PAGE TWO
MAROON AND GOLD
SATUKDAY, JANUARY 6, 1945
Maroon and Gold
Edited and printed at Elon College by students of
Journalism. Published bi-weekly during the college
year.
EDITORIAL STAFF
Mary Ellen McCants Editor
H. Reid Managing Editor
Martha McDaniel Associate Editor
Emerson Whatley Sports Editor
Edna Reitzel Associate Sports Editor
business staff
Mary Coxe Business Manager
Ed Daniel Circulation Manager
Charles R. McClure Faculty Adviser
NEWS editors
Nell Crenshaw Thomas Horner
B^beth Benu*
Ann Rader
John Rossi
SPORTS WRITERS
PRODUCTION STAFF
Bill McEntire
^ Linotype Operator
SSertoXnch '• '• ' Staff Photographer
Entered as second-class matter November 10 1936
at the post office at Elon College. N. C„ under the Act
of Congress, March 3, 1879.
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National Advertising Service, Inc.
Callege Publishers Rep'.esenUtUve
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Our Year; 1945
Dreamers that we are, enabled only in part to look
into the future, we strive to do so-sometimes reali^
tically but more often not. And somehow, that doesn
matter. We are students. We are young. Our dreams
are to culminate someday, and we know that this must
be in a disturbed and upset post-war world. If we were
not dreamers, how could we plan, feel, endure, exper-
ence, know, or even imagine what life must sure y
hold in the years ahead? Without dreams, how could
we live in our struggling and evolving world?
We want simple things. We are not fantastic in
our desires. It is nice, at times, to escape from reality
to see ourselves holding forth in enchanted lands among
fairy queens and mischievous elves; to envision a gov
ernment in which righteousness and f
ness and love of fellow men prevail. We see the im
portance of what we might call a “controlled peace.
Tut even in dreams we are not so foolish as to want
life in an enchanted castle, nor even to ask for an easy
life. '
Even in our dreams, we don’t often imagine the
world dumped in our laps, '^^th^lessmgs galore. Ours
is a realistic generation. We have to face JheJacts^
They come upon us now at the speed g
sound, forcing us to straighten out our thinking.
And there is one,fact which stands clear before us
in all this wild, befuddled mess of human error. We
shall not-win our way beyond the tangle by fearing it,
nor by being stampeded into the expectation that wish
ful thinking, passing the buck, or becoming emotional,
will control our problems.
Dream first. Then act. Obstacles a^e to jump
over- and what a grand national steeple-chase time
has put before us! But let us never oe selfish in our
dreams. Sometimes—and we’re all guilty—we get to
thinking about long slinky convertibles, handsome
clothes gallons upon gallons of gas-even thick juicy
steaks with french fried potatoes. Naturally, we wa
these things; but they’re just the tiniest of our wants,
and we’re not really asking for them.
In our genuine yearnings, we know that even
“sloppy-joe” students manifest hearts of gold; and we
stand on firm ground. We want not only a great Amer-
ca, but a world brotherhood. Maybe the right kind
of pressure on Adolf and Tojo, forty years ago
forty licks on their little pink biscuits—would have
done the trick for us. But that’s in the dead past.
The everlasting future, unceasing as time itself, is ours
still. So here’s to our next year, 1945. Longfellow’s
“Psalm of Life” may belong to another day, yet it
liolds a fervent inspiration: “Let us then be up and
doing with a heart for any fate. Still achieving, still
pursuing, learn to labor and to wait.
Scicnce In The News
r
By J. W. CLAPP
Fresh vegetables for fliers are sometimes raised
in chemical gardens. Fliers stationed on barren islands
and isolated tropical outposts in the Atlantic and the
Pacific need fresh vegetables to maintain top iV'ysical
condition, but transportation scarcity and poor soil
make it difficult to either ship in fresh vegetables or
grow them on the land. The air quartermaster decided
that chemical gardens were practical for small groups
of men on such posts.
The vegetables, whi«Ji are grown in sawdust or
excelsior supported by wire netting, over a tank con
taining mineral salts dissolved in water, are superior
in quality and grow rapidly.
First Bouquets
A “bouquet,” by definition, is a bunch of flowers,
a nosegay, or an aroma. It is not to be confused with
“Bougie,” which is a town in North Africa, and also a
)wax candle; nor with “Bouillabaisse,” which is a
highly seasoned fish chowder always made from two
kinds of fish.
The first Elon bouquets of 1945 must go again to
the people who know and do, who act from the heart
There will be more of the same to come. But before
the Yule-tide echoes die, we propose to pass along
some of the figurative aroma of Carolina honeysuckle
and roses—just to sharpen your anticipation of the
magic of the spring which is going to peep out with the
violets in March and April.
To President Smith, for an endurance and capacity
for work seldom seen anywhere; and for giving himself
so generously to the cause of the up-building of our
Alma Mater.
To Dr. Brannock, who has for so long been an
efficient department head, and has given more years of
service to the college than anyone else; and who can
still produce the jolliest laugh heard on campus.
To Miss Lida Muse, for daily, never-failing court
esy and charm; and for ringing “dem golden bells”
with her voice, and making it always a pleasure to
visit the department of domestic science.
To Miss Verona Daniels, for keeping the Presi
dent’s office all lit up with a summer smile twelve
months of the year, and being the most efficient sec
retary in the state of North Carolina. That’s right. It
is a big territory. But we said it. and we are still
unaware of the slightest cause for dispute.
To Miss Eliza Boyd, for starting the “Phisicli” off
so well in this year of handicaps; and for keeping
that cool handsome head and sunny smile so close to
gether every day.
To Miss Mary Ellen McCants, for chasing the
gremlins out of the print shop, and getting out the
"Maroon and Gold’^ in spite of the help and the faculty
adviser; and for keeping sweet about it all, and not
telling Santa Claus.
And to the rest of us, for whom the page isn’t large
enough. For we have a couple of good points (angles?)
too.
Sportsmanship
Fair play with good will in athletic contests is
an All-American demand. Elon’s tradition in this
respect, as in others, is to excel. Our return to inter
collegiate athletics, with a new and relatively young
basketball team—and with a generation of students
that now finds, only the Seniors recalling the pre
war varsity teams—makes it seem the part of wisdom
to remind ourselves of the simple technique of being
a good sport.
We never dispute decisions. We know that is the
business of the team captain. We know that the crowd
may be the creator of a negative reaction from of
ficials, and that it is our task to treat them with such
courtesy that negative psychological suggestion will be
impossible. ’ Experience has shown that, in the long
run—in three or four complete seasons—officials who
are accepted as human beings will act like human
beings; and that the game, our school, and all of us
benefit from the exercise of self-control.
We never ‘boo” anyone. That is small—smaller
than “small town” stuff. We see that the opposing
team get a generous portion of our good will; and that
when they come on the court they get a cheer from
our side. We play to win, always. But we play for
the fun of the game, too; and we bless all good losers,
particularly when they lose to Elon.
New Books To Read
It looks like the boys will have to find another
president for the 417 Club . . . Rodney Southerland will
PEOPLE ON OUR SIDE
By EDGAR SNOW
This book is a supplement and bringing up-to-
date of the author’s search for progressive democracy
in Asia, first reported in THE BATTLE FOR ASIA,
and RED STAR OVER CHINA. The author ,a cor
respondent for THE SATURDAY EVENING POST,
traveled through India, Russia, and China during 1942
and 1943.
In India, Mr. Snow found chiefly discouragement.
Clearly given is the case of the British and that of the
Congress movement. He believes that the English
failure to work out an agreement with the Congress
is a decisive point in Indian history.
In China, too, he found chaos and reaction. He is
greatly disturbed over the failure of the United States
and Great Britain- to give their moral spuport to
Chaing-Kai-Shek and his army, as they have to Tito
and his partisans.
The longer part of the book is devoted to the Soviet
Union. His views on this matter are almost required
reading whether or not you are convinced that post
war collaboration with Russia is a requisite for world
peace.
He analyzes Russia in two parts: One concerns
her near-interest and her desire to build up a friendly
belt around her; and the second concerns her broad
international interest. There isn’t room here to dis
cuss the other provocative facts raised about Russia
by Snow; however, one thing is clear, and this is that
the author is certain that the Soviet wants no war with
the United States. He feels, also, that if we are to
understand the growing national and popular forces
in Asia we shall have to understand the Soviet union,
too.
Edgar Snow is one of the outstanding correspond
ents of ottr time, and this interesting and stimulating
book is one tliat links well what has been happening
in this war; and with what we may expect to happen
right after it.
—Betty Benton
OUWll AiJlO UXXXA ...w*
Dale Hensley has turned poet. One of her master
pieces is “I must have ’em tall, if I have ’em at all.”
Pegram and Jack go together like peas in a pod.
This friendship between Betty Benton and Thom
as Horner is brewing along in fine style . . . red ro^s
and ail . . . the pitty of it all; Eddie.
Jessie Thurechet’s been stuck again; This time with
Jabez’s frat pin, and a ring . . .
Leopold Smith did away with his Jewel over in
Raleigh—Ruby Lee. Seems she was an impudent one.
Bangle Baby’s initials spell BIB. A bib, as every
one knows, is something that keeps folks off one’s
neck.
The hall proctor of second floor West has com-
planed about being awakened by several mischievous
persons every day, disturbing the official’s beauiy sleep.
Carl’s been corraled! Louise seems to have him
well roped in.
Erma Nell can’t sea why her sailor doesn’t write.
Maybe he’s all at sea.
Tommy’s Wolfe-ing days are over, as Shortie
Smith has trapped him.
Anne H. studied over the holidays. Oh, not schol
astically, of course. “He” is well worth studying.
Just when is Miss Norris goiAg to make up her
mind? She certainly is keeping everybody in the dark.
Maxine Cole prefers the Army.
“What this country needs, by scrog, is some women
that buy their own chewing gum and weeds,” quoth
the ambiguous Frank Rogers.
And have you read THE UNINVITED GUEST by
J. T. Sutton? Or I JUST A-DOOR YOU by the same
author? Or maybe you’ve heaid one of the freshmen
render WHO’S THAT KNOCKING AT MY DOOR
(or I’LL COME DOWN AND KNOCK YOU IN).
Hear ye sinners, and mark it well.
Virginia E’s going to H. (Reid).
You have heard the ancient one about Fuzzy
Wuzzy v/uz a bear, and what happened to him. Well,
Harry Turner isn’t hairy any more, in more ways
than one.
Dot Williams has a new pair of shoes, which were
obtained in Norfolk. It just goes to show you that any
thing can come from there.
Patsy Wrenn has been flying around with a soldier
over in Durham. Must be high society.
It isn’t going to be much liberty left in Gibsonville
east is east, and Westmoreland is Westmoreland, and
the girl from Liberty won’t have much to do with mak
ing the twain meet.
Johnathan Swift isn’t the only one who wrote a
Modest Proposal. Ruby Dale Hensley was the recipi
ent of one, no doubt of a different nature, the other
day through the mail.
Theme song addition—“Marie”—by a creature
named Jimbo.
Ralph Neighbors is getting along very well with
Betty Benton in English. What we would like to know
is, how does he get along with her on a date?
Dottie Lamm is no angel, we will have you know.
She got those wings from a GI-.
Is Whatley Scotch, or does he always handle two
at a time?
Attention!
\
it's WHKT Y0\J
■FIND IK THE. L1B2AEY....
All People Interested in Foreign Languagres!
Have You Ever Seen Or Looked At A REAL
FRENCH NEWSPAPER
or a
GERMAN NEWSPAPER?
The Elon Library has subscribed to both. You
will find one on the newspaper rack and the
other on the table. Come and read them., it
is fun! And don’t get discouraged if sometimes
you get stuck. (Dictionaries are not far away
and ready to help you!)
REID
THIS
THE TALE OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
Now in the olden days in Virginia, near James
town. was there a tribe of savage Indians, who were
of the Chickenhominy clan. The leader of these red
folks was one ferocious warrior, Powhatan, who had
a trickey looking daughter who went by the handle of
Pokeyhunkas. This tribe, of course, was not Christian,
like we are. but they believed in the mystic god. Boodle,
and their capitol was in Boodlepest, where was located
the grand tepees for all the Red Men of the World.
(This is where we first hear mention of Indian clubs).
These Boodle worshippers were fanatics—they ate noth
ing but bread and boodle, and drank nothing but Pepsi
Cola, which, then, as now, came in the big big twelve
ounce boodle. They were perfectly happy, until—
One fine day. three boats (which have since been
put to use on Norfolk to Phoebus ferry run) landed on
the shores of Jamestown, bearing a bunch of- discover
ers. headed by Captain John Smith, who was one of the
two original brothers who started the cough drap in
dustry. This was done for the benefit of the Indians,
who suffered, prior to this, from a disease contracted
during the course of their war dances and their shout
ing thereat. Perhaps you may have heard of this di
sease as whooping cough. At first, the Indians were
aloof, and considered adopting many of the civilized
customs, such as—
Using the Indian head penny to play the slot ma
chines of the day instead of their cumbersome wam
pum . . . incorporating into their language many
English words, such as “acquire,” which are some
people who sing in church . . . and going to school
to obtain a liberal education. All went well, until—
They heard Frank Sinatra sing SIERRA SIOUX
over Captain John Smith’s portable radio. They be
came infuriated . . . angry . . . irate . . . dissatisfied,
and besides that, they were mad. “Ugh, oogle,
smooch,” roared Chief Powhatan, to his capable as
sistant chiefs, Tonto and Shooting the Bull. His words,
translated mean, “Seize the evil white one, and cleave
his cranial member clean with a greaty and mighty
sacrificial axe.” Same was almost did, but—
Pokeyhunkas, the savage chief’s wild daughter,
tossed her peripherized torso upon Captain John.
Smith, and said in a clear voice, “Iggle, swook, ver-
daknee” (Which means, “Stop, f^ol!”) But Shooting
the Bull urged the chief on, “If you'stop now you'll
never get a-head in life.” "But, Pop,” Pokey pleaded,
“now that the manpower shortage is acute, the Cap
tain said he thought that he could get you all posi
tions with the Cleveland Indians baseball team, and
that would pay more than our present jobs at the
Indian cigar factory.” And so—
Captain John Smith was set free from the
ficial block, and he rubbed his beard ^:nd mused, “A
beard in the hand is worth two in the bush,” thinking
of the terrible decapitation he had just escaped. You'd
think that the captain and Pokey would get married and
live happily ever after, but in those days, as it is now,
the typical American institution existed known as “The
Triangle.” and a guy known as John Rolfe entered into
the picture, and another beau and error affair resulted,
leaving Smith all alone, and so he journeyed to Blue-
field, which was in the western part of Virginia, where
he settled, and raised a bunch of little Smiths, and sent
ihem to Elon. Fortunately—
No Indians today would ever to try to take a
white man’s life as thej' did ’way back then,, as the
government has placed all of the Red Men in reser
voirs.
Poet’s Corner
THIS IS WAR
Against the side I hit with a wham;
A gallant voice begs, “Excuse me. ma'am.”
“Ouch!” I scream, “That’s my corn!”
“Oh, pipe down, sister, don’ look so forlorn.”
A sold’er is sleeping under my feet—
argues, “I paid for that seat.”
An infant howls as his nose gets squshed;
I try making faces, but he’s not to be hushed.
Two lovers are engaged in planning their future;
My bag just fell open; boy, this is torture!
Hours pass, tiie story’s unenaing;
The station s ahead!” My joints start unbending.
I dash for two trunks I can’t possibly carry
Then a squeaky voice sounds. “Is your trip
necessary?"
—Mary Ellen McCants.