STRAWS TO THE WIND

The entry of the spring has been noted since forgotten time by poets with the coming of the red-breasted robin, by lovers with the coming of the bashful violet, by housewives with the coming of the iceman on the departing trail of the coal man, and by college men with the coming of the straw hat.

Straw hats are the glorification of spring. True, Keats never sang in praise of them when he penned his imperishable odes. But that was probably because, being a poet, he was forced to content himself with a hand-me-down of a last winter's derby. Roses may wither, westerly zephyrs turn into wintry gales, blue spring days dissolve, but the straw hat, like the river and the youth of excelsiior, goes on forever.

They are the straws at which drowning men clutch in oblivion to their other and lesser possessions. They are the straws that show which way the wind blows. They are the straws which people refuse to give when in a careless mood. The straw hat is the honor of adolescence, the grace of youth, the distinction of manhood, and the folly of old age.

In bygone years how well we have loved to bedeck them, the festive sailors, the insolent Panamas, with bright ribbons colored--like the Imperial flag--of red, white and black. They have been the resting place on which we could drape our honors. They have been wound with the ribboned laurels of our fame. They have served as heralds to the whole world of our success.

Was there one "H" man who did not encircle his straw with the ribbon of his accomplishment, one newspaper man who did not by the same means uphold the honor of the press? Initialled pipes, and warm, though honorable, sweaters, with all those other external marks of glory in which the college man is supposed to revel, are here denied the winner for public display. On straw hats alone might men show they had been the doors of great deeds.

But that has gone. The uniform cap has replaced the gallant and beribboned straw. No more on candid headwear in the Yard is seen the vertical black and red stripes of the crew-man's ribbon. No more the horizontal stripes of the hockey man. Where are the straws of yesteryear? Where is the glory that once was hatbands? Where are our ancient symbols?

We might laugh, for the world has turned so very topsy-turvy, and the badges of last year seem so idle now. But we may believe that before another spring has come again there will be some among those who now wear the unadorned service cap, that will be worthy of the cross of honor, and these, our young men who have striven so earnestly for success in athletics or managerships or papers, will be honored for the accomplishment of more unselfish service, and the fulfillment of deeds better done.