United Colleges - Vox Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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PUBLIC RELATIONS By Roy Mackenzie John looked up and groaned inwardly. There she was again. And dressed in one of those barbaric American get-ups with bright colours and completely concealing lines. She sailed into the cafeteria under the impetus of a breezy “hi” to the President’s daughter. Sounding like a St. Bernard with laryngitis she swept between the tables greeting everyone who was anyone, until she landed at the one next to his. She let out a shriek of laughter, derision and stage¬ craft, at one of the fellows sitting there. “Oooooooh, Harry, how do you feel now? You should have seen yourself last night. I’ve never laughed so hard in all my life. Poor Joyce didn’t know what to do.” With this piece of delicious news she subsided into a chair, while Harry, who obviously felt today what he looked like last night, made a painful grimace and attempted to squirm lower in his chair, away from the humourous glances directed at him by everybody within five tables in every direction. Nothing daunted, our walking, talking AP agent whirled on another defenceless victim. “Why, Agnes, I hear you didn’t make your average? Isn’t that a shame. We did so want you in with us. And your mother an alumnus too.” Agnes, of course, could think of nothing she wanted to talk about more, and entered into the con¬ versation with a muttered “yeh”. And so on and on . . . and on, . . .“I hear the Phi Delts are having another weiner roast, I do hope it isn’t like the one I was on last year, my best summer dress was simply ruined.” ... “I wonder who George is taking to the formal next week” . . . Gradually her associates drifted off with lame ex¬ cuses about a lab to catch up or a book to read, until finally only one patient soul remained to endure her tirade. Finally he realized he had a class that hour, and ambled off. Left alone she obviously didn’t know exactly what to do. She tried straightening her skirt, but soon ran out of wrinkles to press flat and finally left it with a bored sigh. She picked a “Manitoban” and glanced over the front page. But each time a boy descended the stairs the paper was quickly forgotten and she prepared herself for his glance, so she could smile sweetly and casually flit a dainty finger at him. Her eyes roamed over the tables, not a soul she knew. She tried patting her hair, assuming the coy pose so emblematic of superior beauty, with one arm poised and the hand slightly cocked. However, her arm got tired after a short spell of that and she realized no one was watching her anyway. Having run out of possible stalls, and not even considering reading the book under her arm, she eyed John more closely. He could see her steel herself for the great effort and come towards him. “Why, John,” she started demurely, “I haven’t seen you since we were together in high school. What ARE you taking.” He dismissed the fact that she had completely ignored him hundreds of times in the halls, and muttering something about having to catch the next bus, made a bee-line for the door. None of ' that for him thank you. Are you fully insured against fire loss? If not, call d-omplimenli Pearson, Son Co. op tv 1201 CHILDS BUILDING friend PHONE 92-6649 25

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H hSL Jodcu — $MlfL JomtflhDW ' By Pat Clayton Silence pervaded the crowd like the roar of the sea. It was intangible, but it was there. Unconsciously, both as a whole and as individuals, they were aware of its presence. It pressed down upon them as their horrified gaze rose from the grotesque remains of what, a few moments before, had been a living, breathing man, to a slight figure crouched on a ledge eight stories above them. ' 1 The woman, perched precariously on a small, jut¬ ting piece of masonry, was laughing. The sound of its thin, vaporous echo wafted down to the crowd gathered below. It chilled them with its emptiness, its utter dearth of human emotion or feeling. The crowd was spreading rapidly. Half a block was covered with silent, watching humanity. In front of the drugstore directly across the street from the building under surveillance, were three bright spot¬ lights, almost glaring in their intensity. Their faces too, were turned upwards, toward the building. Suddenly the silence was broken. The police cars had arrived with their sirens in full blast, and an ambulance with white-coated attendants covered up the broken body and quickly removed it from the eyes of the spectators. The firemen had arrived also, and hastily set up what resembled gaping, circus- aerial nets. The watching and the waiting continued unabated. The object which was the focus of this attention had not stirred during any of these frantic operations which were being executed below her. A light wind was gently rippling the grey, stiffly starched uniform. Her dark straight hair floated in disorder about her shoulders giving her countenance a wild, almost bar¬ baric ferocity. She was not unlike a crude sketch of an ancient cave dweller, squatting before a camp fire. But there was no warm fire before her. Just an abysmal drop of several hundred feet. With catlike dexterity she suddenly began to move. Slowly, but with sureness, she inched her way fur¬ ther along the ledge. The relentless spotlight fol¬ lowed. Then, about twenty feet from the corner edge of the building, she stopped. She stopped directly in front of a window. The room behind the window was in darkness, except for a tiny ray of yellow light which could barely be seen, peeping through the blackness. It was not a stationary light, but one which kept darting from left to right like a snake’s forked tongue whipping out for its prey. A murmur rose from the crowd, and as quickly died again. The woman had not seen the light. All was silent once more. The crowd breathed as one. She reached backwards with her right hand with¬ out taking her eyes off the crowd, and slowly raised the window. Within the room now, there was total darkness. The woman raised her right leg and swung it lightly over the ledge into the room. Then, before drawing in the rest of her body, she paused for a moment and uttered a final, gleeful howl of sneering contempt. She disappeared from sight. An instant later the room was flooded with light, and angry, animal sounds emanated from it. The struggle was a fierce one, but it ended as suddenly as it had begun, with the room plunged once more ito darkness and silence. Below, the nets were gathered up. No sirens pierced the night air now. The crowd which had so quickly gathered, dispersed with equal haste. They could not leave the now prosaic scene soon enough. It had lost its attraction; its uniqueness. All was quiet. Silence pervaded the street, but, this time, with a defference. It wasn’t the roaring, tense silence of the sea; rather the quiet, peaceful silence of calm waves. One by one, the streetlights were lit. A light rain had begun to fall—a cool, refreshing rain. Within a half moon of pale light created by one of the lamps, a red blood stain was becoming smaller and smaller as it was bathed in rain. It grew fainter and fainter until it completely vanished from sight, and, from memory. 24

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A SERMON By David Blostein In the beginning was God¬ in the beginning, before atom, before universe, Before man, before religion, was the Infinite. And the Infinite begat all. There can be but one Infinite, unlimited by time, by space, By mere concept of any kind. To concept Man has turned in order to comprehend the Infinite. And through concept Man frustrates himself in this task. In how many different forms and dogmas Has the Infinite been conceived? Into how many molds and vises has Man’s awe of the Infinite Been poured, shaped, and squeezed? How many Gods has Man created for himself? How could the microscopic organism that is man dare to imagine That the Infinite, the Prime Existence, is a being In the shape of a calf, or wolf, or man; or call it He, or She? Yet Man, throughout his history, has done this, and has further Endowed the Infinite with qualities of hate, or jealousy, or Monarchical pride; has, in effect, satisfied himself that Through humanizing the Prime Existence He has come to know and become a part of it. And he has deceived himself. How many elaborate systems have been evolved, Each designed to reach God in the only correct way, each System subdividing itself into new systems, and each New system breaking itself into even Newer systems, each Excluding all others from any claim to possession of true belief? Religion quarrels with religion and sect quarrels with sect. And concept quarrels with concept, and all Are man-contrived. All the quarrels of the universes Cannot shake The Infinite from its Infinity, The Prime Existence from its prime existence. Is God approached only by those who have written that God Is present in certain articles of food, or those who have Written that God is not present in them; or by those who Bare their heads, or those who cover them? The Chassidim tell of the time, long ago, when Rabbi Isaac Leib Barditzivor was conducting the services on the Day of Atonement. In the congregation sat a shepherd boy; he could neither read nor write. He could only sit with brimming soul while he listened to those around him as they intoned their prayers from their books. As the joy of the Lord came upon him, he wept that his lack of words could keep him from his God. And, placing two fingers in his mouth he pierced the air of the synagogue with the sweet clear whistle with which he would call his sheep. The congregation rumbled and turned on the one who dared to disturb the sacred ceremony.