Ripon College - Crimson Yearbook (Ripon, WI)

Page 25 text:

Herman Drowning, a tired swimmer, to put it mildly, is elated to find himself clutch- ing a life preserver instead of the pro- verbial straw; on the campus when one wants something accomplished in the way of repairs or help in house prob- lems. he looks for the Superintendent of Grounds and Buildings. In him. one finds a cooperation and willingness to serve similar in quality to the buoy- ancy of the life preserver. Very few students know the Super- intendent of Buildings and Grounds, but they do know Herman. It doesn't make much difference, however, since the former is the title of office and the latter is the bearer of the title. Born in Ripon in 1S76, he waited un- til 1905 to become affiliated with the college. Seven generations of students have entered, studied, and passed on during his “regime. Loyal as any graduate, he watches out for the best interests of the college closely, and fol- lows its athletic events enthusiastically. Besides his work on the campus, he has served ten years in public office, including four years as Chairman ol Public Works of Ripon. Fishing and a granddaughter. Yvonne, are his chief means of diver- sion. while an interest' in chain letters hold his attention at present. If we are to believe the modern econ- omists. our civilization demands that an individual become specialized in order to contribute any good to our society. Herman Gatzke, however, is one of those too rapidly disappearing jack-of- all-trades—he mows grass, repairs electrical fixtures, supervises FERA projects, and constructions on the cam- pus. and purchases various supplies for the departments, yet no one has ever accused him of inefficiency. Always smiling—always busy ' appears to be the motto of Herman—his never end- ing enthusiasm for the college and its welfare is surpassed by none and this perhaps is the reason why he is hailed by coeds and frat men alike as the friend of the Ripon college student.

Page 24 text:

 Doc, Moore A freshman who has not engaged in a duel of ideas with Dr. Clifford H. Moore has not had his share of haz- ing. An advanced student who has not mustered his arguments in offense or defense before his history professor should nor receive a diploma. No one has used his mental artillery until he has leveled it at one of Dr. Moore's thought-provoking statements. Even his veteran students watch with trepilation for a certain twinkle in his eye. When he smoothes his left eyebrow and rustles the omnipresent slip of paper in his vest pocket the fun begins—for the class. Freshman and senior alike emerges and. metaphorical- ly, picks himself up to see on what side of the fence he has fallen after a series of balancing acts. The professor grins, not condescendingly but appreciative- ly. at his bewildered opponent. A person who knows all sides of every question and has tolerant regard for each, plus a sense of humor and a knowledge of the English language, is a disconcerting adversary in a battle of words. This professor of ours does not be- long in the tradition of dessicared ped- agogues who deplore the evil days the world has fallen upon and hark back to some Utopian past. Nor does he fit into the Hearstian picture of the cadav- erous creature who exhorts his dozing classes to revolt. Dr. Moore ( Doc to you if you wear grimy corduroys and a battered felt hat) is- just Dr. Moore, not to be classified in such sim- ple terms even by psychology majors. Such critical and systematic people may murmur of tolerance, humor, intel- lect, clarity of vision and still not find the delightful personality loved by Ri- po nites. It has been said by one of his fellow townsmen that he is a good teacher, a line citizen, and a fair fisherman. This is not the last word on the subject or. at least, it is a statement that should be enlarged upon. No comment, upon Dr. Moore is complete without a mention of his garden, his fondness for Scotch jokes, his charming wife and daugh- ters. Early in the morning and after sun- set you see Mr. Moore, who stands, pipe bowl cradled in hand watching his garden grow. It is a beautiful gar- den. His dahlias are his delight for he insists that each one. like each of his students, requires individual attention. Tales of Dr. Moore s fishing prowess and his own Scotch jokes are best told by him. Only he can give them the genial humor that makes their teller the beloved person he is.

Page 26 text:

Homecoming R-I-P-O-N Smoke, flares, a battery of tin cans and the Frosh marching to the R-f-P- O-N from a dozen rusty throats- the torchlight parade moves down the town square. Straggling upperclassmen fill in along the sides, or ride sedately in Venus Napoleon (now deceased), or Seaver's Lazy Lizzy. Hurry up. Wayne, and stop making eyes at that red haired Fagan gird It’s only Dave running along side ready to le td a big cheer. Yeh. gang, let's go! No wonder Bill Dallaway has to stop his motorcy- cle in order to hold his ears when the Ripon cheers break into the sky. Then back to Prexy's pasture for the big bonfire- only possible through la- borious hauling by the Frosh (God bless 'em). Between the roar of a big flame and Pat's cheers, everybody's celebrating. Here’s Arch and the hand. The Alma Mater sounds with the crackling fire. Horn toots come from the roadway, yells of old grads, and the crowd moves off to campus houses there to chatter far into the night. Some try to sleep, but it isn't any use—too much noise by the Smith Hall boys ? ? ! But Saturday rolls around. Some are up early, slappinq together the last parts of the floats. Ten o’clock! We are down on the big square now wind blowing sand—horns tooting — old alumni calling a greeting. Well here come the Frosh! What queer looking specimens! Get off my toe. you lummox! Vir- ginia Klein glares up at Howard A left'. and he obligingly steps aside. It isn't long before the parade curves down the street—music—chatter of the crowd—a train whistle downstreet— and cold wind shivering over every- thing. Floats going by—the crowd moves forward to see. Frosh initiation on the square! Bart- lett cops the prize with the interpreta- tion of Kappa Sigma Chi song. The wind is sharper now. A grand old day to slug the pigskin for a touchdown! Won't be long till the boys lather Law rence. A few short spaces for dinner, then the crowd moves out toward In galls field flying banners the pep song blaring into the wind. Bleachers are filling coeds in furs. blankets— whistles and snatches of song in the air. Law- rence is getting stirred up across the field. Can't let them beat us to a yell. Here goes! The locomo- tive! Lawrence cheerleader col- lapses at sound??!! Redmen dash- ing down the field—the crowd's up—give 'em a hand. They’re at it—the pigskin sails across the field. It’s the first down, ten yards to go. Foam Lueck's out on the fiedl starting a grand yell. The half’s up—a big cheer Redmen are still plucky. Frosh llomc coming initiation.