University of Wisconsin Madison - Badger Yearbook (Madison, WI)

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14 WI SCONS IAN A By Arnold Serwer THROUGH the hot June afternoon Mark toiled. He spaded up half the garden at the rear of the house before he had the good sense to take off the drenched shirt that clung to his back. He worked on steadily after that, until Mrs. Drew came out. She looked at the upturned earth critically, as if she understood very well that there was a right way and a wrong way to turn the clods over, and was going to hold out for the right way staunchly. “Hmm, she said at length. “Thats satisfactory. Now come with nic, please.” Leaving his shirt hanging on the clothes line, Mark Mrs. Drew paid him off, with two one dollar bills. “That’s right, isn’t it? said Mrs. Drew. Yes ma’am, said Mark. “May I have a drink, please? On the way back to Adams hall he last some of his weariness. With fingers wapped in the two bills in his trouser pocket, he stepped along. Coming over the hill to the dormitories he began to whistle. Halfway down one of his shoestrings snapped. He bent to knot the ends together, noticing how shabby his shoe looked at the tip. “Gotta get a new pair soon,” he said, half aloud. Finishing, he rose and went on down. He broke into song, the snapped shoelace already far back in the past. Swinging into the quadrangle, his song ceased. “Wonder where I ought to take her tonight,” he thought, his fingers seeking the bills again. followed her into the house. Mrs. Drew led the way upstairs. At the head of the second landing lay a pile of rolled'up rugs. These,” said Mrs. Drew, “had better be taken out and beaten. Mark smiled faintly. It sounded like sentence pro-nounccd reluctantly. You can beat them on the front lawn. When you're through, leave them on the porch. The rugs gave up clouds of dust at each whack of the carpet beater. Crouching over them, on the front lawn, Mark delivered stern and steady blows, while the per-spiration streamed from his face, neck, and shoulders. The last chore was the hottest. With Mrs. Drew standing in the room below, Mark carried heavy wooden boxes of books up into the attic. Every time he made the top stair, with the edge of the box biting into his shoulder in spite of the protecting towel, with his heart pounding from the nearly vertical climb, and met the furnacedike heat of the narrow slopC'Ceilinged attic, he felt as if his temples were bursting. And then at last, it was all over. At a quarter to six II. Ay, continued Mr. Lorch, sonorously, while the other members of the board hung upon his words, we can say what we like about the unintelligence of the average student, but in our actions they must be con' sidered first. For they arc first! It is upon the simple individual student, the average student, that this great enterprise is built. It belongs to him and it is time that it be returned whence it came! The board sighed, and nodded, while in the corner, Eddie Feedle, Mr. Lorch’s antagonist, glowered heavily. And so, went on Mr. Lorch, fixing Mr. Feedle with a stern eye, “we must remember not to be swayed by the sophistry of gentlemen like Mr. Feedle. His arguments have been used since the beginning of time and always, always they have failed! For they are based on the prin' ciple that the public be damned! Well, my friends, I do not agree with that principle. I say that nothing is too good for the student body that we represent— NOTHING! ”1 move, cried Miss Simms, carried away by emotion, that Mr. Fecdle’s motion to hire Paul Claptrap's nine'

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13 that these institutions have failed to produce men and women able to prevent the current phase of economic slump and social irresponsibility through which we are for the time passing. That we are in a phase of widespread disintegration of ancient standards and sanctions respecting govern' ment, economics, and ethics is beyond dispute. The advance of knowledge has led to the surrender of many old standards, before our advance in social insight and inventiveness has resulted in new standards. But iiv telligence will increasingly protest the tendency to load the main blame for this upon schools, colleges, and uni' versities. Wherever youth comes together and mature scholars press their faces against the windows of the fu-ture the eternal battle between conformity and change will be waged. Some will tit with easy acquiescence into the prevailing order of their time, but many will be driven by the creative heresy of an insatiable curiosity and moved by a discontent divine or devilish—to search for the outlines of a new order. The schools have stepped bravely into the breach caused by the loosening controls of the home and the church over the spirit and standards of mankind. The schools are, I make bold to say. the strongest bulwarks we have today against loose thinking, loose living, cyni' cisrn, and social irresponsibility. No institution of our social order accepts more gladly the impact of honest public criticism or prosecutes more freely the enterprise of self'criticism than do our schools, colleges, and uni' versities. The problem confronting us in the decade ahead is to keep our schools free from cheap political control, sup' port them with the fullest adequacy our restricted re-sources will permit, make the rewards and opportunities of the teaching profession such that we shall stop draining our best genius off intoother callings, and give the schools a real chance to play a creative role in the salvaging and stabilizing of our civilization. . . . the burden of educational tradition.

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15 piece orchestra for the next dance, he amended! I move, shouted Miss Garth, that it be amended to Paul Claptrap's ten-piece orchestra! I second the motion! cried three board members. As chairman, said Mr. Lorch, smiling triumphantly, “may I ask for a vote on that motion? III. Professor Peabody's voice went on and on, laying a blanket of dullness over the class, under which they sat in bovine placidity. The grey February morning pushed against the window panes mistily. Then the phenomenon which had troubled him lately, began to evidence itself once more. Other little disks began to turn and play in his head, creating an under' current not entirely drowned out by his spoken words. Oh, Peabody, Peabody! whispered one revolving IV. Please stop wobbling, said Mr. Inchecliffe, “before you drop that bowl on the floor.” Mr. Roberts stabbed the push button before him three times, and clutched the bowl of goldfish closer to his breast. Who's wobbling? he asked belligerently, taking a fresh stance by leaning against the doorway. You are, replied Mr. Inchecliffe. Lookit the waves you’re making in that bowl. You’re making ’em little fishes very dizzy!” A girl appeared in the doorway. She took in the pair with a hasty glance. “Hullo Henrietta! cried Mr. Roberts. We brought you a surprise! cried Mr. Inchecliffe. The girl stared perplexedly as the fish vendors floated disk reproachfully, this is no place for you to be! “Lord, the stuff you’re giving these kids! You’re making old men and women of them before their time!” A new and plaintive note struck in. “Margaret, Mar-garct, what’s become of Margaret?” “And what’s become of Evelyn and Paula and Frederica and that little Miss What’s-Her-Name?” “Yes!” chorused the voices. What’s become of Miss What’s'Her'Name? Dry-as-dust, dry-as-dust! gibed a thin, high-pitched one. You poor old man!’’ Poor old man, what’s become of Margaret? The singing little voices came faster and faster, the spinning disks whirred furiously, fighting and screaming each other down. “Dry-as-dust! What’s-Her-Namc! Quiet! Quiet! all of you! cried Professor Peabody agonizedly. The class looked up, startled. Meeting those gaping, astounded faces, he dropped his eyes in confusion and began to shuffle his notes. With a great effort he began again. in. Mr. Inchecliffe fell into an armchair while his partner roosted on the arm of a sofa, still carefully guarding the bowl. They contemplated the girl for a brief moment, squinting at her in an attempt at concentration. She sat down gingerly and uneasily on a straight-backed chair. We love you! said Mr. Roberts suddenly. Mr. Inchecliffe nodded eagerly. Oh, dear! said the girl. “And in token of it, added Mr. Roberts, we present this bowl and these goldfishes to you, as the outstanding Alpha! Rising, he deposited the bowl in her lap, unsteadily. “Because we love you, finished Mr. Inchecliffe, from his armchair. The doorbell rang. Putting the bowl on the floor and jumping to her feet, the girl ran to answer it. A young man stood in the doorway. Well, said the young man cheerily, how’s Wisconsin’s favorite Gamma Phi? Oh, George! exclaimed the girl plaintively, “there are two boys in the living room who keep calling me Henrietta!