PAGE TWO
UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN, LAWRENCE, KANSAS
FRIDAY, MAY 5, 1933
University Daily Kansan
Official Student Paper of THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS
AL FREL
Associate Editors
Editor-in-Chief ... AL FREDA BRODBECK
... Editors
Chilee Colometer Editor Vigil Parker Editor
Management Editor ARNOLD KRETTMANN Editor
Campus Editor Chilee Coleman Editor
Paul Edith Editor Paul Woodmanner
Paul Edith Editor Paul Woodmanner
Telephren Editor Margaret Oyden
Grassie Oyden Alumni Editor Frances Jordan
Alumni Editors Sunday Editor Margaret Instrument
Advertising Manager MARGARET INCETE
Editorial Assistant MARGARET INCETE
Robert Whitman
Margaret Ineed
Jimmy Earle
Sidney Kros
Betty Millington
Martina Lawrence
William Franley
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Dorothy Smith
John Ewing
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FRIDAY, May 5, 1933
NO PLACE TO CLIMB
Every great mogul of business, in writing his memoirs, states that he started at the bottom as a common worker and, by working sixteen hours a day and taking interest in his job, worked up to the presidency. The world has given such a whole-hearted belief to this story that even now rich manufacturers make their sons work a few days at the bottom before they make them second vice-presidents.
We went through elementary schools, as did almost every other student, in deadly fear of the hardness of the next grade. One of the students in the fifth grade told us how hard his grade was compared with our own. In some manner, —we cannot describe it,—we finished high school. Now we are prepared to be graduated from the University with the prescribed number of hours and grade points.
It was our impression that when we finished the prescribed courses at the University there would be hundreds of employers waiting to hire us at nice fat salaries. It seems that we have been badly fooled. School heads tell graduates to dig ditches. The heads don't seem to understand that even the ditch digging profession is over-manned to the same extent as are the more skilled occupations.
Now it seems that we, the graduates, the men and women who are to carry on this great industrial nation, are left without jobs. We have climbed up through the toils of the grade schools, high schools, and now college. We are completing our college work and now find that we can climb no higher.
An Associated Press dispatch tells us that the unemployed are using libraries for information as to how to find new jobs. We suggest that all biographies of crooners be immediately destroyed.
UNFAIR DISCRIMINATION
The recent suspension of the captain of the Kansas tennis team from Big Six competition because of participation in an amateur invitation meet over a year ago makes very clear the foolish attitude of the Big Six conference toward eligibility.
There has never been any question by national officials, who are notoriously strict in their interpretations of professionalism in tennis, as to the eligibility of W. F. Coen, Jr., to play in national amateur competition. It is hardly conceivable that a college conference which, only a few years ago received no little publicity over alleged proxestyling of football players, could hold to a ruling obviously unfair to a man of Coen's ability who wishes to compete against tennis players of his own class.
If Coen has actually violated the sacred doctrines of the Big Six—and apparently he has—then let his case be dealt with under existing rules. But let the rules be immediately changed to prevent the recurrence of such a grossly unfair discrimination against tennis players who are forced to go outside the Big Six conference to find sufficiently strong competition to keep their games in shape.
DERBY DAY
Tomorrow is Derby Day; or Darby Day, if you are an Englishman. Tomorrow the fifty-ninth renewal of the Kentucky Derby will be run at Churchill Downs near Louisville. America's most famous exhibition of the sport of kings will draw the finest of American three-year-olds. Rain or shine, at least 60,000 people will crowd the paddock, club-house, and grandstand to cheer and back their favorites. The rest of the nation will await the results with as much interest as it feels in the results of presidential elections.
The Derby was first run on May 17, 1875. Its history since that time is the history of the evolution of the turf. It has grown to mean more to the winner than any other American turf event. In its early days it was a classic of the bluegrass country, both racing and social. Since that time it has become a nation-wide event. Society puts on its Sunday best to go down to the Derby, and dignitaries from every state make it a gathering place.
The race, is to America, what the English Derby is to England. In 1930 the seventeenth Earl of Derby came to America especially to see the race which was named for his forefathers. To own a Derby winner is, to the American turf patrons, the same as playing at the Palace theatre is to the trooper, or the winning of the Pulitzer award is to the newspaper man. The race is still regarded as a contest between Kentucky and the rest of the world with the odds on Kentucky.
One way to test out a friend is to ask him to return an overnight library book for you by 8:30 the next morning.
DISILLUSIONMENT, THEN DESPAIR
The blow has fallen! Examinations are upon us. Of course, we suspected all along that they would finally catch up with us, but when we looked at the amazingly large amount of work that faced us—work to be completed before the dreaded trial period—we somehow found comfort in the fanciful hope that a miracle might occur; that examinations might be forgotten, or abolished, or something. We built up a beautiful wish-dream, a house of cards that reserved no place for finals.
But the disillusionment has come. Examination dates have actually been set. Our wishdream has faded into thin air. The house of cards has fallen. And every time we close our eyes, we see the seemingly unsumountable obstacles that stand between us and a set of satisfactory grades.
We despair. The feel of sprint has permeated our blood, and try as we will, we cannot make ourselves work. We sigh. We leave our desk in disgust, and take a long walk. But we are not comforted. The horrible reality of examinations is, for us, inescapable. And life at the present seems hardly worth living.
Kansas weather reminds us of the slogan of a well-known insurance company—"Prepare for the Unexpected."
ALL WET
We're getting tired of wearing our old dark clothes and allowing our new white shoes to roost in the closet. We're getting tired of rainy skies and wet feet. It's just about time we had some decent weather. Come on sun, we dare you to shine.
We are by nature optimistic. Every day we have courageously said, "Surely the sun will come out tomorrow?" Has it? Only for a stingy little glimpse or two between the rain clouds.
For an entire week, that is practically a week, the sun has not shone on the University of Kansas nor the surrounding countryside. This is fine weather for the first of May, cold and drizzly and unpleasant. Frankly, we think the weatherman ought to be ashamed. Look at the picnics he has spoiled. We are by nature optimistic. Every day we have courageously said, "Surely the sun will come out tomorrow." Has it? Only for a stingy little glimpse or two be
OFFICIAL UNIVERSITY BULLETIN
GRADUATE CLUB:
Elizabeth Dunkel, of the physical education department, and sponsor of Tau Sigma, honorary dancing sorority, will speak at the meeting of the Graduate club Tuesday evening, May 9, in the private dining room of the cafeteria. The meeting will begin at 6:15 p.m. This is the last meeting of the year.
Friday, May 5, 1933
RED CROSS LIFE SAVING TEST:
Life Saving test for men starts Monday at 4:30 at the pool. All applicants please report. All examiners he there to assist with the work.
ELLIOTT PENNER, Chairman.
HERBERT G. ALLPHIN, Special Examiner.
OUR $600.000 STADIUM
SOUVENIR PARKING TAGS:
The Parking committee is authorized to offer for sale a few K. U. licenser for the current school year to anyone desiring them. Twenty-five cents at the Business office.
JOE F. BALCH, Chairman
Approximately a decade ago it became the style for the larger colleges and universities to build athletic stadia. The University of Kansas was no exception to the rule. As early as 1920 there was agitation for a new stadium. The stadium came into being as a part of the war memorial plan under which plan the Kansas Union Memorial building and the two center sections of the stadium were built. The athletic association then took over the stadium, sold bonds, and completed it at a cost of $600,000.
Now we have this beautiful stadium complete. Thirty-four thousand and people can witness a sporting event held there. The supporters of the University paid for the first units of the stadium, which cost about $200,060. They are helping to pay for the remaining units. The stadium is partly the property of these supporters.
The Crismon-White opposes the privilege for aesthetic, not moral, reasons. The average college boy's room usually has no windows or bluish windows. The Crismon White.
The old fashioned miss will have to change her old motto to "Lips that touch three point two shall never touch mine."
The Princeton men and the Lawrenceville, N. J. prep school boys became engaged in a school war recently. It seems that the Princeton students — who, incidentally, were Lawrenceville boys only last year—and their girl friends would drive around the Lawrence dormitories in the morning about 4 or 5 o'clock, honking their horns and shouting at the prep boys, who are not allowed to have dates.
This ribald treatment evidently struck a touchy spot, for the prep boys finally responded to the jesting one morning with dozens of rotten eggs, much to the horror of the immediately retreating Princetonians and their girl friends.
This sounds suspiciously like trite sayings commonly uttered by the New Youth. The editor of the Spectator presents a book and a penchant for sitting on the floor.
In the year 1933 they will have four chances to see Kansas University teams in action. The Kansas Relays, held last month, and three football games next fall complete the list. There should be a larger program for Kansas fans. A $600,000 stadium calls for it.
STRATEGY WINS
MORALS IN DORMITORIES
Such strategy on the part of the prep boys which sent the overconfident Princeton men home so spattered and undoubtedly smelly, proves that the college man's superiority isn't all that he's thought to be.
Our Contemporaries
Columbia University's Spectator, student publication, has launched a campaign to permit girls to visit college men in their dormitories. The editorial scatchettly attacks "stringent restrictions which American colleges apply to the relations of men and women students." It continues: "the practice of forbidding girls to visit boys in their rooms harks back to the tradition of 'when mother was a girl'."
Pity the poor student who flunked a quiz on Friday because she had to attend a Phi Beta Kappa initiation Thursday night.
BELOW ZERO
[ ]
A Romance of the North Woods
-
HAROLD TITUS
Copyright. 1932.
WNU Service
Copies of the first chapters of the story may be had upon application at the Kansan Business Office.
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER I. "Ton" Belknap, big timber operator, ordered by his physicians to take a complete resten. He was called a "bacon," Promise of advancement he has made to his son John, just commencing in the business, are broken, for no apparent reason. John and other business associates of Belknap cordially dislike, is a bone of John, but he worked without a complete understanding.
CHAPTER II. -At Sheostring, his train delayed by a wreck, John is ordered to leave at once. He refuses, and after a fist fight, his attackers realize it is a case of mistaken identity. The police force he out to wreck the Richards jummer company. Bewildered and unbelieving, he seeks employment with that company. At the office he finds Gorbel bullying a young girl, whom he does not recognize him. The girl is Eleni Richards, owner of the company. A letter he carries gives John's name as John Stoele, the Balkan being dropped inadvertently against his father, allows Eleni to believe that is his name.
CHAPTER III—Ellen engages John as her foreman. She begins to handle operations of the Richards company culminates in delivering breaking of a lecoimotive motor.
CHAPTER IV.—After heroic effort the locomotive is got back on the rails. John, admiring Ellen's bravery under the conditions, begins to have a sentimental attachment for the girl, which is returned.
CHAPTER V.—The Richards barn and stables burn in a night fire. In the blazing structure John finds and carries out the dead body of a stranger. He realizes the fire was set, but refuses to believe his father came out an act. Stale and Sherif Bradshaw arrange to work together on the case.
CHAPTER VL—John is satisfied that teamwork, sheltered by "Old Tom" Belnkap's name and reputation. Gorbel discovers that "Steele" is John Belk-
CHAPTER VII.-Having evidence of Gorbel's complicity in the burning of the Richards stables, he called on Gorbel to admit the dead man had been in his employ and claims he had discharged him for being a drummer, an interpreter, and Brechner arranged for an autopsy on the body. Gorbel sends an anonymous letter to Ellen, informing her that he has been doing that setting for his father, John is responsible for her business troubles. John is unable to make a satisfactory explanation, and send a message that discharges him.
CHAPTER VIII—Young Belknap, determined to fight to the bitter end to save his father's reputation, fathomed that he would give him employment in the Belknap lumber plant. Sheriff Bradshaw cleverly invented a plan to aid him in the burning of the Richards stables.
CHAPTER IX—Gorbel's stenographer, Mair Varnell, whom he has lured from a position in the Belnkop offices at Chicago to become his mistress at Kamplest, turns on him and reveals his treachery to John. An attempt, engineered by Gorbelt, to kill apparently by accident, is unsuccessful.
CHAPTER X—John, though convinced Gorbel had planned the death truph, has no positive proof. He is made aware of his guilt by another attempt is made to bring about his death. Escaping again, he openly admits that he was assaulted. After a heated interview John is discharged but remains in hospital for several weeks her affection for John, but convinced of his duplicity, is misrable. To get away from all that reminds her of his wife, he must visit her uncle, who shocks him, not knowing he is on a hunting trip.
CHAPTER XI
A mad day for Paul Gorbel was drawing to its close, with light snow falling outside.
He had changed to woods clothing at noon, intending to drive to one of the camps. But fear held him in a state that fear which grew with the hours.
Dusk now, and the approach of closing time. He sat broadly, planning how he could flee the country if flight became necessary, tern between the fear of having to face a state's law if he remained and the fear of adding to suspicion if he left. He might be a fignage of his own imagination, a product of conscience. . . . He could not know. . . .
A cruiser came in, dropping his pack in the hallway. He had been to the northward for a fortnight, and Gorbel appeared to listen while the man made a brief report of his activity and his findings.
"Didn't expect you back so soon," Paul said.
The mill whistle blew them; in the back office chairs scraped and foot
"Nor would I've made it but for findin' old man Richards' cahen empty. Run on to him headed east with his outfit after wolves that are raiding the Caribou deer yard, I knew he'd camp over there until he took wolves out to hit his tricks, so my stuff down into his camp. It was closer to those descriptions, you see. I didn't have to spend most of my time gain' from cam from timber."
"Another day," Gorbel said. "Come in tomorrow, and we'll go over this."
The woodsman left.
Soon afterward a team pulled to a halt before the office, and the big man on the seat of the light sleigh kicked robes from about his feet and rose. Inside Gorbel strained forward, tense waiting.
Knuckles fell on the panel. Gorbe wet his lips.
"Hullo!" Gorbel said, fighting for
control," Hullo," Nat! Just leavin'
giving.
The knob turned and Nat Bradshaw's big bulk showed in the gloom.
stepped yourself in your story. The university says the lad you put in the way of hein' killed badhit been drank, and you're just a bit nervous. cost we'd give a drive to make."
No fancied corner now! No trap made up of the fabrics of guilty imaginations was closing on Paul Gorbel. This was real.
The sheriff did not advance but stood there, saying nothing, sliding his hands into his paints pockets, feet in the air. . . . and an outstretched hand . . . an enthusily blockading figure.
"they're burned out," he lived. "Fuse
bust just before you dug up an
alarm."
"Yeah. You . . . finally!"—the word fell heavily.
"Why ... why, what the devil are you ... why, what the demanded, you are of shades."
"Turn on your light and I'll read why."
Light! Light! Light, with the shooter
pledious, ready for any emergency?
What do you mean for you?
"I've got a warrant for you, Gorbel," the sheriff said slowly. "It's for arson." He paused.
"Arson!" Gorbel's voice crackled.
"Yeah," Ain't a pleasant word, is it? Ain't a pleasant crime, neither. Bad as murder, Gorbel. You over-
"Look here, Nat! . . . Why, why's
some mistake! There's some devilish
mistake behind this! Arson? . . .
Good G—d, Nat, don't—"
"I don't aim to visit with you, Gorbel. Put on your coat!"
"Narrative was rising in the air."
Wiedemann's
was rising in the shelf's beet, an intemperate that must be voiced. "I don't want you to get you cold, Gorbel! For a long time you've fooled us all, but that's now. I'm glad my sheerl of this stuff could back to my fall a firebalk, a skunk!"
When Down Town--support and dragged a chair over with him as he fell against the desk . . .
"Shot!" He Muttered. "Shot!"
"Let me go!" he screamed. "Let me go, you fool!"
Established 1868
835 Mass. Phone 182
Pablo Gorbel was at the door, springing the lock. He drew it shut behind him. He went along the corridor and down the steps with breath sputtering. His feet slipped off the floor and man on the floor breathed heavily, trying to speak, to call out, fighting against the pain, struggling to rise; then slumping backward to help himself open and through the low window he watched the lighted stores across the way.
(To be Continued)
Lights danced before Paul Gorbel's eyes, though there were no lights. A roaring sounded in his ears. The mountain of doom was moving towards him, to overwhelm him, to blot him out with his cuffidity, his loves, his ambulations.
The place to stop for a refreshing fountain drink or appetizing sandwich is our beautiful new Walnut Room.
"Shot!" he muttered. "Shot . . . and
and."
He turned, as if to tear open a window and jump, and a great hand caught his arm.
"No you don't! If I have to, I'll—"
The man shrank in the sheeris's clutch, tried to tear away. He made strange sounds in his throat as his trembling hand tugged at a hip pocket.
"Let me go!" he screamed. "Let
He threw out a hand awkwardly for
"No . . . you've gone; to the end of your rose, and if-"
Served Daily
a pistol came out. The stream of fire was short, barely the span of a man's hand, so closely it was held to the sheriff's breast. The report filled the room, and then, as Gorbel told those stout fingers loosen on his arm, the sheriff drew a long, retching breath. . . .
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