South Dakota State College - Jack Rabbit Yearbook (Brookings, SD)

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liree ckeers and Welcome Willie Weary Willie, the epitome ot State College hobos, arouses moss enthusiasm in Pre-Hobo Day festivities, after his arrival at the station. The solemnity of the occasion paused long enough for the upperclassmen to cackle gleefully as the initiation pro- clamation was read. Prospects of long weeks of torturing freshmen in green beanies and pigtails brightened the dis- mal lives of many a sophomore, junior and senior. The freshmen sighed and resigned themselves to fate and green beanies. Weary Willie, the pride of the Hobos, rode the rails once more. Amid cheer- ing Staters the tattered Spirit of Hobo Day climbed down from the royal coach of the hobo, the freight car. Waiting for his arrival was the Bummobile, especially polished and shining for the occasion. Strains of Yellow and Blue and Hail, Hail, the Gang ' s All Here rose from the Hobo band, which was, to say the least, noisy and ener- getic. Escorted by spirited collegiates Willie rode through Brookings to State campus. Hobo Week had begun. Number one on the list of activities was the freshman and sophomore tug- Milling State students await the arrival of Weary Willie. The fellow slightly right of middle, intent upon the cameraman, come dangerously near being run down shortly after this shot was taken. Twenty-six

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Ljonc but Razor Razed The first weekend also brought the first football game. And the first pep rally . . . which many freshmen (bless their souls) attended and many upper- classmen (may they transfer to the Uni- versity) did not. Sadness reigned at the football game, for more than one reason, but mainly because of the burial of the razor. Black- gowned, solemn-faced, cigar-smoking pallbearers marched slowly onto the field. With much care and tearful con- sideration the razor was lowered to the ground. In a ceremony tinged with ut- most sadness Leon (a crumb off the old Graham cracker) Pfotenhauer rode in regal splendor onto the burial site. With a lump in his throat (it might have been his cigar) he read the last rites for the deceased razor. Throughout the course of this saddest of all sad ceremonies a long line of mourners wept great pools of tears into their handkerchiefs. To the co-eds the burial was indeed significant. They had lost their last chance for a really smooth date. Top, Judge Pfotenhouer orrives at the burial grounds in regal dignity, astride o magnificent black-and-white charger. Bottom left, the second girl from the left ond the third from the right don ' t seem to be taking the occasion seriously. Come, come, girls, let ' s hove no unseemly frivolity. Bottom right, the last and solemn rites are read over the inert Mr. Straight-Edge. Twenty-five

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Top left: Arend, Ziegler and Berg, sophomore stalwarts, do a mombo step in an effort to save classmates from the glop. At right: The Big Splash! The freshmen go down in ignoble defeat. of-war. Balancing on the edge of a very muddy pool of water the battle waged. It was an important contest in the history of State College. At stake were some one thousand green beanies. If the freshmen won, it would mean the end of their little green tormentors. If the sophomores won . . . heh, heh, heh! Somehow, the number of tuggers on each side was never quite equal, so that both sides managed to wind up soaked after a few trips across the center line. Muddy, but determined, they came up fighting . . . tied the rope back together in several places, and tugged on again. But, since the better side must win, the sage upperclassmen declared the sophomores champions, and the frosh suffered in their silent green beanies while their class prexy was heave-ho ' ed into the drink. Then the Staters scattered to the winds and to all parts of town where unfinished floats were waiting for their final touches ... or in some cases, the first touch. The weeks of hunting for a trailer or a garage and drawing up plans for the float and begging for card- board were beginning to tell on the frenzied float committees. Organizations traded, bargained or just plain stole cellophane from any place they could get it. Meanwhile back at the floats the en- ergetic workers were busy stapling each other to the trailer or losing hammers and saws, which someone would later try vainly to find and return to the rightful owner. All in all Hobo Week had started with a real splash and everyone settled back to enjoy himself and to sluff off school work just as fast as possible. Hobo Day was near, and that was as much excuse as anyone needed to live it up to the fullest. Twenty-seven