A Visit With The U. A. P. C.
by Walter E. Mellinger
I was very happy to be the guest of the Utah Amateur Press Club on the evening of August 19, at the home of Miss Rhoda Wallis, and to note the earnest interest displayed by all those attending, in the various papers read by the advisor, Ford Haskill. To this gentleman I must give all honor for his evident intent to improve the efforts of the various members; I have read many of his own effusions and he is an addition to our ranks.
No sooner had we been ushered out into the beautiful patio (a California term) of the hostess than that little lady appeared with a small bottle. I must explain that many of the ladies had very short sleeves, very short dresses and very short socks; the hostess began to apply what I discovered was “citronella” to the exposed portions of the female beauty, and also the bare arms of the boys, and I was told it was to fight the mosquitos! It was just unfortunate that I had called during the worst of the mosquito season. Nevertheless, very shortly we adjourned to the parlor as the mosquitos were very ferocious that evening and did not mind the citronella in the least.
The Advisor then read each article or poem presented, and it was criticized or praised by the various members and finally by Mr. Hack himself, all with the view of improving the technique of the writers. One poem by Lawrence Giles struck my fancy, and with one change in the arrangement of the last line was worthy of being published. I was told that several of the other stories will also be published shortly. The meeting reminded me of the meetings of the Blue Pencil Club of Brooklyn, which has a similar procedure.
The Club was naturally pleased at the selection of Oakland as the next meeting place of the N. A. P. A. and it is expected that Salt Lake will be well represented at that convention. I had several visits with the Official Editor, Miss Elaine Jorgensen (a practical printer, by the way) and know that she will make good. This year is a Woman’s year and I know it will be a good one, with Mrs. Haggerty at the helm, assisted by Miss Elaine.
I appreciate all the kindnesses of the various members especially the afternoon spent with President Harold Ellis and his charming family. He is a coming man in National affairs. Watch Salt Lake during this amateur year!
Being possessed of the feminine trait of curiosity, I find myself philosophizing on life; its general situations and its effect on people. At the close of each day my judgments have changed and I feel weary with spending time on interests which seem to be none of my business.
I base my theory of life on “living by principle.” This offers a real opportunity for an unseen battle. I find I cannot trust the man who wants to make his own rules of life to accommodate his problems. If principle shall reign, all problems must obey the rules in their solution. Sometimes this demands sacrifices of present advantage to gain a future advantage. This may sound trite and idealistic but peeking into the world of idealism I see a glorious future.
The egotist will have no place in the new world I see. At present he is a menace to humanity because he contributes nothing but takes all. The selfishness of the egotist if turned wrong side out would make him a great teacher, or humanitarian. His joy in living would then be genuine because of his service to mankind. In fact his joy would be tenfold the pleasure he gets in self-glorification.
by Louise Eschler
Your mind can be a kingdom
With a princess on the throne –
Her servants all obey her
For she’s master of her own.
There never is a moment
When life seems to be in vain,
It’s only time is fleeting
Ne’er to pass this way again.
So many places to be seen,
Nice things she wants to do;
Books to take her places,
Friendships to be formed with you.
And so, I hope you win dominion
In a castle of your own –
Who could resist a princess
With knowledge for her throne.
In Re: 1940 Convention
by Harold D. Ellis
Since the organization of the Utah Amateur Press Club in September, 1936, the publications issued from this state have consistently boosted Salt Lake City as Convention City for the N. A. P. A. in 1940. Our record of activity since that time indicates that we have a right to expect a convention here at that time. We are prepared to argue the point with any one.
However, as we understand it, the purpose of the N. A. P. A. convention is to give amateur journalists a chance to get together. If a convention held here in 1940 would fail to attract a reasonable number of members from out of the state, we certainly do not wish to have it here. We desire a convention in this city only because it will afford an opportunity to meet personally our many friends in the N. A. P. A.
New York City and Philadelphia have, I believe, also been mentioned as possibilities for 1940. Perhaps the amateurs in some other city would like the convention in 1940. In choosing between Salt Lake City and any other place, it seems to me that the members should vote for which of the places proposed they could reach to attend the convention, and not be influenced by a campaign waged by a particular group. Unless an individual intends to go to the convention it does not seem that it would be important to him where the convention is held.
If Salt Lake City is chosen as convention city for 1940 we will do everything in our power to assure its success and guarantee you an enjoyable visit. Should another city be selected instead, we’ll try to be there with you.
by Elaine Jorgensen
(Editor’s Note – The opening sentence of the following was given as a suggestion for a story with a blank in place of the envelope. Everything from false teeth to puppy dogs dropped from the man’s pocket and from the members’ pens.)
The bus driver leaned too far over and an envelope dropped from his pocket. Hastily he snatched it up looking furtively about. He saw the lady with the small boy talking heatedly with a fellow passenger.
“That’s good,” he mumbled, “she did not see it.” The green light came on and he stepped on the accelerator.
In a moment the incident was seemingly forgotten in the rush of traffic and passengers. At Laird Avenue the lady with the small boy came to the front of the car. As she got off, she said, wifely fashion, “Now, Jim, be sure to come right home when you get off. You must clean the basement this evening, you know. Aunt Sadie will probably arrive Sunday. And you know how she detests anything out of place. We must have it nice for her.”
“Yes my dear. Goodbye, Jimmy. Be a good boy.” Jimmy promised and the two got off. Jim whistled merrily as he drove the bus to the end of the line and back to town. At the first stop when he had a minute, he rushed to the mail box and dropped the envelope into it.
“There, that’s that. Aunt Sadie won’t get her invitation as soon as she should have. But I won’t have to clean the basement this evening either.”
With that he again went on his endless way.
Comrade of the Sun
by Lawrence R. Giles
Let me be the lusty comrade of the Sun!
The hearty, robust pardner of the Sun!
Let me, with force and vigor, roll
Through the great universe as king.
Let me be firm, impartial, resolute –
Hastening not from yesterday,
Hurrying not to the tomorrow,
Master of the day – knowing no night.
Let me feel the vast immensity of space;
Let me be strong, tremendous, powerful;
Let me govern – let me rule.
But with all burst of strength in muscle and in intellect,
Let me exercise the strong and steady hand
Of a mighty master, just and understanding.
Let me move with strength and resolution,
But with a solemn, kindly majesty.
Don’t Pity Me!
by Ford Haskill
They tell me grief will fade away;
That darkest clouds are silver-lined;
That deepest night will turn to day.
Somehow these statements do not cheer.
When I am blue – I’m blue that’s all,
And no mere phrase will change my mind.
Condolences of friends who call
Add weight and pressure, nothing more.
These cheerful messages are made
To use on those with spirits low.
They do not give the patient aid
But help the one who uses them.
So when you find me in the mire,
Just tell me things will soon be worse.
I’ll stand right up and call you liar.
You may turn sick, but I’ll be well.
Give it All You’ve Got!
by Virginia Baker
Hi, Ruby! Sa-a-a-y, you got through registering in double quick time. Whom did you get for that Speech I class? Plummer? Good! I had him during the fall quarter. No class I’ve entered during my lengthy two-quarter siege up here on the hill has been even half so much fun as his was. It was so informal and friendly. I’ll never forget the day we worked with tongue-twisters.
We had a lot of fun memorizing several of the darn things, among which appeared our old friends, “She sells sea shells” and “Six sleek saplings.” Then he got us up on the platform half a dozen at a time and sprang this one on us. He told us we were each to out-gesture and out-yell the other five with “If Theophulus Thistle, the thistle sifter, sifted a sieve of unsifted thistles that Theophulus Thistle, the thistle sifter, sifted?”
Imagine sweet (?) demure (?) little (?) coeds like me competing in such an unequal lung-and-arm contest against big husky six-foot 220-pound football adepts.
by Marjean Bell
The color scheme was beautiful
With a ball of orange hue.
Rainbow fairies threw their paint
Into the skies of blue;
And softly o’er this sunset
Crept the darkness of the night,
While the moon in all its splendor
Rose to a glorious height.
He seemed to tell a story
Of things that had never been told:
How he loved to dance on waters
And make everything look like gold.
This is just a short, short story
That repeats on summer nights
When the night covers up the sunset.
And the moon comes up so bright.
by Margarite Stanley
There he lay sprawled on the leather cushion along the wall of the dance hall. A girl in a pink evening gown was shaking him and insistently calling his name. “Gene! Gene! Sit up! Gene!” But Gene slept on. His one foot, which was thrown up on the cushion, was shoeless. He was oblivious to the girl beside him, the shuffling dancers, the syncopated music. The music ceased. The orchestra leader was making an amusing quip about a shoe. A girl in a pink gown was trying to attract the announcer’s attention. After much persistence on her part the leader handed the soft gray leather oxford to the girl. She slipped quickly through the crowd to the inert man on the leather seat. Through the crowd we saw her struggling to get his shoe on. Success at last! We caught another glimpse of them as he staggered to his feet supported by the girl in pink and a copper. With difficulty they guided him across the shining floor, down the steps, and out of sight.
by Eldon Scott
N. A. P. A. Credential
You can drift along with the ways of time,
Your heart filled with darkest despair;
But with love and work to aid in the climb
You can reach your castles in the air.
I wish that I could understand
When I awake at break of day.
Why slumber is so close at hand
And life seems, oh, so far away.
– L. R. Giles
An amateur publication, issued quarterly under a rotating Editorship by the Utah Amateur Press Club of Salt Lake City, Utah, affiliated with the National Amateur Press Association.