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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (April 20, 1956)
Fridoy, April 20, 1956 THE NEBRASKAN Fools Breathe . . . "Conrad has alwavs been siirh a quiet boy," said his mother, her vague blue eyes showing compla acency. "He's never caused me any trouble." "For my part, I think boys aren't boys unless they show a little spirit!" The neighbor lady, with her great, stuffed bosom and her malicious monkey' face, sensed possible insult: her oldest son was in jail, her daughter had married unhappily; and her third child, only twelve, wa already lying and stealing. It was rumored that he did much worse; although no one heard official reports, mothers herded their children inside when they saw him coming. "Yes, sometimes I do worry about Conrad." It was absurd to think that Mrs. Stuart could be insulted; she credited everyone with her own kind nature, cluck ing a little at war news or rape in a far-off city, never realizing that events were perpetrated by human beings like herself. It was fortunate that she had always lived in small towns; the crimes presented on her doorstep came from those whom she knew so well that it was all a horrible mistake. "It's about time for him to be coming home from school, and Esmeralda, too." "Why, it is almost four o'clock. My boy will be hungry and yelling his head off if I'm not there to give him a snack." The neigh bor lady put her hands flat n the sofa preparatory to rising, but fold ed them in her lap again as the front door opened. When the tall, thin girl who had entered saw her mother's guest, she banged the door shut with such violence that its frosted pane of glass shivered. "Why, Esmerelda! That's no way to shut a door." "I know, Mother. I'm sorry." She was lifting the curtaindoor to leave the room when Mrs. Stuart halted her: "Aren't you going to greet our neighbor?" "Hello, Mrs. Schwartz." The girl's brevity was discourteous, in tentionally so. She did not like the woman, or her family, or the school, or the town in which she lived. She lived entirely for the future; she was, however, as much of a realist as an arrogant intellectual can ever be. She thought that the future would cease to be when she left Arcadia (what optimists the founding fathers of her hamlet had been!), and fife would gebin. As the living future came closer, for she was a senior in high school, the sharp past receded, and the lacunae of the present became al most bearable. Thus she could add, somewhat pleasantly, "How are you?" "Oh, I'm just fine, dear, but Where's your little brother?" "He'll be a little late." Esmer elda debated; then she realized that Mrs. Schwartz would learn of the incident anyway. "He's being kept after school for fighting with your son." "Conrad-fighting!" Mrs. Stuart was confounded. Her consterna tion almost transformed the neigh bor's indignation into joy. "Now, Mother, it wasn't Conrad's fault, I'm sure. He won't say any thing about it, but you know that Gary is older and bigger." "Well, really, my boy's a good boy!" And Mrs. Schwartz got up and lumbered out. The mother, always uncertain when confronted with an emer ' gency, let her go, but remarked after a few seconds, "Conrad will have to apologize." "Mother, he will not!" In her anger, the daughter, with her dark hair and eyes, looked like a mahogany statue. "How can you use that tone of voice when speaking to your moth er?" Mrs. Stuart's mouth 4began to tremble; the familiar light green lines formed around her mouth and nose. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to say that, but he shouldn't have to." "Well, we'll see." She reached for the box of kleenex. It was five-thirty, a cold-pink, chill dusk, before Conrad came As Is Fitting by F. A bemused smile on his face, Dodg-37492 turned to lean his el bows on the marble parapet edg ing the roof-garden that he might look out over The City. His ad miring eyes sought the busy street, far below him, where the Robo cara whistled along bumper to bumper and the traveling side walks were packed with sleek, graceful Robots, powerful of body and of mind, Dodg-37492 felt a glow of warm satisfaction and kin lihip that made him smile softly. An empty Martini glass, just re moved from the Master's study, twirled idly in his flexible fingers, the last of the strange ingredients Just borne to his delicate senses on the warm, summer air; "Dry, veddy dry," he thought, and al most felt the thrill of the laughter he had known before his last Serv ice Modification. The peculiar affectationss of oth ers, even of the Masters, still In trigued and delighted him, how ever, though he could not, now, laugh aloud as when he was last owned. This Master did not think laughter tasteful in Dodg's kind and Dodg, thinking about it now, realized thot probably it was not seemly In hlrn to imitate the Build ers of The City. The tiny bulb of his wml eall ignnl glowed faintly and Dorlg turned quickly,' He at the empty by Nancy Rodgcrs home. He set his books on the parlor table, stood for a moment in the quiet and then went through the curtain to the dining room. "Hello, Mother." She was spread ing the plastic tablecloth that he hated; its flowers looked like dry, slimy tentaacles. "I didn't hear you come in, Con rad. You're always so quiet." And then she remembered that the un precedented had happened; he had been a bad boy. "Esmerelda told me that you had a f ig h t with Gary." "Yes, I did." The boy was pale and handsome; his body seemed compacted all of one piece, with no protruding joints or bones. It was not that he was fat; rather, he somehow seemed a perfect man in miniature as he stood there, waiting for his mother to speak again. "Did you apologize?" Mrs. Stuart's kindness followed social rules; it knew no larger ethical or moral boundaries Conrad knew this; therefore he lied deliberately. "Yes, Mother, I did." "Why did you fight." She would not have asked this question or dinarily; she was not concerned with causes. The event must have upset her. "No particular reason. It won't happen again, Mother." "All right, dear, but I will have to tell your father." This was the moment for which Conrad had carefully prepared. "Oh, please don't you will just worry him. You know he has to work hard, and I do promise not to do it again. Please, Mother." Mrs. Stuart hesitated; her blunt, garden-grimed hands smoothed the tablecloth. She was afraid of her husband, not because he was un kind, but because he was remote. It was rash to precipitate him into domestic reality, because then he would notice the disordered state of the house and the fact that she had planted a garden again this year, strictly against the doctor's orders. She felt her way through life like a blind animal; only when a cause and effect had been repeated many times could she be sure of her role. Her role in this case, she de cided without consciously thinking about it, would be to preserve her she said, "Well, we won't mention it this time. Now go wash your hands and set the table." From the bathroom he called, "Where's Mary?" He hated the name of Esmerelda almost a s much as did the daughter herself; the doll for which she was named, Mrs. Stuart's childhood playmate, sat on the diningroom buffet and leered eternally. Many years ago Esmerelda had, in a fit of childish spite, painted the doll's mouth and nails with red polish, an offense for which she had received her only spank ing; the desecration of the fetish, for the polish could not be re moved without damaging the doll, could still move Mrs. Stuart to tears. "She's taken the dogs for a walk. They had been cooped up all day." "Has Coyote delivered yet?" Conrad was so matter-of-fact that his mother blushed; when Coyote had begun to swell, she had told Esmerelda to inform her brother of the facts of life. This was the first indication that he had been told. "No, she's not ready." "What are we going to do with the pups?" "We'll have to sell them; we can't keep too many dogs or the neighbors will complain." She might have explained further but just then Mr. Stuart came in through the back door. He always entered through the kitchen to dump the g-oceries which his wife ordered and he carried home. "What are we having for supper j tonight?" was his perfunctory greeting which never need be answered. He sat down in an easy chair in the parlor to read until dinner was served; this, too, was Cont. on Page 5, . . X. Ross glass on the table beside him and hurried irtside. to the library. The Master didn't like to be kept wait ing, and Dodg wanted always to serve him so well that he should never have cause to reprimand him. The Builders of The City, thought Dodg, and he glowed. The creators of the New World where, as the Master had once told him, life was now "veddy, veddy good." There was something very right In his serving such great ones! He hur ried into the library. "Yes, Master," he offered, let ting his adoring eyes fleetingly glimpse the Beautiful One as he bowed with a timid eagerness. "Another Martini, Dodge," said the Master, without looking up from his scroll-reader. "As al ways, Dodg . . ., dry, veddy dry." Dodge bowed assent and backed from the room. But outside, and his stupefying awe somewhat di minished, the smile again found its way to his lips. "Martinis," he thought, and "veddy, veddy dry!" But his amusement was alto gether sympathetic and not, he hoped, impudent for his sleek, graceful Master, powerful of body and of mind, was a Robot . . . one of the Builders of The City and of the New World . . . and it was only fitting that Man should serve and know his place. the nebraskan iter A CERTIFICATE WAITS FOR ME (With Apologies to Walt Whitman and E. B. White, plus a Democratic Visa out of Teachers College) A certificate waits for me, it contains noth ing, all is lacking, Yet nothing were lacking if wisdom were not lacking, or if the endorsement of the right college were not lacking, 0 teaching, and the pleasures of unemploy ment, Olibraries for sheer emptiness unrival'd. Fern Hubbard Orme my eidolon I, freely enslaved, cordially welcomed to leave, My arm around John Dewey and the Presi dent of Columbia Teachers College, My taste in books guarded by the spirit of the New York Society for the Sup pression of Vice (From your memories, sad brothers, from the fitful risings and callings I heard) 1 to teaching devoted, brother of garage mechanics, soda jerks, farmers, foot ball players (It is not necessary to have an education to graduate from high school) I connoisseur of artivities, friend of con noisseurs of activities everywhere not obligated to teach anything not in I, the text, free to reject Emerson, Mil ton, Shakespeare, Gide, Aristophanes, Newman, I, in perfect health except for a slight twitch, press'd for time, having too many more years to live Now celebrate this opportunity. Come, I will make the profession indissolu ble, I will teach the most expurgated books the sun ever shone upon, I will start divine magnetic groups With the love of students With the life-long love of distinguished censors. I strike out all the Old Books. Kathleen Walton Vernal Equinoxical Fever. . . A serious, debilitating and con tagious illness has pervaded -the campus of the University of Ne braska in the past weeks. The alarm aroused by this virus led to consultation with local and national experts who found it to be nation-1 wide in scope. ! The symptoms are many and comparatively easy to recognize. Unfortunately, mere recognition of this disease, now classified as vernal equinoxical fever, is not enough. There apparently is no cure for VEF, as it is popularly calcd, except time and the nat-! ural health of the youths who so readily fall victim to it. Doctors frantically searching for an effective remedy are operating on a recent grant for this purpose set up by a former university pro fesRor, Doctor J. Snarl Snarf. Doctor Snarf, since his retire ment two years ago, has main tained an active interest in the welfare of the students through his work with the State Liquor Com mission. Although no cure has as yet been discovered, the scientists have been able to prove that VEF is closely allied to another wide spread malady, senioritis. Re search on VEF has been publi cized by the renitentiary and University News, with an article by the director of the Research Institute, Dr. J. B. Corn. Scientists everywhere were sad dened by the sudden illness of Dr. Corn soon after the publication of his article. He was apparently in fected while studying several cases brought in to the Institute's Ob servatory. Dr. Corn's illness was first detected by his co-workers after he had suffered several ap parent seizures. After unobtrusive observation by other staff members, he was found to be in the advanced stages of the disease. He now is recouper ating at Icicle International Hos pital, Bluebanks, Alaska, where he is rapidly regaining health. I 'PI, pMCinnrph Tnctittif.p line nnh- li.shed a list of symptoms in con nection with combating vernal equinoxial fever, treatments found to be most effective in curhing the effects of the disease once a ary Long the best indoctrinated figure in America, my dues paid, sitting in wheelchairs everywhere, wanderer in populous schools, weeping with Eddie Guest an'd with the late John Green leaf Whittier, Free to cancel my contract whenever it expires. Turbulent, fleshy, sensible, Ever tiring of club life Always ready to teach another master piece provided it has the approval of my eidolon Fern Hubbard Orme, my superintendent, principal, ' section head, department head, students, and the P.T.A., Me imperturbe, standing at ease among peragogues, Rais'd by a perfect system and now be longing to a perfect propaganda so ciety, Clean-shaven, sunburnt, red neck'd, my- Loving the school board and the school board only (I am mad for them to be in contact with me), I celebrate this opportunity. I will not teach a book nor the least part of a book but has the approval of the Postmaster General, For all is useless with that which you may guess at many times and not hit, that which they hinted at, All is useless with improper suggestions. By God' I will teach nothing which all can not understand on equally low terms (Love is Hate, War is Peace, Igno rance is Bliss) I will make inseparable students with their broad-axes aimed at each other's throat's, By the love of censorship, By the manly love of expurgated literature. ' E. E. person is infected, and methods of avoiding contagion. This publication is now on file in the offces of the Dean of Women and the Dean of Men, Student Health, Love Memoral Library and the Student Union reading room. The following excerpts were printed in the campus newspaper, The Occasional Nebraskan, and are reprined through the courtesy of the Research Institute on Vernal Equinoxial Fever, Room 32 B (Basement), Student Health Cen ter, University of Nebraska, Lin coln, Nebraska. Any undergraduate student on a campus similar to that of the Look to the Side Your tanks clank over the cobbled paths; Your cannonade hurls its sleek metal shells Through the smog, striking a panicked village. In splintered trees, weary of their feasting, ultures and crows rest, an ear to your boasting. They must now rest, made gluttons byyour pillage. The sound of your comrades' victory cry, lynching mob, ings clear and sure against a fiery sky. As your battalion stamps through the sticky streets of this day, o oman Legions strode vic toriously down the Appian Way. If you will, for one minute, stop your ears To the triumphant shouting, Cease the swelling pride from the valor shown, And climb through the rubble, Strewn by the way, You will see a child's tear streaked fnce Close to his mother's cold, still breast. ! This will be his first night alone. ' J Jon Diiwfiort i University of Nebraska has un doubtedly been exposed to VEF. It is no respector of age, prey ing most heavily on those whose resistance has been lowered by a closely allied malady, senior itis. There is no cause for serious alarm since VEF is seldom fatal, the one such case on record be ing of a student who apparently walked in front of a car while suffering a seizure on the cor ner of 14th ana P Streets here in Lincoln. Common symptoms of VEF be gin cropping up some time after March 21st' each Spring. It has been proved that the strength of the disease is influenced by weather conditions. Apparently, strong sunlight and sott breezes both increase the chances of contagion and hasten complete loss of resistance in sufferers still fighting the first insidious inroads of the disease. Close proximity to heavily per fumed flowers, sand pits, or beer parlors also influence the spread of the disease, so that when all conditions are unfavorable, VEF reaches epidemic proportions. Unfortunately, there is great danger of contagion to all those attempting to curb and combat the disease, so that most work (except observation of singular cases) must, of necessity, be done in the dead of night in se cluded, even isolated labora tories. (It might here be noted that even vigilance and fore warning are not always effec tive. For example, Research Worker Ima Lookin was placed in Stu dent Health after falling victim to VEF. After being sent out to observe and discover unusual cases of VEF, she called in to the Institute to report, "Shay, Doctor, I've got a cashe and azsh shoon azsh I finish it, I'm gonna get another." Attendants Immediately were sent out to return her to the Institute, where she has re mained in isolation. I The most readily observable symptoms are loss of energy, general lassitude marking into Omt. n Vftf. 4 And a time to look Spring is really the time of the Cuckoo. I say that with little resignation (only who'r what is the Cuckoo? If he is that goofy little bird who popsfromaslatted wooden cottage high on the wall Singing: Cuckoo Cuckoo ..... Then: I sit up in my slatted window (it's really a brick house, thought tee hee And watch the funny little men and women rocking and rolling and picnicking And brea'hing Freshened Pinkish Spring AIR And I (with a silly expression) Sings Cuclcoo Cuckoo . . . Optimistic Richard THE Manhood approaches and I stop, I revolve upon the essence of life past And that which is to come. I view humanity. Each human being as a minute white sphere Appears before me and is transformed into black, Then cast blindly onto a vast maze of callings. Such is life. And each dark spot moves unknowingly on, Charmed by a magnetism not of men, Carried by a force no living thing can see, And so is man's pattern made. One slip left ten thousand different courses take Our dot. Down wide green slots, through Carefree channels and into precious straits. Hush! (A man is being made.) And when our product is evolved H pauses, dries, hardens. A man emerges. Over his body he spreads A coating to protect him from the storm of insults Of his fellow men. Wait! Do not cross him, now that he is made, Or he grows angry. Or he grows angry. Yet one slip right on life's labyrinth, We might have found our ruler Begging bread. John Noble Devil's Jackpot . . . A blustery February gale thrust icicles into my back. The filthy concrete upon which I trod seemed to fuse into the dirty sky above. The one crushed down upon my aching head; tne other jarred me to no end as I thrust my plodding feet over its unamiable counten ance. I was tired fatigued beyond reason, and lost heoplessly in a strange city. The Devil fed another slug into his favorite slot machine. Strange lights glowed and began to play inside the polished case as if they lived. What force directed my blunder ing way to that dingy shop I can not say. The door was suddenly before me and I opened it. The room which I found was tiny and littered with tattered locks of hair. A barber's chair sprawled sed atately in the middle of the floor scarcely noticed My eyes were immediately fixed on the other man, the ungair'y framework of a grim barber' cloak who stood over the chair. You see I hated that man! I hated his protruding blood-s hot eyes. I hated his flaring nose and heavy lips and yellow, b roken teeth. I hated his large, long-fingered hands and the drftness with which he plied the razor over the face of the man in the chair. I hated him beyond reason. More and more the evil lights spun and beamed within t h e haunted case Satan smiled. We were alone in the tiny cub icle, 1 and the man whom I hated. He was clipping great gobs of hair from the unruly mass upon my head. His delicate fingers moved rap idly over my skull t rimming here, straightening there, and all the time oh horror! touching me. The Devil was chuckling deep in his throat. He played on, his hands now steady and sure. I was trembling terribly and my breaths came raggedly 1 could not wrest my gaze from the razor Dirge Yes. weep! Wash her cold and haunting smile away With gentle April mourning. Say That she is gone, asleep. The breath Of lilac mocks us an'd the white Still lovely face derides this rite Of dead who mourn the dead. Ninbe sigh! For us who are the dead here after Bereft of Emily's sparkling laughter Beguiling, dancing eye. June Jlill eview MAZE ! where it lay upon the corner less j than an arm's reach away. It would be but a simple move ment to catch the old man about the neck and slash. He as weak and slow-witted and hampered by the smock which he wore over his shoulders. I found myself suddenly pleased that I dared think such thoughts, and yet I was sickened at my own unreasonable bloodthirst. No no I could never do such a thing; I hadn't the nerve. I must get away. Tell him that my train was leaving that my to get away before I before I killed! Tilt! The Devil tightened h i s grasp upon the firing lever and shot again. His face was suddenly illum inated by a burst of brilliance from the whirring machine. An evil smilea chuckle and then he laughed. The jack-pot was his. Jed PLAYTIME The little girls watche in de lighted fascination as the brilliant pin-point lights flared and flickered about on the surface of the blue green sphere, throwing up tiny, tiny spurts of mushrooming dust on the side toward the light and winking over the darkened portion of the globe like a summer-borne swarm of tiny fireflies. There was a final flurry of ac tivity which brought squeals of de light from the children, then larger, isolated flashes which spread and joined until a pale-violet glow diffused the entire surface of the spehre, turning it first brown, then crev. Finally there were no more 1 rVi.nfTnc "Oh, they've stopped!" cried the youngest. "Make them do it some more, Gella!" "I can't. They're probably all dead." "Oh, no . . .," wailed the young est. "Don't carry on, Vinna," admon ished her next elder sister. "Gella can easily make another." "But maybe the next one wont do it!" the child protested. "Oh, yes, it will. It will." "Why . . .?" "I don't know why, honey. They just all do. that's all." "Yes," Gella assured them, "they all do eventually.' the child demanded. "Oh, yes! Make us another, Gel la!" cried all the children. And so, to please her younger sisters, Gella pushed the dead toy aside and deftly fashioned another of the heavey, blue-green globes, which she placed, spinning slowly, at Just the right distance from the light. Then they sat back to wait the youngest holding her breiith in excited iintk'ipi'tion. And from the seas of this Hew sphere life rose. And studied physics. And, in time, did it a;iln. r 4 t, k V r t u I ' , X j I . v. V, I