Ellesse Faye C.

Cabanez EAPP

12 - ABM Sir James Rapsing

Love is a Fallacy

Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and -Who is the writer behind
astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, the text? how did he/she
say so?
precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—
-Look these terms up.
think of it!—I only eighteen. -The way the writer wrote
this is creative.
It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for
example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age,
same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you -Who is this?
understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable.
Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very -What does it mean?
negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes -What is the definition of
along, to surrender oneself to idiocy just because everybody else is the writer to idiocy?
doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to
Petey.

One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of

such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. -What kind of laxatives
“Don’t move,” I said, “Don’t take a laxative. I’ll get a doctor.” are they talking about?

“Raccoon,” he mumbled thickly.

“Raccoon?” I said, pausing in my flight.

“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.

-How did the writer
I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental. “Why do arrived to that
you want a raccoon coat?” conclusion?

“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should

have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like
a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a -Who's this Charleston?
raccoon coat.”

“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually

wearing raccoon coats again?”

“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?” -What are their standards
when it comes to Big
“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Men?
Campus.

He leaped from the bed and paced the room. “I’ve got to have a
raccoon coat,” he said passionately. “I’ve got to!”

“Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary.

They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They’re unsightly.
-Define rational.
They—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to

do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat.

Anything!”

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear.

“Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.

“Anything,” he affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to

get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his
undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It
also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it
exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly -Who is this Polly Epsy?
Espy.

I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for
this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure,
a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule
my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral
reason. I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out
in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of
wife in furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had -Are these the common
observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, standards for the wives of
gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these the successful lawyers?
specifications perfectly.
-Look this term up.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt
that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.
Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an
erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly
indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I
had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the -What kind of food is it?
house—a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy,
chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut—without even getting her
fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction.
But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any Is not the writer too
rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb straightforward about
girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful. his/her thoughts?

“Petey,” I said, “are you in love with Polly Espy?”

“I think she’s a keen kid,” he replied, “but I don’t know if you’d call it
love. Why?”

“Do you,” I asked, “have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I
mean are you going steady or anything like that?”

“No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates.
Why?”

“Is there,” I asked, “any other man for whom she has a particular
fondness?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “In other words, if you were out of the -Explain the meaning
picture, the field would be open. Is that right?” behind this sentence.

“I guess so. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I said innocently, and took my suitcase out the

closet.

“Where are you going?” asked Petey.

“Home for weekend.” I threw a few things into the bag.

“Listen,” he said, clutching my arm eagerly, “while you’re home, you

couldn’t get some money from your old man, could you, and lend it to
me so I can buy a raccoon coat?”
“I may do better than that,” I said with a mysterious wink and closed
my bag and left.

“Look,” I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw

open the suitcase and revealed the huge, hairy, gamy object that my
father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.
-What is this? Is his
“Holy Toledo!” said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the
some kind of an org.?
raccoon coat and then his face. “Holy Toledo!” he repeated fifteen or
twenty times.

“Would you like it?” I asked.

“Oh yes!” he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny
look came into his eyes.

“What do you want for it?”

“Your girl.” I said, mincing no words.

“Polly?” he said in a horrified whisper. “You want Polly?”

“That’s right.”

He flung the coat from him. “Never,” he said stoutly.

I shrugged. “Okay. If you don’t want to be in the swim, I guess it’s

your business.”

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the
-Is this a condition or a
corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First he
threat to his friend?
looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a baker window.
Then he turned away and set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked back
at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away,
but with not so much resolution this time. Back and forth his head
swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn’t turn
away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

“It isn’t as though I was in love with Polly,” he said thickly. “Or going
steady or anything like that.”
“That’s right,” I murmured.

“What’s Polly to me, or me to Polly?”

“Not a thing,” said I.

“It’s just been a casual kick—just a few laughs, that’s all.”

“Try on the coat,” said I.

He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all
the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mound of dead
raccoons. “Fits fine,” he said happily.

I rose from my chair. “Is it a deal?” I asked, extending my hand.

He swallowed. “It’s a deal,” he said and shook my hand.

I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the -How can he exchange
nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how much work I had to his girl for a coat? this
do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to writer is kind of mean.
dinner. “Gee, that was a delish dinner,” she said as we left the
restaurant. Then I took her to a movie. “Gee, that was a marvy
movie,” she said as we left the theatre. And then I took her home.
“Gee, I had a sensaysh time,” she said as she bade me good night.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely

underestimated the size of my task. This girl’s lack of information was
terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with
information. First she had to be taught to think. This loomed as a -Polly can be easily
project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her read to what kind of
back to Petey. But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical girl she is by the way
charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she she chooses her words.
handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort. I went
about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It
happened that I, as a law student, was taking a course in logic
myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips.

“Poll,” I said to her when I picked her up on our next date, “tonight we
are going over to the Knoll and talk.”

“Oo, terrif,” she replied. One thing I will say for this girl: you would go
far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down
under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. “What are we
going to talk about?” she asked.
“Logic.”

She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it. “Magnif,” -Is this word even in a
she said. dictionary?

“Logic,” I said, clearing my throat, “is the science of thinking. Before

we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common
fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight.”

“Wow-dow!” she cried, clapping her hands delightedly.

I winced, but went bravely on. “First let us examine the fallacy called
Dicto Simpliciter.” -Can this be considered
as correct?
“By all means,” she urged, batting her lashes eagerly.
“Dicto Simpliciter means an argument based on an unqualified
generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody
should exercise.”

“I agree,” said Polly earnestly. “I mean exercise is wonderful. I mean

it builds the body and everything.”

“Polly,” I said gently, “the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is -Look this up.
an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have heart
disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their
doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You
must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most
people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you
see?”

“No,” she confessed. “But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!”

“It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve,” I told her, and
when she desisted, I continued. “Next we take up a fallacy called
Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can’t speak French. Petey
Bellows can’t speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at
the University of Minnesota can speak French.”

“Really?” said Polly, amazed. “Nobody?”

I hid my exasperation. “Polly, it’s a fallacy. The generalization is

reached too hastily. There are too few instances to support such a
conclusion.”
“Know any more fallacies?” she asked breathlessly. “This is more fun
than dancing even.”
-Look this up also.
I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl,
absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not persistent. I continued.
“Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to this: Let’s not take Bill on our picnic.
Every time we take him out with us, it rains.”

“I know somebody just like that,” she exclaimed. “A girl back home—
Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take
her on a picnic—”

“Polly,” I said sharply, “it’s a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn’t cause the
rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc
if you blame Eula Becker.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she promised contritely. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighed. “No, Polly, I’m not mad.”

-Search this up.

“Then tell me some more fallacies.”

“All right. Let’s try Contradictory Premises.”

“Yes, let’s,” she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. “Here’s an example of Contradictory

Premises: If God can do anything, can He make a stone so heavy
that He won’t be able to lift it?”
-Who is Eula Becker?
“Of course,” she replied promptly.

“But if He can do anything, He can lift the stone,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, then I guess He can’t make the
stone.”

“But He can do anything,” I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head. “I’m all confused,” she
admitted.

“Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument

contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an
irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an -What kind of sorcery is
immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?” this?

“Tell me more of this keen stuff,” she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch. “I think we’d better call it a night. I’ll take you
home now, and you go over all the things you’ve learned. We’ll have
another session tomorrow night.”

I deposited her at the girls’ dormitory, where she assured me that she
had had a perfectly terrify evening, and I went glumly home to my
room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a
great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I considered waking him
and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that
my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof
head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening; I might as well

waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in the extinct crater of
her mind a few members still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan
them into flame. Admittedly it was not a prospect fraught with hope,
but I decided to give it one more try.

Seated under the oak the next evening I said, “Our first fallacy tonight
is called Ad Misericordiam.”

She quivered with delight.

“Listen closely,” I said. “A man applies for a job. When the boss asks
him what his qualifications are, he replies that he has a wife and six
children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have
nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are
no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming.”

A tear rolled down each of Polly’s pink cheeks. “Oh, this is awful,
awful,” she sobbed.

“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed, “but it’s no argument. The man never -What is the meaning
answered the boss’s question about his qualifications. Instead he of this term?
appealed to the boss’s sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad
Misericordiam. Do you understand?”

“Have you got a handkerchief?” she blubbered.

-Search what this is
about.
I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while
she wiped her eyes. “Next,” I said in a carefully controlled tone, “we
will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example: Students should be
allowed to look at their textbooks during examinations. After all,
surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers
have briefs to guide them during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to
guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn’t
students be allowed to look at their textbooks during an
examination?”

“There now,” she said enthusiastically, “is the most marvy idea I’ve
heard in years.”

“Polly,” I said testily, “the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers,

and carpenters aren’t taking a test to see how much they have
learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and
you can’t make an analogy between them.”

“I still think it’s a good idea,” said Polly.

“Nuts,” I muttered. Doggedly I pressed on. “Next we’ll try Hypothesis

Contrary to Fact.”

“Sounds yummy,” was Polly’s reaction.

“Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic

plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would
not know about radium.”

“True, true,” said Polly, nodding her head “Did you see the movie?
Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I
mean
he fractures me.”

“If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment,” I said coldly, “I would
like to point out that statement is a fallacy. Maybe Madame Curie
would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody
else would have discovered it. Maybe any number of things would
have happened. You can’t start with a hypothesis that is not true and
then draw any supportable conclusions from it.”

“They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more pictures,” said Polly, “I

hardly ever see him anymore.”
-Why is he even trying?
just because she is
One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to pretty?
what flesh and blood can bear. “The next fallacy is called Poisoning
the Well.”

“How cute!” she gurgled.

-so that was how she

“Two men are having a debate. The first one gets up and says, ‘My
discovered radium.
opponent is a notorious liar. You can’t believe a word that he is going
to say.’ … Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What’s wrong?”

I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. -What is this movie?
Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence—the first I had seen—came into -Fractures? seriously,
her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she said with indignation. “It’s not a bit fair. isn't that too much to
What chance has the second man got if the first man calls him a liar describe her
before he even begins talking?” admiration

“Right!” I cried exultantly. “One hundred per cent right. It’s not fair.
The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink from
it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start …
Polly, I’m proud of you.”

“Pshaws,” she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

“You see, my dear, these things aren’t so hard. All you have to do is
concentrate. Think— examine—evaluate. Come now, let’s review
everything we have learned.”

“Fire away,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. -Look this up also to
have ideas about it.
Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I
began a long, patient review of all I had told her. Over and over and
over again I cited instances, pointed out flaws, kept hammering away
without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first, everything was
work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the
light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and
scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then
the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five grueling nights with this took, but it was worth it. I had made a
logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She
was worthy of me, at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess
for my many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled
children.
It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the
contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect woman he had
fashioned, so I loved mine. I decided to acquaint her with my feelings
at our very next meeting. The time had come to change our
relationship from academic to romantic.

“Polly,” I said when next we sat beneath our oak, “tonight we will not
discuss fallacies.”

“Aw, gee,” she said, disappointed.

“My dear,” I said, favoring her with a smile, “we have now spent five
evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that
we are well matched.”

“Hasty Generalization,” said Polly brightly. -He is more persistent

than I thought he was.
“I beg your pardon,” said I.

“Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are
well matched on the basis of only five dates?”

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons
well. “My dear,” I said, patting her hand in a tolerant manner, “five
dates is plenty. After all, you don’t have to eat a whole cake to know
that it’s good.”

“False Analogy,” said Polly promptly. “I’m not a cake. I’m a girl.”

-Who is Pygmalion?
I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had
learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics.
Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration
of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the
proper word. Then I began:

“Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, the moon and the
stars and the constellations of outer space. Please, my darling, say
that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be
meaningless. I will languish. I will refuse my meals. I will wanderthe
face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyed hulk.”

There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.

“Ad Misericordiam,” said Polly.
I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my
monster had me by the throat. Frantically I fought back the tide of
panic surging through me; at all costs I had to keep cool.

“Well, Polly,” I said, forcing a smile, “you certainly have learned your
fallacies.”

“You’re darn right,” she said with a vigorous nod.

“And who taught them to you, Polly?”

“You did.”

“That’s right. So you do owe me something, don’t you, my dear? If I

hadn’t come along you never would have learned about fallacies.”

“Hypothesis Contrary to Fact,” she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow. “Polly,” I croaked, “you mustn’t

take all these things so literally. I mean this is just classroom stuff.
You know that the things you learn in school don’t have anything to
do with life.” -This is too cliche

“Dicto Simpliciter,” she said, wagging her finger at me playfully. -Is this their way of
saying to marry me?
That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. “Will you or will
you not go steady with me?”

“I will not,” she replied.

“Why not?” I demanded.

-How can he say that
“Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go he is Frankenstein?
steady with him.” what gave it away?

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after
he made a deal, after he shook my hand! “The rat!” I shrieked,
kicking up great chunks of turf. “You can’t go with him, Polly. He’s a
liar. He’s a cheat. He’s a rat.”

“Poisoning the Well ,” said Polly, “and stop shouting. I think shouting
must be a fallacy too.”
With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. “All right,” I
said. “You’re a logician. Let’s look at this thing logically. How could
you choose Petey Bellows over me? Look at me—a brilliant student,
a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look at -I don't like where he is
Petey—a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who’ll never know where his going on about this.
next meal is coming from. Can you give me one logical reason why
you should go steady with Petey Bellows?”

“I certainly can,” declared Polly. “He’s got a raccoon coat.”

-She did really came to

her senses now.

-How can Petey stay

friends with this user of
a man to get his girl?

-Is not this too

hilarious? at least he
got what he deserved.