Have you ever heard of Naic Beach
Wher the spent waves sob and hiss,
And the men whose shame conceals
the blame
Try to find a moment's bliss
In the telling of age old stories
And the singing of golden songs
Of a woman's hand in another land
And forget their little wrongs?

There is little of boasting at Naic
For the truth exceeds the lie.
A lie is weak when the seas are bleak
And must must silent die.
Strange names are heard at Naic,
Palowan, Saigon, Samar--
There is nothign said but they nod their head
For they all know where they are.

The above (RECOLLECTION by Fafaia) came in the mail this fair and dewy morn. The sig is fascinating -- the snow fades and the flat, red desert of Sidi-bel-Abbe comes back to me. "Fafaia" -- Flat drums and metallic cobras dancing in the shade of a fantastic blue mosque -- "Fafaia" Drums -- drums drums -- drums -- and long, long lines of steel tipped men. Dodgast it! Why couldn't you have signed a respectable, cold, useful name?

A PERSONAL EPISTLE TO THE ONLY LADIES AND GENTLEMEN ON THE CAMPUS. MY CONTRIBS

Gentlemen! (and your attaches, the wimin)
Make an effort.
Do big things.
Make your mark on the sands of Time.
Forget your woes and cares,
Your trials and tribulations
Your sorrows and sadness
CONTRIBUTE
Show your etikette
CONTRIBUTE
Anyway
Whatever you show
CONTRIBUTE

HE SPEAKS

The great big he man realist, the Anderson person whose first name has a quaint likeness of the habitat of my favorite hero speaks. Throngs shall greet him. The demonstration shall last three and a half seconds. It seems that the campus shall not be outdone in their efforts to do honor to this man. Flowers shall be cast upon the stage. It is a mild mistake, the donors think he is dead. They must have read his books. No matter. We are humble. He is speaking.

CAMPUS CLATTER

The Maid-Rite Sandwich Shop

A pretty waitress and a not-so-pretty waitress in a helluva hurry. Eleven or fourteen females sit about the tables gossiping earnestly -- they all look alike, but then, all women look alike when gossiping and Allah praise the cunning dears, they are always gossiping. Three benighted souls with a one o'clock date stand somewhat patiently behind the rows of infants and pray for a seat -- they get it. Eighteen children want "Choklit malted milks" at once if not sooner. Two pimply frosh compete for the pretty waitresses smiles -- which incidentally is given to an unassuming instructor sandwitched between a small lady in a violent sweater and a very small lady in a dirty sailor suit -- it is found impossible to eat the jolly Maid-Rite sandwitch with any degree of grace. Others have found this out before. And so goes it--

"AFTER ALL -- The lights weren't working n' Marion had the giggles n' Harriet was whist'ling and etc."