by Benedict I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help." Psalms-121-1 Artist, Howell Rosenbaum A CENTURY HENCE In biblical times a man with any health at all could live maybe 500 years. And it is easy to fancy one of the really venerable fellows of long ago hesitating between centuries for a glance backward, the way we moderns do when we become 20 or 30 or 40 or 50 years of age, to inventory his reapings in the fields of wild oats. Then possibly he wagged his head mournfully over the wayward antics of his more or less unplanned and instinctive youth, and with resolve to be a better boy from there on out, he strode off manfully into the future. If our great state, which certainly we expect to be still around for some time yet, would likewise pull up at the roadside for a second before careening on- ward, no doubt it too would have cause to think. The list of things we could do better during the next 100 years may well be endless, but even so, some improvements in our way of doing seem downright necessary. Probably, too, these needs for the next ten decades go far beyond our desert borders and concern the whole country, if not, in some measure, the whole world. Just to show the world (that reads Scribulus) what we mean, we present three dramatic or what-have-you episodes our serious-minded Weber college writers cooked up. Now when you read them, do not go away and get a mad on we have sucked eggs ourselves. The Editors LIFE ENDS AT THE CROSSROADS For example, the problem of conserving lives pyramids year after year into overwhelming totals as hurtling automobiles reduce each other to tin and the human beings inside to hamburger. This mechanical creature of our century of progress is a killer so ruthless, so seemingly inevitable, that we stand hypnotized and helpless before it; so utterly wholesale in slaughter that it exceeds war. What is to be done about it may in part be better engineering of highways and cars, may also be in some measure improved laws and law enforcement, but of direct pertinence is the suggestion that it is, more than a probl-lem for the state highway patrol of Utah and city police departments, a problem for every one of us who owns or drives a car. "Once you are dead, you are a long time dead," even though you may have been young and bright and beautiful a brief minute before you decided to pass on a curve. Page 20 by John Davies I guess you remember when you were in high school. You were probably a little wild most high school students are. I was no exception. It seemed as though there was always some place where a group of friends could get a few drinks. Even a few small bottles of beer would suffice to bring on that pleasant feeling of good fellowship. Everyone was everyone else's buddy at these times. It was wonderful. There were few nights when one of us couldn't get a car of sorts to run around in. Of course, the type of car depended on the clique to which one belonged. There was my own bunch, who had the older cars the Model A's and old Chevvies. Then there was the next group, who ran around in new Ford station wagons and the bigger, newer cars. Then of course there were the rich men's sons and daughters, who could always get a big Buick or Packard. These were the ones who always had real liquor to drink and had enough money to know the right people everywhere. On the nights when, as a last resort, we took my Dad's car out, we did not bother with girls or other amusements in our own town. We would usually speed off to a neighboring community in search of something interesting. Our pride would not let us ask our girl friends to ride in this car, which was a Ford, vintage '29, in extremely disreputable condition. They had to wait until we could commandeer a more suitable vehicle. Bill and I he was my buddy even during sober times were howling tonight by ourselves. There may have been girls earlier in the evening but now it was late and just he and I were headed for home. Even in those days we needed several hours of sleep several nights a week. We stopped at a place we knew, told the bartender that Joe sent us, and partook of several light, harmless beers to help us sleep when we got home. In our hardened condition we knew that three or four glasses of beer apiece couldn't possibly faze us, but after four each we decided to stop anyway. On stepping outside, we suddenly realized how warm the night was uncomfortably warm. In fact, it was probably the heat that made us just slightly dizzy. A strange feeling came over me as we scrambled into the car. Just then I didn't really care about anything. I immediately decided to demonstrate my prowess as a driver to my buddy. As I think about it, I become more and more amazed at the things that old car would do. We darted through traffic, slithered through the yellow caution lights at intersections, and created a general driving hazard for everyone on the road. As we neared the edge of town, I pushed the gas pedal to the floor and held it there at 55 miles an hour. Since I don't wish to create a false impression, let me explain that this was the usual practice. We all did it. The only difference between Bill and myself and any other two fellows was that our car would go only fifty-five while the other fellows' car would perhaps do 85. As we reached the open highway we saw several that were speeding a lot faster than we. Page 21