PAGE 2ERO
MAROON AND GOLD "SS
TMaroon and Gold
Edited and printed by would-be journalists (they
would be journalists if they knew how to read, write,
and spell) of Elon College. Published bi-weekly, ex
cept this copy, which is published only once—once too
often—during the college year, under the auspices of
the Board of Lunatics.
ms GREATEST CASK
TUESDAY, APRIL 1, 1947
Entered as second class matter at the Post Office
at Elon College, N. C., under the act of March 8, 1879.
Delivered by mail $1.50 the college year, $ 50 the
quarter. Delivered by hand', $150 the college year,
$150 the quarter. We advise you to subscribe by the
quarter; it’s cheaper.)
Editor-in-cheese A1 Burlingoon
Business Mangier Ace Harrell
Ass. Business Manager Mary "Cow” Coxe
editorial BOARD .
Managerie Editor “Batty” Benton
Ass. Editor Verdalee Horrors
Fired Editor Dot "Canned” Salmons
Sports Editor “Head” Mulford
■ (MONKEY) BUSINESS BOARD
Circumlocution Manager Haael Cole
Ass’t Circulation' Manhandler Pat Beerstein
Misadviser McClure
Photographer "Snap Duncan
Printer Kilroy
REPORTERS
Careless Tuck, Jennings Berrymore, Betty Chilblain,
Bay Daze, Dead Moss
COLUMNISTS
Walter Winchell. Henry McLemore, Ed Sullivan, Lee
Mortimer, Louella Parsons
PRESS MAN
Johnny One-Note
|ytPeiE.SEKTFD FCK NA7»CNAL ADVB^TlemO
National Advertising Service, Inc.
College Publishers Rep» esefHative
420 Madison Ave. New York. n. Y.
Chicago • e>cstow • i-os abokles • Sah riAKciscfc
Office—Room 1, Duke Science Building
THOUGHTS
‘It was love at first sight, pure and sim
ple She was pure, and he was simple."—
from the ‘Philosophy of the Tumble Bugs, by
Amos Wheelbottom.
“This is the first time 1 ever spoke from
a Republican platform.”—William Jennings
Bryan, when, on a western barn-storming tour,
he had to speak from a manure spreader.
Honestly, be did.
“Consider the proportion of things: For
it is better to be a young June Bug than an
old Bird of Paradise.”—by Mark Twain in,
“Sayings of Pudd’nhead Wilson.”
I was totin’ two anchors up the gang
plank of the U. S. Whpedpnk. when the plank
busted. I was treadin’ water foir about s^
minutes and nobody done nothin. They just
hung over the rail tiU I said, “If’n ybuse don’t
trow me a rope, I’ll drop these dear little
anchors.”—Chief Gunner's Mate Kopplemess
Watson.
DON’T READ DIS
We always wanted ta write a editorial where we
didn’t hafta use no correct Englidge, so dis is it,
youse guys. Wot de heck is a editorial, anyhow?
Jes, sunthin’ some jerk wid a lotta brains (he credits
hisself wit’ but ain’t got) sticks in de paper to fill
up a lotta space nobody jifever bodders ta read, no
how. If anybuddy happens ta give it de oncet-over,
dey can’t unnerstan’ it, ’cause de langwidge dat is used
is too hifalutin’, if yez know wot I mean.
Den, too, usually it’s wrote on some subjeek like
politics, or prohibishun, ^r keepin’ de campus cle^,
er sunthin’, an. who de heck is intrested in readin
any a dat lousy stuff? Nobody don’t know wot politics
is all about, an’ nobody wants prohi—nobody dorft
wanta keep de boys from havin’ a good time wid a
coupla bottles a hooch ebery so often—an’ wot’s de
use a tryin’ ta keep de campus clean when some dirty
skunk’ll come along five minutes later an’ t’orw a
heapa trash jes’ where youse suckers has picked it
up from.
In udder words, we ain’t never figgered out wot
a editorial ever gits writ for—nobody ain’t gonna read
it an’ it ain’t gonna do no good, nohow De editors
are jes’ glory-hounds, waitin’ ta make people t’ink
dey’re better’n dey really is, an’ usin’ big words dey
don’t even know de meanin’ of demselves.
If editorial writers knew jes’ how many folks ain’t
never read a editorial, dey’d give it up as a bad job
quicker’n it takes ta say “Shoot.” Editorial pages ain’t
read—dey’re used to stuff furniture wid; ta pack china
in, an’ in udder ways we ain’t gonna mention. But de
fool editors keep right on feedin’ us dat same ol’ bull,
i paper after paper, an’ it’s jes’ a complete waste a
time. After readin’ dis youse will no doubt agreed
■ vrid us, an’ also concur, wotever dat word means.
By DMA AIKENBACH
The Great Detective frowned ferociously at him
self in the mirror. He was working on his greatest
case, the mysterious dining hall robberies, but so
far his efforts had been in vain. His expert snooping
had brought him nothing but a snootful of may-
onaise, when he had gotten too close to Friday supper’s
potato salad. Despite every precaution taken by the
Master Mind, food was still disappearing from the
college dining hall, and not a trace of a clue was to
be found.
The Great Detective frowned again, and his re
flection leered back at him. “What in blazes!” he
ejaculated, bending forward to examien his face in
the mirror. “Egad! I’m getting the measles!” He sud
denly straightened up, flushed with embarassment at
his mistake—the “measles” were only fly specks on
the mirror.
Quickly, his agile brain was back on the perplex
ing case before him. Outside, night fell with a re
sounding crash, and he knew it was time for him to
return to the job. As he slipped into his newest
guise (he was going to spend the night in the dining
hall dressed as a garbage barr'el), he ran his mind
over every angle of the case, but again could reach
no conclusion. “Ah, but surely I shall clean up the
mess tonight!” he speculated. “The Great Detective
never fails to get his man!”
The Great Detective found the dietician waiting
for him at the door of the dining hall. She had been
dietician at the college for two weeks now, had come
the day before the robberies started. She had checked
in at 98 pounds and now tipped the beam at a cool 243.
The Great Detective saw nothing wrong with such a
radical change—he had tossed aside the startling
increase in avoirdupois as merely “Glands!”
“What are you supposed to be?” the dietician
wanted to know, as she bolted the door behind him
and slipped the key out of sight somewhere about her
corpulent person.
•‘A garbage barrel,” sniggered the Great One,
setting his cover at a rakish angle. “Can’t you smell?”
“Well, you shouldn’t have tried to be so realistic,”
retorted the dietician, holding her nose and leading
the way. toward the kitchen.
The Great Detective followed her. As he set foot
in the spotless kitchen, suddenly an idea struck him
like a hammer! “Eureka!” he cried, rubbing the
bunk: "I think I've got the solution!” The dietician’s
eyes grew wide.
“■You have?”
“Yes. my dear! I beliete the thief is not a thief
but two thieves.”
The dietician was incredulous. “H-how do you
come to that conclusion?”
"I believe one of the thieves is a midget, and the
oher lowers him down 'the chimney flue by a rope.
Then the midget ties the food to the rope, and his
accomplice hauls away their loot. When they have
finished their dastardly plundering, the thief on the
roof pulls the midget up, and they make their escape
unseen!”
“Wonderful!” The dietician was so elated she
looked like a barrage balloon. -i
But then the Great Detective frowned to himself.
“There’s just one thing wrong with my solution,” he
grumbled.
“What?”
“There isn’t any chimney!”
“OhI“ the dietician’s face was blank. ‘‘Well, you
just keep v/atch now, while I go put on another face,”
slie gurgled, retreating from the kitchen with the
gracefulness of a drunken elephant.
The Great Detective was wrapped in thought. As
soon as he had untangled himsellf he marched with
purposeful tread toward the pantry. “Ah!” he ahed,
“I thought so! Not a scrap of food left! We've been
robbed again!”
“Oh. we have, have we?” The dietician was
standing behind him with a strange smirk on her lips
and a heavy sout ladle in her hand.
“Exactly!” the Great One replied brilliantly.
“There’s dirty work afooj!” The dietician beat him
over the head thirty-seven times with the soup ladle.
‘ I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone pulled this
job from within your own dining hall!” he continued,
so firmly concentrating 6n his discovery that he failed
to notice that he was lying in a pool of blood on the
^ floor,, jWith his feet and hands trussed up behind him.
“As a .matter of fact.’' he concluded.as the dietician
picked him up and dropped him into a huge kettle
of boiling water on the stove. “I wouldn’t be surprised
if you had somethnig to do with it yourself!”
Well, the Great Detective was right, as usual, and
the case was solved.
The dietician had cleaned out all the food in the
joint and was ao hungry she had been forced t/o show
her hand. Of course, the Great DetectlVe got cooked
in the line of duty; but justice was served, anyway,
because the dietician, in polishing him off, got the
garbage barrel cover stuck in her throat and choked
to death.
Poet’s Column
ODE TO A WATER BAG
Ohj paper bag so full of dew.
Is there no way of stopping you?
And even when there are near misses
They’re just as wet as Lena’s kisses.
The fiend who threw you runs to hide
While you splatter at my side.
I never know the guy who'aimed,
For each square hit is never claimed.
There I was, dressed for a date,
When suddenly I met my fate.
I’ll never more be quite so rash
To tempt your unexpected splash;
The day will come when I’LL laugh, friend-
’Cause I’ll be on the throwing end!
—J. B. W.
SNIPit
SNOoiP.
■ -the. Wei^Kole accoarvt
of campus evftrrts,...
Bob Graham’s motto is, “Never give a TUCKER
an even break!” . . . Garland Causey leaves these
immortal words to posterity: “Get big in there! Elbows
and arms!”
* * • *
■Vance Cox; “My wife made an awful blunder
i:)laying cards the other night.”
Ralph Edwards: “Poker?”
■Vance: (Exhibiting black eye) “I tried to, but
she hit me first.”
Hi * * if
Favorite tune in North Dorm these days is "Old
Waterbag Sky.” . . . Standard equipment for occupants
of the dorm is rubbers and raincoats ... To take a
shower, the boys don’t go to the basement—they just
stand in the middle of the gym floor for a couple of
minutes. ' ^ ,
4c
An adventurous fellowed called “Dutch,”
Who delighted in romance and such.
Took a girl in his «ar, ,
And they hadn’t gone far
When she found his hand not on the clutch!
Ask Doris Peedin to tell you about the bride whose
trousseau included a negligee with a fur-lined hem
. . . You’ll haw . . .Spring must have sprung a leak—
winter is still seeping through . . . Next year we
Soutl\erners probably will begin thinking of spending
our winters in the “Sunny North.”
=K * * ♦ *
"Visitor at asylum: “Do you keep the women in
mates separated from the men?”
Attendant: “Sure. These people here ain’t as crazy
as you think.”
* ^ # 4t
Prof Johnson in geography class: “Describe the
manners and customs of the people of Central Africa.”
John Watson: “They ain’t go no manners and they
don’t wear no costumes.”
WANTED, A MIRACLE MAN
In a recent iisue we repeated Tom Horner’s cry
for an editor. Published about a year ago, that long,
sighing moan still echoes down the corridors of time
and whirls up under the longies Mom sent on from the
hill farm to help us (dear m/b) meet thi? Ides-of-March
winter.
Today, however, we call again. For another
editor. The de-sociate editor. He is the one who
should function when the real Ed. tires of his desk
and goes out with his Yo-Yo under his arm and squints
up at the upper windows of dear (me) old East to
take the temperature of the chimneys.
The man we want does not need erudition. He
needs longevitey. Length, that is. To wear the editor's
longies.' When they came down to us last January
and winter broke out, we were certainly grateful to
Mom for sending them. And we still are grateful.
We don't want to let Mom down, or the union-soot
either.
But^hen John L. Lewis dropped his (Union Suit)^,
we became frightened. For we have always been
noted for our quaint modesty. And in this modern
world that is something to cling to. 'VVe would cling
to it if it,were poison ivy and our girl was wearing
same for a necklace.
But here is the problem. The other week, (we)
being confin^ to our room while the White-Lace
Laundry and Girdle Cleaners were doing our things,
sent ‘ Feather-Head" Mulford of the Coast Artillery
to get ’em in time for a post-dinner date with our
very own angel. And he came back so trickling slow
that the anklets fell out and froze to the hi-way near
the place where you turn off to the Collichfarrum,
where Betty (Florida Curve) HUl lives. Featherhead
was looking up the hill. And, to make it short, the
longies aren't (short) any longer. He thinned ’em until
they look like a pale roll of navy hemp about ten
feet long. But A1 says that the guy who becomes de-
sociate editor has to be able to wear 'em. That, my
friends^ is the problem. To find a man. Tall and
thin. Or else. (Maybe A1 will try this) reverse the
trip with the bundle under your arm, and see if you
can find the “Curve” that put the “Feather” in “Feath
erhead.” He hasn't got his flaps down yet. Mulford,
we mean, not the editor.
HEAD-STANDS
;iITTLE U
LITTLE Bi ^
s
by Ercel T. Twanglestone. No, not exactly Ercel
T.. either. That was my father, if you can call him
that. But that’s neither here nor there. Stop, now, or
I’ll strike ou on the wrist. De'ar. De^! You anger
me.
It was in the autumn of 1747. while the good ship
Cuspidor was rounding the Horn, her masts shining like
an Erector set, that an argument and a disputation
arose among the crew as to the superiority of men
over women. Some foggy birdbrain, after tinkling
a magnum of champagne iAto his opus, brought up
the argument.
In 1947, the canoe U-B-Dam was sailing up Haw
River, and the argument, apparently, was still under
way. I shall not, however, go into that. Canoes are,
dear me, easy to upset. But I know one thing; you
can’t settle a four-masted problem in logic in a canoe.
(Ed. Note: Weeks of preparation have gone into’
writing these little bits and Little Wun has expressed
hope that her millions of readers will enjoy this
column as much as she enjoyed writing same.)
This week we give a free copy of the MORON
AND GHOUL, ,a dried herring and a bent pin to “Ace’'
Harrell for his policy of no-dirty-jokes, in fact, no
jokes at all. Aside from deserving the week’s award
for his gentlemanly attitude D. B. also deserves one
for his ability to non-irritate people.
After months of bewilderment and wonder as to
why Mary “Calf” Coxe returned that fraternity pin
we find that she decided to start sewing her straps on.
Signs of Spring; Professor Barney roller-skating
to class, Mrs. Farrar skipping the rope on the front
lawn, and Professor Brannock playing tag with his
shadow.
Little Wun is really surprised at the number of
"steadies” that are no longer steady. Betty “Fatty”
Benton and Jack “Dignified” Burch; Betty “Meakness”
Dalehite, and Fred "Pony” Chandler, Marjorie “Vi
vacious” Moore and Jimmy “Peppy” Madren are just
a few of the couples who are now free-lancing. In
a joint statement these girls commented that the boys
were just too good to them. “They rnake us feel so
ungrateful . . . they are just too good.”
Between Deadlines: We saw: Mr. Paskins take
over his duties as the new football coach; A1 Burlin
game voted the biggest wolf on campus; Tom Fulghum
and Calvin Milam tie f^r the- title of the most modest
boy: and Charlies Hilliard voted the laziest person
in school: Little Wun going steady; a jam session in
the library; the girls in West given 2:30 permission
every night except Tuesday (any hour is okay that
night).
W^'e Heard: That Miss Hardy was getting married
in June: the choir swing out in Friday chapel with
“Pistol Packing Mama” dedicated to Mrs. JTohnson;
nothing from Janice “Quietness” Frazier; Mary Lib
Browning leading the yells at Elon’s first hockey
game in the outdoor swimming pool; students griping
because we don’t have classes on Saturday; Jane
McCauley refuse to jitterbug in the bookstore be
cause^ she is losing, too much weight.
There
Was
April Fool!
Ended
That
Poet
■Who
Poem
A
Wrote
College Humor
Chink Spivey: “W'hat was that clatter?”
John Wiggington: "Shoffner just fell down the
stairs with a quart of whiskey!” . -
Spivey: "Did he spill it?”
Wiggington: “No., he kept his mouth shut.”
* 3|(
Professor Barney; “Take this sentence, ‘Let the
cow be taken to the pasture.' What mood?”
Sugar/Moore: “The cow.’’
*****
“For goodness akes. use .both hands,” shrilled
Nettie Isley as the auto almost left the road.
“I can t,” said Gene Sherrard. “I have to steer
v.ith one.”
* * * * ^
Old Grad; “Are they very strict at Elon now?”
Freshman: “'You rememoer Jonesey? Well, he
died in class and they propped, him up until the lecture
ended.”
***** **
Mrs. Darden: ' It's a bottle of hair-tonic, dear.”
Mr. Darden; ‘ Oh, that's nice of you. darling.”
Mrs. Darden: “Yes, I want you to give it to your
secretary at the office. Her hair is coming out rather
badly on your coat.”
*****
Mrs. McDonald (to Ferneyhough with his feet on
thedesk): “Put your feet where they belong!”
Todd (Under his breath): “If I did, you wouldn’t
be able to walk for a week.”
*****
Janice Frazier: .“I want to see Mr. Coble.”
'V^roria': “Mr. Coble’s engaged.”
Janice; “Oh, that’s all right, I don’t want to marry
him.”
*****
The moon was yellow, the lane was bright
As she turned to me in the Autumn night
And every glance gave a hint
That she craved romance,
I stammered, stuttered, and time went by
The moon was yellow, and so was I!
*****
Jimmy Langston was watching a revolving door
and saw a man waTic in. As the door swung around a
pretty girl stepped out.
“Darned good trick,'’ he muttered, “but I stiU
don’t see how that guy changed his clothes so fast.”
*****
Here’s to her eyes and her nose;
Here’s to her hair and her toes.
And here’s to the best of her j
• ' Here’s to all the rest of her.