Word: baxters
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...fellow's sister was sort of sacred when Frank Merriwell went to Yale. There have been changes since. Cramming on summer vacation from Hawley School, A.D. 1935, future Yaleman McGough, G. F. turned to future Yaleman Baxter, C. K. and said: "Now, about this sister of yours, Baxter. Which does she prefer, rape or seduction...
...course of making clear that Louise Baxter prefers seduction, or thinks she does, Novelist Roswell G. Ham Jr. makes clear a lot of other things. In Britain, by long tradition the novelist cuts his teeth on the old school in order to bite the hand that birched him, but the school novel is a comparative rarity in U.S. letters. A British boyhood is a Spartan affair which leads the long-suffering young to literary self-defense against their elders; while in the U.S. the young are coddled and it is the elders who must display Spartan fortitude...
...school, the thoughts of youth are wrong, wrong thoughts, and the masters are "worn and cynical far beyond their years." Pupils are not, as at nearby Hotchkiss, "under oath" to abstain from smoking; Hawley's "deadly droops" (a Hotchkiss epithet) are merely forbidden this pleasure. For characters like Baxter (an outcast because he arrived from the West Coast, of all places, in a brown suit and porkpie hat) and for McGough (who suffers the crippling handicap of being the headmaster's son), there is only one thing to do at Hawley-defeat Hawley. They nearly succeed. A pipe...
...book carries a paradoxical and completely unpreachy moral: the longest way around is the shortest way home. Those who at first appear to be against God, Country and Yale in the end do well by all three. At one time it appears as if the only letters McGough and Baxter are likely to win in life are four-letter ones, but Baxter (like Author Ham) becomes an insurance salesman and McGough winds up amid semi-rustic bliss in Westport, Conn. There is a suitable epitaph on the abortive revolt of the generation of the '30s when the once-terrible...
...audience had to face a tasteless jangle of gimmicks: a Superman-like "Hemo" to personify blood, dialect comedy, crude mechanical cartoon analogies of circulatory functions ("groceries and garbage"), and a screenful of Disney-like animals spouting slang. In a coy story-within-a-story device, a researcher (Dr. Frank Baxter) and a fiction writer (Richard Carlson) tried to make their material palatable to the cloddish cartoon animals. The total effect of Hemo was unhappily that of a choice filet mignon smothered with gobs of marshmallow sauce...