Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / Dec. 3, 1937, edition 1 / Page 2
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Page Two. THE SALEMITE Friday, December 3, 1937. Published Weekly By The Student Body of Salem College Member Southern Inter-Collegiate Press Association SUBSCRIPTION PRICE : : $2.00 a Year : : lOe a Copy EDITOEIAL STAFF Editor-In-Chief El^ise Sa^le Business Manager Helen SftSth EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT Music Editor - General Editor - - Alice Hor^neld Sports Kditor - Cornelia Wolfe Assistant Editora:— Florence Joyner Mary MeColl Staff Assistants;— Anna Wray Fogle Helen Totten Pe^^y Brawloy Einina B. Grantham Helen McArthur Margaret Holbrook Sara Harrison Sara Burrell Mary L. Salley Helen Savage Betty Sanford Betsy Perry Katherine Snead Frank Campbell Elizabeth Hatt FEATURE DEPARTMENT Feature Editor Maud Battle Staff Assistants:— Mary Turner WiUie Josephine Gibson Mary Thomas Evelyn McCarty Cramer Percival Leila Williams Mary W. Spence Betty Bahnson Cecilia McKeithan Peggy Rogers BUSINESS DEPARTMENT Assistant Business Manager E^th McLean Advertising Manager - Prather Sisk advertising staff Peggy Bowen Virginia Taylor Rebecca Brame Mildred Troxler Virginia Garter Elizabeth Wmget Grace Gillespie Germaine Gold Margaret Patterson Circulation Manager Exchange Manager - — w ! Associate Exchange Manager Frances Watlmgton Associate Exchange Manager I Assistant Circulation Manager ------ Assistant Circulation Manager Millicent McKendrie Assistant Circulation Manager Christine Dobbins Member 1938 mppgBtNT«D poh national advehtisino by Pbsocided GoIie6icite Press National AdvertisingService, Inc. r\.- f ColUf Pum$k*rs Rtpreuntathe Distributor ot madison ave. new York, n. y. GDlle6iate Di6est Chicago - Boston - Lot AHGELes • Sah Frahcisco OUI ou NON? Why don’t we have a French Club ? Well, last year there were meetings but, alas, very few members. A scattered num ber of “old faithfuls” straggled in loaded with excuses from French majors who had much more important business else where. From a group the club dwindled to a foursome, to a duet, and down to nothing. There were no girls, no interest, no funds, and no life. Now just because the French Club is dead is no reason for it to stay that way. Let’s revive it. There are many Seniors, Juniors, and Sophomores who would be willing to bet they’re not majoring in a dead language. All right, prove it. This is how. Have a pep meeting. All you upper French students, get together, organize, choose a convenient hour to meet, elect your officers, and — bang, you’re off with a new start. Think of the possibilities, a friendly chat or two in French, speeches, songs and carols, teas, parties, and dinners. What do you say? Let’s have a French Club! Oui ou Non? —F. J. IS THERE A CORNELL IN THE HOUSE? What has happened to drama at Salem College ? Where, oh, where are the budding actressee who, ,by all rights, should be cavorting across our college stage, running the gamut of emotions, tearing at our heart strings, and reveling gleefully in the chance to daub pale yellow grease paint on their rosy cheeks ? Dramatics certainly have a definite and necessary part in the life of any college campus. They provide an outlet for creative energy and a mode of self-expression not found in any other extra-curricular activity. College dramatics, even if they don’t help a girl to find herself vocationally, — as sometimes hap pens — often help her to find herself in another way, by devel oping social poise. Besides all this, giving plays is just plain fun. For the last four years dramatics have gone into a decline. Interest has been spasmodic and ineffectual. The play produc tion class begun one year was not continued. The Freshman Dramatic Club was too large a group to work effectively, and somehow died quietly every year. The Pierrettes suffered financially and from Uwk of faculty, student and administration interest. j CHATTER AND PAHER Will somebody please explain why our sophisticated senior with the ox fords is so self-confident that she is perfectly willing for one of our blonde May Day beauties to step out with one — Les? While the May Queen’s away the Bahnson’s will play. Were those real tears that glisten ed in Babe O’Keefe’s eyes or just murine when she returned from Washington Sunday night? And judging from the gold cross that Miss MacLean is sporting the Wash ington lawyers must be all there!! You can’t stop that Smith girl from making time when she’s out a-datin ’. Can it be that Gam’s at last settled down to one? Too bad, Edith, that you had to play nursemaid all during the Thanksgiving holidays, Joe had tonsilitis in case you haven’t heard. What did you do to speed his recov ery? Hold his hand? Briggs report ed a fine time in Asheville Thanks giving. I hear you couldn’t induce Jo to come back Thursday night. She didn’t return to dear ole Salem un til Monday. There certainly must be some big attraction up in “ them thar hill.s. ’ ’ Did you see the fratern ity pin that Mary (the South Caro lina lass), was sporting yesterday? It must have been the result of the romantic atmosphere of a South Carolina Moon. Tweak went down to Bennettsville, S. C., to visit Mary McColl over Thanksgiving, but had to come back all too soon. Jo Gribbin took Briggs and For rest Mosby to Asheville for Thanks giving dinner, etc., and I hear that Leila’s well-known raccoon travelled in the rumble-seat again — this time on Briggs ’ back. By the way, Jo got sick mighty quick Sunday morning and had to stay over another day. Speaking of Briggs (if anybody was), she got that old feeling and had to go home Sunday for the nite to see Bill. Thanks to the power ful concentrating of Cole and Wil liams, he actually came through and asked for a date Sunday night. Try it sometime, girls. When it comes to the place where Francis Cole takes the “boy friend” home to meet the “folks,” I call that serious! That’s what she did Thanksgiving, and they liked him fine. Must be nice to be smart! Doro thy Hutaff went home Wednesday and stayed until Sunday. Frances Alexander went to Wash ington and Philadelphia for Thanks giving, and took in the Army-Navy Game. She bought a jingle-bell jacket, and fainted while visiting her family physician in Washington. The reason was too much dry sherry and Max Gregg. Marianna is certainly getting a huge rush from one of the eligible bachelors out in town. Guess who? You should have seen the surprised look on Nan Totten, Alice Horsfleld and Mary Lee Salley’s faces when they learned that they were not the only Salem girls at the train station Sunday afternoon. The boys were stampeding the taxi and shouting “We want more.” You had better see who is watching before you be gin the next time. Treat them rough and then leave them. They’ll always come back. Good policy — don’t you think so Peggy and Mary? Didn’t I see Char lie and Dick here Saturday night? This is Friday night, December 3rd, REMINISCENCES OF AN IDEAL LIFE TO BE ’T is to create, and in creating live A being more intense that we endow With form or fancy, gaining as we give The life wo image, even as I do now. —Byron. I once visited the research rooms of a mystical old man. He was a man that no one knew, and yet he knew everything. He was a master at the art of dreaming, and his genius had permitted him to per fect a machine of dreams. It was a machine of intricate design, made of tensile fibres of opinions, re silient reminiscences, and wires of liquid thought. It centered around a chair which was enclosed in a tenuous, fleecy fluid which had pe culiar chemical powers. It was not a chair of ordinary design, for it was not composed of such solid, hard materials as wood, steel, or stone, but was made of an indistinct, visionary substance. He called it a throne of dreams. At my request he allowed me to sit for a while on his throne of dreams. When I settled into the soft, warm cushions of thought, and breathed the tenuous, liquid retro spection which completely oblit erated all manner of worry and care, I perceived the following visions which I now relate to you: The man I am is dead. The man of the present, whom I despise to be, has ceased to exist. I now live at the end of a life which has not yet begun. I now live at the end of a life of dreams, which will nev er come true. The present becomes the past; the past is nothing, and the future becomes the present. When I began this life which is, and is not, I wanted it to be one, the like of which none had ever lived, or ever would live. I wanted to live my life away from all connec tions with man and different from the life of any man. Yet, in my heart, I wanted my life to be for the benefit of man. My life has been different. I have not lived as others live. I worked at night and learned while others You are at Salem College, Winston- Salem, N. C. The above is for Mary Turner Willis — just in case she should come out of the daze and does not know where she is. Ain’t love grand? Howard and Noonie use to be the best of friends, but judging from their actions Sunday afternoon when they met, their friendship has drift ed apart. It just doesn’t pay to be a two-timer tootie — even among friends. Frankie can’t understand why mama didn’t say anything when Horace bade her such a romantic good-by before everybody. Maybe mama understands more than you know, Frankie. B. C. maybe Dun-for(d) here at Salem but Mildred Minter doesn’t think so. They were seen scaling around the campus together Satur day night. There must have been a hot time in the old town of Mooresville over the week-end. Annette went home for the day and stayed all week-end. She must have been making up for herself and Patty too. If you want to know the technique of keeping warm while riding in a rumble seat ask Caroline Pfohl. One thing I know she insists upon — that is practice makes perfect. If you want Peggy Rogers-to blush, make a crack about Roy’s last name. There are many other hindrances to play production. Me morial Hall must be used by the music department all day every day and most of every night. There is only one set of scenery, which is definitely on its last legs. The curtain is an object of pity. There are no dressing rooms. There is very little light ing equipment, and no college make-up, costumes, or properties. In spite of these handicaps, plays and comic operas and musical shows have been presented at Salem, with conspicuous success. It will take perseverance, ingenuity, imagination, and work, but the drama can be revived. Let’s! —A. W. P. Y.W.CA. Y Notes At a Christmas vesper service this Sunday night, Mr. Henry Owens of our faculty, will give a holiday reading and there will be special Christmas music. Senior Vespers will be the following Sunday in Me morial Hall. Wednesday night, December 8, at 7:30, the Industrial girls from the City “Y. ” will meet with us in an Open Forum discussion in the Recrea tion Room of Louisa Bitting Build ing. Everyone is urged to come be cause an interesting program has been planned. During the day next Wednesday, the “Y.” will sponsor “Y.” Day” in the Book Store. Through the co-operation of Mr. Snavely, we will get a percentage from every thing sold that day from 8:15 in the morning until 6 at night. Then is the time for you to buy all of the things you have been needing, and to get your Christmas presents be fore you go home. forgot, and I endured the mental stupor of sleep while others drove their machine-like bodies through innumerable tortures in order to be able to exist. I worked by the il lumination of stars, which was en tirely appropriate with the dark problems I confronted. They work ed in the hot, bright glare of day, and missed the cool, fragrant, com forting feeling of nocturnal efforts, under a brilliantly bedecked sky, in a land of eternal warmth. I lived apart from man, and spent my life in scientific research—trying to find solutions to the variegated and com plex problems of mankind. I made an unestimable number of experi ments, and confirmed a great many untruths to be false, but I failed to contribute much of value in an affirmative nature. To me my life has not been in vain. To others I have been a fool. I have given my soul to research. I have suffered innumerable handi caps and privations. I gave my life to a worthy cause, wrecked my phys ical well being in an attempt to make it easier for the masses in another world to scorn me. They say I have accomplished nothing; but no scientist accomplishes any thing while he lives. Death and death alone is the medium through which we recognize achievement. Still, they say I have accomplished nothing. Maybe they are right, if distinction is accomplishment. I’m glad my life has been a failure if distinction is the criterion of suc cess. I have never had a desire to be famous in the minds of men, and care very little for their reaction to a life of which they know noth ing. I have lived as I wanted to live. I have lived apart from man and away from his influences. To me my life has been successful, because my primary ambition was to be dif ferent. Whether I have achieved anything or not remains yet to be seen. Most human achievements cannot be measured because they cannot be expressed. The man who has found his life, and has lived, has achieved a great deal more than the man whose titles take volumes to be recorded. I had much rather be the man who has lived as he dreamed, than be the conqueror of a world. My dream life is now a thing of the past. What do I have yet to come ?—Death—Man’s greatest sin gle accomplishment. The one thing man thinks he dominates, and yet the thing to which he is utterly sub jected. “Why should I fear death! If I am, death is not. If death is, I am not. Why should I fear that which cannot exist when I do?” (Robert G. Ingersoll—The Philos ophy of Life, edited by Anderson M. Baten). Fear? Did I say fear? There is no fear in death. Death is the climax of life. Death, is the purpose of life. A man plans his life and lives his life with death his greatest aim. I’m thankful for death. I’m thankful because it is the perfect way to end existence. I’m not only thankful for death as my purpose, but I’m thankful that I’m dying—.
Salem College Student Newspaper
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Dec. 3, 1937, edition 1
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