Living Upstairs An Editorial by Jennings Olson Seek those things which are above. Col. 1:3 There is a story told of a wise old man who lived alone in the hills. He was so gifted with wisdom that the great men of the land came to him presenting problems and questions to which he always gave excellent counsel. One day a giant youth thought he would catch the old man off guard. He had a little sparrow in his huge hand, and he was going to ask the old man this question: "Is this bird dead or alive?" If the wise man said "Alive," he would crush the bird and prove him wrong; and if he said "Dead," he would open his hand and let it fly away. So this youth approached the brilliant old sage with a twinkle in his eye and put forth his question. The wise old man, without any hesitancy, and with a smile, said slowly, "As you will, young man, as you will." Surely it is true that we at Weber College are given unlimited power of choice day after day to many questions of life. The answer of time is, "As you will, young man, as you will." Gilbert Chesterton once observed that in the house of life many people are content to live in the cellar. Nay, even more, they seem to assume that the cellar is the only room in the house. Chesterton did not go on to specify what he meant nor need he. The cellar suggests something below level, perhaps dim and dark, permitting no clear and far reaching views. A generation ago Thoreau warned us we were heading for hell because we were "making improved means for unimproved ends." What Thoreau had in mind must have been the apparent lack of straight and forward thinking by the generation of which he was a part. Our generation is engaged in a conflict of vastly greater magnitude than any which may have plagued men in Thoreau's time. And we as Weber College men and women must bring our thoughts and actions to life's front window and see out and up and on. This day, therefore, I shall begin to "seek those things which are above." Balance The Scales An Editorial by Dorene Boothe The world as we knew it ceased December 7, 1941, and a ruthless, unmerciful, bloodthirsty sphere look its place. We were Americans, easy-going, gullible Americans, and we found it difficult to adjust ourselves to this new and so utterly different environment. We talked incessantly about Democracy, The American Way of Life, and The Four Freedoms, but we didn't know what they meant. To us these were just something history books and Armistice Day speakers used descriptive verbs and adjectives to tell about; and they made us feel good. We didn't know why and we didn't care we were Americans! Then came December 7, and suddenly it dawned upon us that Democracy wasn't a birthright, but something we had to sweat and cuss and bleed and die for to preserve. Visibly proud and yet inwardly begrudging, we sent our stalwart men away to pass the supreme test for our ideals. In the days that followed we "harped" plenty about what they were doing and what they could do. Then the shadow of Bataan, Corregidor, Singapore, and the Dutch East Indies closed in upon us. But we weren't afraid. Our boys could take it. Our boys did take it, and we were so busy backing those boys with cheers that we forgot that wars aren't won with flowery speeches. We forgot that technically we were fighting two wars, one on the battlefront and one on the homefront. Sugar, gasoline, meat, and the more scarce commodities were going to be rationed so that there would be enough to go around and so that everyone would have an equal chance at the limited supply. But we couldn't see that side of it. In a breath-taking panic we rushed to the stores and bought and bought and bought and bought until no wonder there is a shortage. We shoved and pushed to clutch anything rumored rationed. The word spread like wild-fire over the country. "Vinegar is going to be rationed, shoelaces, toothpicks," and we bought with renewed vigor. We saw the nicer things of life slowly slipping away from us, and we couldn't take it. The celebrated American Way of Life was "okay" as long as it didn't leave the pulpit. We forgot that we couldn't have our cake and eat it too. Most of us still have a passive attitude toward the war as we yawn, "Black market" and "It's sabotage." In our spare time we criticize the Senators and Representatives or burst the buttons off our vests because we have bought a twenty-five cent war stamp. But just what are we doing that even half-way compares to the things our soldiers are sacrificing. War isn't glamorous, and there isn't a soldier in the world who wouldn't give a dozen Purple Hearts to have his leg, or arm, or eyes back, and there isn't a soldier in the world who wouldn't trade his dirty, grimy, blood-soaked fox hole for a cool, clean bed. They aren't asking us to exchange with them. If we should ask them they would tell us that's what they're out there for, so that we won't have to be witnesses in that whirlpool of Hell. Then, if just for old times sake, why don't we put a little more weight on our end of the scales? page fourteen Corporal Courageous An Article by Bernice Kendall It was nearing eleven o'clock and we were sitting in the Cafe of the Globe in Vera Cruz, a little group of officials and garrison officers who met there daily to pass away the time. "My friends," said Colonel Naredo, "you probably believe there are only the two extremes either a man is a coward, or he is a hero, and that the coward is always a coward and the hero always brave." "So it is," replied the naval officer. "But it is not so," emphasized Naredo. "Courage is a very complex quality, and very difficult to define. There are many kinds of courage, and courage varies according to times and circumstances. I shall relate you a case in point and you may draw your own conclusions. "It was in the year of 1860, and I was serving as Lieutenant in the battalion of national guards in town, our colonel being Don Manuel Gulierrez Zamora. It was the month of March, and the Maccabee, as we called Miramon, was besieging our stronghold, pouring into it a perfect hail of bombs and grenades. "One night when we feared that the enemy was going to make an attempt to storm the works under cover of darkness, I was ordered to select four men to do advance sentry duty. I chose those who appeared best fitted for the task, four handsome young fellows, artisans in peace and soldiers for the nonce. I assigned a post to each one and gave him his instructions. "'You, Corporal Felipe Luna,' I said to one of them, a veritable athlete, 'will take your station in the cemetery.' "The men saluted and all filed off with the exception of Luna. " 'What are you waiting for?' I asked him. " 'Lieutenant,' he responded, 'with your permission, I shall not undertake this service.' "Although I was only a raw national guardsman, I felt thoroughly indignant at this breach of discipline. Nevertheless, not wishing to act hastily, and to give the man a chance to right himself, I said: 'What is that you are saying to me?' " 'That I beg you, Lieutenant, to relieve me from this service.' " 'You will instantly obey the order given you,' I exclaimed angrily. " 'Lieutenant, I humbly and respectfully beg you to excuse me,' insisted Luna. " 'If you' fail to obey, you will be shot.' " 'Let them shoot me then, Lieutenant.' "The whole company witnessed this act of insubordination and disobedience in the face of the enemy. My military prestige, the whole frabric of military discipline, was in jeopardy. Still, I controlled myself sufficiently to say to Luna, 'Why do you refuse to obey?' " 'Because I am afraid, Lieutenant.' " 'What!' I cried in astonishment. 'A big fellow like you, a corporal in the company of grenadiers, dares to confess before his comrades that he is a coward!' " 'Excuse me, Lieutenant, I didn't say I am a coward; I said that I am afraid.' " That is the same thing,' I retorted. " 'Excuse me, Lieutenant, but it is a very different thing. A coward is one who is always afraid and can never control his fear. I am only afraid at nights and of ghosts. Now it is night and you order me to do sentry duty in a cemetery, and I would rather have a bullet put into me than die of terror since the first is the easier death.' "I was about to resort to extreme measures when the sentry cried out: 'Salute the commander, Colonel Zamora.' "The soldiers ran to take their muskets and fell into line. Colonel Zamora appeared, accompanied by his staff, and, greeting us in his usual friendly way, said: 'Good evening, boys. Is there any news?' "I told him that Corporal Luna had just refused to obey orders. " 'Well!' exclaimed Zamora, smiling and shaking his head. 'Let me see. Where is this Corporal Luna?' " 'Present, Colonel,' replied the man, stepping forward. " 'So, so, my son, you are the culprit. Come nearer. Now, what is the matter?' " 'Colonel,' answered Luna, 'the matter is that they have chosen me to do sentry duty at night in a cemetery, and I have respectfully begged to be relieved of this duty because I am afraid of ghosts.' " 'You do well to confess it, my son, and I admire the true bravery you have shown,' was the Colonel's unexpected reply. On hearing these words, we were all staggered. The Colonel noted this and saw that he must explain his meaning. " 'Yes, my boys,' he said, 'courage is needed, great courage, to speak as Luna has just spoken, and we owe him thanks for so doing. Only suppose that he had not been brave enough and loyal enough to confess his fear. He would then have feigned to accept the charge, would have gone outside the fortress, and, instead of making his way to the proper point, would merely have gone a few steps beyond the wall and then hidden himself in some place where he would have been quite safe from discovery. Meanwhile, we, trusting to his vigilance, would have been at the mercy of a surprise. You are excused, my son. If you cannot serve us at night time in a cemetery, you will do good service in some other place and at some other time. Let any one of the company who is willing to volunteer for the service in the cemetery step out of the rank.' "The whole company of grenadiers advanced as one man. " 'You may go, Juan Gonzalez,' said Zamora, who knew every one of the battalion by name; 'you may go, and good luck go with you. The only order I give you is, Don't get tipsy.' " 'I swear to you, Colonel, that I shall not taste even one little drop,' responded Gonzalez as he departed. "To speak plainly, neither I nor anyone else in the company had been convinced by the Colonel's justification of Luna's conduct, and we all guyed the latter unmercifully on his cowardice as he went off. "On the following day my company was detailed to serve in one of the advanced redouts called LaGola. This was one of the days on which the Maccabee (Continued on Page 24) page fifteen