"bohemian life in our very midst" is the thirteenth article to appear during the 1958-59 school year in the University of Notre Dame Scholastic humor column, "Escape".
- By John Bellairs: Scholastic, Vol. 100, No. 14 - February 20, 1959; page 9.
I have often viewed that gay and mysterious group of Bohemians, the University
Theater actors, from afar, wistfully longing for a taste of the wild,
dissolute life which they lead. My only taste of forbidden pleasures in the
past has been a coke chugging contest held at a meeting of Scout Troop 680 in
the Old Grange Hall in Calhoun County, Michigan. Then too, I had longed to
tread the boards (or board the treads, I wish someone would clear me up on
this). I was, however, driven from this pursuit when I lost a declaiming
contest for leaving out the "raven'd sea shark" while reciting the cauldron
scene from Macbeth. I have had a distaste for seafood ever since.
But, at any rate, I was approached last week by fellow named Thespis Pananacreon, who said that he was a representative of the University Theater group. He said that they had heard of my longing for Dionysian pleasures, and that they would be most happy to take me with them on a junket. I joyously accepted. On seeing the gold-trimmed tunic which Thespis wore, and on hearing the lyre which he strummed constantly, I could not help but smirk at the thought of the world I would be entering, and the pleasures which lurked behind the pink doors of Washington Hall. "Once, a philosopher, twice a Bacchante," I gurgled to myself.
Thus it was that one night, after a performance given by the Theater group, I
scuttled surreptitiously into a side door of Washington Hall (all those who
have seen my scuttle surreptitiously will know what I mean.) Inside,
half-over-powered by the smell of grease paint and mothballs, I was introduced
by Thespis to those who would be my companions on this memorable evening. Each
actor, clad in the costume which expressed his soul most perfectly, greeted me
in mellifluous accents and proffered a goblet of Kool-Aid (grape flavor). And
you may be sure that I drank my fill. The actresses were primarily young
intellectuals from St. Mary's, who were gaily discussing the latest play of
their leader, Megaera Plotz. She herself read me part of a critique which she
had written for a literary magazine; she called the work "Parnassus among the
Paperbacks: Frank G. Slaughter as an Existentialist." I devoured the work
greedily between munches of jelly sandwiches and draughts of Kool-Aid.
Eventually the sound of a bronze gong told me that our group was going forth
on a revel. At last, I thought, we are going out to mingle with the
cocottes, sansculottes, or whatever they are. A momentary blush crossed
my face, but I rushed madly on, tripping over the hem of my tunic.
We boarded the South Shore Train, and took over one whole car, which we decked
with myrtle and thyme (ground). In one part of the car Hecuba Thurgood, whom
here friends call "The Muncie, Indiana Muse," was doing a pantomime of Wallace
Stevens' Sunday Morning, although we had no cockatoos with us. The
group that I was in was listening to Thespis and Caliban Gloam do a duet with
lyre and Phrygian flute. After one number an actor nudged me. "That's the
Lydian mode," he said, leering. He then offered me a gumdrop (rum flavor), and
after two or three my head began to spin and I blurted out the entire third
act of Macbeth, then sank into a swoon.
When we got to Chicago, the group swept out of the car (swept out the car is
more accurate-the conductor was quite peeved at our antics) and were rushed by
taxi to the favorite "coffeehouse" of the theater crowd, The Golden Bough,
operated by Arthur and Letty Fraser of Bindlestiff, Ore. Once inside, we found
our way to small table in the dimly lit room, and began to talk over the
cosmos in a leisurely fashion. Sparklers were passed around, and I lighted
mine from the flame of the candle (set rakishly in a Pepsi bottle) on my
table, and let it burn till it almost singed my fingers. Miss Thurgood read to
me parts of her epic poem, The Dragon of the Dixie Highway, which is
written in dactylic monometer. At each strophe I became more ecstatic, and was
on the point of hysteria, until the spell was broken by the sonorous voice of
Thyrsis Cranch, the entertainment chairman:
"We're going to play 'Spin-the-bottle,'" he said, with a goatish look.
Soon we were engaged in this riotous game, and my pockets were full of candy
kisses which I had won by lucky spins. The next game was "Guess Who I Am." My
imitation of Nestorious stumped the whole panel, and you may well guess my
amusement. The game broke up when Clytemnestra Fenley, attempting to imitate
the Winged Victory of Samothrace, set fire to one of the featherdusters she
was using as wings. We all had a stirrup cup of tomato juice, with a dash of
Worcestershire sauce for tang. I will confess that I don't know how the
ancients balanced a cup in a stirrup. It is quite hard.
We left the Golden Bough, and took the train back to South Bend, arriving just
in time to get back to campus. The merest thrill ran through me as I signed in
at 12:05, for I was just beginning to fully realize the depth of my experience
that night. The next morning, when rosy-fingered dawn painted the Nieuwland
Science Hall with vermilion beauty, (I have become quite lyrical since that
night of nights), I looked about my room. All I had to remind me of my first
taste of Bohemian life were a slightly dented bay wreath, and Dixie cup
smelling of grape juice…and my memories.
SOCIAL DEPT.
I feel it my duty to be the first to report on an event of prime importance, the first Lost and Found Party ever held at the University. Last Monday the students gathered in the Dining Hall for this gala event. Gaiety was the watchword as the hall, decorated in a white elephant motif, rang to the shouts of rummaging students. Dendron Foley and an unidentified commerce major put up a spirited battle over a green parka with "Hanseatic Bowling League" on its back. Two seniors managed to carry off the largest item on display, an Italian automobile which had been left in the foyer of the O'Shaughnessy Building. Here are some statistics on the outcome:
Most Loot: Lasciate O. Spearanze, who got twelve overcoats, nine copies of "Steam Pipe Fitters Annual," a size 22 Triple E. Cavalry Boot, and a biretta.
Least Loot: Cranbrook Oaf, who not only got nothing but left minus a shoe and
half of his pair of pince-nez glasses.
Tea and cookies were served and a young woman sang a song of her own creation, "The Lost and Found Mambo" and favors were distributed. All who attended felt it a success and hope the party will be repeated.
Tea and cookies were served and a young woman sang a song of her own creation, "The Lost and Found Mambo" and favors were distributed. All who attended felt it a success and hope the party will be repeated.
Commentary
"John is obviously spewing out those various classical and mythological
names and other pompous locutions for the sheer sonorous hell of it. The
only Notre Dame specific reference that might need explanation is to the
South Shore Train, an electric train which connected downtown South Bend to
Chicago and was heavily used by the student body on holiday breaks. During
our era at least, one did not make casual day trips to Chicago, but for
Notre Damers the city represented what Memphis is to the characters in a
Faulkner novel, an alluring mecca of sin and sophistication."
References
- [1] Correspondence with Alfred Myers.
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