What Makes George Run?
Last night, I went Halloweening with George. I didn’t really
want to go Halloweening—l’m not a very good Halloweener when
you come right down to it, but then it’s not everyday that you get
a chance to go Halloweening with George. So I told George that I’d
be glad to go Halloweening with him—l promised George that I’d
be at his house at 7:30.
I arrived at George’s house at 7:20—1 didn’t want to offend
George by being late. I had disguised myself as a devil—but then
again, I’m not very novel. That’s why I like George—George is very
novel—about the most novel person I’ve ever met in my whole life.
I wondered what George would disguise himself as.
When George came out of his house, I was sort of surprised be
cause he looked like the plain ordinary George that I saw every
day. There was one thing different—very different! Under his left
arm, George carried a crowbar and in his right hand h-- hem :
shovel. This, to me, was funny. I didn’t bother asking George any
questions though—l didn’t want to offend him—George, you see,
is easily offended. Naturally, I figured George had a good reason
for carrying a shovel and a crowbar —George always has a good
reason for doing everything that he does.
We went down Eighth Street. I know Eighth Street pretty well.
At the risk of offending George—easily offended George—l said,
“George, what are we doing on Eighth Street?” He mumbled and
pointed to the Sunny Acres Home for the Blind. I wondered again, as
I always wonder when George mumbles something, and readily apol
ogized to George, as I always apologize when he mumbles, because
when George mumbles it usually means he’s mad.
' We’re going into the Home,” said George and 1- said, • Ok: y.
We walked up the steps—George was in the lead (as he always is,
because George, to me, is superior). He rang the bell. I think it was
an elderly lady that answered, but I’ll never be sure, because at that
moment, George had pulled the woman’s seeing-eye dog from her
grasp, and her screams really distorted her face. For the first time
in my life, I doubted George, but my doubt wasn’t strong enough to
say much of anything. So, I just stood there while George ran up
stairs. Then, I heard one scream and another and another and many
more. Soon, George came running down surrounded by dogs. “What
next George?” I asked. “Go get the shovel,” he replied. “Surely
George,” I said, “you’re not going to bury all of those dogs?” He
said he wasn’t— he just wanted to bury their harnesses and set the
dogs free. This, to me, seemed ridiculous, but as I said before, George
is novel—he always has his reason.
George and I went outside and buried the harnesses. Then we
set the dogs free.
I didn’t tell my mother—l didn’t think it was wise. It was quite
a prank though—you’ve gotta admit that. It’s novel—l admire novel
things, because I can’t be novel, but I enjoy watching novel things
and all that stuff—you’ve gotta admit—it was novel.
George says that he wants to go Halloweening again tonight. I
don’t know whether to go or not—l don’t know—l might.
CAM?US COMtt*
Judy: “Of course it’s big enough, Jerry Bochin. It holds you,
doesn’t it?”
By Diane Janowski
ft 1
THE NITTANY CUB
rence E. Dennis, the vice president
of Penn State University.
Mr. Dennis addressed the faculty
on the subject of the academic
future of Behrendi Campus.
Mr. Dennis has been associated
with Penn State since 1954 in the
various posts of vice president for
academic affairs, provost, and
administrative assistant to the
president. In October of 1955, he
was also appointed the vice-chair
man on the governor’s Commis
sion on Higher Education.
Two far-out characters named answer.
Igor and Jack were playing a “The Empire State Building?”
little game. “What do I have in «,j^ o „
my hand?” asked Igor.
“Three Navy patrol bombers?” Orchestra?”
guessed Jack.
Igor looked into his hnnrig
Igor looked carefully into his again, and then said slyly to his
cupped hands. “Nope,” was the friend, “Who’s conducting?”
Lawrence E. Dennis, Penn
State vice-president, recently
visited Behrend Campus and
addressed the Behrend fac
ulty.
Distinguished Guest
Visits Behrend
Recently, Behrend Campus had
the honor of welcoming Mr. Law-
dinner at Soudan’s Restaurant,
Dorm Girls' Lament
To use the reception room, that is the cry
And probably will be, till the day we die.
To end our dates we must sit in the cold
Or else in a car, where he gets too bold.
What we need is a warm place to talk
Instead of shivering outside by the walk.
A place somewhat like our living room at home
Instead of this endless campus to roam.
We’d all like to know just why
No one will take heed to our cry.
We don’t want a place to sit and neck,
But just a place for that final peck.
And so, friends, you’ve now heard our plea
We also hope our point you do see.
Behrend
Terra
Firma
Famous last words in the dorm :
“Is the mail here yet? . • _
boys allowed in the reception
room, Judi . . . I’ve got a prob
lem, Fedune . , . Turn the record
player down . . . p or k, again?
. . . Hey, Deany Lane, how about
a meeting? . . . Sandy, mustard
on everything?”
Who filled the ash trays with
water? . . . Appropiate attire for
the “Behrend Palls” reception
room—trench coats and boobs.
. . . What’s the matter, Phyliis?
. . . Hey, you, where’s your pass
to go through' this room? . . . Tic
tack-toe, you give the x’s we give
the o’s . . . “Girls’ Dorm, Andy
speaking!”
Whose dormitized? This doesn’t
usually happen until spring, girls!
. . . New attire for the pool, Ber
mudas and sweat shirts . . . Andy,
really I don’t want to go in, no
really. Splash! . . . Who was sleep
ing in the study. Barb? . . . Did
you kiss George good night?
“I don’t care if you are from
Psy class, put down that hammer
or I’ll call the police! . . . What,
another Spanish test? ... is there
anyone Mr Baker, Student Coun
cil advisor, hasn’t put to work yet?
. . . Eeegor, Ohh! my ankle . . .
No, Mr. Goodwin, not soccer air i
... A little advice to the talkative
dorm girls—too much has hap
pened in four weeks . . . Watch
it! ... Dave is just too much!
“The Philadelphia Symphon.