Editor's note -- n case you don't know .... 'stumble bum: a fighter who has fought
his last fight and is a bit punch drunk." Sis sounded the gong, and "The Stumble Bum"
like the old war horse he is, staggers into the ring for another round.
And all the bretheren praised her ankles wherefore she became an intellectual...."
A Gentle Answer
By the Stumble Bum
Colossal is the ego of even the smallest woman. Excellent phrases are the arms of all students, yet why should any one write an entire article on the strength of one phrase?
Women as a whole and Chicago women as an instance are devoid of practically all things making for any standards of conduct. They can be grouped collectively as a vast number of small Japanese lacquer vases, the exquisite useless ones, very lovely to behold, very smooth and delightful to caress and watch, and, totally useless.
For a woman to attempt the pose of superiority to the masculine element of the campus is so absurd as to be pitiful. "Man is for woman, a means..." so said Nietzsche and the cheery old beggar was quite a bit of all right. A means of food and shows and all the expensive little things that the mechanized morans feel are their proper right.
Faithfulness is not an attribute of the fair sex, (just fair) there is more loyalty, more courageous, gentle constancy of motive in the left paw of a bedraggled, two-timing alley cat than in the cleverest of women. No woman is intelligent. Animal cunning, yes, all women possess that to a certain degree. Virtue it must be, there must be some virtue in all things and although women persist in devoting this virtue of cunning to small things such as luncheon dates and bus rides it is, in its isolated position a noble thing.
Many may not be happy because of woman. A contented man, a happy man is a challenge to a woman's ego. No sooner does a man forget those things better forgotten, no sooner does he find contentment in pipes and books and long undulating reaches of bitter blue water than a woman must force her ultratalkative presence into his quietude.
A home is a desirable thing. The heartfire, the grey cat, the slippers and a lawn to mow on long summer evenings are the visions and desires of far better men than I. In all these things a woman is of course the central figure. Automatically then, the vision becomes an impossibility. No woman could be faithful to these things or to one man. Many women profess these desires. How else could they assure their economic future? On strange trails in strange lands one meets many men whose saga is always the woman at the end of the road. Always it was the woman at the beginning of the road who built the song and destroyed the singer.
In all things good in men women can see no good. A warrior, a fighting man is "rowdy," an attempt at chivalry brings on the reputation of being a "sap," any attempt to be a sportsman makes you "easy" -- only by being oblivious to the finer things of life, by disregarding the creed that made the term "gentleman" an honorable title can the man bring himself down to the level of these "our women."
A man desires the presence of a woman. Sexual attraction pure and simple. Biologically natural. The method is simple. You "date." In other words you spend two or three weeks saving on your allowance. When the "big" day comes around you call in a cab you cannot afford, go to a too expensive show, eat at a place you wouldn't think of on your own and return in a cab. Possibly you are kissed. Probably not. The balance is obvious.
If a woman could play the game as a man plays it. Be as readily a companion as a "guiding light," it would be a "good break." They don't make them that way. Where's my pipe?
Copyright © 2001, Mary S. Van Deusen