Queens MARILYN JONES . . with consort Cless Pack . . . ruled over Otyokwa-Excelsior Sweetheart Ball. With clear complexion, dark hair, brown eyes, she is the pride of Mr. and Mrs. Ezra B. Jones, 500 Twelfth. A freshman majoring in business, she can lead the booster section in a lusty cheer or harmonize with the Dorianettes. She glamorizes gowns as a model. She is really, really smooth at this stuff. Marilyn likes kittens and is as cute as one herself ... a curvacious five-foot 115 pounder, born at Ogden, August 12, 1932. She enjoys dancing, hiking, swimming and playing the piano. She sews a fine seam, boys, and could be taught the mixmaster. DARLENE POWELL . . favored lady at the Orchid Ball, Friendliest Girl, sovereign of the Snow Carnival, is also student body vice-president. She'll string along with whatever the gang's doing but really lets herself go when astride Old Paint, an admiring cowhand at her side. She is "Butch" to her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Marion Powell, Marriott. Born at Fremont, Neb., May 15, 1931, she is five-feet-two, weighs a tidy 105 pounds. Her eyes are brown, her manner has flash, and her voice in just ordinary business is fast-rolling dynamos. What she must be when really sweet-talking a date. JUNE CLIFTEN . . reigning royalty at Phoenix Snow Ball ... is secretary of the student body, a member of La Dia-naeda, and aspires to be a fizz ed teacher. A sophomore, she is active in music circles and plays a mellow clarinet. She is a front-row booster at the games, and when she has time hangs her hat at 3925 Harrison. Mr. and Mrs. Fred Cliften answer to "Mom" and "Dad," and became her proud parents August 31, 1931. June is five-feet-two, with eyes of blue, and tips the scales at 105 pounds. If you're interested, fellows (and who isn't), she isn't dating steady just now. She is the type fellows marry and never regret. Quit crowding! 2 Queer People By ELVA K. WARDLEIGH With Dale Nelson and Perry Raleigh Not all queer creatures get top billing in crossword puzzles. Some of them are in your midst a part of every day. Being close at hand, you regard them as unphenomenal. It is only when all of their peculiarities are manifest that they become something to stump the experts. We refer, of course, to collegians, teachers and parents. Weber College students, canvassed for their opinions of themselves, gave forth with the following views: Collegians (students to you) are supermen. Your favorite practice is to "leave all work until the end of the quarter and then do it all." You have made the discovery that "Sunday evening is a wonderful time to begin a research theme for Monday." Nothing whets the appetite for learning like the ticking of a clock. Collegians can't agree on what books are for. Some of you think they are to be opened with respect and perused with diligence. Others contend that as muscle-builders they can't be beat. Carry them around long enough and your biceps put to shame those of the physical culturists. A few regard them as a speculative commodity. Along with everything else, the price is bound to go up, and there is always a ready market for the "good chemistry book with the humorous formulas in it." Collegians always want something for nothing. You want the teacher to "make a thinker out of you, but you don't want to think." You "have the chance of a lifetime to become educated, but you don't want an education. All you want is a good grade," so you choose "only those subjects that are absolutely necessary, and then pick the teachers who are the easiest markers." You "want to progress through learning" and yet you "spend all your days plotting ways of avoiding it." Collegiains are gregarious. You come to school to meet the other cute kids. Not a bad idea. You stop to "talk in the halls to everyone you know, and would like to get acquainted with a lot you don't know." You "wouldn't give school up for anything." To you it is a combined three-ring circus and the Mardi Gras, and you're right in the middle of the whole shebang. You collegians never know when you're licked. A would-be Mario Lanza complains that when it comes to "handing out the choice tenor roles, the music department goes outside the college." An aspiring pharmacist bemoans the lack of anything even remotely relative to the pharmacopoeia. But do you two guys order custom-made straight jackets against the day when your fustrations make of you psychopathic show-offs? No. You cling to the hope that one of you will get standing room in the tenor section, and the other will eventually be able to write out the label for grandma's rheumatiz prescription. Collegians are always jumping the gun. Take the draft, for instance. You'll "refuse to be drafted, but you'll join the reserves and get called in." You'll "quit school and rush to enlist because you're afraid enlistments will close." You won't let them "draft you for a twenty-one month hitch, but you'll willingly sign up for from three to six years of duty." You won't be inducted "because you can't choose your branch, but you'll join and get shoved in the infantry or marines." Incredible! "In this day of strife and uncertainty" it's singular that students get any studying done at all. "With one eye on the draft news and the other on the math book; with daily farewells laying their burden on the heart; with the indecision of the present playing havoc with the future," the queerest thing about students is their normality. This is the lowdown you have given us on yourselves. Queer collegians? You bet your life! It would be a queer college without 'em! Students, speaking of their teachers at Weber, expressed the following opinions (exclusively their own): When nominations for campus curiosities are in order, queer collegians think that teachers walk off with top honors. Their whimsicalities make you want to tear your hair. Take tests, for example. "The very night you figure on not having much homework, teachers blissfully announce an hour exam for the next day," you lament, "and they seldom give the exam on the part of the book you've cracked the night before." (Just a case of absent-mindedness.) "They are very cunning," volunteers a chagrined coed. "If they are certain that the majority is unprepared, they will spring a test." Another adds, "They stay awake nights manufacturing super questions with which to stump their students." Where does it take them? Nowhere. "They burn the midnight oil making up tests for students, and then they burn the midnight oil correcting the tests." Sensible, isn't it? And although it's as plain as the nose on your face, some teachers aren't aware that all collegians are grade "A" students. Teachers never see eye to eye with you when it comes to assignments. "They are always urging you to show the old school spirit support the teams, participate in extracurricular activities, get behind the community concert and lecture series," you point out. "But why are we never there? Because we're so snowed under with assignments it takes all our time to dig out. And the forecast is the same each week: intermittent flurries during the fore-part, culminating in a general (Continued on page 15) 3