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The Patter Column Of
the Cosmos
Patter Column Anthology:
The
Patter column first appeared in the Cosmos January 27 1922. Newell
Rogers was the editor and instigator. For thirty years Patter made its
weekly appearance, filled with silly songs and stories about professors
and coeds on campus. The following is a collection of material printed
in Patter.
January
27, 1922:
We
announce a prize contest - the prize to be a cut glass handle to a
lemon squeezer - for the best name for Voorhees Quadrangle. The editor
suggests the House of a Thousand Gossips.
The
College Cynic dubs it the Asylum for Potential Wives. What do you
think?
Mail
you titles to the Editor of Patter, care of The Cosmos. Who will win
the cut glass handle to the lemon squeezer? Think fast, ma cherie,
think fast!
March
31, 1922:
About
an hour after The Cosmos was on the street last week six men and one
girl rushed in, after reading about "The House of a Thousand Candles"
as a title for Voorhees, and told us we’d made a mistake in spelling
and said the title should be: "The House of a Thousand Scandals."
April
21, 1922:
The
Pat. Ed. Tries His Hand at Poe
It
was dusk and the wind howled shrilly through the bare treetops. The
windows of the dingy old fraternity house turned back the sickly rays
of a dull-red setting sun, as if determined not to let the light break
the mantles of gloom and darkness that shrouded the interior.
I
entered with a sickening dread clutching at my heart. And my most
horrible apprehensions were confirmed.
Everything
was disorder. As I advanced I made out a formless figure on the
staircase. It was the fraternity president. His clothing was awry and
his eyes wore a glassy stare. He was down on his hands and knees,
systematically pulling the tacks tout of the staircase carpet with his
teeth!
Suddenly
from the library came sounds as if all the fiends of hell were loosed.
I started to flee, but steeled myself, and crept to the door. Tow
sophomores were locked in a death struggle, as with foam-flecked lips
they cursed each other and shrieked aloud.
With
pallid cheeks and quaking knees I stumbled on, determined to piece the
mystery. From the music rooms across the hall came the sound of dull
thuds. A junior was beating his brains out by butting his head against
the piano.
On
over the house of death I wandered. In the dining room I found what had
been three pure, innocent freshmen. They had been sent to college by
doting parents, unaware of the horrible fate that awaited them...the
bodies of the three boys were horribly mutilated.
Hunched
over in grotesque attitudes, the stiffened corpses of the fraternity
steward and the hasher that lay in the kitchen. Between them was an
empty bottle that had contained a mixture of wood alcohol and carbolic
acid. My whole being grew sick as I gazed upon their bloated faces...
I
passed my hands over my eyes, and started to grope my way out of this
fiendish abode of death. Then I noticed a curious circumstance. Each of
the dead men gripped in his hand a slip of paper. Swaying slightly, I
secured one of them. The paper contained a jumble of letters, al of
them well down in the alphabet. A code, I thought! Perhaps a clue to
their death?
Then
an awful suspicion seized my soul. I hastened to the next man - the
ghastly idea was confirmed! I shrieked aloud - my head whirled - a
sickening nausea over took me - and I sank to the floor in a swoon.
The
mid-semester grades had been published.
May
5, 1922:
Wuxtra!
The return of Scoop!
The
Ballade of the Infant Terrible
When
Atlanta ran her race
To
choose the man whom she would wed
The
critics rose and cried, "Disgrace!"
"It’s
not the thing to do," they said
Then
hands were wrung and tears were shed
"The
world," they cried, "has goneeschew,
Alack
the good old days are dead
What
ARE the young folks coming to?
In
Plymouth town in olden time,
The
Pilgrim fathers, stern and proud,
Condemned
a maid of awful crime
And
ducked her well before the crowd
"The
devil's in her," they avowed,
"She's
steeped in evil through and through-
The
wench has dared to laugh aloud-
What
ARE the young folks coming to?"
When
grandpa was in manhood's pride
He
vaunted of his horsemanship.
He
took the girls to buggy ride
and
started at a merry clip –
But
elders curled a scornful lip,
Said,
"Here's a pretty how-de-do.
He
wraps the lines around the whip-
What
ARE the young folks coming to?
L'envoy
Oh, Prince, when will these critics learn
That
they are asking nothing new
When
they demand with great concern,.
"What
ARE the young folks coming to?"
March
29, 1923:
Near
Disaster on First Ave
What
almost became a tragedy occurred in the spring flood waters at First
avenue and Thirteenth street yesterday afternoon, when the gondola of
Dean Maria Leonard was rammed by a canoe containing a number of
prominent Coe Greeks. The accident occurred when the left paddle,
wielded by Brother Ralph Lacey, broke as the fraternity canoe reached
the corner, and the canoe skidded into the faculty barge.
As
a result of the collision, Prof. Joseph Kitchin, who had been standing
in the stern of the gondola playing his violin for the benefit of Miss
Leonard, Prof. Patty, Mrs. Spencer and Sgt. Seay, who were seated in
the bow, was pitched backward into the icy spring waters, violin and
all.
The
prompt action of Prof. Patty probably saved Mr. Kitchin's life. Mr.
Patty quietly removed his glasses and plunged bravely over the side to
the struggling figure of Mr. Kitchin on the asphalt bottom of the
watery street far below.
After
smacking Mr. Kitchin on the jaw to keep him from struggling, Mr. Patty
towed the recumbent form of the violinist to the surface, where the
members of the party hauled him into the gondola.
A
pulmoter, which Miss Leonard always carries as a measure of precaution,
was quickly applied, and after five pints of water had been pumped out
of him, Mr. Kitchin sat up and asked Miss Leonard for a cigarette. In
the confusion which followed, Mr. Kitchin jumped overboard, swam to the
campus and has not been seen since.
Neither
of the boats were harmed and no one was injured in the collision. The
fraternity men were late for a 2:05 class, but upon the request of Miss
Leonard, Dean Stookey has consented to excuse their cuts.
Mr.
Kitchin's violin has not been recovered. Divers were sent down but were
not able to locate the instrument. It is thought if there are no more
blizzards, when the rest of the snow has melted, and the water somewhat
subsides, that the violin may be recovered.
November
8, 1923
Patter's
program for Student Life
Rise
at ten.
Breakfast
at eleven.
Smoke
Lunch
at one
Poker
till three
Auto
ride
Dinner
at six
Movies
Date
Bed
Study
- tomorrow.
March
19, 1925:
Our
Weekly Interview
(This
week, Mr. Dille)
(Exclusive
to Patter)
No,
I can’t understand why the students persist in naming me the most
popular pedagogue on the campus. I never bit for popularity. I try
merely to go about my business and instill in the spongy craniums of
the students a few facts about geology. You know geology is a kindred
subject to my students. They have so much in common. For rocks are hard
and so are the students. Well, you get what I mean. No, I've cut
out hurling chalk except at the worse specimens. The reason? Well, the
other day I got mad. I asked a young lad to describe a flora. He asked
me what her last name was. I tossed a piece of chalk at his manly brown
and it went out the window and hit Dean Stookey on the nose. I
understand it was the first time the dean really ever had his nose
powdered. What part of The Cosmos do I read first? Why, the Patter
column of course!
November
26, 1925
Dear
Sew:
I
was shocked to read in The Cosmos last week a description about
meeting held at Coe. The sentence read, "The first meeting of the
editors and faculty advisors of the Freshman Folio was hell Monday
night." I appreciate the efforts of the Cosmos in printing the
truth about everything that happens on the campus, but I do believe
that your paper carried the truth too far in printing that statement.
The meeting probably was just as you described it, for many of the
meetings in which the faculty members participate sometimes do get
pretty hot, but please do not tell the truth all the time in your
sheet. It's the truth that hurts, you know.
-A Faculty Member.
May
20, 1926
Announce
Raffle of members of the Faculty
In
these days when Fords, ironing boards, radios, chewing gum, knickers,
and fly swatters are being raffled off by the Elks, Wobblies, W.C.T.U.,
Gyros, and the I Will Rise and shine Societies, why would it not be one
good idea to dispose of the unmarried members of the Coe faculty in
similar fashion? There would be many advantages which would accrue to
this college as the result of such a scheme. For instance there would
be more attendants at Faculty picnics on Flunk Day.
Statistics
show, according to Benson's catalogue, that there are twenty-nine
unmarried women on the Coe faculty and nine unmarried men. As a logical
deduction from out present conception of the properness of the
monogamist fashion, it would therefore seem that twenty of the women
must draw byes in this contest. But we would have done our share in
bringing together the faculty members by promoting this raffle, and if
the first attempt should prove successful, we might find twenty males
from the Cornell faculty to complete our spring home-making campaign.
A
list of the Twenty-nine unmarried faculty women follow: Nicholson,
Inskeep, Heyberger, Stewart, Wikoff, Ryan, Crawford, Pritchett,
Outland, Page, Swab, Haller, Talmage, Houts, Wolfe, Tolf, Schmidt,
Tapper, Lambert, Maxwell, Beresford, Olson, Doolittle, Brownell,
Turechek, Rider, Grannis, Hibbard, Nelson. WE use only the last names,
since we have become of familiar with them.
Opposite
these are placed the nine unmarried men, for which the twenty-nine
women will make such a scramble. It means, ear readers, that twenty
women must remain maidens. The men are: Bidwell, Daehler, Pickett,
Basemann, Silliman, Jenkins, Meyer, Coffin and Hunt.
Of
course, we intend that chances on these nine men should be sold only to
the unmarried ladies of the faculty. Coeds are barred from bidding, in
spite of the fact that some are trying to make a catch among the
faculty men. Chances should sell of at least $10 dollars each. Maybe
some of the Coe teachers would give up their European tours, which have
been planned for this summer, in order to take advantage of this
bargain sale. They could use their savings in an attempt to draw a
husband. (The editor of Patter column will now receive sealed bids from
all enterprising organizations on the campus that wish to take over
this concession).
May
27, 1926:
Sergeant
Seay does not wish to have his name mentioned in this issue of Patter.
September
21, 1949
The
Patter column, which had become primarily a gossip column over the
years, officially became The Wastebasket, which was dedicated
exclusively to campus gossip. The introductory paragraph was as follows:
In
response to the varied and widespread demand by members of the Byron S.
Hollinshead Fan Club, Inc., we offer you this column as a means of
satisfying the eager and enthusiastic desires for people to see their
name in print. We are willing to print any and all truths concerning
things and people on or about Co' 's campus. We are not fearful of
offending anyone or smiting libel because of insurance carried by The Cosmos
with the Butler & Latchaw Clearing House. Our motto is "A word said
in jest is jest a word said."
This
column continued until January of 1950, when Under the Victory Bell,
also dedicated to campus gossip, replaced it.
March
22, 1950:
Everyone who attended the Military ball will
remember the frenzied queries over the PA system concerning the cars
parked on the yellow line out in front of Ar-mar. No one bothered to
claim them - until after the ball when President Hollinshead and Howard
Unzeitig received free parking tickets from the Marion police force.
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