Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / Nov. 14, 1947, edition 1 / Page 2
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Page Two. THE SALEMITE November 14, 1947. Wfiiie. AwG4f... I P|-og|.e55 p/y5 The University of North Carolina may be judged too liberal in its attitude toward the communist element on campus, but it cannot be last week by its Dialectic Senate. By a vote of 18 to 6 the members of the Senate passed a measure endorsing a “more forceful expedient of world-wide agreement” —to resolve the present T7nited Nations Gen eral Assembly into a committee to initiate a more powerful World Federal Government. The opinions of students on college cam puses are important and influential. There is a lethargic attitude among Salem students in regard to national affairs that is appalling. Wake up Salemites! If you think, as many of the nation’s leaders do, that the United Nations is inadequate as it is now set up, do something about it. The United States will have to take the lead in calling a constitutional convention of the nations to draw up a reso lution for the establishment of a World Gov ernment with powers to prevent war. It is an amazing fact that the young people of America have time and inclination to circulate thousands of chain letters that will supposedlj' yield a fortune, while they do not find the time to write one po.stcard to a Con gressman that will assuredly yield a move in the direction of a w’orld without anarchy. 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 Lower floor Main Hall Subscription Price—$2.75 a year ' EDITORIAL DEPAETMENT Bditor-in-Chief - Psggy Davis Associate Editor P®Sg7 Gray Assistant Editor Xancy Carlton Assistant Editor Carolyn Taylor Make-up Editors: Margaret Carter, Dale Smith ■Copy Editors: Laurel Green, Clarji Belle I.eGrande Feature Editor Mary Porter Evans Music Editor Margaret McCall Sports Editor Gloria Paul Editorial Staff: Cat Gregory, Peirano Aiken, Betsy Boney, Marilyn Booth, Janie Morris Editorial Assistants: Dot Arrington, Helen Brown, Debbie Sartin, Anne Dungan, Zetta Cabrera, Tootsie Gillespie, Frances Gulesian, Susan John son, Joy Martin, Mary Mot- singer, Joan Carter Read, Andy Rivers, Peggy Sue Taylor, Bar bara Ward, Amie Watkins, Fran Winslow. Cub Eeporters: Betty Page Beal, Mary Elizabeth Weaver. Filists and Typists: Betty Holbrook, Marilyn Watson Pictorial Editors: Euby Moye, Peggy Watkins. BUSINESS DEPAETMENT Business Manager Eliza Smith Assistant Business Manager Jane Morris I. by Carolyn Taylor Last Thursday night I attended a lecture on a new philosophy of ed ucation. The basis of this philoso phy according to Mr. Corbe, who was the speaker, is sound mental health. I suppose the word progressive might be attached to this new idea. Progressive, however, seems to have a startling effect on most people. It scare them back into their nice little caches of sameness and in difference—and so I shall not us progressive. According to most people’s philo sophy of education, if an indivi dual can read, write and add with a small amount of skill, he is fully prepared to face the world and take his place among men. No matter how the individual is taught, if he can spell Mississipi, read Forever Amber, and add two and two, he is educated. This idea of sound mental health is the objective of education versus our conception of the worthy three E’s, seems to me valid. If you don’t think so, take a look at the number of people—educated in our way of thinking—who are now practicing their three R’s in padded cells. To put this philosophy into action, the group, of which Mr. Corbe is a member, plans to establish a board ing school, which will admit child ren from infancy through their teens. There will be no classes, as such, but the opportunity to learn, when he wants to learn, will be afforded the child. There is no hurry in education and no strictly graded system—what is important is the happiness of the child. If he is happy and self-confident, says Mr. Corbe, he will learn and learn faster than the child educated in our average public schools. This idea has its fallacies as can be, seen. But if America expects to achieve any kind of cultural ad vancement brought about by happy and self-sufficient people, it has to work on its public schools. Some happy medium between traditional and ultra-progressive education can, and has to be reached. Maybe not as many people will know how to decline a Latin noun, but more people will know the true value of life, and in turn, be happy. And happiness is what we all want. Tuning In • • Barbara, mine own seester, has been send ing me the Salemite every week. I read it from kiver to kiver and enjoy every w'ord, but it seems to me that “Accents on Athletics” is biased towards the sophomore class. It seems that their athletic feats are concentrated on, dw'elled upon, and over-elaborated. True, the sophomores seem to be winning more hockey games than any other class, but I think they could do with less complimenting. Freddie, confident that Duke will beat Caro lina, Folger. CofdanatlaH. Copies of Mr. Leach’s timely editorial, “Take Your Choice”, are being distributed as a supplement to this issue of the paper. The condition of the type last week was due to circumstances beyond our control, and we urge you to read thoughtfully the reprint. Salemite “Night and da-a-ay” warbled a contralto voice. I leaned over the French book lying open on my desk and turned the radio louder. Picking up the apple which held the pages of the French books down, I tilted the straight chair until I could prop one knee on the edge of the desk. “Burning inside of me” sang the voice. I crunched noisily into the apple. Why was there ever any need to study? Suddenly the music stopped. A sharp, commanding voice rang out. “We are interrupting this program to bring you a special news bulletin straight . from Clewell Smokehouse. We bring you the latest reports from— Charlotte; A plague of rats! No. Only a reversal to rat week pro cedures bj^ Deena Karres, Betty Jean Stover, Cathy Schiff and Mary Jane Hurt. Those who were “per suaded” into going to cheer for Charlotte at the Reynolds-Central game last Friday are Janis Ballen- tine, Martha Hershberger, Dotty Laughran, Martha Scott, Frances Morrison and Winkie Harris. The order was cheerfully obeyed as all are from Charlotte. Kinston: Kinston will suffer from a flood this week-end, not of drips, but of gushing girls. Dot Massey, Jane Hart, Laura Harvey, Carolyn Dunn and Sis Hines are having as their guests, Betty Kincaid, Sarah Smith, Kenan Casteen, Susan John son and Claire Phelps. Winston-Salem: Lib Smoke is not going to Chapel Hill. The fact remains But the reason ex plains— He is coming to Winston. All Winston boys at Chapel Hill are coming home for the week-end. All Winston girls are staying at home for the week-end—almost all. Two who are leaving are Ann Cole man, going to the Citadel (with a new green sequin dress), and Bitty Daniels, going to the W. C. Junior Formal. Now this is your on-the-spot (don’t rub me out, boss) reporter returning you to The Musical Hour. “Ah, sweet mystery of—” “French”, I grumbled bending over the book once more. Nionkey Business Advertising Managed Assistant Advertising Manager Circulation Manager Betsy Schaum Mary Hill Virginia Connor by Debby Sartin I was forced—F O R C E D ! absolutely—to go to the circus as part of art lab. Of course T didn’t want to go of course not! What? go to jthe circus and miss a seminar test? Why I was absolutely heartbroken— which is of course the reason I went again that night. We had a whole row to ourselves —just the art class—and we were supposed to sketch! Waste all that good time slfetching? Don’t be ab surd! The only sketching we did was taken |rom the pictures in the programs I fear. Between display 5 and display 6 there was a “Jungle Interlude which was described on the circus program as “a startling Fmmissary of the Evolutionary Theory—Natal, Man or Monkey” and below this informative heading in smaller let ters ran the caption “First Time in America”. I had scarcely enough time to glance up from the program (where a huge orange orangutang sat in the middle of the center ring) be fore I realized that this so called “Jungle Interlude” had escaped! “Yi—Ow—w” I yelled in best, Little Orphan Annie tradition— “He’s escaped”. lone Bradsher sank in her seat and tried frantically to hide be hind the assorted small children in front of her. Mary Davis threw caution to the four winds, and be fore you could say “boo Potato” she had stol»n Mrs. Bledsoe’s hat and was foolishly trying to poke her blond hair beneath it (having heard of monkeys and bright objects no doubt). By this time the orangutang was scrambling madly all over the aud ience—trying to find a way out no doubt—Completely surrounde/i by screaming and yelling children (6 to ^0). lone and Anne Coleman were screaming louder than anyone else —evidently the orangutang decided to shut them up at all costs. He lumbered over chairs and frantic people up to where we were not too successfully hiding. (M. J. Trager passed out at this point;) The escaped orangutang approached us with a wild gleam iii orange eyes—Yi—ow—w I yelled Yi—ow— w Yi—ow—w—w—w. He merely checked our heads for fleas while Mr. Bromberg sat back and laughed. After several more mad scrambles through the audi ence, the orangutang scrambled down to the center ring where he took off his head . . . “Oh Yes,” we chorused, “we knew it was just a tri* all along.” “Oh yes of course,” I whispered, but my voice seemed somehow queerly to have disappeared. CEEING THANGC by Catherine Gregory 1^ The door forced open and Little Mumbly clawed her way into the room, searching frant ically among the piles of rubble for her room mate. She spied her and began to wave a letter, screaming “Guess what, guess what, guess what! The pile of textbooks upon which she was standing gave way, and she toppled to the floor. Some cocoa cups and coathangers from another pile fell on her as she lay. BMOC, her roommate, climbed over to her and put io dine on her cuts and bruises, and bandaged the flesh w'ounds. Little Mumbly regained consciousness, looked weakly at BMOC and murmured, “Thanks”. “AVe got to get a fresh First Aid kit,” re plied BMOC. “This one’s almost used up. And incidentally, ‘Guess what’ w'hat?” “Oh Lord!” screamed Little Mumbly, in stantly restored. She began to rush around the room wildly, throwing things about. “Mama and Papa are coming up tomorrow! We got to get this mess cleaned up fast!” As the sun rose the next day, BMOC and Little Mumbly dimed wearily into bed. “Well, we got the room kind of straightened up,” said Little Mumbly,” and now we have almost 45 minutes to sleep until breakfast time. It makes better if you sleep now and then,” she added, and I do want to look happy when Mama and Papa are here.” And she slept. The next day slie w^as summoned to the Dean s Office. Slowiy, and with sinking heart, she made her way down the walk, moaning have-I overcut-chapel to herself w'ith every step. As she drew nearer she heard a burst of shrill laughter, follow'ed by a crescendo of screaming sounds. She stopped dead convinced that they were insane with rage at her misdeed and .were going to dismember her. It was with greatest difficulty that a friend, w'ho had come along for the excitement, persuaded her to go on in. At the door Little Mumbly opened her eyes, looked in, and there in the midst of the bedlam stood her parents. All the Deans were clamoring around them, one holding a View Book, one saying pleasant sentences (with no verbs or nouns, only adjectives), and one of fering apples and chewing gum. Little Mum bly went in. “Your w'onderful parents just came and we were just telling them what a grand girl you are and how much we all love'our beautiful school and one of the deans said on and on. The others chatted blithely in unison. Little Mumbly tried hard. “Yes, I— . . • Well no, I— . . . yes no. I . . .” and’ so. She attempted introductions and wound up shaking her father s hand. Eventually they got away- As they left, the Head Dean said cheerfully, “Now show them the campus, Mumbly!” and added in an undertone, “Be careful what you lot them see! We don’t want the truth to get out.” ^ hat nice ladies”, exclaimed her parents, and Little Mumbly nodded mutely. The rest of the day passed in a rosy haze. Little Mumbjy walked her parents, explaining, pointing out, and being careful to give good views of the campus. She screamed greetings to people she had never seen before, used ab breviations in her speech, and in general put on the Big Act. Then she took her mother up to their trans formed room to meet BMOC. She had told BMOC beforehand to act “real collegiate”. BMOC had worked all day and had finally perfected her act. She dressed herself in ' jeans and a size 56 sweater. She procured a little red hat and some big pink bubble gum- As the door opened she rose to her feet and said the only jive word she knew. “Schmo!” she intoned, blowing a bubble and extending her hand. “Wrong room, ’ said Little Mumbly hastily; and led her mother away. That night, by artfully making her parents think that the Balinese Room was the college dining hall. Little Mumbly put the finishing touches on the Great College Myth. “What a nice place”, her mother murmured, her eye on the 30 piece orchestra. “I didn’t know they gave you music”. ■ Several days later Little Mumbly’s mother was saying to a neighbor, “And you have no idea what trouble they take to make the girls happy!” At- precisely the same time BMOC w'as saying to Little Mumbly’s inert form, “What a lot of trouble just to make them think their getting their money’s worth!”
Salem College Student Newspaper
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Nov. 14, 1947, edition 1
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