The Plastic Age - Percy Marks (classic literature books txt) 📗
- Author: Percy Marks
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The Class Over.
"Your Themes Are Making Me Sick," He Began, "Nauseated. I Have A Fairly
Strong Stomach, But There Is Just So Much That I Can Stand--And You Have
Passed The Limit. There Is Hardly A Man In This Class Who Hasn'T Written
At Least One Theme On The Glory That Is Sanford. As You Know, I Am A
Sanford Man Myself, And I Have My Share Of Affection For The College,
But You Have Reached An Ecstasy Of Chauvinism That Makes Chauvin'S
Affection For Napoleon Seem Almost Like Contempt.
Chapter 13 Pg 96
"In The Last Batch Of Themes I Got Five Telling Me Of The Perfection Of
Sanford: Sanford Is The Greatest College In The Country; Sanford Has The
Best Athletes, The Finest Equipment, The Most Erudite Faculty, The Most
Perfect Location, The Most Loyal Alumni, The Strongest Spirit--The Most
Superlative Everything. Nonsense! Rot! Bunk! Sanford Hasn'T Anything Of
The Sort, And I Who Love It Say So. Sanford Is A Good Little College,
But It Isn'T A Harvard, A Yale, Or A Princeton, Or, For That Matter, A
Dartmouth Or Brown; And Those Colleges Still Have Perfection Ahead Of
Them. Sanford Has Made A Place For Itself In The Sun, But It Will Never
Find A Bigger Place So Long As Its Sons Do Nothing But Chant Its Praises
And Condemn Any One As Disloyal Who Happens To Mention Its Very Numerous
Faults.
"Well, I'M Going To Mention Some Of Those Faults, Not All Of Them By Any
Means, Just Those That Any Intelligent Undergraduate Ought To Be Able To
See For Himself.
"In The First Place, This Is Supposed To Be An Educational Institution;
It Is Endowed For That Purpose And It Advertises Itself As Such. And You
Men Say That You Come Here To Get An Education. But What Do You Really
Do? You Resist Education With All Your Might And Main, Digging Your
Heels Into The Gravel Of Your Own Ignorance And Fighting Any Attempt To
Teach You Anything Every Inch Of The Way. What'S Worse, You Aren'T
Content With Your Own Ignorance; You Insist That Every One Else Be
Ignorant, Too. Suppose A Man Attempts To Acquire Culture, As Some Of
Them Do. What Happens? He Is Branded As Wet. He Is A Social Leper.
"Wet! What Currency That Bit Of Slang Has--And What Awful Power. It Took
Me A Long Time To Find Out What The Word Meant, But After Long Research
I Think That I Know. A Man Is Wet If He Isn'T A 'Regular Guy'; He Is Wet
If He Isn'T 'Smooth'; He Is Wet If He Has Intellectual Interests And
Lets The Mob Discover Them; And, Strangely Enough, He Is Wet By The Same
Token If He Is Utterly Stupid. He Is Wet If He Doesn'T Show At Least A
Tendency To Dissipate, But He Isn'T Wet If He Dissipates To Excess. A
Man Will Be Branded As Wet For Any Of These Reasons, And Once He Is So
Branded, He Might As Well Leave College; If He Doesn'T, He Will Have A
Lonely And Hard Row To Hoe. It Is A Rare Undergraduate Who Can Stand The
Open Contempt Of His Fellows."
He Paused, Obviously Ordering His Thoughts Before Continuing. The Boys
Waited Expectantly. Some Of Them Were Angry, Some Amused, A Few In
Agreement, And All Of Them Intensely Interested.
Henley Leaned Back In His Chair. "What Horrible Little Conformers You
Are," He Began Sarcastically, "And How You Loathe Any One Who Doesn'T
Conform! You Dress Both Your Bodies And Your Minds To Some Set Model.
Just At Present You Are Making Your Hair Foul With Some Sort Of Perfumed
Axle-Grease; Nine Tenths Of You Part It In The Middle. It Makes No
Difference Whether The Style Is Becoming To You Or Not; You Slick It
Down And Part It In The Middle. Last Year Nobody Did It; The Chances Are
That Next Year Nobody Will Do It, But Anybody Who Doesn'T Do It Right
Now Is In danger Of Being Called Wet."
Chapter 13 Pg 97
Hugh Had A Moment Of Satisfaction. He Did Not Pomade His Hair, And He
Parted It On The Side As He Had When He Came To College. True, He Had
Tried The New Fashion, But After Scanning Himself Carefully In The
Mirror, He Decided That He Looked Like A "Blond Wop"--And Washed His
Hair. He Was Guilty, However, Of The Next Crime Mentioned.
"The Same Thing Is True Of Clothes," Henley Was Saying. "Last Year Every
One Wore Four-Button Suits And Very Severe Trousers. This Year Every One
Is Wearing Norfolk Jackets And Bell-Bottomed Trousers, Absurd Things
That Flop Around The Shoes, And Some Of Them All But Trail On The
Ground. Now, Any One Who Can'T Afford The Latest Creation Or Who
Declines To Wear It Is Promptly Called Wet.
"And, As I Said Before, You Insist On The Same Standardization Of Your
Minds. Just Now It Is Not _Au Fait_ To Like Poetry; A Man Who Does Is
Exceedingly Wet, Indeed; He Is Effeminate, A Sissy. As A Matter Of
Fact, Most Of You Like Poetry Very Much. You Never Give Me Such Good
Attention As When I Read Poetry. What'S More, Some Of You Are Writing
The Disgraceful Stuff. But What Happens When A Man Does Submit A Poem As
A Theme? He Writes At The Bottom Of The Page, 'Please Do Not Read This
In Class.' Some Of You Write That Because You Don'T Think That The Poem
Is Very Good, But Most Of You Are Afraid Of The Contempt Of Your
Classmates. I Know Of Any Number Of Men In This College Who Read Vast
Quantities Of Poetry, But Always On The Sly. Just Think Of That! Men Pay
Thousands Of Dollars And Give Four Years Of Their Lives Supposedly To
Acquire Culture And Then Have To Sneak Off Into A Corner To Read Poetry.
"Who Are Your College Gods? The Brilliant Men Who Are Thinking And
Learning, The Men With Ideals And Aspirations? Not By A Long Shot. They
Are The Athletes. Some Of The Athletes Happen To Be As Intelligent And
As Eager To Learn As Anybody Else, But A Fair Number Are Here Simply
Because They Are Paid To Come To Play Football Or Baseball Or What Not.
And They Are Worshiped, Bowed Down To, Cheered, And Adored. The
Brilliant Men, Unless They Happen To Be Very 'Smooth' In The Bargain,
Are Considered Wet And Are Ostracized.
"Such Is The College That You Write Themes About To Tell Me That It Is
Perfect. The College Is Made Up Of Men Who Worship Mediocrity; That Is
Their Ideal Except In athletics. The Condition Of The Football Field Is
A Thousand Times More Important To The Undergraduates And The Alumni
Than The Number Of Books In The Library Or The Quality Of The Faculty.
The Fraternities Will Fight Each Other To Pledge An Athlete, But I Have
Yet To See Them Raise Any Dust Over A Man Who Was Merely Intelligent.
"I Tell You That You Have False Standards, False Ideals, And That You
Have A False Loyalty To The College. The College Can Stand Criticism; It
Will Thrive And Grow On It--But It Won'T Grow On Blind Adoration. I Tell
You Further That You Are As Standardized As Fords And About As
Ornamental. Fords Are Useful For Ordinary Work; So Are You--And Unless
Some Of You Wake Up And, As You Would Say, 'Get Hep To Yourselves,' You
Are Never Going To Be Anything More Than Human Fords.
"You Pride Yourselves On Being The Cream Of The Earth, The Noblest Work
Of God. You Are Told So Constantly. You Are The Intellectual Aristocracy
Of America, The Men Who Are Going To Lead The Masses To A Brighter And
Broader Vision Of Life. Merciful Heavens Preserve Us! You Swagger Around
Utterly Contemptuous Of The Man Who Hasn'T Gone To College. You Talk
Magnificently About Democracy, But You Scorn The Non-College Man--And
Chapter 13 Pg 98You Try Pathetically To Imitate Yale And Princeton. And I Suppose Yale
And Princeton Are Trying To Imitate Fifth Avenue And Newport. Democracy!
Rot! This College Isn'T Democratic. Certain Fraternities Condescend To
Other Fraternities, And Those Fraternities Barely Deign Even To
Condescend To The Non-Fraternity Men. You Say Hello To Everybody On The
Campus And Think That You Are Democratic. Don'T Fool Yourselves, And
Don'T Try To Fool Me. If You Want To Write Some Themes About Sanford
That Have Some Sense And Truth In Them, Some Honest Observation, Go
Ahead; But Don'T Pass In any More Chauvinistic Bunk. I'M Sick Of It."
He Put His Watch In His Pocket And Stood Up. "You May Belong To The
Intellectual Aristocracy Of The Country, But I Doubt It; You May Lead
The Masses To A 'Bigger And Better' Life, But I Doubt It; You May Be The
Cream Of The Earth, But I Doubt It. All I'Ve Got To Say Is This: If
You'Re The Cream Of The Earth, God Help The Skimmed Milk." He Stepped
Down From The Rostrum And Briskly Left The Room.
For An Instant The Boys Sat Silent, And Then Suddenly There Was A Rustle
Of Excitement. Some Of Them Laughed, Some Of Them Swore Softly, And Most
Of Them Began To Talk. They Pulled On Their Baa-Baa Coats And Left The
Room Chattering.
"He Certainly Has The Dope," Said Pudge Jamieson. "We'Re A Lot Of
Low-Brows Pretending To Be Intellectual High-Hats. We'Re Intellectual
Hypocrites; That'S What We Are."
"How Do You Get That Way?" Ferdy Hillman, Who Was Walking With Hugh And
Pudge, Demanded Angrily. "We May Not Be So Hot, But We'Re A Damn Sight
Better Than These Guys That Work In Offices And Mills. Jimmie Henley
Gives Me A Pain. He Shoots Off His Gab As If He Knew Everything. He'S
Got To Show Me Where Other Colleges Have Anything On Sanford. He'S A
Hell Of A Sanford Man, He Is."
They Were Walking Slowly Down The Stairs. George Winsor Caught Up With
Them.
"What Did You Think Of It, George?" Hugh Asked.
Winsor Grinned. "He Gave Me Some Awful Body Blows," He Said, Chuckling.
"Cripes, I Felt Most Of The Time That He Was Talking Only To Me. I'M
Sore All Over. What Did orrow At Lord Harrington'S,(37) And, I Am Told, With The New
Ministers.(38) I Had A Little Supper At Lady Harrington'S(39) On
Sunday, En Famille; Lord And Lady Barrymore(40) Were There. She Goes
On With Her Pregnancy.
I Found Beauc. Sitting With His Future,(41) En Habit
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