Roaring through the night over East Bay sideroads; carrying their prize back through the gates from whence it came 31 years ago, an intrepid band of 21 Cardinal patriots made history for their Alma Mater -- carved large niches for themselves in Stanford's Hall of Fame.

They returned with the most precious treasure!

By cunning and by daring they rescued the Stanford Axe from alien hands that had held it for three decades! The Stanford Axe! Think of it!

For 31 years Sons of Stanford's Red have smarted under California taunts; for 31 years they have endured the ignominy of frustration. That is all ended now.

It is ended because of the ingenuity and the intrepidity of this Cardinal crew. All honor shall be theirs. For all time they shall be remembered on the Farm.

Dedicate the Quad to them; banquet them; cheer them; carve their names on the sandstone walls of the Library . . . . give 'em the joint if they want it.

They are heroes, and Stanford is proud of them.

So for 31 years now California vest buttons have been endangered by ever-swelling California chests; for 31 years now Berkeley throats have been sore from singing praises of themselves; for 31 years those Blue and Gold men have strutted and preened.

Even when Stanford had made over those California "Wonder Teams" into California Blunder teams; even when Big Meet had become scarcely a good warmup for the California stalwarts, the Berkeley gang would not quit their strutting and preening. The axe was still theirs.

But no more.

And this sudden deflation of California chests has proved too much, apparently. At least it has proved too much if the splattering pen of William L. Hudson, editor of the Daily Californian, is any criterion.

Mr. Hudson got all fussed up Thursday night when he heard the news. He just grabbed his typewriter and burned those big Stanford bullies to a frazzle. He pounded the keys (maybe he beat his poor worried head against the wall) and sang his hymn of hate to the keys staccato rhythm.

This is his editorial:


Stanford is likely to wake up on a different campus this morning. The clever boys who stole the Axe may have returned to paint the town red, but they may find the place painted Blue and Gold before the night is over.

Hate Stanford! Catch the euphony of that sentence, notice its essential accuracy! Hate Stanford! Repeat it over and over in your mind; formulate it with your lips! HATE STANFORD!

We have always had a notion as to the sort of people that inhabit the God forsaken campus 40 miles south, and our notion is now confirmed. The rally committee, though it may have erred in allowing the armored car to be too far in advance of the scanty freshman guard, cannot be blamed for being routed by the most carefully planned racketeer robbery in local history. Stanford, despairing of an honest burglary, imported Chicago methods. Tear bombs may be fair play at Stanford -- but then, that is Stanford! HATE STANFORD!

We are nurturing one especial animosity, and that is for Stanford. And we won't be very sorry if the Stanford boys find their Quad a deserted ruin this morning, and the campus returned to the desert from which it came.

If Stanford gets satisfaction out of this, O.K. So do we out of HATING STANFORD!

California will play Stanford in baseball tomorrow. Norm Horner will be on the mound, as scheduled. The whole team needs all the support that the student body can give it. It is up to every Californian to be there!

California men and women should be proud of their Mr. Hudson. He's a great little hater, even for Berkeley.

Mr. Hudson just hates and hates -- and then hates some more. He hates Stanford... he hates red... he hates the Quad... he hates Stanford... he hates red... Gee! but it's fierce.

Mr. Hudson hates tear bombs and "racketeer" methods. He casts aspersions at Stanford's sense of fair play. Apparently Mr. Hudson forgets the armored cars and the bank vaults and the gangs that California used in keeping the Axe.

Racketeer methods to deal with racketeers, Mr. Hudson. Just a little game of tit for tat.

"Hate Stanford" is a good title for an editorial, but the Daily likes "Poor Old Cal" better. It has euphony too. And delightful rhythm. And such accuracy.

Shed a tear for Mr. Horner. You know -- the Mr. Horner. His tongue was more glib at the rally than his acts were quick later on. But then, it wasn't all sadness for Mr. Horner. His fund of information was increased. He learned that photography is a tricky art.

Page 1 streamer in the Daily Californian: "AXE STOLEN!" Page 1 streamer in the Stanford Daily: "AXE REGAINED!" It's all in one's point of view.

Up at Berkeley today it's mostly blue -- very little gold.