Page Two
MAROON AND GOLD
SATURDAY, MARCH 3. 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 Associat" Sports Editor
BUSINESS STAFF
Mary Coxe Business Manager
Ed Daniel Circulation Manager
Charles R. McClure Faculty Adviser
NEWS EDITORS
iMell Crenshaw Thomas Homer
Elizabeth Benton Ida Marie Parker
Ann Rader
SPORTS WRITERS
John Rossi BiU McEntire
PRODUCTION STAFF
Charles Brown Linotype Operator
Dr. Merton French 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.
RCPRESENTED FOR NATIONAL AOVKJTISINO 0V
National Advertising Service, Inc.
College Publishers Rept esentative
420 Madison Ave. new York. N.Y.
CHICAGO * BOSTON • LOS ANGELES * SAH FMANCISCC
Cherry Tree Fable
There lurks in my mind so often the ever-remem
bered question from Hamlet, “To be or not to be?
Just exactly what one is to be raises an even larger
question which, no doubt, I shall never know enough
to answer. But since this is, or just was, the month
of February when so many great men happened to be
born on holidays, we may discover our answer in a
favorite February fable.
That little guy with the new hatchet who boldly
chopped pop’s prize cherry tree down and then “owned
up to it,” was the father of our country, George Wash
ington. Now as to whether that story is true or not,
we have our doubts; but the fable affirms a quality
about, this man Washington. For any of us who, after
all these twenty years, may have failed to comprehend
the moral side of the table, it’s stated simply in the
provery—“Honesty is the best policy.
Well, honesty made a lot of difference to people
like Washington. After all, he was a president. Then
tliere was Honest Abe, too. He did pretty well for him
self, also. No sir, there’s no denying it. If it’s not
so, don't say it, and if it’s not right, don t do it.
Right here at Elon we have a lot of occasions to
sl\ow honest intentions. Take, for instance, the present
campus elections. In these, as in practically every
thing else, there’s a right way to 'Ain anU there’s a
wrong way. And when we do vote, since we aie
old enough to recognize honesty, then let’s itiink aoout
two things—whether what we’re voting for is straight
forward and upright and if we’re being perfectly
honest in our way of voting.
Well, this just sort of hits a couple of points, but
we’d better stop here. Sometimes editorials, that is,
if i.^ey are read, are likely lo say too much concerning
elections. And anyway, this all started out to be a
nice little fable about honest little Georgie.
Vote in The liieccion
The winter is past! It’s March, again—that month
when the winds blow, the flowers appear on the earth,
and the singing of the birds is heard in our land again.
And as all nature rejuvenates, the Elon spirit rises
again, tor its election time at Elon.
On Tuesday, March 6, the primary will be held in
Dean Bov/den’s office for the election of student body
and student government officers for the college year
1946-47. The nonV.iations were made at the regular
student assembly last Monday and we think that there
is a pretty good slate of candidates to choose from.
Some of you clamor for more student government
and less administrative interference, uihers criticize
tlie way our present student leaders govern; yet in
every student election this year not seventy-five per
cent of the student body cast a ballot. The student
body offices. Men’s Senate, Women’s Council, cla^
officers, and the editorships of the MAROON AND
GOLD and the PHIPSICLl all rest in your hands. .
The finest expression of pure democracy is man’s
God-given privilege of selecting his own governors.
And it is his duty to vote and support that candidate
who is most capable of exercising the authority of of
fice. Whatever you do, DON’T FORGET TO VOTE,
TUESDAY! ■*
REID
THIS
ri;
s.
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER
By H. No-Kin-to-Gene Poe Eeid
With Apologies to Edgar Allan’s Original Text
During the whole of a dark and soundless night
in the not quite Spring of the year, when the clouds
hung low in the heavens. Our Hero had been passing
alone through a singularly dreary tract of country, and
at length, as a solid old moon kicked through with
a passel of the proverbial silver beams, he found him
self within view of the melancholy House of Usher. He
felt insufferable at the first glimpse, for that feeling
was unrelived by any of that half pleasurable, unless
it was the basketball score between Elon and Appa
lachian. He looked at the scene before him—upon a
mere house, and the simple landscape features of the
domain—upon its sturdy wooden walls—upon a few
lank sags. It was possible, Our Hero reflected, with
but a different arrangement of the particulars of the
scene that the capacity for its sorrowful impression
could either be modified or completely killed.
Acting upon this, it was through Our Hero that
the House of Usher fell, and was rearranged, and even
tidied up a bit. so that the House of Usher was no
longer a drab looking old hovel of a looking edifice.
The House of Usher now served a most useful
purpose to the peasntry who spent a portion of their
lives with it.
They revelled in its presence—they became intox
icated in ts silent understanding of their joys—stood
in awe of its significance. All in all, those associated
with the House of Usher were happy, and the old
structure itself seemed to take on new life.
But time—that inevitable destroyer of all things—
brought about many changes and the House of Usher
was revoked to its previous drab condition, bearing
only a few mute visible traces of its shortlived glori
fication.
CAROLINA ROSES WITH MAROON-AND-GOLD
PETALS
The first rose of summer to:
The Carolina soldier who raised the Confederate
Flag over a captured French town.
Verdalee, for saying that one should never let
an old flame die.
Mary Coxe, for her reply: “That’s not an old flame,
and never was. It just spurted a little bit now and
then, but never really took fire.”
Ed Daniel, for getting the R^AROON AND GOLD
in the mail to our soldiers. It is no small task, and
it’s being done with a smile, and done well, by the
slender 'Virginian who never loses his sang froid or his
good taste in fashions, women and song.
Coach Adcox and his boys, who showed us all
something mighty fine in spirit this season, and who
came down the hardwood in a might surge to win that
last great victory. It sure made the sun shine the
next day, men. And we do mean MEN!
Scanning The Pages
COLLECTED LYRICS OF EDNA ST.
VINCENT MILLAY
Published by Harper and Brothers
This book is a collection of over two hundred of
Miss Millay’s poems, arranged chronologically in the
order in which they were originally published. Run
ning from “Renascense,” one of the loveliest of Amer
ican poems (which she wrote while still nineteen) to
“Huntsman, What Quarry?” they can be compared to
an' orchestra building up to a tremendous climax and
then slowly diminishing in power.
Elinor Wylie, to whom some of the lyrics in
“Huntsman, What Quarry?” were dedicated, wrote of
Miss Millay, “She is like nothing at all but herself;
when she and this generation are gone, the die which
stamped her style will be broken.”
Some of these poems are of considerable length:
namely, “Renascense,” “Ode to Silence,” and “Blue
Flag in the Bog.” “Elegy Before Death,” “She is
Overheard Singing,” and “Witch Wife,” are among
those vvhich are shorter but which still hold that
lyrical perfection for which 'M^ss Millay is famous.
These lyrics, collected for the first time from her
books “Renascence,” “Buck in the Snow,” and “Hunts
man, What Quarry?” are presented in a volume de
signed as a companion to her “Collected Sonnets.”
—Elizabeth Benton.
Marcelene reports that she had a wonderful time
on her visit with her husband.
Who’s the ROTC character, Reeda? We hear he’s
quite the boy!
Frances Pegram certair;]y mi'^^t be hf.rr>i’
getting his A. B. and his commission at Duke this
week end.
j
Verdalee Norris would appreciate any horse jokes
that any n^ay have on tap.
Mac’s back on the beam again. Go, jigger-boo!
Tommy Hall writes good cowboy stories. Hi-yo,
Silver!
It’s another Long story—Eunice and Ralph.
Peggy, the pin-up girl, has a severe case of the
Navy Blues.
Casey really rates with Erma Canady. There is
talk of another femme in East who has her eyes on
that Jones boy, and the Lyon wouldn’t like that.
Those paratroopers again. One of l*e Aberdeen
crowd has made one unfortunate paratrooper the laugh
ing stock of all Camp McKall.
Flo Chandler is interested in a Pettigrew lad,
namely, James.
John Pass looks at his trig book, and says, “I’m
losted.”
Hobee Rawls, the Chinaman, is going into the
firecracker business with a bang, as of late.
Danny Banks wants to know where Bob Foust was
when a certain object hit a fan.
Ruth is trained to watch for a certain choo choo
from Durham. Yes. there are still sailors at Duke.
Why don’t they just move the whole BHS building
to Elon? That’s where all the little guys hang out.
Another Duke item—Catherine is especially happy
when she receives mail from a male at that institution.
Betty Sue Lloyd has been wearing her heart on
her sleeve, hoping that Hal Foster will call for her at
Ladies Hall. Seems he’s already been writing letters
to her.
There are a few Pauls to go around at Ladies’
Hall. Jo Nell Barrett and Ruth Webster each have
one.
Doering Pender must not have heard about the
surrender at Appomatoox. Honest, the Civil War’s over
now.
How come Hinton, Story, et al are never mentioned
m the Day Students’ column? They’re still kicking
you know.
Science In The News
By J. W. CLAPP
“What do you mean. I’m your opportunity?”
“I wanta take advantage of you.”
—Lenoir Rhynean
“Rescued! after days, even weeks adrift at sea.”
That’s the story that is many times being told by sur
vivors of shipwreck or sinking at sea. German and
Japanese submarines have been successfully combat-
ted, with guns and depth charges and the use of
sound detectors and radar; we have observation air
craft of alL kinds, including both planes and lighter
than air craft such as balloons and dirigibles. How
ever in spite of all our progress against them, subs
still get many of our ships.
Water, the most vital necessity for living proto
plasm, poses an acute supply problem during ^iays
adrift. Floating on an infinite supply of water the
survivor may suffer from the lack of that very’sub
stance. Since the trouble v^i'ui sea water is that it con
tains impurities, especially salt, the logical method is
to remove them.
A solar still is the latest method for obtaining
fresh water at sea, giving three sources of drinking
water. The most abundant source is rainfall, caught
in tarpaulins and transferred to a receptacle for drink
ing. Unfortunately, the weather cannot be counted
on to provide regular showers, and scientists set out
to provide a method which would work on those long,
parching days when the sun shines. The result is the
solar still. It is a vinyl plastic envelope surrounding a
sponge soaked with sea water. Due to heat energy from
the sun’s rays, the water evaporates from the sponge
and condenses into the transparent envelope. The
pure water collects in a receptacle at the bottom and
the minerals are left in the sponge.
The third source is a kit of chemicals, that can be
used when the sky is overcast and neither sun nor rain
provide a means of obtaining water. The chemical dis
solves in sea water and removes the salt byprecipita
tion. It is a compound containing mostly silver, which
combines with salt to form a heavy settlement, from
which the drinking water can be drained off.
At a recent display arranged in New York by the
Bituminous Coal Institute, it was shown dramatically
that coal is useful for something besides burning.
The display showed nylons (in a locked case), diamonds,
dyes from the color of a lady’s lipstick to black shoe
polish, and plastics. They were all marked “coal”.
Perfumes of all types were “served ” at a “perfume
bar” to the guests, who were invif^ed to use a fire
proof table top, coal treated, as an ash tray. That
is, for the ones who might happen to have something
to smoke.
DDT, short for insect nightmare, now costs only
sixty cents per pounds, is being produced by mass pro
duction means for its many uses.
^oUsuqsi dlumsjh
Poets now all welcc|ie spring
While winter leaves with scanty praise,
Yet give a thought to winter, too—
At least it’s full of holidays.
INTROSPECTION
I ought to trace my motives
To the bottom of my mind—
It’s good for me, but often
It’s embarrassing, I find.
Daffy-Nitions
Father: The kin you love to touch.
Cooties: Mechanized dandruff.
Natural Immunity; How one catches a disease
without the aid of a physician.
Divorce Lawyer: One who gets circles under his
eyes squaring so many triangles.
Ouch: The class yell of the school of Experience.
Furlough: What soldiers go back to camp to sleep
off.
GI Shoes; Foxhole with shoe laces.
Skunk: Cat with a tail gunner.
The Twig
It grieves me when my past misdeeds
Flock around and haunt me with disgrace
To think this secret sense of guilt
Is'felt by all the human race.
In life my deeds have been far from great
And my words have been foolish and flat—
When I write my autobiography though
I can easily change all that.
I’ve had to stay alone for days.
However I am not complaining—
I never realized before
That I could be so entertaining.
Poet’s Corner
WORMS
He must get back to his books again
Or he will surely die,
The bookworms live from page ts page,
No other food they try
They read adventure stories bold.
Of how great men be so;
Or read about the birds and bees
And how Petunias grow;
A bookworm’s life is varied, since
He has so much to choose,
Can read about the men who win
Or the ones who lose.
Of sailing ships he blithely reads,
Of fightin ’gainst the foe;
Can shipwrecked be, and vainly he
May for the mainland row—
And drift for days and weeks and months
And here someone will interrupt
To say “It’s supper time.”
This active world is really St;”
You’re in the swim, ’tis true;
In every sea and clime.
But “bookworming ” some of the time
Will add still more to you.
J. W. C.
KOONTIME KOONJINE
By Nodden Blink
Old man coon got college eyes;
Wears big black specs, looks mighty wise.
But he don’t use ’em on books:
Jes’ bends his knees at de crooks,
Paddles along by de sycamores;
When de creek gets low he counts de scores,
And moves him up to a wild grape vine.
Eats de hr^iey de bees lef’ behin’,
Rides de swing by de old bayou.
Wisht 1 was him, and so do you.
FREE VERSE DIES AGAIN; OR, THE MOON
IS UP ON THE U. P. (UNION PACIFIC)
The moon is an old variable poetic theme.
Poets make use of its to symbolize their dream.
Lovers catch its power and carefully hoard each
gleam -
So tliat in later years they’ll remember the scene.
Moonlight on the water, moonlight on the pond;
Moonlight in a garden, moonlight on a bond;
Moonli fht on a palm'tree being softly fanned'
By a cool summer breeze in some secluded land.
None of this is new, yet it’s never old;
For watch them, whenever they behold
Its beauty. Each wordly, cynical being
Suddenly looks as if he’s just been told
That s a great gold blob up there gleaming
When it’s only the man in the moon being bold.
B. Benton, who yearns to write like
Ogden Nash.
REPORTER’S PARODY
I have an editor boss,
I shall not succeed.
She publisheth my ignorance.
For everyone to read.
Slie giveth me more than I can do.
My grades are low.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of
journalism
I do not learn.
She fireth assignments at me.
In the prcsencs of other members of the staff.
She anointeth my head with newspapers.
My brain runneth over.
Surely editorials and news stories
Shall follow me all the days of my life.
And 1 shall dwell in the Maroon and Gold
office forever.
This is dedicated to the M. & G. staff, bless their
poor souls.