About The Red and Black (Athens, Ga.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (March 16, 1928)
T y E RED AND BUCK Page Fty l Rene Stuart, Given Gate, Makes Appeal To Public Stuart Reviews Latest Cracker In Critical V ein Rhodes Scholar Bicycles At Oxford; Skies In Alps (By Rene Stuart) “What’s this?” I said to myself (since there was nobody else around to talk to) as I was reading the editorial page of last week’s Red and Black. You see, as a member of the staff I consider it one of my duties to the editor to read his edi torials, (if any). You see, being a newspaper man—even on a college newspaper—has its bad points. “What’s this?” I said to myself. I looked again—there was no mis take about it. Where my name had been, floating on the masthead as one of the staff managers, was the name of one R. C. Batts. Thinking that I had been left entirely off the staff, I looked hopefully through the so-called reportorial staff. But. I was disappointed—my name, like Old Glory, was still there. Now Ramon C. Batts is a fine per son. He’s one of my best friends, a long-suffering fellow-reporter and all that. But I just couldn’t get it straight. I started to shoot myself, but on second thought decided I’d shoot the editor first. So I chased over to 22 Old College with ashes in my mouth and murder in my heart. But somebody had beat me to it. The editor was already shot. I wall, and stuff like that. I send you out for feature stories, and you come back with a shocking story about ; the new wire fence being charged— i What if it is—you expect the Uni- ; versity to pay cash for everything? “But look here, chief,” I said, get ting desperate. “You tell me to go out and get up stories. There aren’t any—then what should I do? Here it is Wednesday, and nobody’s eloped all this week. The (burglars have de cided that the Psychology depart ment’s not worth robbing. The new building’s actually opened. What features are there left to feature?” “And what’s more,” the editor went on, waving a blue pencil under my nose, “how about that trip to Macon? The Red and Black paid your expenses down there and wrote you up in its columns—‘Star Report er Goes to Cover Y Meet’—and all that sort of thing. And then what? You turn up a week later, expecting me to get your cuts excused—with out a story. The report had it that you were last seen going in the gen eral—not to mention private—direc tion of Wesleyan, with spats on your feet, a cane in your hand, and a flower in your lapel. Can you deny the charge?” “Look here,” I said. “How come —and all that? It’s a pleasure to get thrown off your staff—in fact, more pleasure than to stay on—but how about that week’s warning and everything? Understand, I don’t mind you giving me the gate—I just hate for you to throw it in my face. How am I going to explain to my reading public?" “Well, you see, it was just like this,” he began. I thought for a minute I was talking to a dean. “Now, you see, as I said before, it’s just like this—I hate to tell you, but you’re not mean enough to be a newspaper man—even a college newspaper man.” "Where are all the stories I told you to get last week?” continued his editorship in a raucous tone. “Here it is I depend on you to fill up three or four columns and you fall down on me. Why, you’re no better than the rest of the staff. “You see what we had to do, don’t you? Had to fill up with bull about the Pandora, and handwriting on the “But look here, chief, you couldn’t expect anything else. They actually did something down there—so I didn’t know how to write it up. You remember, you had me covering the Y news just before that. I don’t mind getting fired—but I do object to getting burned up like this. Don’t you think you’re pretty hard on me —and me just a sophomore?” “Well, come to think oi it," he said, “maybe so. Come on, let’s have a drink.” My face brightened up with pleasant surprise. "Well, if you just insist,” I began. "Oh, I mean a Coca-cola or something like that, at Mehre’s.” My face fell; (that’s why I’ve had to have it lifted again). “Oh,” I submitted meekly. I appeal to the public for another chance. I ask you, gentle reader, what would you do in a case like that? Miss Louise Balk and Miss Mary Ida Coile spent the week-end in Augusta. Hofmeister’s SHOE SHOP BEST REPAIRING WORK IN THE CITY 229 Broad Street j! , , Just Across the Street From the Campus (By Rene Stuart) I will attempt to review The Cracker, although I believe surely that another view of it would im pair my digestion. The cover: A good idea poorly executed, and as obscure as the pointless paragraphs. One thing in its favor is the fact that there are no typographical errors in it. That is, I didn’t find any. The advertisements: Probably the most artistic department of the mag azine, although they have no more humor than the rest of the pages. The fir^t page, upon which the sketches begin and where they well might end, is entitled “The Bulldog Chews the Cracker.” But after this issue, I think the Bulldog will not chews the Cracker except for pur poses from which the more well-bred people would like to avert their minds. There are approximately eight sketches in The Cracker and one Joke. Have you noticed the tendency toward dialect now apparent? Welli proof-reading errors don’t show up ( so harshly in dialect. I am still wondering what the sketches are about. One talks of the pre-natal influ ence, another is about some slick person, another goes to hell for a change, and two attempt to explain what a virgin is. The skit on Tradi tions, (I think that was the name although it wasn’t spelled like that) the author hits the proposed publi cations board. The best argument in favor of such a board is the current issue of The Cracker. Yes, there are book reviews and a Georgiana. I know one of the books is good, because that’s twice this year that “Dusty Answer” has been in this section. Georgiana is prob ably the most enlightened thing in The Cracker, in spite of its evident overworking of sophomoric wise cracks. The Mercury should sue. Alas, the poetry page is suffering from a nigger-and-pore-white-trash complex. The two efforts of the Renfroe and Renfroe company show the real sod hanging onto the roots. This babbling Stuart person who mumbles of brooks is not any con nection of mine. Hereafter not even an experiment of mine will be sub mitted. But it worked. The exper iment was to see if the editor had (By Reno Stuart) A Rhodes scholar on skiis! Such was the predicament of one Allen Williams Post, A.B.. University of Georgia, 1927, who entered Oxford last fall as the Rhodes scholar from the state of Georgia. Mr. Post fin ished his first term about December 10, the day of the selection as the Rhodes scholar from the state ot Georgia to enter Oxford next fall of one Thomas Jefferson Hamilton, junior, Augusta, who aspires to be A.B., University of Georgia, 192S. The report received by his parents show that Mr. Post is ably upholding his scholastic standards that he set while at the University. That is, when he goes to school at all, he holds up these standards. From all reports, he spends more time on va cation than in school. It is hard for one to imagine the gentleman skit'ling to and fro from one class to another on a bicycle, but such is the custom at dear old Oxford. To return to his vacation for Christmas which lasted from Decem ber 10 to January 20, or later: After sojourning in London and Paris for a few days, seeing the Ox- ford-Cambridge rugby match, and perhaps Indulging in a few cocktails, Mr. Post went to St. Moritz, Switzcr- any critical sense of judgment at all. Well, he printed it, and the rest of the page. The answer to Bill Tate's verse is worse, if possible than the original in spite of the fact that illegitimate progeny are not referred to, and the typographical error In the title. Furthermore, I protest the ap pearance of a rogues ’gallery, a Hall of Shame, or what-every-you-call-it— all the politicians should be included, if any are. I believe the whole thing is a paid-publicity stunt. The art (?) work might do Jus tice to a high school publication. I wonder why there are not neat sketches by George Oliver, Gus Witcher, Naomi Henson, et al? But above all, I would suggest that The Cracker hire himself a compe tent proof-reader. All in all, this Is the worst Cracker I have ever seen. It does not at all allay my Insulted taste to see the monthly publication of the Univer sity made into a sewer for hitherto suppressed high school compost. land, where he rubbed elbows with the best and classiest Europeans, as well as American tourists. A pic ture of the scholar received here a few days ago shows him on skiis, a supporting pole in each hand, and the following inscription: “Note the standing position, A. W. P.” Indeed the unusual position is noted; also the supports. After some few exchanges of cor respondence with his former room mate, who is still a student at this institution, Mr. Poet had to come to the defense of his skiing abiltty. His only defense was that he was selected “the best dressed sktler at St. Moritz.” Believe that or not. Ilis roommate, who claims to know him very well, states that even that cannot be believed. He says further that he always plays safe and doubts the veracity of the scholar except when he sees with his own eyes. He- claims also that the "best dressed’" claim is merely a means to dodge the main issue, that of his skiing ability. The Red and Black cannot actually reproduce the picture taken In the Alps, for the sender stated that for reproducing the picture was withheld. However, for the benefit of those young ladles, if any, whose hearts flutter at news from this former Georgia student, the picture shows him in the latest plus-four knickers. His sweater is a neat pattern. Both golf stockings and socks are ap parently worn. High shoes of a pe culiar model complete the outfit ex cept for n well-combed head of hair. His skiis looked just like all the other skiis seen In the nows reels at the Palace. The supporting sticks held in each hand had peculiar lit tle caps on the bottom that cannot be described. During his vacation, Mr. Post seems to have derived a great deal of pleasure from being relieved from the sight of the regular Oxford co ed, who has no sympathy from him after dating with the unintelli gent brand here at Georgia. Any old American girl is the moBt pleas ant sight for his eyes, he says. Next trf that he prefers French and Ger man girls in the order stated. Back at school work again after such a brief vacation, the scholar looks forward to his spring holidays which will come soon. • What Shakespeare says about Coca-Cola Delicious and Refreshing -\r* “Framed in the prodigality of nature” —' When Shakespeare wrote this speech for Richard he must have seen the handwriting on the wall—a Coca-Cola ad reading: Good things from nine sunny climes poured into a single glass The Coce-Coia Company, Atlanta, Ga. 8 million a day — IT HAD TO BE GOOD TO GET WHERE IT IS KINO RICHARD III Act I. Scene 2
