Provincial Institute of Technology and Art - Record Yearbook (Calgary, Alberta Canada)

Page 9 text:

THE EMERY WEAL 7 EDITORIAL ★ ★ ★ FREEDOM-OR FAILURE? Nineteen hundred and forty-one. Six years ago, Europe reached its peak in civilization. Six years ago, Europe began to retrace its way down that jagged path from which it had laboriously, tortuously progressed upwards for ten centuries. That was six years ago. Two years ago the entire world ceased in its light¬ ning progress, ceased in its mad race toward complete harmony of civilization. This is war! This is the titanic struggle of the flower of Democracy for its very life—against the choking stranglehold of the weed of Fascism. It is a war on men, women and children. In all the war-torn, shattered countries of Europe under the Nazi slavers, innocent little children, gurgling babies, carefree schoolboys, young men and women in the bldom of life, old people—harmless to anyone—all have been murdered, decapitated—and for what? The brutal Fascist powers say it is the stubborn price we are paying in denying ourselves the heavenly Utopia of the Ayran peoples, the New World Order created by an inspired man. We say it is the vastly repeated urge of a trouble¬ making nation, subdued by its wicked, avaricious master. We say it is the insane freed for powers of a few in control of a mechanically thinking country that always was only too willing to be led by sword and strength and discipline. We say it must stop! It has gone far enough! The horrible monster shall be overcome — it must! Who is going to wipe out this sinister menace? We are! We! the young men and women of Democ¬ racy. We who have been denied the normal rights of young manhood and young womanhood; who have been denied the democratic rights of generations, of peace, of normal industry, of normal jobs, prosperity and happiness. We, the young people of Democracy, shall unite together and strike this evil—strike it, and strike hard! We shall train ourselves in technical occupations to build grim engines of war, to speak the only language this nightmare of Fascism can understand. The young men and women of Liberty have been challenged. We accept this challenge, and shall fight it till one side or the other is erased from civilization for ever. It depends on us, the young people of free¬ dom, that it shall not be our side that is beaten to her knees 1 In this age of machinery and steel our victory depend upon the skill of our technical training of young men and women. We, here at the Institute of Technology, are in the best position to become the skilled technicians of today. Let us not waste time talking. Let us act, and act soon. The sooner we strike, the sooner will the mur¬ derous mark of Fascism be obliterated, and the sooner we shall return to those glorious days of liberty we knew so well—only two years ago. OUR EMERY WEAL ANNUAL Dear Students: This magazine is not the official Year Book of the Institute of Technology and Art. It is an experi¬ ment tried out for the first time due to the drastic stroke war has played on technical education in Canada. The demand for young men to join the fighting services of Canada has naturally decreased the enrol¬ ment at our Institute compared to pre-war years. To have published a Year Book for the students would have entailed a far greater circulation than this year’s enrolment is capable of supplying—or doubling the cost of the publication. However, it was felt that the students of this In¬ stitute should not be denied some means of keeping a souvenir—to remind them literally and photograph¬ ically of their friends and memories at the Institute this year of 1940-41. To fulfill this desire, the staff of the Emery Weal, the monthly student publication, has contrived to compose an Annual as a literary souvenir of this year. Our time limit was very short, a little over thirty days. Our reason—to enable those students leaving the Institute at Easter, e.g., D.P. Aero, Farm Con¬ struction, Motor II students, to acquire an Emery Weal Annual. However, any student activities in the near future, such as the Tech. Annual Field Day, will be recorded and presented to ypu in regular monthly issues of the Emery Weal after Easter. It is the sincere wish of the Emery Weal staff that you enjoy this first souvenir edition of the Emery Weal Annual.

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Front Row (left to right)—J. Palate, M. Dymitruk (Vice-Pres. of Winter Term), Miss E. Christensen (Secretary of Winter Term), J. Rogers (President of Winter Term), Mr. J. Rhodes (Staff Advisor), J. Holosko (President of Fall Term), J. Devereaux (Vice- Pres. of Fall Term), A. Boyd (Treasurer for Fall, Winter and Spring Terms), J. K. Shedden (Editor-in-Chief of the ‘Emery Weal’) Second Row (left to right)—B. Hutchins (Machine Shop Representative), M. Mack (Electric Representative), Miss I. Wood (Women’s Editor of “Emery Weal), Miss B. Robertson (Social Chairlady of Spring Term), Miss W. Woodward (Vice-Pres. of Girls’ Council), Miss B. Clark (President of Iota Club), Miss C. Lahnert (Dressmaking Representative), T. Thorssen (Sports Editor, “Emery Weal”) O. Turri (Reporter, “Emery Weal”), W. Klompas (Social Editor, “Emery Weal”). Third Row (left to right)—T. Shaw (Aero Representative), H. Knapp (Reporter, “Emery Weal ), J. Abelseth (Electric Representa¬ tive), J. Ernes (Social Chairman of Winter Term), R. Fiedler (Circulation Manager of “Emery Weal”), G. Campbell (Art Editor of “Emery Weal”), D. Munro (Reporter of “Emery Weal”), Lyle Milgate (Assistant Editor of “Emery Weal”), C. Johnson (Secretary of Fall Term), B. Mack (Motor Representative). Back Row (left to right)—D. Nash (Literary Chairman of Fall Term), B. Carruthers (Business Manager of School Activities), G. Milgate (Athletic Chairman of Winter Term), D. Rowley (Social Chairman of Fall Term), A. Rhodes (Literary Chairman of Winter Term), R. A. Webb (Humor Editor of “Emery Weal”). Those who are missing: J. Green (Athletic Chairman of Fall Term), Miss B. Hayes (Dressmaking Representative), Miss R. Moren (Art Representative), Miss S. Padget (President of Girls’ Exe cutive). Executive For Fall Term Executive For Winter Term Executive For Spring Term President—Joe Holosko. President—John Rogers. President—Ian Fowler. Vice-President—James Devereaux. Vice-President—Mike Dymitruk. Vice-President—Kay Partridge. Secretary—Everett Johnson. Secretary—Ellen Christensen. Secretary—Marjorie Thompson. Treasurer—Archie Boyd. Treasurer—Archie Boyd. Treasurer—Archie Boyd. Social Chairman—Del Rowley. Social Chairman—Gerry Ernes. Social Chairman—Petty Robertson. Literary Chairman—Don Nash. Literary Chairman—Art Rhodes. Literary Chairman—Gordon Campbell. Athletic Chairman—Joe Green. Athletic Chairman—Gordon Milgate. Athletic Chairman—Lyle Milgate. APPRECIATION The Emery Weal wishes to publicly thank two students in particular for their valuable assistance to us in printing this Annual. To Miss Margaret Shelton, of Rosedale Station, Alberta, we owe not only appreciation but also admiration for her series of lino cuts which head all departments in this magazine. Miss Shelton, a fourth-year art student, demonstrates her great skill in this particular phase of art, and we wish her good To Mr. Arthur Shrumm, of Aero IA Class, we wish to convey our sincere thanks also for his extensive effort in helping us finance this magazine. Mr. Shrumm worked long and steady with Mr. Palate, our business manager, in soliciting the support of our esteemed advertisers. In addition, we would like to sincerely thank all those reporters, class representatives, club secretaries and staff members who made our task lighter by tbeir full co-operation.

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THE EMERY WEAL SURREALISM IN THE DRESS¬ MAKING DEPARTMENT Yesterday, when I was busy pasting samples in my textile books up at the Coste House, I absent- mindedly rubbed the small jar of glue I was using. Immediately there was a terrific explosion. When the smoke had cleared away slightly my half-blinded eyes made out a misty figure clad in a turban and a shop smock and wearing skis. He was sailing about the room on a long strip of material which eventually proved to be the red, white and blue sheer from the Dressmakers’ table at the banquet. “Did you ‘rub’ for me?” he asked, in one of those “hollow rain-barrel” voices. “I am the the slave of the glue pot. Where did you wish to go? I was about to stammer that I had no particular destination when the loud ticking of my watch arrest¬ ed me. The timepiece was spying steadily and threat¬ eningly, “Lit., Lit., Lit.” “Why, yes,” I thought. “It is Wednesday and time for the Lit., but I haven’t time to catch a street-car.” Then I remembered the Slave of the Glue Pot and his stream-lined carpet. “To the Art Gallery, Victoria Park,” I ordered, clambering on to its billowy folds as it swooped out the window and into the Art Gal¬ lery, which seemed to be the very next room. “How much quicker it is by going through the window,” I mused. “I’ll go that way next time and save a ticket.” We were just in time for the Lit., which was being staged by the instructors. Rather strange to me, it seemed, but no one else showed the least bit of sur¬ prise at the show, as a Greek chorus, made up of Messrs. Young, Brown, Glyde, Fowler, Safran and Higgin, performed a graceful dance. Mr. Fleming was at the piano as usual. I glanced around to see if any of my friends were there. Imagine my surprise and horror when 1 realized that the student spectators were featureless. Instead of faces they had some symbol of the class to which they belonged. The Electrics had storage batteries for their heads. The faces of the Drafters and Building Constructionists were blue-prints. The ears of the Aeros were aeroplane propellers, whirling ’round and ’round. Motor students, with huge head¬ lights for eyes, dimmed their lights coyly as they glanced at the Dressmakers and Artists in the front rows. The Art students seemed fairly natural to me, until one of them looked squarely at me and I saw that his face was nothing but a caricature in charcoal. “Are the Dressmakers the only real people here?” I asked aloud. “Wake up, sleepy,” a voice commanded me from somewhere in a universe of snipping scissors and rattling paper, “and take your face out of my glue. Here comes Miss Veenendahl.”