Monday, Jan. 4, 1960 University Daily Kansan
Page 5
Student's Diary Reveals Restful Holiday
Bv Carol Heller
Dear Diary:
Dec. 18--At last Christmas vacation is here! All my books are packed to go home and am I ever going to get some studying done! I'll spend hours in the library and get my 25-page term paper written. And I'll memorize all the names of those different rocks for Geography. Then I can have plenty of time to study for finals after vacation.
Dec. 19 — Is it ever great to be home; I slept 'til noon and Mom cooked steak for lunch and I played bridge with the girls all afternoon. The old gang got together and drank beer all evening — The Old Moon has free beer on Saturday nights now!
Poodle Gets Shave
Dec. 20 — Slept 'til noon, played bridge, gave the poodle a shave, went ice skating.
Dec. 21 — Slept 'til noon, played bridge, got a permanent, took the poodle to the vet, read 20 pages for my Law of the Press class.
Dec. 22 — Slept 'til noon, played bridge. The old gang came over and
we played records all afternoon and laughed about old times — especially the time we all got expelled from high school for having a walk-out to go ice skating.
Dec. 23 — Slept 'til noon, wem
riding in Judy's new MGA. I wish
I would get something cute for
Christmas.
Dec. 24 — Went to Kansas City to go Christmas shopping. Daddy gave me $70 to buy gifts, but I found this gorgeous Saks coat, so I just charged the presents.
Picked Wrong Gift
Dec. 25 — Kenny got us up at 5 am. Went back to bed at 7. All the family came over for dinner, good grief. I've never seen such mean little kids. I wish I hadn't given Leslie a bow and arrow for Christmas.
Dec. 26 — Slept 'til noon, played bridge, went riding in Judy's new MGA. I lish I had gotten something cut for Christmas.
Dec. 27 — Wore my new coat to church. Daddy sure is holding a grudge for a long time. He made me put my own money in the collection,
Dec. 28 — Slept 'til noon, played bridge, rode in Judy's new MGA.
Dec. 29 — Slept 'til noon, read "Lady Chatterly's Lover."
Wish I had gotten something cute for Christmas.
Dec. 30 — Slept 'til noon, played bridge, took the poodle for a walk.
All her scars are healed now.
Prepares for New Year
Dec. 31 — Slept 'til 2 to be ready
for New Year's Eve. What a party we're going to have!
Jan. 1 1960 - ...
Jan. 2 — Slept 'til noon, felt better today. Tried to shave the poodle again today and she bit me. Drank beer with the old gang all evening.
Jan. 2 — Slept 'til noon, played
Jan. 3 — Slept 'til noon, played
bridge, packed all my clothes and stuff to go back to school. Can't find my Geography book anywhere.
Jan. 4 — Got up at 6:30 a.m. — it was horrible. And I don't know how I'm ever going to write that 25-page term paper and write that reporting series and read all that law stuff. I wish I had gotten aspirins for Christmas.
French Author Dies in Wreck
--win the Nobel Prize.
SENS, FRANCE —(UPI)—French author, playwright and Nobel Prize winner Albert Camus was killed in an automobile accident today on the highway 60 miles south of Paris. He was 46.
The automobile in which Camus was riding crashed at a point on the highway known as La Chapelle Champigny.
Exact details of the accident were not immediately known.
Gallimard, 42, his wife, Jeanne, 40,
and an unidentified child.
Three other passengers in the car were rushed to a hospital with various injuries. They included Michel
It was understood the injured persons were members of the Gallimard publishing family, which has published many of Camus's works.
Camus, a native of Algiers in French North Africa, was active in the resistance movement against the Nazis in World War II.
Formerly a journalist in his home city of Algiers, he was a prolific writer and won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1957.
He was the ninth French writer to
Camus was a former editor of Combat, one of the most important underground resistance newspapers. After World War II, it became one of France's regular newspapers and Camus served as editor at that time. Among his duties in this period was to write the main editorsials.
At his death he was living in Paris and was editorial director of the Librairie Gallimard.
The photographer's greatest secret can be reduced to these words: f8 at a hundred—A. Mazmanian.
Dear Santa: Send a Horse
By Rael F. Amos
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town, not a mechanic was to be seen—not one anywhere around!
While freckly-faced children were awaiting the coming of jolly old St. Nicholas with his eight reindeer, this Kansas reporter was hoping for an auto mechanic to sweep from the skies.
Pushing Doesn't Help
Stranded in a town of 1,000 people in my bright, shiny new 1960 car on Christmas eve, I began a search for one lively soul who knew a caraburator from a spark plug. It's surprising how searce people can be in a small town on the night before Christmas.
Swinging into an all-night service station on the power of my newfound friend's Chrysler, I found a mechanic "who knew something about cars."
After several minutes, I found one friendly person who agreed to give "that small, compact new model" a push. He pushed—and pushed—and pushed, but the only thing that would turn were the wheels. The motor? It was still dead!
“What's your trouble?” he helpfully asked.
"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "It just won't run."
"Well, I don't know too much about these new compact jobs, but we'll see what we can do." he said.
After winning the first battle—getting the hood up—we undertook to find the cause of my trouble.
"These the spark plugs?" he asked, pointing to some things protruding from the engine block.
Guess so," I helpfully replied. Taking one out he said:
"I guess I'd better call my dealer," I said.
'No Spark'
"Yep, these here are the spark plugs all right. Try to start her and let's see if she's getting any spark." I turned the key to the start position while he checked for the "spark" No spark!
"Well, I think that might have something to do with it." he said.
The moral to this story? Get a horse!
Locking the car (although I wasn't afraid of its being stolen), I telephoned the dealer who had sold me the car and he drove down from my hometown and picked me up.
So—after testing the spark plugs, filing the points, checking the carburator, resetting the timing, looking at the distributor rotor and replacing some electrical cable, we were still in the same, immobile state as an hour-and-a-half previously.
"Sure has got me beat," he said scratching his head.
The day after Christmas he sent a mechanic to the town where my car was "parked" and I was back behind the wheel—in somewhat of a better humor—within a short time.
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