of California at Los Angeles, where he was again an "A" student, but he was forced to leave after one year because of a recurrent complicating illness. This return to the hospital and a consequent loss of over a year in time have not discouraged Mr. Roberts, but to some extent they have helped him finally to realize that he must exercise some caution in regard to endurance and activity. Typical of his nature is his interest in other people and a desire to help them. He often aids in the rehabilitation of the more recently injured patients, especially by raising their hopes and ambitions toward walking again. His mental attitude and cheerfulness contagiously lift the morale of the entire ward, and patients and nurses who know him have great respect and admira- tion for Stanley Roberts. His most immediate plans are to obtain a new home for his aged parents, to finish his own education, and eventually to teach. Without his handicap, Mr. Roberts would probably have been a very successful person by this time. However, knowing him quite well, I feel that with his determination and pride in self-achievement, Stanley Roberts, one of The Men, will continue his drive toward his ultimate goal. 1 December, 1951 21 Wit and H, umor Arlie Fender Rhetoric 101, Theme 8 THE DICTIONARY TELLS US THAT WIT IS DERIVED FROM the Anglo-Saxon word of the same spelling. In its obsolete and archaic forms wit was used in the general sense to mean "activity of mind or intellectual power." Even if it is virtually out of use today this definition provides the base from which the word has expanded. When we say a person has lost his wits, we mean he has lost his power of mind, his reasoning, and his sense. A person in a sane condition is sometimes spoken of as having wits, meaning that he has a certain state of balance and soundness. Another definition tells us that wit may mean practical good judgment and wisdom. Wit and wisdom are not related enough to merit wide acceptance of this definition. Wisdom is calm, composed, and sober ; wit is quick, sharp, and laughable. Wisdom is the serene sea ; wit is the gurgling mountain stream, plunging over a jagged waterfall. The most popular definition of wit is "mental alertness, especially the capacity for humorous expression." This expression often takes the form of association between words and ideas distantly related so as to produce a comical effect. An unexpected turn is often the course of wit. Wit is helpless without ingenuity on the part of the receptor. Wit must be received swiftly without deep thought. Thought kills wit. Finally, as a noun referring to the animate, the word means "anyone who is apt in the expression of felicitous ideas." The growth of wit has been by specialization from any intellectual power to a certain ability to arouse humor by the use of clever, sharp, and often bitter expressions. The word humor is an exact duplication of the Latin noun humor meaning a moisture or fluid. In old physiology, humor was a "fluid or juice, especially one of the four fluids — blood, lymph, yellow and black bile — conceived as determining a person's health and temperament." Therefore, to ancient eyes, humor was one's disposition, state of mind, or mood. Since the mind is in a state of constant flux and uncertainty, the word came to mean a "whim or fancy." To many men fancy suggests the absurd and ridiculous. A fanciful person has one root on earth and the other dangling in space ; hence he may seem humorous to the realist. Humor may signify a certain instability that is to be pitied. A fanciful person often can be intolerable. The most popular definition of humor today is "a quality that appeals to the sense of the ludicrous or absurdly incongruous." In other words, humor is laughable and amusing, but often ridiculous. Wit and humor have several common usages. Both are expressions of a mental faculty. Both arouse sharp interest. Both provoke amusement. At this point the connotations tend to differ. There are suggestions in the pro- 22 The Green Caldron nunciations of the words. The pronunciation of wit is sharp and unhesitant like the thrust of a dagger. The pronunciation of humor is more prolonged and drawn out like the efifects of sweet wine. Wit suggests swiftness ; humor suggests a laughable steadiness. Wit is the flight of the swallow, humor that of a crow. Wit is the language of the jester while humor is the expression of the clown. Wit runs ; humor walks. Humor implies human kindness and sympathy. Wit has the suggestion of bitterness and disregard for the feelings. Wit is a purely mental product, free from love, generosity, and warmth. Wit is a sudden flash ; humor, a steady glow. Love is the only thing that separates wit from humor. Without love, wit and humor would be indistinguishable. Slioula trie Anti -Vivisection La^v Be Passed? Mary Shinn Rhetoric 102, Theme 5 MEDICINE FOR MANY THOUSANDS OF YEARS WAS LOST in the dark chasms of the unknown. The human body was thought to be composed of four elements or humors : blood, lymph, and black and yellow bile, simply because these or their imagined efifects were disclosed when some poor creature suffered from a disease or wound. All cures were based upon these humors. Such dreadful practices as bleeding or leeching were imposed upon the patients. Little or no advance was made in medicine. All work was based upon theory. Nothing was known about the human body ; its parts and their functions were purely guess work. No living body was allowed to be examined without the consent of the immediate family. Because of this unfortunate practice, operations were performed by guess work and nearly always proved fatal. The practice of vivisectioning or the use of living bodies for experimenta- tion then came into use. By the use of animals, scientists were able to discover previous unknown functions and compositions of the human body. These animals used for research were given the very best of care. They were fed exceptionally well and were kept in clean living quarters. They were operated on only under the most sterile conditions. The operation instruments and rooms were the same as those used for human patients. Each animal was carefully anaesthetized. They could not feel even the most intense pain. After experimentation, those animals that were in good condition were allowed to live. They were given the very best of homes. Those that were not fit to maintain a normal life were quickly put to death. December, 1951 23 The animals used in these experiments were those that were in pounds or those that no one wanted. As they would be put to death anyway, is it not better that they should be used to lessen the sufferings of human beings ? Through the use of vivisection, medicine advanced rapidly. When the part of the body affected by a disease was discovered, a cure could be more quickly found. Without vivisection medicine would still be in the dark ages. People would still be depending on medicine men to chant away the devils from their souls. Now into influential positions in the world are creeping a vast number of men and women who wish to retard medicine. They call themselves anti- vivisectionists. "Humane treatment for animals" is their motto. "No more useless and merciless killing of our domestic pets," they contend. These anti-vivisectionists would like to do away with all experimentation on live animals. They believe that medicine has reached its peak; nothing more can be gained by butchering helpless animals. Medical students obtain some of their operating technique through ex- periments on live animals. Perhaps some anti-vivisectionist would like to become the first patient of a student who has no idea about the human body except what has come out of a text book. Perhaps, instead of a poor, defense- less dog, he would like to offer his body to be used for research. Since the anti-vivisectionists have begun their campaign, the mechanical heart has been discovered. Through the study of the mechanics of animal hearts, this great saver of human lives has been developed. Can anyone claim that it is useless or merciless ? Anti-vivisectionists should not and must not come into power if this human race is to continue progressing. All the years of progress can suddenly end by the stroke of the pen. No more would medicine advance, if anti- vivisectionists are allowed to pass their law. When I was in elementary school, I delighted in hiking down the rail- road track that makes its way through my hometown. There would usually be three of us, balancing hesitantly across the well-tarred railroad ties as we wandered on farther and farther away from the small village. An occasional snake slithered across our never-ending trail, and a bewildered weasel or muskrat scurried out of the way of our eager little troupe. We paused now and then to feast on the delicious wild strawberries growing along the steep siding or to gather purple tipped stalks of asparagus there. We were intrigued by the dainty Indian beads and other sparkling bits of stone our meager excavations revealed. Hutcheson's pond created a mild sensation, too, as we meandered by. We amused ourselves by teasing the white-faced cattle that were wading or standing idly in the depths of its cool water and oozing mud in search of refreshment from the blistering heat of the noonday. As for our destination, we didn't have any in particular, except maybe the well-filled cemetery which provided the necessary atmosphere for our lunch if nothing else. In case we were overtaken by boredom, we could always hurdle tombstones or scale the walls of the ivy-covered mausoleum. — Camille KiRCHNER, 101 24 The Green Caldron Rket as Writ General McArthur was posthumourously awarded the Medal of Honor, then he went to the Philippines. In order to be of the marring kind, I believe, a man has to be born with the love of children and the opposite sex in him. * * * The girl I marry will have to have a broad and balanced background. * * * He was faced with the situation of becoming a father. This problem grew and grew. If the White Sox continue to play such good ball, the Cubs will have to take a hind seat in the fan's eye. * * * When I was in the sixth grade, my Mother decided that it was time for me to become a more wordly woman. More than ever before in the history of our world we need a capable leader to guide our way from the terrible war, which might be just around the coroner. * * * An hour passed and all was quiet except for the munching of the cookies. * * * It is more honorable to teach school than to make money. He (Keats) was very sickly and died at an early age. These factors greatly curtailed his writing. ^ ^ ^ We must tell the girl friend how nice she looks tonight when we all know she stinks. Honorable Mention Wendell Abern — Casey's Comeback David Behrend — Death and Burial Robert A. Berkovits — What Political Liberty Means to Me Helen Broome — The Most Remarkable Person I've Ever Known Fred Cooper — And In the Darkness Lay Marlene Kimbark — Should the U. S. Adopt a System of Socialized Medicine? Ronald Lambert — Bless His Soul Walter L. Stylet — The Proldem of Slums The Contributors J?. Larry Slanker — Greenville, Michigan Corliss E. Phillabaum — Forty Fort, Pennsylvania Leonard Zapinski — Fenwick Leona Robbins — Washington Irving, N. Y. Thomas N. Harvey — Paris Hugh Davison — University High Jo Ann Davidson — Montieello Tont Hribal — Kirkwood Ryoso Sunobe — Tokyo Imperial University Jennis Bapst — Morton Emily Brown — Urbana Eleanor J. Bunting — Magnolia-Swaney Jeanne M. Ecklund — Parker Artie Fender — North Clav HE 6reen Caldron A Magazine of Freshmon Writing •k CONTENTS - Margot Tibbits: An Inquiry Into Quaker Pacifism 1 Contributors 10 Joe Corbett: The Pickwick Papers 11 Kenneth Rose: The Ministry of Fear 12 Mary Ellen Young: Red 14 v'Davida Solomon: The University of Illinois — Unbiased, Favor- able, and Unfavorable Versions 15 (. Dich Bickerton: Home Town 16 David Comings: Bird Migration 18 > Sandra Romanoff: The Shell Parrakeet as a Pet 20 1 . Nancy Wilkison: Buttons in the Spotlight 22 Virginia McManus: Freckles — A Character Sketch of a Dog . . 24 Frank Battuello: Mining Man 25 /. Ward Knapp: The Gamblers 26 Alma Boston: The Jim House 27 Rhet as Writ 28 Vol. 21 , No. 3 MARCH, 1 952 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the Rhetoric Staff at the University of lUinois. Material is chosen from themes and examinations written by freshmen in the Uni- versity. Permission to pubHsh 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 Maurice Crane^ Frank Moake, Iris Mueller, Benjamin Sokoloff, Robert Stevens, Harris Wilson, and George Conkin, Chairman. THE GREEN CALDRON Copyrighted 1952 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. An Inquiry Into Quaker Pacirism Margot Tibbits Rhetoric 102, Theme 9 I. Who Are the Quakers? THE BELIEF IN THE "INNER LIGHT," OR THAT OF GOD IN every man, is the chief characteristic of the religious Society of Friends (Quakers). Quaker children are taken to Meeting and taught to sit quietly in the midst of the silent prayerful waiting which is characteristic of Quaker worship. In the intense stillness of Meeting, children may think their own thoughts, count windowpanes, study the serene face of one of the ministers or elders seated on the slightly elevated facing bench, or watch some other child. How- ever he passes the time, a child cannot help but at some time be sensitized and wonder what God is and what his life should be. Learning to sit quietly and catch the sense of expectancy in those about him, produces in many people a tenderness and sensitiveness to inward need, to the scruples of conscience, and to a way of opening one's heart to God. George Fox, motivating force in the movement which became the religious Society of Friends; Robert Barclay, theologian; William Penn, governor of the Quaker settlement in Pennsylvania ; and John Woolman, energetic American Quaker who showed great sympathy for the oppressed negroes and Indians, are only four of the many early Quakers who made real contri- butions to their faith and civilization. For a much more detailed account of the religious Society of Friends the reader is referred to Russell's The History of Quakerism. II. What Do Friends Believe? The Light within is not conscience but rather that which shines into conscience. Conscience is influenced by training and environ- ment as well as by the Light. For this reason it may reveal one way of behaving to one person and another way to another person. The individual must therefore educate and enlighten his conscience by sensitizing himself to the Light of Truth in his soul. This process of sensitizing conscience takes place most thoroughly in a meeting for worship. . . . Because clearer and clearer knowledge may be progressively attained as the virtue of obedience grows, Friends have never declared any doctrine to be a final and unalterable creed. ^ George Fox and his co-workers had no system of theology, but the next generation gave theological expression to Quakerism. Penn, Barclay, and others had a Calvinist background but were more optimistic as to the purposes ' Howard H. Brinton, The Peace Testimony of the Society of Friends (American Friends Service CommiUee, n. d.), p. 6. [II 2 The Green Caldron of God and man. Calvinist ideas of the power of the devil and hopelessness of man were replaced by a conception of a God of redeeming love, who did not hold men guilty for an ancestor's sin. Their faith in divine power was faith in the efficacy of the spiritual forces of truth, righteousness, justice, good- will, and love. Because of this faith and because they believe that an evil cannot be overcome by an evil, Quakers would not resort to physical force even to try to promote good causes. The highest religious authority for belief and conduct of Quakers is within the individual rather than the force of an institution, person, or book.^ The underlying belief of the Society of Friends is that if men seek first to know God's will and the companionship of His spirit, the Light of Christ within will give an immediate sense of His presence and a revelation of His will. Naturally, God's revelation varies according to man's capacity to receive it and the eagerness with which it is sought. Proof to the Quaker of the fact that it is one and the same Spirit which speaks to every man and that there is a "Seed of God" in every man is the general harmony of these various revelations and the same direction in which they tend.^ Friends believe that worship is not a matter of time, place or form, but of a worshiping spirit. The Quaker ministry is essentially a lay ministry open to anyone and exercised as the "Inner Light" moves.^ As this "Inner Light" is an experience rather than a theological idea to Friends, they do not give it an exact theological definition. One meaning of it stands for a God knowable to and within men. This indicates that communion with God cannot be restricted to times or places, nor limited to the mediation of a priestly class nor to a particular ritual nor to sacramental objects. God is a spirit and the only essential condition for communion with him is a true or right spirit. In the seventeenth century, when Quakerism began, this was considered a radical and heretical attitude as church buildings were supposed to be holy ground and the only place where public worship could be performed ; special days were holy days, and the church, priests, and sacraments provided necessary mediation between God and man. Friends do not deny that God can be worshiped by such aids, but they believe that the only way to prove that religious life is possible without these aids is to discontinue using them. A second meaning of the "Inner Light" is the capacity in all men to per- ceive, recognize, and respond to God's truth, love, and will. As everyone has access to God, everyone is potentially a child of God and of equal value in His sight. This Quaker belief contradicts the Calvinist teaching of human de- pravity resulting from the Fall and denies that only God's chosen few had 2 Elbert Russell, The History of Quakerism (New York, Mactnillan Company, 1942), p. 47. 3 G. W. Knowles, Quakers and Peace (London, Sweet & Ma.xwell, Limited. 1927), p. 2. * Russell, p. 56. March, 1952 3 "prevenient grace." The Friends' belief became the basis of a complete democracy as well as of a universal philanthropy. The "Inner Light" also means that salvation is a state of continuous living by the Spirit rather than an isolated experience of "conversion" or a future judicial "justification." ^ The Quaker idea of God is that of a living spiritual presence revealed within the soul. God and man are related as their spiritual frontiers are con- tinuous and undivided. There is something of man that is not of dust, earth, flesh, or time, but of God, and this belief gave George Fox a sense of the worth and preciousness of every man.° Albert Schweitzer is an example of a non-Quaker's reverence for life. It is so deep that he will not snip the head off a daisy with his cane as he walks through the field, and he has argued this idea at great lengths in his ethical writings.' John Woolman states it all in one sentence : As the mind was moved by an inward principle to love God as an in- visible comprehensible being, so by the same principle it was moved to love Him in all His manifestations in the visible world ; as by His breath, the flame of life, was kindled in all animal sensible crea- tures, to say we love God as unseen and at the same time to practice cruelty toward the least creature moving by His life, or by life derived from Him was a contradiction in His life.* Friends regard the Bible as the record of men inspired by the Spirit of Christ, but revelation is not ended by it or confined to it. The Bible is a means of testing religious beliefs and experience and a supposed revelation which does not agree with the teachings of the Bible is to be suspected of error.^ Friends can rely upon the "Inner Light" for final authority of interpreting the Bible, so are not bound to an interpretation which violates their sense of God and duty.'" In spite of these qualifying interpretations. Friends do not feel they may interpret the New Testament to mean the exact opposite of what it says. As the whole meaning and spirit of Christ's teaching calls men away from an at- mosphere of hatred and fear to one of love and a harmonious will, "Love your enemies" cannot possibly mean "Hate your enemies, slay their men, starve their families, and destroy their possessions." ^^ 5 Ibid., p. 49. * Rufus M. Jones, "Introduction," George Fox, Journal (London, J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1924), p. xi. ' Douglas V. Steere, Doors Into Life (New York, Harper & Brothers, 1948), p. 95. 8 Ibid., p. 95. » Russell, p. S3. 10 Ibid., p. 54. •' John W. Graham, The Faith of a Quaker (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press 1920), p. 328. 4 The Green Caldron Religion for Friends is not something apart from life and business, but the whole of life and a way of life. Like breathing or digestion, it is something that one does and is, and is concerned more with the present than with another world after death. Friends believe it is important to maintain principles of simplicity, moderation, and sincerity. Early Friends found it helpful to observe certain peculiarities of dress, speech, and recreation in order to uphold their faith. Among those things which Barclay says are unlawful for Quakers are such flattering titles as Your Majesty ; kneeling, bowing, or doffing the hat to a man ; apparel worn only for vanity ; games, sports, plays ; swearing vainly or before a magistrate ; and to "resist Evil, or to War or Fight in any Case." ^- Modern Quakers do not find some of these practices helpful in strengthening the spirit and so do not observe them. III. Pacifism on General Principles It is when an institution no longer appears necessary that fan- tastic reasons are sought or invented for satisfying the instinctive prejudice in its favor, which its long persistence has created. It is just the same with the sport of the hunter ; you will find its most elab- orate defense in very recent literature, precisely because what is now challenged was at an earlier period taken for granted." Deep in our hearts we share a faith in the value of the personality of every individual, and a conviction that for life to be real and vital it should be carried forward in non-violent active love. We feel com- mitted to non-violence as the way and seek to develop non-violent techniques for resolving conflicts and resisting violence, tyranny, or possible invasion.^'' History shows only too clearly that being wounded and seeing friends die does not discourage the ideas and sentiments of a group. Christianity grew because of persecution, and in our own day we see the fanatic zeal with which democracy is defended against equally sincere Communists. Has the long series of wars between France and Germany over their boundary settled the problem of ownership? Will Russia abandon the desire for a warm water port, necessary for her economy, just because in the past five wars she failed? Even if it is admitted that wars have to some extent protected the innocent and punished the guilty, they have done so at such a great cost of suffering and death to entirely innocent people that one might question the efficacy of war as a means of rendering justice.^^ Peace treaties which end wars are generally acknowledged as merely a truce until both sides can rearm and plan their strategy. Based on a principle of 12 Robert Barclay, Af'ology for the True Christian Divinity (London, T. Sowie Raylton & Luke Hinde, 1736), p. 514. 13 Albert V. Fowler, War and Civilization (New York, Oxford University Press, 1950), p. 17. ""News from a Boston Cell," The Tcaccmaker, I (April 25, 1950), 7. 1^ Knowles, p. 8. March, 1952 5 toleration and understanding which only idealists put faith in, an armistice is a farce to most people who are not farsighted enough to see the importance of sympathy and understanding. Based on "Disillusionment, Apprehension, and Cynicism, instead of Faith, Hope, and Charity," peace agreements fail because there is no health in them.'" Toleration which does not spring from Faith does not succeed. Peaceful means of settling disputes have succeeded where they have been accompanied by an honest effort to understand and sympathize with the oppos- ing side. Gandhi's success in India, the work of the United Nations in trouble spots of the world, and the peaceful life of the Quakers in Pennsylvania testify that respect of the individual can overcome violence. Another example of successful pacific resistance is the struggle in seven- teenth century England to bring about religious liberty. Parliamentary armies won their battle, and then lost it to the reactionary forces aroused by the war. Under the Conventicle Acts (1664-1673) all forms of public worship except the Established Church were outlawed, but the Friends continued to hold their meetings openly. In spite of mass arrests, destruction of meeting houses, and every effort by the authorities to prevent Quaker gatherings, Quaker passive resistance persisted. Finally the right to worship God publicly according to conscience w-as granted. In the few American colonies controlled by the Quakers this freedom was granted to all settlers. '' It is believed by many that non-violence resistance wnth love is able to con- quer cruelty, violence, aggression, and other abuses of power. This is based on the belief that sympathy to another's cause leads to intelligent respect and understanding which acts to reduce or to prevent frustrations and thereby re- duces violence. Conscientious objectors to war hold truth an important element in non-violent resistance, and truth is persuasive as it promotes mutual trust.'' For example, during the Irish rebellion of 1798, Catholic rebels and the English troops were terrorizing the country. Quakers destroyed the guns they kept for hunting and left themselves completely unprotected. Not a single one of the solitary Quaker homes was molested and not a single Friend lost his life. They fed and sheltered refugees from both sides and were helpful in re- storing peace. '° Historian Toynbee challenges the pacifists by saying that if one group would use non-violent resistance, it would be overrun by the groups which rely upon armed might. He continues with the statement that "an active foresight and a passive heroism" exhibited only by saints would be necessary to face ^^ Fowler, p. 6. >' Brinton, p. 13. IS Richard B. Gregg, The Power of Non-Violence (New York, Fellowship Publica- tions. 1935), p. 16. 10 Graham, p. 359. 6 The Green Caldron this prospect of diminution and its consequences.^" Pacifists reply that this might be true, but as the alternative is destruction of our civilization by atomic warfare, it seems that temporary totalitarianism combated by non-violent re- sistance is preferable. A study of history shows that dictatorships do not en- dure, and temporary subordination is preferable to some people over the horrors of war. In spite of the horrors of modern warfare, Toynbee fears social disintegra- tion more than war itself.-^ War is valuable in developing courage, dynamic energy, capacity to endure fatigue and suffering, self-sacrifice, self-control, and action for a great ideal and for glory. Toynbee fails to notice, however, that pacifism also develops these qualities, and they are used to build a peaceful world instead of destruction of civilization and depletion of natural resources. As a method of settling disputes and conflicts, pacifists believe that disciplined non-violence based on love leads to study and understanding of the other view, and settlement based on respect is more durable than settlement based on the bodies of a nation's best young men. Non-violent resistance means overcoming evil with good. Not by strong muscles and armaments, but by moral courage, self-control, and the conviction that in every human being, however personally hostile, there is respect for kindness, justice, and truth. ^^ Pacifists see that violent opposition does not often discourage ideas and sentiments but only postpones these feelings until another time. To get op- ponents to adopt new ideas, new sentiments, and new assumptions, pacifists want to make these principles attractive by the persuasion of love and disci- plined non-violence. Ideas and sentiments are not made attractive for volun- tary acceptance by the point of the sword." A testimony against war is not a doctrine against all use of force, however. Force, an unsatisfactory method which does not bring settlement or stability, is used on horses, dogs, criminals, lunatics, and in the last resort with children. We live in comfort under police protection and we prosecute offenders.^* Are pacifists cowards? Not at the present time if they suffer hardships, wounds, imprisonment, and even death from the hands of the violent. A peace- ful resister is as courageous as a soldier if he sacrifices for the cause he earn- estly believes in.^° It may be argued that the pacifist is more courageous than a soldier, for the pacifist must endure social, economic, and political pressure besides physical pain. The philosophy which makes war impossible is a way of life which removes or controls the factors leading to war. One who resists war must be prepared -" Arnold J. Toynbee, Introduction to War and Civilisation, Fowler, p. x. 21 Ihid., p. V. 22 Aldous Huxley, ed., An Encyclopaedia of Pacifism (New York, Harper & Brothers, 1937), p. 65. 23 Gregg, p. 159. *^ Graham, p. 367. 25 Gregg, p. 121. I March, 1952 7 to change his entire life, inckiding his personal hopes, his relations with others, his economic and social standing in the community, his political duties, his religious fellowships, and his relationship to God. Pacifists, in order to chal- lenge the whole world and continue a peaceful life while others are fighting, must prove that they are worthy of peace and able to build a peaceful world.''* IV. Quaker Pacifism Although in the popular mind Quakerism has stood for Peace more than for any other single thing, peace was not the heart of the Quaker message. It was only a very prompt deduction from it.^^ John Woolman felt that the roots of war came from our trying to get for ourselves and to keep for ourselves more than our neighbors have. For this reason, he accused certain wealthy Philadelphia Quakers of inconsistency when they almost invited attack of less fortunate neighbors. Woolman questioned an accumulation of too many possessions and decided it was out of keeping with that spirit of brotherhood which must condition any enduring peace.'* On that we declare against wars, and acknowledge our trust in God only, may walk in the Light, and therein examine our foundation and motive in holding great estates : May we look upon our treasures, and the furniture of our houses, and the garments in which we array ourselves, and try whether the seeds of war have any nourishment in these our possessions, or not.-" Later, Friends expressed the idea that war is the symptom of the disease of self-seeking which permeates our whole social system. The state of society without the roots of war will come about through giving and serving rather than through possessing and being served. A way of life must be a practical expression of the will to love and serve humanity both in business and in recreation.'" A source and result of Quaker pacifism are Friends' meetings which put pacifism into practice among individuals in a small group. Meeting is a train- ing ground in pacific techniques. In meetings for conducting the business of the society, decision is made only when all of those present reach a state of unity and no vote is taken, as it might represent the coercion of a minority by the majority. This peculiar method is considered more creative as it gives time for new points to arise out of the synthesis of old ones and is more durable -® Knovvles, p. 51. "Ibid., p. 11. 28Steere, p. 110. ^' John Woolman as quoted in Steere, ibid. 3" John H. Barlow, "Selection from the Epistle from London Yearly Meeting May 19-26, 1915," as quoted in Knowles, p. 50. 8 The Green Caldron because it represents a greater degree of conviction on the part of the whole group. Friends believe that unity is eventually possible because each has access to the same Light of Truth. The solution eventually arises out of that unity which underlies all obedience to the one Divine Light. "^ Quaker work is not in peace treaties, world alliances, federations, or leagues. Their efforts are toward a creation of peaceable atmosphere and atti- tude of mind inconsistent with war. George Fox lived in the virtue of that life and power that took away the occasion of all war. Quakers as a religious group have not built Utopias or detailed pacifist dreams but have put their personal loyalty to Christ before all other loyalties, and have practised it as a way of life that takes away every occasion of war.^- Merely ceasing from outward hostility is not the accepted Quaker practice, but it has been their avowed and desired aim to make their whole "conversation and conduct consistent and of a piece throughout." ^^ The positive answer to negative non-resistance is practicing forgiveness and love, "thinking no evil," carrying the atmosphere of peace and good will, and ridding oneself of revenge- ful and unworthy thoughts. The spirit of justice and fellowship must replace that of greed and self-aggrandizement in the social and industrial world. ^^ To Quakers, the Christian method is the daily effort to relieve all suffering and oppression within reach, and to attack every cause of war, "most especially on those causes within our own hearts." ^^ Friends have done relief work in the Irish War of 1690, during the American War of Independence in caring for sufferers around Boston, in the Graeco-Turkish War of 1828 by helping Greek refugees, in the Crimean War by repairing devastation on the coast of Finland, during and after the American Civil War in maintaining and educat- ing colored freedmen and refugees, in the Franco-Prussian War when about forty workers were sent to devastated areas, in the Boer Wars by assisting refugees and restoring Boer families, in the Balkan War of 1912 by sending supplies to Bulgarian refugees, and in the First World War by relief work in France, Serbia, Germany, Poland, Austria, and Russia. It was during the First World War that the American Friends Service Committee was formed, and in the Spanish Civil War relief work was done on both sides. During and after the Second World War much relief and rehabilitation was and is carried on in Europe and Asia. A special relief project was administered for the United Nations in southern Palestine.^" Friends believe that the positive and more important aspect is not in a re- 31 Brinton, p. 14. 32 Knowles, p. 1. 33 Ibid., p. 5. 34 Edward Grubb, "The True Way of Life," ibid., p. 44. 35 Ibid., p. 9. 36 Brinton, p. 9. March, 1952 9 fusal to take sides, but in the concentration that this permits upon the challenge of throwing bridges across the torrent of conflict.^' Religious pacifism as a positive way of life rather than as a negative atti- tude toward fighting conies directly from worship. When a worshiper feels his kinship with his fellownien in God as a present experience rather than as abstract theory, this unity produces a sensitizing of the soul, a feeling of one- ness with all men which rules out conflict. Perhaps a new and positive word for pacifism is community, as it means the union of men from within enabling them to work together, rather than external coordination forced by authori- tarian means or threats of violence.''* There is very little space in Quaker literature of the seventeenth, eighteenth, or nineteenth centuries devoted to explanations of peace principles.^" Barclay, early Quaker theologian, includes a brief analysis of a Christian attitude toward war at the end of his Apology in a collection of miscellaneous items on outward behavior and relationships of persons. That early Friends were not peace propagandists is in keeping with their philosophy. They direct seekers to the source of life and truth in the depths of the soul, the "Inner Light," and not to doctrines and theories which are products of the mind.'"' As Barclay says, And if it was not according to the Wisdom of Christ, who was and is King of Kings, by outward force to constrain others to believe him, or receive him, as being a thing inconsistent with the Nature of his Ministry and Spiritual Government ; do not they grossly offend him, that will needs be wiser than he, and think to force Men against their Persuasion, to conform to their Doctrine and Worship? ■*' 3' Bertram Pickard, Pacifist Diplomacy in Conflict Situations (Philadelphia, Pacifist Research Bureau, n. d.), p. 6. 3' Brinton, p. 15. 39 Ibid., p. 5. *° Ibid. " Barclay, p. 492, BIBLIOGRAPHY Barclay, Robert. Apology for the True Christian Divinity, London, T. Sowle Raylton & Luke Hinde, 1736. Brinton, Howard H., The Peace Testimony oj the Society of Friends, American Friends Service Committee, n. d. Fowler, Albert J., War and Civilication, with an introduction by Arnold J. Toynbee, New York, Oxford University Press, 1950, p. 17. Fox, George, Journal, with an introduction by Rufus M. Jones, J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1924. Graham, John W.. The Faith of a Qualicr, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1920. Gregg, Richard B., The Potvcr of Non-Violence, New York, Fellowship Publications, 1935. Hu.xley, Aldous, ed.. An Encyclopaedia of Pacifism. New York, Harper & Brothers, 1937. 10 The Green Caldron Kiiowles, G. VV., Quakers and Peace, London, Sweet & Maxwell. Ltd., 1927. "News from a Boston Cell," The Peacemaker, I (April 25, 1950), 7. Pickard, Bertram, Pacifist Diplomacy in Conflict Situations, Philadelphia, Pacifist Re- search Bureau, n. d. Russell, Elbert, The History of Quakerism, New York, The Macmillan Company. 1942. Steere, Douglas V., Doors Into Life, New York, Harper & Brothers, 1948. The Contributors Frank Battuello— Gillespie Community High Richard Bickerton — Woodruff, Peoria Alma Boston — Champaign Joe Corbett — University High David Comings — University High /. Ward Knapp — Hillshoro Community High Virginia McManus — Hyde Park Kenneth Rose — University High, Bloomington, Indiana Sandra Romanoff — Gage Park Davida Solomon — Sullivan Margot Tibbits — Lyons Township Nancy Wilkison — Urbana Mory Ellen Young — Galesburg High March, 1952 11 Tne PicR^svick Papers Joe Corbett Rhetoric 101, Theme 8 THE AUTHOR OF THE PICKWICK PAPERS, MR. CHARLES Dickens, is undoubtedly one of the most famous and widely read of all English writers. The titles of most of his books and the names of charac- ters in them have become household words throughout the English speaking world. David Copperfield, Oliver Twist, little Nell, and Scrooge are familiar enough to warrant only brief mention in passing. The plot of The Pickzvick Papers was intended, evidently, to be hilariously humorous. The author, by a series of odd coincidences, places Pickwick in one peculiar situation after another. Although, when taken by themselves, these incidents are rather entertaining and amusing in a slap-stick sort of way, the unusual circumstances used to present them tend to make them somewhat unrealistic and an almost constant burden to the reader's credulity. The level of English predominating in the book is high-level informal. Sometimes, seemingly to enhance the general atmosphere of humor, the author lapses into very elegant or formal English. This apparently very clever device for producing amusement, however, is rather indiscriminately used in situa- tions where it becomes nothing more than absurd grandiloquence. At the beginning of the story Pickwick is represented as a very calm, judicious person, always willing to overlook insults and always trying to settle any arguments which may arise among his friends. He is greatly interested in science and continually carries a notebook in which to record observations. Suddenly, without warning, this perfect model of temperance, high intelligence, and sobriety, after overindulging in a beverage designated as "cold punch," awakens to find himself detained in the local jail. Another time, even though he is supposed to be at the time of life commonly thought of as precluding such activity, he gets into a violent argument with one of the "Pickwickians" about a rather trivial matter, and they have to be separated lest they do harm to each other. We know, of course, that any strong character has his weak spots, but we know also that such a character, when giving way to some of his weaknesses, doesn't remain stereotyped that way for a period of several davs, and particularly not when a variety of new situations are constantly presenting themselves. ■ The Pickwickians, or members of the Pickwick club, which are most intimately associated with Mr. Pickwick, are, at the outset of the story, tacitly acknowledged to be approaching middle age. To further augment this implica- tion, they engage in activities and conversation most suitable to gentlemen at this age. About the middle of the story the ages of these gentlemen begin to change perceptibly. That is, they start becoming younger, and whereas pre- 12 The Green Caldron viously they and Pickwick had much in common, marked disimilarities begin to appear. Mr. Winkle, who at first is supposed to be old enough to know better, falls violently in love with a young lady, elopes with her, and very narrowly avoids a duel with her brother through the timely intercession of Pickwick. Evidently, while writing the last chapters of the book, Dickens reviewed what he had already written. Apparently, after having become panic-stricken at the monstrous size which his brain-child had thus far attained, he decided that the book must, by all means, be ended quickly. The Pickwickian's retro- grade aging accelerates, Pickwick becomes, in the space of a few days an infirm old man, and the Pickwick club, due to dissensions within which had, iintil now, been either non-existent or under the perfect control of its leader, disintegrates. The rapidity of these happenings is nothing short of astounding, and the long suffering reader is called upon, through these passages, to summon up his most courageous credulity for the last supreme effort. Of course, the fact that The Pick'unck Papers first appeared in serial form as a newspaper feature is probably the main reason for most of the mechanical faults present. However, literary good taste should have prevailed ujxjn Mr. Dickens' artistic sensibilities enough for him to realize the necessity of revising the book before sending it to the publishers and consigning it in its final form to his eager readers. Tne Ministry or Fear Kenneth Rose Rhetoric 101. Theme 2 ARTHUR ROWE WAS A MURDERER OF THE CONSERVA- tive school. He seemed a very average Englishman, middle-aged and slightly myopic, who believed in the Victorian sentiments of order and utter respectability'. Even after the jury had acquitted him of his wife's murder, Arthur remained firmly convinced of his own guilt. Living quietly with his memories in a shabby suburban flat, he found the constant fear and confusion of blitz-rocked London vaguel}' repulsive. Lives are changed by little things ; Arthur's was changed by a church benefit that he noticed on his evening walk. Because of the war, the fete had a depressingly bedraggled appearance ; but it reminded him of his childhood, and Arthur's childhood was dear to him. He stopped his walk and wandered among the booths. He took a chance on a piece of homemade cake, a rare luxury in wartime London, bought a book at the white elephant sale, and had his fortune told by mysterious Mrs. Bellairs, who insisted that he take another chance on the cake. He did and won it. For a while, Arthur's life went on as usual ; before long, however, strange things began to happen. There was the little man with immense, twisted shoulders, who first asked him to return the cake and then attempted to poison him ; there was also the March, 1952 13 seance at Mrs. Bellairs' home that ended in death. Slowly, Arthur discovered the existence of a vast espionage network which was being forced by circum- stance to eliminate him. The newspapers, speculating about the theft of certain ofScial documents, had dubbed this network the "Ministry of Fear," a govern- ment within a government that ruled its subjects by a devilish combination of threats and blackmail. Arthur became a fugitive, hunted by the law and the lawless alike ; there was nothing he could do about it. For him there was to be no escape ; the "Ministry" soon found him. He was snared in a hotel room by a cunningly arranged trap, and the explosion of a bomb in a suitcase destroyed a large part of his memory. When he regained consciousness, he was a prisoner in a private sanitarium. Slowly and painfully he regained his memories and managed to expose the "Ministry." The Ministry of Fear is an unusual novel. Seldom have the basic elements of a story (plot, characterization, setting, and mood) been so completely inter- woven. Every one of the above elements illustrates at least one principle that Graham Greene considers important. In fact, the author seems to have had so many different aims and motives in mind when he was writing this book that an accurate analysis of his "purpose" is almost impossible. The plot, certainly an outgrowth of Mr. Greene's war experiences as a member of the English counter espionage agency, demonstrates the operation of a modern spy ring and the methods that the British government used in ferreting out and destroying such rings. Although physical action plays an important jjart throughout the story, this theme's effectiveness lies in the direct insights into the minds of the members and the victims of the "Ministry." The characterizations in this novel, and that of Arthur Rowe in particular, are based upon these indirect insights. While many of the characters seem wooden and utterly artificial, all of them try to support Mr. Greene's second major theme: stresses and strains of wartime cause a mental unbalancing of almost every participant. In The Ministry of Fear one sees the normally sane and intelligent individual become increasingly neurotic : an idealistic psychia- trist under the strain of guilty fear rapidly changes from a coldly rational scientist to a highly emotional coward who is only slightly saner than the patients he is treating ; Rowe, himself, runs the gamut of emotions. Both the characters and the plot are influenced by the mood and setting of the novel. During the blitz, nightmarish unreality became reality. The dreamlike existence that the Londoners were forced to live sets the style and the pace for the entire book. Even the most casual glance at The Ministry of Fear leaves one with a vivid picture of the confused frustation that was London. Despite the obvious quality of the writing, there are a number of factors which detract greatly from the worth of the book. One of these, as I have mentioned before, is the characterization ; another is the rising feeling of suspense that the author aborted before he was halfway finished. Throughout the early development of the plot there was a rising current of suspense that was climaxed with the "Ministry's" snaring of Arthur in the hotel room. From 14 The Green Caldron there on, the suspense begins to fade away until, eventually, it vanishes. This is largely a structural weakness which the author could have corrected to a great extent by a more vigorous application to the plot of his story. Even the deliberate flatness of Mr. Greene's ending, while by itself excellent, loses much of its emotional impact through a lack of contrasting suspense. The story ends as it began — with a man walking through the dismal misti- ness of a London fog. As he walks, Rowe begins to realize the utter failure and futility that his life has been and must continue to be. The reader may hope for a "happy ending," but he knows that the book, like Arthur's life, must forever remain unfinished. Some are born to fame and infamy ; others to mediocrity. Arthur continues walking; the fog wisps about him and he is gone. Red Mary Ellen Young Rhetoric 101. Theme 7 IN THE STRICTEST SCIENTIFIC SENSE, THE WAVELENGTH .76 micron, representing the longest visible energy wave, is the color red. Explaining the principles of light which produce the sensation red upon the optic nerves, a physicist might continue by stating that if the sun's rays strike an object and if that object absorbs all light waves except those which are the length of red, the object is said to be red in color. Likewise, an artist when analyzing the chemical and technical principals of his pigment named red, might add to the physical definition that red is ochre clay colored by iron, that red is a primary color which in combination with one or the other of its fellows, blue and yellow, will produce the spectrum, and that true red, as a portion of a painting, generally advances in space. If asked to complete and elaborate upon these concepts, a layman might go on to say that red is the color of an American beauty rose, lipstick and nail polish, and a bull fighter's cape. And yet, to tell these facts to a man who has never seen red — to tell them to a blind man — would be to tell an infant that the sine of 30° is J4. With this sight-bound data as a foundation, he could neither comprehend nor form a mental impression of the color's impact. Only eyes that see red and roses and minds that picture the color upon its mention can learn and believe and under- stand that this hue is also a wavelength .76 micron long. What then can we say lies beyond the sensation we call red ? What can we tell the man who cannot see this reflection? this pigment? To me, red is heat in color. It is an intense flame that produces a dryness and an oppression which burn only less greatly than they exhaust. The flame in tangible form has its heat in a desert, in a city street in July, in a press room at noon. Heat is passion in a color, too. Hot red is physical torment, is love on Madison Avenue. It is a blazing Negro band, too, brassy and blatant March. 1952 15 at midnight. It is a drum beat and a jungle cry and a million other sounds and surges that are heat manifested. To me red is cold in a color. It is hate. It is the blood of a stiffened corpse, frigid in this blood he shed for hate or for war. It is hate's sister, intolerance, the cold and cruel Ku Klux Klan. It is danger, too, — a sign that says "Quar- antine" — "Stop" — "Beware." It is the shout of unwilling brakes, the an- guished scream of the injured, the siren of all fire engines, far away and close. It is anger and "seeing red." It is terror, too, and mob psychologj'. It is a nose, an ear, a hand on a winter day. It is these and a million other emotions and states which are cold. What then can I say lies beyond this sensation we call red? What then would I tell the blind man who flounders in scientific definitions and artists' theories ? I would tell him what red is to me — not the reflection of .76 micron — but the heatwave and the siren. Tne University or Illinois — Unniasea, Favorable and Unravorable Versions Davida Solomon Rhetoric 101, Theme 2 The University of Illinois — Unbiased Version THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS IS LOCATED IN THE TWIN cities of Urbana and Champaign. Quite a large school, it offers a great number and variety of courses in its many colleges and professional schools. Because it is a state institution, the board of trustees is elected by the voters of Illinois. Any high school graduate who is a resident of the state is permitted to enter. Many distinguished and brilliant people have graduated from this university, as well as many mediocre and not very bright ones. The school has a nationally known football team which receives considerable sup- port from the student body. All through the year, student houses, clubs, and organizations sponsor large numbers of social events. Favorably Biased Version The University of Illinois is located in the typically American cities of Champaign and Urbana. Because of its great size, a wealth of diverse and fascinating subjects can be, and are, offered, enabling the students to acquire a liberal education as well as specialized training. The high scholastic stand- ing of the University is reflected in the many distinguished alumni it may well boast of. As a state institution supported by the taxpayers, it must be truly democratic in its policies. Thus, the discrimination and bigotry found 16 The Green Caldron in many private schools are absent here. In addition to the great scholastic facilities available, there is also a rich social life. By cheering for the excellent football team the students develop a feeling of loyalty and patriotism for the university. The numerous dances and other recreational functions impart a social sense to the students that is just as important in their future lives as book learning. Unjavorably Biased Version The University of Illinois, located in the simple little towns of Champaign and Urbana, appears rather ludicrous in its surroundings because of its great size. Still more ridiculous is the fact that the great bulk of its students leave one of the most sophisticated urban centers, where some of the best educational institutions in the world are located, to acquire knowledge of the universe in the heart of the corn belt. Because of the bigness of this school, the indi- vidual cannot receive personal recognition or attention. Mary, an acquaintance of mine, is fairly typical of the mediocre and unintelligent students that are graduated from this "hick" school. The board of trustees is elected by the taxpayers and, therefore, is composed of ignorant, incapable, and corrupt politicians. Instead of paying attention to their studies, students are en- couraged to vent their energies by yelling their heads off while a group of human gorillas butt each other up and down a football field. Instead of spend- ing their evenings doing their homework, as they should, the pupils are usually found frittering away their time dancing or getting drunk at wild parties. Home T ome 1 own Dick Bickerton Rhetoric 102, Theme 8 PETE'S PALACE IS A LITTLE BAR IN MINNEAPOLIS WHERE I bought drinks for a sot. Home to him was some place that he left many, many years ago. Listening to him, I almost turned around and went "back home myself. Canal Street is a red-light district in New Orleans. I was so far from home then it didn't make any difference if I got back or not. To "Old Satchmo," Louis Armstrong, Canal Street was home. To me, Peoria, Illinois, is home. Nice place, Peoria ; one big Canal Street. Nice place, Peoria ; nice if you get a kick out of talking to the sots. You can always find a drunk in Peoria. Walk down the streets of Peoria, and you feel as though all the massive structures surrounding you are about to topple — topple because of a malignant growth of graft and corruption that eats the few great hearts and minds that are born of Peoria mothers. Walk down the streets of Peoria, and you'll sneer at the niggers ; gripe about the kikes. Walk long enough, and, if you're decent, you'll soon be running — running away, like I did. March, 1952 17 Where the Illinois River runs hy Peoria, the water is dirty — one great sewage disposal system. The river floods, and, with that dirty water, the garbage comes into the streets. After a while the water will go down, but the garbage stays. Come into Peoria from the east, and }-ou pass three dumps before you get there. (Careful of the rats, please. It's hard to find cooperative politicians, you know). Come into Peoria from the south, and you get sick. Your stomach turns over three, four times. (You can't stand to be a witness to filth, slime, human stagnation). Come into Peoria from the north, and you fight your way through the smoke and dust of the factory system. (Some people call it progress). Come into Peoria from the west — well, the west is a little better. There we have the beautiful homes of Grand View Drive. "World's most beautiful drive," said President Harding. Nice guy, that Harding. But here's the thing about those homes out there. Their founda- tions are laid on the green slime of the south-enders — very proud people, the south-enders ; the dumps, we're proud of our political history ; and the factories, people come all the way from Bloomington to work at Caterpillar. My folks moved to Peoria from Cripple Creek, Colorado. Out there, they were happy ; an average coal miner's family that didn't do much, but they knew a lot of people. The trip scared my grandmother, and she's dead now. Peoria's streetcars killed my grandfather. He was a proud Irish coal miner in Cripple Creek, but there wasn't anything proud about that body they rolled out from beneath the streetcar. (It was going to pass him up, but nothing ever passed an Irishman up — in particular, an Irish coal miner — in particular, my grandfather). Peoria killed my folk's marriage, too. Dad found out about prostitutes and Mom found out about legal terms. (Be it here known, that on the basis of the above counts the Prosecution here prays that the court will see fit to dissolve all bonds of marriage between said plaintiff and said defendant). Mom cried, but she had cried a lot since she had come to Peoria. I delivered papers in Peoria. I imagine every kid has had a paper route in his day, but not many had one like mine — one where they had to step over the drunks and say good morning to the matrons when they came out to meet you and ask you if you wanted to spend some time with their girls before you went on. You always told them, no. You told them that because j'Ou wanted to get home in time to eat breakfast with your ma. That was the reason, and you couldn't have found a better one if you had tried. After a while the matrons let you alone, because it embarrassed them to hear a kid say something like that. So that's the town I ran away from one night. My home town. That's where the Shelton family is from. And we look at it and say, "Yes sir, that's Peoria." Then we turn toward the north and say, "Won't be long now, cause we're growin' every day. No sir, won't be long now." No, it won't be long now. But it's still Peoria. Still my home town. 18 The Green Caldron Bird Migration David Comings Rhetoric 101, Thane 8 THE TRUE NATURE AND CAUSE OF BIRD MIGRATION HAS been a subject of speculation for centuries. In very early times many fanciful theories were formulated to account for the seasonal disap- pearance of many birds. Some typical ideas were that they hibernated in muddy stream bottoms or secluded themselves in hollow trees. Careful obser- vation soon displaced these superstitions with the concept of migration. Al- though migration has been recognized for over one thousand years, the reason behind it is still somewhat vague. There are at present two theories accepted as plausible. According to the first theory, before the onset of the glacial movements or the Great Ice Age, all of the bird fauna of North America were non-migratory. As the ice sheets appeared, inclement conditions, insufficient food supplies, and a lack of nesting locations forced the birds southward. They consequently traveled with each glacial movement, going south as the glaciers moved down and returning north with their subsequent recession. By the end of the Pleistocene or Ice Age, migration had become such an integral habit with the birds that it was innately continued. The supplementary theory assumes the tropical regions to be the birds' natural home. As is the case with most animal forms, the birds tended toward over-population. At the end of the glacial periods, due to population pressures, there was a natural radiation of birds during the mating season into the vast spans of northern virgin country where the competition for food was not as intense. Yet because the southland was their true home they returned as soon as the brood could tend for themselves. The former theory is generally believed to be the more feasible of the two. There are still, however, several lesser factors to be explained. One in particular — what is the local element which causes the birds to leave their winter homes at the approximate termination of a winter several thousand miles away? Actually, migrating birds do not, a great percentage of the time, arrive at their destination under favorable climatic conditions. Weather is not the chief cause of migration, but by affecting the food supply, and in- directly the mating season, it determines the mean date of departure and consequently the mean date of arrival. During the flight the weather may well change from the favorable conditions under which the birds left to decidedly adverse but local weather. The increasing length of the days at the termina- tion of the winter months is believed to cause an increase in endocrine secre- tion of the tropical migrators, thus engendering the mating urge and conse- quently migration. The time of day during which the initial portions of flight are accomplished varies among groups of species. The daytime migrants include chiefly Hawks, March, 1952 19 Swallows, and Chimney Swifts. The nighttime travelers are the Thrushes, Flycatchers. Warblers, Sparrows, and in general the majority of the families. There are, in addition, those who fly continuously, these being mainly water birds. The reason for the majority of the birds traveling at night lies in the fact that the feeding periods can thereby be closer together. For example, if a bird who was required to fly continuously for twelve hours, because of some barrier such as a sea, were to feed during the day and had to wait all night before starting the flight, it would not arrive at its destination until nightfall the next day and would not, subsequently, feed until morning — a lapse of thirty hours between feedings. Obviously, if it flew at night there would be a lapse of only twelve hours. Perhaps the most variable factor among individuals is the length of flight. The non-migratory birds are chiefly the game birds — Quail, Grouse, and Pheasant, the familiar Cardinal, and the Carolina Wren. There are certain birds, of which the Robin is a representative, which might be classified as more or less semi-migratory. As individuals they all migrate, but as a species they may not. This is explained by the fact that within a species there are variations, certain of which are more hardy than others. When winter approaches, say in southern Illinois, the Robins there move southward while the more northerly and more hardy individuals move to southern Illinoif. Finally, there are the true migrators. Flight length variations also exist among these. The Chipping, Vesper, and Field Sparrows migrate from northern United States to the Gulf States. The Tangers, Warblers, Thrushes and actually the majority of the species travel from the United States and Canada to Central and South America. There are also those who have ex- ceedingly long ranges, the shore and marine birds, which go from Alaska to South America. The champion of these is the Arctic Tern who has a mi- gratory range of over eight thousand miles and, therefore, often travels over sixteen thousand miles in one year. The question as to how migratory birds find their way is in some ways a puzzling one. Not all of them return to the same nesting regions, and yet there are many examples of some that even return to the same nests. A favorite theory is that they follow coast lines, mountain ranges, and rivers. This may be true in part, but in a major sense it must be incorrect for not only are few species ever observed following rivers, but for the most part birds fly straight southward, invariably crossing and completely ignoring these supposed guiding marks. Food rather than geographical terrain is probably the determining factor in migrational routes, with the birds taking the shortest route over which there is sufficient food. There is a possibility that through some physiological means they are geosensitive and can perceive northernly or southernly directions. This mechanism probably functions in connection with the direction of the sun rays. There is still a lot to be discovered concerning the migratory habits of birds, but professional ornithologists receive a greater volume of information from amateur sources than perhaps any of the other scientific fields. 20 The Green Caldron Tne Snell Parrakeet as a Pet Sandra Romanoff Rhetoric 101, Theme 11 DURING THE FEW YEARS SINCE THE LAST WAR, A SMALL bird in the parrot family known as the shell parrakeet or budgerigar has become very popular in the American home. Because Mr. Budgie has beauty plus brains, he has taken the place of the parrot, the canary, and even the dog. Owners of this little winger pet will affirm that the small amount of effort connected with his care and training is well rewarded. Furthermore, Mr. Budgie's wants and needs are limited. Several points should be kept in mind when purchasing your baby bud- gerigar. In the first place, you will regret buying a parrakeet from any aviary that hasn't a good reputation among bird fanciers. Five or six weeks is the age at which budgerigars are most impressionable. As activity is a sign of good health and vitality, the baby budgerigar who fights and pesters his companions is a better choice than the quiet bird who sits motionless in the community cage. Shell parrakeets come in all colors of the rainbow. Although the original budgerigar was light green and yellow, blue is the predominant color of birds bred in the United States. Shell parrakeets also come in combi- nations of yellow, white, and chartreuse. The rare bi-colored parrakeet is exquisite. Regardless of what color plumage the bird of your choosing possesses, he is certain to be a beautiful addition to your home. Because of his long tail, the budgerigar is happiest in a rectangular cage ; but the size of the cage is not too important because your pet will not want to spend much time in his cage after he becomes acquainted with the family. Enameled, painted, or wooden cages should be avoided, though, for the budgerigar has a habit of pecking at the bars of his cage. Any dark cloth which will muffle sounds and shade lights from the cage will help insure an early bedtime for your budgie. Just as we need more than meat and water in our balanced meals, the parrakeet requires more than water and prepared bird seed in his diet. A small dish of clean gravel, sold in any pet shop, should always be available as gravel is essential in the bird's digestive system. Cuttle-fish bone compares with the milk and salt of our meals. A teaspoon of prepared "treat" every other day is beneficial for the growth of plumage, especially if the "treat" contains cod-liver oil. Although the life of many a pet budgerigar has been shortened by the goodhearted feeding of goodies from the kitchen, parrakeets benefit from occasional tibits of celery, lettuce, and apples. In a few weeks the owner of a baby budgerigar usually is tempted to be extravagant with his new little pet ; consequently, there is a market for play- things for budgerigars. Being vain and active little birds, shell parrakeets March, 1952 21 enjoy ringing bells, climbing ladders, swinging on bars, and admiring them- selves in mirrors. These items can be obtained individually, or they can be purchased combined in various models of playgrounds. If you wish, you can construct a made-to-order playground for your budgie. Then too, specially designed miniature baby carriages, garbage pails, high-chairs, wheel barrows, and automobiles are on the market. There is no end to the accessories which can be easily procured for the budgerigar. The first few days that the budgerigar spends in his new home are very important. It is during these few days that his habits are formed. There is no cause to worry if your new parrakeet misses the first few meals in his new home, as some shy little fellows are at first upset by strange surroundings. If he hasn't eaten of his own accord after about a day, remove the perches in his cage so that he is forced to sit on the floor in the food. This procedure usually encourages eating. The next problem is taming your parrakeet. Some authori- ties claim that clipping the wings of the bird so that he is unable to fly out of reach results in quicker taming. Wing clipping has its advantages, but most parrakeets are easily tamed without the necessity of restricting the bird's movements. Genth* push against your budgerigar's breast with your fore- finger, and he will be forced to step on your finger. Do this a few times and you will own a tame little parrakeet. It is safe to say that the baby budgerigar cannot be handled too much, but the budgerigar will bite if he is teased or handled roughly. When the baby bird is tame enough to sit still on your finger, he is ready for talking lessons. A tame parrakeet is usually very affectionate and is very eager to imitate his master. In fact, few human students surpass the budgerigar as a student, for Mr. Budgie is very ambitious to learn. Consequently, it is the teacher who holds the power to create a proficient talker. Talking lessons should be conducted several times each day. The instructor should hold the bird close to his mouth and slowly and distinctly repeat one or two words over and over again. If the tutor is persistent, it will be a matter of weeks before he will hear results of his lessons. Moreover, the more the budgerigar learns, the quicker he masters new v^-ords. Usually, the first word in a budgerigar's vocabulary is his name. Then some short phrase such as "Kiss me" or "Good Budgie" is usually learned, and complete and often complicated sentences are often mastered. It is not unusual to hear a year old parrakeet rattle off a hundred word vocabulary. Making a single budgie "show-off" his vocabulary before a small audience is not too difficult. Some birds are encouraged to talk if they are kept in the dark for a short while. Others can be induced to hold a conversation when thev see themselves in mirrors. A common stimulus is running tap water. By studying your bird's personality, you will solve the problem of encouraging him to "show off" for your friends. The parrakeet not only can hold a conversation, but he also makes a funny little clown. Every tame budgie enjoys inventing his own tricks. Watch your 22 The Green Caldron budgerigar amuse himself in his playground, and you will be convinced that your pet is very clever. Furthermore, the parrakeet even concocts original games to amuse himself. Our budgerigar loves to push small objects off tables, desks, or mantles, and then play with them once they are on the floor. Because they are so adept at inventing tricks, it is not at all difficult to teach tricks to budgerigars. Patient tutors who realize the potentialities of parra- keets often profit by showing their trick budgerigars. However, training birds to perform how and when you desire is not a simple task. A circus of perform- ing budgerigar tricksters presents an amusing act. These circuses have stolen shows at benefit performances and have even performed before television cameras. Of course, preparing a budgerigar circus requires a great deal of time, effort, patience, and foresight on the part of the tutor. However, even if you never own a money-making budgerigar circus, you will never part with your own pretty little budgie. Your budgerigar will give an unlimited supply of enjoyment and happiness to every member of the family, for what other pet will talk to you, amuse you, show you affection, and ask for so little in return ? Buttons in tne Spotli^nt Nancy Wilkison Rhetoric 102, Theme 7 IX THIS ERA OF MORE SPEED AND LESS THOUGHT, HOW few people pause a moment and allow their naturally curious minds to ponder the how or why of objects about them. Was it merely by coin- cidence that man found a button sewn opposite a hole in his jacket and that he slipped the tiny knob through the opening to keep out the cold? Lo, the insignificant little button ! As excavations in ancient graves and ruins have revealed, buttons actually appeared in Egypt over 2,500 years before Christ. Moreover, the diggings at Mycenae disclosed that Greeks used small golden discs as ornaments 4,000 years ago. Nevertheless, these small trifles did not receive popularity in the rest of the world until the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries when fitted clothes became stylish in southern Europe. Preceding this time, loose robes and gowns required only draw strings or girdles to tie and jeweled pins or buckles to fasten. Increasing in service with the passing generations, the fastenings soon acquired numerous purposes, many of which are for ornamentation today. One important employment was attaching a button to the sleeve of a man's coat to secure the cuff's over the lace frills adorning the shirt underneath. In addition, men had buttons on the back of their long-tailed coats to hold up the tails when on horseback. March, 1952 23 Since the beginning of the first button age, both men's and women's clothes had the fastening on the left side. However, the insecurity of life during the Middle Ages changed this system. With the buttons on the right side, a gentleman could often protect himself or his lady more easily, for unhooking his coat with his left hand and drawing his sword with his right took only a matter of seconds for the fellow to be on his guard. With the ever rising demand, button industries have flourished over the world. In 1689 Birmingham, England, began its ascent to the top of this particular manufacture by producing little brass knobs and later ivory ones. During the next century the city prospered with the steel and gilt buttons of 1767, and ten years afterwards horn buttons appeared. Later, the nine- teenth century introduced both hoof and porcelain into the industry. Today, the great English city is recognized as the "button manufacturing capitol of the world." In spite of England's quality products of linen, mother-of-pearl, compo- sitions, metal, and fancy buttons, other countries have not been idle. Germany also has large, varied button manufacturers, although the principal output is of fancy and Galalith. Another important industrial nation of this type is France with her mother-of-pearl and fancy metal knobs. Still others are Italy with vegetable ivory buttons, Japan's numerous classes of mother-of-pearl, and Czechoslovakia with glass, china, and paste. Similarly, the 300 or more factories here in the United States must not be overlooked. Although very little exportation occurs, the demand at home is well supplied. For some reason, the United States did very little manufacturing of this type until the beginning of the nineteenth century. Then, in Waterbury, Connecticut, metal buttons were produced, and soon after, ivory and horn made their debut. During this same time vegetable, ivory and thereafter composition fasteners were introduced, the latter in Massachusetts. Along the Mississippi River the towns began using the shells in the river bed for pearl buttons. To the average person, buttons are of little value except for connecting garment edges. These people do not realize that from the vegetable products alone the value per year is worth about eight million dollars. Undoubtedly, the John and Mary Smiths are cognizant of the numerous sizes and colors; but, in contrast, they very seldom notice the variety of materials employed. Besides the many resources mentioned above, the following also have been utilized in the industry : bone, cellulose, synthetic resin, dried blood, wood, stone, paper, and leather. In addition, the more expensive buttons consist of agate, marble, jade, amber, pearls, and jasper. An interesting note about Colonial buttons is that often they were of gold, silver, and even pewter. Not too many years ago the zipper attempted to replace buttons. Un- fortunately or fortunately, as the case may be, this did not occur; for this new invention is not as dainty or neat or showy as buttons. Ah, yes, the button is here to stay ! Il 24 The Green Caldron Freckles — A Cnaracter Sketcn of a Dog Virginia McManus Rhetoric 101, Theme 1 FROM THE MOMENT I BROUGHT FRECKLES HOME SHE was at a disadvantage. My family had always owned Kerry Blues, fierce Irish fighting dogs, and they had never expected to have a sensi- tive, inhibited English setter. I carried her upstairs from the car, a huge, limp, silky-white dog with pinky brown eyes and long ears. When I set her down on the floor, she shook violently and then made a dash into my bedroom and under the radiator. My family came, knelt down, and looked at this social misfit that I had chosen. She lay under the radiator for two days, refused food, and vibrated when we walked into the room. From that moment on she was strictly my dog, and the the rest of the household avoided her. When I coaxed her out of her hiding place, I began to discover her other frailties. I soon discovered that she was not housebroken ; and within a few months I surmised that she never would be. She was terrified of sudden noises, of people and other dogs, and of going down stairs. When she would be streaked with soot from the underside of the radiator, and I finally had to bathe her, she simply collapsed feet up and panted for hours. My father declared that if there were half-wits in the canine family we had discovered one, and I must admit it did seem that she lacked normal intelligence. But then again she would show signs of improvement, and I felt elated when I could detect these. On our daily walks through the park she would cower behind me if other dogs would approach until I felt like a mother with a painfully shy child hiding in her skirts. After weeks of training she suddenly jumped after a squirrel and chased it to the base of a tree. Unfortunately, the squirrel paused when it was out of reach, and a sudden flick of its tail sent Freckles back to me where she collapsed in a shuddering heap at my feet. About the time she was progressing again, her ears became very sensitive, and every Saturday morning she would be taken for a treatment, I would carry her to the car, into the office, and she would permit me to hold her paw and comfort her. But while I drove her home she would sit on the far side of the front seat in injured silence, and it would take days to regain her confidence. Despite these set-backs. Freckles gradually improved. She slept at the foot of my bed instead of under the radiator, and she would permit me to stroke her ears without cowering. When other dogs came onto our porch, I March, 1952 25 she would bark at tlieni ; tliat is, providing the screen was closed and I was right there in case it gave way. And I in turn was very encouraged. We have had Freckles for three years now, and in all honesty I can't say that she has changed much. She will never be a demonstrative dog. When I come home she never tears down the hall or jumps up and down as I have seen cocker spaniels do for their masters. Instead she will slide her long, quivering nose into my hand, and if I sit down on the floor, she will curl up around my knees with her head in my lap. And one night when I went out to the kitchen to investigate a scuffling noise, I found her literally romping up and down, her ears flying, her rear legs dangling awkwardly in different directions, and finally landing in a sprawl. When she realized that she was being observed, she dropped both head and tail and went under the radiator in an agony at having me discover her without her dignity, but still I had a glimpse of one of the many phases of her personality. There are times, such as the Fourth of July when I spend most of the day sitting in the closet comforting her, that I regret her traits. But then again when she dives under my blankets at night for protection because a window shade flapped and I can almost feel her terror or when she shows almost normal courage, I am much more fond of her than I could ever be of a normal, aggressive dog. Mining Man Fr.\nk B.\ttuello Rhetoric 101. Theme 9 A RUSTY STEEL TIPPLE AND ITS GRAY SMOKE STACK rose through the mist like two fingers pointing skyward. A hundred- odd barrack-like shacks were clustered nearby. Tinny music rippled from one of the brightly-lit taverns on "main street." The tavern lights blinked out ; three sharp pistol shots and the crash of breaking glass broke the sleepy stillness of this coal camp Saturday night. A man staggered out through the swinging door and shufifled warily down a dark side-street, the curses of the proprietor still ringing in his ears. Bill Jarvis was spending this Saturday night in his usual way : a story for the boys, a few glasses of beer, and a brawl. Bill came from a large immigrant mining family. He started in the mines as a "breaker boy," or slate picker, and gradually learned to drive the mules that were used to pull the tiny coal cars along the narrow wooden rails. One day a particularly ill-tempered mule kicked him squarely in the chest. Bill rose weakly to his feet, fondled a pick that he had found beside the tracks and with one mighty blow he sunk its sharp point into the mule's skull. He angrily kicked at the dead carcass, picked up his lunch pail, demanded his wages, and quit. 26 The Green Caldron Bill loves to tell of those early days. His store of yarns of that illustrious age is never ending. He spent many years migrating from one small mine (gin-pit as he called it) to another. "Why, one mine was so shallow that we went down on a ladder," he said. "One day, as I was walking down a dark entry, I met a farmer carrying a lantern and leading a cow ! There had been a cave-in through to the surface and the cow had fallen into the hole. Poor critter wasn't hurt, fortunately." Today, Bill remains as a symbol of that era when mining men lived hard and worked hard. Sixty-odd years have dimmed his sight and grayed his hair, but he still stands erect and walks with shoulders squared. Heavy arms and a huge chest remain as evidence of those years spent working in the catacombed depths. All else that remains of his wild days is a fiery spirit that will probably never die. Bill looks forward to retirement and leisure. He hopes to devote more time to his favorite sport and hobby, rooster fighting. In the fury of the rooster pits he can find renewal and perpetuation of his own violent spirit. Tne Gamr)lers J. Ward Knapp Rhetoric 101, Theme 6 J. S. Konomos . . . Pool and Billiards is the sign out front. Inside are two pool tables and a billiard table. Farther back in the rear of the room through the cigarette smoke are several other tables ; at these, men are playing cards. The men — most of them are past middle age — are playing silently, absorbed in their games. A few others are watching in equal silence, waiting for someone to quit so they can sit down. The men are playing rummy — for a quarter a hand. Behind them a door stands open. In the next room the smoke is thicker and bluer, and there are more men but only one table. Here they are playing poker, but here they are playing for a great deal more than a quarter a hand. John Konomos, the proprietor, sits at the table. In front of him, stacked in neat, bright columns, are six piles of silver dollars, each pile exactly the same height. The man across from him rises and pushes his chair back. He turns and walks through the door and the blue smoke, past the rummy players and the pool tables and out onto the street. He has lost his money, but he'll be back. But when he does come back he won't play poker in the back room. Instead he'll sit down outside the door and play rummy for a quarter a hand. He'll play for a quarter a hand as if it meant his life, and all the time he'll hear from the back room and the poker game the sound of silver dollar on silver dollar. For days, for weeks, he'll play just outside the door. And because he is a little smarter and a little more cunning and perhaps a little more luckv, March, 1952 27 he'll win. Not very much at first but then more and more until finally he has enough to make the poker game in the back room. There are more just like him out in front of the door. They all play in the same way, thinking out each move slowly and methodically, taking advan- tage of every percentage. In the back of their minds they imagine themselves as great gamblers, calmly making every draw and every discard a right one. At a quarter a hand in the back of a smoke-ridden pool hall they see themselves winning millions in bright and gleaming casinos and gambling houses. All are playing toward a common objective. Each man hopes he can win enough to take the lofty step through the door into the back room and the poker game. Each man hopes he can get a chance at some really big money. And each man knows deep down inside that he is nothing but a small-time, petty gambler thinking on a big time level. Tne Jim House Alma Boston Rhetoric 101, Theme 2 FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER, THE SQUALID BLUE- gray tenement house has always commanded the North Neil Street approach to downtown Champaign. Some of the old duffers claim that Abe Lincoln once slept there around 1850. You see, back in the good old days, the Jim House, as it is called now, was the St. James Hotel — finest hotel in Central Illinois. But it's changed now — no longer boasting the title, finest hotel, but only Champaign's eyesore and public disgrace. Real estate brokers say nearby property values are lowered by the firetrap ; firemen say it's been on fire half a dozen times and "won't burn." Some people call it indestructible. Often, when I was in that neighborhood, I would take a few extra minutes and walk by the three-story frame Jim House. Playing in the south yard facing the Big Four tracks were the grimy, dirt-streaked moppets who called the place home. As I circled the building on one of these visits, I saw jagged, broken windows stuffed with yellow, crumbling newspaper. From an upstairs window tattered lace curtains flapped in the wind. Passing the main entrance, I peered into the smoky gloom of the dim passageway. A greasy G. E. light bulb dangled from a drop cord, its feeble yel- low glare making a half-hearted attempt to light up the hallway. The faded, flowered wallpaper that clung in patches to the plaster w-as streaked and blis- tered by dripping water. Tacked along one wall were cigar boxes that served as mail boxes for the sixty-five people crowded into the Jim House. From the evidence of the scratched and J. M. and A. S. initialed stair rail, it had always been under the pocket knives of the youngsters. As I walked on around the north side of the structure, I looked up at the 28 The Green Caldron roof that appeared like a homemade patch-quilt with its five different shades of green tar paper. In the backyard were veritable mountains of ashes. There was no central heating in the Jim House and not much plumbing, I gathered, from the scummy pools of dishwater that trickled their way down to the boneyard running along the railroad. After such an afternoon visit, I often thought of the Jim House as an old man waiting for something to happen to him — death, perhaps. Yesterday, I went down that way again to see if the Jim House still held a sort of nostalgia for me. But there wasn't anything there except a neat park- ing lot that had been smoothed over and graded by a nearby bulldozer. A few blue-gray boards with square nails and wooden pegs in them hinted that something might have been there before. Here and there in the soft dirt, half-buried red bricks jutted up into the sunshine. Only a broad unobliterated view of a parking lot remained. The city planners had their wish. The old society matrons could boast their triumph. The sanitation department need worry no longer. Yes, the Jim House was gone. And gone with it was a striking bit of Champaign his- tory and, I believe, a piece of my heart. Rket as Writ I was invited to dinner, consisting of college football coaches and sports writers. * * * I stood there in amazement with my eyes resting on the score board. * * * More often we spent the night in some unfrequented cove where we could sin and talk unobserved. * ^: :c We in the United States are now in the mist of a great basket ball tournament. jf ^ :^ Gambling is evil. It has to be counteracted from the beginning. These small games of chance have led our men to bigger games, such as roulette, and then into politics. * * * Air transport is used for the propagation of the human race. * * * A quizling is usually thought of as a little quiz. * ^ ^ BLACK BOY is in the form of a simple direct interesting story that appeals to the emotional instinks of the reader. Honorable Mention Calvin Isaacson — How To Propose to a Girl Edward Kelly — The Wrong Side of the Tracks KeUh F. Prater — EMDEN Robert Sick — Man and Emotions Charles Sullivan — The Scourge of the American Movie Industry Edith Fmife— KINGSBLOOD ROYAL ^ HE Green Caldron A Magazine of Freshman Writing •k CONTENTS James O'Neill: Studs Lonigan 1 Anonymous: The Statue 2 Alex Chambers: Autobiographical Sketch 3 John Leedom: Inside Hines, Y. A 5 Marjorie Oplatka: "Test Case" for America 7 Virginia N. McManus: The World's Hair Is Turning Gray . . 10 Bruce Aldenifer: Polio and I 11 James Wymer: Why We Must Fight in Korea 13 Ellen Rhode: Patterns 14 Sandra Schtcartz: The Little Present 17 Judy Garr: The First Lesson 18 Rhet as Writ 20 Vol. 21, No. 4 MAY, 1952 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS jmm T HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by -the Rhetoric Staff at the University of lUinois. 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 Maurice Crane, Frank Moake, Iris Mueller, Benjamin Sokoloff, Harris Wilson, and George Conkin, Chairman. THE GREEN CALDRON Cooyrighted 1952 BY CHAS. W. ROBERTS AU rights reserved No parts of this periodical may be repro- duced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Studs Loni^an James O'Neill Rhetoric 101. Theme 8 STUDS LONIGAN OF THIS REALISTIC TRILOGY IS A LIVELY, bright lad, healthy and essentially decent. His great misfortune is to be caught in the trap of Irish slum life in Chicago's South Side. In its sordid morass he flounders, struggling between environmental compulsions to vice and the consciousness of sin with which his Catholic parochial school has indoctrinated him. His youth is spent on getting tough, and this he ac- complishes in the Fifty-eighth Street poolroom where he spends his days and as much as he dares of his nights from the age of fourteen on. He is tough enough, but with a soft spot in him easily touched by romance and impulses to be healthy and good. His father, an honest building contractor, wants Studs to "get ahead"; his mother hopes he will become a priest. But the odds are insurmountable. Never quite hard-boiled, he never really reforms, never makes even a step toward establishing a character good or bad, or a career that can last. He falls in love with Lucy Scanlon because she is re- fined and different from the delinquent girls he has known. In this, too, life proves stronger than his intentions. When Studs is rejected by Lucy because of his affair with a pickup, he reverts to hard drinking. There is a terrifying scene which depicts a drunken New Year's Eve party of Stud's gang at which he is almost incriminated in a rape. Studs, twenty-nine, is thoroughly licked. He is bewildered by all that has happened to him. He is obsessed with a premonition of early death. After his father is gulled in the Insull stock swindle. Studs seeks escape in the world of radio; he drugs himself with movies, dance halls, and race horses. He tries desperately to save himself. He hopes that the purity of Catherine Banahan will wash him clean of sin. She tries hard to reform him, but it is too late. So objective is James T. Farrell in his narrative that on rare occasions, when he allows himself to make a comment, the effect is a scratch in a perfect painting; and nowhere in fiction to my knowledge has the sensuality of boys and girls, innocence smeared with desire, lust mixed with brutality, been done with a more skillful and ruthless pen. No history, no report or photographs are necessary; it's all there in Studs Lonigan. His subjects are sometimes unbearably brutal, as in the gang sexual enterprises of the poolroom boys, or distressingly sentimental as in the thoughts of the boys. But he has not written this hook to attract the reader by lust or general depravity. In my opinion, he has written a naturalistic novel, dealing frankly and honcsilv with the dirt, disorder, and the viciousness of low-class American life. [1] Tne Statue Anonymous Rhetoric 102, Theme IS HIS HEAD WAS ERECT AND HIS EYES WERE STRAIGHT ahead. They were fine eyes, set deep in his face. He stood with feet planted a Httle apart, the broad Army belt straining across his chest, the pants of his tight-fitting uniform pulling in the sharp folds against the bigness of his calves. His long-visored G.A.R. cap was gripped in his left hand, and his right hand was raised shoulder high in a gesture of response. He was only eighteen when he died in the northern drive on Richmond. "Bean, his name was," a young man near the monument said. "He was a Brownfield boy. There's always been a family of that name in Brownfield." They had found his name in the town records, the young man said, and a famous sculptor had made the statue in his likeness; and it stood on the granite boulder in the center of the square of what had been the town of Brownfield. There was no town now. The forest fire, sweeping down out of the Maine hills two nights ago on a thirty-five mile wind, had leveled every building for almost a mile. The town was a gray wasteland of cellar holes, chimneys, and twisted metal. The fire had burned across the grass of the village square to the very base of the monument. "It came too fast," the young man said. "There wasn't anything we could do. I was back of town fighting the fire and the next thing I knew the wind had shifted. I jumped into my car but the flames got here first. People had to leave everything and run." Only the statue had seen the town burn. The flames, rolling down the street, had Ughted his bronze face and had thrown a monstrous shadow across the reddening walls of the church. For a timeless moment he had stood alone with feet planted solidly and with head erect, watching the fire come, his right hand raised as if to shield his face from the heat. "Nobody saved anything . . . There wasn't time," the young man said. He was wearing old army pants and a pair of soot-blackened old army boots; evidently they were the same clothes he had worn during the fire. "I never saw my house. I came back the next day and saw where it had been." "Where are you going to live now?" "Where.''" the young man said, looking up in surprise. "Why, here; they're shipping in sixty prefab-houses next week," he said, "and we're setting up a portable sawmill. There's a lot of burned timber we can use for two-by-fours. Of course, some people are moving away, but a lot of people like to live here in Brownfield." No doubt he felt that didn't quite express what he meant, for he groped a moment and then raised his right hand shoulder high in a gesture toward the statue. "Only the houses are gone," he said, "Brownfield's still here." May. 1^32 3 Autotiograpnical Sketcli Alex Chambers Rhetoric 101, Theme 4 A TWENTY-FIVE YEAR OLD COLLEGE FRESHMAN MIGHT understandably feel some need to defend his seemingly awkward position; he is, after all, some seven or eight years older than the majority of his classmates. He may be a veteran . . . but the war has been over for a long time now, and the second "lost generation" is supposed to have found its way. The instructor finds that his charges no longer have gra)'ing hair— that he once again possesses that seniority which lends weight to his words. The incoming freshmen are once again fresh — and young. Who then are the tardy ones? The answers I might give to the question are, of course, my own reasons for being here and as such arc of a highly subjective nature; they constitute in fact an autobiography. Among certain classes of people, higher education is considered common- place. Often a secondary school and a college are selected at the same time — for example, an infant may be registered at both Groton and Harvard soon after his birth, or a young man may enroll at a school which has been attended by the five preceding generations of his family. These are extreme cases, but there does exist a substantial segment of our population which simply assumes that its children will attend a college, and the children seem prone to accept this pattern. The people among whom I grew up present a strong contrast. Here the accepted practice is to attend a secondary school for the time prescribed by law, usually until the seventeenth year. Then one acquires a steady, secure posi- tion which has preferably the promise of a pension although the emphasis is on its steadiness. This way of behaving does not have a positive sanction; rather, alternative programs simply are not considered. It was in this social matrix that I became aware of a world outside myself — a world transplanted into understandable terms by parents and the parish school. The treatment of deviants in such a community is kindly but inflexible; one is gently disengaged from the workings of the process and is given to know that dihgent efforts to learn what is proper will be rewarded with full mem- bership in the clan. I remember with what sorrow I discovered that I had not been an apt pupil — that I had not been accepted fully. It seems that, al- though I had been respectably inattentive in school and had at the proper time apprenticed myself to an ironworker, I was given to the reading of books and had once been seen entering the public library. So it happened that I existed on the fringe of the group until the war gave me a decent excuse for leaving it completely. 4 //)(' Urccii Caldron It was in the army that I came in contact with people of diverse back- grounds. My own kind were rare — we are such anachronisms — and I had to seek friends or be lonely. Through a combination of circumstances (assign- ment to a technical school and a relatively permanent base), I was given the time and the stimulus to reflect on some of my basic assumptions. Some of the men I knew had been to college, and since they weren't doctors or engi- neers, I was curious to know how they justified the waste of time and money that a liberal education represented to me. I was led by them to the realiza- tion that my marginal status in the home community was because of a tendency toward reflection and an affection for a life of the mind which I had carefully denied. Their position was shown to be not indefensible but quite in the order of things. I was frightened and, of course, resented the unpleasant turn things had taken; my family and friends at home were being attacked and they seemed very dear to me. I was grateful when the war ended and I was allowed to return to them. I would have done better to remain within the comfortable routine of the army. As a returned veteran, I was forgiven my youthful transgressions and was given a seat with my peers at the neighborhood bar. In the resultant glow" I forgot my doubts, resumed my ironmongering, and drank my beer like a little gentleman. The fog lasted for all of three years. When it lifted, the consequent dislocations were greater than before. I had begun to question the worth of our habits again, and the expressions of hurt, betrayed confidences from my comrades indicated that I could no longer be excused as an inexperienced youth. It seemed to me that some of our veterans' organizations were not too unlike the Nazi Youth Movement, dedicated, as they were, to keeping our neighborhood free of 'inferior' ethnic groups. Violence was a necessary ingredient of these enterprises, and when I protested — loudly and often, as is the case with a newly-awakened zealot — the separation was complete. If I am forced to doubt, it would seem logical to take myself to that place where doubt is reconciled or at least made bearable. The hermitage is not practicable and the university is the only other place I know. I recognize that the choice is irremediable, and I have accepted the knowledge that I cannot go back. I think that a serious effort on my part to learn what our society at large is like will result in a better understanding and greater and greater flexibility in adjusting to its demands. Truth is sweet. It is carried on the honeyed wings of the bee. It is accumulated in small parts, taken to the hive and stored. It is taken from the heart of the fragrant flower — experience — whose end is tragic but whose purpose has been fulfilled. And thus truth is sought out and taken to the honeyed hive of knowledge, where it is used by those who dare seek out this hive and risk the bees. It is not gained without risk, for the honeyed bearers can sting. Some reach it and drink deeply, taking a plentiful supply and giving generously to those who ask for it. Once truth is tasted, there de- velops a craving that will not cease. This is good. — Bob Otto, 101 , May, 1952 5 Inside Hines, V. A. John Leedom Rhetoric 101. Theme 12 AS MY SENIOR YEAR IN HIGH SCHOOL DREW TO A CLOSE, I was faced with the unpleasant realization that I would have to find a summer job so that when college began in the fall I would have a few dollars for fees, books, etc. Although hard physical labor was (and is) ex- tremely repugnant to me, I was about to seek employment cutting weeds for the Texas Oil Company when the principal of my high school received a letter from the personnel division of the Hines Veterans" Hospital. This letter stated that male high school students were wanted to work as hospital attendants for the summer. Knowing that I was planning to begin pre-medical work in the fall, the principal contacted me and gave me the letter. .\cting upon the information given in the letter, I hopped into the family automobile and set out for Chicago and Hines Hospital. My first sight of Hines absolutely dumbfounded me. I had expected a large hospital — possibly a large structure several stories in height — but what met my gaze was not a single building but a large reservation. Single-story buildings, interconnected by covered passageways, seemed to sprawl indiscriminately over one hundred acres of ground. The whole reservation was enclosed by a high wire fence, pierced here and there by guarded gates. After passing the guard at the gate and driving all over the reservation, I finally located the personnel building. I spent the next four hours filling out forms in triplicate. The government acquired a complete record of all my activities since infancy. The Veterans' Administration is cognizant of my shoe size, the number and magnitude of my love affairs, and the number of calories of food that I ordinarily consume daily. The life history finished, I had to sign the most important paper of all, the "Loyalty Oath". I swore by all that is holy that I was not, and had never been, a member of any subversive organization. My mental and moral fitness for the job assured, there remained only the physical examination to be hurdled. I was pinched, thumped, auscultated, x-rayed, and analyzed. To my surprise, I was found to be disgustingly normal. Injections for tuberculosis, smallpox, tetanus, and typhoid climaxed the physical examination. Clutching my aching arms, I staggered off for home, rejoicing in the knowledge that I had made the grade — I was officially a hospital at- tendant at Hines. The next two weeks were busy ones. During the mornings I worked on the ward washing beds, giving bed baths, and getting acquainted with hospital routine. I became accustomed to the sights, sounds, and smells of a large hospi- tal — the clean tangy scent of antiseptics and the sweet sickly odor of ether; the sight of the morgue attendants wheeling one of the patients who had received 6 77k' Crccii Caldron an "unconditional discharge"; the irresponsible babbling ot a patient just coming out from under an anaesthetic. Afternoons were spent in theory class learning the proper way to give bed baths, the proper psychological approach to a patient, and how to avoid catching infectious diseases. From the viewpoint of a prospective medical student, I was assigned to a very interesting ward during my training period, Ward 42, neuro-surgcry. While I was on Ward 42, I saw for the first time oxygen tents in operation, the effects of anaesthetics, and some of the techniques used in caring for oper- ative wounds. While on Ward 42. I learned for the first time the meaning of "guts." A patient was brought in from surgery. He had lain ujron the operating table for four hours while surgeons picked shrapnel from the lower part of his spine. I was assigned to watch him while he came out of the ether. Upon going into his room and getting a close look at him, I was surprised to see that he appeared very young. A glance at the card at the foot of his bed told me that he was but eighteen years old. His first words upon awakening were, "Where's the shrapnel the doctors picked out of my back? I want to keep it for a souvenir." Poets babble about courage, but for sheer unadulterated "guts" one would have to travel far to find a person who could surpass this eighteen- year-old boy as he lay on a hospital bed, his spine shattered, existence in a wheel chair his best pros(:)ect for the future, his pain-wracked body reeking with the stench of gangrene, but who could still smile and ask for a souvenir. When my two weeks' training period ended, I was transferred to Ward 54, medical neurology. My main duty there was specialing four patients in what was referred to as the "lung room." The "lung" referred to "iron lung." The four patients were all victims of bulbar poliomyelitis. They were all young men, and all of them lived in respirators at least part of the time. Tony, Wally, and Glenn slept in portable "lungs" during the night, and Danny was unable to breathe at all without the aid of a respirator. My duties consisted of feeding the boys, taking them out of the "lungs" for baths, and watching the "lungs" to see that they were functioning properly. Toward the end f)f the summer, Danny became critically ill from a kidne\ complication, and the doctors gave up hope for his recovery. He was moved ("iron lung" and all) into a private room. For two days he was kept alive by blood transfusions, intravenous feeding, oxygen, and the Waggenstein ap- paratus for removing fluids from the digestive tract. At the end of the second day it was evident that there was absolutely no hope. Late in the afternoon Danny asked for the Chaplain. The Chaplain came and brought with him a male quartette who sang hymns to bedfast patients. The singing had a strange effect upon Danny. He said the singing obliterated his pain, but when the singing stopped, the pain returned. The men continued singing until Danny slipped smilingly into a coma from which he never awakened. Did the hymn singing activate some supernatural agent which destroyed the pain, or was the relief purely psychological.' Danny had no doubts. May. 1952 7 Thus passed the summer — bed baths, bed pans, death, paui, and new hope. That summer provided experiences which I shall never forget. Working in a hospital reaffirmed my desire to be a physician. My ex[x:riences taught me more about the potentialities of the human personality than I had even dreamed of before. My sense of values broadened, and I learned once and for all that though man is an animal he has a peculiar dignity that is inherent in his species alone. These experiences are of primary interest to any pre-medical student for the practical knowledge they give him about his future profession. A theo- logian would find life as a hospital attendant a moving spiritual experience. Any normal human being can greatly broaden and enrich himself by a sum- mer "Inside Hines, V. A." "Test Case" ror America Marjorie Oplatka Rhetoric 101. Theme n ONE OF MY HISTORY PROFESSORS HAS SAID THAT THE French mobs storming the Bastille were incited to action partly by the 90 degree heat of that fateful July 14, 1789. Perhaps the temperature had something to do with exciting "homeloving American citizens" to violence in the Chicago suburb of Cicero on July 14, 1951. Early in June, Harvey Clark, a Negro war veteran, and his family had at- tempted to occupy an apartment in Cicero's residential section but had been restrained by Cicero jxtlice. In July Clark returned with a court injunction ordering the police to protect him. As he made a second attempt to move into his apartment, he was again threatened that there would be violence if he proceeded. Harvey Clark started to move in anyway, but, soon realizing that the police were not going to provide adequate protection, he deposited his family belongings in his new "home" and departed on Tuesday. By Wednesday morning, July 11, crowds were milling around the apartment house and haranguing the police. Teen-age hoodlums marched into the Clark's unoccupied apartment Wednesday afternoon and, goaded on by cries and cheers of adult onlookers, began throwing furniture out of the windows. "Can anyone play the piano?" called out one of the boys, and the Clark's piano was heaved onto the street. The police, with little enthusiasm, chased the boys out of the building and ordered the crowds to "step back across the street," for they had overflowed the empty lot across from the building, were trampling lawns of nearby resi- dences, breaking windows, and starting fires in the yards. By Thursday night the building was nearly ruined, all streets in the area were jammed with cars and "sightseers," and the mob had reassembled and numbered at that time about 4000. Laughing and shouting, they threw bricks, 8 The Green Caldron flares, and fire crackers, and again and again they attacked the building until Illinois National Guardsmen, called by the county sheriff and the governor, drove them off with bayonets. The climax over, the guardsmen firmly held their ground, and by Friday, the crowd had dispersed leaving only a few hundred. One hundred and eighteen persons had been arrested and a number of citizens and guards seriously wounded. Cicero settled back smugly: the Clarks couldn't move in now, and the riot would be a forewarning to any other Negro family that might have had similar intentions. The mob spirit died down in a few days, but I have found that the townspeople's prejudices are still being perpetuated, and the apartment house, now completely tenantless, is still boarded up. I have seen other mobs: pickets guarding a closed factory; the "Loop" Christmas shopping crowds; wildly enthusiastic football fans. The Cicero race-riot mob was a combination of these, for the rioters possessed the "self- righteousness" of the picketers, the doggedness of the Christmas shoppers, and the greatly aroused spirit of fans vicariously enjoying a sports spectacle. Do middle-class Caucasians living "quiet, routine" lives normally become hate-mongers and members of lynch mobs when confronted with the possibility of receiving Negroes into their communities? I can answer this question only by describing the attitudes of the residents in this particular area and by suggesting the importance of the outside forces — the pro-riot publicity provided by the local newspaper and "civic" organ- izations, a group called the 'White Circle League, and gangs of Chicago hoodlums that the Guard finally dispersed. I take particular interest in the Cicero case because many of the rioters were my schoolmates and neighbors, people with whom I was in closest daily contact. Ciceronians are, for the most part, hardworking, industrial laborers or shop- keepers who came from immigrant families or who are immigrants themselves, and who settled in the "west side" of Chicago just before the depression. They are home-owners whose primary purpose in existence appears to be the upkeep and improvment of their homes and the "security" for their families which they feel the restricted community provides. The typical attitude towards the Clark family is expressed in one of the letters published in the local paper at the time of the riot: "To the Editor: The people of Cicero and Berwyn built up their respective towns when the land was just prairies and woods. They have worked hard to build the kind of community they have today. These same people have lived here in bunga- lows and flats for 10, 20, 30 years, built their homes, paid for them and have kept them in the best condition which we are mighty proud of. Now these same people are protesting against a Negro family that intends to intrude on this peaceful community. The colored race has no respect for the hard work, effort or neatness we have put into our town. It is evident that when the colored move into a section the valuation drops on all surround- ing homes that the white people worked so hard to pay for and keep. May. 1052 9 And what happens when the colored move? You know, I know, every- one knows. The home, the section are ruined because they don't know the first thing about hving as clean, wholesome Americans. \'es, we believe in the Constitutional rights, but who established these rights.' Who fought for them back in George Washington's days.' How alx)ut the government, state, and county doing something to protect us whites from losing the value on our lives and homes. Our homes have been our whole lives. Please give a little thought and kind consideration. We are not bums, hoodlums, or mobsters. We are just average hard working Americans trying to keep and save our inalienable rights." This letter was written by a girl who had been an outstanding student in her high school graduating class and whose parents are active in city affairs. But the letter is also typical of the propoganda arguments in circulars dis- tributed throughout the neighborhood, circulars which bore the slogan of the White Circle League "Go, go, go . . ." "What can be done to counteract such prejudices?" I asked some of my former high school teachers, who would be faced with tremendous classroom problems if the Negroes should succeed in establishing themselves in the com- munity. "Why doesn't the school do something?" I had appealed to the ad- visor of the student newspaper. I was told that the problem was being con- sidered and that perhaps in the following fall semester there would be a program, to be conducted by the student government on libraries, for pro- moting better race-relations. Perhaps, but judging by the tone of voice, the lack of concern on the part of those who had opposed the violence once the riot itself was over, I realized that, beyond teaching the literary significance and historical glamor of the writings of Paine, Rousseau, and Lincoln, even the school did not "care" about the racial intolerance practiced by its students. On the Sunday following the arrival of the troops, the "quiet, middle-class" Ciceronians went to their respective churches to hear quiet, comforting ser- mons on love of God and "brotherhood." "Does a blind man care what color his neighbor is.-" Evidently the "self-righteous" attitude expressed in the letter overshadowed any feeling of remorse which the sermons might have provoked. Anyone could profess brotherhood until a new situation developed. It has been said that Clark's was a "test case" sponsored by the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. If this is so, then the test has proved two things: first, that the people of Cicero and other suburban communities are not ready to accept the facts that deplorable housing condi- tions in Chicago are forcing Negro families to look for homes in the surround- ing communities, and that these families do have the constitutional right to establish homes where they wish; second, that before the Negro can hope to settle peacefully in such communities as that which Cicero typifies, there is "a great deal of work to be done." Will there be another "Cicero case"? There has already been an "Oak Park case," a "Peoria Street case," and hundreds of unpublicized "cases" in 10 The Grccu Caldron the South. I cannot profess to know of a specific solution to this problem, but I feel that it should be a major concern of the schools and churches to educate parents and children alike on developing not just "tolerance" but understanding and admiration for both the cultures and individuals of other races. What about such organizations as the White Circle League and other "little Ku Klux Klans".'' What can be done now about a police department that will not grant protection to its Negro citizens? I repeat, there is a great deal of work to be done. Tlie World s Hair is Turning Gray Virginia N. McMaxus Rhetoric 101 , Finn! Examination Theme IN THE LAST, DRAGGING DAYS OF WORLD WAR II, SOME- where between the German surrender and the glorious V-J day, a great wave of optimism swept over the country. The magazines and news- papers began to run colored features of fantastic machines and streamlined cars that were to be a part of our lives in the post-war world. No wonder we licked our chops over the great future promised us. We had been driving stubby and now very shabby cars long enough, and gas rationing and a scarcity of tires hampered us even then. We could not even toss a tin can in the trash or pour out a drop of grease without a pang of grief. Uncle Sam's accusing finger pointed from the poster right at us, and our lives had become quite dull with scrimping and conserving. Now we would reap our reward for the good job we had done; like trusting children we waited for the surprises and miracles of the post-war era to be unveiled. The V-J day celebration was caused by the frenzied excitement of people who felt their burdens lifted from them. The miracle of world peace seemed to extend to each individual's life. The dragon had been slain, right had prevailed, and goodness had triumphed. The evil people and the evil things of the world had been extinguished. Only America and the allies remained, strong and clean-cut, chins up and ready to rebuild the world. When some quipster remarked he wanted to stick around and just see this brave new world with all the same old people in it, his irony was ignored. After all, happy days were here again! And then came the blow. The job of building peace was found to be grueling and tedious and bitter. Rose bushes did not spring up to cover the war-scarred battle fields; the market was not flooded with all the items we had wanted for so long. All the men couldn't come home as we had imagined then. We had inherited a frightening responsibility along with our glory. The veterans' hospitals were still clogged with those who were destined to May. 1032 11 become permanent wards of the country, unsung and torgotten heroes. Among the Allies, the peace-loving and the chosen people, there had sprung up differences reminiscent of pre-World War II days. And the struggle went on. We found we had not abolished evil and wrong, either in ourselves or the conquered. The world had not changed be- cause the people had not changed. The only difference was that we were being forced to grow up, to face reality, to accept the truth. The world was deprived of the "Era of Wonderful Nonsense" we had learned to expect after a blood con- flict. It was a bitter pill, and it is not sugar-coated yet. The world has grown grim, and it has resorted to prevention rather than oblivion followed by a drastic cure. And even the optimists are discovering the true meaning of their favorite word. Look in any dictionary. Utopia means simply — nowhere! Polio and I Bruce Aldenifer Rhetoric 101. The we 11 IT WAS JUST A SMALL FAMILY— A MOTHER, A BROTHER, a father, and a sister. It was a loving, understanding family, composed of four everyday people, doing everyday things. It was my family. It was a small country town, with bustling activity for the ones who knew how to live there, hut it was backward and dull for the ones who didn't. I had learned to live there, and it was the town I loved. In it were people — strange people, quiet people, intelligent people, and simple people. From this variety of people, I had chosen my friends. Such was my life, my home, and my surroundings. How could one life change as much as mine has without changing these surroundings? All of these things remaining equal, what force could grasp a life, wrestle with it briefly, change it completely and then leave the individual facing a new path with a great obstacle to overcome. At the end of this path there is a new life with a future to face, a future filled with things that have struck me. It struck me in the face, bluntly, with no warning, and struck so, that for me it will never be erased. It struck tny family and my friends, leaving a deep mark not to be easily forgotten. The beginning of this phase of my life was characterized by a painful backache and a stiff neck. Not to be side tracked from my summer plans, I continued on until I could drag no farther. Finally, I told my mother, and she took me to the hospital for the fateful spinal tap. After the doctor left my room with the revealing tube of fluid, mother and I waited for the verdict. The minutes seemed like hours. At the time, I scoflfed — polio? — not I. Mother just sat. The doctor returned and I received the verdict passively. 12 llir Cri'cii Caldron not knowing what lay ahead. Mother received it quietly, knowing that her only daughter had a new life to face and wondering how she could help. In a relatively few days, I was put in an iron lung, commonly called the big green worm by us polios, and the days of hell began — days represented by gasping breaths, a worried family, serious doctors, and scurrying nurses ; days that now are hard to remember because of my semi-conscious state at that time. Now it seems like a fight to maintain a life against a force that fought hard to abolish it. Several people were featured in this fight. Nurses, doctors, and parents fought by my side, and family, friends, and brother fought away from my side. I had no part to play then; I just lay and responded involuntarily to the lung's ceaseless wish-whoosh- whish- whoosh as it inhaled and exhaled for me. The lung and its maintenance crew were my life then, and without them I would not be. After three weeks, I was separated at intervals from my big, green com- panion and finally was completely weaned from it after another week. Now my share of the battle began ; I had to regenerate useless muscles as best I could. My mental state retarded my progress for five months. I was in a constant state of resentment, tears and nausea, all of which were largely psychological. Each day I slipped farther down until I was practically skin and bones. My parents were heartbroken. Dad came to feed me three times a day, trying his utmost to force food down me but to no avail. My doctors tried everything in the way of science to help me, and my nurses went berserk trying to think of" something to snap me out of the deep rut I was in. My physical therapist had me scared of any treatment she forced on me, because of the pain it caused in stretching my sore muscles. After all of the things these people did failed to help nie, the doctors sent me to St. Francis Hospital in Peoria, a hundred and fifty miles from home. All of the darkness of previous months was wiped away, and I was con- fronted with a new hate. The hate was not only directed at my paralysis but at my new surrounding of bustling hub-bub, caused by nurses wheeling polios back and forth to treatments, schoolteachers conducting classes in bed, doctors making rounds, and occupational therapists helping the polios in handicrafts. I isolated myself from all of this, lying deep in my bed, buried with thoughts of my once-happy days, and of my family and friends so far away. After a period of having no loving affection or friendly attention, I gradually wove myself into the intricate pattern of rehabilitation in a hospital. Now I realize why the doctors had moved me away from home ; they knew it was the only thing left to do. Of course, it was the most difficult thing for me, but now I appreciate it. Then, I resented it. Every day was filled with new accomplishments. Little things like washing my hair, putting on real clothes, writing letters, and beginning my schoolwork made me feel alive again. My braces arrived and I was so proud of them. I took my first steps and I was bursting with joy. That was my peak of successfully mastering my disability. Then I had found things I .\/,;y. ]'>5J 13 could do, and in that glory I forgot the things I could not do. Now I am used to the things I can do and strive for the things I can't master yet. \'oIumes are needed for me to describe the life I led in Peoria. Every minute, every hour, and every day was crammed full of things that played a major part in my rehabilitation. Gradually, I became well enough adjusted to my handicap to go home. After waiting for this day for so long, I was afraid — afraid to face my family and friends in a wheelchair or on crutches. It was a major adjustment, and it took a long time to adjust to leading a life with able-bodied people. I say I am adjusted but inside of me I am not. I will never be satisfied until the day comes when I can discard my polio and its appliances and step into the world to begin where I left ofT. Wky We Must Fi^kt in Korea James Wvmer Rhetoric 102. Thfinc 2 THAT WE MUST FIGHT IN KOREA IS PROVED BY ANY His- tory book. In the late thirties, Hitler invaded Austria and Czecho- slovakia; he would not have been powerful enough at that time to succeed in conquering either country if his armies had been opposed by the major powers ot the world, but he bluffed and scared the rest of the world into letting him succeed in his conquests. The Communists, in 1950, tried the same type of bluff-scare invasion in Korea, but this time the world rallied to defend the small democracy which was attacked. The fight in Korea proves that the U. N. can draw the line beyond which it will not let aggressor nations go; the League of Nations was unable to decide when and where it should stop aggressor nations, and thus it was a failure. Another reason why we must fight can be readily seen by looking at a map of Asia. If the Communists controlled the Korean peninsula, they would be able to outflank our forces in Japan. They could accomplish their northern flanking movement from Sakhalin and their southern flanking movement from Korea. A parachute force could be sent from Vladivostok to central Japan; this force would split our army in Japan into two parts, and Japan would then fall to the Communists. However, if the Communists' southern flank is constantly being threatened, they will not be able to take Japan. Our small army in Korea is keeping the Fourth Chinese People's Army and elements of the First and Third Chinese People's Armies occupied in Korea. In spite of what many people think, the Chinese armies are not unlimited; most of the Third Army is used to protect the Chinese coastal areas, and a great many soldiers must be used to keep the Chinese people under Communistic rule. It is cjuite possible that, if it were not for Korea, 14 The Green Caldron the Chinese armies would now be invading many oiher countries in Asia, such as French Indo-China, Siam, Burma, and India. The armies of a dictator- ship must always be on the move against someone or something. Also, our action in Korea has saved a democratic country, and, although South Korea is not a very big country, neither was Austria; when Austria fell to the Germans in 1938, Europe fell with her, and if South Korea had fallen to the Communists, I have no doubt that Asia would have fallen with her. Aggressor nations usually pick on small countries first, then middle-sized countries, and last of all large countries. The Korean lighting made this country aware of the danger of Com- munism; now we are rearming rapidly, and the danger of another World War is somewhat less great than before 1950. America's defense industries have been reactivated, and we are not in danger of being caught asleep by a sneak attack as we were in 1941. The American people today are prepared to fight the Soviet Union if they must, but I think that the Korean fighting may deter Russia from attacking anyone else in the world, including America, because the Russians now know that we are not afraid to fight Communism. Patterns Ellen Rhode Rhetoric 101, Theme 11 -rVTTHY DID I DO IT? HOW DID I GET INTO THIS? THESE \\/ are questions we ask ourselves many times. I know why I did it and I know how I got into it. There was a war on and I asked for a military leave from my civilian occupation. I was one of fourteen women who stepped from the troop train at Camp Stoneman, California. This was our final move until our orders came for service outside the continental United States. At this camp we were to have our first real taste of regular military life. The officer who met us gave us the information that our baggage would be taken to our barracks, but that the business at hand was that of getting our army issue. He also informed us that we would march to the quartermaster store. I was glad to stretch my legs after the five-day train trip from Washing- ton, D. C, but I didn't think they needed to be stretched to the extent of walking two miles to and two miles from the store. The issue consisted of an army blanket, a mattress cover, a bed roll which was some four feet long and thirty-six to thirty-eight inches in diameter, a gas mask, a steel helmet, and the customary army eating utensils. As the officer and two enlisted men began instructing us on loading up, we realized we were expected to carry all of this equipment to our barracks. We were tmder army jurisdiction and it appeared we would be treated like all other army personnel and not favored because we were women. I May. .">5J 15 The time had come. We were told that the hour of embarkation would be early. At 4:30 a.m., lookiiij,' much like walking charm bracelets, we marched four blocks to the truck which was to take us forty miles to the port. Finding enough sitting space on the boards which had been placed along the sides of the truck was very much like finding enough space on the bleachers at a basketball game in Huft Gym at the University of Illinois. On an empty stomach it is not especially pleasant to begin a day with a 4 :30 a.m. forty-mile truck ride, a one-half mile walk, and a two-hour wait in line for inspection. The mere fact that a part of a convoy was composed of women was no reason for changing the custom of having breakfast after checking in at the docks. * * * As the fighting front moved farther and farther away from the Hawaiian Islands, it became evident that women who wanted to have an active part would have to take a forward assignment. The proverb "ask and thou shalt receive" proved to be true, especially when one asked the military for an assign- ment offering more inconveniences. Women were warned of the adjustments which would have to be made if they were to go forward. We were told nothing would be done for us that was not done for the troops as a whole. We were warned that our living quarters would not be the usual army barracks with electric lights and running water, but tents with all outside conveniences ; that there would be a scarcity of food ; that there would be a great scarcity of water for bathing and washing clothes ; that although there would be some electricity, it would not be of sufficient voltage for the use of an iron ; that once awa\' from the Hawaiian Islands we might not be back in real civilization for many months ; that the weather would be hot and humid ; and that we would be confined not only to a small island but most probably to our own working area throughout the day and to our own tent area for the remainder of the time. Three of us from the original group asked for a forward assignment. We were to be transported by air to the island of Saipan. The plane carried hundreds of pounds of A-1 priority medical supplies, the regular crew, seven .■servicemen, and three servicewomen. We boarded the plane at one in the morning. After a few hours we began to think of getting some rest. This was another time when we fully realized that we were just more army personnel and would be treated as such. There were no beds or cots, and our manner of sleeping was most strange. The first person lay flat on the belly of the plane ; a second person lay flat, placing his head on the stomach of the first person ; and a third person lay flat, placing his head on the stomach of the second person, and so on. This manner of sleeping provided a pillow for all but the first down, and also zigzagged us through the plane around the medical supplies. We did find our living quarters to be a tent, barren of everything but mice, lizards, and four cots. When we inquired as to where we would put our 16 The ihciU Culdn'ii clothing, which at home is put in dresser drawers, we were informed that there was a junk pile down the road some three or four blocks and that we might be able to obtain some orange crates from which we could build dressers. We were told that the army furnished only tents and cots for the servicemen and that anything else we might have was entirely up to us. We found that the army would be glad to supply us with hammers, saws, and nails. In fact, they would be glad to supply us with everything but the know-how. Several empty trucks passed us as we carried the empty crates back from the junk heap, but no assistance was offered. Our mess hall was another place where we had it impressed upon us that we could expect regular army treatment. There was a scarcity of certain foods. I can remember the first morning we had the good fortune to have bacon for breakfast. I caught the odor as I came in the door and immediately the day looked brighter. This brightness was not to last. All food for a table was put on at the same time, and it was with much surprise that I watched the first people served take the whole of the platter of bacon. I found that most of the mess hall companions operated under the system "first come, first served." This was true not only when we had bacon, but when we had fruit or other .scarce items. It was customary to place the fruit on the plate, and if we were a little late we could expect our fruit to be gone. The island of Saipan is about four miles wide and sixteen miles long, located between the Equator and the Tropic of Cancer in the Pacific Ocean. This gives the impression there would be a bountiful supply of water. Our water came from a big tank which had been placed on top of our shower- utility building. At rather infrequent intervals a serviceman would refill the tank. We found we were to be allotted one bucketful for the purpose of wash- ing our clothes and one bucketful for rinsing our clothes. The custom was for two people to draw numbers. The one holding the first number would wash and rinse her clothes first ; the next time water was available, the one holding the second number was first. The lack of water was also felt in the bathing line. The rule, and it was very rigidly enforced, was to step under the cold, salty shower, get wet, turn off the shower, soap up, and then rinse. If, while we were soaping up, someone used the remainder of the water we did the next best, simply wiped off the soap. While life was quite difficult and unpleasant under conditions such as I have described, I look back and realize that it was a great experience. It is true we did march when it seemed transportation was available for riding; we did wear unwashed and unironed clothes when with a little ingenuity there might have been more water and electricity available ; and we did live in tents which leaked and were infested with mice and lizards. Yet, these were the same conditions under which the servicemen lived, and the army did nothing for the servicewomen that it could not do for the servicemen. May. 1^52 17 Tne Little Present Sandra Schwartz Rhcloiic 102, Theme 2 THE FIRST 150^- WHO EVER STIRRED THE FLAMES OF puppy-love in my childish heart labored under the improbable name of Blackwell Webly Glough. My family and I lived, at the time, on the second floor of one of the numerous three flat buildings which make up so much of the residential areas of Chicago. Blackwell's family lived on the third, and it was the very proximity of our apartments which made us such good friends. Blackwell and I were inseparable. Wed walk to school together every day, and in the afternoons we'd fly across the Himalayan Hump with Terry and the Pirates and chase villainous diamond thieves with Captain Midnight, Ichabod Crane, and Joyce. Television was still in the experimental stage, Kukla and Ollie were still half-formed ideas in Burr Tillstrom's head, and Howdy Doody was as yet unborn. As a matter of fact, I think we would have laughed these sissified puppets right out of existence. We were almost always together in the evenings, too, either playing in the dough's big sun-room or pretending we were sailors in the bunk beds in Blackwell's nautical bedroom. Another very good reason for our close friendship, I think, was the fact that Blackwell fancied himself quite a comedian and I was an excellent audience. He'd entertain me by the hour with jokes, funny stories, and imitations. His best imitation was that of a drunk. He'd roll his eyes, slur his words, stagger around the room, and I'd go off into gales of hysterical laughter. As both of Blackwell's parents were heavy drinkers, I have no doubt that he got his material first hand. When the "mean kids" at the end of the block would pick on me, Blackwell would get on his big blue tricycle and scare them away, for he was a very big boy for his age. Every Saturday afternoon we'd walk to the local movie theatre and munch our way through the double feature. In the fall of 1940 Blackwell and I went campaigning for President Roosevelt. We made big "Roosevelt for President" signs with white poster board and red and blue crayons. We walked around the block three times, chanting "Roosevelt for President." When the war started, we collected scrap iron and newspapers from all the housewives in the neighborhood. Yes, Blackwell was my friend, confidant, and protector. One day, Hugh Webley Glough, who had made quite a bit of money selling insurance, announced to the residents of our building that he had tired of our middle class neighborhood and was moving himself and his family to an elevator building on Lake Shore Drive. I was crushed. After the initial shock had passed, 1 realized the date for the moving had been set 18 J'hc Green Culdrou so far in the future that it would be a long, long time before the Gloughs moved away. But before Blackwell and I knew it, the fatal day was upon us. A big, red moving van pulled up into the alley behind the house, and men began loading up the Gloughs furniture. I ran downstairs to watch and I saw Blackwell leaning dejectedly on the side of the garage wall. We had quarreled a few days earlier about the possession of a tin can which Blackwell had found in an empty lot, and things were a little strained between us. After a few moments of conversation the strangeness passed, and Blackwell vowed fervently to come and visit me as often as possible. I was inconsolable. All at once he looked at me in a determined way. "I've got a little present for you." I looked at him in a strange manner, for he wasn't carrying any packages, and I didn't see any bulges in his pockets. "It's not in package form." The truth slowly began to dawn on me. Blackwell led me behind the garage and told me to close my eyes. I did. All at once he planted a big wet kiss on my cheek and, overcome with embarrassment, he ran into the moving van. I was in a state of ecstatic bliss. After the moving van had left, I walked slowly upstairs, holding ihe spot on my cheek that Blackwell Webly Glough had kissed. Tne First Lesson Judy Garr Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 I HAD HAD FOUR PIANO TEACHERS IN SIX YEARS AND, AS I stood before the door marked Lucille Gould and Associates, I had no reason to believe that she would be different from the others. Each had been a human metronome with a mind that seemed tuned to three-quarter time. Yet, Miss Gould had been recommended to me very highly. I was naive enough to think that was sufficient. Actually, I was more in need of high recommendations than she. A low-pitched voice answered my knock and I opened the door. The ordinary "studio" of a piano teacher is drab at its best. A piano, a few hard chairs and, perhaps, a table compose the furnishings which seem awkward in the dim, gray rooms. However, the room I entered that day was not an ordinary "studio." It was very large, yet the warm brown walls, the flowered draperies, and the beige carpeting made the room seem intimate. Several com- fortable-looking arm chairs were arranged in informal groupings around the piano. Three huge surrealistic canvasses broke the monotony of the walls and added to the riot of color created bv the manv vases filled with fresh flowers. May, 1952 19 My eyes roamed over the entire room and were beginning a second voyage before I saw her. Lucille Gould was sitting in an easy chair, very still and relaxed. Short and rather plump, she looked like the jovial innkeeper in an English novel . . . from a distance. This impression was dispelled as we sat and talked. Her small, triangular mouth shaped each syllable precisely and energetically. Although her words darted vigorously about, Lucille Gould's eyes poured a steady stream of searching light into my own. Her eyes were small and black. They were the eyes of a caged animal. Her hands, heavily veined and sinewy, were still in her lap. They never gestured or moved except to adjust a strand of black hair that fell out of place as she tossed her head. Both face and body were calm except for those burning eyes. I found myself speaking frankly and rather profusely to this woman who had been a complete stranger short moments before. Sensing that her stand- ards were high, I apologized for my faulty work. "My dear," she said, "do you know the difference between the black and the white keys?" I nodded. Her eyes twinkled as she said, "Then you show great promise." As we continued to speak, I noticed that she quoted Shakes- peare freely. Soon she had recommended three or four books to me and had written their titles on a card in a bold, free-flowing hand. Abruptly, with a hasty, practised movement. Miss Gould reached behind her chair, extracted a crutch and limped toward the piano. Amazement must have lighted my face as I first noticed her club foot. The strong masculine hands were now explained. I could see that her body was not merely plump, but deformed. Her figure was well camouflaged by the expensive, tailored suit she wore. The only time I ever heard Miss Gould refer to her deformity was many months later when I complained of my self-consciousness when ap- pearing before an audience. "My dear," she admonished, "always walk before them proudly. You are able to, you know." I have never complained since. For an hour she played beautiful, rambling melodies with a virtuosity that the concert stage would have eagerly acclaimed. Then I stumbled over a few selections and nervously awaited her criticism. "Promise me you'll work," she said. "You are sorely in need of it." I did. I left the Gould studio reluctantly that day and the many days that fol- lowed. Miss Gould taught me many things, the least of which was piano playing. I learned music, true, but I learned to hear its joys and sorrows, to listen to its heartbeat. Perhaps the most important thing I learned was humility. 20 The Green Caldron Rket as Writ Seldom does the "clothes borrower" return the item the same way she obtained it. * * * Once dope gets started in these teen-age clubs, sex life goes on a boom, and so does the joining of new members. * * # I suppose the works of Shakespeare, Keats, and Tolstoy would be far superior, and more immortal had there been the typewriter or the printing press. * * * I met Sally in the first grade of Lawson Aliementary School. * * * The boat is usually packed with excited tourists and screaming children who clutch eagerly at the rail and gaze down into the green, splashing water, littered with the floating remains of previous tourists. * # * The most common reason for a divorce is unhappy marriage. If parents would think before they have children there would be less gamblers and oudaws. * * « The student who is working under the influence of a boss or a super- visor learns to coup with the ups and downs that exist in the human world. j This Full-back, tho' married, is still in good physical condition, in spite of the rigorous season just passed. The question is, will he now make the all American Team.? * # # Every three years car manufacturers streem line thier finders a little more. « # # Lou Boudreau said that he would trade Williams if an exceptionally fine offer was proposed. I hoped that he would do so, for I thought that Ted's presence on the rooster did more harm than good. * # # This scene was repeated many times during the course of the season, always ending with the sight of wet jerseys and grass-stained pants walking off the field. Honorable Mention Frank D. Beaman— THE NAKED AND THE DEAD Fred Davis — The Lack of Principles Behind Integrity Jo Ann Davidson — Second Wind David May — "From the Depths of the Sea . . ." Don Norford — The Finger of God Joan Searing— THE CONQUEST OF SPACE The Contributors Bruce Aldenifer — Catlin Twp. Alex Chambert — Tilden Tech Judy Garr — South Shore John Leedont — ^Lockport Twp. Virginia N. McManua — ^Hyde Park Jamet O'Neill — Morton Murjorie Oplalka — Morton Ellen Rhode — Urbana Sandra Schvoart* — Deerfield Twp. James Wymer — Oak Park HE Green Caldron A Magazine of Freshman Writing CONTENTS Edwin E. Kerr: South Dakota 1 Ralph L. Goodman: The Frasch Process 2 Jo Ann Davidson: Persons of Different Faiths Should Not Marry . 4 David M. Behrend: A Review of 1984 7 Robert W. Lasher: Do Engineers Need Liberal Arts Courses? . . 8 William H. May: My Lovely Queen 10 Jeanne M. Ecklund: Commitment 12 Virginia McManus: Week-End in Chicago 13 Anne Davis: Hysteria in Massachusetts 15 /. Ward Knapp: The Man on the Magazine Cover 17 Harold Tenney: Lenin: His Apprenticeship to the Revolution . . 19 Pfcoebe JTf anne^- Child's Play \ .... 25 RhetasWrit 28 Vol. 22, No. 1 October, 1952 V UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T _L HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the Rhetoric Staff at the University of lUinois. 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 William Colburn, Montgomery Culver, James Donovan, Kenneth Nixon, Harold Pendleton, and Harris Wilson, Chairman. THE GREEN CALDRON Copyrighted 1952 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. Soutn Dakota Edwin E. Kerr Rhetoric 102, Theme 13 FOR THE FIRST TIME IX OVER A MONTH THE SCORCHING sun and dry, dusty winds of summer have slackened their vengeance on our withered land. We have had thirty-eight consecutive days on which the sun set in a clear sky, blazing forth a last promise of the hell we could expect on the next day. For more than five weeks we cursed the sun as it rose in the morning, sweltered under it until exhaustion overcame us, and prayed at twilight that the next day might not be the same. Yesterday at sunset, clouds rose into view on the northwest horizon. In a beautiful display of yellow, red, and purple, the forerunners paraded solemnly toward us. By the time night turned them blue-black, they had advanced half the way to us from that point where the sky meets the endless prairie. At three o'clock in the morning I awoke from a hopeful slumber to a thunderstorm which lasted for more than an hour. I lay awake, listening to the diminishing sound of the thunder as the storm moved eastward over the prairie. The rain came down steadily, pattering lightly on the veranda outside my window. A cool breeze rustled the curtains, and the fresh smell of ozone and rain filtered into my room. At last I fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that the drought was really ended. Around eight o'clock in the morning we arose to a transformed world. The sun was shining once more, but this morning it was sparkling on the droplets of rain still clinging to our pale trees and brown grass, and on the little puddles which covered the land as far as one could see. The few birds which made their home at our little oasis were singing. The robins hopped about the lawn and shrubs, searching out the stranded earthworms between concertos. Our one pair of wrens nesting in the orchard warbled among the apples and pears which we had saved. After a late breakfast Dad and I decided to go out to survey our reborn acres. The little garden beside the orchard had responded to our care and would soon be yielding fresh vegetables for the table once more. The plants were lifting their foliage again, a feat which we had not been able to inspire by a heavy irrigation every evening during the drought, although we had managed to keep them alive. We walked together across the once-green meadow and were delighted to find that we could get our feet wet from the curled, brown combination of bunch grass and sandburrs. Half a mile out on the range, we descended into a slight ravine and dis- covered the herd of Angus splashing in the muddy water of the creek which only yesterday had been bone dry. Old Rocky, the huge, black, broad- [1] 2 The Green Caldron shouldered herd bull, meandered over to us, water dripping from his legs and muzzle, to have his back scratched. Two calves dashed off in a race that sent their worried mothers galloping after them, lowing for them to return. The willows which grew on either side of the creek were as green as in springtime, probably because their roots had penetrated to the strata of sand which kept us supplied with water back at the house. A few hundred yards down the creek, an earthern dam created an artificial lake. The lake was now full, and the water was pouring over the spillway in the middle of the dam. Yesterday our cattle had drunk from a muddied spring which seeped up through an alkali pond bed. We walked down the creek for a quarter of a mile and started back to the house. The sight of the wheat stubble made us feel good. We had been able to combine the wheat before the drought ruined the kernels. Next we walked over what had been our corn field. The young plants, not a foot tall, were sprawled grotesquely in every direction, their remains bleached white by the sun. The day got hotter, and we were glad to reach the shade of the two pale elms and the single yellow-leaved Cottonwood growing in the yard. Now the long afternoon is ended. Once more the sun is setting — behind a new bank of clouds. Tendrils of gold, scarlet, purple, and black radiate from the place where the sun is hidden. The sky is colored in an abstract design reaching almost to the zenith. Beyond, the darkness increases. Soon the east- ern horizon is shrouded in the blue-black of evening. In the west the brilliant colors fade to darker hues. A robin on the gatepost intones the evening Angelus. Far away, out on the range, a coyote wails his greeting to night, and Old Rocky's deep-throated voice bellows defiance. Silence and darkness de- scend over the prairie. Tne Frascn Process Ralph L. Goodman Rhetoric 101. Theme 1 THROUGHOUT THE NINETEENTH CENTURY THE UNITED States was forced to import a large quantity of sulfur. Ample deposits existed in the southern part of this country, but they were deep under the earth's surface, many of them underlying quicksand and swamps. In 1890 Herman Frasch, an American inventor, secured a patent on a process to obtain sulfur from these previously inaccessible deposits. This process known by its inventor's name has been considered a great step toward economic independence for our country. October, 1952 3 To institute the Frasch process, a hole, eight to ten inches in diameter, is drilled down to a layer of solid rock directly above and within a foot or two of the sulfur deposits. ( These deposits are usually 500 to 2,000 feet below the earth's surface.) A steel pipe with a diameter slightly less than the diameter of the hole is fitted with an insulation jacket. It is then inserted to the depth of the hole and secured in place. A drill bit, smaller in diameter than the pipe just installed, is used to extend the depth of the hole through the rock and into the sulfur deposit. Two concentric pipes are placed in this large pipe and extended down into the sulfur bed. When these three concentric pipes are secured in place the surface ends of the pipes are connected to the proper sources and outlets. These outlets are equipped with checks and valves to regulate properly the flow of materials. The smallest of the three pipes is connected to a supply of compressed air. The largest pipe is connected to a supply of water that has been heated under pressure to 165° centigrade temperature. The medium-sized pipe is vented into large open vats on the earth's surface. The super-heated water traveling down the large pipe melts the sulfur. The compressed air from the small pipe forces the liquid sulfur through the vented medium-sized pipe into the open vats. The liquid sulfur cools in these vats to solid sulfur which is 99.5 to 99.9% pure. The Frasch process has proven to be most successful in the past fifty years. Owing to its efficiency the United States not only produces a sufficient supply of sulfur for her own needs, but also 90% of the total world supply. College age generally arrives during the last spasms of adolescence. That is the time of life when a lad is told that he must get a job because he is a man, and can't come home in a blind stupor at 4 A.M. because he is just a boy. This befuddled creature is then led into the glorious world of intellectualism. This leading of the lamb to slaughter is his first step toward becoming an independent entity. And the poor kid leaves home and cries in his beer for two weeks. After finding that salt water does nothing for the taste, Junior wises up. For he realizes that he's gone from Mom's apron strings for good, and he realizes that this is the testing ground for his early training and for his readiness to enter the world. At this point he sees the light and realizes that if he doesn't grow up soon, he's going to be in one hell of a mess. MvRON F. Weiner, 101. 4 The Green Caldron Persons ot Different Faitlis Skould Not Marry Jo Ann Davidson Rhetoric 102, Final Examination THOUSANDS OF PARENTS IN THE UNITED STATES ARE asking this question : "Should I let my child marry someone of a dif- ferent faith?" The problem of mixed marriages is still unsolved. Attitudes toward it diflfer. But my answer would be no ; persons of different faiths should not marry. This problem of interfaith marriages has arisen because of the democratic way of life in the United States. Free mixing of persons of different back- grounds is not only condoned but openly encouraged. Thus, young people have ample opportunity to come into constant contact with people of a great variety of religions. I do not intend to intimate that it is wrong for friendships to exist across religious barriers. Catholics, Protestants, and Jews should be friends, but they should certainly not intermarry. Although Jewish, Protestant, and Catholic leaders disagree on many points, they are unanimous in their negative attitude toward mixed marriages. Pope Pius XII, realizing the growing importance of the question, said re- cently in a special encyclical to the American Church: "Such marriages, as is clear to you from wide experience, are rarely happy and usually occasion grave loss to the Catholic Church." Jewish Rabbis are also struggling against interfaith marriages. They are following a religious tradition that dates back to Biblical times. For evidence to back their beliefs, the Rabbis always cite this passage from the Old Testa- ment, in which God forbids the Jews to marry outside their religion : If you embrace the errors of these nations that dwell among you, and make marriages with them, and join friendships . . . they shall be a pit and a snare in your way, and a stumbling block in your side . . . till He take you and destroy you from this land which He hath given to you. Joshua XXni, 13-14. If mixed marriages were known to work satisfactorily, argument against them would be unnecessary. But surveys show that mixed marriages are not successful marriages. Various studies have proved that chances of divorce and separation are two and a half times as great in an interfaith marriage. It has also been shown that the partners' religious lives suffer in such an arrangement. Dr. Murray Leiflfer, sociology professor at Garrett Biblical Institute in Evanston, Illinois, made a study of seven hundred and forty-three October, 1952 5 mixed marriages. Dr. Leiffer found that in most cases religious tension had been adjusted by one or both partners giving up religion altogether. This is a very disheartening discovery, for the more parents who give up religion, the more children that will be brought up with no chance of any spiritual life. A survey on mixed marriages was also conducted by the Y. M. C. A. The results gave the following information concerning the religious lives of the children born of mixed marriages. Where both parents were Catholic, ninety- two per cent of the children were also practicing Catholics. Where both parents were Protestant, sixty-nine per cent of the children were practicing Protestants. But, in the cases where one parent was Catholic and the other Protestant, only thirty-four per cent of the children were practicing any kind of religion at all. What about the other sixty-six per cent? They are the ones who are paying for the folly of mixed marriages. Some people argue against strict marriage restriction. "Why come between two lovers?" they ask. "God says, 'Love one another as I have loved you.' " But love and marriage between two people of diflferent religions is not w-hat God had in mind. Love that doesn't conform to God's laws is un- lawful. God must always come first, not second. No human love should exceed the love of God. If everyone loved God to the fullest extent, this prob- lem of mixed marriages would never have arisen. For he who loves God follows religious laws rigorously. Religion should always be put before mar- riage, because religion is the most important thing in life. Some citizens cannot see how there could possibly be any objections to mixed marriages. "After all," they agree, "religion is such a little thing. Why get upset about it?" But one cannot dismiss religion as just a "little thing." Religious differences are fundamental differences. Sometimes religion seems very secondary to the deep emotional attraction of two young lovers. But once the glitter of romance has w-orn of? and the wedding-day is just a dim memory, religion doesn't seem so unimportant after all. The husbands and wives more often than not find themselves in bitter conflict over their religious differences. No marital unity can be complete unless each fundamental part harmonizes to make a perfect whole. Religion can't be isolated as one part of married life. The religious beliefs of a couple color every phase of their life together. Therefore, it is easy to see how religious differences may cause constant conflict. Cultural patterns and values differ with faiths. For example, Catholicism lauds submission, while Protestantism emphasizes personal freedom. Two people who have a different I set of values and standards really have very little in common. Naturally, they can't be expected to be compatible in such a situation. "If mixed marriages are so unstable," one might ask, "then why does the Catholic Church grant its members dispensations to wed Protestants or Jews ?" The answer is quite simple. A dispensation is just a temporary acceptance of a mixed marriage. Actually, it might be called a compromise. Even though 6 The Green Caldron the Catholic Church allows a mixed marriage, it takes positive steps to deprive the non-Catholic member of all religious freedom. If a dispensation is granted, the non-Catholic member must promise never to interfere with his or her partner's practice of religion. In a signed statement the non- Catholic member must promise that all children born of the marriage will be baptized and reared in the Catholic faith, that the Catholic laws concerning birth control and divorce will be strictly adhered to, and that no marriage ceremony except one by a priest will be performed. The Catholic partner must promise "to bring about the conversion of my consort." Such a dis- pensation with all its cruel commands is no answer to the problem of mixed marriages. Children born of a mixed marriage present still another complication. When the members of a family do not all practice one religion, family unity is weak. Each child tends to be closer to the parent whose religion he shares. This division results in unequal affection and loyalty, and jealousy generally follows. Another disadvantage in mixed marriages is the clash that occurs between church loyalties and family loyalties. If each partner belongs to a different religion, each will be forced to make separate contributions of time and money. Arrangements concerning the church work of one partner may displease and inconvenience the other. Perhaps the strongest argument against interfaith marriage is the acute tension which results among in-laws. If the parents are radically against a son or daughter's marriage to a person of dift'erent religion, they may even go so far as to sever all ties with their child. Such a situation is extremely regret- table, no matter what the cause. As Dr. Sidney J. Goldstein, Jewish Rabbi and well-known marriage counselor, says, "Young people may believe that their own happiness is more important than the wishes of their parents, but it is very difficult, even impossible, for a young man and especially for a young woman to separate himself or herself from the family of which he or she has so long been a part." A spouse is not enough, particularly during crucial hours of death and disease. A friendly, loving family is essential to everyone's personal happiness and security. For many reasons it is important that the chief concern of young people shall be to form happy marriages and peaceful homes. We are now living in a time of world chaos. Nothing is secure and nothing is sacred. We are seeing nations, values, dreams, and institutions being wrecked by the evil plots of small men. If our world is to survive this crucial time, it is essential that the peaceful family be maintained at any expense, for the family organization is the basis of all life. If the family fails, then the world must fail. It is up to every citizen to see that only peaceful marriages are formed. World peace will stem from family peace. Evidence shows that the mixed marriage has little chance for success. Then, I say, let mixed marriages be prohibited ! \ October, 1952 7 A Review of 1984 David Behrend Rhetoric 101, Theme 8 1984 IS BASICALLY AN "IDEA NOVEL" THAT DEALS NOT so much with people as with theories and concepts. It presents a vivid and dramatic picture of successful, stable oligarchy and the philosophy, organiza- tion, and society of that oligarchy. The strength of the book lies not so much in the idea of the book as in the manner of its presentation. The ideas and concepts are presented through the lives of the characters. As in all novels that deal primarily with concepts, the main function of the characters is to represent classes and types. This work is rare in that while Orwell's characters are frankly symbols, they never lose their own individual personalities. The hero of the book, Winston Smith, is a "little man" engaged in a hope- less battle with a hostile society. He is a man who wins the sympathy of the reader. He is a vivid, distinct individual as are all his friends : Syme, blindly loyal to the government but too aware, too intelligent ; Julia, Smith's shallow but devoted sweetheart ; Parsons, stupid but enthusiastic ; and even O'Brien, the antithesis of Winston Smith. All of these people, while completely indi- vidual and distinct, represent types with which we are all familiar. In Orwell's book, these types are placed in a system which controls not only their lives but their very thoughts. The system exerts this extraordinary control by an interesting thought process called "doublethink." Doublethink is a function of the mind that enables one to hold two completely conflicting ideas and believe in both implicitly. We all do this to some extent, but it is the foundation of Orwell's civilization. The word of the state is truth, regard- less of facts to the contrary. Thought criminals (those not adept at rationali- zation) like Smith are soon weeded out by an ingenious secret police. 1984 invites comparison with Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, an- other social theory novel. Huxley's book treats of a stable but benevolent society that also completely controls the mind. The main difiference between the two societies is that the leaders of the Brave New World are sincerely concerned with the welfare of humanity, while those of 1984 are interested only in power. Both societies, however, seek to crush independence and indi- viduality and thus remove originality and vigor from humanity. While Huxley's brave new world sometimes seems rather unreal, Orwell has pictured his society of the future with such clear and logical vividness that it appears to be a distinct possibility. He never allow-s abstraction to dilute the feeling of urgency that characterizes the whole book. 8 The Green Caldron 1984 is a tragedy. Its real strength lies in its reality, for it is that very reality that brings the true nature of Orwell's idea directly to the reader so that he cannot ignore the plight of the hero or the menace which Orwell fears. The book's reality brings the tragedy out of the abstract and presents it nakedly and squarely to the reader. Do Engineers Need Literal Arts Courses? Robert W. Lasher Rhetoric 102, Theme 2 MANY ENGINEERS IN THE FIELD AND STUDENTS IN THE engineering schools have long questioned the importance of liberal arts courses in their curriculum. An engineer is one who is versed in or who follows as a calling any branch of engineering. Engineering is the art and science by which the properties of matter and the sources of power in nature are made useful to man in structures, machines, and manufactured products. The argument, then, appears to be whether the prospective engi- neer needs liberal art courses to prepare himself properly for his area of responsibility. The artisan, highly skilled in the processes of his trade, cannot be expected to produce satisfactory results without sufficient or adequate tools. The painter who is lacking in colors or brushes is not able to express himself as he would if his kit were properly outfitted. So it is with the engineer. If he is to do his job fully and well, he must be adequately equipped ; and to be so equipped, he has a need for liberal arts training. Preparing oneself to be an engineer is a long and tedious process. A great deal of information must be absorbed from the printed page and from the lecture room. The ability to understand fully what is read and heard depends upon the interpretive power of the individual. Studies in vocabulary and interpretive reading, such as those found in courses in English, are valuable in developing this power. The engineer is frequently called upon to express himself concerning an idea or a development, and to do so effectively he must have at his disposal the tools acquired in the study of rhetoric, literature, and public speaking. The engineer does not perform his duties alone, but must work in the company of other people as a subordinate, a co-worker or in an administrative October, 1952 9 capacity. Although to a certain extent a person's abiHty to get along with his neighbors lies inherently within his personalitj', he needs special techniques when dealing with the problems of group behavior. These techniques are presented in courses in personnel relations and management, economics, and associated subjects found in the schools of commerce and liberal arts. It may be true that the person who is just starting an engineering career and who has already acquired the necessary technical knowledge will be able to learn through self-training and experience the non-technical qualities in question. This fact does not remove the need for non-technical knowledge. At the present time and in ensuing years engineers are and will be in great demand. Engineering graduates must be as fully prepared as possible in the shortest possible time to meet the demand. Management cannot wait for its engineers to receive a well-rounded education while on the job. Of the seventeen members of the University of Illinois engineering faculty who were interviewed on this question, all asserted that courses in the liberal arts college are essential to the proper education of the prospective engineer. Such sources may appear to be biased, since as teachers these men favor the teaching profession and would advocate most extensive use of an educational institution. But eighty-two per cent of those interviewed have been profes- sional engineers and therefore are aware of the practical as well as the academic problems involved. From ditch-digging to the peak of professional practice, the individual must be properly equipped to perform his tasks, whether this equipment consists of tangible instruments or of knowledge. Barely essential equipment is rarely sufficient to do a job completely and properly in the allotted time. There is a definite need for general knowledge in addition to the required special knowledge. Engineers need liberal arts courses to provide this general knowledge. Aeons ago, Og, a cave boy, ambled over to the edge of a nearby cliff. Many hundreds of feet below him a dinosaur was meting out punishment to its young. Og, who had just received such treatment himself, dropped his heavy stone hammer on mama dinosaur's head. The puzzled beast looked around in an uncertain manner while Og. to further its bewilderment, dropped a handful of stones on its tail. This was too much ! The dinosaur hurried from the cliff, leaving her young ones to fare as they could, for this was surely a case of every man for himself. Og, observing the chaos below, had an odd feeling in the region of his diaphragm. Before he knew what was happening, a whoosh of air blew out of his mouth, accompanied by a guttural grunt. The laugh was born. Nancy Rockwood, 101. 10 The Green Caldron j My Lovely Queen William H. May Rhetoric 101, Theme 8 THE PLAYER SEATED DIRECTLY OPPOSITE ME RIFFLED the pack of blue and white bicycles and passed them to his right for a cut. A hand danced out comically and tapped them. The "dealer" squared the deck with two sharp raps on the table. Snapping each pasteboard face down, he dealt two to each of his five opponents. Nervously the first man glimpsed each small card as it slid to a halt in front of him. The second player scooped them into a stack and drew them to his bosom. I was third. I didn't look. The cards stopped at the fingertips of the fourth man, the "gentleman." Number five was still talking about his last hand when his share of cards dropped on the green table. The "dealer" nonchalantly fanned his cards and casually assessed their value. Slowly and cautiously, I picked up my cards. I wanted no one peeping into my hand. I stared at them. A big beautiful queen stared right back at me. Clinging to her skirt was a lowly trey. The other five players memorized their cards thoroughly. As quick as if not quicker than the eye, the dealer peeled off six more rectangles, face up. There it was ! Another lady. She was lying back to back with my first. A king sat proudly in front of the dealer. The number oneB man had a weak deuce. He fumbled clumsily with it, almost turning his hole cards over. A three had fallen for the second man. On my left, the gentleman was tapping a cigarette on an eight of hearts. Next to him sat that jabbering idiot. He had a ten showing. "I'll bet five," said the dealer. "Call." "I'm in." "I'll see you," said the gentleman as he lit up. "O.K." "I'll go for the ride." The chips rolled into the pot, and the dealer flipped off another six cards. I got a measly seven. A pair of kings appeared for the dealer. "Nerves" received a ten. My heart fell. The man on my right had a queen — my queen. The gentleman straightened out a four of hearts with his manicured hands. A nine of diamonds brought out a laugh from Mr. Humor. "Pair of kings bets five more." "I, ah, I'm still in." "I'm in." October, 1952 11 "Call," I said. "I'm staying." "I drop," said the comic as he turned his cards over. Another five snaps and we each had a new card. The dealer now had a pair of kings and a seven. The number one man fidgeted in his seat, and then, unsure of himself, folded. On top of that queen I desired rested a four. I had a trey. A trey ! A look at my hole cards proved Lady Luck was with me ; that trey matched the one in my hand. I had two pair. Those kings of the dealer still looked strong. The gentleman now was lining up his third straight heart, a nine. "Five on the kings." "And five more," said the second man. I shoved in ten chips. "I'll ride it out," said the gentleman, "with a possible flush." Four more cards hopped and skipped to each player. A jack halted at my spot. I looked at the dealer. Amazingly, he had two pair showing. Another seven lay with his kings and his first seven. Two pair and kings high. That was better than my hand. A six rested on my lost queen. If I only had her now. My right-hand man showed a three, four, and six. I figured he had a straight because he'd raised the dealer's last bet. The gentleman shifted his position and squared up his fourth heart in a row. It was a six. Should I stick? It appeared that I had donated twenty chips to the pot. I was beaten for sure by the dealer. The gentleman had a good chance to complete a flush, and a possible straight covered the handsome features of my missing queen. Oh, how I could use her ! "Bet five," said the dealer as he coolly pushed a pile of chips into the center of the table. "Call," said the possessor of my beloved queen. The gentleman laid a neat stack of chips next to those I had thrust out. I need a trey or a queen, I thought to myself. I concentrated : I need a trey or a queen. One queen was gone. The other might have been in someone else's hand. The odds were against me, but I decided to gamble. Here was my last chance. The dealer very slowly slid the four cards ofif, C'ne at a time. They came face down. I didn't look right away. I shuffled them through my fingers, pulled them in front of my eyes, and began fanning them. I stared hard. There was my first beautiful queen, as sweet as ever, still staring blankly back at me. Hanging to her skirt was the trey. I look long- ingly at the queen that I had come so close to owning. She seemed to be smiling at me. Please, baby, jump up here, I wished. I slid the trey back very slowly. I could see the white corner. Then it was in full. And what a sight it was. I folded the fan up quickly. I set the three cards down in front of me. Of all the cards in the deck — a jack ! Three useless pair washed my twenty-five chips into someone's pocket. 12 The Green Caldron My chips went to the gentleman. On his last card he had made his flush. His five hearts in a row had beaten the dealer's kings and sevens and the straight on my right. The nervous man was now gathering the cards for a new hand. He brushed my lost queen into the pile — my lovely, lost queen. Cominitrnent Jeanne M. Ecklund Rhetoric 101, Theme 7 SINCE EARLY TIME, THE CARE OF THE INSANE OR "crazy" has been one of the great problems of society. Today in the state of Illinois such care is provided in several state-operated institu- tions as well as in private sanitariums and veterans' hospitals. But the actual commitment procedure is involved and known to few people. The inmates are assigned to all these institutions through one source ; only in an emergency are they admitted directly. Most commitments are made through the court at Cook County Psycho- pathic Hospital. This gray building with its barred windows is located at Wood and Polk Streets in Chicago, Illinois. It is an integral part of Cook Count}' Hospital but is also under the partial jurisdiction of the state. A small number of cases are treated there for the education of medical and nursing students ; the main function of the hospital, however, is that of a human clearing station. The typical patient is brought to the admitting department by either his family or the police because of his strange or violent actions and behavior. To prevent families from bringing unwanted members in for commitment, however, the law provides that the patient must have a certificate signed by a licensed physician requesting an examination. On entrance, the patient is examined by the intern on call or his superior, the resident physician. If admitted to the hospital, the patient then receives a bath and frequently a delousing. His clothing and all personal belongings are taken from him, and he is garbed in hospital clothing. Of course, if he is violent these initial steps of his processing are omitted. The patient is then brought into one of the two first-floor admitting wards where he is further examined both physically and mentally, and laboratory tests are made. Sedation and restraint are used if necessary to calm and quiet him. From the time of his admission and for the next eight to ten October, 1952 13 days the patient is expected to conform to the hospital routine as best he is able. Usually on the second hospital day the patient is transferred to the upstairs wards; the men and women are assigned to the second and third floors re- spectively. Each floor has two wards which allow the segregation of the more violent patients from those less disturbed. During the following days the patient is subjected to many diagnostic tests and interviews. He often appears before a clinic of Chicago's leading psychiatrists, who interview and study him. His care throughout his hospital stay is mainly a process of obsen'ation and routine, including diet, rest, and medication. Occupational therapy is very limited because of the rapid turn- over. Every Monday evening, however, dancing and bingo parties are held for the patients who are able to participate. At the end of this period of observation, the patient appears in court, where His decisions may be divided into three categories. First, the patient may be discharged as not mentally ill. Such a patient usually has had merely an about their preference for his treatment. The judge then makes his decision. His decision may be divided into three categories. First, the patient may be discharged as not mentally ill. Such a patient usually has had merely an emotional upset, or was brought in by the police for sanity tests before coming to civil trial. Second, he may be discharged as not mentally ill but in need of I psychiatric treatment and released on probation to his family for treatment in a private sanitarium, or he may be sent to a state institution if that action is desired. A patient discharged in this manner may be an alcoholic or a marked neurotic. Finally, the patient may be found mentally ill, and be committed to an institution for treatment until the time he can be proclaimed cured by the action of another court hearing. The patient thus committed may suff^er from a mental illness which is incurable. If so, he will spend the remainder of his ! life in an institution. W^eek-end in Cnica^o Virginia McManus Rhetoric 101, Theme A IF YOU SPEND A WEEK-END IN CHICAGO, YOUR IMPRES- sions might be determined by where you get of? the train. If you get off at Union Station, in the heart of the Loop, you will come out onto our crowded, brilliant, famed State Street. And it will seem like every other city in America— bright lights, people rushing, pushing, sailors with a girl on each arm hurrying to roller-skating rinks, whistle-blowing ^ 14 The Green Caldron doormen trying to clear a path from the hotel to the cab for their patrons, cut-rate clothing shops, Woohvorths and Walgreens and Marshall Fields — everything impersonal and everything just what you might expect in a Big City. If you get off at another stop, Polk Street on Chicago's West Side, things will be very different. Outside the station you will find the sidewalks crowded with children and dogs, all digging in the cracks and running in and out of the tenements that line the street. There is a different kind of noise : it seems the entire neighborhood is filled with aimlessly shouting people and fifteen- cent transportation. Streetcars rattle by from four directions ; elevateds run overhead ; busses clog the traffic. Much of the shouting is in foreign languages, for these people are Italian and Mexican. They live in a section of their own, entirely unaflected by the rest of the busy city a few miles away. The neigh- boring section is Polish, and these people are considerably affected by the city, for they live right in the glare from the neon signs of fashionable hotels and night clubs. The red and blue lights flood their apartments at night, and from their kitchen windows one can watch the patrons go into the entrances below. Almost every exclusive district in the city is flanked by slum area, especially the commercial streets such as Rush, home of many of our most famous clubs. The next stop to the west is Maxwell Street, where the Jewish people and Gypsies display their wares and barter right on the street. An eight- block area overflows with these merchants, and the streets and curbs are piled with used clothes and trays of stolen merchandise such as watches and jewelry ; cheeses are strung from the tops of the stalls, and everything from fruit and vegetable stands to pawn shops occupy any gap large enough for a bit of merchandise and a merchant. Drunks sleep unnoticed in the gutter, narcotics are sold under such guises as "pep powder," old women nap on their front stoops, cats sun themselves on window sills, and barefoot "combos" play and dance in the alleys for pennies. Sometimes a spectacular sight such as a dog of unknown parentage being wheeled in a baby carriage with a sign, "Good watchdog— Cheap — five dollars," comes past, and the residents of the street don't even look up. Anything goes on Maxwell Street, the potpourri district of the city. Part of the city, however, consists of people who, being middle class in taste as well as income, have no desire to see either extreme. They rarely if ever visit the fabulous clubs that Chicago is known for, and they would refuse a trip through one of the more colorful sections. They are unlike the un- inhibited poor in that a week-end does not mean beer or wine, gay music, and two days of carefree celebration at the end of a week of hard physical labor. The middle class, or the white collar group, find the week-end only a bit more hectic. There are inconveniences involved ; the butcher shop closes at noon, and that means a Saturday morning scurry, the white-glove and new-hat 1 October, 1952 15 ritual must be repeated in preparation for Sunday church, and the most excitement is the eleven o'clock Saturday night dash for toothpaste before the drug store closes until Monday. Unfortunately, I am a member of the latter class. I have every intention of seeing more of the great city in which I live. I want to explore and see the remote sections — but I end the week by washing my hair, sleeping a bit later than usual, going to the same place every Saturday night. I love having Chicago for a home. I enjoy its contrasts — cruel contrasts at times, but fascinating to watch. I like the feeling that within a few minutes' ride from my home is Lincoln Park and the famous Bug House square filled with fanatic orators on soap boxes. I deplore Skid Row, but driving through it is an unforgettable experience. And I always resolve to make the most of living in Chicago, for I have discovered that there are a thousand ways to spend a week-end in my home town, and I am determined to experience all of them. Hysteria in Massacnusetts Anne Davis Rhetoric 101, Theme 10 \W/E HAVE OFTEN HEARD IT SAID, "THERE'S NOBODY \\/ funnier than people," and, while we laugh at the statement, we all have to admit that it's true. People taken as individuals are amazing cre- ations of God which we cannot completely understand or explain, but which can be studied and classified to some extent. People en masse, however, form a very different compound for the humanist to analyze. The emotions of a mob are usually as strong as those of the most emotional people in it, and the actions of a mob are usually as violent and drastic as those of its most radical constituents. Too often, people as a part of a group lose their individual char- acteristics and powers to think and allow themselves to be easily swayed by the more dominant personalities. This loss of individuality isn't just a phenomenon present today or at any other specific period in historj'. Brutus spoke to the Roman populace at Caesar's burial and won the people to his side, but then Mark Antony gave, at least in Shakespeare's version, his emotional "Friends, Romans, Country- men" speech which swayed them completely in the opposite direction. This same mass action occurred in the lynchings in our own southern states after the Civil War and in our early West, and it occurs now in snake dances on college campuses or, worse, in the all-too-frequent race riots. 16 The Green Caldron One of the most strange and tragic examples of mass hysteria, however, occurred in Massachusetts in 1692. It started in small Salem Village and spread over a large part of the state. The people involved were Puritans, deeply religious and very strict in every phase of their daily lives, especially in the upbringing of their children. This joyless life may have been all right for the adults who had through the years become hardened to it, but for the children, and the more spirited ones in particular, it was too dull and con- fining, and the religion taught them was terrifying and mysterious. Several young Puritan girls of Salem discovered an imaginative Negro servant girl who told them stories of witchcraft and the supernatural at times when they could manage to escape the supervision of their elders. These weird tales were so exciting to the impressionable girls that they told others of their newly-found interest, and soon quite a group of girls ranging in age from eight to twenty were gathering whenever possible to listen to the Negro. Perhaps the first reaction to these stories occurred because of the guilt the girls felt for attending the gatherings secretly, or perhaps the weird stories were becoming too real to them or disturbing their dreams. It may even have been a sort of game to provide new excitement. At any rate, several of the girls began acting queerly and going into spasms, and soon the whole group was following suit. In order to explain these actions and to escape from telling of their secret sessions with the story teller, they said they were possessed by a curse. When it became necessary to tell more than just this, they began naming a few eccentric or unpopular women in the village as their tormentors. The minister, whose own daughter was pretending to be possessed, zealously led the village in the persecution of the tormenting "witches." As they received more and more attention the girls became more adept in their game of being possessed. They added new screams of pain and began to ward of? spiritual shapes which they said tempted them to sign away their souls to the devil. It seems incredible that the village people could have be- lieved these girls unquestioningly, but they did. The few who took time to consider sensibly the actions and the accusations of the girls were squelched by the indignant champions of the possessed. Some of these champions were themselves imagining that they too felt pains and saw visions so that they could be placed among that honored group of girls who acted as accusers for the whole town. In fact, it came to be quite dangerous for anyone to admit that he believed there could be anything deceptive about the strange actions of the girls, for if he did, he soon found himself among the many accused of being witches. People lived in constant fear, not only of the curses of the witches, but of being accused of some sort of sorcery themselves. They saw their neighbors, close friends, and even relatives, people they knew and loved well, sent to prison, and still they did not doubt the word of the "poor afflicted children." I October, 1952 17 Instead they remembered all the petty quarrels, mishaps, and freaks of nature which they could now blame on evil powers and added their testimony to condemn the accused. Trials were held in which the sole evidence was the testimony of the possessed girls about the spiritual shapes of the accused witches. Since they had no way of proving where their shapes had been at specific times, many people confessed to witchcraft and were sent to prison to be used as witnesses against other witches rather than being hanged right away. Many times their confessions and accusations of others were wrung from them by torture. The people of Salem, including ministers and even the judges who tried the accused, were so blinded by the general hysteria and superstitious fear that they did not stop to wonder how people who had led upright lives for years could suddenly become evil. It was not until after nineteen men and women had been hanged and one hundred and fifty more had been put in prison to await trial that the hysteria began to wear ofif and people began to realize that so large a number of their neighbors could not suddenly become posessed of evil powers. Trials were carried on in which no spiritual evidence was accepted, and finally all of the accused were released from prison. The effects of the affair, however, were felt for many years. Silent feuds between families continued for several generations, and some of the girls who had started all the trouble suft'ered pangs of conscience that were worse than any they had professed to endure during their seizures. The whole episode, which will always be a blot on the history of Massachusetts, is an unforgettable example of how wise and upright men may be deluded when they allow them- selves to become immersed in mass hysteria. Tne Man on the Ma^aziine Cover J. Ward Knapp Rhetoric 102, Theme 12 \ NGELO WAS WELL BUILT. HE WAS ONLY ABOUT FIVE- /-\ nine in height, and his shoulders weren't as broad as one might expect, but he was very well built. Angelo was a young man, and he had a build that young men admire and that most women say makes them sick. He resembled some of the men in those "muscle" magazines he always read. I saw Angelo Malano during Easter vacation last month. He was walking down Main Street toward me, not strutting, just walking erect, but people thought he was strutting because it's unusual to see a person walk correctly. Angelo always wore one of two things to cover his thick chest, broad back, 18 The Green Caldron and flat stomach : a size thirty-eight t-shirt, or a brilliant corduroy shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the front open to expose too much of his chest. On his slim hips he always wore a pair of well-pressed pants, a little too short, a little too tight around the hips. He was wearing a yellow corduroy shirt and blue pants when I saw him. "The strongest man in the world," I said when Angelo was near enough to hear me. "WTiat ya say kid?" Angelo's face was as brown as if he had been in Florida all winter. At the first sign of spring he would drive his big, blue Buick convertible out to the lake, strip off his shirt and lie on the seat and tan himself. During the summer he was out every day in his very scanty swim- ming suit, lying on the raft in the lake and being very careful to keep his greasy, wavy hair dry. It was then that the girls would say, "How disgusting he looks, running around half-naked in that damn loin cloth he calls a swimming suit." "Home from college for Easter?" he asked. "Yeah, until Wednesday." "Have you been learnin' anything?" "A little, not very much." I was expecting his usual question, "Who have you been sleeping with?" He asked it. "Is that all you can think about, Angelo?" I asked, feigning disgust. "Hell, yes. Walk up to the drug store with me and I'll buy you some- thing to drink." "No. I just came from there," I said, "I think I'll go down to the pool hall and see if any of the guys are there. Come on. You can show me a few of your card tricks." He smiled slyly. "Hell, that'd just be a waste of time. You can't figure 'em out, and besides I don't want to keep the women waiting down at the drug store." "Jesus," I laughed the word out. "Come on. I'm really a brain, Angelo." He laughed, and we both walked toward the pool hall. Angelo ran a poker game at the pool hall, and that was how he made most of his money, even though he did own an "all night" restaurant where the taxi drivers, truck drivers, and cops ate or drank coffee. He was very smart at cards, and he made quite a bit of money, enough to drive a new Buick. No one I was looking for was in the pool hall, and we sat down at one of the card tables in the rear of the room. "Pick a card," he said, fanning the deck of cards out in his long, smooth fingers. "Okay. I've got one." Angelo showed me the card trick, and then he did several more. There was only one trick I thought I knew the answer to, but I was wrong, and he laughed every time I was fooled. I had to laugh too, because the tricks were clever and he was good, always wise-cracking and October, 1952 19 laughing, and moving his hands quickly and surely. He completely fooled me, and he was enjoying himself very much. "What do they teach you guys at college anyway?" "Not this," I said. After awhile Angelo stopped and said, "I thought you were going to take weight-lifting in P.E. at college?" "I was, but I didn't. Why should I? It's too much work." "Why should you?" He looked at me, trying not to look bewildered, but half smiling and wrinkling his forehead. "Look at these guys." "Who?" "These guys here in this magazine. Don't you college guys ever read anything?" He tossed a "muscle" magazine at me. The man on the magazine cover was greased and shining, every muscle in his body was bulging, and the lighting made him look like a statue. The man was posed in a discobolus-like position. He was studying his right bicep. You could not see his face. Lenin: His Apprenticesnip To tne Revolution Harold Tenney Rhetoric 102, Theme 10 PREFACE NIKOLAI LENIX WAS ONE OF THE FOREMOST ARCHI- tects in the formation of the world political situation as it exists today. The Frankenstein monster that he created will play a part of ever- increasing importance in the shaping of the world's history. Whether Russia conquers the world and imposes a communistic dictatorship on all of us or whether she falls in defeat, the handiwork of Lenin will have an inestimable effect on the lives of the next generations. A life of such significance as Lenin's deserves a much more lengthy and detailed treatment than is possible in a paper of this length. Consequently, I have limited my topic to cover only Lenin's early life and "apprenticeship to the revolution." ' It was during this period that Lenin assimilated those quali- 1 Harold Laski, "Ulyanov, \'Iadimir Ilich," Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (New York, 1934), 8: 140. 20 The Green Caldron ties and theories that were to make him the successful revolutionary and administrator that he was to be in later years. He acquired a remarkable knowledge of Marxist theory, which provided a basis for the government he sought to establish and the plan for its establishment ; he gained an insight into the mentality of the Russian factory worker ; and through this knowledge and insight he rose to prominence among his fellow revolutionists;^ 1 Nikolai Lenin, whose real name was Vladimir Ilich Ulyanov, was born in the obscure provincial town of Simbirsk, Russia, on April 22, 1870. Simbirsk, a peaceful village on the Volga River, was, in spite of its seemingly placid atmosphere, a hotbed of political activity and a perpetual source of revolu- tionary feeling. The principal reason for this discord was the ill-feeling among the lower classes caused by the strict class-consciousness in the town. Mer- chants, officials, landowners, and peasants were sharply divided in a highly stratified society.' The peasants' resentment was further stimulated by the activity of a group of radicals, the nihilists, made up of ecclesiastical students and older high school boys and led by older men who had been transferred or exiled from other areas.* In opposition to the nihilists was a faction of large landowners who sought the restoration of the recently abolished serfdom. The actions of this group further intensified the lower class's animosity toward the land- owners and toward the system of government that gave them their power. The family of Ulyanov ranked close to the middle of this society. Lenin's father, a provincial school inspector,^ was a member of the lower nobility. There were three sons and three daughters in the family, all of whom even- tually took part in some revolutionary actiyity against the Czarist government. In 1887, when Lenin was seventeen, his older brother, Alexander, a brilliant and well-liked young man, was involved in a bombing plot against the life of Czar Alexander III." Alexander was arrested, tried, and hanged for his part in the unsuccessful plot. There is disagreement as to the significance of this event in Lenin's life. Some historians maintain that the hanging intensified his hatred for the Czarist government and thus motivated his desire for its overthrow. Kerenskey, who supports this theory, contends that the hanging made young Lenin into a ruthless cynic. He attributed Lenin's animosity toward the Russian Ortho- dox Church to the presence of a priest at the gallows.'^ 2 Ibid. 3 W. C. White, "Lenin the Individual," Scribner's Magazine, March, 1934, 95 : 185. * Alexander Kerenskey, "Lenin's Youth and My Own," Asia, February, 1934, 34:68-73. 5 David Shub, Lenin (Garden City, 1949), p. 20. 8 Kerenskey, p. 70. T Ibid., p. 71. October, 1952 21 Most biographers, however, tend to discount this theory. Lenin's actions seem to indicate a complete lack of personal feeling.* Also, it is very probable that his desire for the Czar's overthrow and his disbelief in Christianity originated previous to his brother's execution. In later years, Lenin said that he discarded his religion at the age of thirteen or fourteen ^ — at least two years before Alexander's hanging. His lack of moral principle, which Keren- skey attributed to a cynical character, was more probably a result of his belief in the Marxist principle which states, "... only that is moral to a revolu- tionary which helps the revolution. . . . " ^° Of course, Lenin's bitterness at the hanging of his brother might have left him especially receptive to the Marxist philosophy, but it is doubtful that the event had any more lasting eft'ect. Lenin's school record shows him to have been hard-working and accurate. He graduated from the Simbirsk school and received a gold medal as the school's best student. He then continued his education at the University of Kazan, but he soon became involved in a political disturbance and was banished to his family's estate at Kokushkino. His actual participation was not proved, but his brother's record was against him.'^'^ In passing, it might be noted that Lenin's early life could have done nothing but make him into the revolutionary that he was. The conditions under which he spent his formative years left him with but two alternatives — to accept the state of affairs as it was, or to work for its change.^- His character and make- up were such that he naturally followed the latter course. Lenin's education did not end with his expulsion from the university. In fact, the expulsion marked just the beginning. Although he had been intro- duced to Marxist theory previously (probably by his brother, Alexander),^' during this period he began an intensive study of it. The Marxist doctrine provided both the fundamentals and the details of the government that Lenin later strove to establish. Lenin was a devout Marxist throughout his career, and he followed Marx's teachings almost to the letter. Marx's theories of government and economy have no place in this paper, but it is important to note Marx's assumption of the necessity of violent revolution, with the workers directed by a party of trained revolutionaries.^^ In addition to his intensive study of revolutionary theory, Lenin had in recent Russian history a storehouse of information on the practical mechanics of revolutionary effort. Around 1870, about thirty years previous to the time of Lenin's expulsion from the university and banishment, a group of young 8 Laski, p. 143. 8 Kerenskey, p. 70. " Ihid. 11 James Maxton, Lcniti (New York, 1951), p. 13. 1= White, p. 184. 13 Ibid. " Laski, p. 143. 22 The Green Caldron Russian intellectuals had attempted to spread the doctrine of Socialism among the newly emancipated serfs. They were unsuccessful, however, because of j the ignorance, superstition, and servility of the peasants. The insurgents then changed their course of action and organized into terrorist societies called : "The People's Will." These societies sought to gain concessions from the 1 government through assassination and other terrorist acts. After the assassi- nation of Czar Alexander II in 1881, however, the new Czar did not seek to compromise with the terrorists as his predecessor had done. Instead he I launched a vicious campaign against them and drove them underground.^^ From the failure of "The People's Will" and his brother's execution, Lenin derived two principles that were to guide his plan of revolution : first, he saw that terrorist attempts were futile against the might of the Czar, and second, that the peasants of Russia were not receptive to revolutionary incitement. As a supplement to these principles he observed that Russia was quickly becoming industrialized and that factory workers were becoming an important class. The workers were illiterate and discontented with the conditions imposed upon them. They suffered the hardships of long hours, low wages, and poor living conditions. Lenin realized the potentialities of this group and endeavored to direct their discontent and ill feeling toward the Czar's government.^" Vladimir was permitted to return to Kazan in 1888 but was refused per- mission to re-enter the university. A year later his family moved to the province of Samara, where he organized a small Marxist discussion group. ^' He emerged from his banishment in 1890, and, through the efforts of his mother, was allowed to take the law examinations at St. Petersburg Univer- [ sity. After a summer of strenuous study, he passed with honors and was admitted to the bar. He than took a job with a law firm to earn a living and to satisfy his mother, but he soon found this work incompatible with his revolutionary work and retired from his practice.^' At first he spent the greater part of his time becoming acquainted with groups of young men who were conducting night schools for factory workers. In these classes he found a means to spread his teachings among the working class. He also spent much time in the factories, particularly the huge Putilov steel works, talking to workers and trying to gain an insight into their prob- lems, views, and desires.^" At this time the revolutionaries were divided into two parties. One, the Social Revolutionaries, was a holdover from the old terrorist movement. This party directed its attention to the peasants and the land problems and retained 15 Maxton, p. 29. " White, p. 187. 1- Shub, p. 24. " Maxton, p. 13. 18 White, p. 184. October, 1952 23 the terrorist methods. The other, the Social Democrats, sought to spread the Marxist teachings among the working class."* In 1893 Lenin associated himself with an underground circle of the Social Democrat Part}' known as the Elders. The Elders were principally a propa- ganda organization, directing their efforts toward a select group of workers, whom they instructed in Marxist teachings, political economy, and natural science. The intellectual level of this propaganda was high, however, and as a result did not reach the average worker."' Lenin disagreed with this system of select propaganda and proposed mass agitation in its place. Although he was opposed by the conservative element of the group, he was soon able to impose his own system. It was here that Lenin's remarkable ability to blend theory with actual practice became of importance. Previously the party had had no one who could achieve this blend successfully ;"" therefore Lenin became invaluable as a skillful propagandist. In 1895 Lenin went to Switzerland to meet Plekhanov, one of the old Russian Socialists who had been exiled in the 1880's."' Although the two disagreed as to the method of accomplishing the revolution, Plekhanov being the more moderate, they agreed perfectly as to fundamentals and made a profound impression on each other. Lenin came to regard Plekhanov as his teacher and guide,-'' while in Lenin the older man saw the practical leader which the movement had been lacking."^ The two spent many hours together, discussing plans and theories. Through Plekhanov, Lenin made the acquaintance of many important revolutionary figures, all of whom were greatly impressed with the young man from St. Petersburg. Lenin returned to St. Petersburg with new ideas, plans, and a suitcase full of Socialistic pamphlets."" With renewed vigor he took up the agitation of the factory workers and began working toward the unification of the local Marxist circles. This ambition was realized with the organization of the "Union for Combat to Liberate the Working Class." -" Near the end of the year 1895 Lenin initiated the project of establishing a party newspaper which would help to unite the various elements of the part}' and to spread propaganda. Just as the printing was getting under way, however, the police broke in and arrested him and his confederates. With Lenin's subsequent imprisonment and exile, this phase of his life ends. He had completed his apprenticeship to the revolution. From this =0 Maxton., p. 30. -1 Georgii Vladmirovich Vernadskii, Lenin, Red Dictator, translated by Malcolm W. Davis (New Haven, 1931), p. 25. =2 Shub, p. 24. 23 White, pp. 186-187. -* Vernadskii, p. 28. 25 Shub, p. 28. 2« White, p. 188. 2' Vernadskii, p. 28. 24 The Green Caldron point forward he was no longer learning or feeling his way about. He had become a full-fledged leader in the Russian revolutionary movement. When Lenin returned from his three years of study, writing, and planning in Siberia, he launched a program to weld the divided Social Democrat Part}' into "... a vigorous and disciplined instrument of proletarian revolu- tion that would not compromise with any victory short of the full Marxian demand." "* From this point on he led the revolution that was to make him the master of Russia's teeming millions and a political figure whose magnitude is second to none in modern historv. 28 Laski, p. 140. BIBLIOGRAPHY Kerenskey, Alexander, "Lenin's Youth and My Own," Asia, February, 1934, 34 : 60-78. Laski, Harold J., "Ulvanov, Vladimir Ilich," Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (New York, 1934), 8:140-143. Maxton, James, Lenin, New York, D. Appleton and Company, 1951. Shub, David, Lenin, Garden City, Doubleday and Company, 1949. Vern.\dskii, Georgii Vladmirovich, Lenin, Red Dictator, translated by Malcolm W. Davis, New Haven. Yale University Press, 1931. White, W. C, "Lenin the Individual," Scribner's Magazine, March, 1934, 95 : 183-188. \ Here, on this old lookout, which was like a part of the mountain itself, we were a little above the rest of the world. The wind was howling fiercely ; we were invigorated, drunk with beauty and still drinking. The sun was low in the sky and beginning to add a tinge of pink to the granite peaks in the distance and a little more purple to the shadows in the valleys. This was the Rockies, the beautiful Rockies of Idaho. We were alone, miles and miles from highways, towns and crow'ds. There was beauty on every side of us. To the west was Chimney Rock, a gigantic cylinder, made small by distance. Eastward was the broad valley in which Lake Pend Oreille was nestled ; the valley was in the shadow of evening and its great lake was almost obscured by the everpresent blue haze. Lifting our eyes from the valley we looked farther eastward and viewed the snow- covered peaks of the Cabinet Mountains in Montana. And turning northward, we could see the distant, lofty peaks of the Canadian Rockies. Darrel Dunn, 102. October, 1952 25 CkiU's Play Phoebe Mannel Rhetoric 102, Tlu-me 12 ^tT'S remarkable," she thought, "HOW SMALL THIS I bathroom is. All the walls seem to pop out and hurl themselves at you." She locked the door gently and proceeded to place her supplies on the edge of the tub : Richard Hudnut Shampoo, Cashmere Bouquet, and a green plastic drinking cup. She removed her robe and slid into the half-filled tub, the water strongly perfumed with the contents of three bubble-bath tablets. She let the faucets run, but even above their chug-chugging sound she could hear Charley whistling obnoxiously in the bedroom. She watched the glittering foam arrange itself in intricate patterns on her breast and stomach and saw the patterns change with every movement of the water over her body. She was wearing a filmy, frothy, white dress now . . . Then as she looked around the tiny room and saw the imitation tile wearing away near the molding, the torn plastic curtains sweating with beads of mois- ture, the mirror fogged and muggy like some opaque pool, and the three powder-blue turkish towels awaiting someone's dirty hands or face, the dress turned back into bubbles again. The towel on the left with the jelly stain belonged to Mavis (her four year old child), while the one near the window that was wrinkled and dirty with several brands and smells of grease was Charley's. Charley had been greasy even when she had met him that first day at the garage. They had talked, and he had finally persuaded her to accept a date, and then another, and still another, until one day Charley had said that he guessed they ought to set a date for the wedding. Charley wasn't a dreamer ; he painted no pictures of romantic love, or of a cottage by the sea with roses in the garden. He was strong, determined, and sensible. Everyone had said it would be a good match, and she had agreed to marry him ; her only actual decision in the entire matter was to choose between a Saturday and a Sunday for the wedding. But she was glad it had been that way, because she hated to make decisions, and she could never make her mind up to do a thing unless somebody told her to. The billowy suds were still rising. She poked a window and doors in the nebulous foam with her finger. Now it was a castle. The bottle cap, quick ! There, it was a boat going through the dark sea carrying the handsome prince . . . she hummed a tune to herself, and then aloud to drown out Charley's whisding. Sometimes the water shimmered like gelatin, and she saw the light and other objects around the room shattered in a million pieces in the water's 26 The Green Caldron reflection. But if she was very still they would all come back again, just as they had been before. That was one reason Charley liked her ; she liked to play. Oh, yes ! Hadn't she often heard him say to a friend, "You should see her, just like a kid with a toy every time I bring her home a present." But Charley had not brought any presents home for a long time. Business at the garage was not doing so well. Mavis needed new clothes, Mavis needed to have her tonsils out. Mavis needed . . . there were so many bills and so little money, she wished .... Charley always smiled too damn cheerfully and comforted her, but he didn't understand. He laughed and scolded gently, or called her "Baby" when she broke something, or when she cried because she was unhappy. Her capri- cious nature, her moods, her whimsy, and her constant silly jokes on him he thought were amusing ; he merely thought her "cute." "Hey, Baby." The whistling stopped and Charley's booming voice came through the vapory clouds of dampness. He was standing outside the door. Go away — that's what she wanted to say — you're always spoiling things, you're always interrupting. She turned on the faucets full force. The bubbles were disappearing and now the needle-sharp rush of the water made them rise once more. "Baby," called Charley, his voice louder in order to be heard over the roar of water, "ya see my overalls?" "No," she replied. She really knew where they were, but it was too time- consuming to answer him. He always did that, ask questions day and night, "ya see my pajamas, ya see my hammer, ya see — " Charley's voice interrupted her thoughts once more. "Did I tell ya what happened today, down at the garage? Listening Baby?" No, she was not listening; it had been a long time since she had listened to anything he had to say. She turned over on her stomach and put her face close to the surface of the inviting water. One thing about water, you never had to talk to it ; it was so silent, and soft, and warm. . . . "Well, anyhow, I always say," continued Charley, "that a fella sure can'tell a guy by his car. Now you take ol' Doc who come in today, and gosh, you should have seen that front seat upholstery. Clean worn out. And then of course in comes Mrs. Janis with that new Cadie of hers . . . say, you listening, baby?" He hesitated for a moment and then assuming that Myra would answer afifirmatively, continued, "Well, by God, she only had that Cadie a little less than, no it was more than, well, anyway it was a new job okay, and the motor went dead right in the middle of a red light. She says to me, 'Charley, you know more about motors than most men do about their wives !' Corney jokes ! But the customer always being right and so forth that I just went right along with her and laughed. Say, now. Baby, what do ya think of that?" October, 1952 27 No answer. Charley started to continue speaking, but then he noticed steam escaping from under the crack in the door, and he heard water spilling on the floor. "Myra, why in hell don't you answer, Baby," he pleaded now. In his heart he knew what must have happened. Myra in that damned water, always playing, always pretending, making believe. Again he called out desperately, "Baby," but no answer came to his ears except for the dim hissing of the water faucets, going full force. He stood back from the door, and charged it with his heavy shoulder. It didn't budge, he tried again, and again. The next time he stepped farther back, and hit not the unyielding door, but the soft, bathrobed form of his wife. "Myra," he nearly shrieked at her. "Why didn't you answer me, why didn't you say something? Didn't you hear me call?" His eyes were popping from their sockets. "Baby. ..." "Must play," she interrupted as she walked over to the bathtub and pulled out the plug, for it was not a bathtub really, but a white boat. It was a large room, its walls adorned with guns, nature paintings, heads of w'ild deer, and other trophies of a hunter's world. A pale, intricate fresco covered the ceiling, seemingly a medieval reproduction, symbolizing progress in hunting techniques up to that time. On the floor was a rug made from the carcasses of many large bears, sewn together so skillfully one could barely tell where one ended and another began. The rug was thick and strong, and had taken the impact of tramping hunters' boots for many years. At one end of the room was a huge stone fireplace, in which a roaring fire was blazing, impart- ing warmth to each corner of the room. Around the fire were gathered a group of men, laughing and joking, filling the room with the sound of their voices. Dressed in heavy leather jackets and long boots which were freshly greased and polished, they were giving last minute attention to rifles, pulling on warm gloves, tying plaid caps over their ears, and making ready for an evening's "coon hunt." "Hey," came one voice, "the moon's perfect tonight. Look at her ! We'll make a haul !" "Well, what are we waitin' for? Let's get going!" There followed a bustle of last minute confusion, and then, comfortable pipes and w-arm fireside forgotten, the men burst through the door, greeted their eagerly awaiting hounds, and disappeared, their laughter ringing and dying on the night air. Eleanor Lar.son, 102. 28 The Green Caldron I Rliet as Writ If a man is a man I don't see why he has to raid a sorority house in order to get a girl's panties. * * * These children ma}- be male, female or both. The bitter taste of last year's sports scandal has put a dent in the minds of all participants, coaches, faculty members, and students. * * * If a dog is mad, he may bite you ; but if he is happy, his tail will wag vigorously. This is a trait that is often lacking in human beings. Upon moving my eyes up his frame I discovered wh}- everybody called him wasp-waste. * * * In The Baker's Wife he played a tender roll. ^ ^ ^ I think that Babbitt was waiting for the gravy train to fall right into his lap. The next thing I knew was that I was lying in a bed. There was a nurse beside me standing like a gardening angle. It is a story of a man set apart from his own race by sensitivit}' and intel- lect. At the age of six he tried to burn his grandmother's house. In this novel (For Whom the Bells Tolls) Hemingway drops his death plot and replaces it with style. . . . Maria is dwarfed by another woman, Beaky Sharp, wife of Pablo, chieftan of the guerillas. I Honorable Mention James Bair — Spring Is for the Birds John Geppert — Unusual Process Thomas Harvey — Age of Transition Exemplified Barbara H. ISenl — An Analysis of the Effectiveness of Freshman Week Thomas Regul — The Kelly-Nash Machine Waneta Wilcox — The Mark of Death The Contributors Edwin E. Kerr — Cordova Ralph L. Goodman — Olney Twp. Jo Ann Davidson — Monticello David M. Behrend — Mattoon Robert W. Lasher — Decatur WUliani H. May — New Athens Jeanne M. Ecklund — Parker Virginia McManus — Hyde Park Anne Davis — East Rockford J. Ward Knapp — Hiilsboro Harold Tenney — Decatur Phoebe Mannel — Von Steuben HE 6reen Caldron A Magazine of Freshman Writing CONTENTS Virginia Nell McManus: Dirty Bill 1 George Warner: The Gas Turbine in the Automobile .... 2 M. R. De La Paz: Reluctant Journey 3 Albert G. Bledig: Knock on Any Door 5 Robert Intmel: A Cold Mine in My Basement 6 S. C, Eastwood: Mission Accomplished 9 Jack W. Ehrett: Portrait of a Librarian 11 Davida Solomon: Modern Residential Architecture 13 Albert B. HoUinden: Dust Devils 14 Alma Boston: The Old Lady from Paxton 15 Nancy Sifferd: The Effects of Pre-Frontal Lobotomy .... 17 /. A. Ciarlo: The Wake 19 Rita Chanen: Thank Heavens fo^ Movies 20 Robert S. Webb: When Is a Bargain Not a Bargain? .... 21 Tatsuo Tanoura: The Relationship Between Kurtz and Marlow . 23 Darlene Hermanson: Does lj[oneBty in Takin^^E^^ms Pay Off? 24 W. E. Cain: On Happiness .'. 26 Robert Snetsinger: Dawn at Dake's -Landing 27 RhctAsWrit ? 28 Vol. 22, No. 2 December, 1952 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS T _L HE Green Caldron is published four times a year by the Rhetoric Staff at the University of HHnois. 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 William Colbijrn, Montgomery Culver, James Donovan, Kenneth Nixon, Harold Pendleton, and Harris Wiu^on, Chairman. THE GREEN CALDRON CnpyriRhtcd 19S2 nv CHAS. W. ROBERTS Alt rights reserved No p-irts of this periodical may be repro- ilurt-d ID any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Dirty Bill Virginia Nell McManus Rhetoric 102, Theme 11 TV7THEN I WAS A CHILD WE HAD A VERY WONDERFUL MAN yy to tend our yard and furnace. His name was Bill Scooey, and he was the dirtiest man I've ever seen; he looked dirty and he talked dirty. Like most of the children in the neighborhood I was forbidden to "go within a mile of that dreadful man." Therefore, I spent most of my time with him. following him around the neighborhood as he did odd jobs at the various houses. I was not alone, for all the children followed Dirty Bill. One of the reasons for his excessive filth was that he had no home; he owned an old car in which he kept his tools and personal belongings. In the winter he slept in the car; in the summer he slept next to the car. When he was drunk he would sleep on one of our porches, and there would be great excitement when two or three of the neighbor men came over to assist Bill back to his compact little home. As far as I was concerned, Dirty Bill led an ideal life. He ate what he pleased, said what he plea.sed to whom he pleased, had no obligations, in- hibitions, or confinements, and he followed a minimum of rules. Furthermore he was a magnificent liar, which made his stories far more juicy than tame old fantasies. He did not believe in Santa Glaus, but he was superstitious in the extreme and could describe in vivid detail less pleasant supernatural creatures and their activities. He constructed wonderfully obscene statements for us to make to our teachers and parents, and taught us great contempt for authority. Once, when our basement was flooding and Bill had been hastily summoned, he provoked the wrath of the gods and my family by childishly splashing around in the rising water and encouraging us to do the same before he fixed the leak. As he so aptly put it, this was the closest most of us would ever come to owning a private pool, and we should enjoy unexpected pleasures. But after the leakage was stopf>ed and the surface drained. Bill was forgiven, for he was the only handy man in the neighborhood and therefore quite valuable. Through a period of perhaps twelve years, or until I was in my 'teens, Bill's tales, escapades, and battles with and against authority were interwoven with my life. The year that I entered high school we lost him. It was in the early fall, and Bill was in great demand for leaf-raking, fall bulb-planting, and storm-window repairing. It was unfortunate that he chose that time to go on a binge, but Bill was not a practical person and he did not consider such things. For a week he reeled, lurched and staggered about, ignoring the pleas and threats of the local home-owners. Toward the end of his week-long orgy he curled up on Doctor Allen's front porch for a nap, choosing, with his usual [1 1 2 The Green Caldron lack of consider;iti(in, the night of a party. The Aliens apparently did not notice him until the first guests tripped over his sooty form, and there followed quite an uproar. Mrs. Allen insisted that she was disgraced, Dr. Allen was unable to arouse him, and in the confusion their better judgment was put aside, and they called the police to remove him. We have never been too sure what happened from then on. I do know that my father and Mr. Mills went down to the jail the next night, and Bill was released. Someone said they saw him when he climbed into his car and drove off. But his moving was as simple as his mode of living, and it all happened inside an hour. And we never heard of him again. Still, we children paid a fitting tribute to Bill. We wrote everything that he had taught us on the Allen's sidewalk, and in a way it was a memorial. Tne Gas Turbine in tne Automomle George Warner Rhetoric 101, Theme C SEVERAL MONTHS AGO ON A LONELY STRETCH OF HIGH- way near London a significant event took place which will do much to influence the evolution of the automobile. As the early morning fog be- gan to lift, a group of engineers could be seen readying a small British auto- mobile for its first test run. The general design of the car was entirely conventional. But as the machine was started and began to move down the highway, an unnatural silence prevailed. There was no roar of exhaust. Although the car was accelerating very rapidly, only a soft hissing sound could be heard. Even at high speeds the noise was barely noticeable. Upon reaching top speed the driver signalled to the timer, who clocked the car's speed over a measured mile. After reading the instruments, the timer eagerly rushed to the engineers to give them the results. On this, the initial run of the world's first gas turbine powered car, a speed of 152 miles per hour had been reached. To the reader who is acquainted with high performance automobiles, this speed would not seem out of the ordinary if it were not for the following facts: the fuel used was ordinary, cheap kerosene; the engine consisted of only two hundred parts. It contained no transmission or cooling system, and the com- plete power unit itself weighed just a little more than three hundred pounds. o Dercnihcr. 1952 3 In contrast, a gasoline engine of comparable performance would weigh at least five times that much. It would need a transmission and cooling system and would incorporate about twelve hundred parts. If one compares the cost of assembling and operating these two types of power plants, he can easily see the many advantages that the gas turbine has over the gasoline engine. The gas turbine has solved two of the fundamental problems of efficient engine design. These problems — weight and reliability — have done much to limit the use of other types of engines. Weight is a natural disadvantage if the engine is to be used in transportation, since much of the engine's output is wasted in moving the engine itself. Reliability is a major problem because the greater the number of parts in an engine, the greater the chances of failure. Unlike other engines, the gas turbine has a minimum of parts, and its basic structure is made up of very light components. The development of the gas turbine is in its infancy. Still, considerable progress has been made, and the tremendous possibilities of this unit have been recognized by many industries. These industries are spending much money on research in the gas turbine engine and are confident that upon its perfection it will provide the solution to many power problems. There is little doubt that in time the gas turbine will completely replace the gasoline engine in the automobile and will find widespread use in many other types of transportation. Reluctant Journey M. R. De La Paz Rhetoric 102, I'hcinc 2 THERE HE WAS IN CALIFORNIA, THE LAND OF GIANT RED- woods and orange groves. He had arrived in San Francisco from Chicago in his dusty, wrinkled Air Force uniform, toting a duffle bag containing all of his precious belongings. The leaves and grass were strange to him, so green in contrast to Chicago's shivering branches and brownish tufts barely visible through the snow. He did not like Camp Stoneman with its row after row of dreary, dirty- brown barracks. After two miserable weeks of waiting in lines for indoctrina- tion lectures, inoculations, meals and movies, he was finally herded onto the huge transport and assigned one of the uncomfortable, quadruple-decked canvas bunks. They were so closely stacked that if he once settled down for the night in a nose-up position, that was the way he had to remain until morning. 4 The Green Caldron He cursed the assignment sergeant when he discovered that he had been assigned a section in the bow of the ship on "F" deck. Since "A" was the main deck, he found himself riding almost below the water-line, in the very bowels of the ship. He would never forget those first nausea-filled days when he saw very little of the beautiful ocean, but knew it was there by the constant pitching and rolling of his bunk. After two seemingly endless weeks of staring abjectly at the monotous, pale green, tossing ocean, he reached what he later knew to be Japan, his country's ex-enemy. He did not see very much of Yokohama, Japan, because as he stepped off the gangplank there was a long troop train waiting to carry him off on another leg of the journey. The overnight trip was cold and the closing darkness prevented further inspection of this mysterious land. In the morning he ar- rived at Ashiya, Japan, located on the southernmost island, Kyushu. There he was equipped with a field pack, rifle, bayonet, and steel helmet. Now he had no doubt what his destination was to be. What he was able to see of the Japanese landscape pleased him and re- minded him of the smoothly-plowed furrows back in Illinois. The Japanese people were generally small and slender. He remembered the caricatures of the Japanese during the last war and was surprised to see that they did not all wear huge, horn-rimmed glasses and have projecting, fang-like teeth. He would watch their faces as they passed to see if he could detect some resentment of his presence, but saw only warm smiles and shy glances. Several days later he was crowded into a C-54 four-motor transport and was soon skimming through the white, puffy clouds over the emerald-green mountains of Japan. He was on the last lap of his journey and knew that the ne.xt stop would be Korea. He had followed the newspaper accounts of the Korean War and his throat tightened a little when he was directed to fasten his safety belt. Looking out of the small window by his side he could see the ground getting closer and closer until the plane bumped the ground, hopped a few times, and finally glided to a stop at the edge of the dusty airstrip. Tlie constant beating of llie old clock on the double-dresser is the only sound which penetrates the stillness of the air. Its regularity is eternal. The walls of the room are dark, having neidier pictures nor mirror, and are interrupted only by a single window. The thin rays of light which are reflected into the room are absorbed by a dark carpet. No draperies are hung, and, except for a wreath of holly, the window is bare. A small, artificial Christmas tree stands in a corner of the room, near the window. It is trimmed with popcorn balls, candy Santas, and tinsel. Under the tree is a small pack- age which has traveled a great distance. .•\ leather chair which matches the walls and the carpet stands in the center of the room, facing the Clvistmas tree. On one side of the chair is a metal ash tray, empty of cigarette butts and ashes. On the other side of the chair is a small table, upon which stands a lamp, several time-honored novels, and a lamp, but a newspaper is lacking. On the double dresser, behind .the old clock, stands a photograph of a man in uniform. The picture has been taken recently, and the colors arc bright, but diis state is not eternal. — Jerry Gold, 102 I Ucicmbcr. J 95 J 5 Knock on Any Door Albert G. Bledig Rhetoric 101. Theme 7 NICK ROMANO, "PRETTY BOY" NICK ROMANO HERE WAS a name that caused Chicago to shudder. Here was a name that was loved by few and hated by many. Here was the name of a murderer. Too many people knew only the name, and too few knew the young man behind the name. Nick Romano was taught in early life by his devout mother and the priest and nuns at his church to love his religion. He was going to be a priest. When the failure of his father's business necessitated his moving to a poorer section of the city, Nick was subjected to the crime, corruption, and cruelty of the slums. As a result, he learned the laws of the slums, that is, to follow the gang, to do as the}' did, to live as they lived. After being sent to reform school for a theft he did not commit, Nick became embittered against the law because of the harsh and violent treatment he received at the school. He learned to admire those who defied the law. He took a defiant attitude toward society in general. It was in reform school that the seed of Nick's fate was sown and the seed produced nothing but thorns. His hate and resentment led him through seven fast years packed with sin and crime and seated him in the electric chair at the age of twenty-one. He had said, "Live fast, die young, and have a good-looking corpse." What made this man a criminal? What drove him to murder? How did Nick think and feel? Was he really to blame or were his actions seeded by his environment and by the treatment he received from others? These questions Willard Motley attempts to answer in Knoc\ on Any Door. Puzzling though these questions are, they have, as the author points out, obvious answers that are easily overlooked by you and me. The author devotes his story primarily to presenting these answers to the reader from Nick Romano's point of view. Motley's aim is to show that a man's environment is a power- ful force in determining his actions. Does the author achieve his purpose? The answer is yes. After living through twenty-one years of love and hate, hope and disappointment, gentle- ness and cruelty with Nick Romano in the pages of Knoc}{ on Any Door, the reader gains an entrance into the real Nick. He shares Nick's thoughts, feelings, pains, and resentments and can understand why he was the kind of man he was. Nick was clearly a victim of his environment. To emphasize the forces of Nick's surroundings. Motley skillfully employs realistic characters, background, and language to paint the shocking scenes of crime and sin on "Skid Row." His portrayals of the inhabitants are so complete and vivid that after reading the book one knows as much about them as if he had actually met them. Motley paints a striking picture of the 6 Ihc Green Caldron dirty, rundown buildings and Hkhy, cluttered streets and alleys. He adds the language of the slums to complete the description. One can more readily understand, after having read the book, how these surroundings would have a demoralizing effect on a person. In addition to describing the slums expertly, Motley develops the characters in such a way as to sway the reader's feelings toward them. The reader, al- though he sees Nick both as a religious youth and a drunkard and criminal, both as a good-hearted young man giving his last quarter to a hungry friend and as a heartless murderer, is at all times sympathetic toward Nick. Motley places the blame for a man's actions on society. He strongly emphasizes the role that society plays in making a man what he is. He implies that if people would try to realize the basic reasons for a man's actions instead of judging him as good or bad because of them, there would be greater understanding among men. A Gold Mine In My Basement Robert Immel Rhetoric 101, Theme 9 MY FATHER MIGHT STILL BE A STRIVING ENTERPRISES if he hadn't received a letter from his brother-in-law. For Dad had returned from the Army in 1946 to take an active interest in his half- ownership of a bowling alley, golf driving range and miniature golf course. The fateful letter announced his in-law's plans to set up a mink ranch. The idea of making a living by raising fur-bearers sounded good to Dad, so he began investigating and soon learned about chinchillas — the fabulous little animals whose exquisite fur and extreme rarity make them literally worth more than their weight in gold. In the relatively open field of chinchilla raising there was little competition, big prices, and trivial maintenance costs. For almost a year. Dad talked to thirty chinchilla breeders from coast to coast and read about the valuable little rodents. This research deepened his interest and convinced him that he could raise chinchillas. Another thing Dad discovered was that since Queen Isabella of Spain had gone into ecstacy over the first piece of chinchilla fur brought to Europe from the New World (about 1500 AD), chinchilla skins have commanded fabulous prices on the world market. The prices have been so exclusive, in fact, that only about twenty-five chinchilla coats are in existence today — each worth from 125,000 to $75,000! (About five have been assembled from ranch-grown pelts. The latest, sold to Rita Hayworth's husband for $75,000, contains 231 skins.) December. 1952 7 Dad's research turned up another interesting fact: Because chinchillas are native to the austere mountains of Peru and Chile, their diet consists of inex- pensive vegetables. And the cool temperatures of their native habitat could be approximated in the basement of our home. Thus, the chinchilla seemed an ideal money-maker — inexpensive to feed and house, always in demand at regal prices. The original investment was also king-sized. Breeding animals sell for $1200 to $1600 a pair, and to raise this kind of money. Dad sold his part of the amusement business. He bought ten pairs of chinchillas, which were flown to Carthage from the West Coast. With a herd of twenty animals. Dad settled into a delicate business that was unknown before a man named Chapman took a big gamble back in 1923. Seven years before, Peru and Chile had placed a ban on the export of chin- chilla skins because several centuries of ruthless hunting had almost extermi- nated the rodents. Chapman decided to beat the ban by bringing some live chin- chillas to the United States. He did, but the sensitive animals died from their inability to adjust to lower altitudes. Undaunted, Chapman went back to South America, where he again caught some live chinchillas. On this attempt he acclimatized them gradually, bringing them down the mountains a few hundred feet at a time. On the voyage back to California, Chapman nursed his prizes with ice packs and hot water bottles. Eleven survived and became the distant relatives of the 40,000 domestic chinchillas alive today, including those owned by Dad and me. The animals in our basement live comfortably in simple three by two and one-half by two foot cages. In each cage we keep a nest box about one cubic foot in size. The chinchillas stay in these cozy nests during the day and scamper around at night. Young are born throughout the year, and most litters contain from one to three babies which open their eyes and crawl around ithe cage an hour after birth. They are born full-furred. Both male and female are fine parents — the male often helps dry the first baby while the others are being born. Another peculiarity is that chinchillas prefer to bathe in dust, \vhich we keep in each cage. If chinchillas weren't so expensive, they would make excellent pets. Each Animal has a distinct personality and is extremely curious and docile. In addi- tion, chinchillas have very clean habits. The extreme thickness of their fur, which also makes them valuable, repels vermin. Most other animals grow one hair from each pore, but chinchillas have about eight per follicle. The result is density and silkiness. Chinchilla fur is light slate gray on the outside, shading down to a darker color closer to the roots; an imperceptible breeze reveals all shades of gray. Because chinchilla pelts are very light, a chinchilla-skin coat weighs less than a cloth one of comparable size. Chinchillas are now raised only for breeding purposes, since a live animal is worth several times more than a skin. But we, like others in the industry, are looking forward to the time when pelts will be marketed regularly. Taking 8 The Green Caldron skins from culls or dead animals — the present practice — yields lower grade fur than could be obtained if the best animals were killed when their fur is prime in cold weather. January marks the height of the prime time for chin- chillas, and so the National Chinchilla Breeders of America (of which we are a member) stage their annual exhibition then. We are listed with this trade association as owner of the Immel Chinchilla Ranch, and the NCBA has issued us an exclusive brand. The brand is put on one ear of each of our chinchillas. The year of birth and registered litter number are marked on the other. Our animals are listed with NCBA, which furnishes buyers with the pedigree of each chinchilla sold. Opinions differ on the best diet for chinchillas, but we keep our animals healthy with prepared pellets of alfalfa leaves and roughage. These are sup- plemented with cereal products — wheat germ, barley, oats, hay and greens. This diet costs us only about three dollars per animal per year. This low maintenance cost, plus the animals' great value, makes them fine investments. And in these days of meager interest rates, chinchillas are also attractive in- vestments because they usually double their number each year — if given good care. That's fine business at $1200 per pair. In a few years the animals multiply themselves into a full-time business. Dad started with twenty and now has seventy-five. That's how Dad's business has grown. The productivity of his chinchillas has enabled him to buy a ranch site. Dad is going to build on the land this spring. So if you are ever planning a visit to Carthage, stop in and meet a man whose gold mine outgrew his basement. The minister unfolded his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off his forehead. He decided that he would omit part of his sermon; that it was too hot to dehver a lengthy address. Anyway it was apparent that no one in the chapel u'as really listening to him. A few of the ladies had shaped their programs into fans and were waving them back and forth in a vain attempt to gain some relief from the oppressive heat. One obese lady had even moved to a seat that \\ as near an open window. Most of the men were coat- less and had loosened their \\ ilted collars. A young man sitting alone in a pew appeared to be reading a hymnal, but he was actually reading an old newspaper clipping that he had found when rummaging through his billfold. In the rear of the chapel a small boy folded a Sunday school pamphlet into an airplane and launched it out an open window. A gentle breeze wafted the craft back into the building, and it settled upon the head of one of his companions. Several little girls, unable to withhold their delight, giggled and pointed at the boy, who was unaware of the plane on his head. Those in the front pews turned to see the indignant mother of the young pilot lead him out the door. The minister's "amen" was accompanied by the mournful cry of a child in distress. — Ronald Beck, 101. December. 1952 9 Mission Accomplisliea S. C. East\\o(jd Rhcloiic 102, TIhwc I> THERE IS SOMETHING INDEFINABLE, YET SWEETLY RE- assuring about the shrill "wheep, wheep, wheep" of a destroyer on blood scent. As the 3007 dashed down the channel, its wake caught up a hapless "Q" boat and sent it spinning. The bamboo outriggers and trailing lines might momentarily have led the uninformed to suspect the "Q" was engaged in some activity not necessarily or directly connected with the war effort. Any such thoughts were immediately dispelled by the presence of the two-star pennant, thoroughly soaked, but still bravely flying in the stif? breeze. .\ portlv hgure, clutching a deep-sea rod in his left hand, rose to shake his fist at the destroyer. From the bridge, the destroyer's captain returned the compli- ment with a smoothly executed salute. No one had ever accused Lt. Comdr. Oswald Oxrider Ormsby ("triple O" to his crew), Annapolis, Class of '43, of not doing exactly the right thing at precisely the correct moment. He had never made a mistake, and the odds were strongly in favor of his retaining this perfect record so long as Lt. Johnson remained his executive officer. Lt. Johnson had held a master's license for sixteen years. He had received one promotion in almost four years of federal service. On the navy houseboat, anchored in the shallow water adjacent to the channel, the kjud speaker whistled, crackled, and announced in a grating voice that all small craft in the area would immediately lay along side. The urgency was apparent in the fact that the bosun on the mike had omitted the inevitable "Now hear this . . . "' which customarily preceded all announcements. A puf? of smoke rose from the destroyer's after-deck. Two depth charges I arched from the "Y" gun, sailed through the air and disappeared beneath the surface to reappear seconds later as geysers of grey-green water. For ten minutes the destroyer crossed and recrossed the channel, back and forth in a ! perfect geometric pattern, throwing her "ash cans" at perfectly-timed intervals. I Suddenlv the firing ceased. The destroyer cut her engines and circled slowly. For the first time she broke radio silence. "Mission accomplished." Nothing more. i As she returned to her berth, with all the dignity befitting a ship of the 1 line, a cheer went up from the small craft huddled against the houseboat. 1 Now it was the turn of the two-star gentleman to salute smartly. The fact that I he was clad only in shorts and sneakers detracted absolutely nothing from the I gesture. j Much later in the evening, his report having been duly filed, Lt. Comdr. O. O. Ormsby repaired to the wine mess, as was the custom of the officers of the station. Ordinarily he would have joined the select group of "academy 10 Tlie Green Caldron men" who preferred to sit apart from the reservists, but tonight he was in an expansive mood and sought out the officers of his own crew. Motioning them to retain their seats, he announced: "Think the old man should buy a drink. Not every day a man gets a pig boat, y'know." As the evening wore on, the breeze, which had been blowing steadily, increased to near gale velocity. "I was just thinking, Sir," ventured Ensign Hill, his engineer and youngest member of the crew, "with the wind blowing the way it is, and the ground swells running and all, some of the wreckage of whatever we hit should be washed up on Canajo Beach when the tide runs out." "What do you mean, whatever we hit.'" demanded Ormsby belligerendy. "There was oil slick all over the bay. You saw it, didn't you, Johnson.''" "Well, I saw a slick of some sort all right," Johnson began, "but. . . ." Whatever he would have added was interrupted by the arrival of a marine orderly with a message. Ormsby ripped open the manila envelope and after taking what seemed an unreasonable length of time for a man of his education to decipher a simple message, remarked: "Uh-huh. T. W. X. from those army chaps patrolling the beaches. Says — 'Enemy aground. Congratulations on typical Navy performance.' The skipper. Captain Ashmere, that is, is going over for a look-see. Invites us to go along. No, never mind, Mr. Johnson; you fellows stay here and enjoy yourselves. I'll go over with the captain." There was little conversation during the trip across the bay. Capt. Ashmere was an efficient man. He was also a very tired man. Commissioned just after World War I, he had long since come to hate the Navy system that relegated older officers to comparatively quiet stations along the sea lanes, while younger men were given commands with the fleets operating farther north. Ormsby was quiet for the simple reason that he fully realized the danger of opening his mouth. He had shipped out some weeks earlier, but the con- tinued pitching of any small boat made him uneasy. He was sufficiently in- telligent to realize this condition was entirely normal and would undoubtedly pass with time, but nevertheless it was unseemly that a man of his position should "feed the fish" in the presence of common seamen. The barge touched at a tiny landing improvised from empty oil drums and rough cocoanut logs. An infantry lieutenant badly in need of a shave and change of clothes caught the line and made it fast. "Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Lieutenant Snyder," he introduced himself. "The colonel sends his compliments and requests I guide you down the beach. He's waiting for you there." In spite of the formality, Ormsby thought he detected a slight note of sarcasm. Regr