Teacher's Pest By C. M. Nilsson "I must have been about to burst, I felt so good." When I was six years of age and in the first grade of the Raymond Public School and harmlessly sandwiched between Carlos, the town imbecile, and Annie, the girl who drooled, I appeared among the children one afternoon with a formidable revolver. Where I got the thing is uncertain in my mind now, unless it was one of Reg Cooper's trinkets lent me by his brother Athol. But at any rate its nickleplated nose peeked from the breast pocket of my shirt nearly all that afternoon. Teacher was small and I thought then a terror. Later on, one of the more learned of my classmates said that poison was done up in small packages. The statement seemed like literature and therefore one of the cast-iron truths of life, for my first grade teacher was at once a perfect illustration. I think now that among other things, in her first year of teaching, she was bemused by her forty-odd dumb lambs. In her more fiery moments she would escort the sinner into the cloakroom, which was the end of the classroom partitioned off part way to the ceiling. There she would wave in front of him a handful of some sort of tin slats like the old-fashioned corset rods that kept our mothers and grandmothers in place. Then down they would noisily come upon his outstretched hand. Nobody died of the ordeal but I suppose the clanking was pretty ominous to the class sitting very still outside in the main part of the room. I am not prepared by experience to say anything about what the class thought and felt because it seems to me that I was the one in the cloakroom whenever there was castigation going forward. In her less fiery moments Miss Allan used monolog. It went like this: What is two and two? Pause. What is two and two? I said. Pause, longer this time. Just as I thought; you don't know what two and two is. Her face getting rosy. No idle talk from the first-grader, however. What are you staring at your shoes for? Didn't your mother lace them this morning? Brief pause. Go ahead and tie them if they need it. We don't want you with your shoes untied. Boy bends over and ties shoes. All right, now we have taken care of that, what is two and two? What is two and two? Quick. Boy looks at ceiling unhappily as though to see the sum of two and two neatly printed there. Where are you going to look after you get through looking at the ceiling? inquires Miss Allan. The boy also is red in the face now, for he realizes that he probably does not know what two and two are. Miss Allan's current inquiry has its effect, though, and he shifts his gaze from the ceiling to the window. If the boy continues this, he will no doubt end up in the cloakroom with a handful of corset rods and Miss Allan, but the bell rings for recess. He is saved until next day. He has no criticism of Miss Allan as he leaves the room, but he is beginning to sense that there is something about education that he does not like as well as he should. On this particular day what speculations and expedients must have stirred around in teacher's mind at the apparition in her classroom of a skinny pale-faced youngster dressed in a bulldog revolver. What did the little devil plan to do? If I remember my telepathy, that is the language teacher used. There wasn't over anything weak-kneed about Miss Allan, and least of all her diction. Was the weapon loaded? No doubt he could fire it. And if it exploded in the room some children might be hurt, and even though they weren't they would go home and tell their mothers. Then the principal would come raging down the stairs and make a failure of her first year's teaching. At that time I was unaware of her turmoil, but I sensed that my derringer commanded respect. Carlos altered his vacuous gaze from the top of his desk and grimaced in a snaggly smile, first at me, then at Annie, then at his other classmates and the teacher. This was something, for after all Carlos was rumored to be twenty-one years of age and could shave if he wanted to, as we saw for ourselves. But Carlos seldom bothered about the niceties of his toilet. Nevertheless, he was a source of pride to us first-graders, for here we were just started in school and already up with a man of twenty-one. But Carlos was a nit-wit and the glances of the girl three seats from the front in the center row counted for more. She was the bright little girl who can answer all the questions, and generally does. I have always admired the combination of intelligence and beauty in a woman, and that was what she had. Her black hair and eyes, big red ribbons done into bows, roses and cream skin ornamented by freckles large and small, full-cheeked face and snub-nose started my heart a-rolling so that even now it is unsteady in the presence of well-turned brunettes fixed up with red gadgets. I hope that she reads this and recalls me though perhaps it is too late now to form even platonic ties. At that time, even, an alliance was (Continued on Page 22) page eight Doodles By Dean Williams, A.S. This epistle shall be undertaken in behalf of the manly art of doodling. What? You don't know what doodling is? You've never doodled? Then you are indeed a rare person and should be pitied, for there is nothing so beneficial, if done correctly, as a good doodle. But in case you still are in doubt as to the whys and wheres of doodling, I shall commit myself to a definition, and any definition of a great art such as this is certainly a commitment. Doodles is not the name of some pet cat or dog, and it has no relationship to noodles. Doodling is the act that reveals one's character, shows his manners, brings out his habits, good and bad, divulges his whole personality, all at one time. In short, give a man a piece of paper and a pencil and center his thought on something else and what does he do? He doodles. Doodling is anything from scribbling to a sketch of an African sword-fish. There are many types of doodlers the telephone doodlers, student doodlers, and, of course, Yankee doodlers; and if you were to look in on a board of directors meeting or a jury session, you would probably find many advocates of this wholesome practice. Perhaps more great lives have been literally torn down, more shameful acts revealed, more secrets divulged on telephone pads or pieces of scratch paper than any other way. So you see, the art lies in learning to doodle correctl y so that some day when fame and fortune have come your way, you can turn to your doodles and say, "There is the reason." Some people doodle squares and some are circle doodlers, and there are the scribbly doodlers and those wizards of science who draw test tubes or geometric projections. But no matter what kind of doodles you doodle, always retain this basic fact: "Each man to his own doodles; but remember, any thing you doodle may be held against you." And so it is with all men, small and great. Doodling is that act which if left to run wild with fancy may become a weakness, but if properly taught and set forth may become a strong rung in the ladder of success. The best friends and wives of most great men cherish deeply the doodles of their idol. It has been prophesied that the day will eventually come when whole albums of doodles will be brought forth in family circles to be shown with family pictures. This is only one instance of how doodling is growing. J. Edgar Smatz, chief of the Federal W-Men, predicts that a course in doodling may soon be given to all prospective detectives as a means of criminal investigation. He bases this on the fact that "Butch" Spilling-wirt, Public Enemy No. l 3/4, states in his autobiography, "Dey never woulda got me if dey hadn't found dat doodle I done," and you laugh at the possibilities of doodling. And so through these conclusive examples I hope I have stressed the good and dangerous points of doodling. In conclusion, let me cite the slogan of the national doodler organization, the Doodlers of Personality Evermore, or the D.O.P.E., "United we stand for bigger and better doodling." He Sunset By Shirley Cunnington Once upon a time there was a wise Ruler over a beautiful Kingdom. This Ruler loved the people in his Kingdom and did not levy heavy taxes upon them. He was always fair and just, and allowed the people in his Kingdom freedom of worship, freedom of speech, and of the press. He built beautiful schools to educate the children and constructed stone highways throughout his domain so that his people might ride about in fancy chariots. And the people in this Kingdom were happy. They built luxurious homes and many large cities. They loved their King, and all their great problems they put before his wisemen who were always just. Now these happy people wished only to live in their prosperous land in peace. But one day a messenger came from a far-away country to see the King. It seems that the Emperor of this distant island empire had heard tales of the gold and silver and the fabulous riches in this great land and he wanted these riches and treasures for his own. Now this messenger brought wonderful gifts of fruit and treasures and laid them at the feet of this wise Ruler and told him that his Emperor wished to be friends. For many years these little brown Savages from across the sea had been crying out in a warlike manner against this wise Ruler and his people and thus the Ruler was happy to learn that at last they wished to be friends. So he called all his wisemen together and prepared a great feast for the messenger. But while the people were assembled at this great feast the little brown Savages and their Emperor sailed across the water and tried to take possession of the land. But the people who loved their King cried, "We will fight for our land!" And they gathered together their swords and weapons of war and sent their fine young sons forth to battle. They melted their beautiful chariots into weapons; they saved their fine linens and silks to make a magic powder to destroy their enemies. The little children brought forth their toys to be transformed into balls of fire to put in flying machines and dropped on their enemies. They fought long and hard and at last the little brown Savages were captured. Then this great Ruler called all his wisemen together and asked, "Now that we have captured our enemies, what shall we do with them?" And the wisemen were greatly troubled. For a long time they pondered this question. "If we allow them to stay among us, they will teach our people their cruel, barbarous tricks, and create strife and treachery in our land." The wisemen and the Ruler in this land were kind and just, for they had always been taught not to kill their brothers. So they could not slay them. And after many days of deliberation the wisemen and their Ruler loaded all the little brown Savages on a boat and sent them far, far across the water where there was no Rising Sun. They left them there on an island with no boat and returned to their own beautiful country where they lived happily ever after Or at least until the Japanese can build another boat. page nine