Old Dominion University - Troubador Yearbook (Norfolk, VA)

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it already. OK, stop gassing. One of you heat that first flask up to 102° C, so we can start the synthesis. The other can get some goggles to wear in case the system clogs and explodes. Okay, I'll get the gog - what do you want, boy? I just wanted to look the place over, sir. Mercy, why are they so suspicious? They must take me for some sort of nihilist. Well, I guess we’re stuck with him. If we run him out, he’ll probably tip off everybody i n the building. True. It’s better to split the proceeds with just one more than with the whole bunch. Okay, boy, grab some goggles and stay out way. Wonder what they’re making. I’m all afire with curiosity. Better follow this procedure very carefully. Hmmn, they’re adding a dark brown, granular substance to clear liquid which is now boiling violently. Now, the whole maze of vessels is filled with a hot, brown vapor. All the vapor is collecting into a water condenser where it’s condensed to a liquid again. How fascinating! The experiment was evidently a success. There they stand, in a three way huddle, sniffing, smiling their delight, and shaking hands. I can stand it no longer. I must know! What in the world is it? You mean to say you don’t know? I’m afraid not, sir. Here, see for yourself. Mmmra - well I am aghast. I am indeed. Can I believe the testimony of my heretofore reliable olfactory organ? Can it - can it be... coffee? What do you think of it? It - it's excellent. It is. It’s undeniably as fine a vat of coffee as I’ve ever smelled. It’s - certainly -coffee. Heh, heh.. Excuse me, gentlemen, I just remembered a previous appointment’. Coffee. Nuts! ...and what do we do? We go and put mother-hubbards on these simple, happy people and make them miserable in a biological crime -and we call it civilization. Ah, the clarion ca11 of Bio logy instructor. And there he is - bathing his gold-fish and watching the young lady at the microscope. Say, what are you doing? You look so worried. A paramecium gummed one of our amoebae on his pseudopodium during first period lab. Neither of them seems to feel too well. Maybe they need a good stiff drink. What is the other gentleman doing? Oh, I see. Smearing the print on a set of pending departmental exams. If they aren’t better by tomorrow, give them a good dose of Hadacol. Fo’ fo’teen yeahs, ah wuz sick, run-down, couldn’ do mah wuk. Then, ah taken a case of Hadacol. Now, ah duz all mah fren’s wuk. Damned clever, these German scientists. I hope you’re all prepared for the lecture on the crayfish next week. Hemember, it is imperative that you emphasize the fact that the crayfish has nineteen appendages. It has? Well, fancy that. What has a crayfish, that I lack, to rate so many appendages? And what does it do with them all? Probably has to stuff them up under its cephalothorax to walk. Itwould look perfectly ludicrous scuttling across the floor with all nineteen appendages working in and out of one another. Wonder what is an appendage. Why, of course! All of us agreed that we wouldn’t pass any student who failed to learn the number of appendages on a crayfish. It wouldn't be fair to the student, no matter how much other biological information he possessed. How could we allow a student to go out into the world devoid of such vital information? Why, you never know when you might be called upon to know the appendages on a crayfish. Sorry, ma’am, but don’t make a big production of it. I’ve led a very sheltered life. Never had much fun as a child, myself. And somehow, my dear, departed Aunt Sarah, when she dandled me upon her substantial, well-uphol-stered knee, neglected to mention crayfish appendages. Probably just an overishgt, but there it is. I’m more to be pitied than censured. Had I ever encountered the emergency you mention, I should have been forced to tread heavily upon my inquisitor, for, until today, I hadn’t the foggiest notion how many appendages has a crayfish. But now I know, and you may rest secure in the knowledge that I shall never, ever be able to forget. ■Personally, I believe we could omit every-

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cestry or intelligence but did claim a knowledge of trespassing laws. He refused to be ignored and proceeded to put real conviction in his eviction effort. The female, or wife, of the family owning the blue blood dog became aware of two things at once. One, that her darling dog was receiving a severe thrashing at the rear of the house, and, two, that her darling husband was entering the front of the house. Now the male, or husband, of the family had recently been promoted to a position of no little importance and was acutely aware of it. Being aware of it he imagincdhimse1f heavily burdened with responsibilities. So, naturally, he had acquired the irritable and superior airs that go with importance and responsibility. His se1f-important broodings were shattered by a shriek from his wife. He gathered from the shriek that some damn mutt was beating the hell out of Smudgy the Third, Smudgy the Third being the title that had been handed down to the blue blood dog. The husband was more than certain that he was superior to any dog living. He rushed around the house to rescue his poor little, but superior, Smudgy the Third. He was met by what he believed to be an enraged pony, and a growl not unlike that of a ruptured lion. The effect of the loud growl and the sight of the huge and very-very vicious dog had an in-stantancous effect upon him. MY GAWD, he screamed, not yelled. He immediately retraced his steps back to the front door, ascended his stairs, entered his apartment, secured a weapon (baseball bat by name), and descended his back stairs to do battle with this monstrosity that had succeeded in shattering the composure he had been creating for weeks. Smudgy the Third meanwhile had departed, as fast as his aristocratical legs would carry him, to spots that he considered safer. For the next fifteen minutes strange sounds could be heard from the rear of the house. They sounded something like this: You son of, ROAR, you no-good, ROAR-ROAR, get the hell away, GROWL-RIP-TFAP-ROAR. The human retreated, deciding that intelligence could win out only if it had the opportunity to present itself, and it required a thick oak door between the intelligence and the vicious dog before the intelligence could function properly. All was quiet. No opponents were forthcoming to challenge the dogs right to the back porch. The dog must have felt that a deep-rooted plot was being hatched against him as he appeared ill-at-ease. His authority had been proven anyway. With a triumphant howl, that somehow made one thinkof dense jungles and huge all-powerful animals, the dog leaped from the porch and trotted easily away. He paused only once, for a split-second glance over his shoulder, and he appeared to be laughing, laughing, laughing. I found the words, atomic age, running through my mind. ... Dog Story by Howard Spruill Significant bit of work. And quite well done, too. Maybe the English department is in this building. My, it’s quite dark in here. And what an odd odor! Seems to be a composite of tired gym socks and burning golf balls - augmented by four gallons of citronella. Where is i t coming from...? Ah, this must be a laboratory. There are the neat rows of stone-topped work tables. Equipment lockers under and reagent shelves over them. Shelves all over the place. Let’s see, Chemicals, burners, test tubes, ring stands, and-empty coke bottles. That's probably the instructor’s desk, lurking under that mountainous pile of tinker toys, paper clips, and comic books - science fiction, I trust. Shades of the Philosophy department! What secret, black and midnight hags” are these? Oh, faculty members. But what is that apparatus they're watching so intently? It almost touches the ceiling. And so complex! Condensers, distilling flasks, bunsen burners, collecting beakers, glass tubing...what on earth goes on? The experiment in progress is probably one of grave consequence, so I’ll just move over quietly to where I can see and hear. Gentlemen, according to my calculations, the proportion has to be six grams per liter of solution. Actually, the results show fivepoint seven grams, but we must allow the three tenths of a gram for evaporation loss and impurity of the mixture. My, oh my, ain't they dressed up? I prefer the white lab gown with belt in the back to the conservative gray models the other two are sporting. That sounds, ah, logical to me, but my shin hurts were I, ah, humped into the door, so I’d be willing to try anything to get this over with and go home. Here, cauterize it with this HNOs. No, thank you, you’ve spilled enough on

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thing else covered in the Biology course and devote ourselves exclusive ly to crayfish appendages. You will certainly be justified in doing so, and I wish you well. But, as for me, I have a problem which I must take up with an Economics instructor. Oops! I’m very sorry. Why'ncha look where yer goin’? You a f re shman ? Poten ti ally. Oh? Well, I’m an Econ major. Anything I can do to help you get started? Why, yes. You can clue me on Economics. It has impressed me as a very practical science indeed, but I know nothing whatever about it. You don’t? Then, siddown. Are you in bus iness? In a sma 11 way. Must I confess that my sole source of income is the commission I receive on the sale of Clovcrine Salve? Are you an entrepreneur? No. I’m a native American. Great grandfather grew apples right here in Virginia. Am I the carrier of some obscure disease, unknown to me, one of the symptoms of which is this frantic look? He’s got it, too. One would think my answer made no sense. You don’t understand. Do you have a partnership? No. The profit is all mine. Some profit. Footballs, air rifles, baby Brownies, but it is all mine. Well, first of all. Economics is a social science... Doesn’t he rattle on, though. Certainly has a remarkable grasp of the subject. Factorial distribution, amalgamations and co-lusions - would you dig the facility with which he flings that Econ talk? Tell me, how is your comparative advantage? Deflated, unloaded, and out of film. Uh - yes. Let me give you some sound advise. I suggest you go down to the Medical Arts building and talk to Doctor Utley. An economist? No, a psychiatrist. Now, what in the Sam Hill did he mean by that? Psychiatrist? For me? Nonsense! I’m not nuts - maybe a little neurotic but not really nuts. Heh, heh, heh! Still, maybe I’d better drive sedately down and check up. •(!!!%$ • ?? and not only that but ?? • $%!!!) My model T doesn’t run worth a hoot from Hades. Every now and then, a rocket Oldsmobile manages to squeeze ahead of me at a stoplight, and it’s quite embarrassing. Maybe they could give me some hints in the Science department . Pardon me, sir; I have a problem. Obviously. Well, what is it? I’m in a hurry . My car doesn’t run as well as it should, and.... What you mean is that the moving body takes (T+X) seconds to get from point A to B when it should take only T seconds, am I r i ght ? Uh - yeh. Well, I want you to determine the length of the line, A-B, so we can figure out X. Take this steel measuring tape, transit range poles, stadia rod, chaining pins, and sextant, and, starting a bench mark no. 1 outside, make a complete open transverse of the course from the Administration building to the Navy Yard in Portsmouth. Be back in ten minutes. Ulp! How does he expect me to use all this stuff; I can’t even carry it. Maybe if I just leave it in this corner, nobody’ll.... Uh - hullo. I was just going out in the field for a spot of practical application. Well, you ought to be able to do a pretty good job of surveying with those instruments. The transit alone is worth over eight hundred dol lars. Eight hun...? Uh - maybe it’s too cold out there today. Wouldn’t want to get the things wet. Would you put them back? Uh - well, so long. Hey, wait! Yessi r? Do you own a 1924 Ford? Yessir. You’d better get out to your car. I just saw it roll out in front of a lady's new Buick, and she smashed it all to pieces. She’s phoning now to arrange a lawsuit against the owner... Phew! Well, she settled out of court, at any rate, and I ressurectcd my heap with a long piece of baling wire. Lessee, now. I shall become an English major, because, as far as I know, the English instructors like me. So, although it has been an eventful day, at least it hasn’t been a complete bust. Wonder why they all looked so puzzled...? (These symbols are intended to denote profanity. This is a bit of artistic cscafiisn with which our integrity can hardly concur. It is purely out of consideration for our more sensitive readers that we resort to this expedient. Chivalry ain't dead - just debased. It can be had in any taproom.) end of futnit.