University of Kansas - Jayhawker Yearbook (Lawrence, KS)

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Autub Seredade 6 JAYHAWKER Under Cover 7 Friends and Frogs 11 Candidly a JAYHAWKER 12 Enrollment 17 A Jayhawker Enrolls 20 The Idles of the King 22 Pigskin Prognosis 26 The Iowa State Game 30 Intramural Impetus For the Men 32 For the Women 33 JAYHAWKER—M.D. 35 The New Look 38 A Jayhawker Abroad 40 Sixty Million Years 43 Big Wheels on Campus 48 Third Floor, Back 53 For Freshmen Only 59 The Green Year 60 Pledge Pictures 62 Organized Independents 68 A Jayhawker ' s Night Out 71 Independents Unlimited 76 Dog Days Come to Kansas 80 THE COVER This month ' s cover is due to the never-failing resourcefulness and genuity of Duke D ' Ambra. Duke, who has been taking pictures for the JAYHAWKER ever since most of us can remember, spent most of the summer wandering about the campus in search of unusually beautiful scenes. His search finally ended when he turned out the unusual shot which later became our Fall cover. The only thing that is missing in this shadow study of Uncle Jimmy Green, is a cluster of fledgling lawyers whistling at the girls. NEXT ISSUE Along with the first snow flurries on Mount Oread, the Christmas tion of the JAYHAWKER is due to arrive, complete with over a hundred pages of pictures, features, and ings. Homecoming, the end of the football season, Christmas shopping, Basketball, and that broad subject of— Women , all will be featured. In addition the 1948 JAYHAWKER covers are scheduled for distribution with the second issue. JAYRAWIIINT

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Keith Wilson Larry Simmons Badime44 Maita9e4 FRIENDS A D FROGS A Chromatic Essay 4 %cSa ,1-iozope (Title from Aristophanes) When I first came to K.U.—need we clutter up this true confesion with dates?—we used to have chapel. Every day. For fifteen minutes. It came tween the second and third hours, and was a ful pause in the day ' s occupations. You drifted in from some room in Fraser -Hall, seated yourself, and prepared for rest. The woodwork of the chapel was in its original state—mid-Victorian walnut—before the hand of the desecrator—I mean decorator—was laid heavily on it with paintbrush dripping a clammy gray that gave it--to go Gilbertian—the bloom of cold gravy. It was warm and brown and cozy, and there was a pulpit and a bible. And the deep voice of Dr. Frank Strong boomed out, exhorting the men to be earnest of purpose, and to continue to lieve in God, even though they had learned thing about splitting the atom, or whatever it was they learned in science class. I never knew. I was in two science classes. My adviser was a zo- ologist. Need I tell you that I was at once enrolled in an afternoon zoology class? Oh. Well, then, I will tell you: I was. And when I went to class, the very first thing we had to do was to cut up a frog. There at the desk sat my adviser. I realized that I had been shanghaied. I jumped overboard, swam right back to the wharf, and asked to be released. I was leased, all right; but only to be shoved into another science class. In the words of the song, Oh, science, I gotta be where you are. Do you have to cut up things in this class? I demanded of my new instructor. I was desperate. And fearless. Or almost fearless. The teacher was kind and patient, and explained that there would be the mini- mum of cutting. Ah! That there now minimum! I went up to class one afternoon—this was also an afternoon session; and now listen, just listen to the fuss being kicked up by present day students against such regulations—the sissies. But we were strong and faithful and noble and we took it on the lam. I went up, opened the door, took one look, and fled. Every table held a pan of dirty brown wax, and on every slab of wax lay a pale frog, upturned, aw aiting results. Oh, dead, of course. The place was a morgue. I sat out on the steps (of what is now the ism building) and cried. Then I dried my chief, and cried some more. Finally, I began to feel conspicuous—a thing I abhor!—so I got up, still softly sobbing into my wet mouchoir, and, mined to hide my tears from my fellow-students, I stumbled down the dark corridor to another room, and opened the door—on another class of students, all happily engaged in cutting up their own personal frogs. I went back to mine. By this time my teacher had cut him up; so I drew him. I was pretty good at this; and I was really awfully good at microscope work. I would find out beforehand what we were supposed to see. (Continued on Page 87)