Page Two.
THE SALEMITE
Friday, November 13, 1942,
Published Weekly By The Btudent Body
of Salem College
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Edi-.or-In-Chief - Ceil Nuchols
Associate Editor Bobbie Whittier
Make-up Editor
EDITORIAL AND FEATTTRE STAT’F
Music Editor Margaret Leinbach
Sports Editor ^arji Bowen
Mildred Avera ^lary Louise Rhodes
Katherine Manning Nancy Btone
Sarah Merritt Katherine Traynham
Lucille Newman Kathryn Wolff
Peggy Nimocks Frances Yelverton
Doris C. Schaum
Mary Lib Allen
Margaret Bullock
Rosalind Clark
.Taokifi Dash
Joy Flanagan
Ethel Unlpun
APPRENTICES
Barbara Humbert
Frances Jones
8ebia Midvette
Julia &nith
Helen Thomas
Lois Wooten
BUSINESS DEPARTMENT
Bu-iiness Manager Mary Margaret Struven
Ass’t Business Manager Mary Elizabeth Bray
Advertising Manager Betty Moore
Circulation Sara Bowen, Ellen Stucky
OPEN FORUM
Dear Editor:
III last week’s SALEMITE you announced
Who’s Who, and I carefully read every word
you had to say about it. I think the selection
this year is very excellent; hut I can’t help
wanting to ask a few questions which have
baffled me ever since I came to Salem. These
are not malicious questions; they are simply
a matter of wanting to know enough to throw
move favorable light on “Who’s Who.” I ad
mit that I know absolutely nothing about the
organization; and frankly, I hadn’t cared
until someone told me that it was a “very
sought-after honor.’’
The primary question I’d like answered is:
who is responsible for the selection of girls
for Who’s Who? I know that Salem is given
space for nine names, and I know that it’s
l)een an obviously difficult job to fill the quota
in years past. A rumor has it that one stud
ent and several faculty members are sole
judges of who fits the rather vague qualifica
tions and who doesn’t. If this is true, Salem
students have been done an injustice; for one
person is scarcely representative of three hun
dred students . . . nor are four or five persons
representative of fifty faculty members. These
are, of course, only roughly approximate fig
ures; but they can’t be far enough wrong not
to indicate the top-heavy ratio.
The second question I’d like answered is:
wherein does each student chosen measure up
to \rhatever standards there may be? and why
aren’t these reasons published? I know that
these girls must be “outstanding assets to
their .school” and useful' members of “bus
iness or society,” but almost anyone could fill
such requirements . . . according to the point
of view.
I personally feel it my right to know some
thing jnore specific about each individual than
her mere ability as an “asset;” for, after all,
she is the standard by which I am supposed to
weigh ray own merit as a Salem student.
May I insist that' my opposition is far more
fundamental than who-gets-what. I am sim
ply proposing that “Who’s Who, if it is to
truly represent an ideal Salemite, be shielded
with a little less secrecy and showered with a
little more democratic treatment.
Sincerely,
—An Average Salemite.
In retrospective digging for sidelights, we find that last week-end
was a “thing of beauty.” People were so morbidly bored with the
Wake Forest-V. M. I. game that they completely forgot to sign up
their dates for the evening. Oh Boys—what a furor! !So the deans
have been' busy conferring with law breakers all this week—ain’t it fun?
And in “things of beauty,” we find joy forever—which drags us
back to the laugh of the season. There we were, helping Joy Flanagan
tap feet for her date on Sunday—the same date who had tapped his
feet at her on Saturday. Then the telephone summoned—“ Joy,” ho
murmured, “you go on to dinner—I’ve already had mine.” Yip—;-yip—
yahoo!
ilonday was a very grim day—quote October 30th,
so grim, in fact that we shall ignore it altogether.
‘I Heard”
Tuesday was also very grim—except for the piece of spice we picked
up under a rain drop. Scoop: (If you didn’t congratulate her, laugh;
if you did—cringe, sucker!) Nona Lee Cole is not engaged, Gullibles—
not for one minute! It all came about when she was lured into Jay’s
Credit Jewelers by a sparkling $150.00 rock. She ambled in, wistfully
got closer to said gem, tried it on—and found herself railroaded into
a trial-by-approval salestalk. From there, you may know wherein you
stumbled—and for a check-up, you may cover Jay’s Credit Jewelers,
where the object of deception lies peacefully in its blue velvet box.
For further inside dope, see your local Salemite.
Wednesday was a gayer day—itree and ivy planting turned out to
be a tradition we enjoyed to its fullest. But who in the world would
stoop to dig up the roots’ pitiful little pennies? We personally spec
ialize in bigger stuff—nickels, say!
W'ednesday was also the site of the hockey season’s opening battle.
In' full array, we spotted the “too-stiff-for-the-lively-freshmen” class
—running, please up and| down the field at half-time in their little plaid
skirts and warm-up drawers. Who says they’ll default to the Juniors on
Monday?—Why, they’ve already got four men on their team! Prize win
ning comment of the afternoon, however, burst forth from freshman
goalie, Riffkin. It was in the late third quarter that she bellowed up
from her cage, “Please let ’em bring the ball down here—I’m frozen!”
So they did—obliging folk!
Now we must betake ourselves from the deep past to the pressing
future—but not before we publicly award the week’s gold star to Mr.
Weinland for his finesse in handling an unruly Bible class. Ah, ladies
what a crew'' of worms were seen to crawl at noon on Wednesday! Good
night!
ALWAYS PRYING
Now we know why it’s called a Gallup Poll. We literally
galloped from one end of Salem campus to the other flinging at
each shocked individual—“Have you ever studied French? If
so do you or do you not read the French column?” and “Have
you ever studied Spanish? If so would you or would you not
read a Spanish column if we have one?” It was fine until
we started catching people on the re-bound. We would go
rushing up to any group at all—begin with a “Have you . .
and if they are still there, we hadn’t asked them before.
Now to prove that we have not had any mental disorder,
we will explain just why you kind folks were hounded with
questions. One of the most debated subjects about the SA-
IjEillTE is this question of “Who reads the French column?”
and “If we have a French column, why don’t we have a col
umn for the other language clubs?” With the exception of
Spanish, $300 worth of Linotype matrices would have to be
bought for each of the other languages—and that is out of the
question. Therefore, we have seriously considered having the
Fi-ench column only every other week and having a Spanish
column the alternating weeks.
To find out if this plan was acceptable, the most logical
thing to do was to take a poll. The results were astonishing.
We actually didn’t believe that anyone read the French col
umn but Dr. Downs—but they do! Among the students who
have at one time studied French but do not take it now, there
are 27 who read the column and 73 who do not. Among the
students who are now taking French, we found 39 who do
read it and 7 ^yho do not. This makes a total of 65 students
who read the column and 80 who do not.
The interest shown for the Spanish column was encour
aging. We found among students who have studied Spanish
before, but who are not studying it now, 43 who would like
to have the column and 3 who would not. Among the pres
ent Spanish class&s 83 are all for the plan and 29 are not.
This makes a total of 126 who want the column and 32 who
do not.
So now we know. If there are, however, any students
who escaped our questioning and would like to express their
ideas just leave them in the Salemite office.
Merci beaucoup. Mademoiselles.
Muchas gracias, S'enoritas.
DITHER . . . DITHER ,. . SHATTERED LIFE
This business of permission for dates has
me in a whirl. If one has to have permission,
what must she do if someone very dear to her
comes to Salem unexpectedly? What must
she do in order to have a date with him ? Many
things very sad can happen. Take for ex
ample what happened to me last Saturday
night. )
Well, about eight-thirty the house phone
rang, and it was for me; I had a caller. I
dashed down the steps and into the campus
living room . . . who shquld stare me in the
face but Bill. Bill was on his way from one
Army post to another, and I wanted to see
him so-o-o-o badly. I rushed into the dean’s
office and started asking permission to two
empty chairs before it struck me that both
of them (the deans) were gone. My hope
dropped ... the soldier’s morale hit rock-bot
tom. This wasn’t even patriotic. My next
hope was to find the president of the student
government or some Salem official that had
the authority to give me my much-wanted per
mission. I chased all over the campus from
one building to another, up stairs and down
. . . searching, hoping, longing. My search
was in vain ... all traces of officers were
gone. Some had dates, some had gone for the
week-end, and there I was . . . Bill’s and my
morale was now ceiling zero. I suddenly
thought of Mrs. Rondthaler ... I dashed over
to her home and punched the door-bell very
vigorously . . . Mrs. Rondthaler was at home.
Alas! I stammered out my request and await
ed an answer. I saw her cast her eyes to
her wrist and then look at me with that “I’m
sorry” look . . . ’Tis true, it was 10:45. No
permission! Disillusioned, sour on life, and
afraid to face Bill, I trudged across the cam
pus into the campus living room. I found Bill
under a pile of cigarette butts. I told him.
His morale completely collapsed ... so did
mine. He left, and there I was unhappy, dis
gusted, and without Bill. Bill gone, maybe
forever ...
This is just what can happen (in an exag
gerated form) if we have to have permission
to have dates. At this time, which appears
to be most opportune to me, I make a plea
to the legislators to regulate this rule so that
if someone should drop in unexpectedly, we
could have a date without all formalities—with
simply a sign out as we do to go down town in
the afternoon.
i —P. N.
THEM POOR STARVING GREEKS!
There’s an old idea that where the griping
IS the Worst, the morale is the highest. If
that statement is true, the morale of Salem
College is way above the clouds. Our griping
m the dining hall surpasses that done by the
boys in camps. We probably make the army,
navy and marine corps look like pikers.
Griping comes naturally to most of us—and
food is one of the first things to complain
about. But we know, even if we won’t admit
it, that Salem serves powerful good food.
The tables are always attractive—flowers and
all. Russell, fine man that he is, makes our
dishes mighty appetizing. Remember that
baked dish the other night—the one with peas
and potatoes decorating the top? And re
member the feast Hallowe’en night?
These are war times, and as far as food ra-
^onmg IS concerned, we have hardly felt it.
ur ta e service is still good, while girls at
Vassar are waiting on their own tables. And
1 you on t think our food is swell, just visit
a few well-known girls’ schools in this vicinity 1
Salem seems like the Waldorf-Astoria.
• ^PPi*eciate our beautiful din-
mg hall, Miss Stockton, -her staff, and our
good menus. Yet in spite of the way we
really feel, we gripe—and we can’t change.
^Vhile we are complaining good-naturedly,
however, let s not forget to be grateful in our
hearts even if we could never feel it in char
acter to spout forth Words of praise to the
girl sitting next to us.
—N. S.