Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / Nov. 19, 1948, edition 1 / Page 4
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Carter and Dale struggle trying to read type, whicli is upside down and backwards to us, so they can put in corrections. In the hack-, ground Janet is spacing out the editorial page. by Joan Carter Kead When we say that we are up at the Sun, we don’t mean that we are out sunning ourselves by the pool. What we do mean is we are about to get another issue of the Salemite out to you regardless of homework, broken fingernails, headaches, grease and grime, linotype machines that break without the slightest provo cation, lack of news, nasty tempers, or anything else that may occur on Thursday afternoons. But way back before all this the story of the story began. In the Catacombs Before we can really begin to plan our paper for the week we have to cheek with the advertising staff who decide how many pages we will have. They, under the di rection of Sqeaky Carson and B. Mae, wear out shoe leather, spend time hounding the stores for ads, make several trips up town a week without going to the show and finally come up with the necessary money to put out a paper. Becords of these ads are kept by Betty, until she gives them to Joyce Pri- vette, who sometime when she is not practice-teaching, makes out the bills. On Monday mornings sometime between 10:20 and Jnoon you’ve seen Mary Lib, Clara Belle, lone and Bitsy dashing around getting their “beats” in; or in non-jour- nalistic language digging up what news they can from campus digni taries. Sometime Monday afternoon Bitsy and Porter sit down with all sorts of lists and make out news and feature assignments respective ly. Then notes are written to mem bers of the staff giving them stories to write for the week, dead- lined for Tuesday or Wednesday night at 6:00 sharp. If they aren’t in then, you’ll see Carter and Clara Belle chasing them down with dire threats and usually good results. In the Salemite office we have all sorts of signs that keep our morale up. On the door you’ll see “Put In One Cent Por Fresh Nuts” and if you don’t believe it, come in some Wednesday night. Our language is far from lady-like, our eyes watery from smoke, our patience exhausted from trying to find a short syno- nymp for “feature”, but we try to be gracious to visitors. In the midst of a rare thoughtful silence, Betty Biles suddenly screams “What time is it? I’ve got to take another picture of those Bluefleld girls. ’ ’ lone comes dashing in to use the typewriter to do her Modern World parallel and is swiftly told to use the one in the Annual office. No, it’s not a very journalistic at mosphere; there are no teletype machines clicking away, no copy boys running around, no “stop the presses”, no men with hats on the back of their heads chawing on cigars, only a bunch of gum-chewing, Chesterfield-smoking girls trying to edit another paper. Anyone would think that once all the copy was in, it would be a cinch, but take our word for it and read on to see that it isn’t. Around 5 o'clock Wednesday^ the battle) begins over the make-up. Will a 2 column by 4 inches Mother-Daughter ad come in, or will Sneed-Craven insist on running a 3 by 7 in a four page paper, thereby omitting Prances Eeznick’s book review? Only Betty McBrayer can tell and she never knows until the last minute. Meanwhile still Rawing our stubs we decide to run a stream er head on the front page and to try a nfew slant on our make-up for the editorial page. By this time Carolyn’s curls are shaking and Helen is going blind trying to de cide whether to put the lecturer’s picture on the front page or the back, and it all hangs on the length of Bonnie’s interview. Usually be fore dinner, some form of rough draft is completed and we wander toward the refectory still not sure that Betty Biles has sketched in all the ads in their correct places. That night surrounded by Ches terfields, Mae and Janet_^ pounding away on ' their trusty typewriters, Porter’s punning headlines, Bitsy’s mathematically correct ones, and first line) and our headaches begin again. About 10 o’clock we put the Salemite copy neatly in the basket and retire to do our comp, with Clara Belle and Carter still arguing over who is going to forfeit sleep and walk up to the Sun Printing Company at 8:30, Thursday morning. We too are members of the inter national teachers and students so ciety, T. G. I. P., Thank Gosh It’s Friday! But we have a hard day at the Sun before we can yell this. At the Sun Promptly at 1:30 Thursday after noon those who think they know what they’re doing dash up to the Sun to put their precious Salemite to bed and this is where the fun begins. Just to get you located let me explain that the Sun is this side of the next stop light going towards town on Main Street. It is housed in a little lopsided building divided into the office and shop. In the office we are greeted by Mr. Buss who always has a good stock of jokes and pencils to supply depend ing on which we need at the moment. The smiling man moving boxes, furniture, or machinery is Mr. Henry better known as the “Mover”. Bending over-the lino type machine which resembles a typewriter on a larger and more complex scale is Francis, the man responsible for each word you see printed in this paper. There are several other men up there: one always smokes a cigar, another watches all the presses and the others seem to do most anything and we still don’t know their names. The best known of them all is Mr. Cashion, the shop boss and the best-tempered man we know. With pertinent comments about each of us and our appearance he tells us to get busy reading the galleys (first printed copy of the story) that he and Francis have spent all morning getting ready for us. Picking our way precariously thro ugh fierce-looking machinery at the Sun, our attention is divided be- a stack of “bibles” hanging over our desk. In reality, these are bound copies of the issues of the Salemite for the past twenty-nine years. Each new editor is threatened with her life if she dares to cut anything out of these, but they are a wonderful backlog for ideas and laughs about what they did in our mother’s day. After everything has been read at least three times by astute mem bers of the staff then it goes back to Francis for corrections with Carolyn and Mr. Cashion supervis ing (see cut) although they don’t always look so glum. Finally corrections are made and the type is put on the page in its correct place. Then comes the prob lem of making it fit either by deleting some paragraph, adding a few lines, or spacing it out with tween watching someone run a per- j blanks put in between the lines to Carolyn, Mr. Cashion and Francis re-read some copy as it is being fixed for corrections. foration press and seeing Bitsy whiz through two pages of putting in cor rections, deleting paragraphs and spacing out before she leaves for her art lab. If we don’t know where to find something and can’t find Mr. Cashion, Bitsy can always tell us where the proper column rules are or what to do in an unusual case. She really is the print shops second-in-command when we take over the whole place to put out one make it easier to read but most important making it fit. This tricky little process is being performed by Dale, Carter, and Janet, in the cut. When a whole page is completed then a page proof is done. This is Dale’s favorite occupation in which she inks the page, holds a piece of paper over it and lets someone else bang it with a hammer and a block just missing her fingers (we hope). This is read by the staff for more 1*1 Mi! Wednesday night, neatly posed for a picture of what we’d like to look like, when we live in the cata- Dale’s funny but unprintable tales, we all struggle over writing “Day Students Have Tea” in one line with 12 counts until we convince Helen that it won’t ruin her per fectly balanced page to put it in two lines. About now cokes are provided by whatever fool brought nickels with her, and a ten minute breather for fresh air under the porch. (Ruth comes dashing over with her last minute news and warns us not to use her name in the headline. Somebody suddenly real izes the big story of the week was a dead head (no active verb in the combs editing a Salemite. Ann McConnell at the typewriter, while Bonnie translates her handwriting issue. . * The Sun has a mysterious little place where they keep cokes. A chart hangs by it with names of all those who work there including the Salemite staff. Who pays for these we never have found out so we at tribute it to another one of the Sun’s courtesies. If Mr. Cashion is feel ing particularly sweet after one of his ornery spells, he offers to buy us all short beers, but somehow they are always in the form of a coke! If we get desperate for a check on facts about the faculty or alumni at the last minute, Mr. Cashion has to her. Porter, Clara Belle and Bitsy, at the table, ponder on a headline—Carolyn supervises. corrections while they sip cokes and all try to sit on one of the two chairs provided for this purpose. As editor-in-chief of the Salemite, the current editor is required to give Mr. Cashion her picture. Memo ries of things past can be found by looking around at Martha Boat wright hanging in the thermometer, Peggy Davis over a Varga Girl calendar and Carolyn just in a frame right now, but next year we are plotting to put her by the stuf fed fish that hangs over our desk. can’t get an appointment at the local beauty shop on Friday afternoon for a manicure just blame it on the girls who work at the Sun. No matter how hard we try to wash off the ink and grease we pick up there, we never are successful and it takes a professional to restore our hands to some natural state. The Sun provides a wash basin with a powerful soap just for this purpose, while it takes the dirt off, it fails to leave any skin on our hands. Last Minute Headaches Suddenly someone notices that this weeks ’ pictures have not yet arrived from Piedmont Engravers or the mats from the Journal-Sen tinel. Bonnie dashes to the phone and calls Miss Gabriel at the J-S morgue to be greeted by “Good afternoon, morgue, can I help you?” Porter checks with Pied mont to find out that the delivery boy has disappeared but our cuts will be sent down soon. The worst part of this waiting is that there is no one to blame it on, because Hersh or Jane got the pictures to the engravers on time and all we can do is wish the engravers would cooperate more quickly. When the pictures and mats finally arrive, Mr. Cashion disap pears into a little room to cast them and we think we are finished for the week. Then Clara Belle begins to notice mistakes in the headlines which Mr. Cashion has to change. This does not make for friendly relationships as it is a loss of time and money just because we strive for perfection. The crown ing blow is finding mistakes in the copy that has been read on the first galley. When we ask to have these corrected Francis’ hair begins to curl, Mr. Cashion storms around snorting like a bull, Mr. Buss lec tures us about sloppy proof readers, but they make the changes. As soon as possible after this we quiet-' ly take our leave hoping that the Salemite will arrive as usual in Bitting at 5 o’clock on Friday afternoon. Paper Is Out The minute the papers get here Janie Fowlkes' and her capable cir- culation\ staff take over in getting a copy to each one of you. Perhaps you don’t realize hoW much work the circulation staff has by this room to room delivery. Just try carrying 40 six page Salemites up to third floor Clewell some night and putting two in every room, think that you’ll agree that is isn’t play. Some of the girls fold ^ s,na. mail Salemites to alumni, advertisers and other schools. It takes lots of tongue power to lick all those stamps not to mention lugging the paper to the Post Office. Then it’s all over except fot Joyce Privette paying the bilisi and we begin to think about wh® to do for next week while awaiting Miss Byrd’s comments in Comp- class on Saturday morning.
Salem College Student Newspaper
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Nov. 19, 1948, edition 1
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