University Daily Kansan Friday, May 20, 1955
An Aid to Rushweek
Houses Vote to Admit New Sorority Chapters
During the past few years, a number of national social sororites have asked to be considered as applicants for the colonization of chapters on this campus. During those years, the requests were noted, but not seriously considered. Now, the Women's Panhellenic council has set up a committee to study the possibilities. The result may be at least one new sorority.
Recently, the committee asked the local chapters to express their feelings on having new chapters. The vote was favorable. Last fall, 373 women went through rush week; 70 did not pledge.
Of that number, there were about 35 who were given the chance to pledge, but rejected their bids. One or two additional national sororities are always needed during rush week, but generally forgotten during the rest of the year.
The committee is a good, farsighted step. It will serve as an agent to examine the applications and provide additional background information to the houses on the Hill. It also will provide information about the University-an important service to the groups who wish to colonize. The group also will guide the study of when new houses should be added and which should be invited.
Another factor which has affected the action being taken is the anticipated increase in enrollment in the next five years. By 1960, the present 12 houses should prove extremely inadequate.
Most houses do not wish to reach the saturation point, as Mary Peg Hardman, assistant dean of women, has pointed out. Large houses, such as are at many schools, present expansion problems as well as organizational ones. The alternative will have to be the colonization of new chapters if all who would like to pledge a sorority are to have the opportunity. —Irene Coonfer
Letters
An Exclusive With Sarge-
I was talking to "Sarge" about the storming of hill "C" yesterday. He seemed to have some unique thoughts on the subject. Thought you would like to hear what he had to say. The following is an abridged version of his thoughts on the simulated battle.
"I've seen some pretty bad dust storms but yesterday's was the worst. And those damn-fool people. They just stood there, mouths gaping, inhaling the pungent stuff. They enjoyed every minute of it! Me. I like the good, clean air. Those two girls carrying the Red Cross banner really gave me a wag. For a while I thought they would be needed. Most of those brave lads were suffocating! Why don't they leave the crawling on all fours to me? Superior animals, indeed! Besides, they look stupid crawling on their stomach's. Sure, I like to roll on the ground, I have a reason. Do they have fleas? Who paid for the extravaganza, must have put a hole in someone's pocket. There I go again, barking up the wrong tree! Politics has nothing to do with me although I do wonder who's going to be dog catcher next year.
made out of the battle? I had the crowd eating out of the palm, er. . . out of my front paws. Boy it nearly made me mad to see all that junk littering the hill. I find it hard enough romping up the hill without stumbling on M-1 shells, climbing under barbed-wire fences and scratching my — in the process. After all I am not a pup anymore. What the dog-pound! So the crowd did laugh at me, a little laughing never killed anyone. Say! did I tell you about the dog next door? It seems she. . "
Hey! Did you see what a farce I
As you can see this conversation was getting complicated and I had to do some studying. I had a test in the morning so I politely excused myself. With a wag of his bushy tail, “Sarge” trotted towards Potter lake, and I went home. “Sarge” asked me to excuse his mistakes as he said to me; “I never took a course in English at KU.
Yours respectfully,
Gerald Reiser
College Sophomore
The bakers of Bruges, Belgium prepare loaves each day for the town swans. City firemen pedal around and feed the birds, which bear the city's mark on their beaks.
...Oh Well.
Once upon an opium den, I ambled up to this cat and laid the ground-work for a real tea party. .He cast his vote and we cut a chogey for the nearest pad. It wasn't too long before the white, fleecy clouds were turning pink and the haze was lifting real great. When along comes this real weird haberdasheser stock of sticks for the Saturday stock of sticks for the Saturday night stomp. Pink clouds hung low and I jagged on home.
Bv JON
And that, the mad friends, is the story of the Mad Hatter and the Tea Party.
Every now and then a guy has to get that kinda' stuff out of his system. . My only regret: you suffer. . but, then, that's taking it for granted that you read this bilge. . now maybe you know better.
Scoop Department: Today is the last day of the year as far as them lovable chillin from the swamp is concerned. Walt Kelly done drawned his fingerbones raw and Pogo et al am gonna' climb back into the trees for another annum. Eternally-bobble trying to be noble dogs, we is telling you uns in advance of the actual happenstances of the whole affair that them cute capers cut continually on this here page is done.
Selah.
. . .
Geometry Department: This is meant to cast no reflections on any member or members of the mentioned organization, but it's too good to pass up (it is?). This chick had a date for a circle dance with this square from Triangle.
Comes now a fruity story... about the frat man... and his date. (This joke is "plum" unnecessary). Says frat man: "I had a rotten date last night." Says I: "What did you do about it?" Says frat man: "I spit it out." What I says next is unprintable.
Or the one about turtles: Three of the critters decided to have a cup of coffee. Just as they went into the cafe it started to rain. The largest turtle said to the smallest, "Go home and get the umbrella." Replied the smallest, "I will if you don't drink my coffee." The other two promised they wouldn't. It was two years later that the big turtle said to the middle turtle. "Well, I guess he isn't coming back; we might as well drink his coffee."
And a little voice called from outside the door: "You do and I won't go."
Dear JON.
We are close followers of your column. After reading it out loud at the last two meetings of our club, we give it our endorsement as the best bit-o-news to hit the stands recently. We have stopped our other activities just so we could read your wonderful message more. OH WELL is now number 1 in our book, taking over for such TV thrillers as DRAGNET, BIG STORY, and Sen. McCarthy's TELEVISED HEARINGS. Again my hillbilly-type friends and I wish to show our appreciation for such fine literature. Neki Hokey.
The Rioters in Cell Block No. 9 Leavenworth, Kansas.
Oh well. . .
Daily Hansan
University of Kansas Student Newspaper
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... Bess Stephens, Irene Ties
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Flight Held Little Happiness—
The Story of Lindbergh Flight, Kidnaps, Sadness
There was no radar equipment to guide the plane that took off from Roosevelt field in New York to cross the Atlantic 28 years ago today.
Unlike modern pilots who think nothing of smoothly scheduled flights to Europe, Charles Lindbergh Jr. was without the comfort and security of heat, radio, automatic pilot, and de-icers in his plane.
"The Spirit of St. Louis didn't have lights for the trip at 7:40 a.m. May 20, 1927, and ended in Paris at 10:24 the next day."
The take-off that spring morning was considered remarkable. Twenty gallons of oil and 451 gallons of gasoline was the heaviest load a 220-horsepower plane had ever carried.
But in spite of his then unknown handicaps, Lindbergh established a milestone in aviation by making the nonstop flight alone and landing exactly where he had planned. Even without the instruments pilots today depend upon. Lindbergh was off course only three miles in 3,000 miles.
The young pilot ran into weather trouble not long after he was in the air. He was surrounded by a sleet storm and had to fly as low as 10 feet above the water and then climb to 10,000 feet. Remember the plane had no de-icers.
Off the coast of Newfoundland Lindbergh flew into a low, dark fog. Lights on the plane would have been useful then.
Again Lindbergh found himself in clouds of sleet, but he would not permit himself to turn back.
When persons referred to the young pilot as "Lucky Lindy" he replied, "I had what I regarded as the best existing plane to make the flight from New York to Paris. I had what I regard as the best engine, and I was equipped with what were in the circumstances the best possible instruments for making such efforts. Luck isn't enough."
To more than 100,000 persons waiting at the Le Bourget field, the appearance of the silver plane seemed almost like a miracle. Part of the crowd had been waiting at the field for six or seven hours.
They had waited quietly but tensely. Each radio report that the plane had been sighted at various points along the way was greeted with cheers. Hopes rose and expectation grew.
Then, through periods of no confirmation on the progress of "The Spirit of St. Louis," doubt cropped up. Pessimistic persons began to say, "It's too much to think it possible. All alone, he has no chance if he should be overcome with exhaustion."
But Lindbergh was not exhausted when he stepped out of the plane to be mobbed by the more than enthusiastic crowd. Later he said he considered his reception at the air field to be the most dangerous part of the trip.
Even the police, who saw that it was impossible to restrain excitement, joined in rushing toward the plane. Before a crew could get the little plane inside a hangar, souvenir-mad spectators were tearing everything possible from it. The plane that had landed in perfect condition was even missing pieces of linen ripped from its wings.
Lindbergh traveled from Paris to Brussels and London, where he was royally received. Then the celebrated man came home to face one of the biggest and most joyous welcomes that an American has ever been given.
The pilot managed to escape to the commandant's office with two French aviators, but the frenzied crowd would not give up. Windows were broken and doors pushed in as spectators tried to get a glimpse of the man who had accomplished such a fete.
Americans were in a fantastic stage of hero-worship. In Colorado, a mountain was named Mount Lindbergh. Poems were written about him. Almost unbelievable now, some of the pilot's short speeches were compared to Lincoln's Gettysburg address.
Eventually the nation's excitement faded. But Lindbergh wasn't forgotten by everyone.
He continued to receive letters. However, they were not all letters of congratulations and proposals. Some of them were threatening letters. Most of them were written by cranks or mentally unbalanced persons, but a number of them were obviously from persons who were after money.
In 1932 Lindbergh built a country home in New Jersey and began to avoid the public as a protection for his family. It was that winter that the mysterious kidnapping of his son occurred.
Friends began to insist that Lindbergh hire a bodyguard. He refused, but for a time did carry a pistol.
Gradually the threats became less and less until the announcement of Lindbergh's engagement two years after the flight. Along with congratulations from all over the world came more threats.
In the summer of that year the Lindberghs' second son was born, and more letters were sent threatening his life.
What appeared to be a kidnapping attempt was made on the second son on his way to school. The car in which he was riding was stopped and several men rushed toward it. They took his picture and then escaped. The boy was not harmed but badly frightened.
The Hauptmann case continued to get a lot of publicity because of a political scandal, and the letters to Lindbergh kept coming
The family had taken enough. A few days before Christmas, they quietly and secretly boarded a boat for England. Lindbergh hoped to escape from fear for awhile and to raise his son in normal surroundings.
It must have seemed strange to the pilot to get on a boat with no crowds cheering and wishing him luck. The hero had done a great thing for the United States and aviation. The deed brought little but unhappiness to himself. —Lee Ann Urban