On Being Alone GRACE JENSEN, '33 I had been for a walk—alone. Returning home, I was caught in a snowstorm. Softly the flakes came, falling past me noise- lessly. 0n the sidewalk they melted into nothingness. Then they fell more thickly and hurriedly. Soon they were whirling mer- rily about, some... Show moreOn Being Alone GRACE JENSEN, '33 I had been for a walk—alone. Returning home, I was caught in a snowstorm. Softly the flakes came, falling past me noise- lessly. 0n the sidewalk they melted into nothingness. Then they fell more thickly and hurriedly. Soon they were whirling mer- rily about, some stopping for a chat upon my coat sleeve. More gathered, and I was changed into a fairy princess. My coat was no longer three winters old. It was an er- mine cape. I walked in a white castle, while gems sparkled from the jewelled beams above me. It grew colder. The snow was no longer kind. The wind lashed it in icy fury against my face. My blood tingled. I was alone among forces over which I had no control. How welcome, then, the light of home and warmth of family fellowship! As twilight came gently through the window, I penned the following lines: “When winter comes, and with it benediction Of broken leaves and lightly falling snow; When still beneath them lies a recollection Of places where green meadow grasses grow,— Then to my heart, within its icy fringes, Weighed down by sorrow’s aching load, Comes thought of home, the end of all my journey, A little farther up the road.” Still, there are times when one does want to be alone; yet not alone, but with one’s Self. For there are two of me: the me which you think you see and the me which looks out at you and tries, as vainly, to sound your hidden depths. The “We” of Lindbergh were not the aviator and the Spirit of St. Louis, but the aviator, as the public knew him, and the boy Charlie. Have you met yourself? I do not mean as you may seem to be in the mirror. Others have seen you as you are there. Perhaps an aeroplane, with nothing but the clouds above and waves below, would be a fitting place for such an introduction. Would you, at one glance, lose control of your ship, or would you rise above the clouds to where the sun is shining? I could answer for myself, per- haps, but not for you. A friend of mine remarked upon the fast- ness of this age with the statement that “even the dead speed to their graves in high- powered hearses.” If in death we speed. how much more so in life! What a pity if meeting one’s Self has been deferred until the darkness of the eleventh hour. The part- ing comes too soon. When I die, it will not be over me that, perchance, some gentle soul will weep. I will be but the outer form through which the inner man expressed him- self. “We” are not always on good terms. I may do a deed or speak a word which may win the approbation of the public. When alone, I can condemn myself because it was for approbation that I did it. How often we do things when some are watching which we would not do if we were alone! How often we do things when we are alone which we would not do if even one were watching! Eat in the kitchen and see how hard it is to maintain the highest standard of table eti- quette. How courteous we are at a banquet and how evident that courtesy is, because we brandish it clumsily, not as a fork that is often used. One feels, when one kills the engine as the semaphore changes to “go” and the care behind toot, while others fly by, just as one would if one stopped in the middle of a bust- ling throng and allowed it to pass on. What a tumult of noise and ambition! We follow the pace set for us by others. We must keep up, or we are lost. And Youth must lead. How average youth hates to be alone! A shudder at the thought and then a dash to a party. Serious thoughts are horrid monsters Show less
16 THE DIAL being there. His arms were strong. His face radiated warmly with love. Beauty shone about him. His words to me were gently spoken. “In Love there is Strength. In Strength there is Peace. In Peace there is Happiness.” As I nestled close in his em- brace, I knew that God had brought me... Show more16 THE DIAL being there. His arms were strong. His face radiated warmly with love. Beauty shone about him. His words to me were gently spoken. “In Love there is Strength. In Strength there is Peace. In Peace there is Happiness.” As I nestled close in his em- brace, I knew that God had brought me to him through the storm: The soft breezes again caressed my cheeks, and I knew that every day would have hope and gladness, and every evening peace and happiness. Then sleep came to me—quietly and kindly. When I awakened, I was lying safely in my boat. It had found a sheltering nook at one end of the lake, and was hugging the shore directly beneath the wide-spreading branches of a giant tree growing there. The words of my mysterious lover were sweet to my memory. The day was very bright with sunshine. When Day Is Done GRACE JENSEN, ’33 T evening, when my day is done And westward dips the sinking sun, When breezes, hushed, sigh through the trees When home have flown the laden been And night’s begun, My steps trace homeward through the dark. I need no light the way to mark. The gate unlatched, the door is wide, I find again my fireside, When day is done. Show less
(9 NE summer day not long ago, I found A wounded bird, alone, so sick and numb. Sonnets ORVILLB KNUTSON, '31 (6H1? eaglet still unskilled in arts of flight To heavens, silvery clear. lifts searching eyes; . Q: vLPt‘ .A ' .. AL». ‘13: mam—a.“ .4; — ‘3’! ‘a'E‘i Aflan 311.11 r+
Show more(9 NE summer day not long ago, I found A wounded bird, alone, so sick and numb. Sonnets ORVILLB KNUTSON, '31 (6H1? eaglet still unskilled in arts of flight To heavens, silvery clear. lifts searching eyes; . Q: vLPt‘ .A ' .. AL». ‘13: mam—a.“ .4; — ‘3’! ‘a'E‘i Aflan 311.11 r+< In yonder orchard, and upon the ground But to his downy bed he clings in fright. He lay, as still as death—no one had come When new ambitions lure, afraid to rise In all the world to find him lying there. From sullen shore of rugged mountain side, I took him home with hopes that he would stay. To heights which larks decline, where lies the foe—— There well and strong he grew, and 0 so fair! The panther winds the stormy clouds there hide. Then rose to misty clouds and flew away. And roaring billows break on rocks below. So now I search the orchard every day To find, again, the loveliest bird of all; So we, when school’s more lenient toil is o'er. And time has come to leave our peaceful nest, That, sick and numb, remain’d to rest in May Amid the Wind's oft hidden blast to soar, Then flew away to misty skies in fall— Now willing, then reluctant, stay to rest; Where spirits beat within the heart, perchance, Lest cloudland's panther lurk in lamb's disguise, As here on shading trees the leaves now dance. Or foaming billows leap to meet the skies. Those Good Gld Days MANLEY GJERDE, ’31 E often hear the old folks speak About the good old days; They talk about the happy things; The good old home they praise. We read some little greeting card To wish old-fashioned joy; We read some little poem of life When the poet was a boy— And then we think life’s not so good And poorer are our ways; And with a little sigh we say, “0, great were those old days." But after all, life still is life-; It has its joy and grief; It had them then, the same as now.— But bitter thoughts are brief. So why look back upon the past And make it seem sublime? Cheer up, and make the best of what We have in our own time. For oft in future years we'll pause And backward turn our gaze, And with a little sigh we’ll say, “0, great were those old days." ..A.,A N“- Show less
Growing Pains BERNER DAHLEN, ’31 EAL drama is always rife on a college campus. Action in some form seems to be natural in the noisy, youthfully eager group that crowds and jostles its way to the rows of mail-boxes in the halls of adminis- tration buildings. Action seems to satisfy, for a time at... Show moreGrowing Pains BERNER DAHLEN, ’31 EAL drama is always rife on a college campus. Action in some form seems to be natural in the noisy, youthfully eager group that crowds and jostles its way to the rows of mail-boxes in the halls of adminis- tration buildings. Action seems to satisfy, for a time at least, that inner longing that has called forth this social group from every walk in life—that search for a remedy for dissatisfaction and social unrest. Bob, a farmer's son, usually mingles with the noisy, fun-loving students at a certain college. But today something has created a contrast. He has the appearance of a man about to receive something of vital import- ance. It requires mental power to control one’s nerves when submitted to severe men— tal strain, such as he must have been exper- iencing for the last hour or more. It has been painful, yet fascinating, to watch the play of his features, to see the muscles along his cheek bones ripple under the tanned skin as he has set his teeth firmly, making his chin protrude Tunney-fashion, not at all unhand— somely. The suspense is almost too much for him. Bob, you know, met a girl last spring. She was not an ordinary girl at all, but a rare combination of brains, beauty, health, and a happy disposition—all bound together by an undeniable personal charm. Being a normal college man, Bob promptly fell, and hard, without any further consideration. But he did not see her again after that first meet- ing. He went about in a daze for weeks, mentally blinded by the brilliance of this phenomenon. However, the hard work on the farm where Bob went for the summer, combined with the stern rays of the hot Minnesota sun, seemed to kill the longing which this fair vision had created in his heart. With good food and much sleep, he gradually returned to his normal state of being. When he came back to college in the fall, familiar scenes began to revive memories. All his stern resolves to forget went over- board, as resolutions do when they are not from the heart. He searched industriously for advice in many weighty volumes and was eventually rewarded by finding two splendid mottoes‘ “Nothing venture, nothing have ;” and “Only the brave deserve the fair.” So, after several sleepless nights, he wrote a let- ter to the cause of all his distress, and with a feeling akin to that of the great Julius when he spoke the famous words about “cast- ing the die,” he entrusted the result of his night-long labor to the postal department. After the mailing of the letter studies were forgotten. Who could expect any one to study during such a crisis? But the door of the mail-box was given an increasing amount of attention. \Now, at last, Bob is about to be relieved of his suspense, for the morning mail is be- ing distributed. Looking on, he begins to breathe a little more rapidly. A strange tenseness seems to have gripped him. He looks furtively about to see if any one is watching him and noting his agitation. The facial contortions have now become so pain- ful that one is constrained to turn away. But Bob, with a motion toward the mail-box, ridiculously uncertain for a healthy person, opens it and extracts a letter. Carefully concealing its tinted surface with a large hand, he begins an animated chatter with those nearest him, gradually withdrawing from the group. He can scarcely control the wild beating of his heart, and it seems that every one can hear it thump as it pulses at an unnatural rate. The dark sun-tan is an effective shield for his suffused face. Finally he has shaken off the last restraining hand and is alone with the missive. It is the mo- ment of his life. What the letter contains, who can say? Will it be worth the pain? Show less
“Puppies” JOHN Nosnnssc, '31 “ HERE'S this place called Haskell College located?" “On 1513 East Boulevard. Poor street car service. Better take a taxi.” The reply from “Information,” hasty and rude, probably was given with more snap than the broad-shouldered, sallow-haired, and rather countrified... Show more“Puppies” JOHN Nosnnssc, '31 “ HERE'S this place called Haskell College located?" “On 1513 East Boulevard. Poor street car service. Better take a taxi.” The reply from “Information,” hasty and rude, probably was given with more snap than the broad-shouldered, sallow-haired, and rather countrified youth had expected. But with a mild “Thank you,” he picked up his luggage and turned to the exit of Central Depot. The lad, evidently in his later teens. seemed to lack experience and knowledge of city life. Probably he showed an expression of worry as he looked around anxiously for a taxi, only to fall victim to three or four willing transporters. The ride to Haskell was short-lived, but to Emery Belrud the meter seemed to acquire great acceleration. Muttering at the expense of college life, the boy produced a dollar bill for the sixty-five cent fare, waited patiently for the “two-bit” piece and even more pa- tiently for the dime. One who has had the peculiar experience of being among the first to arrive at college, and especially as a fresh, can sympathize with Emery Belrud. To be sure, most of the gridders had returned for early training, and that “the going had been tough” was evidenced by several hobbling about on crutches or carrying their arms in slings. Emery, with his hundred and eighty pounds, had been a gridder himself in his high school days. But somehow or other he had lost in- terest in the national sport of football. Bruin, Haskell’s burly fullback and captain, had, however, heard of the lad and his lack of interest in the game. His mind was set. Bel- rud, like it or not, was coming out for the team. There wasn’t much for Emery to do that night. He had been assigned a single room, Number thirty-three in Fulton Hall. Like most college fellows, he dreaded the task of setting a room in order. But was the boy nervous? Was he homesick or merely rest- less? He set to pacing the floor. Suddenly a thought struck him. He reached for one of the grips and pulled out a box of sta- tionery. He had promised to write imme- diately. To his folks? No, they would have to wait until tomorrow. He started out— “Dear Ellen, —” He stopped and leaned back to reflect. To think that he wouldn't be able to see her un- til Christmas was almost unbearable. But wouldn’t she be proud of him when he came home from college? That last night surely had been a wonderful night. Of course, his _ parents couldn’t see why he had to drive out to the “dog farm” that very night before he was leaving home. But Emery had insisted. and Ellen had been there to meet him. He was desperately in love with Ellen. He had even learned to love the farm of her father. Mr. Thompson was so fond of dogs. and his breed was known all over the country. Right now he had a fine troop of airedale pups. Mr. Thompson’s farm was one of the most beauti- ful in Vale Center. Adjoining it was a fine, large lake out of which ran a small creek. Spanning this outlet was a bridge shaded by a canopy of wild oaks and creeping grape- vines. That night there had been a moon—- such a big, round moon. And as Ellen had played with and fondled her favorite aire- dale, Emery had forgotten canopy. moon, pup, and all. Never could there be another girl like Ellen. Somehow there had arisen the understanding between the two that some day—. But they were both so young. He, to be sure, was eighteen, but she had barely passed her sixteenth birthday. Haskell College was a busy scene the next day. Students were arriving at all hours to register. 0n the registrar’s record the name Show less
4 THE DIAL I was soon in front of the school-house door. It opened. There stood my first teacher. She was a thin, bespectacled old maid. Her horn-rimmed glasses gallantly bestrode a thin, sharp nose which quivered when she was excited, like a shrew’s when it scents a field beetle. These spectacles... Show more4 THE DIAL I was soon in front of the school-house door. It opened. There stood my first teacher. She was a thin, bespectacled old maid. Her horn-rimmed glasses gallantly bestrode a thin, sharp nose which quivered when she was excited, like a shrew’s when it scents a field beetle. These spectacles were a terror to school room urchins, for she always held her head at such an angle that they reflected the light from the window in such a way as to obscure the path of her gimlet-like orbs. To this sage came the country lads and lasses to be instructed. She was in truth a sage; she said sage things in a sage way; she wore sage clothes that were dotted at night and donned in the morning along with her false teeth. To top it all, she used sage tea to darken her hair. Whenever I was dull, she would stimulate mental activity by a few smart applications on the back side of my lap. Though she is dead now (bless her), I will always remem- ber her for her adeptness in getting at the seat of all difficulties. My most lasting impression of this teach- er I received during my first week. She made me stay after school for making faces at her. On Monday morning my mother paid her a visit and explained to her that my face was that way. I still wear the same face; my life is still beset with sorrows, sins, and school teachers. I must still believe, however, that having made such an auspicious debut, I may yet be of some use in this world. The Tide MAURICE HELLAND, ’33 HE little white-washed cottage by the sea was decorated with vines and framed by age-old trees. The hedges border- ing the gravel paths were carefully trim- med; the garden was bright with flowers and orderly rows of vegetables. The owner of this miniature paradise was an old, gray-haired man. With his young wild dog he was the only inhabitant of a small island. The cottage, the garden, and hedge-bordered paths existed solely for him, and no other man had seen them. Every time the tide came in the house was more beautiful, the garden more bright, and the old man more stooped and gray. Every time the tide went out the old, stooped man hobbled out upon the flats to search for pearls, but no man knew what he did with his treasure. One day the tide went out as usual, and the old, gray man, more stooped and lame than ever, went, as was his custom, to search for pearls. This day the hunting was good, and when the tide came in, the old man was not ready. The young, wild dog whined by the sea- shore, and the north wind moaned through the trees and around the corners of the cot- tage, but the old, gray man was silent, and no man knew that he was no more, for no man knew that he had ever been. The dog went back to the forest, the house went back to ruin, the vines tried to hide the scar on nature which man had made, and the hedges grew wild over the gray gravel paths, while the flowers were choked by weeds. And still—the tide came in and the tide went out. Show less
THE DIAL 11 and marvel at his prowess. So fancy ap- proaches closer and closer to reality until Conqueror can almost distinguish the sweet melodies of the harp and the lute; can even faintly smell the aroma of rich and spicy foods. Unconscioust he quickens his pace, and though burdened by his... Show moreTHE DIAL 11 and marvel at his prowess. So fancy ap- proaches closer and closer to reality until Conqueror can almost distinguish the sweet melodies of the harp and the lute; can even faintly smell the aroma of rich and spicy foods. Unconscioust he quickens his pace, and though burdened by his suit of ponder— ous mail, achieves a slow but certain enough trot. Why! he’s almost there now. This little expedition was too easy for such a warrior as he. And as for Cold Blast and his cohorts—a fig for them and all their wiles! Conqueror lifts his head in exuber- ance and beholds—the moon, still sailing serenely along away up there as if utterly unconscious that in a short half-hour or so she would be completely dimmed by the sun’s brilliant rays. Even now Luna casts a slight— ly yellowish glow, but she’s a moon, never- theless. Sly seducer! She directs his thoughts back to that night he had said fare- well to her, the fairest lady of his country. Ah, that had been a wonderful leave-taking! How brightly had not the stars shone down upon them, how peacefully had not the moon glowed in her assuring softness, how pleas- antly had not the capricious little breezes played in and out among the blossoming lilacs. And Alicia! Ah, there’s a princess for you-— But alas! Eternal vigilance was ever the price of safety. Icy Walk has not waited in vain. A particularly treacherous spot, just at the turn of the path, is Conqueror’s Waterloo. Up go his feet in a not ungrace- ful arc, and down comes Conqueror. On the path? No! Even the physical laws seem to be in league with his enemies. Momentum carries him on even when traction there is none. And Sir Snow Bank exultingly re- ceives him. Ingloriously has Conqueror fallen, and ingloriously he sprawls there. But blind anger seizes him. Music, fine food, beautiful lady, moon, enemies, all are a confused jumble in his heated brain. He hates those enemies of his that took advant- age of him in his moment of relaxation. And he hates Snow Bank most of all. Now he must fight. And he does. The world has never seen the like. Even Don Quixote in his battle with the windmills would have been put to shame by such a spectacle as this. Again and again does Con- queror strike out in a frenzy of activity at that engulfing whiteness. Though it yields, still it remains. He flails it with his arms. He spurns it with his feet. It doesn’t fight back. Conqueror’s movements become slower and slower. He tires rapidly and at last is still, completely exhausted. He appears to be sleeping. But suddenly he opens his eyes. And be- hold! There is the moon, just disappearing around the corner of that building over there. With her sickly yellowish glow she seems to laugh at him as he lies there. But why? What? Reason returns to Peer Fanseer, and Con— queror is no more. Peer Fanseer is himself again. Slowly he rises to his feet. His clothes are a sight to behold. They would make a good costume for a hard—time ball. His limbs are numbed with cold; why, each finger is like a wooden stick. He glances about hurriedly, wondering if anyone has observed him. N o, the campus is deserted! That’s good! But what in the wide, wide world—? Peer Fanseer limped painfully back to his room, pondering. Show less
THE DIAL 7 of Emery Belrud had been placed. “A very promising freshman,” said the authorities. “He has the earmarks of a real football man,” commented the coach. The following day, about an hour before practise time, Haskell’s popular fullback was on his way to Number thirty-three. This time he... Show moreTHE DIAL 7 of Emery Belrud had been placed. “A very promising freshman,” said the authorities. “He has the earmarks of a real football man,” commented the coach. The following day, about an hour before practise time, Haskell’s popular fullback was on his way to Number thirty-three. This time he was determined to convince Belrud. Hadn’t their star guard been carried off in last night’s scrimmage? Probably he would be out for the season. Bruin knocked at the door. No reply. He knocked a second time, somewhat louder. More silence. Gingerly he tried the knob. A slight twist, and the door opened wide. But was he in the wrong room? There must be some mistake. Surely, no one could have occupied this room. He glanced at his list—Belrud, Number thirty- three. He was right. Suddenly he spied on the chiffonier a letter. He reached for it and read the return—— K. M. Thompson Breeder of Airedale Dogs Vale Center, Indiana “Canine, eh!” There was nothing to do but to read the thing. An expression of surprise came over the face of the powerful Bruin. It changed to disgust. Finally he burst out in merri- ment. With a laugh he heaved the letter on the bed and left the room. That night as a small car found its way over the winding road to the Thompson Dog Farm, a young girl, recognizing the hum of the car, rushed out to meet it. There wasn’t a moon that night. The marks of late fall were very evident as heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky. The aire- dale mother, too, felt the approach of win- ter as she gathered her young ones about her. “Emery, I’m so glad you decided to quit college and come back to me.” “I’m glad too, Ellen. I think it all hap— pened because I love you so much.” And in the kennel nearby whimpered a young airdale puppy. Springtime LAWRENCE BUEIDE, '31 WOW great is God’s almighty hand! Its touch brings life anew To every creature of the land. What wonders it doth do! The dormant grass again awakes, To clothe the earth with green. The wood its verdant vesture takes, To harmonize the scene. And songsters gay a-flitting come, To cheer the saddened heart. They warble as they build their home. And clouds of gloom depart. Thou mortal, with thy grief and woe, Up! up! Thy life renew. The Lord of heaven would bestow His quickening power on you. Why slumber still, benumbed with cold, In doubt’s dark night of sin? For Jesus calls you to His fold, And bids you enter in. Supplication GRACE JENSEN, ’33 OODBYE, Old Year! You leave me naught but memories To twine your tendrils close around my heart. Still, when the New Year comes, is fled and gone As you have flown, Your roots will only deeper cling; And you will but more precious be, If, in the path that here together we have trod, Another soul, when looking back upon that road, Should softly say, “Goodbye, Old Year! I’m one step nearer God.” Show less
', x . Yum-um Signs of God (6H!) flowers blooming in pastures green Declare the glory of Life unseen. The smallest buds that ope between Bright leaves are signs of God. We cannot see the diamondcstone, Where crystallized it lies alone; But still down in that hidden zone It is a sign of God. The... Show more', x . Yum-um Signs of God (6H!) flowers blooming in pastures green Declare the glory of Life unseen. The smallest buds that ope between Bright leaves are signs of God. We cannot see the diamondcstone, Where crystallized it lies alone; But still down in that hidden zone It is a sign of God. The soul, that fills the body’s frame, And looks beyond with conscious flame, May see in wondrous signs His Name Who is the Glory of God. —P. A. SVEEGGEN._- not. us" Show less