by Max Shulman
“‘I see,’ he said. ‘What school are you in?’
“‘I’m in liberal arts.’
“‘How are your grades?’ he asked.
“I drew myself up. ‘I’m not concerned with the obsolete practice of giving grades. To me rounding out my personality is more important than any meaningless alphabetical symbols.’
“‘What are you going to do after you graduate?” he asked.
“‘I’m not worried about that unlikely event,’ I answered. ‘The kind of education I’m getting will equip me for anything that might come up.’”
“I guess you told him,” said Roger.
“Yes,” Rudy admitted. “I tell you, those people don’t deserve to vote. They haven’t got the proper spirit. Why, they don’t even know what the University is for.”
“Yup,” agreed Shylock. “Well, I guess we’re all set to get going on the campaign.”
“Yeah,” said Rudy. “Get hold of the Minnesota Daily political reporter and give him a statement. His name is Daemon Scoop. Give him some kind of a story every day. He’s a good kid. He’ll give you plenty of publicity. He gets paid on space rates. That’s about all you can do during the campaign.
“Don’t worry too much about the campaign. It doesn’t mean much. The important work comes the day before the election. On that day you call all the sororities and fraternities that have candidates running in this election and tell each one of them that you will guarantee the entire Alpha Cholera vote for their candidate if they guarantee their vote for Asa. Of course they’ve probably all promised their votes to Petey Loadsafun, but maybe if you put it to them right you can do business. I’ll get some of the boys to help you. You fellows check in here and see me from time to time during the campaign.”
“O.K., Rudy,” said Shylock.
“We’ll see you,” said Roger.
“What must I do?” said I.
“Oh, Jesus, I almost forgot,” Rudy exclaimed. “Keep him hidden. The less people see him, the better.”
“We’ll lock him in the chapter room at the house,” said Shylock.
“Why can’t I go out and campaign?” I asked.
“Shut up,” exclaimed Roger.
CHAPTER XVII
Je n’ai pas des cousines, mais j’ai deux tantes. —GABORIAU
During the days that followed I became quite proficient at Canfield, although I never won a game. After six hundred consecutive losses I cleverly reasoned that something was wrong, and, counting the deck, I found that the five of spades was missing.
I was reasonably happy during my confinement. I had plenty to eat and an oblique view of the sleeping quarters of a sorority house next door. But most of all I liked the mornings, because then I was brought a copy of the Minnesota Daily and I could read an account of the election campaign written by Daemon Scoop in his sprightly “new-journalism” style.
Since my sole source of information about the campaign was the Minnesota Daily, the best way I can describe it is to list the most pertinent excerpts from the Daily news stories:
May 12
Zing! Zang! Zowie!
The lid was blown off the spring elections today as the Yahoo party entered a dark horse in the race for freshman representative to the student council. In a statement issued by his campaign managers, Roger Hailfellow and Shylock Fiscal, the dark horse, Ezra Hearthrug, charged that the Mafia party was “inviting and encouraging” bloodshed and “eventual female extinction.”
Hearthrug was referring to a plank in the Mafia party platform stating that male students should remove their hats in elevators when there are women present. “Removing one’s hat in an elevator,” said Hearthrug, “causes one to take up twice as much room, thereby shrdlu shrdlu shrdlu shrdlu. It is another example of the Mafia party shortsightedness which has always been their chief characteristic.”
Hearthrug is a newcomer to campus politics, but, according to his campaign managers, he is amply qualified by virtue of his experience at Salmon P. Chase high school in Whistlestop, Minnesota, his home town, where he served two terms as bursar of the debating society and “made many friends.”
May 13
Biff! Bang! Bong!
Etaoin Shrdlu, Mafia candidate for freshman representative to the student council, hurled the charges of Asa (erroneously called Ezra in yesterday’s story) Hearthrug, his opponent, back in his (Hearthrug’s) teeth today.
“Hearthrug has never heard of chivalry,” he said.
“Or if he has,” he added, his eyes twinkling slyly, “he probably thinks it is the name of a low-priced car.”
May 14
Ricky! Ticky! Tawy!
Fur flew faster in the spring election today as Asa Hearthrug answered the charges of his opponent, Petey Loadsafun (erroneously called Etaoin Shrdlu in yesterday’s shrdlu).
“It is just like the Mafia party,” averred Hearthrug, “to dodge a serious issue with a coarse gest. If the Mafia definition of chivalry is to leave broken women in elevators all over Minneapolis, then I’m glad I don’t know what it means.”
Hearthrug’s answer was issued in a prepared statement through his campaign managers, Roger Hailfellow and Shylock Fiscal.
May 15
(Note: This story has nothing to do with the campaign. It is so interesting, however, that I feel I must pass it on.)
An interesting occurrence occurred in Professor Ralph (Bubbles) Learned’s English literature class yesterday.
Three students who have sat next to each other in the class for three semesters discovered that their names are all Alvin Turnverein. They all come from St. Cloud, Minn., where their fathers, all named Pierre, are all engaged in the upholstery business.
Their mothers, all named Grace, were all Duluth girls, and all are slightly discolored as the results of railroad accidents.
The three Alvin Turnvereins are all five feet, eight inches tall, and all speak with pronounced lisps.
They are not related in any way and show a marked dislike for each other.
May 19
Crash! Crunch! Crotch!
Fireworks exploded again today in the race for freshman representative to the student council. Petey Loadsafun, the shrdlu candidate, told your reporter, “I cannot bring myself to worry about the wild accusations of this Hearthrug person. Who is Hearthrug, anyhow? Who ever heard of him?”
May 20
Zis! Boom! Bah!
Still another bombshell was thrown into the spring elections today as Asa Hearthrug answered yesterday’s statement of his opponent, Petey Loadsafun.
In a statement issued by his campaign managers, Roger Hailfellow and Shylock Fiscal, Hearthrug said, “Of course nobody has heard of me. I’m a dark horse.”
Hearthrug’s campaign managers pointed out that Franklin Pierce, too, was a dark horse. Your reporter was unable to ascertain the identity of Franklin Shrdlu.
May 24
(An editorial)
Tomorrow is election day. Another exciting campaign has drawn to a close, and tomorrow, in the good old American tradition, the students will go to the polls and make their choice.
Yet tomorrow is more than election day. It is a demonstration of what a university means in the American scheme of things. It is democracy in action, for a university is something more than an institution of learning; it is a proving ground of democracy.
Consider the newspaper you are reading. It is an example of a fundamental right—freedom of the press. The editor of this newspaper may print what he likes—within certain limits, of course, for freedom is not license. Naturally what appears in this paper must be governed by the considered judgment of the Regents of the University, that august body of men democratically appointed by our duly-elected governor and neglecting their grain and feed stores to devote their talents to the administration of this institution of higher learning.
Similarly, the election tomorrow is an instance of democracy in action. Tomorrow you will be exercising your democratic prerogative. But it is more than a ri
ght; it is an obligation too. You may lose it if you do not use it.
So tomorrow get out and vote. The Daily makes no recommendations. Although we have followed this extraordinarily lively campaign with acute interest, we feel that we must not tell you how to vote. We only tell you to vote.
So, no matter who you like, get out there tomorrow and shrdlu.
May 26
Ahhhhhh!
That is the sigh of your reporter. It is a sigh of relief that the hectic election is over, the votes are tabulated, and the winners are chosen.
The magnificent total of 1,382 votes were cast. This figure represents nearly one eleventh of the student body. Coincidentally, it is the exact figure of fraternity and sorority membership on campus.
The winners were …
(The rest of this story is illegible. It is blurred with my tears. It tells how bad I lost.)
CHAPTER XVIII
Docteur, je viens vous demander des nouvelles de la comtesse. —RICHELIEU
Well, I thought, at least I could lose myself in the gaiety of the Alpha Cholera spring formal and forget all about the election. I called Noblesse.
“I mean I’m sorry,” she said. “I mean I won’t be able to see you any more. I’m going steady with Petey Loadsafun.”
Well, I thought, maybe that’s a good thing after all. Now I won’t have to be racking my brains all the time trying to decide between her and Yetta. And I’ll be shut of that Mother Bloor. I called Yetta.
“Yahoo!” she screamed. “Fascist! Provocateur!”
Neither of them sent back my pins, neither.
CHAPTER XIX
Un cadeau pour moi? Il faut me le montrer. —BERGSON
It was a balmy evening, typical of the first days of June. The windows of the living room of the Alpha Cholera house were wide open, allowing the fragrance of the outdoors to waft in. Roger and Shylock sat on a low divan talking with Bob Scream, who had come to visit them.
I sat at the desk in the corner of the room with thirty or forty books open in front of me. I was studying for the final examinations that were rapidly approaching. As I plunged into the hard grind of studying, for the first time in weeks I felt a sort of peace. The cold, irrefutable pages of my textbooks blotted out the thoughts of Yetta and Noblesse and the election fiasco that had been making my days hideous. Gratefully I fell into academic forgetfulness.
“You guys want to play a little bridge?” Bob asked.
“Sure,” said Roger. “Who can we get for a fourth?”
“Is there anybody upstairs?” Shylock asked.
“No,” Roger answered. “They all went down to sorority row to whistle. There’s a pretty fair wind up tonight.”
“There’s Asa sitting over there. Why not ask him?” Bob suggested.
“Let’s play three-handed,” said Shylock.
“That’s no fun,” Bob protested. “Let’s ask Asa.”
“You be his partner?” Roger said.
“No. We’ll cut cards. Low man gets him,” said Bob.
“And a five-thousand-point handicap,” Roger said.
They agreed.
Roger called me. “Asa, come here, old fellow. We’re going to play a little bridge.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m studying for finals.”
“Did you hear that, fellows?” asked Roger. “He’s studying for finals!”
“Well,” said Shylock, “let’s not judge him too harshly. Remember, he is just a freshman.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Roger.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, Asa,” said Shylock, “I imagine you want to get through your courses. You don’t want to flunk, do you?”
“No,” I said simply.
“Well, that’s just what you’re going to do if you keep on this way. You’re going to sit up nights studying. You’re going to lose sleep. Your nerves are going to be worn to a fazzle—”
“Frazzle,” I interrupted.
“Thank you. Frazzle. By the time you come to take the test you’ll be all shot. You’ll be lucky if you remember your name, not to speak of the subject matter.”
“What must I do?” I asked.
“Relax. That’s the only way to prepare for finals. Just relax. Take it from an old hand—it’s much more important to be relaxed than to study. You don’t see any of us studying, do you?”
“No,” I admitted. “But you fellows aren’t taking any classes.”
“That’s not the point,” said Shylock. “We never studied.”
“Come on and play a little bridge,” said Bob. “That’s a good way to relax.”
“All right,” I said.
I should say something here about the way bridge is played on campus. It is a good deal different from the auction I played back home. It is extremely complicated, and I won’t pretend that I understood it thoroughly. Every single bid was significant; whatever you said was supposed to tell something to your partner. For instance, here is the first hand we played that night:
Bob held the ace of spades; nine and seven of diamonds, king, jack, ten, and four of hearts; and ace, queen, seven, six, three, and two of clubs.
Shylock, my partner, held the ace, seven, six, and two of hearts; ten, eight, and four of clubs; king, eight, six, and three of spades; and four and three of diamonds.
Roger held the queen, jack, seven, five, and two of spades; ace, eight, and six of diamonds; eight and three of hearts; and king, jack, and nine of clubs.
I held the queen, nine, and five of hearts; five of clubs; king, queen, jack, five, and two of diamonds; and ten, nine, and four of spades.
Now, then, I had dealt, so I opened the bidding. I said three clubs, indicating that I held the five and two of diamonds and the four of spades.
Bob doubled, indicating that he had the six and seven of clubs.
Shylock kicked me under the table, indicating that he didn’t understand my bidding.
Roger passed, indicating that he had the three of hearts.
The bid came back to me. I looked over my hand carefully, and suddenly I discovered something. “Look, kids,” I cried laughingly, “I’ve only got twelve cards.”
“Maybe you better go study for finals,” said Shylock.
“Finals are very important,” said Roger.
“Yes,” said Bob. “What you don’t get during the course you get in the final.”
“You can’t be too well prepared,” said Shylock.
“All right,” I said.
Later I was glad I took their advice, for one must be on one’s toes to get good grades at Minnesota. You see, Minnesota is such a large university that it is impossible for the faculty to give individual attention to each student. Instead, students are left to their own devices, and private initiative is stressed. It helps to round out one’s personality.
Marks are assigned on the basis of the “curve” or “fang-and-claw” system. Under this system the top 5 per cent of the class gets “A”s and the bottom 5 per cent gets “F”s. In other words, for every student who gets an “A,” somebody flunks. The next highest 10 per cent gets “B”s, and the next lowest 10 per cent gets “D”s. The middle 70 per cent gets “C”s.
Much friendly rivalry is engendered by the curve system as students strive for high grades. There are frequently good-natured volleys of gunfire by the “F” students at the “A” students who caused them to be flunked. Often, too, there are interesting contests between students who are trying to beat each other out for top-of-the-class position. I recall an amicable struggle between two girls named Phyllis Mallis and Alice Millis in my Mesopotamian architecture class.
I watched with good-humored interest as Alice spilled ink on Phyllis’ lecture notes and Phyllis set fire to Alice’s textbooks. Then Alice put scorpions down Phyllis’ back and Phyllis squirted acid in Alice’s eyes.
So it went, nip and tuck, and as the final examination approached the two friendly rivals were still tied. On the night before the examination Ali
ce stole into Phyllis’ room and stealthily pulled all the hair out of her head. She thought that would prevent Phyllis from coming to school and taking the test the next day. But the joke was on Alice. Phyllis got hold of a peruke, came to school the following day, sneaked up behind Alice, who was engrossed in the test, and surreptitiously garroted her with one hundred and twenty feet of sash cord that she had concealed in her tunic.
Some students resort to cheating as they vie for marks under the curve system. I want it understood that I consider this practice entirely reprehensible and that I have never engaged in it myself. Nevertheless, I must admit that I have been impressed by the ingenuity displayed by cheating students.
There are two basic forms of cheating in examinations—the co-operative and the individual. In the co-operative method several students—sometimes the whole class—work together. This method is especially adaptable to examinations of the “True-False” type in which the examiner asks a question that must be answered by writing either “True” or “False.” Co-operative cheating in a “True-False” test works this way: a clever, well-informed student sits at the head of the row. If he thinks the answer to a question is “True,” he leans his pencil to the left—to the right for “False.” The student behind him follows suit, and so on down the line. This gives somewhat the effect of a chorus in a Warner Bros. musical. It is called the “rhythm method.”
Individual cheating is even more ingenious. Take the case of Hugh, for example. He made a crib out of one hundred and twenty feet of ticker tape. He took the tape, folded it into accordion pleats, and wrote an answer in each of the folds. The entire abundant source of information fitted snugly in the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, during one test Hugh had trouble finding an answer. He was entangled in seventy feet of tape when one of the proctors, who are always stationed about the room during tests to watch for cheating, suspiciously approached. Luckily at that moment there happened to be a parade going by outside the classroom. Hugh ran to the window, cried “Hurrah,” and flung out the ticker tape.
Students with false teeth often tuck folded answer sheets under their dentures and take them out during examinations. Sometimes a proctor comes over and says, “What are you doing?”
