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The art of poetics
I was sorry to hear about the passing of Dr. Lloyd Jeffrey (fall '08). I attended his romantic poetry and Shakespeare courses and found them stimulating and instructive. He also taught me the art of poetics after class in his office until I dropped out of school in 1980.
I kept in touch with him and last spoke to him when I graduated from the university in the summer of 1994. He always encouraged me in my literary efforts and even read and edited my poetry. He truly was a friend in the finest sense whom I shall miss.
Stephen D. Pilar ('94)
I enjoyed very much your section on Mean Green Mania (fall '08). It made me think back to 1969 when my fraternity brother and roommate, Kerry Hubble ('70), did his senior campaign for Dr. Vaughan's Advertising Design course. He did a whole campaign on Mean Green Mania. Keep highlighting North Texas sports, please.
Jim Hobdy ('69)
Wonderful story on Neil Slater and Jim Riggs (fall '08), but something I consider very important was left out. The lab (jazz) band was started by Dr. M.E. "Gene" Hall ('41, '44 M.A.) in the '50s. The One O'Clock (at that time Two O'Clock) band was sensational as are the bands that followed. Some of the players produced were Dee Barton ('60), Marvin Stamm ('61), Morgan Powell ('59, '61 M.M.), Tom Wirtle, Paul Guerro, Arch Wheeler and many others, some retired, some deceased and some still tootin'.
I graduated in January 1961, after playing lead alto for three years and touring and on TV with Ed Summerlin's Jazz Liturgical Service. I am retired, but I still play occasionally and bring professionalism every time I play. That was started and nurtured in me by the late Doc Gene Hall.
Bob Thomas ('61)
A fall North Texan letter writer seems to think that there is no academic freedom if one doubts human involvement in global warming. This despite over a thousand papers in peer-reviewed scientific journals covering global warming — two-thirds showing human cause, one-third describing effects but not discussing cause, and absolutely zero denying human involvement.
He asks, "What happens if you have a class with a student who doesn't believe in man-made global warming? Does he fail? Does he get ridiculed by the professor?" Let's ask the same question regarding the geography student who holds a similar opinion in favor of a flat earth and a geocentric universe.
Paul Cardwell ('95)
San Antonio tour
Your caption for the Moonmaids photo in the fall issue implies that it was made during an on-campus Aces of Collegeland stage show in 1944. The truth is a bit more interesting. It was made at a U.S. Army Hospital south of San Antonio during a tour 'Fessor and the Aces made of that area (to perform for wounded veterans) in April 1945. If my memory serves me accurately, it was made on April 11, the day before Franklin Roosevelt died. One can barely see Varina Powell ('47), violin, on the left, and Hugh McElroy, alto sax, on the right of the Maids.
William Thomson ('48, '49 M.M.), Aces trumpet player
I've thought the magazine was not much for old-timers who have been away for so long, but in the summer issue I found some surprises. Mr. Rylander just has to be Roddy Rylander, the cute little boy my sister and I looked after sometimes.
Then in a few pages, I found a picture of the Moonmaids. Mary Jo Thomas and Hilda Grace "Tinker" Cunningham were my classmates in Demonstration School. Arline Truax's dad was my band director. I think the little dog in the picture was Spot, who posted himself at a hole on campus. There was publicity about him.
Marjorie Dannelley Larson ('48)
Editor's note: That was indeed Spot in the photo. According to the 1946 Yucca, he watched the drain on a campus gutter for more than 40 days until firemen washed it clean of whatever made it so interesting to him. The Associated Press picked up his story, and his photo appeared in Life magazine, thus proving every dog has his day.
I have wondered something for a long time and hope that someone may recall and translate into English a phrase the North Texas Grand Chorus learned to sing when we performed at the Music Hall in Dallas with the Dallas Symphony in 1948-49. If I recall correctly, we backed up opera stars performing "Psalmus Hungaricus" with Antal Dorati conducting.
In my mind, the phrase we were taught to sing sounded something like this (phonetically, my spelling): "E koran da vid, bul shu bu tabin." I can't recall ever knowing what it meant in Hungarian. I even tried saying it to a Hungarian on this summer's Danube River Cruise with my brother, Clarence ('49), and his wife, Mary Ellen Standley ('52), both music majors. He had no idea what I was saying!
John G. Wood ('51)
Editor's note: Donna Arnold ('82 Ph.D.), UNT music reference librarian, was a member of a choir that sang the work in Hungarian. She was told the words "Mikoron Dávid nagy busultában" mean "King David thus spake when sore afflicted." She says the rest of the text is a paraphrase of Psalm 55 by famed Hungarian poet Michael Veg.