Dancing, Diving, Dissecting, and Doublemint Gum Jack Steele '42, '47 The dance was over. The students left the ballroom and stampeded down the ramp humming the strains of "Tuxedo Junction," "Little Brown Jug," "String of Pearls," "I've Got A Gal From Kalamazoo," "In The Mood," "Jersey Bounce," jostling one another in order to go downtown to get something to eat. Most of them headed down 25th Street for the Bamboo or Kay's or Keeley's; some decided to stop off at Ross & Jack's for Burger /Spuds. Those with wheels headed south on Washington Boulevard to Bob's BBQ or the Pilot, others north to the Barrel. Some with more elegant taste grabbed a bag or two of spudnuts and tramped along Washington to Cramer's for a sack full of hamburgers or hot dogs, 5 cents each with all the trimmings, and then over to 26th and Porter to sit on the cement steps and discuss the events of the night. Having danced and dined to the max, they gradually drifted homeward, brought back to reality by the responsi- bilities of the upcoming week: a Monson poetry exam, a Pearl-Thatcher Allred quiz, a research paper for O.W. Young's zoology class. Reed Swenson's 11 a.m. boys' gym class exploded into the pool area, and all jumped feet first into the water-bare naked! As they splashed and cavorted in the pool, someone said he thought he heard girls giggling. How could that be? The pool had been reserved today for men only -no girls allowed. However, as some of us looked up toward the south balcony, we saw the girls' heads popping up and down above the balcony wall, giggling all the while. Coach Swenson quickly cleared the deck of giggling girls, and the men continued to splash and cavort in the pool, the area now void of female observers. Dr. Orson Whitney Young, professor of zoology, popped out of his office in the back of the classroom and faced the students of his comparative chordate anatomy class, his brow furrowed, a no-nonsense look on his face. He began, "Students, we have a serious problem facing our class. As all of you are aware, tomorrow we begin feline dissection. However, we do not have enough cats to go around. We have 30 students and only 20 cats. We need some student volunteers to procure more cats." That night the "volunteer" crew dutifully scoured the neighborhood armed with flashlights and gunny sacks. Feline dissection began on schedule. First day of class: The room was packed; all students were in their seats. Suddenly the bell rang, the door flew open, and Professor Sheldon P. Hayes of bacteriology stepped confidently to the front of the room. He delivered the usual introductions, called the roll, paused, and then leaned back on his desk. He smiled as he pronounced his pontifical commandment #1: "There will be no gum chewing in my class. May I repeat, no gum chewing whatsoever! However, under certain circumstances it is possible to circumvent this rule. Anyone feeling an uncontrollable urge to chew gum may do so upon fulfilling the following requirements: First, supply each class member with at least one stick of gum and, second, supply the professor with a total of ten extra sticks. Do you all understand?" After he pronounced his commandment, he delivered a short lecture on bacteriology and abruptly left the room. Second day of class: The room was packed; all the students were in their seats as before. Suddenly the bell rang, the door flew open, and Professor Hayes strode confidently into the room. He opened his mouth to begin his lecture, but before he could do so a brash young man got out of his seat, swaggered confidently to the front of the room, and planted himself directly in front of the professor. First, the student put both hands into his pockets, dug deep and pulled out several packs of Wrigley's Doublemint Gum, and dropped them on the teacher's desk. Then, with much fanfare, he opened each package carefully and placed each stick on the desk. Next he counted out ten sticks, displaying each one separately to both professor and students as he carefully counted, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten." He placed them directly into Professor Hayes's hand. After that he gathered up the remaining gum and paraded back and forth along the rows of students as he handed at least one stick of gum to each person. By now the students were beside themselves with joy. Removing the wrapping from the remaining five or six sticks, the boy jammed the whole mass into his mouth and with a deep bow and flourish sashayed to his seat. With his mouth agape, but hoping to retain his composure, Dr. Hayes took a deep breath, smiled, and silently tipped his head as he acknowledged the performance of the student. He then began his daily lecture on bacteriology to the accompaniment of the rhythmic chomping of the chewing gum. I do not recall that Dr. Hayes chewed any of the tendered gum. 26 Music, Maestro, Please Iola Belnap Murray '43 When I attended Weber College from 1941-1943, I had many memorable experiences. In the Phi Rho Pi Speech Club I had opportunities to participate in speech-related activities such as poetry reading, extemporaneous and impromptu speaking under the leadership and tutoring of Professor Thatcher Allred. I also remember traveling by car to Snow College with Professor Leland Monson, LaMar Buckner, and other college students who were competing in a speech meet at Snow. I had a crush on LaMar at that time and even rated a date with him. I don't recall winning any prizes at the speech tournament, but I had fun with some talented college champions like Frank Wahlquist, Carl White, LaMar Buckner, and Wayne Carver. I also took an active role in Weber's Music Department. I sang with large and small groups. I specifically recall singing in Roland Parry's A Child Is Born at Christmas time. It was also a thrill to sing Debussy's "Clair de Lune" with a ladies sextet. I didn't know before that the piece had words. It has been my favorite piano number. When my brother Lowell attended Weber, he was a member of the Dorian Singers. Mr. Parry requested that he sing a duet with someone using the song "Love Me Tonight" from The Vagabond King. I was honored to have the opportunity to sing with my brother. He had a beautiful baritone voice, and Mr. Parry was pleased. At my graduation I was privileged to sing "Land of Hope and Glory," which was my first solo at Weber. The Music Department was called upon quite often to entertain at several social clubs in Ogden during their lunch hour at the Hotel Ben Lomond. This service paid off for me when the Junior Child Culture Club awarded me with a scholarship for my sophomore year. Otherwise I may not have continued my schooling at that time because I desperately needed tuition money. Music has been a blessing and a motivating force throughout my life. I don't know where I would have been without it. Iola Belnap Murray Tough and Genuine Wayne Carver '43 Who are we? How many? One hundred and eighty-six freshmen have their pictures in the class section of the '42 Acorn. I can easily think of 30 or 40 more. The Centennial History had "Cumulative Day Enrollment" (whatever that means) as 1,114. In June 1943, 75 of us graduated. We were hardly "the class." The class was somewhere else - on jobs, in the service. In April, the men in the army reserve were called up. The ones left went down to the Union Depot and sang "Purple and White" as the train pulled away. So I think the Class of '43 is more a generation than a class. The sophomores, when we were freshman, and freshmen when we were sophomores, all run together in a blur. We were the wartime students. Students entering in the fall of 1943 and 1944 also belong to the war years. But they were not on campus with us, so they don't count. Our three years ('42, '43, '44) were unique, precious years. Without being too grand about it, we can say they have consecrated all the years we have lived since then. Made them precious. They have mine, at least. Despite the different forms and directions our lives have taken since then, we are a generation and a community, shaped by our having lived through the Great Depression and World War II. It was our good fortune to have a couple of years - or a few months - of those tough times on that intimate campus below Jefferson. The rambling, foul-smelling Moench Building, the chlorinated Gym and the packed College Inn, the decaying Central and the creaking West Central, the Vocational Building as impersonal as an office machine, the patches of thick grass, the Russian olives and blue spruce and pines, the tennis courts and the making-out seclusions of Lester Park, and all the people who worked and studied and horsed around there - it has all lived with us. You may think the past is 27