THE BATTALION
7
MISS DANA GLASS FAIRCHILD
President of the Freshman Class, C. I. A.
FISH FEATHERS FROM C. I. A.
The Fish of C. I. A. extend greet
ings and best wishes for a grand fin
ish of this fish year at A. and M.
Yea, and even more, a brilliant future
during the next year, your Soph year
and ours.
The Staff of the Freshman “Bat”
has asked for articles from the pens
of some freshwomen of this, our Col
lege of Innocent Angels, otherwise
known as “No Man’s Land.” And the
latter title is no hyperbolic figure. It
conveys the infallible truth in regard
to the voidness of men, as readily as
the long-lamented, but ever-existing,
“Old Maid’s Ball.” Yet all this might
have been different had our fore
fathers dating back eighteen years
ago the same point of view regard
ing the location of C. I. A. as we our
selves now hold. It would have
thrilled everyone of you khaki clad
lads to the she strings if only you
could have been present at a recent
College Assembly. There was a dis
tinguished speaker for the occasion,
and by way of introducing him, a few
of the facts about the phenomenal
growth of our College were present
ed.
The speakers voice echoed distinct
ly throughout the hall. “And”, said
he, “There were fourteen sites for
the location of the College of Indus
trial Arts considered.” As the last
words of his sentence was uttered a
groan of baffled desires and despair
rose from the throats of the fourteen
hundred. “And among those earnest
ly considered was Bryan.” Nthaniel
said it: “Of all sad words of ton
gue or pen, the saddest are these: it
might have been.”
A. and M., we simply can’t leave
you out. You are ever present in the
minds of all of us. The Sophs, in
their annual Majestic stunt, pulled a
good one on you. It was enjoyed
too—although it was at your expense.
An old negro woman was speaking,
“Yassuh,” she said, “I’se got two chil-
luns, Yassuh. What’s dey names?
Oh dey got puty names. Oh! what
is dey? W’y one’s a gal and her’s
is Mirandy Mellissa Mandy.
T’other’s a boy and hisn’s is Adol
phus Achitophel Albert. Yassuh, dey
is pow’ful long. What does I call ’em
fo ev’day? W’y suh, I sez, sez I,
’Come heah A. an M.
Oh well, what’s the use? “You
know what I mean.” Here it all is
a few concise (?) words.
Here’s to you and your folks from
me and my folks
For if you and your folks like me
and my folks
Like me and my folks like you and
your folks
Then there never will be folks as long
as folks are folks
That liked any folks, like you and
and your folks
And me and my folks.
’23
RE VERSE BLUES.
I took her to the station
And pretended to be gay
Though she was going to the R.V.
And I had to stay away.
Oh, drat those old demerits,
(irony of fate!). The giver thereof
chaperoned us to the station and I
couldn’t tell Clarie what to tell him.
And Claire was happy and smiling
and I had to smile—my pride made
me —when I wanted to cry. And then
the train pulled out with the girls
waiving good-bye and the passengers
smiling in sympathy. A sob was
wrung from my saddened heart. Oh,
If all C. I. A. Freshmen have as
much pep and initiative as their
president, whose picture graces this
page of our Battalion ,they are
young ladies demanding our highest
respect and admiration to say noth
ing of our brotherly (?) love and af
fection. From time immemorial or
since the creation of C. I. A., we
have had much in common, and the
present Freshman Class desires
above all things to continue this mu
tual interest until death do we part.
We are r.orrv that we are not per-
death where is thy sting ? And I
turned in the direction of C. I. A. and
another demerited derelict on the sea
of sorrow grabbed me by the arm and
we stumbled along together and
neither of us could see the way. And
then I wished I were with my brand
new organdy instead of Claire’s be
ing with it. I got back to the dor
mitory and thought. I thought of
the agony of sending that last tele
gram to him telling him I couldn’t
come, but most of the time I just
thought of him. And I saw him
promenading with some pretty girl j
(how I hate her!) and I saw her in
his arms in some dreamy, rhythmical
waltz and I swooned and wished I
was dead. And this continued for
three days—three eternities of ex
cruciating pain and martyrdom—and
I couldn’t even eat, which made me
grow wan, and thin and ethereal,
which made me want to be at A. and
M. all the more.
And then—Claire came back. Claire
told me all about it, and he was with
some pretty girl and I wished I was
dead again. And she hasn’t quit tell
ing yet, and my pillow is mildewed
from my salty tears—which I hope
won’t be discovered till after June 1.
But he wrote, in answer to my
sonally acquainted with Miss Fair-
child, as well as with all other mem
bers of C. I. A.’s Class of ’23. We
are sorry that we do not know more
about our friend. We would like to
be able to tell our readers something
of her charming personality. Our
entire class wishes to thank Miss
Fairchild for her interest and coop
eration in the publishing of this
our issue of The Battalion as demon
strated by the material that appears
on this page. We extend our best
wishes to Miss Fairchild and her
cheerful missive, that he didn’t care
a hoot for beautiful girls—he pre
ferred me every time. I’m blue and
doubtful and I’m going to wait next
year until after the R. V. to wear
non-uniform uniform, and get demer
ited and campussed, woe is me.
’23
THE TALE OF THE FISH.
The Freshmen, fresh from the fields
of fads, foibles, and flirtations, en
tered the College of Industrial Arts
with a firm step, sober heart, and ex
pectant eye on September 17, 1919.
Our life after our entrance can be
thus well rendered:
I. Matriculation.
II. Club Initiations.
III. Our remodling begun by Jun
iors, Seniors, Sophomores and Preps.
IV. Our rejuvenation completed
by means of chapel talks, mass meet
ings, and demerits.
The exceptional qualities of the
Freshmen were first demonstrated in
their “Negro Ministrel Show” which
was declared by the students of the
College to have been one of the best
ever seen. The versatile toes and
vaudeville voices of several of our
Deep-sea-Fish did much in delineating
those jolly old negro characters who
once shiningly starred in our now al
most extinct “Southern Ministrel.”
Our triumphs in the athletic field
consist in the winning of the Basket
Ball and tennis championships. Base
ball is as yet neutral. Our prowess
as bootblacks was mighty. We rolled
up our sleeves in December and ap
plied the brush and Shinola. Even
the stubbed shoes of the ditch-digger
came in for their share. There was
a motive behind that brush that made
it an all powerful instrument; we
wanted to and we did send our class
Representatives to the Dos Moines
Convention.
A finer Freshman class (with all
due respect to its Brother class) than
this one has never come from the
hands of its MAKERS. Some of us
have even now begun to receive the
honors which are going to be heaped
upon us in the future. Rare and
worthwhile talents have been dis
covered: Artistic, Literary, Execu
tive, Social and otherwise. Even
Crushes came into being. Surely we
are not encroaching upon the antique
privileges of the ancient prophets
when we say that this class and its
Over-ailed Brother Class are going
to contribute wondrously to the
world’s good. Some of us will be:
C. I. A.
1. Society Belles.
2. Dignitaries of A. and M. and C.
I. A.
3. Cultured Boot-blacks.
4. Female Paderewskis.
5. Cooks of the Nth degree.
A. and M.
1. Cynical Lounge Lizards.
3. Professors of Pretentious Philos
ophy.
4. All round Farmers.
5. Engineers in the fields of elec
tricity and society.
And some Hamburger Vendors.
Yea!
’23
FISH PHILONDERINGS.
I’m just an humble little Fish; I
don’t pretend to much. I get my
lemons handed me regularly and I
don’t need to worry. Most of these
sharks around here are all the time
baitin’ me up and temptin’ me to nib
ble at everything that floats by—
most of the time I do—but I’m not
afraid to get caught—I know I’m too
green to fry. So I just lie content
down here where the still waters run
deep and try to see all I can.
I guess I must live in the River
Styx for there are so many of this
Collection of Innocent Angels on the
one side, and such Awful Monsters
on the other. But you know the fun
niest thing about that is the way
they try to get together. Maybe you
wouldn’t believe it, but I’ve even seen
with my own fishy little eyes, some of
those Awfuls up here among the In
nocents, and once, not so very far
back up this stream of Time, they
had one of those impish celebrations
over among the Monsters after they
had captured some Angels—they had
a hop—and the Angels joined in!
Oh, yes! I see lots of things with
my little fishy eyes. I’ve even seen a
burning note passed across the bridge
that separates the two. I was kind
of worried at first—about the bridge
catching, you know—but it seems
that that was a different kind of fire
consuming that red-and-blue stamped
letter. I’ve seen those awful mon
sters that get away with so much on
a track field and never tremble,
(Continued on Page 9)
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