JLHMY lived with his grandfather in the beautiful golden gate region of Yellowstone Park. But Jimmy never thought of refer- ring to the place where he lived as a park, for this was years before the United States govemment had ever heard of this wonderland of fantastic beauty. The word "park" was... Show moreJLHMY lived with his grandfather in the beautiful golden gate region of Yellowstone Park. But Jimmy never thought of refer- ring to the place where he lived as a park, for this was years before the United States govemment had ever heard of this wonderland of fantastic beauty. The word "park" was entirely foreign to Jimmy's vocabulary. It was simply "home" to him. And how he loved it! The majesty and strength of the eternal hills, the towering cliffs with all their panorama of color. the crystal streams that wound their way in the valley, tumbling boisterously over the jagged rocks that lay in their path—all this was a delight and an inspiration to the lad. for child that he was, the splendor around him never ceased to create a strange thrill of joy in his youthful heart. Jimmy loved to spend hours out of doors, and no wonder, for the crude cabin that was his home could scarcely begin to com- pare with the grandeur of nature. Having no playmates, he made friends with the animals and birds of this region. The little squirrels who scurried about in the tree tops were very friendly, and several of the songbirds would come and eat seeds from his hand. Jimmy was very fond of his feathered friends, but more than anything else, he coveted the friendship of the pair of giant eagles who made their home every year in a huge nest on an overhanging cliff. He would watch them excitedly as they circled above him. How he longed to soar as the eagles-up, up and away—to a land where it was always warm and sunny and where food was plentiful. Then grandfather would not have to work anymore in the corn patch when the sun's rays were scorching hot, nor go out to tend his traps when the wind was cold and the snow lay deep on the mountain side. But children never soared. Strange to say, neither did young eagles, for every year the inquisitive young birds would venture too c10se to the edge of the nest, and losing their balance, would flounder help- lessly as they fell, only to be dashed on the rocks below. One day in late summer as Jimmy was watching the eagles soaring about in the evening sky, he jumped up with a cry of surprise and ran eagerly to the door of the cabin. DIAL i4 Show less
71.. G»:de "MY GOD How \Vonderful Thou Art!" These words broke forth in all fervency and richness of har— mony from hearts that were filled with the splendor of God’s handiwork. Choir members forgot their weariness from riding over miles of dusty roads and across parched plaim. for here were the... Show more71.. G»:de "MY GOD How \Vonderful Thou Art!" These words broke forth in all fervency and richness of har— mony from hearts that were filled with the splendor of God’s handiwork. Choir members forgot their weariness from riding over miles of dusty roads and across parched plaim. for here were the mountains gloriously stretching heavenward. declaring God as their Creator. And justly so. for only He could produce such marvels. Everyone was alert, stretching. turning, exclaiming. Someone saw the first clear stream tumbling down the mountain side. Another saw a jagged peak-—a ruggedness beautiful only in na- ture. A rise of exclamations told of a wooded glade and a clear but rapid stream winding its way through the valleys. Such was a fishennan‘s delight or a poet’s paradise. And thus it continued. Each spot proved a little more breath-taking. a little more in- spiring than the last. But then came the Great Divide. The motor droned steadily as it pulled the heavy bus higher and higher into the very heav- ens. At times the road seemed to hang on the side of the moun- tain. Breathless ecstasy awaited us at every bend. Looking down- ward on the one side, we could see patches of the highway like giant steps as it wound down the mountain side and disappeared in the distant valley. Looking upward on the other, the moun- tain rose still higher, up and up into gray, filmy clouds drifting along, wrapping themselves about the peaks and then floating silently away, leaving the snow caps bared to the afternoon sun. Lower clouds spread their haze gently over the tree tops, and as we drew closer, that haze covered us just as gently. All eyes were strained for the first break in the film and what it would reveal. A quick breath—and then a hush! The tall pines, so straight and towering close by, were indiscernable in the green maze way down there. Fields of grain became tiny shaded pieces in a patchwork quilt. The wide, white highway became a thread that grew smaller and smaller and then disappeared far below. “My God how Wonderful Thou Art!" DIAL 18 Show less
75.8% 0 Lord. today I wondered why My burden seemed to pres: upon me to; It was so very hard to bear, And I grew weary. for I did not know That has Thy love that placed it there, That I might stronger grow. Lord God, no one but Thou alone Canst fully understand how long the way, How dark the... Show more75.8% 0 Lord. today I wondered why My burden seemed to pres: upon me to; It was so very hard to bear, And I grew weary. for I did not know That has Thy love that placed it there, That I might stronger grow. Lord God, no one but Thou alone Canst fully understand how long the way, How dark the lonely road did seem. How heavy was the load I bore today; But now I kneel and at Thy feet, My burden I do lay. Forgive me, Lord, I did not see Thy hand which caused the shadow thus to fall, I thought that I could walk alone, And when I failed, ’twas then I heard Thy call; Repemant now I turn to Thee, And I surrender all. My Iesus, I have learned today That I am weal: unless at Thy dear side I walk, for Thou art all my strength, And I shall fail unless I hide My life in Thine; 0' grant me grace, In Thee, Lord, to abide! MILDRED RYAN, ’40. DIAL 26 Show less
MIT/6414’!“ I GOT l.\', reluctantly, quaking inside, but much too brave to ad- mit it. In front of me were two rather screamish girk. and be- hind me, I remember quite distinctly. although my vision wasn't very steady or reassuring. were two amused fellows—unused at my discomfort. Behind were... Show moreMIT/6414’!“ I GOT l.\', reluctantly, quaking inside, but much too brave to ad- mit it. In front of me were two rather screamish girk. and be- hind me, I remember quite distinctly. although my vision wasn't very steady or reassuring. were two amused fellows—unused at my discomfort. Behind were more folks, but they faded from my blurred memory. Up, up, then down again! And up the other side! My feet were strapped and l was tied down to the seat. I grasped the closest to hold on to. It happened to be a steel rod alongside of the seat. Heads. faces, lights, towers, buildings, water, stars, and sky appeared before my eyes in one jumble; while shouts, cries, scream, laughs, and terrified phrases assailed my ears like sharp hail-stones. \Vhere was I. where was I going, where would I end. and when? All of my past formed pictures in my bemuddled head. The wind whistled through my hair, mussing it up to make me a more frightful, mad looking person than ever. The earth was beneath me, and the next thing I knew, the black sky and bright stars were in their place. I was right-side up one second; the next I didn’t know where l was, whether falling to earth on my head, or landing on one of the silent stars with a bang. Slowly, slowly, I seemed to be coming to my senses once more with a sickening, dizzy feeling. Then. when the earth seemed quite steady and where it ought to be, I loosened my grip on the rod, my hands stiff and numb from the pressure. Someone rushed to steady me and brought me out to safety. Such was my first and only ride on the Rocket at the Fair. LUCILLE MANLEY, ’40. fi‘flz‘k Some people are like houses—unsightly without. but beautiful within. — MARC-IE ENEMARK, ’40. DIAL 31 a...“ a. Show less
0a .\l\‘ Fmsr encounter with scorpions took place one summer day when l was trying my skill at scaling an old brick wall which surrounded our garden. Accidentally l dislodged a big piece of plaster which crashed to the ground and “posed a fissure in the wall. Glancing into the hole. I saw to my... Show more0a .\l\‘ Fmsr encounter with scorpions took place one summer day when l was trying my skill at scaling an old brick wall which surrounded our garden. Accidentally l dislodged a big piece of plaster which crashed to the ground and “posed a fissure in the wall. Glancing into the hole. I saw to my astonishment several scor- pions crawling about, with their segmented tails curled up like that of a happy dog. My proximity to the arachnids, however. led me to the conclusion that it was wiser for me to bring my fortuitous Visit to a speedy termination. ‘ ' During the years that followed. my fear of and aversion to scorpions decreased. I learned that there is little danger from this small but vicious looking creature. except when one contacts the sting at the end of his tail. I learned, too, that it was quite unnecessary to flee in terror, whenever one of them hove in sight; for scorpions are somewhat near-sighted, and are also com- paratively slow of movement—that is, I could easily out-distance them in the event of a chase. One day I saw some ants tackle a full-grown scorpion. They crawled all over his body, bit him sharply here and there and injected a powerful toxin, which gradually deadened and para- lyzed him. When the ten-minute struggle was over, the ants hauled their victim, piece by piece. to their subterranean store- rooms. I was surprised at the audacity and daring of the little insects; if such insignificant creatures could attack successfully an enemy which was many times their size, why should not I be able to, who am several thousand times as large as a scorpion? Thereafter my policy towards scorpions was aggressive. On summer evenings, when the air was still and sultry, I Would go out with one of my friends scorpion hunting; for on such evenings all insects and other creatures are abundant. One of us would carry a jug; the other a small teapot-like lamp. Both of DIAL l() Show less
pmadWMJaly (In Memory . . . G. S.) Bewildered by the scent of strife Caused by man's daily fight for life. I left this world that round me sighs. For fairer worlds . . . a land or shore Where man is not who strives for more Than God deemed well for him to own; Where God at ev'n walks alone Mid... Show morepmadWMJaly (In Memory . . . G. S.) Bewildered by the scent of strife Caused by man's daily fight for life. I left this world that round me sighs. For fairer worlds . . . a land or shore Where man is not who strives for more Than God deemed well for him to own; Where God at ev'n walks alone Mid forest home to ponder new The things that made His Son sigh sore. “Father! forgive them what they do!" Here . . . alone . . . in this wooded ball; Here . . . away . . . from man‘s piercing call. “Give me more or else I die!" Urrmindful that it makes God sigh; Reminds Him of that far off Fall. Here I roam . . . restored to all My faith by breath that made these plants In the beginning when God‘s chants H’hispered across the new made world And placed them here . . . one and all To smooth man’s brow so burden furled. Slowly I tread the untrod trails That lead among the forest vales Of whispering trees and swaying vines Where only some have seen the lines Of violets. . . . Like tears of love Half hidden . . . lifting heads that they May ease the void that darkly moves And lingers in the heart’s hurt grooves Of sorrow. Here the thoughts of man Reach not to jar but rise above The flames of greed of woeful man. DIAL 3o Show less
JohnWaynewsbegilmingtotirewhenhebeganthelsthp ofhhpilgrhmggbutdiechdkltggmigetmwthanever. drove him upward. As he continued he realized that the andmountainsweregnduallytnkingtheirpositionsbelowhinL Yabefdtcmfidentdtathewouldsomreachthemuch coveted goal. But would he? Snow was to hamper h'n... Show moreJohnWaynewsbegilmingtotirewhenhebeganthelsthp ofhhpilgrhmggbutdiechdkltggmigetmwthanever. drove him upward. As he continued he realized that the andmountainsweregnduallytnkingtheirpositionsbelowhinL Yabefdtcmfidentdtathewouldsomreachthemuch coveted goal. But would he? Snow was to hamper h'n progres and the wall w nearly Almost ex- hausted and with bleeding hands he clung to the wind—hm pockets and looked down. As far as he could see, all the moun- tains seemed bowed in awful solemnity; directly below. the organ-like spires were silent, so terribly silent. A mysterious chill passed over his body as he looked up. The cloud had risen and in the warm glow of the setting sun John Wayne saw silhouetted against the virgin snow the outline of a rugged cross. a cross designed by the ages. The knowledge that he could never attain the goal struck him with a sense of futility and finality. But even in his weariness and seeming failure. he felt the flush of triumph. He had seen the great stone cross—no one had even laid eyes on such a thing before. RALPH Smn, ‘40. use: flaw This bondage is strange, These fetter: are odd: There is freedom to live F07 I’m tied to God. MARGARET CHRISLOCK. '40. DIAL 28 Show less
THE DIAL 17 vacation! The months sailed by slowly but surely with the whole class making a very successful effort to preserve the assignment sheets pure and untainted for posterity. An- other quarter is gone before we realize it. Spring is almost here; students are a shade wiser, and purses... Show moreTHE DIAL 17 vacation! The months sailed by slowly but surely with the whole class making a very successful effort to preserve the assignment sheets pure and untainted for posterity. An- other quarter is gone before we realize it. Spring is almost here; students are a shade wiser, and purses noticeably thinner. The eagle on that last dollar I spent resembled nothing so much as an ostrich. April, spring vacation, and a dash of four hundred and fifty miles thru wind, rain, and snow, to get reinstated financially and spend Easter Sunday at home. The return trip was cold and the next week was spent get-. ting warm again. Spring fever has the whole crew in her clutches. Two weeks of rain in May, and when plans for another Ark are drafted, the weather clears and everybody laughs again. Warm sunny afternoons spent in sprawl- ing on the Square or taking the curious for a spin on the “Harley.” They seldom ask for a second, though I value my neck as highly as any of them. Thus ends a very eventful year. The values of a college education cannot be de- nied. I can spell Czecho-Slovakia, though I cannot pronounce it. Christopher Marlowe wrote “Dr. Faustus,” and the formula for acetic acid is H02 H3 02. What else should anyone wish? E The Chosen Valley LUTHARD GJERDE, ’33 _ few more minutes of climbing, and I would be at the top! For the past half- hour I had been toiling up the steep, wooded side of a high and rocky elevation, from which I hoped to get a good View of the sur- rounding landscape. I could see a shelf of mossy, green-gray stone jutting out from the wall above. It must be the top of the peak. I waded through small patches of thorny bushes, climbed over piles of broken stone and eventually I managed to pull myself up on the ledge. I paused a moment, panting from the exertion. Then I looked up and gazed out at the grand scene before me. It was wonderful. Instinctiver I gazed toward the sky. I had a queer feeling that I was in a shadow. I became conscious of a wall of rock behind me, towering up above the rest of the elevation, which was merely a jumbled heap of broken boulders and thorny bushes, entirely covered with trees. At first I was disappointed~disappointed because I had hoped for an unobstructed view of the land- scape on all sides of me, and disappointed be- cause I had determined to reach the top. I grew hopeful in a moment when I found that there was a wide break in the rock wall, which was full of boulders and the trunks of tall trees that had once flourished there. In my hurry of anticipation I skinned both knees clambering over rocks, and tore my hands painfully on sharp corners as I pulled myself upward. Upward—toward what? I hoped I would not be disappointed this time. At last I reached the top. It was of solid stone, about thirty feet across and worn quite round, though broken up here and there. It was covered with a blanket of dry, brown pine needles which had accumulated through the years from several tall pines that seemed to flourish in this queer place, far above the rest of the world. Only a few round bumps of stone were bald. The view from the lower ledge had been wonderful. This view was beautiful—border- ing on something divine, fit for immortal eyes only. It was superb, inspiring, beyond the wildest flights of my imagination. The Show less
2 THE DIAL was to remove all the electric lights from the chapel just before a quartet of students from the United Church Seminary, which was not far away, was to give a concert. It was scandalous, of course, and when the culprit was discovered he was called to the oflice of the “old man”, as we... Show more2 THE DIAL was to remove all the electric lights from the chapel just before a quartet of students from the United Church Seminary, which was not far away, was to give a concert. It was scandalous, of course, and when the culprit was discovered he was called to the oflice of the “old man”, as we affectionately called the father of the present president of the Sem- inary when he was out of sight and hearing, and I recall that he came out very subdued, considering that he was almost irrepressible, but still smiling. We were all glad he had not been “fired”, as we had feared would be the case. The worst thing I ever did was to discover some foul smelling chemical and to call on some theological students and inad- vertently let a drop or two fall on the table or floor. The result was always the same; the room was uninhabitable for the rest of the day, and the particular theolog found his Christian charity so severely tested that he refused to recognize me for about a week. However, I was the “baby” of the class. Gog— gen was the honor man of the class and only slightly older than the “baby.” I think most members of the class became clergymen. Gilbert began to study law, be- came a judge and the high mogul of the Sons of Norway. I don’t know where George is, but I think he went into business. Goggen just missed becoming a clergymen, and I suppose it was because he went to Yale for some years of p. g. work and then to some dreadful places in Asia Minor where he was vice-consul, taught in a college, and became an authority in Semitic languages. I think he must be in Minneapolis now. A number has passed on to the great beyond. The “baby” was a sort of vagrant student at several American and foreign universities, and then taught political economy out west, was in the diplomatic service and for some seven years has been a member of the facul- ty of the University of the Berlin, the capital of the late Boches. As I sit here before my typewriter and ee visions of other days and climes a phrase from some school book of my Iowa boyhood comes back to me,—“a feeling of sadness comes o’er me”; at any rate the “baby” and the gipsy of the class feels just a trifle remo- dig—and I suppose that is why he can’t leave out a Norwegian word occasionally, and be a 100% American! The title of one of Bjorn- son’s works suggests itself to him also,— “Geografi 0g szerlighet.” And he feels that in spite of Zeppelins and other rapid means of transportation there is still too much Geografi in the world and too little Kjaerlig- het. If it were not for the Geografi he would surely be in Minneapolis for the next Augs- burg commencement. As it is, he will have to satisfy himself with a jaunt down Unter den Linden on the way to his four o’clock lecture at the University. But perhaps some member of the class will read this, and to such a one I wish it to be taken as a greet- ing and an echo from “auld lang syne." The Augsburg of thirty-two years ago was poorer and smaller than the present ex- panded institution, and in those days there was no co-education there. Nevertheless, I felt then, and have felt so since, that Augs- burg was one of the very best colleges in the country. It was not because the library was large-—it was not—nor on account of labora- tories (in those days we had none and our training related really only to history, hu— manities, religion, and languages). I think my conclusion rests on the fact that the lead- ing men who were our teachers were truly great and inspiring as scholars and as per- sonalities. The outstanding ones were of course Georg Sverdrup and Sven Oftedal. but they had associated with them a really remarkable group of others. So when I think of my great teachers the three most outstanding ones are Georg Sverdrup, Wil- liam Folwell (of the University of Minne- sota) and Adolph Wagner (of the Univer- sity of Berlin). The figures of those I had at the University of Wisconsin have dwindled, as have my Columbia professors of New York days. 80, though life has been Show less
THE DIAL 3 Augsburg has always remained an inspira- tion. Augsburg meant the upholding of principle and it meant courage, whether it “paid” or not in dollars and cents. Quite aside from the merits of the church contro- versies of the nineties, the fact that men like Sverdrup and Oftedal dared and... Show moreTHE DIAL 3 Augsburg has always remained an inspira- tion. Augsburg meant the upholding of principle and it meant courage, whether it “paid” or not in dollars and cents. Quite aside from the merits of the church contro- versies of the nineties, the fact that men like Sverdrup and Oftedal dared and would stand for what they regarded as good and needed was like Luther’s stand at Worms—“es war einmal”!—an inspiration. The class motto of ’98 was “principia non homines”; and in a sense I subscribe to that still. But the mel- lowing influence of years has made me feel that it was not the Greek or the Hebrew that they taught me nor even the religious and ethical instruction they gave me that were so important; it was their example and their personality. So now I think I would say in- stead, “principia et homines.” When I last saw Dr. Sverdrup he told me of plans and hopes of getting a new and en- larged home for Augsburg. These appealed full of vicissitudes for me, the memory ofi‘to me greatly, though if Augsburg leaves its old site I should somehow regret it. It would be like a family’s giving up a dear but simple homestead to live in a modern house with all improvements in the nearest larger town or city. Nevertheless, there is more than bana- lity in the old saw about “tempora mutan- tur —- —-.” We must try to adjust ourselves to new conditions in order to be as effective and useful as we can. In fact, I regard this as our ethical duty and so also the duty of a Christian. I should like to hear of some American who came or whose fathers came from the dear land of the fjords and the midnight sun giving or bequeathing to Augs- burg something like a million dollars. The sum is not large in View of the newer condi- tions in the United States, and I cannot think of any better investment, at least not in the Scandinavian and German American North- west. And then the new day for Augsburg could begin, the dream would begin to be- come true! Back There in Hawaii ABNER BATALDEN, ’32 HILE' dull, gray shades and penetrat- ing clouds of mist were still hanging over volcanic islands, our ship began its en- trance into “Aloha’s” harbor. Though the sun’s rays had not yet come forth, the at- mosphere was warm—not oppressive, but lazily pleasant. Later, when the day’s visit was done, and a soft breeze was fanning Oahu’s spindling palms, we ventured out to sea again. Once more the night was draw- ing near. At hours bordering upon darkness we had seen Hawaii approach and Hawaii fade. Can that be the reason for the character of my Hawaiian memories? Back there in the mid-Pacific where ocean breezes moderate the tropical heat, and where the heavens above seem to hover so near, garlanded native maids with their clear guitar chords ring their way into one’s graces. Back there life appears less stilted, seems younger, and feels lighter. Is it comparison of some parts of the world with this isle that makes my recollec- tions somewhat unsubstantial? Back there where vegetation is so exuber- ant and richly colored, and flowers bloom the whole year through, I met a round-about re- lative who concerned himself with showing me the gayest and most reputed places. First we joined a lively group of fun-makers on Waikiki Beach. We became part of an in- ternational pageant, a pulsing, varied page- ant of humanity and color. Some people, for Show less
THE DIAL VOL. 11 JUNE, 1930 N0. 2 “Det var engang” CHARLES E. STANGELAND, ’98 course, being reasonably human and slightly sentimental, I have often thought of the to me wonderful “once upon a time” at Augsburg and of my fellow gradu- ates of 1898. Within the last two or three years, however, the... Show moreTHE DIAL VOL. 11 JUNE, 1930 N0. 2 “Det var engang” CHARLES E. STANGELAND, ’98 course, being reasonably human and slightly sentimental, I have often thought of the to me wonderful “once upon a time” at Augsburg and of my fellow gradu- ates of 1898. Within the last two or three years, however, the memory of it all became more real and pleasant, perhaps somewhat poignant too, because two of my class-mates, and I believe some sisters and aunts and cousins, have looked me up (they also “looked me over,” as it were, but very polite- ly, so that my feelings should not be wound— ed!) and instinctively, in thoughts and in words gamle dage and “gamle Augsburg” were made to live again. One of the class- mates I always called “Oss”, though he al- ways protested for some reason, and the other’s name was “Goggen”. That is to say, he was not baptized that way, but his little brother and his sisters called him that in— stead of George,—-and being incorrigible I followed suit. When I saw them here after the lapse of I don’t know how many years, I addressed the one solemnly as Reverend So- and-So and the other as Mr. President; at any rate I should have! The class of ’98 was the largest one that had been graduated from the college or Greek course up to that year, and I think all the eighteen of us felt rather proud of the fact. We played baseball in vacant lots near a railroad, we never wore dress suits, we paid $1.50 a week for very good board in the base- ment of the old building, and we had a “yell” (which I think was about the only thing that we copied from other schools or colleges). For the purpose of making the record au- thentic, I shall put it down here (I dare not yell it out here in my BerlinerWohmmg— though I think I could—for the neighbors might not appreciate the melody) : “Rah, rah, rah! “Ain’t we great? “Augsburg Seminary, “Ninety-eight ! l” I remember that just before our com- mencement (at which Laurhammer made a wonderful address pact norsk and Gilbert a no less eloquent and wonderful one in Eng- lish) we had a grand class supper on Wash- ington Avenue, not far from “Seven Cor- ners”, which consisted of a very good oyster soup and small crackers, all of which cost about fifteen cents per capita. It was other- wise an exciting time in Minneapolis, for the Spanish War was just about to begin and very grand officers were already strutting or riding up Nicollet Avenue, preparing to “make Cuba free” by spending two or three months in some dreadful camp in Chattan- ooga, Tennessee. But none of us “went to the war,” which was soon over. As a rule we were quite exemplary in our habits (my own less desirable ones I have acquired later and after having become old enough to know better i), and I do not think any one even smoked. The most incorrig- ible one of us was George (this was another George, not Goggen), who was also one of the most likable chaps imaginable. He had come up from Luther College, I think. Any- how, his star stunt during our senior year Show less
THE DIAL 9 up.” I began to crave company and friends. I realized that it would not do to live as a recluse among civilized people all my life so I started out to make friends. I found this very hard. I had followed my inclinations in shunning society, and now I had to force myself to break away... Show moreTHE DIAL 9 up.” I began to crave company and friends. I realized that it would not do to live as a recluse among civilized people all my life so I started out to make friends. I found this very hard. I had followed my inclinations in shunning society, and now I had to force myself to break away from those habits. When I really learned to know people I found that most of them were agreeable and that friends were not wanting. Since that time I have enjoyed life more than previously. In spite of my best efforts, however, I find that I cannot break away from my old life entirely. I love to be alone and love to be let alone to commune with my own thoughts. I have now been at Augsburg for one school year, and that has been an enjoyable year. I am almost a stranger on the campus. No one cares very much for me and no one is displeased with me, to the best of my knowl- edge; so I am well pleased. I hope to con- tinue at Augsburg for some time still, and hope to make friends by trying to be agree- able. ~ @ Working on the Extra Gang JOSEPH ROEL, ’33 IT was on the ninth day of June in 1929 that a big husky gentleman stopped a friend of mine and me and asked us if we wanted a job. I had been in search of a position for some time, but to accept a job had never occurred to me. I asked John what he thought about it, and he said it would be better than loafing, and so we accepted. Upon finding ourselves employed by the Northern Pacific Railway, we inquired as to the nature of the work. We found that we were to be laborers on the Extra Gang which was going to work at a junction about thirty miles west of Fargo. The following morning we packed our clothes and other necessary belongings and boarded the train to Dilworth, Minn., where the division office was located. The first thing the official did was to give us numbers. John was given number thirteen and I thirty- nine. Thirteen, the number signifying mis- fortune, was rather hard to take, but we as- sured John that he had a chance of surviving the ordeal, and so he was somewhat com- forted. Needless to say, we were city-bred boys and accustomed to reposing between white sheets, but now they gave us a large white sack the size of a sheet and directed us to a straw stack whereupon we were informed to fill the sacks with straw and use them for matresses. The older boys who had had previous experience were quite successful in their efforts, but we had to be content to lie in the hills and valleys which took natural shapes when we were stufling the matresses There were four double bunks in our car, and so we chose the upper berths for our beds as it seemed to be warmer near the ceiling. After making our beds the dinner bell sound- ed, and we made a charge for the dining car. This meal, the first one we ate since being employed by the railroad, proved to be a real experience. Such exclamations as: “Pass the Java and cow’s juice”—which, of course, signified, coffee and milk—and “Sic the dog over here”—meaning, send the weiners—were common expressions; and I understood them quite readily, but when one of them asked for the ground cherries I must admit I was confused. I told him I didn’t see any ground cherries, so he enlightened me a little by saying they were potatoes. John drove his car to Wheatland, North Dakota, and I went with him while the rest Show less
THE DIAL EDITORIAL STAFF Elm. Fossax, Editor-in-Chief LITERARY EDITORS MATHILDA SAGENG LYDIA HALLING BUSINESS MANAGERS Baum Damn: Om Hanan) FRESHMAN STAFF OLIVER OLSON VALBORG SVERDRUP MAURICE HELLAND ALBERT KNUTSEN Editor-in-Chief __ Literary Editor Business Mana 0 CM Assistant Business Manager ... Show moreTHE DIAL EDITORIAL STAFF Elm. Fossax, Editor-in-Chief LITERARY EDITORS MATHILDA SAGENG LYDIA HALLING BUSINESS MANAGERS Baum Damn: Om Hanan) FRESHMAN STAFF OLIVER OLSON VALBORG SVERDRUP MAURICE HELLAND ALBERT KNUTSEN Editor-in-Chief __ Literary Editor Business Mana 0 CM Assistant Business Manager ‘Eable of Gontents Det var engang Charles Stangeland ........ “w”-.. Back There in Hawaii _________________________________ _-Abner Batalden ____________ .-__.__ To Man’s Estate George Tangvald .......... _._ That Day Will Come ____________________________________ .mEinar R. Ryden _ ........................ ._ From the Sniff of a Whisk Broom ................. .,Manley Gjerde ___--.__________.__._- A Little Token Lawrence Bueide w ___________________ r- FRESHMAN SECTION On Myself Iver Olson ..__.-,__._..-.._-.__-___- Working on the Extra Gang ....................... -__Joseph Roe] ..... __;_ _______ N Two Crosses .mGrace Jensen ______.____._..._.-. Of a Week at Aunt Ella’s _____________________________ _.Maurice Helland ___._-__....___. On Being Broke Trine Swenson _ _________ _. On Dirt Howard Halvorsen'_-_' ............. a. Of Spring Maurice Helland ____________ _._ Oliver Olson ........ ...__.._..__. Clarence Eliason ......____._.._.__ On Philosophizing Of My Relations A Diary in Slang Emmet Core -.______..-..._....____ The Chosen Valley _______________________________________ ___Luthard Gjerde ________________ -- On the Abuse of the English Language __________ .,Grace Jensen ____________ _.___ Forgetting Grace Jensen ...__._._w--.--__-..__ 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 15 16 17 18 19 Published semi-annually by the literary organizations of Augsburg College, Minneapolis, Minnesota Show less
14 THE DIAL ed for my unsightly appearance. A look in the glass fills me with delight. My hair is full of weeds and dirt, my face is decorated with greasy smudges, my hands—well, there are no words adequate to describe their per- fect condition. Once more I revel in dirt; once more I find an outlet... Show more14 THE DIAL ed for my unsightly appearance. A look in the glass fills me with delight. My hair is full of weeds and dirt, my face is decorated with greasy smudges, my hands—well, there are no words adequate to describe their per- fect condition. Once more I revel in dirt; once more I find an outlet for my desires, an opportunity to abandon all else and return to frolic with my old favorite—dirt. Of Spring MAURICE HELLAND, ’33 I have planned for several weeks to write a scathing satire, but who could write a satire when spring is in the air. And spring is in the air although it is only the middle of February. This is the season when I, like other romantic individuals, go strolling down the street with my head in the clouds and my feet in the mud puddles. Under the puddles is ice, and ice has caused the downfall of more men than anything else, with the ex- ception of women. Although I have not “fallen for” the latter I fell for the former; the result being a complete reversal of the usual position of my head and feet, as I plunged from my rosy dreams into the cold realities of life. This slightly dampened my spirits and I made haste to reach home. I could not long remain indoors. Soon I was on my way to the public library. Spring had even penetrated into this storehouse of knowledge, for the librarian’s customary “shhh” was replaced by a quiet, but force- ful, snore. Here was Mr. Thomas, a fine old gentleman who had been a great disappoint- ment to me. I once thought he was a former confederate soldier, only to discover that the uniform he often wore was that of a street- car conductor. Mr. Thomas adjusted his spectacles so that they were perched rather precariously on the end of his nose, and be- gan to peruse something which looked sus- piciously like a seed-catalogue. Occasionally he would brush back a stray lock of white hair (practically the only one he had, by the way), and on a scrap of paper he was jotting down a list of numbers. He told me confi- dentially that he didn't dare let his wife see the catalogue, so he read it in the library—a martyr to the cause of Spring. Over in a corner sat a man of uncertain age whose facial characteristics were enough to pro- claim him half-witted even if he had not been eccentric in his dress and actions. I noticed that he was reading from a book of ’modern verse. He probably understands the stuff as well as any one else, I thought. I decided not to get the reference book which I needed for school since I knew I wouldn’t use it. I walked slowly, but not sedately, down Bloom- ington Avenue, swinging my arms as I went, not in order to keep warm, but to get in practice for the coming tennis season. After supper I really should study, so I retire to my room, place my books neatly on the table, sit down; hum a tune; whistle a bit; put my head out the window to see if there is a moon; nibble a cookie which I have “swiped” from the pantry; and finally decide to settle down to an hour or two of good, solid, concentrated study. Ho hum! “Ich liebe-du liebst-er liebt”; oh German is boring; besides I won’t have a test in it tomorrow. So I eat a cookie and start on history. After concentrating on this subject for four minutes (according to my watch), I throw the book over on the book shelf, grab my English text, open it, shut it again, and put it in my brief case. I see an assignment in my notebook, “Study the reformation in Germany.” What I need is a reformation in myself, I decide, but what’s the use when spring is in the air? Show less
18 THE DIAL gently sloping sides of the St. Croix val- ley were covered completely with trees, which at that time of the year were of rich varied green. In the center of the valley was the St. Croix, imprisoned by walls of solid gray rock. A little to the right of the river was a level area, in... Show more18 THE DIAL gently sloping sides of the St. Croix val- ley were covered completely with trees, which at that time of the year were of rich varied green. In the center of the valley was the St. Croix, imprisoned by walls of solid gray rock. A little to the right of the river was a level area, in the center of which lay the Lake of the Dalles. It seemed, from my elevated viewpoint to be exactly the right size to be an ornament worn by this vast scene beneath me that is nature. As the sun glinted on the gently rippling waters of the lake, I saw it as a huge and richly brilliant diamond, fit only to grace such a scene as this. The blan- ket of forest was covered with a thin veil of blue mist. The tall, darker pines stood out impressively above their smaller neighbors. My eyes followed the river. Its dark waters were scarcely visible between those high walls of rock. Only below the Inter-state Bridge did the waters break into a white foam as they rushed and swirled down a miniature rapids. Farther up was the large white power house which man, that demolisher of natural beauty, had dared to place here. Among the trees on the side of the valley near the power house could be seen the tops of some of the more dignified buildings of the town that is nestled there, apparently unaware of the beautiful nature which surrounds it. Still farther back the sloping, misty, for- est-covered hills seemed to fade into nothing- ness as they blended with the blue sky to form a hazy and indistinct horizon. What a pity, I thought, that more people do not visit this God-made garden of misty beauty! It had thrilled and inspired me so that I was surprised when I came out of my reveries and found myself at the top of this high peak. I felt as though I had found a new friend; a friend without fault. But I would come back to this misty panorama that wore a robe of bluish green and a sparkling dia- mond! I would come back to renew our friendship, and I hoped that my scene would not change, for it was as near perfection as any of my imagined scenes of beauty. Re- luctantly, I tore myself away, to start down the rugged rock path on which I had toiled upward, seemingly an age ago. @ On the Abuse of the English Language F all the words to which I react with pre- judiced animosity, the word “cute” effects me most acutely. Speaking of cute babies and, in the next breath, of a cute man, is insuf- ferable. The babies, of course, who can do nothing in protest, look more adorable than before, but for a man who has been accused of being cute (it must be an accusation and not a compliment) to continue to be so is incomprehensible. Where a certain street and a certain avenue meet in Minneapolis, there stands a house known as “Dream Cottage.” It is cute. The arrangement of the furniture in the sit- ting-room is cute. The girls who live in it are cute. A certain young man who boards there says that they cook cute meals. It has been my delight, on winter, autumn, spring, and summer evenings, to spend an hour with these dreamers, dumplings (from the “Dump” where they used to live), or old maids, as they pretend to be. We have talked of many things over cups of tea and coffee and, last time, it was of “cuteness.” Noah Webster has this to say,——but per- haps it would be well if Webster were studied individually. Given second place in this dic- tionary, with its meaning limited to the .A..- .._.a..r-_...._._- < Ag... Show less
