Page Two
V ' '
THE SALEMITE
May 7. 1948
/I PfuU&ii . . . Birthday Party...
Not too long ago, we. were given the privi
lege of using the. campus date room during the
morning hours. We were willing to keep it
clean and well-kept. “We don’t mess up our
own homes do we?” we said. Maj^be not, but
the willingness to keep it clean has long since
gone. Why is it too much effort to get up and
empty a full and over-flowing ash-tray? Why
is the trouble of keeping table tops clean too
great? Why do we all become so engrossed in
our conversations in the date room that we
don’t bother to look for an ash-tray and if we
find one, don’t bother to put the ashes in it,
but rather around itf If we continue to neg
lect the appearance of the room that was fixed
■for us, the privilege of using it will soon be
taken away and then who can we blame but
ourselves ?
The Order of the Scorpion
Dear Salemites;
The “Y” wishes to tiiank all of you for the
splendid cooperation you have given us this
year. We could never have been successful in
our varied activities and projects without you
^—from our weekly Y-Watches to our Religious
Emphasis week with “Scotty” and traditional
Halem-Davidson Day—you were grand.
Here’s wishing Betty Holbrook and her
jH'w cabinet the best of luck for the coming
year.
Peggy Broaddus
/J ,
... is in store for all Salemites. Mrs. E. H.
Ould, who spoke not long ago in chapel, will be
the guest of the college again next Tuesday
morning. Mrs. Ould will be available for con
ferences from 11:15 until 1 p. m. on Tuesdaj'.
Anyone interested in meeting and talking with
her plea.se contact Betty Holbrook by 6 p. m.
Monday. The Salemite urges everyone to take
advantage of this opportunity to meet Mrs.
Ould as well as hear her again.
The IRS wishes to thank Rominger’s Fur
niture Store for May Day dance properties.
Salemite
fUnk Oraltaa CdkglaM rm
Published every Friday of the College year by the
Student body e£ Salem College
Downtown Office—304-306 South Main Street
Printed by the Sun Printing Company
OFFICES
Lower floor Main Hall
Subscription Price—$2.75 a year
EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT
Carolyn Taylor
Laurel Green
Mary Porter Evans
Peirano Aiken
Dale Smith
Eaitor-in-Chief -
Associate Editor
Associate Editor
Assistant Editor
Assistant Editor
Make-up Editors: Helen Brown, Betty Biles
Copy Editors: Joan Carter Bead, Clara Belle Le Grande
Music Editor Margaret McCall
Sports Editor Gloria Paul
Editorial Staff:
Ruth Lenkoski.
Editorial Assistants: Dot Arrington, Tommy Distabile,
Helen Creamer, Mary Lib Weaver, Frances Reznick,
Carolyn Lovelace, Clinky Clinkscales, Robert Gray,
Suzi Knight, Wilma Pooser, Beverly Johnson, Joy
Martin, Frances Gulesian, Avalee Mitchell, Betty
Holbrook, Polly Harrop, Francos Horne, Lila Fretwell,
Catherine Moore.
lone Bradsher, Tootsie Gillespie,
Typists: .Tanet Zimmer, Martha Hershberger, i
Pictorial Editors: Peggy Watkins, Martha Hershber
ger.
BUSINESS DEPARTMENT
Business Manager
Joyce Privette
Assistant Business Manager Betsy Schaum
Advertising Manager Betty McBrayer
Asst. Advertising Manager Mary Faith Carson
Circulation Manager Janie Fowlkes
Ed. note: “Birthday Party” by
Margaret Baynal wa.s one of the
most outstanding short stories from
Miss Byrd’s 1947-48 Advanced Com
position class.
On the (lay before my sixth birth
day I (iiscovered the difference be
tween nicc people and mill workers.
.Mother and Dad weni to Florida
that summer, and took me to stay
with Aunt Ellen in Beckwith, the
ilusty little i^outh Carolina town
where she lived.
I used to sleep about all the way
down to Aunt Ellen’s, but when we
were almost there, Mother would
wake me up and say, “Just three
more towns to go.” It was sort of
a game we had. In a little while it
would be ‘ ‘ two more ’ ’, then ‘ ‘ one
more”. And then we would be driv
ing into Beckwith. The first thing
we saw would be the mill, \vdth its
wire fence and tall smokestacks.
'Then the mill houses, lining the road
on both sides, all of tlicm alike ex
cept for the colors.
Gray and yellow and gray and yel-
Jow—twelve on each side of the
road. 1 used to wonder how the
people who lived in them knew
which house was theirs when they
i-ame home at night, and whether
the insides of the liouses were just
alike, too. After the iiouses there
were two little stores and a cafe,
dark inside, with greasy windows.
The sidewalk began there. At the
top of the hill was the train station,
■ iiiil a big warehouse beside it. A
IjlocK of the stores Aunt Eilen went
to, the court house, and then we’d
be on Aunt Ellen’s street.
I didn't much like the idea of
-Mother's not being there for my
l>irthday. I needn’t have worried,
though, because Aunt Ellen planned
a party for me. I wasn’t supposed
to know about it, but that morning
I’d heard her ’phoning the mothers
of some of the children I’d met the
year )>efore. I knew, too, that she
was baking me a cake. She sent me
outdoors to play, but I could smell
the cake baking all the way out in
the yard.
I was playing in the sandpile
there, not building anything, just
digging my toes and fingers down
in the sand, and thinking about my
birthday party. I was thinking
about it so hard that at first I didn’t
even see the girl who came up. I
remember, though, that I wasn’t sur
prised when she sat down in front
of me in the sand. I was just cur
ious. I looked at her. She was
about my size, and I remember that
she had the widest, greenest eyes
I’d ever seen and a sort of shy look.
Her name was Annie Sue, she said.
Then, self-consciously, and not say
ing anything else, we started play
ing in the sand.
I liked her. She built a castle
with a moat and drawbridge. My
castles always caved in, but she
knew how to fix them so they would
stay. Watching her, I forgot all
about my party. She built a whole
town, too, with streets and a tunnel,
and even trees, sprigs from Aunt
Ellen’s boxwood. I liked her. I
wanted to tell her a scret, so we
would have something together. I
took her up into the playroom. The
doll dishes were set for a tea party,
spread on a little table by the win
dow. Aunt Ellen had told me never
to let other children handle them,
because they were valuable. They
had tiny blue flowers all over them
—forget-me-nots, I guess—that were
handpainted by my grandmother for
her two daughters. My new friend
was different, though, from the
others. I knew she wouldn’t break
them., She stopped still when she
saw tfiem, and I felt good btcause
I had showed her a scret that she
liked. She wouldn’t touch them for
a long time. I finally had to pick
up the teapot and put it in her
hand. Then she took each piece and
cradled it in her fingers, turning it
all around. Showing her th^ dishes
was more fun than watching her
build castles even.
The dishes reminded me—my birth
day party. In an excited whisper,
I told Annie about it—^how I wasn’t
supposed to know, and how I’d smel
led the cake. She listened, not say
ing anything, her eyes dancing. I
asked if she would come, and she
nodded quickly, three or four times.
We sat there for a minute, laughing
with excitement. Then wc climbed
down from the loft, the dishes for
gotten. In the sand pile again, we
whispered about the ice-cream and
cake and presents. I told Annie
that she was my best friend from
then on, and slie said I was hers.
Then I asked her where she lived.
Slie said that her house was the first
yellow one this side of the mill. I
was glad she lived there, because
she could tell me about the houses.
She didn’t know how people found
their own houses at night when they
came home. “They can just tell”,
she said. I asked her if all the
houses were just alike inside. She
said they weren’t, and then asked
me if I wanted to go see hers. I
started to go in the house and tell
Aunt Ellen that I was going. Annie
stopped me, and said Aunt Ellen
might not let me go. I asked her
wh.v, but she only said, “Just be
cause”. It wasn’t close to supper
time, so I guessed it’d be all right for
me to go anyway.
We went out through the driveway
to the sidewalk, and on down the
street, through town, to the hill with
the gray and yellow houses. Walk
ing along like that, I could see that
the houses were a little different.
Some had window boxes with flow
ers or ferns, and soma had swings
on the porches, and just about all
of them had different kinds of cur
tains in the windows. At the last
yellow house before the mill, we dim
ed up the dirt bank from the road,
walked across the narrow, hard-pack
ed front yard, and onto the porch.
Annie took me back through a hall
to a little square room. It was her
room, she said, and she and her two
sisters had it all to themselves. There
was a big bed with a pink spread, and
a cot with a yellow spread. And
there was a big dresser painted
white. The floor had a linoleum on
it, with the pattern worn off near
the door and by the beds. I thought
about the big four-poster bed at
Aunt Ellen’s. It would be fun to
have a sister. I wished Annie could
be my sister and stay with me in
stead of in that little square room.
It was real clean there, but it smell
ed like cabbage, too. Before long
I told Annie that I’d better go.
When we got there. Aunt Ellen
was standing on the porch, her hands
propped on her hips. She called me
over to her, and I could tell she was
artgry. I thought she was mad be
cause I’d gone off without asking her.
But she snapped, “What are you
doing playing with that girl?” I
had a sinking feeling in my chest,
hut I told her that Annie was my
best friend, and that she could make
sand castles stay together. Aunt
Ellen was silent for a minute, then
led me into the living room. Annie
was still standing over by the front
gate. My aunt and I sat down in
the bay window. I didn’t feel much
like sprawling there that time. She
took a deep breath, and told me that
my friend’s father worked in “the
mill”, putting such emphasis on the
words that I saw how wrong it was
for people to work in mills.
“Although you might not realize
it now”, she said, “it just won’t do
for you to run around with children
like that. Why, what would you
think if I invited such trash in for
lunch?” I didn’t know, but I did
know that I liked Annie better than
the people Aunt Ellen usually in
vited for lunch. I told her then that
Annie was invited to my party. If
I had stuck a pin in Aunt Ellen, she
wouldn’t have jumped more. I gig.
gled. Aunt Ellen said, angrier now,
“Go right out there and tell her
you ’re sorry, but plans have been
made for twelve children, and there
won’t be enough for her. ’ ’
L’^ncle Jack came home after a
while. It was almost supper time
then, but I didn’t feel like eating.
He and Aunt Ellen went into the
dining room, and I heard them talk
ing. At least Aunt Ellen was talk
ing. Uncle Jack didn’t say much.
Then he came out and walked over
to the bay window where I was still
lying. He looked kind of tired when
he sat down there by me. He didn’t
say anything at first, just sat there
looking at the back of his hand.
Then he started talking, quietly and
a little sadly. He told mo that he
didn’t like to disappoint me, or to
tell me what he was going to. But
he said that everybody has to learn
(Continued on page three)
0^ AIL
by Tootsie Gillespie
Fannie Brack was sitting quietly one day
in the Resident Dean’s office munching a bag
of Scrunchies and glancing over “Gentlemen
Farmer”. Now and then she would look away
and ponder the i^ossibility of turning Main
Hall into a speak-easy. During one of these
moments, Fannie was aroused from her fool’s
reverie by a horrendous noise outside which
sounded like a cross between a track meet and
a Republican convention. Suddenly, a large
granite rock with a note tied to it was hurled
in the window and Miss Dangle, her head bru
ised and lacerated, picked it up and threw it
right back. In the next moment, Fannie was
rushed by a crowd of angry sophomores brand-
i.shing firearmes. Several of them were slaver
ing at the month.
One ugly girl, her biceps bulging, stepped
up to Fannie and said in a low, cultured growl,
“Git out’n here, you! We’re drawin’ for rooms
and we don’t wnnt no outsiders!!” Fannie
.slithered unobstructively between the pages of
an Alumnae Bulletin and watched thirty-two
firey-eyed sophomores beat their way into the
line and scream for the box with the little slips
of numbers. First a tense moment wlien the
very walls seemed to stop breathing and then
the first sophomore crawled up to the desk on
all fours, put a damp paw in the box and drew
a slip. Three hours later, she was found on
a tree limb -babbling in the squirrel language
(her number was thirty-two). Her roommate
was found prostrate in the lily pond (thirty-
one). The next victim was pushed up to the
desk and drew number one, which caused her
to IS'pse into childhood and play hop-seotch on
the slates of the alumnae house roof. On and
"on they came, one by one, some bowing towards
Mecca, others passing $5 bills and telephone
numbers to Miss Dangle, still others hanging
out the window giving death rattles. Number
twenty-nine rushed over to Gooch’s and threw
a stink bomb behind the soda fountain, number
twenty-seven set a thriving family of rodents
loose in Clewell, number thirty made avid plans
to -set up housekeeping behind the coke mach
ine and number twenty-eight was trying out
the ping-pong table for size. “There ain’t no
justice!!!” screamed twenty-six, hanging from
a chandelier and brandishing a saber. Number
twenty, clothed in last season’s bathing suit,
had already nailed up her Carolina pennants
in the George Washington Spring House and
her roommate had dammed tip the creek and
moved in under the 1929 Class Memorial
Bridge. Luckily she had webbed feet. Number
one had locked herself in her new second floor
Clewell room with three months supply of K
rations, eight large boxes of Kleenex, 43 car
toons of Chesterfields, 13 flavors of Kool aid,
1943 bound edition of Readers Digest. Any one
who came to the door was greeted by a shower
of molten lead^ and screams of “I’ve not yet be
gun to fight. You’ll not get me out of here!”
Everywhere in Dozy Dormer, angry high-num-
bered groups were slouched around making
gutteral noises. Finally, number two walked
in and five hulking brutes did a jack-knife over
her, resulting in a broken clavicle, copius in-
crohugation, dilation of the fornius and a
change of room numbers. Her roommate, num
ber three, was sitting on the roof of Main Hall
baying at the moon because she knew that she’d
be living in the saddle room with the ghost of
George Washington’s horse. Three brave little
high-numbered souls struggled up to the art
lab and unfolded their knapsacks beneath a
bust of Apollo. “We wanna room up here! We
WANNA room up here!!”, they mumbled in in
articulate sounds, wiping away cobwebs with
wet Kleenex.
The secretary of the Student Government,
having been provided with a bullet proof vest,
lay quaking Avith fear in the stalwart arms of
the president of the Order of the Cockroach
while the other members held off the enraged
mob of the wild eyed sophomores. The deans,
in the meanwhile, had been carried away quiet
ly by two men in white coats a/nd their mail
was to be forwarded to Graylyn.
And so another happy phase of college
life passed, leaving an entire class in the throes
and leaving Fannie Brack still between the
pages of the Alumnae Bulletin, which was to
be her room for next year, for she was a sopho
more, too!