serve Corps along with some forty-one other students. We realized we would be called to active duty in the spring, and some of us used that quarter as a last fling, seriously neglecting our class work. The class which convened at 1:00 p.m., was often preceded by an intramural game, a lunch at the C.I., a walk through Lester Park, or some other activity not conducive to the "Louisiana Purchase" or "War with Mexico." So when I periodically attended class, my thoughts were elsewhere. I didn't purchase a textbook, but relied on a borrowed one for infrequent browsing. The periodic exams reflected my misapprehension, and I deserved an F or at least an incomplete. Somehow compassion overruled logic, and I received a C in the class with a note on my final exam that I was capable of doing better. Upon returning to the campus after three years of army service, I gained a greater respect for, and interest in history, and I appreciate Mr. Anderson's not writing me off. The Phoenix Philharmonic Since its inception in 1935, Phoenix Club had often boasted of its musical talent that sometimes took the form of an orchestra, a band, or a combo. But never was its artistry displayed as it was in the spring of 1947. The AMS and AWS sponsored a talent contest awarding prizes of $15.00, $10.00, and $5.00 for the first three places. Most entries were soloists or duets from the various clubs or individuals. Phoenix decided to resurrect the philharmonic, which had succumbed to the war in 1941. The club assembled a crew of "wanna be's," "used to be's," and "never was" musicians, some of whom could actually carry a tune. Among the more talented were Fred Burdett on the trombone, Dean Hurst with the French horn, and Ray Flowers pumping the accordion. Mel Thayne was a legitimate pianist, Keith Fernelius played the clarinet, while Hugh Campbell, Dale Blackburn, and Ross Powell toyed with other instruments vying with Larry Williamson for first chair. Some less cultured players like George Stromberg and Laurence Burton had to be taught that when performing on stringed instruments, you should move the bow not the violin, and that to become first violinist, you should play, not duel, with each other. The maestro, "Dad" Wynn, directed the orchestra, attired in a dark suit, no shirt and red flannel underwear. He also wore tennis shoes for a quick getaway. The musical renditions, and they were rendered, included, "Agnus Dei," or was it "Angus?" and "The Lost Chord" (hopefully never found). They laughed their way through "Humoresque," bleated around the "Pastoral Symphony," and saw Harry Burchell, 250 pounds of him, rush down the aisle to perform a solo consisting of a single ding on the triangle. They showed their versatility by playing "The Poet and Peasant Overture" in French, much to the delight of a linguist in the audience. The repertoire also included a vocal duet by Hurst and Stromberg, which caused Roland Parry to re-evaluate his teaching position. As expected, the Phoenix Philharmonic waltzed away with first place, seriously depleting the AMS-AWS treasury while giving Phoenix a surplus. In awarding the honor, President Dixon announced that the orchestra was available for funerals, church services, receptions, weddings, and other sad occasions. PhFF There were many zany activities tied into the college social life, one of which was PhFF (Phoenix Foothill Frolic). For a couple of weeks, signs such as "Have you your date yet for PhFF? Don't wait, or you may miss PhFF," and "Does your mother know about PhFF?" appeared randomly around the campus announcing "PhFF," with no indications as to its meaning. Little else was revealed, and Phoenix members were sworn to secrecy, particularly not to inform their dates. A common expression by many of the men following a dance or other social occasion was "To the hills," roughly interpreted to mean "Let's find a quiet out-of-the-way place for a little romancing." The customary places included the reservoir at the top of 23rd Street, the shallow hills east of the old airport, the bench above Pleasant View, or the oak brush flats at the upper end of 36th Street. At a spring dance, the word went about that following the dance, PhFF was to take place. The rendezvous site was the well-known area east of the airport, located south on Washington Blvd., and the Uintah junction. Club members were to leave the dance early and approach the area slowly with headlights dimmed and park in a semi-circle on a slight hill. At the designated time a prepared bonfire was ignited illuminating the surroundings. Pledges then circulated among the cars taking orders for hot dogs and soft drinks, leaving scant time for amorous adventuring, much to the disappointment of the boys and a few of the girls. Thus, the Phoenix Foothill Frolic was unveiled. J. R. Allred, Keith Fernelius, and Dick Fair were seen scampering about taking pictures of various couples in frivolous poses. When a picture was later shown exposing Dean Hurst and Laurel Checketts and Laurence Burton and Janice Shupe in a cozy sequence, Laurel was heard to explain, "It wasn't as good as it looked." The midnight mail plane winged in, signaling a curfew to the frolic, and the cars peeled off for home. The pledges were left to clean up the area and hope their dates were not feeling too neglected. The planners of the event basked in the satisfaction of another successful incident of campus fun known as the Phoenix Foothill Frolic. 58 Dancing Through the Five & Dime Hy Sander '48 Every time I tell a story, it gets a little bit better, but I will try to keep the facts straight. My mother used to date Darrell Shaw; in fact, she was engaged to him at one time, and he was the chief of detectives, as you will remember. We started the Snake Dance, and Darrell Shaw said to me - well, just a little background information. Laurence or Dean or some of the guys were tired enough that they wouldn't lead it, so it fell to my lot to lead it. So Darrell said "Now listen, Mr. Sander, on one side of the street and one side of the street only- don't tie up traffic." I said, "Yes sir, yes sir." So we started in on it, and someone said, "Go ahead, Hy!" So across the street I went - in through Newberry's and back out through Newberry's and in through Woolworth's and back out through Woolworth's and in through Kresses and back out through Kresses, in through Grant's and back out through Grant's. Suddenly, who should confront me but Officer Shaw, who said, "You know what you have caused - you have a big problem." I said, "Why?" "Well," he said, "I'm going to have to take you down to the station because all of those stores are practically empty." So evidently, things jumped from the shelves into these people's pockets on purpose. And so he said, "I understand you are in charge of this group." I said, "Yes sir." And so we went on down to the Police Station, where I spent five hours. When my father came to get me, though he was soft-spoken, I remember every word he said to me. Snake dance through Ogden My Favorite of All Bonnie Parker Sandberg '48 After attending BYU, USU, and Weber College, I can truly say that my favorite school was Weber. I was privileged to live in Mrs. Lydia Tanner's home. Shirlee Burnett Larsen was my roommate. We have kept a close friendship since 1947. President Henry A. Dixon would visit with students, and he knew nearly all students' names. While serving as president of Whip Club, I learned of the close ties between the college and city businesses. I had a very personal association with Dean of Women Mae Welling. She gave me excellent advice, and she had a genuine concern for me. Because of her recommendation, I had a part-time job at L. R. Samuels and worked with Bonnie Scott. Sadie Hawkins Day was great fun! I was lucky to be chosen as Daisy Mae for two years. While at Weber I had my first real experience with politics. In 1948 students formed a motor caravan to the State Capitol and pled the case to make Weber a four-year college. I am so proud to see the results of students working together for a good cause. Mae Welling Walking a Gauntlet Janet Storey Sessions '48 American history relates that native Indians enjoyed forcing white captives to run the gauntlet. I, being female and a very hesitant freshman, was forced to walk a gauntlet every school day. felt as much fear and trepidation as any Indian captive. President Henry Aldous Dixon lived on campus in a red brick bungalow that sat between the two-storied Central Building and the Administration-Gymnasium that fronted 25th Street. At the rear of the Dixon residence a barrier had been erected. Students constantly crossed the concrete thoroughfare at all hours of the day, and the barrier, seat-high, became 59