"OUT WITH THE JEWS."
I went into a telephone booth and called up the house of one of the professors with whom I had become friendly. He was a kindly, well-meaning man, and an alumnus of the college.
His telephone line was busy when I called it. I heard him talking with some one. I was about to ring off when suddenly I heard my own name mentioned.
The professor was an alumnus member of one of the college fraternities. And this other man—evidently an undergraduate, though I never tried to identify him—was asking the professor what he thought of offering me an election to this fraternity.
And I heard the professor sigh in his patient way.
"I like him—I like him very much, mind you," I heard him say, "but—er, er—I do think it would be disastrous—nothing short of disastrous to elect a Jew to any of our fraternities in the present situation."
I rang off. It was something to know that I was even being considered for membership—but it was disastrous, that was all—disastrous!
When I was out upon the campus again I saw that painters were already at work obliterating the sign. They had whitewashed the "Out With the" away, and there was nothing left upon the wall but a huge, red
"JEWS."
And thank God, I could laugh at the incident!