Page Two.
THE SALEMITE
Saturday, January 17, 1931.
Mattiher Souttiern Inter-Collegiate
Press Association
Pablished Weekly by the Student
Hridy of Salem College
SUBSCRIPTION PRICE
^.00 a Year :: 10c a Copy
EDITORIAJL STAFF
EdItor-in-Chief Edith Kirkland
Managing Editor Daisy Lee Carson
Associate Editor Sara Graves
Associate Editor Kitty Moore
Feature Editor Anna Preston
Local Editor Lucy Currie
Local Editor Agnes Paton Pollocli
Local Editor - Eleanor Idol
Music Editor Millicent Ward
Poetry Editor Margaret Richardson
Cartoon Editor..Mary Elizabeth Holcomb
Reporter Marian Caldwell
BUSINESS STAFF
Business Manager Mary Norris
Advertising Mgr. .... Mary Alice Beamai
Asst Adv. Mgr Edith Leak*
Asst. Adv. Mgr. Frances Caldwell
Asst. Adv. Mgr. Emily Mickey
Asst. Adv. Mgr. Nancy Fulton
Asst. Adv. Mgr Ann Meister
Asst. Ad. Mgr. ..Elizabeth McClaugherty
Asst. Adv. M-rr Loui'e Brinkley
Asst. Adv. Mgr Daisy Litz
Circulation manager Mertha Davis
Asst. Cir. Mgr. Margaret Johnson
Asst. Circulation Mgr Grace Brown
THOUGHTS FOR THE
DAY
Our greatest strength lies
close to the point of our great-
—William L. Bronell.
Trouble is a seive through
which we sift our acquain
tances. Those who are too big
to pass through are our friends.
—William L. Bronell.
I find the great thing in this
world is, not so much where we
stand, as in what direction we
There is nothing by which
men display their character so
much as in what they consider
ridiculous. —Goethe.
PARAGRAPHICS
Hail, hail! Vacation time is here
Rejoice, ye over-worked creatures,
play for a week, and see what hap
pens !?!*!?!!
From all we hear, we gather that
Pat is trying to make an excellent
combination of “the Bugs” of the
campus and the Y. W. Social Ser
vice Group. Not a bad idea, Pat'
Ye Paragraphers notice a big i
provement in the “little things of
life” on Salem campus since Lucy
Currie’s attractive features have
been weekly appearing on the sc
For instance, more potato salad.
Ye Paragraphers think that a
course in “How to Disguise Your
Finger Prints” would be an inter
esting new course at Salem, especi
ally for these here “Society Girls.”
Native: Are the fish biting.?
Weary Angler: I don’t know. If
they are, they’re biting each other.
—College Humor
Paul—Are you going to kiss
good night?
Eve—Mercy, no! That’s the last
thing I’ll do.
Paul—All right, then what’ll we
do first?
WE INTRODUCE
OURSELVES
Heigh ho, everybody! No, this
not Rudy Vallee but your honorable
co-editors of this week coming
the radio. If this article is in The
Salemite, you will know that wi
somebody, finally got the paper out
this week. But if you don’t see this
article in The Salemite, you will
know that The Salemite did not get
out tiiis week. Anyway it’s a strug
gle for two inexperienced nit-wits
to edit a weekly paper—our weakly
paper. Lucks against us anyway,
or maybe it’s the weather. The
whole editorial staif of The Salemite
(minus ye Editor-in-Chief Kirkland)
surrenders its scholastic and literary
achievements this week and journey
ed infirmary-ward. In fact, we
would have made this an “Infirmary
Issue” if it hadn’t sounded too bad
coming right after last week’s Hang
over Issue. Lucy’s got a mighty
bad cold and can’t even featurize.
Marion’s about given up the ghost,
too. Daisy Bud is feeling kind of
puny, and ye editor’s temperatures
are so high that it won’t do to pub
lish them. Please sympathize. We
would request that all of you. Dear
Readers, send roses, but we
afraid the Infirmary won’t be
address by Saturday. However, if
you still desire to send them, Ameri
can Beauties are our favorites. Our
address is Room C, Society Hall
(All brick-bats, rotten tomatoes, etc.,
will not be acceptable).
When the Editor told us of
new job, we fainted dead away. When
we came to, the bright idea struck
that our co-ed, Broadus Staley,
might render effective assistance.
But he, intentionally or unintention
ally, has succeeded in dodging us on
all occasions, and there was no help
coming from that quarter. (Too
bad, ’cause we hear that he’s writ
ten the cutest theme “On Having
One’s Hair Cut,” which we intend
ed to publish). Now this master
piece will be lost to posterity.
So, lacking inspiration, we beg that
that you deal leniently with this
week’s Salemite, forgive the co-ed
itor and forget.
THE CHRISTMAS
CUSTOMS IN
RUSSIA
Christmas is the most loved holi
day in Russia and Russian people
love and know why to celebrate
holidays. Even till now many cus
toms, usages and ceremonies are pre
served, counted by centuries, some
taking their origin in the olden days
of paganism all these sweet, some
times funny, but dear to us. Cus
toms make interesting and merry
the holiday of Christmas.
Christmas in Russia is a holiday
of youth. It starts on Christmas
Eve the sixth of January, about
o’clock with the appearance of the
Bethlehem Star, which helped the
wisemen to find the place where
Christ was born. Then begins the
service in the churches, which are
all decorated with Christmas trees
and burning candles. At that time
of the year the ground is covered
with deep glittering snow, that
creaks under the steps of the hur-
rying passers-by. Sometimes little
sleds fly by like wind, with merry
laughing drivers. After the service
everybody hurries home for dinner.
That day under the tablecloth we
put hay in remembrance of the fact
that Christ was born in a simple
manger on hay. One cover is left
free, signifying that Christ is with
us. Any stranger, any traveler
that is not at home on this great day
may enter and dine with the hos
pitable master and mistress. The
dinner is a feast without meat. A
special meal is made, called “Cutya”
made of grain^ honey and nuts. Cu
tya is made only twice a year, on
Christmas and the day of Baptism of
Christ.
After dinner the Christmas ,
lighted for the first time. Even
now in some houses little colored
candles are used instead of lamps
It is more simple, but perhaps mor
sweet, for the custom of lighting the
tree came from the time when every
body brought to the new born Child
(Continued on Page Three)
NOTICE
This week’s issue of the
Salemite was edited by Sara
Graves and Eleanor Idol. In
order that a more thorough
knowledge of the technical de
tails of this weekly publication
may be gained by those who
will have the honor, and in
cidentally the work, of editing
the Salemite next year, the
Senior menihers of the Staff
are giving them an opportunity
for practical training. At*dif
ferent intervals the paper will
be published under the general
direction of one or more Junior
Staff members, with the idea of
preparing them for their future
ON LOOKING LIKE A
“STEEGEE”
It isn’t much fun, I can tell you-
looking like a “Steegee.” You may
think I’m complimenting myself
maybe I am. If I were a “Steegee,”
and somebody made the remark that
I looked like one, I would be highly
complimented. But, not being (
of those'highly-ferocious, muchly-
be-respected animals, I don’t relish
the idea of appearing to be what
I’m not. (I always did hate hypo-
Anyway, it seems that I’m hon
ored for the rest of my life. Every
time I make an appearance c
scene, there are instantaneous, pro
vocative (to me) whisperings:
“Sh-h-h-h. Here she comes.”
“Hush! A “Steegee’ is appear
ing on the scene.”
“Be silent, youngster, or you will
be trailing the homeward path be
fore many hours are past, and not
on your own free will, either.”
“I think she’s a Council member.
She looks exactly like one, anyway.”
I live in torment. I, with my
overwhelming curiosity, my forever-
enduring inquisitiveness, and my
mind molded for gossip, have to do
without all the choicest bits of news;
I miss all the campus frolics, college
cut-ups and so forth that I alwayi
see in those fascinating college mov-
ing-and-talking pictures.
Not only, are my mere acquain
tances my enemies in this respect,
but also my seemingly best friends.
The acquaintances gathered in gos
siping groups look on me with sus
picious eyes, stop talking when I
join them, and the good gossip is
forever lost to mine ears. Even at
midnight in the sanctuary of my
best friend’s room in the midst of an
untruthful truth meeting, the con
fessor always looks at me suspicious
ly, and I have to cross-my-heart-and-
hope-to-die that I’m not a Steegee
before she will confess her dark and
dirty deeds.
It must be my physical appear
ance that causes all this needless
trouble for others and useless agony
for me. That’s all I can figure out.
I don’t think that I have a Steegee
complex. If I do, it is deeply hid
den, or else entirely undeveloped.
Therefore I end this epistle, which
is not a political plea for member
ship on our student self-government
board, but is a sad and doleful re
quest that people take me for what
I am and not for what I am not.
So, if you know any good campus
gossip, just step right up, whisper
it trustingly into my ear, and thus
help to lighten the burden I seem
ingly am doomed to carry forever
and aye.
VERSE
They are not long, the weeping and
the laughter.
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us
after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then
Within a dream.
—Ernest Dawson.
BIRTHDAY LETTER TO
AMY LOWELL
Commemorated birthdays bring to
us too poignantly that supposedly
nasty fact of increasing age, and so
let’s forget this is to be a birthday
letter, and say it is one in celebra
tion of a very special holiday. I
can never conceive of you as grow
ing old, Amy. That would be an
impossibility for you. I can imag
ine your living on for centuries
with those smiling eyes of yours
seeing all the warmth of life for-
I frankly admit I do not like writ
ing this letter to you. I should much
rather be eating breakfast with you
in that cozy room you have made
me love—that room “In the fresh-
washed sunlight” where “the break
fast table is decked in white.”
While “the colfee steam rises in a
stream, clouds the silver tea service
with mist, and twists up into the sun
light.” I should like to spread yel
low butter over crisp, brown toast,
and make you tell me funny, whim
sical things so that I might laugh
softly.
I am a little bit bored with i
monplace people who understand
only commonplace things. Many of
them question that “A stack of but
ter pats” could scream, flutter, call:
‘Yellow! Yellow! Yellow’.” They
even suggest that you should have
written about children in the slums
taking showers under firemen’s hose
instead of about the sun lit water
in a morning bath. I have stamped
and raged, and then I have laughed.
What is to be done with a world of
literalists, advocates of progress, and
squelchers of dreams? I suppose
you were accustomed to them. I
should like having you here with me
now—we should stand on the court
house square, and you could smoke
one of your black cigars.
Tomorrow you will be counted
one year older, but I shall know and
you will know that time really makes
no difference. Just as before you
will be “Proud to feel the pave
ment under you reeling with
feet,” and still you will “smell the
stars.” Perhaps some day
meaning of these words of yours
which is incomprehensible to
minds of logical men will seep into
their dull souls. Then we shall
laugh softly together.
—-Dell Landreth.
FROM FIREFLIES
Let not my thanks to thee
Rob my silence of its fuller
homage.
There are seekers of wisdom and
seekers of wealth,
I seek thy company so that I may
sing.
The tapestry of life’s story is wov
with the threads of life’s ties
ever joining and breaking.
My clouds, sorrowing in the dark,
forget that they themselves
h'ave hidden the sun.
^ove is an endless mystery,
for it has nothing else to explai
The fruit that I have gained forever
is that which thou hast accepted.
’TIS BETTER THUS
Burroughs—“I asked you for a
loan of $10. This is only five.”
Lenders—“I know it is, but that’s
the fairest way—you lose five and
I lose five.”
Autoist (to pedestrian he’s just
run over)—Here’s a ten spot. I’ll
give you more later.
Victim—^What’s the idea? I do
not choose to be run over on tht
stallment plan!
“That chap is with Ruth again.”
“They say he is a rounder."
“Yes, almost every night.”
HIGH LIGHTS AMONG
THE FACULTY’S
VACATION
Several members of the faculty
took interesting trips to various
parts of the country during the
Christmas holidays. It is interest
ing to note that some of them went
in their own trusty cars, others by
that mighty steed, the airplane,
while still others resorted to the
tried and sturdy means of transpor
tation—the train.
Miss Hazel Horton Read with
Miss Letitia Currie, aided and abet
ted by the former’s bouncing young
Ford, struck out pioneerlike for the
sunny southland. Miss Read went
from Salem to Davidson on Christ
mas Day to pick up Miss Currie
and on the next day, the three
started tout ensemble for Florida.
One night was spent at Atlanta, one
in St. Augustine, and the next in
Miami. One of the most interesting
sights to be seen on this trip is the
famous Bbk singing tower in Florida
This tower is supposed to be the
most wonderful carillon in the world,
and was built in the last two or
three years. A German was brought
over from the other side especially
to play for the concerts. These
concerts are given for an hour on
two days a week. Miss Read said
that they luckily happened to hit
upon one of these days, and heard
the music. The Salem trio went on
a truly de luxe tour, stopping only
at the swellest of hotels both com
ing and going (there must be a catch
in that somewhere!). The entire
trip took about ten days, and every
thing was sunshiny and rosy and
what not until the fateful town of
Lumberton was reached. There as
they rode past everything with
their noses in the air. Misses Read
and Currie and Lizzie Ford came to
grief. Lizzie was mighty tired after
the long journey, and with a sharp
“p-i-i-ing!” and a gentle sigh, she
sank to rest. In other words, a
blowout. It took only a short time
to restore Lizzie to her complacent
rotundity and the trip came to an
otherwise uneventful close.
Another member of the faculty
has a brave and sturdy heart. Miss
Leftwich, on the Saturday now only
a sweet memory, strode boldly out
to the neighboring airport and
“caught” an airplane for Washing
ton, D. C. This was at 8:45 and at
11:45 she was in Washington—
rather quick work. Something like
125 miles an hour. There was one
stop at Charlottesville, Va. When
asked about her trip Miss Leftwich
said, “The plane was a seven-pas
senger Fokker, in which until the
stop at Charlottesville, I was the
only passenger. At that time, a
student at the University of Virginia
climbed aboard en route to New
York. The noise made by the plane
was dreadful, but there was entirely
no motion, and I was able to write
a letter (an absolute impossibility in
a bus, and usually on a train). To
me the landscape below was the real
attraction of the entire trip. It re
minded me of an old-fashioned quilt,
quilted in perfect regularity. The
snow on the ground had sunk into
all the furrows and ridges, and the
whole view from the plane was one
of perfect symmetry and beauty.”
Miss Leftwich is planning an air
plane trip from here to New Orleans
in June, and this flight was by way
of a trial and also a preparation.
The flight to be made in June will
take about twelve hours, and neces
sitate an overnight stop in Atlanta.
Misses Lilly and Forman also
went to Florida for the holidays.
Miss Lilly spent Christmas in Co-
coanut Grove with a friend, and
Miss Forman and “Wendy” traveled
all around, seeing things and going
places. Miss Riggan and Miss Mc-
Anally took a flying trip—however,
not in an airplane—to Philadelphia
and New York. The entire trip
covered only Thursday to Monday
morning. Wiile in New York, these
two ladies went to see “Lysistra”
and “Green Pastures,” two of the
most important plays of the current
season.
So it seems that the thing which
is now being done is a trip to
Florida in a Ford, or if you are
“speedy,” you jump to various points
(Continued on Page Three)