Page Two
THE GUILFORDIAN
Published Semi-Monthly by the Students of Guilford College
—
Editor-in-Chief Ernest White
Managing Editor Frances Alexander
Assistant Managing Editor Mary Edith Woody 1
Business Manager Marvin Sykes j
SPECIAL EDITORS
Feature Editors, Billy Anderson, Charlotte Parker, Anna J. Bonham
Sports Editor ClS'de Redding |
Alumni Editor Miss Era Lasley ■
Assistant Alumni Editor Mary Bryant .
Society Editor Margaret Barnes
Typing Editor Ruth Fuquay
REPORTERS
John McNairy Richard Archer Earl Maloney
Marguerite Neave William Collier Herman Trivette
I.ouise Ward Claude Hepler Gladys Melville
Winston Davis Esther Stilson Ida Mae Higgins
Jim Parsons Gladys Bryan I
SECRETARIAL STAFF
Elizabeth Gilleam Mary Weber Millie Glisson
Ruth Anderson Geraldine McLean
' Circulation Manager Earl Kuykendall
Asis'.ant Circulation Manager Mack Ray Robinson i
Assistant Business Manager John Bradshaw
Address all communications to TIIE GUILFORDIAN
Guilford College, N. C.
Subscription price $1.50 per year
Entered at the post office in Guilford College as second class matter
Election at Hand
Nominations for the officers of the various campus organizations will
soon be sent in and elections held. Elections at Guilford have become all
too often a mere matter of form, the real choosing being done by out
going officers or others, quite eontrarywise to a real democratic
organization.
It has been our contention, and still is, that a line of legitimate
succession should be formed by some of the campus organizations,
notably the GUILFORDIAN and the Quaker. It is obviously impossible
that there he two good candidates for the offices of editor of either of
these publications, for next year's editor should have been trained this
year in a minor plaee, preferably that of managing editor.
Our suggestion is that but one candidate he named for editor of
the GUILEOHDIAN and one for editor of the Quaker. The student body
could be given a yes-no prerogative, and if they were to vote '"no,"
or a large percentage of them were to, an actual election with two
names submitted could be held.
Incidentally, we would like to see some real "politicing" and inter
est shown by the student body in the election of bona fide elective
officers.
Sweet Land of Liberty
A few years ago, Samuel Haworth, professor of religion at an ortho
dox Quaker institution, secured a well-known Socialist to speak at the
morning chapel exercises. There are many, many colleges in the
United States where to have done this would have started agitation
among patriots to have Mr. Haworth's job, but that is not the point.
Many of us who have always been taught that socialism, communism
and anarchy are synonymous terms and travel only with bewhiskered
bombsters, were surprised at the logic of what the man said and the
obvious intelligence and culture of the speaker.
We who are kept as much as possible in ignorance as to such things
as possible changes in society, either by darkness, smoke screens, or
"red herrings," are the Americans who are dependent upon our news
papers and our. schools for knowledge of the affairs of the outside
world and their significance. Our masters, school boards, and boards
of trustees, taken one and all from the employer-capitalist class, and
the newspaper publishers, to whose interest the upholding of the status
quo is obviously advantageous.
It is easy to hold to your friends, and it is easy for a man who
inherited millions and thus made hundreds of millions more under a
system to think that system is the best of all possible layouts—W. R.
Hearst, for example, who controls the thinking of millions. Likewise,
a man who has attained a comfortable home and a comfortable living
under the same system may logically think it is worth maintaining.
But any other way of doing things, any other way of organizing
society, we cannot see that, for the trustees have seen that it is stigma
tized or smothered in darkness.
America, as the "patriots" bellow, is the land of the free, where
one is free to make all the money he can, to wield all the power he can
obtain through his money.
We also want to see America the land of the free, where teachers
arc free to show all sides of an issue without being bounded out of their
schools; where labor is free to control its own destiny; where editors
can voice their honest opinions without keeping one eye on the adds
and the other on the "old man"; where people can think their own
thoughts and speak their own minds without being branded as traitors
Of you. oh wearers of comfortable paunches and holders of our
destinies within your rotund wallets, we ask one thing: Give us at
least a look around before we have to decide the course of civilization
tomorrow.
THE GUILFORDIAN
PIPE DREAMS
The pictured walls grow blank and
the pipe hangs heavy from his teeth as
grayness swirls like a bank of fog
about him. His chair lifts and lurches
and is gone.
Where is he? He knows. He is at
the tiller of his first command (never
was a boat that could mean what she
has meant). Blackness is all around
and his straining hand, damp with the
night wind, are cold, and his body,
crouched behind his sheepskin coat, is
cold as a bar of iron is cold. Like
crouching leopards the rollers come up
from behind, strike, hiss, and sweep by.
Shattering the smooth pour of the
wind, the simultaneous shouts of the
two lookouts ring, "Starboard the helm!
Starboard the helm! Starboard the
helm!"
He puts one booted foot on the seat
to brace himself and pushes the tiller
down until the water screams under
the stern. Far over on one side the
boat heels, until he can hear the water
spill over the side with a tearing
sound. The boat jerks once, con
vulsively, and he senses that the fore
sail has jibed. A great, sullen black,
sunken derelict of a tree flashes by
right under him with white water
breaking over it and is gone into the
black astern. Shoulder muscles harden
under their padding of coat as he
swings back 011 the tiller bar and the
swooping mainsail is quiet once more
with wind.
Like a boxer who has taken a deadly
blow and, weaving, shakes his head, the
boat quivers and flees before the gale
again.
He shouts to the little knot of men
forward by the mainmast, "Take that
foresail back over."
Grayness again, and his torso is bare
and brown, with belly lean against a
tight-drawn belt. It is a bleak, drizzly
morning 011 the big river, with a rapid
roaring ahead like a freight crossing
a trestle.
He is in a canoe that swings giddily
down the smooth yellow flood. "Port,"
says the bow-paddle curtly and they
bend their backs and he pushes out at
the end of the stroke to turn to port.
Nearer and nearer they come to the
sharp, black rocks frothed in white. At
the same second all realize that there
is a big drop in the river ahead and
that there is no passage to port. In the
very center of the chute white-maned,
red waves toss high.
"Starboard!" he cries, and the two
ahead of him paddle like madmen, for
rorks lie just below and 011 one side.
"Low, Roy.!" and "Low, Ed!" he calls,
and they drop down to their knees as
lie holds straight across the stream
that whirls them sideways down to
ward the maw of the rapid. They arc
on the brink of the first huge comber
and directly above the teeth of the
boulders.
"Like hell!" he exhorts, and while
their wielders look furtively with
dropped jaws at waiting death below,
the blades flash even faster.
Just as the canoe lifts to start the
first swoop down, he drops until his
armpits are level with the gunwale. He
bears out with his paddle. The canoe J
spins on her heel and they strike true 1
through the first wave. Water is 011
their faces and their ears are filled
with the bellow of the tortured water.
They chop quickly and nervously
with their paddles, twisting and dodg
ing by instinct. As though a giant
hand had plucked it up, the stern rises
and a solid wall of water rears in front
of them. In a moment that is an aeon,
they crash through it and he sees the
whole forward end of the canoe go
under and lift free as a flood of water
rolls aft almost to his waist, bearing
with it floating tins.
Paddle in the water to steady the
desperately wounded craft, he shouts,
Ripped at Random
FOR VALENTINE THIS STORY IS
PRESENTED
The following was taken from The
Tech High Rainbtm, which In its turn
took it from The (Inmeeock, which
took it from The Emory Wheel. To
complete the cycle, the exchange look
ed back to the Emory Phoenix of 1805
where the original appeared:
"Kissing is, or should be made, one
of the tine arts. While there is no
immediate danger of its becoming one
of I lie lost arts, or even lapsing into
innocuous desuetude, still it is just as
well to do what we can to keep it up
its an art * amlavd. For heaven's
sake don't make a business of it, and
don't jump at it with your hat in one
hand and your overshoes in the other.
Don't pounce down on a woman's lips
as you would on a piece of water
melon, or a ripe tomato, and bend her
head back until you hear the bones
crack in the back of her neck. Don't
glue your face to hers and have a
good, time all to yourself while you're
flattening her nose against one of your
cheeks. Don't fake her by lioth ears
and look into her eyes and try to grab
it quick: you are sure to bump noses.
These ore a few general rules which
may at all times be safely observed.
"Stand a little bit behind her, just
011 the right side. Place your arm
diagonally about her form extending
from her light shoulder down to and
partially around her waist until the
1 ends of your fingers touch her belt
buckle. If she doesn't wear a belt
buckle, the arm will get there just the
same. Take it easy: don't get excited.
Take your right hand and gently brush
I lie gulden ringlets from the left side
of her alabaster brow, looking mean
time into the liquid depths of her azure
eyes. Take it easy.
"Don't get excited. Let your hand
rest gently for a moment 011 her warm
velvet of her pink and white left
cheek. Then gently work the muscles
of the right arm until her right cheek
rests firmly on your left shoulder, just
over the watch pocket. Take it easy;
don't be in a hurry; it'll keep. Ex
tend a little energy along as you can.
Then remove your right hand from her
left cheek, letting it drop gently under
I her chin. Work muscles of your right
arm gently. Take it easy; don't hurry.
As the chin rises, work neck muscles,
and let your head fall gently forward.
Now a little more action down the left
arm as the ripe lips, like twin rose
buds, part, revealing pearly gates be
hind. through which there steals the
warm, sweet perfume of her fragrant
breath. Then, well, you know the rest
as well 11s 1 do —only take it easy;
di n't hurry; it can't get away, and it
would not if it could."
WILLING TO SELL
It. Martin; "What are you taking
for your gout?"
B. McLain: "Slake ine an offer."—
Green and White.
I heard Joe Penner tell this one:
"Say, Ozzie, I've just bought myself a
new pair of shoes, and they're so full
of squeaks that I've decided to be a
musician."
"Ozzie" Nelson: "Why, Joe, how do
squeaky shoes influence you to he a
musician?"
Joe: "Because I've got music in my
sole."— Tin f'lioiraiiian.
Orchids to the cutest joke I've seen
—here 'tis—"Historic Moments" —when
Stonewall Jackson heroically refused
to wear a "Union" suit—get it?— The
Rotunda.
N.R.A. ine down to sleep.
Pray the Lord my code to keep;
If I should bust before I wake,
A. F. of L. my plant will take—
And this I ask for heaven's sake.
Amen." — II. L. 8.
"If you ever want to see home and
mamma again, BAIL!" and Ed does.
Lifting and swinging like a rider
taking the jumps, they drive on and
out into smooth, dark-brown water.
March 2, 1935
"1(7.
Well, here it's time for another issue
and with the exception of the choir
members everyone has been behaving
' so well that the poor minute man is in
| a state bordering on nervous break
down from lack of copy.
' We again sent our confidence man,
I Fifi, on the choir trip, both choir trips,
, to be exact, and because of the dili
' genee of his research on the subject of
—well, because of his diligence we are
tempted to devote all our space to the
choir, but this smacks of favoritism
and far be it from us to become like a
faculty member so soon.
i accompanied the choir
to Scotland neck phoeheville and raleigh
among other things we ate
I griggs became a makeup man
ward broke several hearts
in phoebeville-on-the-railroad
' kelsey sat unexpectedly
i moorefield had the seat
| kelsey stood swiftly and redly
. coming back from raleigh
somebody turned on the lights
Hey, Jimmie, are you making any
time?
We understand that the trip to San
ford and Southern Pines was less
eventful, except that the new music
teacher, Miss Kirch, went, and Prof, in
sisted that some of the chaperons
should sit in the back of the bus.
That reminds us, there has been a
sudden filling of the ranks of those
who take certain musie courses. The
administration is unable to account for
this sudden interest. Well, if tliey
can't find out for themselves, we'll lend
them Fifi.
It seems that we have been having
a few basketball games lately. Certain
people have been seen with certain
people. We've got our eye on you,
Butch, and you too, Tilson. Watch that
stuff.
BALLAD OF A STOOL PIGEON
i admire
diligence
in pursuit of academic
achievement
the old ace sleuths
her lessons from the
vantage -point of a stool
a three-legged stool
the stool is unbalanced
if like good homer the
sleuth sometimes nods why
then she is awakened
When our highly valiant basketball
team was recently at Langley Field,
Va., they met n man who offered them
—well, you ask the team.
Well, from all we hear, Parker is
giving himself a swell banquet.
Yes, they've busted up for good again,
Yeli, that red-headed gal from Maine
and the micromanias
i find
that the girls in founders
feel safer
now that the dean
is hack
1 wonder
why the lights
went out
the other night
and why so many
red lanterns appeared
We are leaving the following space
vacant because if we printed the article
Mrs. Milner might check.
Did you hear what the sociology
teacher asked our editor? Were we
dumbfounded to see upon what plane
her thoughts tend.