Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / Oct. 26, 1933, edition 1 / Page 2
Part of Salem College Student Newspaper / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
Page Two. THE SALEMITE Thursday, October 26, 1933. Member Southern Inter-Collegiate Press Association Published Weekly by the Student Body of Salem College SUBSCRIPTION PRICE $2.00 a Year 10c a Copy EDITORIAL STAFF Editor-in-Chief Susan Calder AexMant Editor Sarah Lindsay Assistant Editor.^...Miriam Stevenson Associate Editors— Mary Ferin Gertrude Schwalbe Mary Absher Cortlandt Preston Mary Ollie Biles Kathleen Adkins Martha Binder Elizabeth Jerome Elizabeth Gray Mary E. Reeves Special Reforters— Virginia Garner Cora Emmaline Henderson Sunshine Kirby Jane Rondthaler Eugenia McNew Elizabeth Torrence Jean Patterson Martha Moore Sara Ingram BUSINESS STAFF Business Manager Isabel Pollock Advertising Managet....Jane Williams Exchange Manager .. Ruth McConnell Susan Rawlings Margaret Ward Dorothy Courtney Ruth Dickieson Agnes Brown Ann Taylor ■culation Manager-TsUrtha. Schlegel st .Cir. Mgr Florence Ledbetter Hallow and Ween sat moping in the attic of the library. All year these two little goblins had quietly concealed their pessimism within their own attic domain, but on October 31, the little men were no longer content to restrain the rising desire to ravage and rampage. Down through the library ceiling they jumped, landing flat across the newspaper stand making the frame work sound like a T-model Ford on a cobble-stone street. Quickly the two hid behind some books until the folks had settled back to work again. Sil ently and slyly then, they slipped over to the glass case. In his eagerness to see all the display. Ween broke through the glass cover and had not Hallow swiftly pulled him out he would become the joke of the whole Seeing the door Hallow speedily led the way through it and entered the dining room. Dancing over the tops of the tables to the music of broken dishes proved to be great sport for the goblins until a big broom began to maul too near. Away the goblins raced toward Alice Clewell where they rang and rang the doorbell and immediately entered, going up the hall they began the deadly damage by knocking on every door in sight, then quickly scooting around the corner. Great devastation was committed in the office of the dean where the gob lins threw ink in the dean’s eyes, then rode up and down on the little blue beads on the shade. Next they rang the fire bell and locked all the exit Hallow and Ween then rushed up the street ringing doorbells and throw ing rocks until they reached the church. Mounting the stairs skillfully and speedily they soon came to the chimes on whch both little fellows entertained themselves by playing and singing, “Today is October the 31. This is our day.” Iney Are Like That Steeplejack—“ ’Ullo, Bert! Where’s that mate you took on—the chap that used to be an artist?” Second Ditto—“ ’Aven’t you ’eard Soon as he laid a couple of bricks, he stepped back off the scaffolding to admire ’is work.” The time of meeting for the Latin Club is the first Thursday night of each month. The officers are: Virginia Allen President Dorabelle Graves Vice- Pres. Martha Binder Sec. - Treas. HALLOWE’EN Do supernatural influences prevail on Hallowe’en? And when is Hal lowe’en? It’s the 81st of October and believe me we might do well to start getting afraid of everything in gene ral and nothing in particular. It’s al most as bad as an exam. Answering the last question first and the first question last. If you don’t believe in ghosts and things—you know, “things” —then you don’t belong to the 18th century. Oh, pardon me—I mean you had better stick around, because Alice Clewell and even little self-conscious Louisa Bitting might turn “flocks of ghosts” over night. With a woof, woof, here, and a woof, woof there. Here’s a “woof” there’s a “woof”, ev erywhere a woof, woof. Grrrr WOOF! WOOF! Seriously, Hallowe'en is a relic of pagan times and we’re just pagan enough to live up to traditions. Don’t mind us, we live here. The corn fs stacked in heaps, and pumpkins are strewn all around; there is a cat out lined on a fence against a lighted win dow ; things creep; things are swishing along with white drapes haunting dark corners. OoWah! Don’t you get the sensation? There’s none like it—so Beware BEWARE! LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE Little Orphan Annie’s come to our house to stay, An’ wash the cups and saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away, An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep. An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board an’ keep; An’ all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire, an’ has the mostest fun A-list’nin’ to the witch tales ’at An nie tells about. An’ the gobble-uns ’11 get you Ef you Don’t Watch Out! Once there was a little boy who wouldn’t say his pray’rs— An’ when he went to bed at night, away up stairs. His mammy heard him holler, an’ his daddy heard him bawl, An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all! An’ they seeked him in the rafter- room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press. An’ seeked him up the chimbly flue, an’ ever’where, I guess; But all they ever found was thist his pants an’ round about! An’ the gobble-un’s ’11 git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out! An’ one time a little girl’d alius laugh an’ grin. An’ make fun of ever’one an’ all her blood an’ kin; An’ onct when there was “comp’ny”; an’ ole folks was there. She mocked ’em an’ shocked ’em, and said she didn’t care! An’ this as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide, They was two great big Black Things, a-standin’ by her side, An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ’for she knowed what she’s An’ the gobble-uns ’11 git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out! An’ little Orphan Annie says, when the blaze is blue. An’ the lampwick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo—oo! An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray. An’ the lightening-gubs in dew is all squenched away— You’d better mind yer parents, an’ yer teachers, fond an’ dear. An’ cherish them ’at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear, An’ help the pore an’ needy ones ’at cluster all about, Er the gobble-uns ’11 git you Ef you Don’t Watch Out! —James Whitcomb Riley WORK Work thou for pleasures. Paint or sing or carve The thing thou lovest, Though the body starve. Who works for glory Misses oft the goal. Who works for money Coins his very soul. AVork for the work’s sake, Then, and it might be That these things shall Be added unto thee. Kenyon Coj; ON MUSIC In a commencement address at Syracuse University, William H. Woodin, secretary of the treasury, said: “There are songs in the soul of every man. Some have many, some have few. But consciously or unconsciously, there is a deep-root ed desire in all ef us to express some thing which can be expressed only in music. Pear, more than anything else, has been responsible for the fail ure of so many of our financial insti tutions. The right kind of music overcomes all fear. The vibrations of fine music put a mysterious initi ative, resdlutioft and courage in to every normal individual. Every great ruler and military leader, since the very beginning of time, has recog nized and used the stimulating effects of music for putting courage into the hearts of man in times of great peril. The Marsaillais has done more for France than many battalions of sol diers.” To hear such words from the lips of an accomplished man like Mr. Woodin should make you stop and ask yourself just how important mus ic is. And if you, by any chance, dis agree with Mr. Woodin, by giving yourself a “psychological bath.” I mean by this, relax, and listen to the music of Schubert or Strauss or Chopin or Debussy or Mendelssohn or even Victor Herbert, or almost any of the great composers. Unless you are emotionally dead (tragic—but there are many who are), the psy chological effect will be almost in stantaneous—you will feel mentally rested; insignificant, material things will become irrelevant; life will seem finer, deeper, nobler; ecstatic instincts will flood your heart and soul. Many there are who need “Psychological baths,” more often. By T. D. Kemp, Jr. (Charlotte Observer). ATHLETICS O.Ov> ‘>OOO^»>OO^OO0OOO,.OOO Tennis The Freshman Tennis Tournament has been finished with Mavis Bullock winning over Cornelia Maslin in the finals, 6-1; 6-0. Agood number of the games went to deuce. Cornelia Masin seemed to have trouble with her service, while Mavis Bullock kept a good service througl lOut the play. Cornelia Maslin, who from the begin ning seemed tired, put up a good fight, but was out-classed. The Upperclassman Tournament has not yet been played off. The semi-finals have just been played with Marion Hadley and Margaret Wall winning-out. The final match will be played in the near future. Hockey The practices of hoclcey are not well attended. There are only a few white suits, yellow suits, red suits, and one black suit that report each day. Where are the people that know they can play hockey? Where are the peo ple who think they can play hockey? Come on down. You will find you know nothing about it. Where are those who do not know how to hold a stick? Come on down. Learn to play as we learn, for according to Miss “At’, all of us have room to improve. “BROAD SHOULDERS” “Such nice broad shoulders,” mur- mers dear Aunt So and so, patting me on the back with a smug smile of sat isfaction over her Mary’s perfectly rounded ones. I smile back brightly and inquire about Mary, inwardly gritting my teeth at all girls in gene ral who have soft feminine shoulders. Broad shoulders—football players are entitled to them, massive ones, rip pling with muscles; soldiers require them, straight wide ones with a molo- tary cock; any hero needs them to match his slim hips; but broad shoul ders for girls—they are simply out of their realm; “Think of the outdoor, breezy, look they give one,” you say—but suppose I don’t want to appear as the outdoor girl, faintly tanned, poised on a div ing board or swinging a tennis racket with a free easy stroke—I had much rather be feminine and alluring; be sides, I blister in the sun and dive like a rock. I admit I do like sports, but nothing about me suggests athle tics except my shoulders. As if the curse of just having broad shoulders was not enough, there is still the problem of holding them erect. Half of my pleasure of my life is spoiled by a slap on the back and a “Hold your shoulders up, dear”. Secondly, there is the problem of fit ting clothes. On every shopping tour, the usual remark of, “Don’t you think that is a little tight across the back, honey?” is accompanied by a side re mark, sotto voice, to the clerk, that my shoulders were so wide and my arms> sp long that I always take a larger PIERRETTES ON PARADE Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder who you are, ’Way up in the sky a-restin’ Looks to me like Cokey Preston. Sister, I have a confession to make. Honestly, now, I didn’t wonder a bit about who that wavey-haired star was with the mow ’em down dim ples, and the soap-and-water com plexion, and the friendly smile. Of course, I knew it was Cokey all the time. So did you. Do you remember the time she played the part of an old wobbly- kneed Irish woman with her hair done up in a tight peanut of a knot on the back of her head? That was in “Riders to the Sea.” Great perform- worth twinkling about. Well, what brought the sudden grin of reminiscence to your pan? The time she played “Jerry” in “Peg O’ My Heart?” Slick number, that was. Why, the gal was no slouch of a Romeo with her padded shoulders and Mr. Campbell’s Sunday suit on. Didn’t know he had another suit, did you? All kiddin’ aside. Cokey really deserved the big hand that night. ’S no joke to have to bass for three acts out of your diaphragm when you naturally have a lyric soprano. Then, there was the time she' did “Alice” in the new fangled Wonder land. Bet she could land that covet ed role in Hollywood right now, if she weren’t needed by the Pierrettes here. *■ By the way, do you believe in mag ic? No? I was afraid of that R. K. O., sister, just mozey over to the box office sometime and watch how tlie magic word “Cokey,” shoots up the gate receipts. THESE PRACTICE TEACHERS Have you seen a group of quivering seniors sttting on the steps of Main Hall about a quarter before nine ev ery morning? (Saturdays excepted, my patient readers.) Or have you seen one of those wise young ladies rushing up towards the same digni fied building about the same early hour of a, breezy day, yelling in a freshman-like voice to know if the taxi has gone? They, my most illus- trous dears, are the brave practice teachers. Teaching is a grand profession, girls, especially when one i syoung and doing her work under the critical eye of a person who has been in the pro fession several years. (To be frank with you, the teachers under whom the girls are working are very consid erate.) The children! The dear chil dren ! Once upon a day one of the teachers left the room. In the back sat one of the young ladies with whom this unexcelled bit of literature had to deal. One little boy turned around and said, “Oh, teacher!” in a voice that was—maybe it wasn’t exactly mocking, but it was half-brother to such a voice. That’s the kind of res pect that these girls get. Here’s another little bit of some thing that I want you to see. Haven’t you heard of hero worship? Well, I believe that there is also such a thing as heroine worship. This thought comes to me from a striking incident that happened a few days ago. One of the young ladies who is a budding teacher, received a note from one of the male students which said: A rose is red. The stem is green. You’re the sweetest teacher Quite a noble and original thought, n’est ce pas? One of the Salem martyrs must have made a good impression, for she began teaching current events during her second week. Such bright girls that this school produces! There is another smart girl who is teaching English. Some mornings she tries to be smart—or make people think that she is smart—by walking out to her school before the others are out of bed. She posts her assign ments a week ahead of time, gives speeches on the conditions at Salem College, and talks so much that she forgets to leave in time to get back to her own classes. By the way, she is noted for being able to rattle away for hours. One day last year she was showing some strangers around the campus when somebody yelled out a window, “Don’t believe a word that she tells you.” Is that the way that her fellow students regard her? One girl has to tell hr pupils what wesson oil is. What kind of impres sion will you have of this girl when I tell you she takes up time in having her pupils fall off stools for the en tertainment of the class? Have I gossiped enough for one night? I haven’t told you about all SALEM PLAYHOUSE THE THREE LITTLE PRIGS by Annie Secret Willdo Once upon a time there were three little prigs. It was said of these three that When they were good (and that was all the time) They were very, very, ve-e-ery good And everybody consequently tho’t they were horrid. Well, so it goes—the good ’uns are too good, and the bad ’uns too bad. Too Bad! A voice is in the dean’s office off key—It is the voice of the first little prig. First Little Prig (singing): “Oh, I’m a smart little girl, they say, I study all day; And never play. I’m s. s. and g. in the old fashiolied way. So I’ll sing my round-e-lay! Hey! She skips around waving hornrim med glasses in one hand and fountain pen in the other, in the meantime, scattering ink all over the pink office walls. However, as the pen is filled with sweet lavendar ink, the scatter ings look quite lovely, and Miss Law rence is much pleased with the artistic decoration. Scene II We see and hear the .... Second Little Prig: “Oh, I am never up to tricks, I make people’s beds and never fix Them a la pie”—(rhyme ends here, but Prig continues in prose) “Eloisa, may I make your bed, darn your socks, or wash your hair for you this morning? Or maybe I could brush your teeth or eat your lunch. I’d love to.” She cavorts up and down the hall on a broomstick in search of someone whom she may help (a broomstick. Aha! There’s the hidden hint of the impending fates of all three prigs.) Scene III Third little prig is sitting beside a barren of apples, singing. Third Little Prig: “Oh, I’m a healthy, wholesome girl Eat spinach and your hair will curl! Tira-lira! Tira-lira! Red Apples make a rosy world!” Switsch! From behind a curtain slips Big Black Witch. It’s Hallowe’en that’s why the witch is able to get away from work at the “hant” fac tory ; and that’s why she happens to be a witch instead of a wolf. Big Black Witch: “Heh! Heh!” (chortling, chuckling, snickering, and growling, she changes herself into a hunk of invisible air and proceeds to do her dirty work). Act I of the Big Black Witch: Puts indellible Carter’s ink (in I place of the lavendar) into pen of l.st Prig. Miss Lawrence comes to the door just in time to see her dainty office being blackened and ruined— and also just in time to get an eye ful of the indellible fluid. Once upon a time there were three little prigs. Now there are only two. Act II of B. B. Witch Second prig is making up a bed for an upperclassman. The witch crawls between the sheets and stays there till nightfall. When the owner of the bed gets in it that night, and feels the witch with her toe, she naturally considers that she has a pie bed, and search of the second little prig, goes out with horrible intentions in Act III of B .B. W. Sunday dinner: Witch changes her self into a chicken leg, five rolls, a glass of milk, two pickled peaches, and a slender slab of ice-cream. Af ter the meal she jumps deftly Into the open hands and arms of the third "iittle prig, who is forced to carry her from the dining room in blushing con fusion amidst the horrified glances of her well-mannered companions. What terrible fates to befall such a proper trio of prigs. They were good while they lasted, but they just couldn’t last. After their downfalls, they all three turned socialist, left school, and joined the Navy. of the bright, the noble, the fair yet. Maybe it would be better to let affairs rest as they are. But, anyway, from the extraordinary impressions that I’ve given you of the noble teachers that this school is laborously produc ing, I know that you will flock with eager hearts to join the eager throng. You’d better try it. You’ll never have another opportunity for such ex periences. Take this from one who knows, from one who has waded through the deep waters herself.
Salem College Student Newspaper
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Oct. 26, 1933, edition 1
2
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75