Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / April 25, 1947, edition 1 / Page 2
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Pas;e Two. THE SALEMITE April 25, 1947 MoAe- Stem.... r (Ed. note: This editorial is a reply to “Crisis to the Starboard” that appeared on this page last week.) Economists, columnists and commentators are right. Prices must come down. Our standard of living must continue to rise. We must avoid a recession. How is this to be bi’ouglit about? By increased productivity, which depends upon both labor and management. Capital and management can absorb wages up to a point and still reduce costs, reduce prices and increase sales, but they can’t do it alone. It must come through the organization of teamwork—that is of sustained cooperation. Miracles are worked in the application of science to manufac tured goods and. the large sums spent on scientific research are universally accepted as highly constructive. Systematic operation has been so well developed in Amer ican industrial plants that they have become the envy of the world. -But the organization of team work, which has to do with people rather than things, is by comparison with the other two almost totally neglected. If the three are out of balance the organization as a whole will not be successful. If balanced, there will be a marked increase in production, ac companied by a decrease in grievances; spontaneous coopera tion cannot be forced, it must be won. When we learn how to win it, there will be greatly increased productivity. Wages are paid according to the productivity of the worker. When we produce more, prices will fall (according to the inevitable law of demand and supply); employment will increase; and purchasing power will be sustained. It is quite true that in the long run a man eating from a bowl of stew gets no more by eating with a larger spoon, but • is it not true also that if the bowl o£ stew were larger he would get more? It appears to me that the sohition to our problem lies in increasing the amount of stew. Tliese days Clewell Smokehouse has a rival meetiug-place— the tennis courts. On every clear day those two lonely little courts are busy with people even waiting to i)lay. Since a large number of students seem to be interested in tennis, and it is such a fine sport, we feel that more than two courts ought to be kept up. Over tlie weekends espeeialh', there ai'e many girls who woTild like to play, but cannot because of lack of court space. We would like to have the rest of the courts put in “work ing order” so that anybody who wants to play can always find room. We would like the courts to be rolled more often: being in such constant use, they become rough and torn-up very easily. Wliy is it that Salem students are afraid of science? We are living in a world of science and yet only twentN’-five students came to hear Dr. Wendt. The lecture itself was not too deep for even a high school student—Aren’t we old enough to understand a few matters of life? Is it not time that we wake Tip and make science a part of our life, along with English, history and. music? Seriously, Sal(Mnites owe it to themselves, their school, and their country. Glance into tlie future. Wake up and live—You cannot live without science!!!! A Science Major. ^alemite I’ubiislied t^vcry Friday of tlie College year the Student body of f^alem College Downtown Office—^304-30') Soutli Main Street Printed by the Sun Printing Company OFFICKS Alice Clewell Building-Basem-eut Subscription Price—a year—10c a copy EDITOEXAL Dl'PAKTMEXT EiUtor-in-Chief , Peggy Davis Associate Editor Peggy Graj' Assistant Editor Nancy Carlton Assistant Editor Carolyn Taylor Make-up Editor Margaret Carter Copy Editor x Jane Paton Feature Editor Mary Porter Evans Music Editor Margaret McCall Sports Editor Gloria Paul Editorial Staff: Cat Gregory, Nancy MeColl, Peirano Aiken, Betsy Boney, !^^arilyn Booth Editorial Assistants: Dot Arrington, Mary Bryant, Zotta Cabrera, Ann Carothers, Martho, Davis, Debbie Darr, Louise Dodson, Ann Dungan, Laurel Green, Frances Gulesian, Roberta Huffman, Susan Johnson, Anna Kamer, Elizabeth Lee, Joy Martin, Jfary Motsinger, Frances Keznick, Andy Kivers, Betsy Schaum, Peggj' Sue Taylor, Ruth Van Hoy, Barbara Ward, Amie Watkins, Fran Winslow. Filists and Typists: Betty Holbrook and Margie Crickmer. Pictorial Editor: Ruby Moye. BUSINESS DEPARTMENT Business Manager Eliza vSmith Assistant Business ^tanager Jane Morrii? Advertising Manager Betsy Schaum Assistant Advertising Manager Mary Hill Circulation Manager Virginia Connor THANejf “Down with convention! Good bye, Stuporville; Hello, New '^ork! Iiomance, adventure, etc!” Fling ing this challenge behind them, Sa lem gradiiates each year wrench out of their ruts and rush to New York. There they boconie clerks, typists, filists. This process is known as “Seeing Life with a cap ital L.” .But—Editorial We preilict a de finite deviation with the. present Sophomore class. Here is a rare thing—a class with a built-in cho rus line! Anyone who has seen Martha Braniiock, Say-So Morris, Katherine Ives, Eaton Seville, Jane Paton, Betty Ann Epps, et al., in their numerous public appearances, must realize with startling clarity tliat a Higher Purpose planned it. They are all so attractive and so alike in souls and sizes. The lioek- ettes arc mismatched rheumatics in compai'ison. And so you see that anything short of a mass migration to Billy Rose’s Diamond Horseshoe would be flaunting in the face of Destiny. From Hollywood, Ladies and Gentlemen, we bring you the newest program on the air—the program that’s better than “liride and Groom”—in other words, “Death and Transfiguration!” Yes sir, folks, for the first time in the his tory of radio, a man is going to die on the air waves! Studio contest ants have married, mated, laughed, cried, been debased and humiliated, done just about everything so that all you nosy, frustrated listeners with empty lives and unhealthy cu- | riosity could pr;^ into their hearts and souls. And now, in response to the morbid, depraved, Little People all over America, wo are bringing Death and Transfiguration, the ul timate! Our sponsors, the Detachable Life Insurance Company, are presenting today’s contestant with a handsome mausoleum of genuine lapis lazuli with platinum fixtures. Among the other features of this simply stun ning Final Resting Place is an elec tric eye device which plays “The Lord’s Prayer” whenever a wreath is laid on the threshold. Atop the building is a Tibetan prayer wheel, run by electricity. The coffin is autogra])hed in gold script by Lloyd C. Douglas. And now lot us turn to our con testant.- What is your name, sir? “Max S. Quattlcbaum.” Wliat does the S stand for? “Scliulman. I w-as named for the famous' writer of the same name.” How nice. Well, Mr. Quattlo- bauni, tell the studio audience how you first l)ecame aware that you were going to die. “When I bent over to tie my shoe Tuesday morning, my head dropped off and rolled under the bureau, (humorously)—I kind of figured something was wrong.’ (audience laughter). And how did .you know that it And 5 by Nancy McGoll Betsy Boney has read the long- es:t best-seller of tlu'm hll, Lydia Bailey, and complains of feeling seasick and travel-worn long liefore the end. The story skitters from i’liiladeli>hia to Tahiti to Franco and at last to Tripoli, all more o.\- hausting than a Cook Tour. Ac- c.arding to Boney, Lydia is the blankest of a groilp of amazingly unreal characters. Faced with a bloody revolution and subserjuently ca])tured by pirates, she remains eternally poised and perfect. ..Jane irorris did say it’s accurate liistory, and reading Lydia Bailey would be one wav to learn what went on in 1800. it might be less demanding than a history texlbook, though Boney says not. Inspired by Charm Week, the li brary staff has culled the stacks for hel]>ful books to put on e.vhibition. This will probably I)e our only chance to put in a • word for Emilj' Post, whose Blue Book w'O consider extraordinarily fascinating, as to lioth style and content. Iter fictit ious characters, examples of how one should live the good and lackeyed life, are downright narcotic. AVhat wo like best is the chapter on get ting Katherine de Puystcr Emi- nent’s breakfast upstairs to her. It requires the services of five do mestic employees, w'ho run a sort of ritual relay from boudoir to,, but ler’s pantry. But Mrs. Eminont’s thank-you letters to Mrs. Gotham Toplofty are simplicity itself, very democratic (‘‘How did you guess ex actly what I wanted?”) Mrs. Post’s basic teachings may be boiled down to one formula, though. Don’t worry about what to say, she says. Just nmke a few pleasant remarks. We arc advised to make these few pleasant remarks on every occasion; one should make them to one’s ex-husband, to the King of England, and to anybody whose name one can’t remember. Mrs. Post admits that lier era is dying out, but we hope with all our heart tliat it survives until we find out what tho.-fe few pleasant and always unspecified remarks real ly are. would be this afternoon? “After I got my head back on, I went downstairs and got myself a bowl' of Rice Krispies. They l-ose to I he top of the cream in lumps and slowly spelled out YOir WILL CROAK fRI. AFT. This I took as a sign.” Ah, yes. Well, our time’s almost ,ip, folks, and Mr. Quattlebaum has fallen to the floor. Listen and you call liiin gurgle. The progriiin will close with organ music. Tune ill tomorrow for another hour of fun and entertainment. Catherine Gregory. For A Place In The Sun In Coughtown Insanitarium, the telephone shook out a ring. Miss Paranoically leaped to the floor, did a ballet twirl and landed on the third'ring. “Miss Paranoically speaking. We have alcoholics, neurotics, psy- chotics, epileptics, schizophrenics name yours.” Do you have space for an escaped corpse?” “ We generally—speaking—don’t take cases — cough in that con dition. Have you tried the puscle department at Morganton Blood Bank?” “It’s like this, Paranoically, we have a deceased McWhorter here who claims to be up getting a little sun. According to newspaper files. Miss Effie departed from Coughtown in 1J>17. Can’t keep her here! She’s abstractly dressed. You say you’ve got them all tiel down. Well, thanks anyway.” Policeman Blueco turned around, switching on the third degree lamp. “Oh, thank you. I was beginning to get a trifle chilly—even though night air generally arouses my spir its.” “Now listen hero, sister, if you kicked off in 1917, whatcha doing around here. Why haven’t you tak en the elevator to the basement or second floor?” “I had a sightseeing ticket to both, but I misplaced them in the mad rush to Sunrise Cemetery. You don’t suppose you could get' another round-trip ticket, do you?” “Now lady, ain’t I having enough trouble, getting you a room for the night?” ; ‘I have a room for the night at Sunrise but it’s such a hole.” “Yeah, yeah—how long do you plan to honor us with your bag of bones? You know this ain’t our us ual Hue. Now why don’t you behave like a nice dame and go get hori zontal. Come on, I’m going to tajie you to Sunrise.” “You caaan’t. I’ll get that dis ease again. Nooooo.” As Miss Effie shouted these w’ords in twisted horror, the lights staggered out, and her corpse turned a glowing red. (Wouldn’t you if you wore in the nude . . . she only has Cemephobia.) Virtie Stroup. (Continued next week.) by Marilyn Booth It can’t have been more than a few weeks ago that I saw a red- bird against the snow in the court yard back of the library. Now it’s April in that courtyard. Trees with pink blossoms big as powder puffs drops their petals on the ground. And there are some girls who think enough of the view from the little courtyard that they risk getting locked out to go study there. A gush of bird song, a patter of dew, A cloud and a rainbow’s warning. Suddenly sunshine and perfect blue— An April day in the morning. —Spofford. Are you the ty]ie who welcomes spring for its crimped jonnuils or dogwood flowers blanched in the sun, the smell of the lilac and the soot in the tulip? Or do you wel come spring for the way it makes you feel? Gladness is bom of the April weather, And the heart is as light as a wind-tossed feather. —Eexford. Does it make you happy that you’re young, that this is your time with its promise of a pot of gold? When proud-pied April, dress’d in all his trim. Has put a spirit of youth in ev erything. —Shakespeare. Or does Dr. Rondthaler hit the nail on the head for you? He says: Have j’ou ever read, a lesson into . nature’s progress? Can you see the significance in the way young trees burst into leaf on the first warm day, while the older ones, like the elm, thick en gradually and cautiously, in their knowledge of when spring —Dr. Rondthaler. Or maybe you’re the kind of per son who’s indifferent about the good earth and growing things. You know they’ve always been there and think they always will bo. Really, they can’t be conscious of anybody’s admiration and so . need no en couragement on your part. Or it could be, to tell the truth, that you’r sick of the whole thing. Surely there’s been enough said and written about spring, yet every year there are a few who have to make something out of it again,as I have. Spring would be but gloomy weather. If we had nothing else but Spring. — Thomas Moore To S. G. II. What do you see, ^ Daughter of Orpheus? What do you see f^eyond the gates of your gaze? Eiicircruig the keys liK'e A a aura of harniony- golden and black chiaroscuro; Pale, raging, racing, sober. Fingers in concentration bent, •‘^"'ift, flexiblcv I^ndulating sound, i.nworded Elusive, gigantic in meaning; Periphery to the str ains Of man’s emotion. Do ■ the comjiosers reaen out In the pain of their melodies What do you hear In their message of sound? What do they tell you? Rippling the keys Like grass leaves by a wind. What do you feel? Do you feel man sighing and- weeping? Dreaming and stirring? Frowning and tensing? Do you thi.uk of your fathers? Of. lyre-bearing Homer? Of fragile and fragrant singing- Of sweet-voiced Horace? Do you see white-robed Milton Hurled his rainbowed lightning Through a spaceless heaven? Do you catch the faint, childlike- tunes Endlessly vaporing From the rain-covered earth? Do you hear Beethoven and Milton? Bach and Horace? Tell me? Light-fingered Daughter of Orpheus! Tell me! What do you see? Ross lie Green
Salem College Student Newspaper
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April 25, 1947, edition 1
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