The Maroon tiger. (Morehouse College, Atlanta, Georgia) 19??-current, May 01, 1933, Image 12

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Face 10 THE MAROON TIGER Varieties By L. Raymond Bailey I regret to announce to those readers of this column that my story scheduled for this issue will not appear. After all, it is to the credit of this paper that this column of nonsense will die. But realizing that many, who are as crazy as I, will be disappointed, 1 have made arrangements for the appearance of Antedeluvia elsewhere. So I am advising those of you who were expecting to congratulate me with an over-ripe egg shower to go ahead and purchase your eggs anyway— prices will he going up very soon. Since I have been pul out of commission, I suppose I shall proceed to ramble in space and gas about the first thing that pops into my mind. A moment ago, when I ran into my colleague of the past debating season, my mind went back to that glori ous trip we took through the Carolinas, Virginia, and Washington, I). C. It was thrilling from the start. As we were scheduled to leave the “Gate City of the South” at 7 P. M., on the first leg of our trip, we hired “Junk” Websjer to chauffeur us to the terminal. Well, it was 6:30 A. M. before I was able to get my colleague, Mr. John Young, the versatile dramatist, football star, poet, debater, and “broad-player” out of bed. To make bad matters worse, we discovered at the last minute that the struggle-buggy, in which “Junk” was to have jug gled us to the terminal, was suffering from an acute case of fallen arches in the right rear tire. After a deal of powerful and drastic subjective expression, we suc ceeded in getting a very accommodating instructor of the Atlanta University Laboratory High School to run us down in time to fall into the terminal and persuade the bus-driver to hold up things for two very important gentlemen from Morehouse College. On going to the window to purchase tickets, 1 found the busy ticket- agent waiting on the “citizens of the first rank,” as if he had until dooms-day to finish. After what seemed an age, he came around to me. I bought a round-trip ticket for myself and asked for a ticket lor Young. “Where the deuce is Young?” inquired the agent scratching his head as he consulted his road maps. “Oh, he is outside talking to the porter, ”1 replied. After a few dirty looks and some silent words to match, he produced the tickets and we hustled to catch the bus. The trip was rather uneventful, so we spent the time for the most part in improving our minds by reading the highly intellectual literature as recorded in College Hu mor and other magazines of lesser value which Mr. Young, out of his literary appreciation and aspiration had seen fit to bring along. We stopped for an hour or so in Charlotte to visit Johnson C. Smith University. As we entered the grounds, Mr. Young complained of his distressing appearance and did his best to brighten up his shoes and twist his embryonic mustache. “What is the use of all that?” I inquired. “There are no women here.” I do not think it proper that his disappointment be recorded here. It was late in the night when we reached Raleigh, and taxied out to Shaw University, where we were destined to spend two days. Before we had been there forty hours, my colleague, Mr. Young, had done some fast work and was ready to elope with a very charming and witty young lady named ? ? — I don’t recall her name —fortunately. During the while I had merely worked up to an introduction to another delightful specimen of feminine delicacy named Miss — ? ? —pshaw! In Washington, there was much more to be seen and done, and my colleague really made good use of his time. Of course, we walked around with stuffed chests and bragged about the places we had never seen, the victories we had never won, and the charming ladies we had never known. We looked over all of the main buildings, the most important of which was the girls’ dormitory. We, or at least, Mr. Young, jibed the ma tron so that she went into the kitchen to show us around. Of course we were so highly interested in the scientific preparation of foods that the generous matron was virtually compelled to let us try out a few of the delicious desserts to see if she used as much shortening as “we" do down South. As the time for the debate drew nigh, we donned our hard-starched straight-jackets that refused to behave prop erly and went to the chapel for the grand affair. The crowd was so small that I was almost tempted to begin my speech by saying: Mr. Chairman, gentlemen of the affirmative, Man and Woman. However, as lime passed, the crowd increased and we were gratified at the close of the debate by being congratulated by some exceeding ly interesting representatives of the “nudder” sex. The next day, we went sight-seeing for a little while before leaving town. Being two gentlemen from big cities, we thought the things we saw to be rather com mon-place. As a matter of fact, my colleague, the ultra-urbanized Mr. Young, walked into the Congres sional Library, and after looking around for a bit, re marked with an air of indifference—“Nice dump, huh?” Perhaps what we wanted to try out most of all was the beer. We were informed, however, that the brew was not so hot after all. It is said that our legislators did a good job giving us a beverage that would cause drowning before intoxication. At any rate we were glad to get the “beer" facts. I he trip home was without excitement, but we did stop in Virginia long enough to snatch a night of rest at the fascinating Virginia State College. By the time we reached Atlanta, we had “developed" to the point of being able to determine to the millimeter the depth and width of each bum]) we would hit. Yaass mon, we had a great time. Now the next thing that comes into my mind is not so pleasant. To make a long story short, I went to the photographer and had the likeness of me put on paper. The results were shocking as you will see by looking on another page of this paper. I have concluded that when a fellow feels too sophisticated he should have his picture taken, and thereby bring himself to his knees. Not only was it a very discouraging experience, but think of the damaging evidence my enemies will have against me.—O well.