Malvern Collegiate Institute - Muse Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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-THE MUSE The written material, or copy, was brought in, intermittently, throughout the evening. There were accounts of meetings represent- ing many branches of university life. interviews with students or pro- fessors on local topics. write-ups of many games, announcements, feature-articles. All these had been assigned inthe editorial offices that day by the Mens and Womens News Editors. Each reporter, having written O.Ii. by his tor herl assignment, was responsible for having his copy in the night-office as early as possible. For a long. long time I sat there. reading and rewriting material. It was then given to the linotype man who set the copy in type. His reddened eyes and exprcssionless face aroused my sympathy as I watched him sit before his machine. his lingers moving like auto- matons, hour after hour. The type was set in narrow rows, and, hav- ing been covered by a thin strip of paper, was subjected by us to a heavy roller which had been well painted with printer's ink-and presto. there were printed words on paper. I learned that this Was a galley sheet. We took all such sheets back to the inner otiice for further proof-reading. By this time the smell of printer's ink seemed as natural as breathing, the noise and hurry of the otiice a part of life. But the night was just beginning! Now the Womens Editor spread a copy of an old issue before her and called me over to watch her make up a dummy copy. Prints of the advertisements were pinned on the old issue, and into the space that remained all the material on the galley sheets had to be arranged. Never before had I studied a newspaper for the form of its make-up. Now I judged each article for its length and its relation to front page importance. Thus: was the third meeting of the Seven Occult Socratics of more interest to student readers than the interview with Professor Dry-as-Dust on the influence of residence alarm clocks? Was the account of the student who had been pushed into the swimming pool at a dance as important as the advance-note of a play written by a local freshman '3 Should the rugby hero's picture go here, or there? Keeping in mind the relative importance of the material the Women's Editor worked swiftly and carefully, rejecting this, placing that. I marvelled at the quickness of her decisions as her blue pencil went up and down the pages. allocating space until the skeleton was complete. Ever since that Iirst lesson in formation I have looked on the pages of any newspaper with a reverent eye. Unconsciously now I appraise a front page for its balanced arrangement, or lack of it. It was well into the morning hours before we were under way with our next big task. that of writing head-lines. First, though, should their form be packed or sloping? QI had never thought of it beforell I learned that those with three lines had a different name from those with two. that each had a certain number of drop lines in varying sizes of type. I learned that others were specially set by hand by Dick. the typesetter. The making of them was much more exacting than solving cross-word puzzles ever was. Each line could contain only a certain number of lettersg frequently I would be stung by the splendour of a sudden thought for a good line only to discover that it had far too many letters. For instance, l20l

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,T H E -IL Q55 No, ma'am. if I had it to do over again, I would certainly strive to be a number one boy, a good athlete and a first-class debater. You believe me, I am sure. For what did my high school, dear old Harbord give me? Just some rags and tatters of the things I loved and love stillg the rooms of my spirit are draped with bits ripped from Wordsworth lmy English master had never heard of The Prelude-it wasn't in the authorized school editionli glorious banners from Tennyson, sweet archaic bowls, mugs, platters from Shakespeare set along the mantel shelf of my heart: the carpet is a rag rug, a sort of hooked rug from old Quebec, with bits of Parkman, with authentic snatches of Mac- kenziana, and through it goes a pattern of thin, faded stuff that seems to be of Latin and Greek material .... I don't know: it might be nice to have a room for your spirit all checkered up with nice modernistic geometric patterns, with bright. keen paint on the walls, and trophies of sport set around. But I like the room Harbord helped me furnish. My heart is very happy there. NIGHT LIFE Anne Marjorie Beer 66 AN you night-edit to-night with me? said the Women's Editor one day as I, a green reporter on the College daily, went into the office to receive the day's assignment of work. Yes! I gulped in eagerness, and immediately after was torn between fear and yearning. Night-editing! The phrase conjured up no picture, but casual remarks of other night-editors haunted me for the rest of the day. My family received the news with a misgiving mingled with pride-never before had a member of our tribe stayed up all night to edit a newspaper! I scoffed at the misgiving and basked in the pride, and set out for the night office about eight o'clock. Any feeling of self-importance vanished when I arrived there. The monotonous sound of printing presses at work, the peculiar, haunting smell of printer's ink plunged me immediately into a new and strange world. Here and there were reporters and editors, trying to talk above the noise. pounding on typewriters, writing feverishly. Instantly impressed with the feeling that the task at hand was all- important, I hurried into the inner office where the Women's Editor was already deep in work. She greeted me cheerily, gave me a few words of general advice, thrust a pile of papers into my hand, and bade me proof-read. Inspired by the spirit of urgency that seemed everywhere I grabbed a pencil and commenced. How grateful I was for the proof-reading I had done in the good old days on THE MUSE! Ilfll

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THE MUSE NSTARTLING DISCOVERY BY CO-ED attracts the eye but is too long in the first line, and too short in the second, A beginner must plot many times to get even such a solution as CO-ED'S DISCOVERY STARTLES CAMPUS The hours crept into three and four as my now benumbed brain worked steadily upon the elusive lines. I read over every article so often to get information for sparkling captions that their phrases were with me for weeks afterwards. My body was stiff and my eyes heavy as I watched the Womens Editor and Dick set up the paper in type. Dawn was beginning to break outside the window, but I was scarcely conscious of it. On a wide table was laid a metal form the size of the newspaper's four pages. Guided by the dummy copy the Women's Editor showed Dick where she wanted each article. He with his practised eye and a quick hand would go to the long rows of type, pick out the desired article and its headlines and set it in place in the form. Bit by bit the paper took shape under our eyes, the old dummy copy assuming definite form. Occasionally an article would be too long to fit in and we would frantically re-read the original copy for possible lines to cut. Finally. the paper was complete. and one copy was made for a final test as to its accuracy. I smiled wanly as my superior ofiicer declared, And now we can go home. Not till then did I raise my head to discover that night had gone and morning come. With a jerk I realized that for the last ten hours the night-editing world had been all-absorbing, all-sufiicient. Nothing had mattered but the production of that one issue. For that space of time it ranked in importance with the greatest dailies of the land, its editors had been kings to command me. its production as vital as if the whole world was awaiting our morning news. I night-edited many times after that, but no issue was as memor- able to me as that first oneg no feeling of achievement and of well- earned rest as keen as the feeling within me that morning when, the press building doors closing behind us, we stepped out into the fresh cool air to make our way up past the grey, silent university towards a strong cup of coffee and a long sleep. E211