Nonfiction Commons^™

Front Matter

Manuscripts

Front matter includes: front and back covers, table of contents, and masthead.

Alexander Hamilton: Slavery, Politics, And Class Status, Sara Weyenberg

Honors Theses

Though slavery is often connected with the Civil War, it was also a topic of great interest during the Revolutionary period. Many people had strong opinions on the morality of slavery, and they were not afraid to voice them. There are countless writings that, if nothing else, at least touch on the subject briefly. As one might imagine, there were people on both sides of the fence – those who took offense and those who did not. A new country was about to be born, and slavery provided just one of the tensions that was in existence at the time. …

What I Believe, Jim Mitchell

Manuscripts

In the last two or three years, it has been extremely difficult for the peoples of the world to find anything strong, permanent, or lasting enough to withstand the ravages of war. Dreams and cherished hopes have been consumed overnight or in the space of but an hour or two by the ever growing blaze which is threatening to engulf the entire universe. Men have come to believe only in the strength and power of the sword and the maxim that "might makes right." The cries of the idealist that war can be banished from the earth are lost in …

Who, John Rock

Manuscripts

May I present a personage not exactly famous but who is widely known and carefully dealt with. He exerts a magnetic influence upon the life, love, and financial status of millions. Without doubt, fortunes have been made and lost in fickle gambles involving his undependable nature. Banking, insurance, brokerage, and the like are deeply entwined in his fateful web of behavior.

His character is quite electrifying. Many brilliant men have tried or are trying, to forecast his next stroke and to analyze him, that they might better combat him. In the many publications, and in the many stage and screen …

Poem, Ardath Weigler

Manuscripts

I Ivy and jew growing in pink and blue
mugs
Mugs meant for small children
Mugs settled primly on lace doilies
Atop a spinster desk ....

TWO MONTHS LATER
II He was standing there under the neon
sign-tall, hair rough in the wind-
broken outline of glasses and upturn-
ed collar ....
Dull tap of narrow black heels on
the asphalt.
He turned as they walked toward
him, to him, past him.
Her heart did a flat-footed ballet
as she thought, "This is the end, fool."
-tugging, choking, adolescent heav-
iness crushing her breath with its
vacuum.
He thought, "She's …

The Parting, Riley Sullivan

Manuscripts

I could imagine him coming in quietly, scarcely taking the effort to close the door securely. Yet, he might come in hurredly, slam the door, run through the house, throw his coat and books on the dining room table, and be up in our room almost before the echo of the noise had died away. He was moody and changeable; that was why I was leaving; that was what I disliked about him; and that was why I did not know how he would enter the house. In fact, I never knew how he was going to act under any …

Night Life, James Hawekotte

Manuscripts

In innumerable industries there is a night shift. A group of men whose day is the night; who live for weeks at a time and never see the sun. In a way this is a fascinating existance. I know, for I lived it all through the past summer.

Some people are shocked at the idea of sleeping through the day and then arising as everyone else goes to bed. I enjoyed starting to work at eleven o'clock. I had the streets to myself. There was no hurrying crowd, noisy traffic; Indianapolis was all mine; mine and a few others that …

When Tires Retire, Betty L. Snyder

Manuscripts

There has been a great deal of talk about the rubber shortage since the war began. Radio comedians have used it to an advantage; members of business firms are riding bicycles to work, and the old ladies who could never be convinced that the automobile was here to stay, are saying, "I told you so."

August Evening, Keith White

Manuscripts

It is dusk, almost dark: the fire flies are glowing intermittently as they flit over the wheat stubble; the sun has receded over the horizon leaving only a dull glow of color in the west; in the east the harvest moon is peeping through the blasted tops of beach trees. The mists are rising down in the river bottom and ease like ghostly ships up the creek bed while over to the south choir practice begins. The sonorous bass of the bullfrogs, the vibrant tenor of cicadas; the squawk of water fowl as they rifle, single file up the creek; …

Alone In The Fog, Tom Wagle

Manuscripts

I drove on forward into the fog - the gray, swirling, all enveloping fog. The peeping street lights appeared uncertain and dim on my either side as they feebly lit the hazy mist with an eerie, sleepy light. Often fingers of fog would reach out and suddenly snap about them, dimming them, shutting out yet more light. Queer, crazy, racing shadows leaped from nowhere in the all covering fog about me. An opening would yawn wide and inviting before me, my car lights would stab into it, I would follow. Slowly I drove on. Yet the fog, the fog - …

It Could Be, Geraldine Staley

Manuscripts

Well, sir, you're here again. I ain't agoin' to tell you anymore; instead, I figured you'd like to see some of the things she did later, written in her own hand. This is a journal that she started in college about a year after the war began. I've taken some pages out that I thought you might be interested in. The first I gave you, was made the night after Johnny, the boy she later married, went back to the Navy after a furlough.

Lines From The Night, Josephine Rosenfeld

Manuscripts

The vanity
of the trees leaning over the rivers
adjusting and readjusting their coiffures.

The solemnity
of the brook gliding by
laughing as the rocks tickle it.

The processional
of the moon
bringing in its trail the princesses
of the sky-the stars.

The strains
of music ascending to the heavens
carrying the heart and souls of the listeners.

An Open Letter, Frances Shemelson

Manuscripts

Dear Frank:-
You always were a tall girl in comparison with others your age. I remember you when you were eight-rather skinny, extremely long-legged, and long brown curls, not the warm vibrant brown of an autumn leaf, but a plain ordinary brown which was very common. And you haven't changed a bit, except to shoot up to five feet nine inches, and you've lost your long curls. You are still comparatively tall, still have those long legs, and that ordinary brown hair. And your eyes - they still look as if you had rubbed them too far into your face. …

On Entering Prize Contests, Ed Mcnamara

Manuscripts

"Now girls, here is all that you have to do to enter this exciting contest. Simply scrape out the inside of a five pound can of Pete's Peanutbutter and mail it together with a short essay of not more than five hundred words telling us 'Why I like Pete's Peanutbutter' to radio station E. A. T. Remember girls, this thrilling contest closes when the company has sold a certain amount of back stock. Act now girls, this may mean a down payment on a fur coat."

Two Pilots Of The Silver Wing, Robert L. Harris

Manuscripts

"She's ridin' high, okay."
"Yeah! Look down there!"
"What is it?"
"Can't make out?"
"Looks like a city 'bout a mile away.
Let's pull her 'round a bit!"
"Okay!"
"Down closer.
Not so steep!
Too steep!"
"There, pull her up a bit.
That's it."
"Yep, she's a city, big one too I'd guess."
"Looks kind'a dark.
So dark and dreary."
"Naw, just a fog.
Lift her up a bit."

Days' Ends, Rachel Whelan

Manuscripts

With shadow fingers of yellow and rose, Dusk slowly touches the marshland changing mucky water to molten gold, and dull green reeds to crimson spears. The golden wavelets dance and whisper to each other while the reeds bend and sway to overhear their secrets. Dusk holds her breath. Upon the mirror surface poises a dragonfly with silken wings motionless, an elfin airliner. With a final flap of wings the march bird glides to her well-concealed nest. A green striped snake slips silently and ominously through sand and seaweed disappearing into the silent ripples. Finally all is still as a moment …

Utopian Ideas And Everyman, Elizabeth Clark

Manuscripts

This isn't my house, nor his house; no, it isn't your house either. It belongs to us. When I live in it, it's mine; and when I move away it's his and then yours. By rights, it is Everyman's. The fields in back of the house that I have planned so carefully, and the young green things shooting up in them are not mine. I did the work, yes, it was my turn to do it. But that doesn't make the fields nor the crop mine. It too is Everyman's. Next month when I leave this house and the fields …

Broadening Your Education, Dean E. Wildman

Manuscripts

American minds have been coddled in school and college for at least a generation. There are two kinds of mental coddling. The first belongs to the public schools and is one of the defects of our educational system that we abuse privately and largely keep out of print. It is democratic coddling. I mean, of course, the failure to hold up standards, the willingness to let youth wobble upward, knowing little, and that inaccurately, passing nothing well, graduating with an education that hits and misses like an old typewriter with a torn ribbon. America is full of "sloppy" thinking, of …

The Old Market Woman, Jean Bowden

Manuscripts

A conservative air envelopes the old market woman. Her small oval face, deeply lined with wrinkles, is strikingly set off by the brilliant sparkle of her dark eyes. Her slightly rounded nose protrudes just enough to lend a small particle of curiousity to her determined facial expression. Her sunken cheeks add some noticeable shadows to her rough skin. Three deep wrinkles encircle her neck as an adornment of age. A thin horizontal crevice forms her firm mouth, which only supports her reserved personality. She is sitting quietly; perhaps, she is waiting for a passer-by to purchase the last of her …

Question On A Bus, Jack T. Kilgore

Manuscripts

"May I - ," George cleared his throat. "I wonder if I could take Jean to the show with me tonight." His words were engulfed by the silence that spread over the table. "(Why doesn't somebody say something'? They can't say no, they just can't. What are they waiting for?) I wouldn't be in late and there is no school tomorrow."

The mother looked up and smiled, and looked to the father for the first word. He said, "Jean who?"

"Jean Newcomb. She is in my English class. (And she smiles when she looks at me, and when she smiles …