PAGE TWO
MAROON AND GOLD
SATURDAY, MARCH 17, 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 Danifl Circulation Manager
Charles R. McClure Faculty Adviser
NEWS EDITORS
I^ell Crenshaw
Elizabeth Benton
Thomas Horner
Ida Marie Parker
Ann Rader
John Rossi
SPORTS WRITERS
PRODUCTION STAFF
Bill McEntire
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.
REPnE8BNTED FOR NATIONAL ADV*:»tTIBlNO
National Advertising S«nice, Inc.
ColUgt Publishers Rep, esentathe
420 Madison Ave. New York. N. Y.
CMICAOO * BOSTOII • LOS AM0CLC8 * SAN PRAPIOSCC
Better Be Safe Than Sorry
We like to talk about people. We like to talk
about people so well that we’re writing these few,
little lines especially to talk about those people who
talk about other people. And don’t, boys, be backing
off; you’re just as guilty as the cattiest of co-eds.
Just about five minutes ago (that’s when this in
spiration came to me) several of us were involved in
a rather heated conference just outside a certain class
room door. Now if you happen to think that we were
speaking of the weather or of our nice assignment for
today, you’re “nuts.” That’s just about the last straw.
But as to precisely what we were saying, well, what
do you expect in these election days, sweet talk?
And there were a few remarks casually made which
may be forgotten tomorrow, but then again, might not
be. Sometimes we’re guilty of saying things that may
better be left unspoken when we’re emotionally upset.
It’s like the lass who hates to dance when her man is
jitterbugging with someone else, but just let him ask
her! Yes, we’ve heard time and again how straightfor
ward and open we are, how we say what we think. But
■ when the topic of our conversation walks up, we
uoually change the subject.
And then we heard someone talk about the way
another someone did something. Well, naturally, if
everyone did everything just alike, this would tend to
Le an awfully boring mode of livmg. After all, they
say that variety is the spice of life. i But somt'cimes,
someone may do something a little better than we do
—o.Q i,nen ao we acknowledge the superiority? Not
often. It’s usually much easier to find some criticism.
Inaii me kina of thing I’m talking about. Maybe
the egotistical man has one good quality when he
boaous, Kveryone can’t be perfect like me." At least,
he understands and acknowledges the other fellow’s
attempts.
So just to sum thing/ up, w^ say, “Don’t Vt’s gab
unnecessarily. We might be hurting ourselves. After
all, when we say something about someone, he usually
has a fancy comeback, and what results but a feud?—
might even lead to bloodshed. Who knows?”
It’s up To You
“The War Department regrets to inform you . . .”
There were all too ntar.y such telegrams sent out
on those dark days. There were all too many of our
boys, young kids, just out of school, over-anxious to
show the enemy what it was to meet up with a fighting
American, who were taken prisoner^ wounded . . .
kiUed.
If there were any possible ahcnce, the Red Cross
v-as always on hand to do whatever was needed, and
even more.
Folks back home had given their blood to the
much needed blood plasma, and folks back home had
really given money for the endless equipment and
material that goes to make up the greatest saving of
humanity the world has ever known. J
This year, it’s different. The Red Cross needs
everyone’s help even more than lastj year . . . more
than ever before. It’s up to every student on the Elon
campus to help do his part so the Efon qi^a can be
reached, and passed. ;
It’s up to every student to help change the words
X)i the message that are of such importance to all.
"The War Department is happy to inform you . .
> .0, •
K J> OT
Somebody corked up the works! That lieutenant
didn’t get his leave, did he Shortie? Tommy shouldn’t
have objected to that.
A1 and Eddie, our two veteran representatives on
campus, who are here under the GI Bill of Rights,
have allegedly sworn off the wimmen in favor of
studies. We’d suggest a happy medium, and do some
majoring in the femme situation.
Spike Harrell, Old Mr. Elon, himself, was back
on campus the other day. He reports that, due to an
injury, he received an honorable discharge from the
Merchant Marine, and is “out” for a while.
Helen Morris and Jimmy Rumley join the ranks of
Flo and Poe. The betrothal spirit must be taking hold
of Elon in fine style.
Dottie Lamm's “One’* commutes between Camp
Butner and Burlington. He’s another vet, and has a
large assortment of ribbons on his chest.
Simpie and Mat are being patriotic! 'ihey be
lieve in Share A Man Plan that exists over at Duke.
Among other campus departures, Elon feels the
loss of W. T. Walker, Jack “The Rock” Stone, Bill Mc
Entire, Roy Berry, John Theopolis Sutton, and the
Raleigh Cyclor^, Leopold Malcom Smith.
Louise is happy. Her lieutenant is home. “Back
home for Lou,” no less.
Agnes and Wallace are back together again.
Seems as if A1 “no spika da English” very well,
but he certainly doesdo well for himself. Yea, Veraly,
that lipstick is the sam shade as a certain Lamb. Mug
hien, Alfonso.
Wonder if Frances Derrick has written thjat “Dear
Jimmy” letter she intended to pen since she’s i^egis-
tered with Fred.
Speaking of Freds, Erma believes in alternating
them.
Betty Sue Lloyd has a goodly assortment of cous
ins.
P. Reid, freshly back from “Chawlut,” reports
that all is well in that vicinity. He returned well armed
with a batch of new records.
Jack “The Zephyr IVIan” Johnson, and his chauf
feur, Frank Rogers, recently journeyed to Haw River
to see the mayor of the city, namely, Frank Of-the-Haw-
River Bains. They were shown the town by that gen
erous host, and were particularly fascinated with one
of the larger emporiums. Holt’s Crack and '^oe Store.
In back of this edifice. Mayor Bain makes his residence.
Dr. Merton “Beelzebub” French has started the
new quarter With another assortment of jokes. Know
the difference between a garbage can and a girdle?
None . . . tHey '^oth gather up he waste. If that isn’t
the middle name, at least it is what he once volun
teered as “What the “B” stood for.”
Scanning The Pages
LOOK TO THE MOUNTAIN
By LeGrand Cannon, Jr,
Henry Holt and Company, 1942
This historical novel portrays freshly and robustly
the life of a pioneer couple who follow the course of
the Merrimac river up to the country at the foot of
Mount Chocura in the wilderness of the New Hamp
shire Grants.
The hero and heroine are Whit Livingston and
Melissa Butler. The story Is simple and vivid and
has the measured flow of a stream; and it presents a
history of the l^roic fortitude possessed in muscle and
soul by the pioneers.
Mr. Cannon has published other works, but LOOK
TO THE MOUNTAIN is his best. It is partly idyll;
partly realistic adventure story; and partly historical
romance. The book has an intrinsic value and is not
commonplace nor one to be soon forgotten.
1 —B. Benton.
^oUsqs diumoh
AIN’T “DEM BUMS” GOT NO RUPPERTS?
In the British prose examination the question
was: “Name the author of “The Soldier,” a coiTlm^or-
ary English poem.
The answer: “Ruppert Brooks.”
Under this, in large blue letters, Mr. McClure
commented: “Rupert, not Ruppert. Do not confuse
Rupert with Ruppert, the brewer and former owner of
the New York Yankees.”
There should be another volume of “Boners
Omnibus” in preparation.
HAVE WENT
One day the good Doctor French was late for his
class, during those trying days of early bottles. True
to custom after a certain length of time the students de
cided to blow. One student—an English major—de
cided to leave the professor a note of explanation.
This is what the English major wrote: “We have
went from your class!”
REID
this
M Science In The News
S..
Am
ATALANTA’S RACE
BY H. William-no-kin-to- Helen Morris Reid
By request, we present another of the handy series
of modern translations of the works of the masters for
the student. The original poem by William Moiris, was
penned in 1868, obviously before the ban on racing
nags.
Many years ago, there lived in the kingdom by
the Southern Railway, a goodly King Schoeneus, and
the aforeinscribed monarch had a knockout erf a daugh
ter, who was fast as heck.
She was a runner.
One fine day, a stranger ventured into King Scho-
eneus’s domain, Elonkolleglandus. It was almost spring
time when a young man’s
fancy lightly turns to
that which he should
have done all Winter,
namely, to study. The
young stranger, Milanion
by handle, the son of
Amphidams, was from a
region that was to the
south of Elonkollege-
landus. He had heard
that paths of opportunity
were abound at Elon
from the king’s propa
ganda minister, and so
Milanion bummed on up
to the previously assert
ed place.
There he found
it was Gravel Gertie
Day, similar to a custom
that is observed in an
other region, Dogpatch. The king, who always drove
a hard bargain in many matters, had long ago made the
following stipulation—if any eligible male could out
run his daughter, same would win her band, and
all that goes with it, in marriage, as well as a free
scholarship at the Elonkollegelandus’s institution, to
v/it, the L. E. Smithsonian Insitute.
■ Milanion, feeling that urge to go on, decided that
the scholarship deal sounded attractive to his way of
thinking, and so he hooked a registration form, and
was declared eligible to run.
Gravel Gertie Day was quite a big occasion in Elon-
kollegeland. Foreign ministers cart>e from far and
near, and there was a big feast thrown for the oc
casion. At the race track, the high seats were with
eager people flUed.
However, Milanian was not faring so well. In the
warm ups for the big event he had noticed that the
fair young maiden was fleet of foot, likened unto a
very lamb. “Aha,” thoughteth he, “this will require
strategy.”
Quicker than a senate ticket awarding for throw
ing water bon^bs on the race track, a figure, and what
a figure it was, appeared upon the scene. Why it was
the newly elected Queen of Beauty, Venus Boyd.
“Terminate your woes,” she consoled him in her
best big sister-Uke manner. “There’s more than one
way to shut a door, you know. If you don't think you
can get the best of her, in running, of course, then
use your head while you still have it.”
“I certainly would like to have that sholarship,”
Mil moaned.
“H-mm. Our eatery is out of golden apples,
right now, but I tell you wnat, ’ proposed Venus. •'The
goodly Colonel let me have a pack of Old Golds, which
have been treated with apple honey. Drop them in
front of her. That oughta do the trick.” And faster
than it takes to flunk a religion “review,” Venus took
her parts into other realms, leaving Mjl with a treasure,
which he figured wouVl soon go up in smoke.
Tempus fugited all over the joint, as it frequently
does, and the time for the race arrived. A Virginian
furnished the royal cannon, lit same, and Mil and
Atalanta were off at a merry old clip. Mil forged ahead
for a bit, and hastily planted a weed in front of Ata-
laiiia. N«w, Atalaaia, not being a fag-hag herself,
but being under sworn oath to pick up all the cigarettes
she could for a friend of hers, stopped; and picked up
one. This gave IVpl a chance to really do his stuff, and
it wasn’t long before he started tossing out cigs like
mad. A bunch of representatives from the king’s
sporting squad, having just been through a rigid train
ing which deprived them of the precious things, grew
fiendish at the very sight of the cigarettes, and stam
peded on to the track to retrieve a few ducts along
with Atalanta. In the meantime. Mil won the race,
Atalanta and the athletic men still scrambling far to
his heels.
The king was happy about the race, and congrat
ulated Milanion by seeing to it that he was given the
hand of his daughter in marriage, the scholarship to the
Instituion, as well as a cozy little place, just f^ the
two, in the exact ceiteFbf the kingdom. With all of this,
it is little wonder that Mil was also jocular, because he
knew how valuable a liberal education would be.
By J. W. CLAPP
Hope of rebuilding the Luftwaffe has been played
up in recent propaganda broadcasts from Germany,
.^.lost of it perhaps only talk, yet the use of jet-
propelled planes in increasing numbers by the German
air force has merited the attention of our military
leaders. Although we have systematically bombed
synthetic oil plants and'gasoline supplies, there is evi
dence that improvement of German aircraft design is
continuing, and that they are planning fo>- a large force
of the newer type planes. Fliers returning from the
front report the use of jet planes by the Germans, and
one of the few airmen who have shot down jet pl\nes
was recently back in this country on leave.
The-Luftwaffe boasts many of these planes, which
are admittedly faster then our propeller-moved air
craft. The invasion made it necessary for us to con
centrate on beachhead and tactival objectives, giving
the Germans inside a chance to develop and produce.
The planes’ great strength is in their speed, their great
est weakness in their large turning arc and poorly
trained pilots.
This would all be very encouraging, except that it’s
not the whole story. Dtsignef* fA this country are busy
too, and a recent announcement of a new American jet-
propelled plane helps to balance the picture, although
we still lack the experience which can be gained only
by actual extensive use of th machine.
The P-80 “Shooting Star,” a sensational jet-pro-
pelled fighter announced by the arnny, is hailed as the
fastest pursuit ship in the skies. The plane is said
to be faster than any Japanese or German plane, and
is designed for speeds of 800 miles per hour.
The announcement of the P-80 makes our eariler
jet-propelled pursuit ship, the P-59, obsolete, and it
has been assigned as a trainer. The new plane can
W'arip up and take off within a minute and will operate
over ranges comparable with other modern fighters.
It has little vibration, l.fi engine, a General Electric
turbo-jet engine, is said to be the world’s most powerful
and to give the plane sensational climbing speed and
angle o± climb.
And so the cycle goes, each new discovery leading
to a new and more terrible method of waging war, each
new discovery leading.to a new and more terrible mieth-
od of waging war, each natian or group of natJbns
copying and improving on the methods of the other in
the struggle to get ahead or keep ahead. This is only
one example of the frenzied competition which must
continue until peace is finally attained.
It is reported that more than two hundred prison
ers in three American penitentiaries are voluntarily
acting as guinea pigs in a search for a new malaria cure.
Atabrine and quinine keep the disease in a mild stage,
but do not effect a complete cure as quickly as is de
sired. New drugs which, it is hoped, will do a better
job are being tried on these prisoners from penitenti
aries at Atlanta, Ga.; Joilet, Illinois; and Rahway
New Jersey. As soon as the tests are completed the
new drugs, if successful, will be released for use by
the armed forces.
Poet’s Corner
THE MONKEY’S VIEWPOINT
Three monkeys sat in a coconut tree
Discussing things as they’re to be.
Said one to the others, “Now listen, you two.
There’s a certain rumor that can’t be true;
That man descended from our noble race;
The very idea is a disgrace.
“No monkey ever deserted his wife,
Starved her babies and ruined her life,
And you’ve never known a mother monk
To leave her babies with others to b6nk;
Or pass them on from one to another.
Till they scarcely know who is their mother
And another thing you’ll never see:
A monk build a fence around a coconut tree
And let the coconuts go to waste,
Fo-Vidding all other nlonks a taste,
Why. if I put a fence around a tree
Sarvation would force you to steal from me.
“Here’s another thing a monk won’t do.
Go out at night and get a stew;
Or use a gun, a club, or knife,
To take some monkey’s life.
Yes_j Man descelded, the onery cuss.
But, Brother, He didn’t descend from US!”
Copied from THE SHARP COUNTY IN
DEPENDENT, Hjfdy, Arkansas, January 25
1945, by Miss Alice Bowmer.
ODE TO EDUCATION 52
Through twelve weeks—
Twelve lone, undying weeks,
I have sought you.
At midday, when the rays
Of sunshine beam on the blue
Of skies, 1 have been there.
When the road was muddy and ■
The wind and the rain beat in my hair.
When there were other things
Dearer in my heart
I never failed you, never
From your portals did I part.
Through unending hours of toil
1 made them . . . plans, plans, plans!
The very though makes me tremble.
And I think of all those hands
Waving before me, begging and pleading;
But still I sought you, my desire.
In my every hope, climbing and finally
reaching—
Always for that one goal did I aspire
To finish my practice teaching.