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Student
MODERN EDUCATION
By Marshall S. Cabiness
(This article is not directed to any specific person, col
lege or administration, but to the subject as observed by
the author.—The Editok.
Considerable emphasis is being placed on the methods
of present day education now that administrators realize
the importance of practical as well as theoretical philos
ophies of life. In preparing students for everyday living
outside of the college environment, must offer in its cur
riculum courses which prepare the student to fit into the
society of the day.
The little red school house on the hill is gone and with
it the militant dictator-teacher and the hickory stick. In
stead, today, one finds that administrators are permitting
students to enter into the political, economic and social
affairs of the school in order that the student may be
come affected with a feeling of responsibility and concern.
How dissatisfied are those students who suffer the
crushing oppression of stern administrators? Traditions
that suggest forced education should be erradicated. Does
making college life miserable by untold restrictions en
hance the possibilities of study for the student?
Perhaps the gravest mistake of dictator-teachers is
the attempt to thwart a basic principle of nature relative
to the purposed separation of the sexes. Years of elusive
objections with the hope and expectation that to leave
alone was to solve the problem have been maintained.
This certairdy does not solve the problem. How utterly
hopeless is the aim to extinguish the call of nature in
youth by restrictions? What the modern social order calls
for is the application of those idealistic principles of
education as taught in the curriculum and if they can't
be successfully applied, then there is no need for them
to be taught.
IN THE DOG HOUSE
“BIG CEASAR” NEAL
j For Reclining in the Arms of Morpheus While Mr.
Bauer Was “Kitten on the Keys.”
HATE TO ALWAYS BE COMPLAINING, BUT . . .
Why doesn’t the heat come on a little earlier in the
morning?
Why does the water in the shower have to run cold so
often?
How about some mirrors in the wash rooms?
Where was Moses when the lights went out?
What happened to the back door of the Library?
| . . Qrom the £adies . . j
THIS QUESTION OF WAR AGAIN
By Marporie E. Greene
“What’s the use of all this study and effort to get out
of school? In the next two years we will be at war and
nothing will matter anymore,” a Morehouse man said
last week. And later a very young sophomore said,
“They’re just waiting ’til I'm twenty-one.”
A national monthly magazine echoes in an article call
ed “War,” the almost unbelievable events of nineteen,
twenty, and twenty-one years ago. One sees again the pit
iful and hopelessly cruel spectacle of faces half shot
away, bullet-ridden bodies, and merciless slaughtering of
men by other men afraid to die themselves. Men who
live forever after in an unreal, maddening world peopled
with the faces and shrieking cries of men they killed—
for what?
Every newspaper and magazine discusses war—the im
pending disaster, the inevitable, the shameful necessity,
the great horror. Everybody who makes a trip to Europe
notes, more than any other detail of European life, how
the Europeans are preparing for war and the European
attitude toward it.
Men—wise men(?)—say that war may be an answer
to certain problems, such as to clear away undesirable
economic conditions, to put nations in their places, or to
make the world a more peaceful place. (Certainly they
cannot say again “to make the world safe for democracy,”
when out of the last war grew two of the greatest men
aces to the common man’s freedom the world has known
since the middle ages: nazism and fascism.)
Men and WOMEN who cry peace with all their hearts,
minds, and souls, have only to point to one on their ar
guments in the person of a young college man, born,
perhaps, in the midst of the last worldwide, unholy
massacre, who hardly gets a chance to lift his head to
say: “Now, the world is mine. How shall I start about
proving it? What shall I do to make men sit up and
take notice? How shall I live my life? Gosh, how good
it feels to plan to live, work, and succeed!”
Instead he hows his head, looks into a future of bombed
cities, wrecked lives, and a torn, bloody, mutilated world;
(and over in a muddy, lonely ditch, perhaps, his own
body, eyes forever closed to white clouds and sunshine).
If he is familiar with the pessimism of Omar Khayyam,
the Persian tent-maker, he will probably say:
“Alike for those who for Today prepare,
And those that after some Tomorrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries,
‘Fools! Your Reward is neither Here nor There’.”
If he is not, he will say, merely, “What am I striving
for? War—and then oblivion? So why?”
The little sophomore says, “They’re just waiting ’til
I’m twenty-one.”
The last time they didn’t wait. Men were drafted at
eighteen.
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