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QUEENS BLUES
March 2, 1942
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QUEENS BLUES EXCHANGES A Visit To The Old Stamping Grounds
Member North Carolina Collegiate Press Association
Founded by the Class of 1922
Published Weekly by the Students of Queens College.
Subscription Rate: $2.60 the Collegiate Year
EDITORIAL STAFF
Elsa Turner ^ EiUtor-in-Chief
Betsy Hodges Associate Editor
Pat Stoyle Associate Editor
Miss Laura Tillett - Faculty Adviser
Miss Evelyn Baty Faculty Adviser
Reporters—Bettye Welche, Hilda Brewer, Dot Mauldin, Polly Foglesong, Betty
Howard, Louise Leitszy, Marjorie Rogers, Patsy Scoggin.
Frances Bryan Business Manager
Dottie Sappen field Business Manager
Ruth King, Betty Kenyon, Marie Sitton, .lane Boovy.
ATTEND CHAPEL
Let us hope that all members of the student body are
availing themselves of the unusual series of Friday chapel
programs which are now being presented. In these programs
we are given the opportunity and the privilege of hearing
an explanation of the different religious beliefs of our friends
and neighbors. On February 13, Rabbi William Greenburg
of the Jewish Synagogue gave an excellent presentation of the
Jewish faith; on February 20, Father Daniel Baran of Bel
mont Abbey spoke clearly on the Catholic faith; and in
weeks to follow we can look forward to other speakers who
will explain other beliefs. How can we better become
acquainted with the many different faiths with which we
come in contact and thus understand better our fellowmen,
than through such talks as these, given in a spirit of good
will by excellent and learned speakers?
Such an opportunity to become better acquainted with
the faiths about us should not be allowed to slip through our
grasp.
A BOTTLE TALKS
Gee, Fm so full I could pop—almost. Honestly, spring
fever really has me this year. I’ve never felt like this before
in my life. Spring fever is a lot of fun, but if somebody
doesn’t hurry and drink this Coca-Cola I’ll just die. Think
of any respectable bottle having to hold Coca-Cola all its
life! Why it’s ah outrage!
Ah, here comes a nice looking Queens girl. Maybe
she’ll decide to take me out of my misery. Oh joy, she did!
I feel as free as the breeze now. Can you imagine anything
nicer than being an empty Coca-Cola bottle on Queens
campus. I can’t. Wonder where I’ll go when I leave this
"Y” store? I’ve even heard of some bottles being sent
back to the plant to be refilled. Here’s hoping I’ll escape
that. Here we go out of the store—somewhere.
My, but it’s nice under these trees. Doesn’t seem like
winter at all. Now for some excitement. Oops! Pardon
me, please, but I just got kicked—maybe that’s just one of
the things that has to happen to an empty bottle. Is that
wind I feel? I thought Spring was on the way. Drip!
That’s rain, so help me. I don’t know whether I like this
business of being empty or not. At least I was in a nice
place when I was full.
Why do all these girls pass me without picking me up?
Heartless, that’s what they are. I believe I see another
fellow in the same shape lying over there beside the Music
Building. Poor guy, I feel sorry for him, but sorrier for
myself. I always thought that Queens girls were tidy and
respected the looks of their campus. As much as I hate
to admit it, I’m about to change my opinion.
You would think that they would be doubly careful
now that so many visitors are coming to inspect the school.
What an opinion they must form of Queens in general!
Now I don’t say that all Queens girls treat bottles like this,
but there are always a few who just don’t care. They must
think that bottles lying around add a bit of spring color
to the scene. Oh, how I wish someone would tell them
differently.
Here comes a lady now and is she giving me the once
over! One would think that I put myself out here to
make a laughing stock of Queens. If I could just talk
to people. I’d make them understand. Right now I wish I
were in a crate with the rest of my buddies.
What’s this sensation I feel? Is it really true that I’m
being picked up? Bless this kind-hearted soul. She’ll never
know what this means to me.
Now, girls, let this be a lesson to you. The very next
time you see an empty bottle lying where it shouldn’t be,
make it your business to put it where it should be. You’ll
improve the looks of your campus 100 per cent, besides
bringing joy into many a bottle’s heart.
Gee, but this crate feels good!
Wordsworth certainly would have
had us in the florist business this
week.
The campus costume this week has
been kerchiefs plus. I have never
seen so much color even at a spring
festival as the gals wore on their
heads. It’s a preview show of May
flowers, hotel mosaics, tropical splen
dor, New York panorama, Florida
warmth, all put into the raininess of
the campus.
We’ve tried to rush this paper to
press today so that you might use
some suggestions printed by The
Gamecock. Perhaps, if you haven’t
written your family yet after the
catastrophe of report cards arriving,
you will have a chance for some good
persuasion technique:
(1) “Y’see, mom, the Prof’s got
the wrong text and doesn’t know it
yet—”
(2) The instructor hates me be
cause I comb my hair, and he hasn’t
any.”
(3) I didn’t know he was in the
classroom one day and I took his
name—in vain, that’s why.”
If these don’t work, you’d better
just mention the new style of khaki
uniforms or the great demand for
skilled laborers.—Hi-Po.
It, is alleged that a schoolboy in
Kansas wrote the following, entitled,
“An Editor.”
“I don’t know how newspapers got
into the world, and I don’t think God
does, for He ain’t got nothing to say
about them in the Bible. I think the
editor is the missing link we read
about, and that he stayed in the busi
ness until after the flood, came out
and wrote the thing up, and has been
kept busy ever since.
“If the editor makes a mistake,
folks say he ought to be hung, but if
a doctor makes mistakes, he buries
them, and folks don’t say nothing be
cause they can’t read Latin.
“When the editor makes mistakes,
there is a big lawsuit and swearing,
but^ if the doctor makes one, there is
a nice funeral with flowers and per
fect silence.
“A doctor can use a word a yard
long without him or anyone else
knowing what it means, but if an edi
tor uses one, he has to spell it.
“If the doctor goes to see another
man’s wife, he charges for the visit.
If the editor goes, he gets a charge
of buckshot.
“Any college can make doctors to-
order, but editors have to be born.”
—From the Tulane Hullabaloo.
These I Have
Loved
“SCOTTIE” NISBETT
A Parody on THE GREAT LOVER
By Rupert Brooke
“These I have loved:
Bare trees like lace outlined against
the sky;
The drowsy drone of bees at work
nearby;
The pungent smell of pines beneath
the sun;
The hazy days when autumn’s just
begun;
A mother’s hands with gentle, sooth
ing touch;
A winding woodland path I love
so much;
The ocean broad, and powerful and
deep;
And after work, the comfort of
deep sleep;
The endless throb of engines in a
ship;
The graceful flight of sea-gulls as
they dip
And soar above the restless tossing
sea
The soft white clouds that form and
flee;
The calming stillness of the sunset
hour;
The mighty mountains which above
me tower;
Green moss upon a rugged stone;
A child’s warm hand within my own;
All these have been my loves.”
By BETTY HOWARD
I wish they’d hurry and start. Oh,
why don’t they hurry? Just think, I
haven’t seen a basketball game in
months! That’s what comes from be
ing cooped up in a college all fall.
I almost feel like an escaped con
vict. It’s great to be through exams
and to be at home. I never have
crammed as hard before in my life.
Oh, darn exams! Who thought them
up anyway? It must have been a
teacher and a heartless one at that.
Say, I thought I was going to forget
school for a while. Oh yeah, just
try to do it!
Oh boy! Here comes that flashy
Oakboro team! Wonder who has
my suit this year. There she is—
number ’leven. Well, I wish she’d
tuck my shirt tail in. I never left
it out like that. It does look like
she’d at least start the game with it
tucked in.
Here comes our coach. “Will I
keep the score book? Well, yes—I
guess so. College? Oh yes, it’s
wonderful! No, I’m not playing
hookey, I just finished exams early.
Sure, they were hard! In fact, that’s
hardly the word for it.” People can
ask such dopey questions. I guess
I’ll be explaining to everybody here
what I’m doing at home. Well, that’s
a small town for you.
There’s the whistle. Let’s see;
what’s our lineup? Hooks, Harkey,
Moore, Benton, Funderburk, and Stil-
well. Stilwell? On the first team? Why
she didn’t even practice last year!
Miss Hood must be hard pressed for
guards. I’ll bet she misses us old
players. Gee, but we had fun! I
wish I were out there playing now.
It seems like old times with the
crowd waiting for the excitement to
begin.
The referee has the ball. Here goes.
Oh, I hope we win! I wonder if
Long Hollow is as good as it was last
year. Oh, oh. I’m afraid they are!
Look at those girls pass the ball.
A shot! Did it? No—thank goodness!
I’ll have to be careful keeping the
score. First time I’ve ever done it.
Hope I don’t get mixed up. That
would be terrible. Why, it might
even start a fight!
“A substitute for Long Hollow?
Clinchford for Sullen? How d’you
spell it? O.K.”
Boy, this is a fast game! Honest
ly, I didn’t remember basketball as
being so fast! I believe we’re going
to win. Can’t be sure in the first
quarter though. Anything can hap
pen. Yeah, and it probably will too.
I hadn’t noticed the crowd. Pretty
big for a rainy night. Who’s Ruth
Jackson with? Well, when did this
happen? And I thought Joe was the
one and only.
There goes the horn—the end of
the quarter. I’ll bet those girls are
tired. Ten to six, in our favor.
Hmm, not bad, but it could be better.
I’ve got a feeling we’ll win. Why, of
course, we will. Our team just has
to beat tonight, even if they never
win another game. This is my first
chance to w^atch them play this season.
There’s the horn again. I wonder
how^ this quarter will turn out. My,
hut this is exciting! I mustn’t forget
the score book. Miss Hood will rafee
cane if I mess it up.
Another substitution. McCluntok
for Depson. “Does that start with a
“C”? O. K.”
GONE WITH THE WIND
With Apologies to Margaret Mitchell
By MARTHA MURRAY KELLER
Now, let’s see; where was I? Oh
yes, that paragraph about Rhett tell
ing her to go to—I forgot. I mustn’t
say that; it’s not ladylike. I wmnder
why I can’t get my mind on this
book? Maybe it’s because this is the
third time I’ve read it ... I know.
I know exactly. I ought to spend my
time reading more worthwhile books
like Dickens’, but—there goes Glenn
Miller playing “Deep In the Heart
of Texas!” I love that song. Or
maybe it’s Tommy Dorsey. How do
people ever keep them straight? I
guess I just haven’t a musical mind.
Musical mind, that sounds good. It’s
something Poe used isn’t it? In
“The Raven” . . . Alliteration, that’s
it. Why couldn’t I think of it sooner?
What’s going to happen to me if I
don’t soon acquire a memory? I’m
just no good at anything. I can’t
even concentrate on this book.
Where was I reading? Here, right
here. “He said, ‘Sfiarlett—’” Oh,
I remember all of this part. I be
lieve I’ll turn over nearer the back.
Never satisfied, that’s what I am.
One will never get anywhere in this
world by being like that. I’ve heard
it a million times: don’t remind me.
Who’s reminding me? I’m reminding
myself. Well, whoever’s doing it, I
wish they’d stop. I’m going crazy.
I know I am. I don’t care, I don’t
believe that saying about people w’ho
are never think that they are. Are
what? I’m sure I don’t know. I
must be dreaming. Wake up, you!
I’ll stick me with a pin; that’s what
I’ll do. Then I’ll know whether I’m
awake or asleep . . . Ouch! It’s
awake I am. Let’s see if I can talk
some more like an Irishman. And
it’s a walk ye’ll be takin’, is it, ma
lass? Or is that Scotch? Who cares?
To get back to this book—
“ ‘Dreams, she thought, “—Dreams,
dreams, dreams, thoughts, thoughts,
thoughts, is it all that Georgia woman
can write about? Or is it me? I
mean I. Whoever invented this fool
ish English language anyhow? The
Greeks? How silly of me! What
am I thinking of? Just because the
Greeks invented—what! I can’t re
member? And after all that study
ing for an Ancient History test last
week. That just goes to show you.
Tests do not one iota of good. You
don’t remember them one week after
wards. Oh my, I didn’t mean to say
' that. I really didn’t mean it—hon
estly, I didn’t. What would my
teacher think of me if she heard?
Probably the same thing she thinks
now. I do think I’m in a stupor.
I believe I’ll turn over a new leaf,
or maybe a whole chapter, or two. It
looks a little more interesting over
further. All about—what’s that I
hear out in the hall? Hey-hey-hey,
on a hey-dey ride, and about fifty
other verses. Now who in the world
even went to so much trouble to make
up a giddy little verse like that?
Sometimes I do believe that half the
world is mad. What’s that quotation,
or maxim, or something-or-the-other?
“Everyone art queer but thou and me,
and methinks thou art a little odd
at times,” is that it? So much for that.
Oh, here it is. Settle down and
prepare yourself for a shock now. It
always gives me a thrill, even after
reading it five times. “He drew
a short breath and said lightly but
softly: My dear, I don’t give a (re
vised version) hang’.” Oh, he makes
me so mad I could kill him! Oh, men
are so mean! They don’t have an ounce
of sense. Women are much more sen
sible in So many ways, and we aren’t
nearly as conceited as they are. Oh,
the unfairness of it! But he loved her,
and he did come back to her. She
got everything else she wanted, did
she not? Well, slie got Rhett back
too. Of course, it’s just a book and
not anything to get excited about.
I can’t help it. A person has a right
to his own opinions, hasn’t she? And
mine is that Rhett Butler came back
to live with Scarlett O’Hara before
one year was over. What’s my opinion
among thousands of others? But
that’s enough for a’ that and a’ that.
(Next page, Scarlett’s memorable
speech): “I’ll think of it all to
morrow, at Tara. I can stand it
then. To-morrow I’ll think of some
way to get him back. After all, to
morrow is another day.” To-morrow!
“To-morrow and to-morrow and to
morrow creeps forward in this petty
pace from day to day.”
(And that reminds me. I have to
hand in an English composition to
morrow!)