Nebraska Newspapers

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RA.SKAN
The Prati-tv chMint-r k mrtlium f publication tor
the llnfnl wrtttnc ot Iht pmirle rtmnfrj. It t
nrrd by, and publUhrd with the old nf the I l
Vfmily f Nfhrk.
mhi m
Official Student Newspaper of the University of Nebraska
VOL. XXXVII. NO. 38
LINCOLN, NEBRASKA, TUESDAY. NOVEMBEU 9. 1937
TRICE FIVE CENTS
MURDERS NEGRO BOY
M7eK c C LI C D
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For Schooner Suhscriliors
Fop many long years now vir
tue and very little else has
been its own reward for the
Prairie Schooner. Doc Wim
berly, dubbed "Gloomy Gus" by
the Omaha World Herald, has
periodically thrown up his hands
in sheer despair at the maga
zine's lack of public, and as
periodically once more resigned
himself to the unrewarded virtue
of being the sponsor of a darn
good literary bet which has few
takers.
Today's issue of the Ncnraskan
Kims to show just liow pood a hot
the "map" is and how you can't
possibly lose bv put tinsr vour dol
lar on the nose with Bookie W'irn-
berly. And the probable returns ; PLI PPIT
on this little ramble for cultural I
Faculty Conflict
Centers About Son
Of Wealthy Dean
Professors Fight to Get
Endowment Through
Jack Newberry.
DEAN'S
AND THE
SON.
I By Fred Koch.
I "I've pot him," cned Professor
Smith gleefully, as he marked
! down an extremely larpe 96 oppo
; site Jack Newberry's name in his
i trade book.
hat Professor Smith really
meant was that he had got the
new building the philosophy de
partment had been needing for so
many years. The 06 would result
! in Jack Newberry's specializing in
salvation list hiph. But the Ne
braskan shoots a hit higher than
the mere four-starring of a sure
thing: the paper would like to
start the actual coffer-overflow
for the Sthooncr.
We Cover the Schooner Front.
So we propositioned the campus.
To heads of a number of organized
groups we put the query: Would
your 01 gaviization as a group be
interested in buying a block of ten
Schooner subscriptions (in the philosophy, and being a philos
same fashion that the house ;opher himself. Professor Smith
handles Nebraska n and Awgwan knew that this would make Jack's
block subscriptions i. and would father, old Dean Newberry, see
the maeszines thus made avail-1 how badly a new philosophy build
able at no direct personal cost be ing was needed. Professor Smith
read The answers tended to j knew, as did every other professor
show that the cause for culture is ; on the campus, that someone had
not wholly dead. i left an endowment for Dean New
s might be expected, several : berry to dispose of as he saw fit.
fraternities issued point-blank ; and that he was merely biding his
"no-go': For this lack of inter- ' time before making the choice as
est the u.ual alibi was lack of
time for anything but the lightest
publication reading and news
papers perusual. Other spoke
men candidly confessed that their
men "aren't interested in that sort
of stuff."
One president, whose house
takes the magazine for their li
brary, says of it, "Well. I never
saw the cover torn off one of
them as it is with the very
popular magazines." The bead
of a fraternity famous for its
centers and quarter back ad
mitted, in owning his groups'
lack of interest in the Schooner.
"They are very very illiterate
out here."
But a few groups felt that "on
the house," as it were, their
memku would read the literary
publication. One officer sug
gested that aUho ten subscnp
tions would be a pretty big dose
for his fraternity, five copies ;
would be read and enjoyed. An- j
other admitted that there were
some fellows in his house that ;
would "read the whole thing be-
fore putting it down."
Sorority interest, likewise,
was divided. Significantly or
not, the larger groups seemed
the least Schooner-minded. One
bouse which already subscribes
claims the magazine has not
more than five readers. Another
which boasts ef its achievement
in the fields of scholarship and
writing is flatly "not interested"
in the publication. The presi
dent of a group of 160 thought
that a block of 10 would be hard
to put over.
Head cf another house, claimed
that the tirls in her group, who
take "f htfiii'lry and things like
that'' weren't interested in lit
erary wntir.g - iidn't knw what
the magazine was. por what was
in it. Another sorority felt that
T t,v h might be a better number
cf Shooner than 10. aliho the
girls "don't like that kind of mag
azine, don't have time to read it.
snd jlJKt aren't interested,
ano'h'-r J'plored. ' It isn't
up like the Awn."
Schooner Sale-ing Colors.
But s.nie Greek girls displayed
Interest in the publication. Ore
president, while admit: ir,g th-;
present lai k of Hi yiwn' fine with
KV.r, timed r,n Page i
Comin! Autumn
I! rings Nature's
. . Let's Dip Our
Pens in llie Ink
Of Comradeship
TO A CONTEMPORARY
Alan Swallow.
Gradual' Stndrnt of Lonlliin Stat I
I do not know by what unsingini
way
You came at last to song whether
the lone
Sad drift of youth was lost some
vivid day I
When sun had burned the dream
away from bone;
Or whether light was always yours
instead
Of loneliness, and knowing soon
the long
Desire for comradeship, you learn
ed to tread
The way of man's community In
song.
It does not mattsr now what way
you came.
Whether the lonely, or the path of
fire:
For out of loneliness and out of
flame
We will construct a song of grave
desire.
And being thus together, let us dip
Our pens in telling Ink of comradeship.
to which department was going to
get a new building.
Professor Allen Can Give Him
Only a 97.
At almost the same instant
1 Professor Allen of the Latin de
; partment was making an even
larger 9" opposite the name of
' Jack Newberry. Professor Alien j
'was a younger man than Profes
! sor Smith, and was much more
clear headed than the philosopher.
Furthermore, he was no optimist,
i He saw the competition he was
! against and knew that he would
' have to bid high. The Latin dc
' partment had been housed with
, the English department long
enough. He would have liked to
I bid higher than P". but it was un
; fortunate that young Newberry
i had missed a v. hole question on
! the final examination. In justice
' to the rest of the class. Professor
I Allen couldn't possibly give him
' more than 97.
j A week later, old Professor
Crawford of the Knglish depart
'. mcrt, who was always that late
1 . l- V:- .1 MAP1,A1 .1..-,. a
.Willi III L lUrtllVVJ il a, . . ..
for Jack Newberry. The Eng. Churen bt"' t0wr be"
'There Is Never
Death for Him--Tis
Onlv the Kill
THE HUNTERS.
Marie de L. Welch.
t lmier illfnnila rnitrlhnlor.
They bring deaths about
In such thrilling ways
They can eer fear death.
The hound bays:
He is better than any bell that
rings
When a man is born or married
or dead.
bell
That You May Know
What Is in llie Schooner
(An Editorial)
This issue tf the Nrlirasknu is motivate) ly a lrirc 1
correct misconceptions eonecrniii! the Prairie Schooner, liter
ary magazine o the university. The Men originated in this way.
Schooner lUisiness Manneer Norman llnlker dropped into our
oltiec aliout noon vosterdav. He is a new man at the oh. aiot
wanted the Nchraskan to mention the Schooner in its columns
occasionally to let the students know the magazine existed, to
bludgeon them into trying something good.
l?olker"s line ol reasoning 'was thai the Schooner is lighter
in tone than it has been in former years, mainly because of its
humor pieces. He figured that if Ihe people on the campus just
knew what kind of material Kditor L. ('. Wimberly used in his
quarterly, they would want to read it. lie pleaded, "Tell your
readers there "s a copy of the Schooner in the library. Tell them
to get the Fall issue on the news stands. They'll like it if they
find out what it's like."
Instead of advising a visit to the library reading room or
a thirty cent purchase at a news stand, the Nehraskau is offer-j
ine a generous .sampling of the stories am poems in the Fall j
issue of the Schooner, which came off the press yesterday. We i
are glad to devote the major portion of one issue to this high
caliber of writing which Dr. Wimberly has been offering to
the public for the past ten years. It is our belief that this service
to the students will be appreciated, and that once the Schooner
is known at home as it is in various parts of the world, it will
need no herald for its merits on the campus.
That the circulation of the Schooner among Nebraska stu
dents is nil. despite the fact the most famous things our uni
versity has to offer are its football team, its literary magazine,
and Miss Louise Pound, is comparatively easy to explain. Wnii
berly's pride ami joy issues from the more or less aesthetic
sanctum of the Knclish department. Consequently, it automat
ically takes on the false flavor of being high brow, lung haired.
proiess)irial in tone, and academic in subject matter.
The Schooner is none of these. It is the literary effort of
writers from all parts of this country and from foreign lands,
compiled and published with the help of the university to
meet the taste of that portion of the general public having
some cultivation. If the adjective "literary" offends in con
nection with this magazine which has exchanges with Har
pers and Forum and motivates letters of regret from China,
the Philippines, and the various states of the U.S. by its
perennial threatened demise, it is only because we do not im
mediately realize that "literary" implies excellence, not
dullness.
Prairie Schooner
Relates Tragedy
Of Racial Conflict
Your Lips Drown
All Me Willi Their
Syrup of Delight
Black Lad Dies in Deep
1 South as Drunken
Officer Shoots.
THE
THE RARE SPIRIT.
William de Lisle.
I shan't compare thee to a sum
mer's day.
The smile's too tranquil. When
your lips
Drown all me with their syrup of
delight
I can but think (before my
thoughts eclipse)
Of frangipanni heavy on an island
The gorged, sweet smell of frangi.
panni,
Only because you, too, are trop
ical. And I, touching you thru darkness,
am a man.
I never think of you as he did:
Face,
Dark hair, cream flesh, and subtle
yellow eyes;
The catalogue is long but you are
all
Those things and none, a being
past surmise,
A whole Pacific, warm and uni
versal,
Engulfing me in waves. Yet I
command
Your cataclysmic sea, ride out the
storm.
See fall the perilous wave, and
claim new Irnd,
Breathing the air of strange dis
covery. How can I think of you as such
and sjch
Of limbs and eyes, and brow and
hands,
And voice to hear, and flesh
touch ?
to
Wimberly Says Schooner
Carries Literary Freight
cf
.!
eternity
ll.-.l II I ill I IIJ ill ,11'Jiiv ii o i.-. i
building, it was tnie. but there ! iej it ring :
was no reason why the endow- i
mert could nnt be used for books
'or a new building.
j The tongue in a hound's head
ral hflP than
.jjnvhOW. ' livelier .1 i. .it. v.. 7 .
in the meantime. Profes.v,r , The heart follows it and the will,
jriinpit of the chemistry depart-! h,intl ,r never hunted; there
merit, who felt that the building j
had been originally intended fori neve
him. tore his hair ar.d stalked j Death for him. There is only the
, uround his office in alternate rage : kill.
and dejection.
j And Processor Plippit is Forced
io uc nqncii. j
What can I do?" he said ve- j
hf niently to the young man in the j
athletic sweater, who was also in j
his office. "Smith can give him;
aimo.n anything he wants to in ,
philosophy: nobofiy eyer under-!
strvxi the stuff anyway, least of,
all S.nith r.imself. Allen can say
his free translation is pood, and I
Crawford can claim that his J
ycj themes show individuality or one-1
talk" i ,nil,"y '" fimein.ng. even n nil ,
tne vora arni spenea riKni. 'n. w.ii-...m ' I S I
why the devil did I ever study , Her level brow, lip's curve, and the UJ IOVerS ISOlie
fhetristir. Water is HO and! slim, poiteo nana:
Her licvrl Bnnv.
Lip's CumvW hv
Speak of Love?
' That this number cf Prairie j
j Schooner should appear may be ;
; taken as an acknowledgment of
i the magazine's indebtedness to its '
I many friends on and off the cam-'
j rus of the University of Nebraska. !
: And as future issues of the maga-
r.ir.e appear our well-wishers arc
to think of each new issue as a .
i further expression of gratitude,
j The editors of the Schooner believe '
that during the past ten years it '
I has carried its share of literary !
i freight into or across the deserts
or wastelands of an age in which
i things of the mind and spirit are
' likely to find no mode of convoy-;
; anoe at all. Perhaps the phrase '
"literary freight" is not a happy j
one, for "freight" is too heavy a
j word for such fragile stuff as i
poetry, stories, and essays. Butt
j in view of the difficulties one en- j
counters along the road, the word
i is possibly not inappropriate. So ;
it may be that the Schooner should
WHY TALK OF LOVE.
William de Lisle.
Tranent nnlrihunr tmm KammH. V 4
You who are not her lover may continue to regard itself as a sort
appraise , of literary freighter.
Each separate line: Her tark,' '.
sweet -smelling hair.
1
Dr.
Lowry C. Wimberly.
(realel IJe iuly
ACTUAL CHANGE.
Winifred Cray Stewart.
K'-lMr I nlllr.
berries: and the chinauaoint
Lie tight in their fisted bur. ready
for the squirrels, as in "y !
ethr year.
I can see but Mile difference, in 1
th way the woods accept the
frot
Tht follows the long warm rams.
The chickaree trits
Defiance from his kitchen middle
of ravaged cones. The little
animals
Thit will sleep winter away under
that that. No amount of indi-, These qualities dissect, those rauus
VKiui-.htv or free translation can I compare.
n.ai-e it H O like the fool said on ! I see you have a critic's ee. re-
his final xam." ' pose,
"I-t's ji-.st overlook it." :;id!An air of fine detachment and
Don Pobhins. the yf.iig man in good taste,
the athletic sv.atei" He was Pro- ; Observe that I am qite polite, and
fcssir Plippit s reader. "The I hear
j i.ij.-f-H in my wrestlirig rnaw h( s ; Urbanely what you say. I'm not
oveilook worse things than that! disgraced?
and nolx-Miy gives a, lioot " i You do approve? Well, well! Let's
' P. it we car.'t." sail Ptofesv.t ! drink to her.
Pl.ppit. "They say he takes all i You know, my friend (why talk
hi papers home and his father j of love?),
reads them. Ja k Newben-y rosy 1 I pity you for your lucidity.
rot J:now how rnar.y H i th re are Your self-sufficiency, your meas
ure of
This voman's beauty. . .Yes. the
dahlias grow
Bigger than ever. Good-evening,
sir.
The last tram goes at midnight.
(Ah, love sml.es
Out in the garden where our
I shadows stir.)
Smell Sweeter? . .
Tears of I) liijit
Life Spins Around
Phot-W lien Does
Xotes of Poets
Ring Sour Like
Juiec of Limes
ballaoe'of the new
POETRY.
Frederick H. Free. Jr.
(,n4aair nf '-?
Now 'poets" write without rhythm
or rimes
Truth and reality their
mark.
They've bid farewell to verse that
chimes
And now we can only hsar it bark.
This is th of "grim" and
"stark"
When birds all have the voice of
crows.
Their stuff makes claim to a
beauty dark
But how in hell do you tell it from
prose ?
Their notes ring sour as the juice
of limes.
Are ceathly weary with cares that
cark.
They forget the beauty of olden
times
And sound like a concert from
Noah's ark.
Lost is the flight of Shelley's lark;
It's gone the way of Omar's rose.
Their verse holds many a smart
remark
But how in hell do you tell it from
prose ?
Loe (;olllmellec?iThe,;lifnI:r, ,re born in dtmi'
sweeter 1
How proudly do the rtd !eavs in water, but his father does, uear, 1
cling to the dogwood bushes, Newberry tihed to be head of this;
Now that autumn, like any other depart jrent. That itn'l ail the (
autumn gene, is here. young idiot missed, e-ither ." ,
The r-arel-nut bangs brown and "Wht d:d you give him?" asked i
crisp from its branch tip; Dov'b:r.
flickers "A "''' yli rrofesnc.r Plippit
Are feartma n the hlitk ervite weakly. "It makes me Sick. If
(Continued on Page 4 )
This Roaring Decade TTV? Arc
Living in Has Splashed ISighl
Clubs Wilh the Synthetic Gin I Are armed against surrender, out
CONCLUSION.
Wi 'im de Lisle.
Do lovers ones smell
than the rest?
I strike the mc:1 cf Donne before
the worm
Impatiently begins to gnaw, the
plamt
Of anxious lovers who caress their
firm
i White flesh, and still stare fixedly.
to K( Close on emptiness
It change and vanish in the night.
Such fear&
Torment delight, -id those deliri
ous tongues
(Like softest music to attending
earsi
Which ble their untranslatable
regrets
With music beyond words that is
their speech.
I know that you (at whom love
smiled i
LYRIC ELUDING TITLE
Ethel Romig Fuller.
t MifHtMnftf I idm Pr1Un4. orr.
On pivots of intangibles
Life spins a casual round
None may touch a season:
In moonlight is no sound.
There's no measure for conscience,
No scales to weigh distress.
Fingers reaching out for joy
Dreams flout definition,
Wmd, a boundary fence;
Beauty is a point of view.
And when does love commence?
from a downtown
And raised in cellars damp and
dark.
i Spattered oft with the mud and
I slimes
i Of language
' park.
' The weary pubic is asked to hark
i To a tuneless song that lamely
goes.
They tell you it flames like
white-hot arc.
But how in hell do you tell it from
prose
KILLING AT CARTER'S
STATION.
Charles Alldredge.
An Alfthama Contributor.
Carter's Station lay in the Ala
bama sun like a hot brick in the
sand. No one stirred as the long
August afternoon drew to a close.
no one except Ames Suttle who
occasionally moved enough to spit
tobacco juice over the crossbar in
front of his store and out into
the fine white dust of the street.
No one stirred except Ames and
no one bothered to listen to the
mockingbird whose song, from the
tree at the rear of the store,
floated slowly like a feather on the
still air.
Far up the road an automobile
horn screeched. Ames looked up.
Henderson Porter looked up. It
wasn't the note of one automobile
passing another; it was a long
crying sound. It grew louder and
louder and then the car came into
sight. It was running very fast
and behind it a great train of
white dust swirled out.
"He's Dead! He's Dead:"
Ames got up. The brakes of the
car screamed and with a choking
sound the car stopped in front of
the store. In the front seat under
the wheel was a slender boy whose
yellowish white hair fell over his
forehead and almost into his eyes.
"He's dead: He's dead:" he
shouted.
"Who's dead?" said Ames, and
then he looked at what lay crum
pled in the seat beside the boy.
If Ames hadn't recognized the
clothes he wouldn't have known.
It was Bub Hannon. or at least
what was left of him.
Ames moved around the car. A
lot of people came out of the stones
and walked over to the car where
the white haired boy was beating
the metal door with his fist an i
sobbing. H gasped when he sa .
the head. The blood which covered
it was thick and dark. "Cod
damn." said Ames, "I wouldn't a
known him."
Zip Reynolds Shot Him.
"Who done it?" asked Hender-
eff orts son and caught the hands of the
boy. "Who done it?"
"Zip Reynolds. Zip Reynolds ''
the boy shouted. ' He shot him
in the face."
"You mean the nigger down at
Thames's place?" Ames wanted to
know.
"Yeah," said the boy. "Bub and
me was driving him to Hometon
and when we got him back horr.r
Bub asked him for a dollar and
then Zip gM. out of the. car and
went into the house. He saii he
was going for a dollar hut he car.-.e
back with his gun. He told Bub
he was going to shoot him for a
dirty bastard. Eub told him for
God's sake don't shoot, but he shot
aid threw the gun back up on his
porn and ran.
The boy looked at Bub. "God.
look at the blood'." he screamed
"Get the hoy on home." ta;d
Her.deror..
"Git the sheriff." said Ames
"He Don't Look So Pretty."
They got Eub out of the car and
put him on a table in the back
room of the store Ben Swyer.
the undertaker, and Poc Watson
started washing the blonj off his
head. "He don't look so pretty,"
said Doc.
I don't reckon it makes much
of a difference to him how he
looks." Ben said. With the corner
of a wet towel he scrubbed around
the holes in Bub s forehead. "V ell."
he said, "tne only thing I don't
understand is how Bub lived as
long as he did. He'd a choKe.I his
! grandma if it got him anything."
I im. tii:rr mi t.ejKi in the door.
"The sheriff said he'd send Jo
Marshall and a couple of other
dDutis down hre as soon as they
1 Oh, poets, who sought the heaven-, can nf).j c, j0gg They
i ly spark ought to b here in half an hour.
: That thru the years eternal glows. Tnt Man-Hunt Begins.
' See how there bardlets on epics 1 jt longer than half an hour
embark. hefore Marshall and the other dep-
But how In hell do you tell it from ljtjof, got dn.iVT, wtn a tmckioad
prose ?
We've Got to Go Somewhere.
Town's Right Far for Walking:
Rut at Least Water's There
THIS FORTY YEARS. To count the tnufuphs through
Edwin Ford Piotr. I which 1 nature inrmeU:
the hard ground act as they 1r iltmm Vmnn w4(,4 Ur , I srn but an otatrver of the wind.
acTeo im vcieoer; iw mrrvtn h i ru
For while a boy is eatirig an iipp'
The null of chkr.gt haj ground to
mush and scrapple
Tiu cvles it burned our brum out
to Invent;
tun . IV-
I beg indulgence. Can a tnr re-
ClUK,
A rhytrifctcT, focus for a minute's
UK
The rtraw and cha-'f a separator An theories which
And the wild swans follow the
sir path southward thru
storm spattered skies.
If there's any actual change, it s
the fact that we take for
granted
The beauty of tha rti and yellow
leaves before they fall:
That we cry Inwardly, seeing the
frost curled ferns and brackens:
And that w mind litt'e more Of spiritual valu. while the mind
than we minded last October Nurses regret or having overdined
The pry'l f the wind's co'd On nvonhipr. fluff and nutshell,
fingers at the crack in roof j heps of nails?
and floor and wall. No cynical Maeor nw avails
throws
Down forty falls, r measure all
Lk.e snows
Of forty winters, hile our history
Shifts Sily sn unstable gravity
posed
s hats we
heaven-sent
Hang as out-mod ed
know
On scarecrows forty deepening
years ago.
But "we have crossed the mud
holes, met lh knocks:
Our shock -absorbers sre all full of
shocks
tOnttrwed en Page X.
of reach
Of secret philtres, rational and
cold. '
Yours is the pattern of a gull in 1
flight, :
Your life and arabesque. I envy '
you
Th gift of being popularly right.
Tht emhteenth was your century;
you shun
The violent tone where the li
animal,
An' stnl ths Jul''.. ..Her we
mutt part.
Among ths ghosts I'll set you. If
you dally
A little coldly with the scattered!
bones. i
A scent of frangipanni In the dust ''
Will guide you to my portion there 1
preserved.
And then we'll talk sgsin, if talk
you must.
THE FARM WIFE SPEAKS.
Legarde S. Doughty.
H.ll , fan turn
Right well I know your feeling
But its's no use to speak;
Yoj were not made for wordr,
For words are weak.
I got the little learning
Whii you learned to plough.
My words have not been useful
Up until now.
Don't say thing. Your hands
Are rough as water-oak, ,
And tell far more thsn any
Words you ever spoke.
You couldn't cool the. sun
Or wet the drouth.
I've watched the day on day
Draw down your mouth
Till the cracking of a leaf
Against the tiresome sky
Would make you act as if
A man could almost cry.
rour head cf cittle couldn't
Live on dust for grass.
Ths cornfield's liks a junk yard
Of twisted hollow brass.
Nights are getting windy.
But this year the fall
Or even the winter
Can't Change things at all
That perished in the summer
we've got to go somewhere.
Town's right r for wsihlng;
But at least water's there.
of hounds. Bv that time most or
the men in Carter's Station were
standing out in the street with their
shotjjijns in their nands
Howdy." said Marshall, when
he tot out nf the car. He lol.e.
around at Ihe crowd. "'loin' hu"'
in ? he asked and laucheil.
"Niccer named Zip Hrynol'i
shot Run Hannon." somebody said.
'Bub Hannon?" Mamhall asked.
'Sur: he's lying in '.he storo
there now. Want to sec him?"
Mai shall w alked in rind took n
look at the dead man. "It's him b
right. Last time 1 h-r him we hi 1
him up fur tapping a filluw in tin
head wilh a Coca Cola txittie."
He turned and walked out. 'H.e
sun hud faiKn U-low the stores i i
the other Side of the stmt. Mat
shJill looked around at the f'imiliar
faces of the men who stood In
small stouds and then.' between
the stores, st the retreating sun.
"Well." he said, "we might as well
1 git goin'."
"A Nlgger'll Take to the Swamp."
They got going the whole.
crowdl They climbed Into nearly a
dorn ears' and started out for
I
(Continued on Tage J.