Arts and Humanities Commons^™

Conception Of Existence, Robert W. Mckeand

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The sudden realization that life is cheap and is used to accomplish an end serves as an awakening force within us and causes us to change our entire conception of man's existence. The world lives in a fantasy of material enjoyment until its delusion explodes in bitter experience.

A Wandering Essay, Robert Lee Howell

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NOTE: All STUDENTS are asked to read this essay as a requisite of English Com- Position 102 b. Thank you! Signed the English Department, Butler University, May 2, 1946.

DEDICATION

DEDICATED TO ALL PEOPLE WHO WOULD LOVE TO VISIT A NICE QUIET REST INSTITUTION

Cognac, Edward J. Flynn

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Flying back from Renner, France, I was holding a new package I had not taken over with me the week before. This package, unlike those I had carried many times before, was anything else but official classified documents, and I was quite pleased with the fact that it was. The Army frowns on special messengers, carrying code and cipher material, who carry anything else but specified items. However, I felt sure there would be little said if I were caught with my new addition to the books and papers I had with me.

Midnight Adventure, William Lieber

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We had drawn a secret mission. This was to be our trial by a jury of German night-fighters, searchlights, and flak-guns.

The briefing room was empty at 7: 00, much to our surprise, we were to be the I only crew sent out that night. The briefing officer gave us all the information necessary for the flight. Take-off time, time in flight, target, target time, and compass heading to and from, bombing elevation, all of this was written down in our pilot's notebook...

Poetry---A Necessary Evil?, George W. Coffin

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After struggling with and against Chaucer the other night I'm inclined to raise my voice in loud and lusty agreement, that the study of poetry is difficult. Confound it, at times it seems nearly impossible! There have been nights when I have battled so with evasive symbolism or grasped vainly at some flowery, ethereal imagery, that I have been tempted to rationalize my way out of the whole situation. "Hell, Doc, you can't let this crazy thing drive you nuts. Besides, it's just not worth it. Poetry isn't of any use to you anyway!" Brother, I know just how you …

Trilogy, Mary Alice Kessler

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The curtain rose with a threatening, quiet swish,

Like the brush of a dove's wing on a whitened face,

And dullard drums were married to the heart

In softly steady beat of skin near skin.

The Lost Children, Allyn Wood

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The children passed Mrs. Sibling's window as she was having supper. The corner lamp had just gone on, and no one had passed on the street for a long while. They straggled across the window, which she faced like a companion across table; one family, she thought, poor and dignified -for Mrs. Sibling, although retired, never would cease to be a social worker-all different sizes, of whom first one and then another took the lead in a pseudopodic motion from the mass, only to draw in uncertainly. They progressed as slowly as the littlest boy who dragged his feet and …

Baguio, Frederic A. Gronau

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Being operations officer in a medical supply depot in the Philippines was one job I thoroughly enjoyed, for it kept me very busy keeping a check on all the depot's operating activities. In order to do this, I had to make frequent visits to all parts of the installation to see first hand how the work was progressing. It was during one of these trips that our civilian chief storekeeper, Manual Picardo, stopped me, pointed to the sky and said, "Baguio."

Speak Of The Devil, Rosemary Browne

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OsKar Castlereagh, a man well past the middle age, sat on a large sofa with his wife, Jeanie. Around them were gathered men from his profession, all musicians, most of them talented and a few hanging on to still cherished illusions. Castlereagh was obviously the prominent figure of the group, according to the number of eyes focused upon him. He sat forward with his elbows propped upon his knees, holding a cigarette between two long slender fingers. A spiral cloud of smoke was drifting up past his face to the ceiling making his eyes squint. His narrowed eyes made one …

London Tower, Charles J. Hornbach

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I could hardly say that I was disillusioned as at last we stood outside and viewed for the first time the famous Tower of London, for I really didn't know exactly what to expect. From stories I had heard I knew that the Tower couldn't be just that-a tower; but what else? The name is misleading.

The Bogy Word Will Get You, Jack Hayes

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(Honorable Mention, Essa.y Division, 1946, Butler Literary Contest)

Writing in the British publication, "Left," Major Lyall Wilkes, M.P., states that political labels mean nothing. Labels have about the same meaning in the United States. Every politican in this country claims he believes in democracy. And every politican does, for everyone in the United States does believe in democracy. And politicans being part of the people must believe in democracy.

Poems, Louise Retherford

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(Honorable Mention, Butler Literary Contest, Poetry Division)

Sweat, David Craig

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(Honorable Mention, Short Story Division, 1946, Butter Literary Contest)

Sweat boiled from under the rim of the soldier's helmet and dropped in his dust reddened eyes. He pulled up his ammunition belt and groped futilely for his handkerchief in a tight-mouthed pocket, gave it up, and wiped his face on the sleeve of his fatigue jacket.

Three Moods From Childhood, Edna Hinton

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(Honorable Mention, Butler Literary Contest, Poetry Division)

The Most Unforgettable Character I'Ve Met, David Craig

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(First Place, Essay Division, 1946, Butler University Literary Contest)

The most unforgettable character I've met was my stepfather. In general stepfathers aren't very popular with their stepchildren, but he was an exception in this respect as he was in so many others.

Poems, Allyn Wood

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(First prize, Butler' Literary Contest, Poetry Division)

The Wilted Petal, Mary Alice Kessler

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(First Place, Short Story Division, 1946, Butler Literary Contest)

Edna lifted the wilted wild rose petal from the dusty, little table and looked at it carefully as if it were some lovely, cherished thing. She turned slightly as she heard the uneven step of her father on the porch, and then she smiled slowly.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 13, Issue 3: Full Issue

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No abstract provided.

Vignettes

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No abstract provided.

A Typical Little Boy, Anne Sellers

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Tumbling from a bright school bus, a tousled-headed boy shoots imaginary bandits as he gallops up the driveway and into the house. He illustrates the typical school boy of eight or nine returning from a day in school.

How Important Are Grades?, Sam Newlund

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There is no accurate, concrete method of measuring academic achievement. It certainly cannot be done by issuing grades at certain intervals throughout the course of our formal education. This practice, it seems to me, has certain limited values, but its importance is greatly overemphasized by students, and even by instructors.

The Attack, William E. Laycock

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A slight salt spray came over the bow and dampened my face. There was; a fresh breeze and I could see whitecaps on the rolling blue sea. It was the Pacific ocean and I was standing on the bridge of the U. S. S. Bashaw, a submarine of the United States Navy.

Ascent Into The Blue, Claris Dake

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No abstract provided.

Compulsory Military Training, Robert Hays

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No abstract provided.

Compulsory Military Training, John L. Walton

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No abstract provided.

Home Again, Laverne Price

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No abstract provided.

Love And Hate, Janet Blatt

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Love and hate are the two most violent, turbulent emotions, known to mankind. Although at first it seems that the two emotions are poles apart, after careful analyzation many outstanding similarities can be found.

The Average American Student, Martha Chevalier

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The average American student is too little concerned with the academic phase of his education. I believe that most American students continue their higher education for one of several reasons: to respect their parent's desire that they go to school; -to continue in that pursuit of hedomism which graduation from high school has temporarily terminated; or in the case of some, to further their knowledge and stimulate their minds.

Birth, John E. Joyce

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In James T. Farrell's memorable novel, A World I Never Made, there is a scene in which Jim O'Neill's wife tells him that she is pregnant. They already have five children and are so poor that they have been forced to ask a relative to raise one of the boys. Jim realizes that this new child will probably know nothing save the misery of poverty and yet he cannot help but feel a certain pride in the fact that he is to be a parent once more. This is typical of fatherhood.