Suits and Claims
By Kitty Burrus
There are certain times when my
family wishes heartily that my
father had never crossed the steps
of Georgetown University Law
School. Other men not as well
versed in suits and stature books
allow their wives to do innumer
able foolish and delightful things
that could easily get them into the
defender’s box, but my father's
legal knowledge has always kept
his family carefully safeguarded.
Every time Mother comes home
from the PTA or the Missionary
Circle and announces to the house
hold that she has been elected
secretary-treasurer, Daddy lets out
a protesting roar about penalties
for perjury and embezzlement of
funds. And in the end Mother
goes to the phone to call Mrs.
Randel and explain that she has
been thinking things over, and she
really is afraid she has too many
duties and responsibilities to do
full justice to the secretary-treas-
urership of the PTA. Of course
^1 rs. Randel and all the rest of
the members are cool to Mother
at next meeting to let her know
tliey don’t approve of anyone who
won’t even contribute any of her
time to the organization, and
|tIother is hurt. But Daddy com
forts her by continually predicting
that sometime one of these sense
less women is going to make a
fnistake in quotations or calcula
tions and find herself in a long
chain of legal difficulties. True,
no one ever does get into these
(lifficulties, but Daddy confidently
assures Mother that all she needs
is to wait a while, and someday
Mrs. Randel is going to wish she’d
{married a man with some sense.
Personally, it was never any
Sacrifice to me to refuse the nomi-
piation of secretary-treasurer of a
leighborhood club, but the matter
if brush fires, automobile acci-
Jdents, and Halloween caused no
Igreat happiness. At the first sound
|of a siren or the crash of two
’Cars, our entire neighborhood of
’Children would run squealing to
Joanne Field
i (Continued from page four)
|man either, for that matter, played
ias you do. Miss Field”—a soft
laugh—“Oh, gentlemen”—“ Is any
body in room one ?”—On down the
hall—around the corner—Past the
time-checking chart—”
Slow down. I almost missed my
practice room. It wouldn’t be the
same room that I’d been in that
'r morning. It was little and narrow
Swith a dim light hanging down
■ from the ceiling—there wasn’t a
’Window—just a skylight affair. The
Miuge black monster hulking in the
! corner was waiting to pounce on
jlme as soon as I opened the door
—I could suffiocate in there and
ij nobody would know till the next
fday—“Give me air—” No! No
jmore time for that,
i I sat down. Listlessly my fingers
: moved over the keys—a-b-c-d-e-f-
i|g-a - - -a-b-c-e-f-a - - - a-b-c. I
’Stopped — Absolute silence—I and
; the walls listened—Did I hear a
> funny noise ? No, it’s just imagin-
ation—a-b-c-d-e—Silence,
i The clock across the way chimed
’ eight times, dully and slowly. Time
to go—I flew down the first flight
; of stairs—Footsteps pounded be-
; liind me—I pushed the swinging
; door with a vicious jab. There—
: that would catch them right in the
,|face—Down the last flight—Out
1 through the heavy oak door and
I down the brick steps. The cold
.fair met and cooled my face. Im-
mediately I slowed my pace. I
j wouldn’t let anyone know how this
j place affected me.
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640 W. 4th St.
Dial 2-4126
the scene of the disturbance to
watch the excitement, but I was
always confined to the sand pile
at such a time. Daddy was afraid
I might see some important facts
of the calamity and be called into
court as witness. He seemed to
think there was something very un
desirable about being a witness,
but I rather liked the idea and
harbored a secret ambition to be
called on to testify. I was sure I
would get the chance one time
when I saw a coal truck turn over
in the Stevenson’s flower bed right
across the street, but nobody ever
knew I witnessed the accident.
Daddy came out and hustled me
inside before anyone else had a
chance to get there. He wouldn’t
even let me watch out the window
except by pulling down the shade
and looking through a pin hole.
Even worse than not being able
to go to fires and collisions, though,
was being forbidden to ring door
bells and to soap windows on Hal
loween. Daddy said that action of
this sort could make me liable not
only for trespassing but also for
destruction of property, illegal
entry, and uncontrolled mob action.
In spite of my annual pleas to go
along with the crowd, he rigidly
insisted that he was going to see
to it that his daughter was not
guilty of these crimes and mis
demeanors if other parents did
want their children prosecuted in
the Juvenile Courts.
All these restrictions were of
course very annoying to me, but
the thing that worried me most
was the matter of the Belvedere
Club. The Belvedere Club was
formed by some of the men in the
neighborhood who decided that the
people living in our section needed
a park in a small patch of woods
back of our house. The main at
traction of this park would be a
swimming pool, and the initial fee
of fifty dollars per family was
going to be used for this purpose.
Mother and I were both thrilled
with the prospect of a swimming
pool, but when Daddy heard about
it he let out his usual protesting
roar about suits and claims. He
was indignant that Mother could
be so stupid as to think he’d be so
stupid as to join. Why, if some
one got drowned in the swimming
pool, the victim’s family could sue
every member of the club for every
cent any of them would ever make.
This of course put an end to
Mother’s enthusiasm for - the Bel
vedere Club, but I was humiliated
that they were the only family on
the block that didn’t pay the fifty
dollars. I coaxed Daddy period
ically for the next three years to
join the Club, but he never would
give in.
In fact, he refused to give in on
any of his decisions, although in all
my twenty years not one secretary-
treasurer of the PTA has been
jailed for the embezzlement of
funds, not a single child has been
called to testify for going to a
fire, and no member of the Bel
vedere Club has been sued for one
cent. (Partly, I suppose, because
the pool has never been built).
Sometimes I point out this evi
dence to Daddy in a plea for per
mission to follow a fire truck, but
his only answer is to give me that
look which plainly says, “How can
a daughter of mine be so stupid?”
and patiently repeat, “Just wait
awhile. Someday you’re going to
be thankful you’ve got a father
with some sense.”
Weekly Music
(Continued from page one)
Nacht - -- - Brahms
Rosalyn Fogel
Come, Come Along
Harry Spjer
Betty Lou Pfaff
Schmerzen .... Richard Wagner
Betty Jean Mabe
Concerto in C minor .... Vivaldi
Daniel Hodge
Miss Elizabeth Reigner is pictured above shortly after she returned
from working with the New London Players in Summer Stock.
Reigner Evaluates Year;
Sees Chanse In Pierrettes
rnsHON SHOP
By Lee Rosenbloom
Three years ago Miss Reigner
came to Salem as an instructor
in the English department.
In the fall of that first year,
she directed “Stage Door”, and the
finished product came as a great
shock to most of us. Miss Reig
ner had succeeded in producing a
play, such as we had not seen be
fore at Salem, a play far superior
to the usual college production.
In the last several years Miss
Reigner has directed “Liliom,”
“Goodbye My Fancy,” and now
she is working on “Pygmalion”.
She has introduced and taught
courses in theater and speech at
Salem. Certainly if anyone is able
to evaluate the w'ork of the Pier
rettes this year. Miss Reigner is
that person.
She feels that there has been a
great change since she came here.
“I was more or less acting Presi
dent of, the Pierrettes, when I first
came,” she said, “and this year is
the first time I’ve been able to
really act in an advisory capacity.
Now the girls volunteer for crew
work, and I think that’s one of the
most encouraging things. My first
j^ear 1 painted the set for “Stage
Door”—and you remember what
a vile pink it was—all by myself
one Saturday afternoon, and felt
like such a martyr.”
“But the best thing about this
year is that we’ve done every
thing we planned to,” she con
tinued. “We’re giving two major
productions. Miss Nicholson has
produced ‘The House of Bernada
Alba’, and the curtain campaign
has gone along fine without any
help from the faculty.”
In the three years Miss Reigner
has done a great deal for dramatics
at Salem. Perhaps part of this is
GOOCH’S GRILL
AND SODA SHOP
for that
“IN BETWEEN SNACK”
a result of her own experience a.t.
Northwestern and in summer stock.
Last summer she acted with the
New London players in the hills
of New Flarnpshire. They gave
ten plays during the season, and
Miss Reigner had parts in eight
of them. She, herself, feels that
besides having an awfully good
time and working hard, she learned
a lot too.
Anyone who has worked under
Miss Reigner can truthfully repeat
those words. She makes you work
hard, there is no doubt about that.
Just try asking to skip play prac
tice one time I And because she
rarely loses her sense of humor,
working with her is a lot of fun.
She is never quite satisfied with
her own work. And she always
offers honest if not flattering cri
ticism Jo her actors. But perhaps
most important is the feeling that
she is doing what she likes to do,
and in return the members of the
cast strive to do the best they can
for her.
And here, just when I am begin
ning to ask about the latest cook
ing experiments and the new apart
ment, she dragged me over to Old
Chapel. “Let’s go over your block
ing,” she insisted. “Everything
has already been said about me.”
And with that, our interview ended.
Desdemona
Triumphs
At Davidson
By Betty Parks
Desdemona Q. Snicklesnout, af
fectionately dubbed “Desmo” by
her friends, meditated before the
bulletin board in her dorm, pencil
in hand. “To sign or not to sign,”
said Desmo, mentally footnoting
the passage to Shakespeare to
avoid plagarism. The notice she
was reading stated that March 10
was to be Salem-Davidson Day,
and ninety girls were to be taken
to Davidson on a glorified good
will trip. All Desmo had to do to
be included on the list was give
her name, her mother’s maiden
name, her birthdate, year of small
pox vaccination, height, weight and
motives for visiting Davidson. All
this information was vital, read the
poster, in order to insure com
panionable matching of the boys
and girls. It all seemed fairly
safe to Desmo, so she signed her
name on the first line. Funny—
the poster had been up four days,
and no one had signed it yet.
Well, that just made more dates
for Desdemona Q. Snicklesnout!
Finally the Big Day dawned.
Desmo bounded out of bed at 6:58
and started getting dressed for the
trip. She cut her three Saturday
classes to polish nails, curl eye
lashes and outline conversation
starters in case her blind date
were the silent type. By 2:00 she
was trimmed to the gills and over
flowing with snappy conversational
bits. At 2 ;05 Desmo boarded the
bus with her equipment—a whisk
broom, suede brush, and booklet
entitled “So You’ve Finally Got a
Date?”—and headed for Davidson.
The trip was sorta lonely for
Desmo. She and the driver got a
bit bored with each other by the
time they got to Statesville. But
Desmo consoled herself with
thoughts of what lay ahead. At
last the bus rolled up in front of
Chambers, and a blast from the
air horn brought the Davidson
boys bounding out to the curb.
Foreseeing that the moment might
be a bit tense, as the boys were
expecting ninety girls instead of
one, Desmo clutched her equip
ment a little tighter, put on the
smile she had been . practicing all
week, and climbed off the bus.
Never let it be said that Desde
mona Q. Snicklesnout couldn’t
handle a Tough Situation!
At first the boys looked dis-
(Continued on page six;
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