Page Two.
FHE SALEMITE
May 2, 1 947.
It is customary each year for the retirhig
editor of the Salemite to write a “farewell
editorial” in her last issue of the paper. I
have decided to change this tradition and in
stead of saying “good-bye” I wish to say
“thanks.”
Thanks . . . first, to my capable and effi
cient associate editor, Virtie Stroup. She has
been my right hand man in every sense of the
word. Without her to find material to fill
last minute empty spaces, to run to the en
gravers when the cut was the wrong size, to
find those lost articles, and do a million other
things when the going, got rough and I had
given up, many Salemites would never have
appeared in your rooms on Friday night. If
someone could add all the hours that Virtie
spent working on the Salemite since she came
to Salem we would find that we have an un
sung hero in our midst.
Thanks ... to Betsy Meiklejohn, my bus
iness manager. It was she who pulled us out
of those holes when the cuts cost too much!
She and her staff kept those ads rolling in
and the monej' piling up in order that we
might have a Salemite that alumnae, friends,
students, and faculty could all enjoy.
Thanks ... to my very dependable edi
torial staff. It is not the editor that makes a
paper what it is, but the girls who work with
her. This year the stafE has been composed
of girls from each class. Each member of
the staff has done more than her share fo
make your paper a better paper. It is hard
to find" girls who will write a feature when you
are in dire need of a space filler, or a girl
who will get up the nerve to interview John
Mason Bro\vn and other celebrities, or even a
girl who will write a small article and make
it so good that everyone enjoys reading it.
These girls are the type girls that have made
up the Salemite staff this year. They have
been ready, will, and able whenever anyone
assigned them any article, no matter how large
or how small.
Thanks ... to Ruth Scott and her circu
lation staff for getting those Salemites in your
rooms every Friday night the minute they
landed on the campus, and for getting them
mailed earlj" Saturday morning so that alum
nae, friends, and trustees had their papers
without fail Monday morning.
Thanks ... To Miss Bj^rd for her guidance
and advice. She was always on hand when any
thing went wrong, and she practically bursts
with new ideas and helpful suggestions.
Thanks ... to the “Sun printers”. There
are not enough words in the English language
to show them my appreciation.
Thanks . . . because I can leave with a feel
ing of confidence that your new editor will
have a willing staff, interested readers, and
helpful assistants.
I wish Peggy Davis and the new staffs
the best of luck as they take over the job that
has filled the happiests and best minutes of
my college life.
This issue of the Salemite was put out by
the retiring editors, Boaty Boatwright and
Virtie Stroup.
by Virtie Stroup
You can’t just tell a pencil what to write when you think—
this is my last column, my last issue. Maybe a question—I say to
myself. Have I watched Salem grow, or has Salem watched me grow?
There’s a little of both. Salem has grown into its 175th year of
greatness, the campus has expanded up Church Street; Stnior has
bulged to another dorm; coeds find life here agreeable ... In fact
the campus of ’47. There’s only a miniature in the past compared
to the campus of ’47. There’s something particularly odd about the
last few weeks of college—when the sudden realization comes that
the next step will be as a baby’s—alone. A graduate would rather
sit back and think about the happy crooning resounding from
Clewell, the bricks and their inscription of Cunningham, Thomasville,
N". C., the sound of the chimes from the Home Church at 6:10, the
lengthening shadows, and the snow of pollen that scuffs up against
the curbing . . . the closing of another school year. Although these
thoughts are by far the most pleasant, the future can’t be escaped.
Some seniors have their fingers right on what they are planning to
do. Others are still feeling about for just the right spot. Some
are continuing their study. Quite a few will enter the school of
twosomes. Whatever the road, it will be taken with at least
a little pinch of sadness.
As for my growing. I’ve grown more than three inches actually
shown by the tape'measure. I at last feel my age; I feel strangely
able to find a place to find a place to put my foot in this crowded
world. Since I entered Salem, I have been able to witness a
chaotic struggle safely—yet sadly. Enough has been poured into
molds of lead and stamped on newspaper print about the ’41-’46
years without my bit of unnecessary chatter. Even so, we have
all grown stronger because of its far reaching arm.
There’ll be a far reaching arm extending out to welcome all
the parents and friends for this is the great May Day week-end.
The Chairman of May Day begins to see her year’s work culminate
into a beautiful pageant on a rainless day. There in the May Dell,
where all Spring has awakened and washed winter from her face,
will the Queen of the Forest reign. And don’t forget the outdoor
chapel, the dancing “monkey face” pansies, and the seniors this
morning.
There are a lot of thanks to be given out and I’ll only have
fi minute, bnt %vhere credit is due—the morning Chapel organist and
choir, the colored men helping with baggage before and after vaca
tions, to Miss Anna for the flowers in the Dining Hall, to the
Art students for the scores of posters, to Anies Daye for Saturday
night—and not to mention weekday—entertainment, to the Post
master for a white 3 1-2 by 6 1-2 smile, to those few who always
stand by, to Miss Stockton who continues to overwhelm m0 with her
ingenuity, to the one who lifts and lowers the piano top on music
hour, to ALL coeds for making Salem livelier, and to Miss Sanford—
a big hand for always being accommodating with the news.
And so this year, for the old staff, is quickly squeezing into
seconds. I’m going to miss those Thursdays and Fridays at the Svin,
hearing the Linotype machine and its even dance. I’ve heard that
sound every week for four years, and it has become a sweet lullaby
to me. I guess it’s time now that I should tell all those at the
Sun that if there is room in Heaven for anybody, it’ll bo reserved
for all of you. How would the Salemite ever flip off the press
if it weren’t for your work and your everflowing humor?
This week Boaty, our editor, is off being beautiful in the
Apple Blossom Festival, so I’d better be off to work to give you the
first in its history—a 10-page Salemite.
And so with “it has been swell and best of luck to all of the
eld staff, the new staff and those to come,” I’ll fold up this tired
column with a journalistic—
Salemite
Published every Friday of the College year by the
Student body of Salem College
Downtown Office—304-306 South Main Street
Printed by the Sun Printing Company
OFFICES
Alice Clewell Building-Basement
Subscription Price—$2.00 a year—lOc r copy
EDITORIAL DFPAETMEXT
Editor-in-Chief Peggy Davis
Associate Editor Peggy Gray
Assistant Editor Nancy Carlton
Assistant Editor Qarolyn Taylor
Make-up Editor Margaret Carter
Copy Editor Jane Paton
Feature Editor Mary Porter Evans
Music Editor Margaret McCall
Sports Editor Gloria Paul
Editorial Staff: Cat Gregory, Nancy McColl, Peirano
Aiken, Betsy Boney, Marilyn Booth
niigts and Typists: Betty Holbrook and Margie
Crickmer.
Pictorial Editor: Ruby. Moye. > *
BUSINESS DEPARTMENT
Business Manager Eliza Smith
Assistant Business Manager Jane Morris
Advertising Manager Betsy Schaum
Assistant Advertising Manager Mary Hill
Circulation Manager Virginia Connor
-30-
Bangs and ballet shoes . . . the
Southern drawl of an Alabamian . •
Art labs . . . history term papers
. .. Agamemnon and Menelaus . . •
Carolina basketball games . • •
smoke dreams of that med student
. . . wit. in the smokehouse . . • ^
sketch of an aspiring Sophomore.
Qlanfi^ QUati,
Well, spring finally is ris!—
May Day is came, and the sun-bathers are
in bloom!
The music calendar is pack-jammed with
coming events. T’would take a manuscript
to list ’em all . . . but here goes . . .
KECITAL season is in full swing—three
more to go, and not to be missed . . . (hope) . . .
May 5: Mary Hunter Hackney, organ.
May 12: Sara Haltiwanger, piano.
May 19: Carolyn Furr, piano.
Guess Miss Louise Wood pulled a fast
one on us all! Take a peek at her third finger,
left hand . . . and the society page of the
TIMES—purty picture ! Many congrats, Mr.
Brown ...
Something* new: The string quarlet held
Monday night. Let’s hope there’ll be many
more of the same in the night. Let’s hope
there’ll be many more of the same in the fu
ture . . . We’re awfully proud of Mr. Lerch,
who originated the idea! Good music and
good musicians—the right combination.
Speaking of good music, here’s hoping all
you imder-classmen can make arrangements
to stick around until May 31 to hear the world
premiere of Dr. Vardell’s new cantata, “Song
in the Wilderness,” composed for Salem’s 175th
Anniversary. This concert by orchestra and
300 voices is to be one of the main features of
the Piedmont Festival. Please be there . . .
for the biggest thrill ever!
The Festival opera, “Tales of Hoffman” by
Offenbach, will be presented Thursday, June
5 . . . staj" over, or come back for this, too,
if you can! Two of the leads are being sung
by our Gwen Yount and Betty Lou Ball—so
it’ll be good!
’Bye for now . . .
So it’s God bless you all, both great and
small
And send you a joyful May!
SIEIEIIN© TIHAVN©jr
To one who long and leisured hours
Has lain recumbent on the beach.
Lulled and soothed by sweet sensations.
Baby oil in easy reach,
The gray abstractions Good and Evil come
alive.
We lose ourselves in careless pleasure,
Stupified by joys of sense.
We love the Sunlight, not the Source;
Tis this the Mother Sun resents.
And so at night we suffer torments of the
damned.
Our fiery aching tortured skins
Eternal fires to us foretell;
And as we burn in agony,
AVe know the scorching breath of Hell.
Be careful or you’ll suffer for Eternal Night.
The poem above came about during a
slight delirium caused by sunburn, (physical,
not spiritual, let me hasten to add).
Once m a while some Heaven-inspired in
telligence takes one of the fat little maxims
on which our culture rests, and twists it to give
a wonderful new outlook on life. The most de
lightful one I have ever heard gi^ew ou+ of the
old temperance slogan. Oscar Wilde turned it
into “Work is the curse of the drinking clas
ses”.
]
And -the other day I read whgre some
Princeton graduate was tryifig to “college his
W'ay through work”.
Now I, having grown tired of a certain
trite remark, would like to submit that “Opiate
is the religion of the people.” Which remark
will not perhaps assure me a place with the
iinmortals, but it does help to fill up space.
To the writer of “More Stew,” I would like
to send my rebuttal. The author of the above
editorial stated that an increase of pToduc-
tion would mean a higher standard of living
through the processes of supply and demand.
My answer is that if the people earn enough
to absorb the supply, that would be true. How
ever, the prices have risen 21 per cent above
Wages. This means that greater production
results in gutted warehouses and closed fac
tories. And the growth of the unemployed
means even less ability of the people to absorb
production. Our production has grown tre-
niendously during the last decade, but our
living standards have not. Ironically enough,
the ec6nomists of the National Association of
Manufacturers agree with those of labor that
this situation will inevitably lead to a reces
sion. Yet the above organization stated this
Week that only 1 out of 5 manufacturers have
lowered prices. Rosalie Green.