Page Two
THE SALEMITE
April 9, 1948
BREAKFA5T LlNE
. . . nothing but praise to the out-going
Salemite staff. The staff has certainly fulfilled
its promise of more pictures, more features,
more news, and more pages.
Especially do we praise and thank the out
going Editor, Peggy Davis. To her goes the
credit of making the pictures, features, news,
and pages 'into the Salemite. Time, elbow
grease, worry, and most of all, good sense, made
the ’47-48 Salemite what we call a zenith paper.
After such a staff and editor as in ’47-’48,
the new staff steps in with quaking feet. Big
plans are underway, and with the cooperation
and help of the student body, we hope to make
’48-’49 another zenith year for the Salemit^.
3>eo4> editor:
The education department is to be com
mended on obtaining Miss Olga Druce for an
interesting ta:lk in Old Chapel last Thursday
night. With the various departments of the
school cooperating with the program of the lec
ture committee in bringing more and better
speakers to Salem activities along this line
should advance on campus. ,
Miss Druce spoke from experience in child
psychology and welfare, psychiatry and radio
script writing. She defended her particular
“baby”. The House of Mystery, a Sunday after
noon MBS thriller-with-a-purpose. The weak
point in her defense, as well as in that of most
ci'ime-doesn’t-pay radio writers, is that though
these programs are meant to be instructive and
even didactic, the fact remains that 23 pages
of a half an hour radio script are devoted to
the blood, chills, crime and thrills while an un
impressive one page explains the supernaturel
or punishes the criminal. It seems logical that
999 juvenile listeners out of 1000 would be
much more permanently impressed and depres
sed by the former. But the value of the al
truistic purpose that Miss Druce described can-
npt be denied, and there must be points for
boith sides.
P. D.
/I ^fULute, . . .
... to Mr. Peter Mann "w^o resigned as
business manager of Salem last week. The
Salemite, as representative of the student body,
wishes to thank Mr. Mann for all he has done
toward the betterment of Salem.
To Mr; Charles Gast, who replaces Mr. Mann,
we extend our welcome and pledge of coopera
tion.
Salemite
IfnA CnliM CaOecial* Pns AmcM«
Pul)lished every Friday of the College year by the
Student body »f 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 DEPAKTMENT
Eaitor iu-Chief Carolyn Taylor
Associate Editor : Laurel Green
Associate Editor Mary Porter Evans
Assistant Editor Peirano Aiken
Assistant Editor Dale Smith
Make-up Editors; Helen Brown, Betty Biles
Copy Editors: Joan Carter Read, Clara Belle Le Grande
Music Editor jl Margajet McCall
Sports Editor Gloria Paul
Editorial Staff; lone Bradsher, Tootsie Gillesp(ie,
Ruth Lenkoski.
Editorial Assistants: Dot Arrington, Tommy Distabile,
Betty Beal, Frances Horne, Catherine Moore, Sis Hines,'
Helen Creamer, Mary Lib Weaver, Frances Reznick,
Carolyn Lovelace, Clinky Clinkscales, Robert Gray,
Suzi Knight, Wilma Pooser, Beverly Johnson, Joy
Martin, Frances Gulesian, Avalee Mitchell, Betty
Holbrook,
Typists:: Ann Rixey, Janet Zimmer.
Pictorial Editors; Peggy Watkins, Martha Hershber
ger.
BUSINESS DEPARTMENT
Business Manager — Joyce Privette
Assistant Business Manager Betsy Schaum
Advertising Manager Betty McBrayer
Asst. Advertising Manager - Mary Faith Carson
Circulation Manager - ^ Janie Fowlkes
Carter Reads...
by Joan Carter Read
The people and the places in
Thom'tis B. 'Costain’s The Moneyman
are taken from one of the most bril
liant and exciting periods of Franck
—the middle of the fifteenth century,
a time about which too little is
known to the average American
reader. Tlie reason for tliis neglect
is that it follows the dramatic tale
of Joan of Arc and not enough
people were interested in what hap
pened to the English who remained
in Normandy and Bordeaux and in
how the French finally rid them
selves forever of the conqueror. This
novel tolls the story of Charles the
seventh, his mistress, the lovely
Agnes Sorel, and Charles ’ money
man, the intelligent Jacques Coeur.
Together they weave one of the most
thrilling tales of history.
•Jacques Coeur was one of those
unfortunate individuals who lived
two huudred years before his time.
He foresaw interest in commerce and
trade replacing the Age of Chivalry
with its dangerous, corrupt ideas.
He was clever enough to amass a
fortune from trade and to start a
series of shops similar to a modern
chain of department stores. Jac-
(|ues was a close friend of the beauti
ful Agnes and it was through her
help and influence that he gave the
King manji ^xcellent suggestions in
affairs of state, moreover together
they controlled the fashions of court,
always for the benefit of Jacques.
The« situation was simply this;
under the decadejit ideas of chivlary,
France had either to slip back to
the Middle Ages or to use unchival-
rous weapons such as, gunpowder
and blast her way into the future.
Jacques financed the necessary war
out of his pocket. Agnes upheld the
King’s morale, but she was dying.
Without Agnes’ aid would the King
have the strength to carry on?
Would the victory be successful in
giving France a brilliant future or
would she still fall back into her
old ways? Jacques felt that the de
cisions rested on him.
Another point in the favor of Mr.
Costain’s novel is the way he dis
tinguishes in his preface between
the facts and the fictitious. The
facts are embellished with some
fiction to make the story more ex
citing to the modern reader who is
not content with straight history.
If, however, he is interested in the
fashions, manners, architecture,
furniture, or the morals of the period
this book provides a wealth of de
tails on these items.
Peggy Succeeds,..
Dear Editor;
For three and one half years I
wondered what I would do when I
finished college. What then? Actu
ally I would be trained to do noth
ing, for I was not getting a teach
ing certificate—just an A. B. Degree
with a major in English. My family
and friends had finally given up
trying to persuade me to prepare
myself for the teaching profession,
althbugh they still delighted in say
ing, “You’ll be sorry.”
I had only the vaguest notion of
what was to be offered in the out
side world. By February of my Sen
ior year I was getting mighty anxi
ous, for one decision I had made
was not to stay at home the rest
of'mv life.
Then H happened. Be'fore I could
say Jack Rabbit I was offered a
job. A very nice man from McLean
Trucking Company came to Salem
looking for a Senior English major
who thougTit she had leanings to
ward journalism—that was me. He
wan-ted someone to edit the com
pany magazine. And since I was
willing (nay, eager) to begin work
right then, I started three weeks
ago, and my initial enthusism is
steadily increasing.
This is to encourage all you girls
who don’t want to teach and don’t
know what to do. Miracles can
happen and maybe you will have a
stroke of good luck which can equal
mine!
Peggy Grav
Student Pleads...
Dear Editor:
We would like to point out that
the system of announcements by
cards on the bulletin board in the
dining room, initiated last year, is
generally ineffective.
There is certainly something to
be said for the fact that oral an
nouncements during meals have been
decreased. But we feel that stu
dents do not actually heed announce
ments unless they hear them. As
long as students making announce
ments confine them to one or two
terse sentences, we cannot see that
the digestion of the diners will be
disturbed.
The deans alone (perhaps they are
speaking for the faculty, but as far
as we can discern not for the stu
dents) object to announcements dur
ing meals. ^ Any visitors on campus
should certainly be understanding
enough to realize that oral announce
ments are often necessary and more
often extretuely effective.
We do not advocate “scrapping”
the bulletin board. It is effective
to some extent. But we would like
to protest against the red tape and
embarrassing series of explanations
that every student who makes a
dining room announcement has to
endure. Certainly, organization lead
ers should have judgement enough
to know when an oral reminder is
absolutely necessary and should be
allowed to make it—Ijriefly and
without question. According to our ^
statistics no student announcement
has taken over 45 seconds listening
time this year. Let’s have more of
them!
A student speaker for irate an
nouncers. ,
0^ All
by Tootsie Gillespie
(Ed. note: This column, as noted by the title, will
concern ansrthing and everything. The writing of
this column will rotate, each week, among the
members of the Salemite staff. We make no pro
phecies about the content of this column—it’ll be
a surprise to us, too.)
Visiting one’s roommate during spring holi
days is an adventure not to be soon forgotten.
And I haven’t forgotten. It was a truly extra
ordinary experience and from it, I have em
erged a more completely satisfied, deeper think
ing juvenile.
After making an enjoyable 800-mile jaunt in
a 27 Essex with three in the front seat (Roomie
has a brother Ed, w'e finally'arrived in Syla-
cauga, Alabama, and slithered to a jostling
stop in front of a Gothic-type house which Dtlle
affectionately called home. Ed and Dale put
their shoes back on and jumped out of the
car while I wrested myself loose from the
driver’s seat and crawled on all fours up the
brick-inlaid sidewalk, gasping for breath.
We were met at the door by Mother Smith,
smiling serenel.y now that her brood had come
home to nest. I had managed to get to my
feet and was making inarticulate sounds to
Mother Smith while a hulking bird dog gnawed
playfully at my ankle. F'or the first time now,
I noticed the 16-year old brother Bill, who had
been bringing our bags up in a tandem car.-He
clapped me on the back, gave me a head-on,
and I handed him my knapsack, a grateful
woman.
After a dinner of stewed parsnips, jello and
Ovaltine, we slipped between Percale sheets
that had been laundered in Rinso 150 times and
still looked brand new.
We slept deeply and woke up the next morn
ing feeling that our body cells had been re-built.
“Perhaps our body cells have been re-built,”
said Dale, being original.
During that first day and the rest of the
week, I was dragged unmercifully up and
down the three streets of Sylacauga meeting
kinspeople. Each day when we left the house,
we felt secure that it would be there when we re
turned after a hard day’s visiting for Father
Smith had placed a pack of starved hunting
dogs on the front porch in anticipation of the
hoard of eligible young men that would no
doubt molest us.
But I w'as satisfied with j'oung Bill.
“What does age matter?” I screamed, throw
ing him down on top of the Steinway.
All he could choke out was, “I’m doomed I!”
One night, Ed, Bill and I, being in a playful
mood, lay in wait for sister Dale to come in
from her periodic courting with a lad named
Chad. “Chagn shagn”, said Bill, meaning,
“Let’s play a joke on Dale.” I w^as soon to find
out what distorted sense of humor Ed and Bill
had for when Dale stumbled blindly into her
room. Bill was lying placidly on the maritle-
pieee making like a Madonna, and Ed, having
climbed up on top of the closet door, was sit
ting Indian fashion, smoking that peace-pipe.
Dale let out a scream and fell, writhing, to the
floor.
After several incidents too numerous to
mention, and after much persuasion, we were
talked into coming back to Salem. Take it
from me, there’s nothing like the great Ameri
can Scene on a northbound train. Dale and I,
our bright eyes faintly glowing atop the bags
beneath them, sat down expectantly in the day
coach to examine our fellow travelers. With a
jerk of the throttle, the train jumped ahead
lilie a hungry dog at a rabbit race. Across the
aisle from us sat a J’oung man quietlj' throw
ing up at five minute intervals. In front of
us, a Mongoloid five-year-old child sang “I’m
Looking Over a Pour Leaf Clover” in a throaty
soprano until I ground my cigarette out on his
right leg. We slept fretfully now and then,
between times buying apples, cokes and pop-
sicles from a little man who brandished a .45 at
us. Our lunch consisted of 26 Frozen Delights,
nine Nabs and a glass of water (divided two
i^ays). About three years later, we'dragged up
n front of Clew'ell, I humming softly “There’s
J^o Place Like Home” and Dale unobstrusively
foaming at the mouth. I shall not hesitate to
say that if I’m asked just once more if I had a
good time during Easter, shall quietly sat fire
to -Main Hall at 12 midnight, get out my violin
and play it while I watch.