This is the last of this short series on limericks that Lloyd Douglas published anonymously in the Michigan Daily in the Fall of 1919. An upperclassman gives advice to freshmen. There are two limericks today: “Concerning Raiment,” and “Concerning Discipline.”
CONCERNING RAIMENT
The Newcomer Says:
Last week Bill Jones spent 60 bones On personal adornment: Bill rooms with me, so you can see How that would cause forlornment.
For I must save what chink I have To spend on food and shelter; While Bill can throw his father’s dough Around quite helter-skelter.
Sometimes I feel I’d rather steal Than wear this store-bought clothing; I look a fright – the very sight Fills me with utter loathing.
Today Bill said, ‘What’s in your head? Why mind a little lying? My Dad I wired ‘More books required,’ And he came through a-flying.
‘Your folks will do the same for you, Just pad your memorandum. A little more won’t make ‘em sore, When your account you hand ‘em.’
However much I hate to lie And know it is unlawful, My trousers feel like bags of meal, Too wide, too long, too awful!
The Old Timer Replies:
Queer circumstance! A pair o’ pants Costs this Newcomer’s reason; I didn’t know that wool would go As high as that this season.
Concoct your lie and get it by! The breeches! Go, and win ‘em! You’ll look so cute in your new suit – And feel so happy in ‘em!
CONCERNING DISCIPLINE
The Newcomer Says:
Last night at nine some friends of mine, Whom I have met quite lately, Strolled in to call from ‘cross the hall. I greeted them sedately.
They seemed inclined to let me find A theme for conversation, So I told all I could recall Of High School recreation –
The medal that I captured at Our contest in athletics; The prize I won when we put on The amateur dramatics –
I told them, too, what I’ve told you Of her whose heart I’ve broken. Said they, ‘Too bad – ‘tis very sad; Such words should ne’er be spoken.’
I hope that they come back some day, Their visit was delightful; Though I could see they envied me They were not one bit spiteful.
The Old Timer Replies:
My friend, this means you’ve spilled the beans: I shudder at your story. No doubt these men will come again, But when they do, be sorry.
Hereafter when some genial men Drop in for conversation Be careful lest you prove a pest Inviting castigation.
Last year a lad – he was not bad, Just talkative and flighty – Addressed a loud and merry crowd On State Street in his nightie.
I am continuing this short series of limericks that Lloyd Douglas published anonymously in the Michigan Daily during the Fall of 1919. They are aimed at freshmen at the University of Michigan, giving them advice on campus life. An upperclassman, called “The Old-Timer” advises the “Newcomer.” Today’s subject comes in two parts. It’s called “Concerning Romance.”
Concerning Romance (a)
The Newcomer Says:
‘Most every day I sneak away Where not a soul can find me; And there I write with all my might, To the girl I left behind me.
She is a dear (would she were here!) But she’ll not go to college; In Junior High, she heaved a sigh, And gave up seeking knowledge.
But I’ll say she looks good to me, Whate’er her lack of learning; I twang the lyre, for half a quire, Some days when I am yearning.
If you were I, would you not buy A ring for this fair Treasure? I think I can (installment plan) ‘Twould bring us both much pleasure.
The Old Time Replies:
Unless I miss my guess in this, You now have in the making, A sad, sweet lay to chant some day, When your two hearts are breaking.
Five years from now I wonder how You’ll like her conversation; When you have been crammed to the chin With higher education.
Oh yes, my friend, I comprehend – ‘Absence – the heart grow fonder’ – But later, when you meet again, You will have passed beyond her.
Far better wait and contemplate This course before you take it: Why win her heart while you’re apart; Then feel obliged to break it?
Concerning Romance (b)
The Newcomer Says:
Perhaps you are right, Old Wisdom Light – I see your point quite clearly: I might be led to some co-ed Whom I could love as dearly.
In fact, today, there crossed my way A most entrancing vision; I would have smiled, had that sweet child Not marched with such precision.
She seemed so wise, would you advise That I should try to meet her? For instance, when we pass again, Should I attempt to greet her?
Or should I wait some turn of Fate To furnish introduction? Or boldly trace her rooming place; Please – what is your deduction?
The Old Timer Replies:
Pathology – page sixty-three – Explains your case verbatim: At eighteen years, a germ appears – (No doctor can get at ‘em).
And, for a time, youth takes to rhyme – Exuding sticky sonnets Inspired by girls with radiant curls Projecting from their bonnets.
This curious germ works for a term, Producing pain and sorrow; In love with May or Maude today – In love with Madge tomorrow.
You’re stricken, now, with Abstract Love – And while the bug is touring, You’ll see a face, ‘most any place Resistlessly alluring.
From the Michigan Daily (the student paper of the University of Michigan) sometime in October 1919.
This is Part 2 in a short series of posts about some anonymous limericks Lloyd Douglas wrote for the Michigan Daily, the student paper at the University of Michigan, in the fall of 1919. These were meant as advice to incoming freshmen. “The Newcomer” tells about himself and an “Old Timer” (an upperclassman) offers advice. This one was printed sometime in October 1919 and it was titled, “Concerning Etiquette”:
The Newcomer Says:
I love this free Democracy Where all of us are brothers; But where I eat on Duroc Street They also board some others.
My Uncle! You should see this crew – Their arms up on the table – Our food supplies they vocalize As loudly as they’re able.
And when the feat is quite complete And they have mopped the platter, They find a stick and gouge and pick Where anything’s the matter.
Now I was taught that men of thought Are persons of good breeding; Please tell me why this rule’s awry When college men are feeding.
The Old Timer Replies:
My cultured friend, you need not mend The maxim you have quoted; Most men of thought, as you were taught, Are for good manners noted.
But don’t you know someday you’ll go From out these halls of knowledge? All sorts you’ll meet – and with them eat (For all you’re trained in college).
We could not bear to send you there Unused to sights revolting; So, for your good, you take your food Where some are skilled at bolting.
And afterwhile you’ll sometimes smile To see their feats courageous; Be careful, though; we’d have you know The habit is contagious.
[I will continue sharing these limericks over the next two posts.]
From the Michigan Daily (the student paper of the University of Michigan) sometime in October 1919.
For the past few months, I have been sharing Douglas’s preaching and published articles during the 1919-1920 school year. He also wrote anonymous limericks in the Michigan Daily, the student paper at the University of Michigan. These were all meant as advice to incoming freshmen. “The Newcomer” tells about himself and an “Old Timer” (an upperclassman) offers advice. The first of these limericks was printed sometime in October 1919 and it was titled, “Concerning Confusion”:
The Newcomer Says:
I like the looks of my new books; They cost me three weeks’ wages; Therefore I fain would ascertain What’s written on their pages.
But every day, where I now stay, The racket is increasing – A dreadful din, a mandolin – And chatter without ceasing.
Oh how, indeed, is one to read In such wild agitation? I’ve lost my poise in all this noise: Please deal with this vexation.
The Old Timer Replies:
You’ve told the truth, oh wretched youth; The tumult here is awful! We also used to feel abused, Declaring it unlawful.
But every year, this earthly sphere Grows noisier than ever: Our peace of mind we’ve left behind, To be recaptured never.
‘Twould be unkind to train your mind To think in peace and quiet, Then shout someday, ‘Get in the fray You cloistered monk – and try it!’
So: to have noise, we’ve hired some boys To furnish great confusion; They think that they are here to stay But this is mere delusion.
If you can toil in this turmoil, And practice concentration, You will agree someday with me That it was your salvation.
Editor’s Note: The above verses with some others which will appear in later issues of The Daily were written by a prominent man of Ann Arbor who is very much interested in student affairs but who, in his own words, wants his ‘anonymity carefully preserved.’ They were written for the purpose of printing them in a booklet for the freshmen. As the latter plan did not materialize, he has given them to The Daily for publication.
I will share the rest of his limericks over the next few posts.
Editor’s Note at the bottom of Douglas’s anonymous limerick, “On Confusion.”
The following is from “A Suggested Valedictory for Class Day at AnyCollege,” by Lloyd C. Douglas, in the June 1920 issue of The Intercollegian (the monthly magazine of the YMCA). Douglas had already done something similar a year earlier under the title, “A Truthful Commencement Address,” given by the college president. This time he’s pretending to be a member of the graduating class:
“Honorable Board of Directors, Members of the Faculty, Distinguished Guests, Alumni, Fond Parents, Fellow Students, Dear Classmates, Ladies and Gentlemen, and — have I forgotten anybody, I wonder?
“We are about through. One more long, trying session in these flowing robes — appropriately so-called because of their perspiration-exciting capacities — and we shall float out of them upon the sea of life.
“It is a well-known fact among us that only a few skippers of our gladsome fleet are aware of their next port of call. Most of us are concerned with the business immediately at hand — that of standing on the bridge, waving our handkerchiefs to the crowd on the wharf.
“Personally, I have an uneasy misgiving about my cargo. For some years, the stevedores have been dumping it into my hold, and I have stood by, checking the items: two B’s of this, three A’s of that, and ten C’s of something else, with an occasional D or two of something else — but making no effort to store the stuff in a manner that may permit of its being unloaded. Indeed, as I have looked into the hold now and again, of late, I have been quite worried over the problem. I find that I have been considering certain consignments as mere dunnage which really are of great value. There are huge bales of priceless wares chucked down in the bilge, probably water-soaked and half rotten by this time, that I could market for a fine price if only I had known earlier how important it was to preserve them.
“Moreover, I have my cabin piled high with boxes and cartons of merchandise which, a little while ago, seemed tremendously valuable, but now appear to be useless.
“I recall with a shudder how I laughed on the day that the big bale labeled ‘Political Economy’ broke loose from the grappling hooks and fell through to the very keel of me and smashed; and I said, ‘Oh, well; it amounts to little anyway! Let it lie!’ That same day, I was toting up to my stateroom packages of stuff which were so precious I wouldn’t let anyone else touch them — all about the movie stars, the latest crinkle in jazz, the last sartorial yip from the haberdashery.
“I would give much today if I might escape this Turkish bath for a few hours to dig about in my hold and lay hands upon some of the discarded and water-logged possessions of mine and fish them out.
“But that seems impossible. The engines are chug-chugging, and the band is um-pah-ing, and our admiring friends are bidding us ‘Bon voyage!’ We must be true to form and see the event through, according to the best traditions. Forgive us for wearing serious faces. We cannot help being reflective. Every mother’s son of us knows that he is embarking with a badly-distributed ballast.
“As for myself, I am aware that there isn’t a scrap of machinery in me capable of hoisting a single bale of my cargo up out of the hold. I hooted at the Literary Society and called the Oratorical Association funny names. I never learned how to speak in public and am considerably at a disadvantage when it comes to expressing myself clearly in private. I do not know how to write, convincingly or any other way. It is difficult for me to compose a readable letter of fifteen lines. In other words, I am full of knowledge up to my quarter deck, and I have no equipment for disgorging it.
“O ye who follow us — a word with you! Be careful how you store your cargo. Don’t emulate our folly who have debated, hours, on the respective merits of Gish and Pickford; who wrote long editorials admonishing the local play-houses against showing such an excessive amount of advertisements on the screen to the loss of our time who had come rather to see Deadeye Pete and Mexico Jake save the life of the Queen of Bronco Bill’s Dive; who had no time for concerts, lectures, art exhibits, or the paleontological museum — half ashamed, indeed, to be caught with an interest in such things — I say, don’t try to perpetuate our foolishness!
“Store your cargo so that you can get at it again. Be sure that you rig some windlasses and donkey-engines on your decks, to be used at various ports! And Heaven help you if you toss down into the bilge-water merchandise of great value. I know some of you. Already well on toward committing the same blunder that today causes us unrest. Nobody could persuade you to appear in a collar one-quarter inch too high — and you pooh-pooh the idea of trying to find out what ails Russia!
“Farewell! We are off! In many respects, we have been off all along. Farewell! Just toss that rear hawser in, will you? That’s a good fellow! Thanks!”
The following is an essay by Lloyd C. Douglas in the May 1920 issue of The Intercollegian (the YMCA magazine). It was entitled, “Vacation,” and it was Douglas’s advice to students on how to spend their summer months.
“WANTED — Student willing to earn $75 per week during summer vacation. Inquire Mr. Al. Luminum, Room 13, Coldstream Memorial Dormitory.
“WANTED — Thoroughly reliable students (upperclassmen preferred) for vacation employment. Easy work. Salary guaranteed. Three hundred dollars per month and railroads. Lykelle, Box 23, Local.
“Again, the man with the encyclopedia, and the man with the brushes, and the man with the book on ‘30,000 Thoughts for the Thriftless,’ have taken up temporary quarters in the Slocum Hotel, or in the dorm, and have sent out beguiling invitations for eager, peppy, and ambitious young collegians to call and assure themselves that next September will find them with money in all seventeen pockets. (Note: the antecedent of the last them is at the Slocum House. [In other words, it’s the salesman who’s going to end up with all the money, not the hapless students he talks into working for him.]
“Before signing anything, o youthful friend o’ mine, hie thee to the office of Brother Jones, ’04, who dispenses justice in his second-floor front across the way [the Dean of Students, in other words], and ask him to read your contract and tell you where the little joker is. It will be so much funnier if he points it out to you in May, than if you should discover it for yourself in September. Jones will do this for you free of charge. He still recalls how he went out one summer to sell, in four bindings, The Royal Pathway to Success, on a salary of $40 weekly, and how he owed the company $5.68 on the first day of October.
“Of course, you will want to do something profitable during your summer vacation. Even if you are not required to earn money, you will be greatly benefited by the experience of doing something useful. No matter how wealthy you are — even if you are the son of a plumber — go out and exchange a little perspiration for a few dollars.
“But — before you go, arrange to spend ten days, immediately at the close of the last semester, at the nearest Student Conference.
“The men who laid out these various conference grounds and planned the programs which are rendered there each year were students who knew the state of mind in which the average college man finds himself at the close of an academic year. The sites of these camps are notable for their natural beauty. An air of peace and tranquility pervades these places. They afford excellent opportunities for the man who really wants to think a few things through.
“Especially if you are to have any part in the leadership of your fellows in college next fall, you should spend this little group of days in association with the picked men of all the other educational institutions of your zone; get acquainted with them; play baseball and tennis with them; swim with them; take afternoon hikes with them into the mountains and along the lakeshore; sit with them, mornings and evenings, in an auditorium, to hear inspirational addresses by internationally-known student leaders. This is a part of your education. You cannot afford to miss it.
“The cost, in money, is insignificant. The benefits are incalculable. Forty years from now, it may not make very much difference whether you started out to sell pots and pans on June sixth or June sixteenth. But it will surely make a tremendous difference whether or not you exposed yourself to a ten-day period of inspiration!
“Some of you have been appointed to positions on Association cabinets for next year. You almost owe it to your job to learn, at the feet of men who understand the peculiar problems of student life, something of the possibilities of that job. Indeed, you cannot hope to put your best into your particular department next fall unless you shall have had this experience.
“Inquire for the detailed information about this Student Conference now, while the matter is fresh in your mind! Be a booster for a large delegation from your college! Perhaps the most valuable piece of work you will ever do in your whole life can be accomplished through your urging some strong comrade of yours to accompany you to the conference.”
This photograph was included at the bottom of the article, bearing the caption, “The Northwest Conference, 1919.”
The following is “An Open Letter to the President-Elect of the Students’ Christian Association,” by Lloyd C. Douglas, in the April 1920 issue of The Intercollegian, the monthly magazine of the YMCA.
“My Friend:
“It is no small matter that you have been chosen as the official head of your Student Association for the coming year.
“Your election implies that you possess natural gifts as an executive; that you are known to be loyal to the best traditions of your school; that you have won popularity without compromise, and are considered fit to serve as an example for your fellows.
“Who accepts election to any office involving a trust — especially if that trust invests in him the moral leadership of the group exercising the right of suffrage — may expect to experience a purely natural sensation of pride over the honor; for unless he considers it an honor, they blundered who elected him to it.
“If that honor has been worthily bestowed, however, the feeling of pride is rapidly supplanted by a consciousness of responsibility. If entirely honest with yourself, you will contemplate your new trust with humility.
“Perhaps it is not going too far to say that from now until you leave your college as an alumnus your words will carry deeper significance, and your conduct invite closer scrutiny, than the words or deeds of any of your comrades.
“It may not serve you ill to inquire somewhat concerning your predecessors in this unique position. Certain faculty men will be glad to tell you about Robinson, ’07, who vitalized his student generation and made clean sportsmanship a matter of college pride; and of Slocum, ’12, who gave popularity and perpetuity to the honor system in examinations; and of Bannister, ’17, who gave new beauty to patriotism on the campus before he marched away — Bannister, whose strong young face has been done in bronze on the college gate.
“Neither will it do you hurt — though this promises to be depressing — to hear how Watkins, ’09, saw in his promotion to this trust only another office to add to the long string of favors thrust upon him by friends who were said to have been organized and unduly influenced in his behalf. You will be told how Watkins, having received the congratulations of the student public, wore his new badge of preferment self-consciously for a month, then resigned, pleading pressure of other work.
“They will also tell you about Cummings, ’18, who claimed he didn’t know what he was getting into, and begged off in October, just as the most important duties of his office were accumulating.
“When the new president-elect of the Student Association in 1936 asks Old Dean Williams to tell him something about the men who preceded him as moral leaders of your college, what will be said about you?
“Will you be cited as a kinetic energy that energized the whole student body for the period of his administration, or as a sorry misfit who soon wearied of his trust?
“Perhaps it will be well for you, just now, to burn a few of the bridges which may tempt retreat in an hour of physical exhaustion or discouragement. Call your new cabinet about you; open your heart to these men, while the fresh inspiration of your trust is aflame; confide to them your hopes that the coming year, under your and their leadership, may lift your student generation up on higher ground.
“They will not take it amiss if you ask them to kneel with you and ask for that peculiar power which is otherwise inaccessible. It would be a fine way to begin your administration. It is not difficult to see you thus laying the cornerstone of a presidency that shall bring honor to you and uncounted gains to your college.
“Why do Association cabinets sometimes grow listless and disinterested? It is presumed that the personnel was carefully chosen. Somebody must have thought these men were capable. There must have been an hour when they themselves expressed some interest and enthusiasm, else they would not have accepted the commission. Just where and when and how did they lose their zeal?
“More often than otherwise, the president, if entirely honest, could explain this condition on the same grounds as he accounts for his own misgivings over his failure. To his mind, the office never had been anything but a job that added another line of type to his complicated letterhead.
“May one add, who has had a chance to observe at close range some of these triumphs and defeats of college leaders, that the first few days of your experience in your new office will not only determine your administrative success, but will be highly prophetic of your future career.
“You have it all to say, in this little group of days, whether you are to be remembered as the man who dignified his office and left his personality ineffaceably stamped upon his alma mater, giving her cause to revere him, or as the man who humiliated his office and then ‘chucked it.'”
I’ve been doing a series on the essays Lloyd Douglas published in The Intercollegian (the monthly magazine of the YMCA) from January 1919 through June 1920. If you’ve been reading these articles, you may have noticed that Douglas was quite upset with some of the things going on in the nation’s universities following the First World War. When Douglas was against a thing, his sarcasm often took over, and he could become quite pessimistic.
In today’s essay, from the March 1920 issue, Douglas tells about a student who wrote to him and challenged him to change his attitude. Douglas’s response was called “Streaks of Sunshine.” He accepted the challenge and tried to find things to rejoice about. (It’s amusing that one of the things he found was evidence that jazz was on the way out. Douglas, who loved classical music, had a life-long aversion to jazz, and he seized upon this news. Fortunately for the rest of us, that prophecy was not fulfilled.) Here is that essay:
“The other day an undergraduate in a midwestern college who had read in this magazine a few pessimistic remarks of mine relative to some depressing observations of present-day student life wrote and told me so.
“He was highly indignant, and his pen fairly spluttered his disapproval of me and my sour reflections.
“I was glad that he didn’t agree with me. If I were sure there were fifty men just like him in every college, ready to quarrel with me on that point, I should throw up my hat and yell, Hoo-ray!
“Or forty — or thirty — or twenty! I would hoo-ray if there were only ten! Ten optimists could have saved Sodom. And Sodom was a bad outfit. (See the Bible for particulars.)
“I told this young fellow that I would take a few doses of calomel and try to think of some good reasons for being cheerful. Pursuant to this promise, I hereby beg leave to report.
“You can’t get a seat at the Cort Theatre in New York to see John Drinkwater’s ‘Lincoln’ unless you apply a month in advance, with a special pull and a stuffed club.
“The obese producers of our theatrical entertainment (much of whose fatty tissue has accumulated above the collar) are slightly bewildered. They always thought they knew exactly what the American people wished to see. They have produced salacious drivel and sensational flapdoodle for the stage, under the impression that a play couldn’t succeed unless it was slightly off-color. Now they are discovering, with something of a shock, that the Americans have brains. Thousands are clamoring for a chance to see a drama woven about the history of a great American leader. It is a streak of sunshine on our way! Cheer up!
“Reports, properly authenticated, certify that jazz is on the wane; that people are getting tired of the abominable racket of it, the drooling idiocy of it, the execrably bad taste of it — and that a revival of decent music impends. It may be some time before all the back counties hear that the Great Jazz is dead; but whoever contemplates taking up trap-drumming as a life-work had better consult the oracles before he invests too heavily in a supply of cowbells, tin pans, and sandpaper, wherewith to gladden the hearts of his countrymen. For his countrymen are weary, to the point of tears, over such nasty noises. This is a streak of sunshine! And again I say: Rejoice!
“One hundred and forty of the branches of the Christian Church in America have become party to a plan which proposes to demonstrate that they are all able to work together for the common good, forgetful of the old divisive controversies.
“Plenty of people who have spent their lives chattering about the reprehensible ructions among the denominations will now have nothing to talk about. Some of them will again have to be taught to speak, just as many a typhoid patient is obliged to learn how to walk. This will be a great pity. Otherwise, it is all very happy. It is a streak of sunshine! Dawn of a new day!
“A tidal wave of evangelism sweeps the country, invading many quarters previously stolid and indifferent. The colleges are feeling the impact of this new idea. You know what a ‘hormone’ is, don’t you? Well, this new idea is in the nature of a hormone. (Business of looking it [up] in the dictionary. I doubt if you find it. It’s a new word. So is this a new idea. You can’t pour a new idea into an old word, lest the word break, and the idea be spilled.) More students are asking questions about enlistment for life service than ever before in the history of American colleges. More sunshine!
“Here’s to the student who gets sore when some old fossil says we’re going to the bow-wows. Let him line up the other nine in his school who feel as he does about it — and see what happens! Another streak of sunshine! I expect to see daybreak before long!”
The front page of the February 1920 issue of The Intercollegian (the magazine of the YMCA).
It was early 1920, a little more than a year after the end of the First World War. Although the war was over, peace was illusive. Lloyd Douglas, watching global developments from Ann Arbor, Michigan, was concerned about the future. His essay, “Under the Juniper Tree,” published in The Intercollegian’s February 1920 issue, was prompted by a youth convention of some sort, probably involving the YMCA. I have been unable to get information about that conference, but here is Douglas’s response. The biblical reference is to the story of Elijah under the juniper tree in I Kings 19.
“An old statesman sat, fagged and gloomy, under a juniper tree. The place was a wilderness. The hour was twilight. The man was a fugitive.
“He had tried, unsuccessfully, to make something of a nation that was rotting. Too much war, too much social injustice, too much idle riches at the top and sour poverty at the bottom. All of these conditions had ‘done her in.’ Everybody was restless; the air was charged with revolution; two percent were profiteering on ninety-eight percent, and ninety-eight percent were rolling up their tattered sleeves to settle with the two percent. A mess it was — by all the rules of reckoning!
“The old statesman had given up the sacrificial struggle and wanted nothing else than to die. He tumbled into a forlorn heap under a juniper tree. Thus, the juniper tree became, forever and ever, a symbol of wretchedness. Even the berries thereof have been put under the ban.
“A Voice spoke to the despairing statesman. By no means was his cause lost. There were seven thousand still loyal to the best interests of the endangered kingdom. These seven thousand constituted the key to the desperate situation. Let them be lined up for service and the nation’s mistakes could be rectified.
“All of this happened in 920 B.C.
“At the opening of 1920 A.D., seating accommodations under the juniper tree were entirely inadequate to take care of the prophets who feared we were destined to perish of our quick and easy riches. Materialism rampant; indifference the vogue; selfishness at the crescent; almost everybody with his hand in the bag, up to the shoulder.
“Seven thousand potential leaders of the nation’s future affairs forego their holidays, at no little cost to themselves, to meet in a great convention and pledge their lives to lift, help, heal, serve, redeem!
“Moreover — these seven thousand were but picked representatives of seven times seven thousand who feel precisely as they feel about the responsibilities now facing the trained leadership of the republic.
“Let the juniper tree be cut down for a celebration bonfire! We are not so badly off as we thought! This country simply cannot make enough mistakes to abrogate the influence of these indomitable young dynamos!
“When the census taker inquires about your occupation, tell him you are a wood-cutter — specializing in juniper trees!
From the January 1920 issue of The Intercollegian.
This is from an essay entitled, “Ulcers and Cancers,” that Lloyd Douglas published in the January 1920 issue of The Intercollegian.
“It is rumored that there is an epidemic of gambling in the colleges and universities of this country.
“Physicians say that it is quite difficult, in many cases, to distinguish a cancer from an ulcer. The ulcer is mostly ‘benign’ and responds to treatment; the cancer is generally ‘malignant’ and usually defies remedial processes. There is a period when the ulcer becomes a cancer. If the affection is internal, correct diagnosis is almost impossible. The physician regards every ulcer as a potential cancer. If he observes one on your nose, he may operate in time; if you get one in your stomach, by the time the doctor discovers it is an ulcer, it may be a cancer.
“It is only a short trip from ‘penny ante’ and ‘pitching choppers at a crack’ to ‘strip poker’ and the ‘bucket shop.’
“Just when the disease ceases to be ‘benign’ and becomes ‘malignant’ is difficult to determine.
“But here is a quiet tip on one safe bet: the student who learns to gamble — no matter how small the stakes — is engaged in the manufacture of a habit that will stick to him like burrs in the fleece of a Southdown ram.
“Once firmly fix this habit, and you may say farewell to your ambitions. So soon as the ulcer becomes a cancer, you are doomed. There will be no gamble on that. Betting on such a proposition is not sportsmanship. The only uncertainty in the case is to determine whether your sore spot is still an ulcer or has become cancerous. And this is very hard to determine in the case of gambling, because it is a more or less secret condition which enjoins locked doors, drawn blinds, and hushed voices.
“Friendship is good for some very severe tests, but it suffers greatly around the gaming table. The nerve which connects the affection and the pocketbook is extremely sensitive. The winner is conscious of taking something for which he has given no value; he automatically assumes a defensive attitude, knowing himself to be in his friend’s debt to the amount of the stakes. This is not very good for their friendship.
“If a man is unusually successful, his companions are apt to distrust his methods. They whisper that he cheats.
“If a man is a ‘poor loser,’ his friends grow to despise him; but, to be a ‘good loser’ he must school himself to a calm indifference toward the depletion of his own resources. In the case of a student, his ‘resources’ are mostly achieved through somebody else’s perspiration and have been entrusted to him for quite another purpose than the hazards of the game. Somewhat bluntly stated, he is misappropriating funds. Just when this ceases to be a ‘mere youthful misdemeanor’ and becomes ’embezzlement’ is a very fine point. But the student who gambles with money furnished by parents who are under the impression that he is using it to defray legitimate college expenses should not be sensitive about the word ’embezzlement.’ It is an admittedly ugly word, however.
“No secret is made of the fact that employers are inclined to be suspicious of the man who bets — on anything. It makes them nervous when they see him handling their property, for they know that he has developed a propensity to risk. They are afraid of riskers. If they want to do any risking, they greatly prefer to attend to that themselves. They assume that a man who is willing to hazard his own money on the turn of a card or the cast of dice may not be prudential and conservative in the care of funds or property belonging to another.
“They dislike to see a gambler handling their money. They audit his books frequently when he is out of the office; and, at the first opportunity, they can him and put a safe man in his place.
“Maybe these words will happen to catch the eye of some student who has been experimenting with this vice. If so — you had better attend to your little ulcer before it becomes cancerous. And the more difficulty you experience in getting rid of it, the more sure it will be that you didn’t begin treating it a moment too soon.”
The Lloyd C Douglas Page 