Newspapers / The Guilfordian (Greensboro, N.C.) / Oct. 20, 1934, edition 1 / Page 2
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Page Two i THE GUILFORDIAN Published Semi-Monthly by the Students of Guilford College Editor-in-Chief Ernest White j Managing Editor - - Frances Alexander Assistant Managing Editor Mary Edith Woody Business Manager Marvin Sylces I SPECIAL EDITORS Feature Editors 1!. Poole, Charlotte Parker, Anna lean Bonhain Sports Editor Clyde Redding Alumni Editor Miss Era Lasley Assistant Alumni Editor Mary Bryant Society Editor Marguerite Neave Typing Editor Ituth Fuquay REPORTERS John McNair.v Hilly Anderson Earl Maloney Howard Wooley William Collier Herman Trivette Louise Ward L. T. New Gladys Melville Winston Davis Claude Ilepler Ida Mae Iliggins Jim Parsons Esther Stilson Gladys Bryan SECRETARIAL STAFF Elizabeth Gliieam Mary Weber Millie Glisson Ruth Anderson Editli Moore Geraldine McLean Circulation Manager Earl Kuykendall Asistant Circulation Manager Mac-k Ray Robinson Assistant Business Manager John Bradshaw Adjress all communication to THE GUILFORDIAN, Guilford College, N. C. Subscription price $1.50 per year Entered at the post office in Guilford College as second class matter Why Are We Here Anyway? THE GUILFORDIAN wishes to put on record its hearty approval of the cultural entertainment idea submitted to the student body last Tuesday. A series of this type will have value from many angles—besides the cultural benefit and entertainment furnished the students, it will help get the people of the various outside organizations participating inter ested in Guilford and will draw the attention of the outside world to Guilford, particularly in Greensboro, High Point, Winston, and other nearby cities which in general foeus their attention altogether on the larger colleges and universities alone. As for the students—if we did not come to Guilford for a liberal arts education, with the cultural accompaniment of the term, why are we here? With the possible exception of those who plan to teach, there is no other reason for our being here. Any cultural entertainment that can be arranged deserves, and we believe will get, the whole-hearted support of the student body, even to seventy-five cents. Again the Dance From 1928 to 1933, Guilford students fought with determination for the privilege of dancing openly on the campus, men and women to dance with one another. Last year the terpsichorean art was permit ted to intrude on the campus, and this year at least one has voiced his opinion that it should not have been. And a number of others have selfishly taken it upon themselves to defeat the spirit of the thing for which our collegiate ancestors fought, bled and died over and over again. The dances are being monopolized by those who least need schooling in the social gaces, while those who need the training that would be involved, through timidity or fear of hot making a go of it, stay away. This situation occurs most often in the case of those who would really like to go to the college dances. The student body has been taxed, through activities appropriations, for a phonograph and amplifiers for the dances. To attend the dances is the privilege of everyone who wants to go, even though he or she be as ugly as the college gymnasium or as awkward as some of the would-be football players who went out the first week. The problem is for the social committee to solve. Barbarians In an article in a current issue of a well known magazine, college life is described by one who attended one of the larger universities. College life today, the author says, is largely a matter of social climb ing or of maintaining prestige once it is secured. Students or inmates rather, are governed by the unwritten rules of "rating." They go to certain things and stay from others because the "best people" do. A bunch of blatant lizards who subsist off other people, try to have as good a time as possible in the most sophisticated way possible—the "Joe Collegeboy" type and proud of it; that is the college student that he saw at the university. Of course, the author says, there were those unfortunates who did not belong to a fraternity; who did not rate at all. Strangely enough, so far as lie knows, the only ones of his college mates who subsequently amounted to anything were members of this outcast group. Perhaps that is one of the biggest assets Guilford has, a student body that wanted to come to college for what the classroom and lab oratory has to offer. For these are no fraternities here and the college dances amount to little. "Joe College" seldom comes to school here, for Guilfordians are a race of workers, any one of whom knows many things which he, for all his sophistication, will never know. THE GUILFORDIAN A rather odoriferous tip was received by this column about a certain j'oung lad who selected the library as a very convenient place to snooze. 801110 lassies, taking a tip from Mr. Suiter (Be Curious!) and seeking to find out exactly the nature of those appendages of the human anatomy which propel the body, are said to have removed this lad's shoes. Imagine the chagrin of this sleepy-headed fellow upon awaking and finding his gunboats a la nude! Then there was the very pleasant BUT. prise given one swain the other night when one of XV. C. U. N. C. "gals from de Bronx" came oat to visit our key tingling lad of the "lost chord" orches tra. You should have heard that Bronx twang in the words "Oh, Jesse." And was a certain waiter's face red when he came in from West Porch the other night! We hear that it took the whole center section in Cox and Pels Naphtha to remove the Kissproof smear. What waiter in the dining hall at Founders sees that everything is just spic and span for his very big moment? Gives her the best china and silver that he can get. "Nothing is too good for 'Ruthy'," Bill says. Reports from authentic sources re veal that the once "omnipotent" Van Auken lias become a veritable "power less house" with the fairer sex. It sceins that he can 110 longer "leg a Clegg!" And is the game getting fast and furious! Stilson and Adams are fighting for the hall. There is a fumble, but the peppy ''baritone" makes a quick recov ery. However, the "Rhode Island Red" retaliates with a quick pass that net* her five yards.VVe prophesy that no one will get away "Scott free" in this battle of the century. OUT newly-wedded bride has left a broken heart behind her—Jack Reed is reported to have remarked that his new Pontiac roadster was just longing "to go to town with 'Dot'." The Guilfordian staff is pressed for space since the office has been recently taken over for an unorthodox purpose. You guessed it, for dating! The staff would appreciate it if these lovers would kindly raise the shades after they are through. Death Afraid of the dark that is down a lone ly road, And down that lonely road I must go, Not looking back— Something ghostly is behind me, I must hurry! Afraid of the dark that is in an empty room, And into that empty room I must go; The dark grasps at me— I must hurry! Afraid of death in this life I am living, And into that unknown emptiness I must go; It catches at me I cannot hurry! Not that the country hoy who spends his afternoons raking leaves on the campus to work out part of his college fee is always a good scholar—all too often he is far from it. ITe may lie slow even to dumb ness in some of his studies, but even though he may never become an educated man, the very fact that he saw the need for an education and wanted to come to school bad enough to enter one which had nothing to offer him but classes and professors argues that he stands perhaps even a better chance for real success in life than the suave fraternity product. We should not be ashamed that we go to a college which lacks those fungus appurtenances that are college life to the outside world; rather we should be proud of it. Fable of the Pioneer "(Jo west, young uian, go west!" This instigation is often token seriously by some young man on tlie campus. In spiral by a god (or goddess!), lie gath ers his worldly possessions together (also those of his section) and gallant ly fares forth, seeking adventure and new life. Of course the youthful pion eer must have a partner to help him overcome the hardships which he has to face, mid, together, they are deter mined to be daunted by nothing. At ;he beginning of their journey they pass through civilized lands in which a cultured race of people converse. On turning "Cozy Corner," however, the country has a wilder aspect and the adventure-seeker is careful to yell loud ly at the Twenty Mule Team. The fron tiersman and his mate pass next through the country of the Zodiac, or so the sgins seem to indicate. Here, they wisely hang out lanterns, thinking that some of the cattle had possibly gotten loose on the road ahead. Then, having (lucked under the frontier, the venturesome couple find that they are approaching the wilds. They slow the team down to a trot and begin to look warily around for Indians, lurking In the bushes. They rock along through the darkness. The pioneer wife takes out lier knitting. All at once the peace of the scene is broken. One of the In dians has struck a match! The hardy mother of the West looks out over the cornfields and sighs—"Funny—how red Indians are, especially when disturb ed !" The staunch pioneer decides the time has come when he and his woman had better find a fertile looking spot and settle down. He discovers that the In dians are farming the bottom lands, so be will have to grow Ills wild oats 011 the rocky hillside. However, as the weather is warm and the 1110011 is right, he feels that his crop will be pretty good. Several things, nevertheless, im pede the growth of bis oats. Artificial lights from approaching covered wag ons which park 011 the opposite hillside and the brick dust which fills the air injure the delicate plants. Ilis wife doesn't like the homestead, which she says is uncomfortable to her back and 011 which she has already torn her dress. Nevertheless, they have decided to make the best of a bad situation when a cowboy conies dashing up and orders the poor pioneers to give up their land in the name of the law aud the upper classmen. Not daring to object, since the adventuresome husband, especially, has felt the "firm band of the law," the couple call their dogs and again begin their search for a good patch of ground. Contrary to reports from the home office, the adventurers find that the farther west they go, the more oc cupied are the homesteads. While they are still searching in vain, they hear the curfew bell, faintly ringing in the distance. This sound makes the poor pioneer wife so homesick for the civi lized and more spacious' East that her husband is forced to take her home. However, back in the familiar com forting lia 11 of the Old Home Town, they decide that they must try their luck at pioneering again. Denude me of sham; I want to live; Let me feel to the depths of my being Pain—Sorrow. Hurt me with kindness and love; Chastise me with fear. I am a woman. October 20, 1931 BIRDS FLYING SOUTH The evening sky, lighted by the red, yellow nnd golden rays of the setting sun. the trees clothed in their many rainbow-colored robes, the rich brown grass, aiul the breeze with a tinge of j approaching winter assure me that au i uiiin is here. As I stand in awe at this wonderful autumn scene, I see in the distance many dark objects. As they approach, they seem to move in perfect formation, and I realize that they are birds flying south. Watching them, I wonder where they are going, how long will it take them to get there, what they will find, where they came from, what they left behind. My soul rebels at the thought of my having to stay in one place nil year round. Why can't I Hy or go south in winter as they do? In spite of all the beauty of au tumn around me, I want to go. Think of the summer weather they'll find, the warm, lazy sun, flowers blooming every where. Soon winter with its snows, winds, and cold rains will be here, tak ing away all the beauty I now see and leaving the world bare, cold and gray. Still gazing at the birds, almost a speck now, I think about what they left behind. Were they glad to leave? Many thoughts such as these course through my mind, but will never be answered for me. Anyway, they matter little now, for the birds have disappeared and are somewhere still winging their way to the sunny south. It seems as I stand there in the cold twilight alone that they have taken part of me with them, and to console myself I say that maybe some day I'll be able to go south too. THE STREET OF LITTLE HOUSES The street of little houses is !i quaint thoroughfare with a neat, small, green square and a narrow, crooked alley. The little houses grow up and down its crowded length like flowers in a gar den, row on row. As one treads the cobble-stones that pave tlie street anil lingers along the hedges, each friendly little cottage smiles and seems to say to you, "Won't you come In?" One of them has innde itself a white lattice fence, and another green shutters. Some look very bright with four o'clocks and zinnias round about. All have little windows through which the light peeps in by day and out by night. A sailor comes strolling along whis tling as he makes his way down the street. The restless sea is calling him, but it calls in vain; he'll never again heed the glamour of a lonely voyage, for he would rather sit beside a hearth with its leaping flames, near one he loves, in a cottage on the street of lit tle houses. LOIS BLACK. Autumn—l know you are coming. You will change everything. You will paint, color, and build into a beautiful picture and then you wil tear it down, leaving the landscape desolate; leaving us cold andd miserable. Autumn—You are here again with such slices of color, such rare and bold combinations. You amaze, startle, and please me. You have a charm I cannot understand —take me with you; let mo live forever where you are. A leaf rustles; I cannot move; I hear the cries of the hunters As the hounds take up the trail. Over tho hill they come on their horses The M. F. H. in tho lead. No use to run. Too soon they will run 1110 down; Here in covert, perhaps they will o'er- look me. No, they are closing in! Tho hounds, thoy are rushing upon me. I fight, but to no happy end. I feel weak—faint. No pain just—peace. "A game kill," the hunters comment.
The Guilfordian (Greensboro, N.C.)
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Oct. 20, 1934, edition 1
2
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