Page Two
THE SALEMITE
May 1 1. |Qt;|
'^o■ *JUe. SetUa'ii
Dear Papa
May Day is over, and comprehensives have
driven tlie blue j(*an-clad seniors to the eata-
condjs and tin; secluded spots on campus for
concentrated stud\'. As 1 walked past Bit-
ting’s bottom on my way to Strong, the piano
heat out the tune of “The Glow Worm” as
the words, freshmen, sophomores, juniors,
were shouted forth by the seniors'rehearsing
their songs for dinner. I walked on to my
I'oom with the catchy tunes still running
til rough my mind.
I wondered what songs my class would sing
next year, and if we would be as enthoustias-
tic. But this was the class of ’51—not just a
. class, but girls who have ac4uired a part of
Salem; and Salem, a part of them—Four years
attending classes, writing papers, taking
exams. There were also memorable week-end
excursions, articles for the Salemite, badmin
ton tournaments, and play practices. Week
day trips to the library and week-end trips to
the beach—
We were freslimen, young, inexperienced;
and they were sophomores. They ratted us,
and we respected them for all that we learned.
Our junior year found us depending on their
advice and seeking their help. We were
(deeded to take their offices and suddenly we
realized—
Next year we’ll be singing in Bitting’s bot
tom ; and after we leave, there will be some
one else. But they were the class who each
year walked away from Stunt Night with first
p r i z e—original, talented and witty. They
were the class who produced “Acti” who like
her creators must leave Salem’s cami)us.
They came to Salem because of their incen
tive to learn, to have fun. Now they are
leaving campus because that opportunity has
been fulfillecl.
The station wagon will still carry the prac
tice teacdiers to their school at eight every
morning; the orders of hamburgers and pies
will still b(‘ the favorite menu of the Toddle
House and the mid-night “jam session” will
still keej) Bitting’s lights burning—
Freshmen, sophomores, juniors, seniors, then
that inevitable graduation— Glorious for
von, sad for us.
M. C. H.
• By Anne Lowe j asked the United Nations to make
Dear Papa . . . | peace. (The United Nations is
I’m getting worried about this j that pretty building in New York
war business again. Citizen Tru- City, you know.) The UN then
man said in that speech he made asked the fighters to be good. 111
that Communism in Asia was kinda give you three guesses as to what
slowing down and that it was mak- the answer w^as.
ing those Kremlin folks so mad I read in the papers today that
that they might send some of
those big atomic bombs over here.
Of course Citizen Truman has an
answer for everything, and this
time it’s this: We can prevent
being blown up if we prevent war.
Papa, where did our President go
to school ?
\ ou always taught me to pay my
debts, Papa. Guess it’s because
you’re such an honest man that
you got elected mayor. Did you I know what two plus two was ?
we might have inflation pretty
soon. That’s what Dr. Charles
Wilson, the mobilization director,
said anyway, and I’m sure he
w^ould know. He wanted the gov
ernment to get prepared to do
something about it. Papa, do you
suppose that he is old Charlie Wil
son’s son ? The one that quit
school because his sixth grade
teacher got mad when he didn’t
know that Moscow’s lend lease ac
count is $10,800,000,000? Our gov
ernment has been ,nice enough to
tell tliem to make it 800 million and
just let it go. Then those Moscow
people tried to get us down to 240
million. These Moscow folks are
Russians, aren’t they? Now I don’t
mean to be disrespectable when I
say this, but I just don’t call such
loaning sound business.
You would think that with one
war going on that other people
The House of Representatives
has taken time off to honor Pret
zels. They are here to stay it
seems. For 90 years the people of
America have been eating pretzels,
so the people who make them and
the House of Representatives are
celebrating.
It seems the greatest thing in
sports this week 's Count Turf’s
winning the Kentuckj^ Derby. A
two-dollar ticket paid about thirty-
seven fift\'. You and me sure
would have liked to have had about
would ^ keep pretty p e a c e f u 1, j ten bucks on his nose, wouldn’t
wouldn t you ? I guess human na- j we ? Then we could have bought
tuie just doesn t run along those, some pretzels and helped those
lines because the Arabs and Jews. gentlemen celebrate,
are at it again. Some of them Your ever lovin’ daughter,
would like to settle up, so they | Anne
Letters To The Editor
QVtli .
Tjast September five new girls eaine to
Salem, five girls to whom we referred as “for
eign students”, five girls whom we watched
curiously as they pa.ssed.
We meant to be very friendly to these girls,
but once in a while we forgot that their work
at Salem was harder than ours, because alt
was new' and strange to them. When we for
got, we called upon them to make speeches,
to appear at luncheons, to help us with our
language lessons—and they spoke, appeared
and helped.
We often referred to them as a group apart,
labelled “the foreign students”.
Now it’s May and almost time for them to
leave. They are no longer the “foreign stu
dents”, however. They have become Inge,
who likes to study in the sun—Catherine, who
springs as she w'alks—Violeta, w'ho ahvays has
time to talk and smoke “one ceegarette”—Erika
with the wide eyes—Cary, the congresswoman
in “Goodbye My Fancy”. They have become
individuals to us. Individuals who have be
come an important part of the student bod.y,
because' they have all contributed—contribu
ted sometimes a phrase of German, Spanish or
French, sometimes a smile, sometimes a little
(leei)er understanding.
^|)e Salemite
Published every Friday of the College year by the
Student body of 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
Editor-in-chief Jane W'atson
Associate Editor Lola Dawson
Assistant Editor Eleanor .MacGregor
Make-up Editor - Peggy Cheats
Copy Editor Ann Lowe
Copy Editor Ruthie Derrick
Sports Editors Jane Fearinn. Helen Ridgeway
Editorial Staff: Jean Patton. Betty Parks, Lorrie Dirom,
Margareft Thomas, Elsie Macon, Kitty Burrus and Marion
W.atson.
Business Manager Emily Warden
Advertising Manager Ann Hobbs
Asst. Advertising Manager Jean Shope
Circulation Manager Martha Fitchett
Exchange Editor Fae Deaton
Pictorial Editor Marion Watson
Faculty Advisor Miss Jess Byrd
Dear Editor:
Last week I took my green print
dress out of my closet—the same
as last September. The sun falls
again tipoti my dresser and throw's
its reflection in my mirror — the
same as last September. I can lie
down on my bed, and w'atch the
clouds in the blue sky—the same
as last September, but . . .
I cannot bear this similarity. It
is too much like September, and
too different also. Last Septem
ber, it was the “beginning,” and
now' it is the “end.” I do not say
this just like an old “cliche” of a
sentimental college girl leaving
school. These words “beginning”
and “end” do not mean more to
anyone than to me now.
Last September, I came
for the first time to the U. S.,
for the first time to such a far
country, very different from
mine,
for the first time to a college.
Everything, every detail was
completely new to me. It w'as a
challenge. I had a w'hole year in
front of me, and so man}' things
to know, to try to understand and
to like.
It was 11:00 p.m. w'hen I first
entered Clewell. This was the end
of the long trip I had thought of
for months and months, and I still
could not realize very w'ell that all
I had tried to imagine, miles and
miles away, was here now', in front
of me! Miss Hixson and Miss
Carlson welcomed me. Miss Carl-1
son led me to my room, and added,
“You w'ill have to hurry to bed, j
the lights will be out at 11:30”!
I did not understand at all w'hat
she meant by “lights out”. My
trunk had not arrived yet. I met
Sammy in the shower. She lent
me a towel. This rvas the begin
ning . . .
Everything looked so strange, so
out of myself. My room w'as bare.
The W'alls, the desk, the dresser
. . . all this W'as dead. I looked
through the window the next morn
ing, awd I wondered about the
little house in front of it, with the
big, high chimney. I mixed up the
floors and the doors, and it took
me hours to find my room. In the
hall, I passed by many girls, and
I felt so stupid W'hen I said “Hey!”
but I said it ... it was one of the
things I could say . . . and every
body said it!
Everyone talked a lot, and very
fast. I could not understand one
word—I said “Yes”,—or “No”—
never sure that it was the right
answer. Sometimes it w' o r k e d,
sometimes it did not!
But I went downtown, and I
bought some blue jeans, and I
learned how to drink cokes. This
W'as the beginning . . .
This year has passed so very
fast that it is hard to realize. I
have learned how' to be American
in many ways. I have learned how
to enjoy your way of living. Every
thing has become so familiar to
me here that it is difficult for me
to go back to this first feeling of
the unknown. The w'alls of my
room are not dead anymore, and
I sw'ear at the big chimney w'hen
it spits a thick dark smoke: Oh,
this laundry! When I say “Hello’’
to you now, it is not anymore a
syllable I don’t understand; it
means something to me ... all the
time w'e have spent together, the
talks we have had.
It is, at the same time, very dif
ficult and very simple to explain
what this year has meant to me.
perience which I shall never forget,
extraordinary because of the com
pletely diffierent way of living, be
cause of the distance betw'een me
and my home, and my friends. It
has been a year so entirely dif
ferent from all my previous life
a rich year—so rich to me, in so
many w-ays, that I realize it w'ill
be hard, in many regards, to go
back to my home and readapt to
cermin conditions, though I know
I to live im my country is better than
anywhere else.
They ask me what I think of the
jU. S., but I never can answ'er this
question . . . because, I don’t think
of the U. S. I only think of my
experiences here, and of course
there are things I liked, and things
I did not like.
But all this is very secondary.
What is most important to me is
that I have met people here w'hom,
{I know', W'ill be among my best
friends for all the rest of my life-
even perhaps if I should never see
them anymore.
One morning last week, I w'oke
up realizing suddenly that there
was only one month left for me
to be here, and I could hardly
bear the idea. But now I think I
understand better.
What do the distances mean ?
They mean nothing, they do not
exist, since even this far away
from my home, I have found such
friendship.
Catherine Birckel
'(J
Dear Editor:
I read in the first editoral that
the Salemite welcomes criticism
My criticism is slight and per-
(Continued on page four)
By Betty Parks
It has been observed that a dog and his
owner tend to look alike after a few months
of association. Husbands and wives acquire
one another’s appearance and characteristics
in the. same manner. But neither dogs not
humans are the subject of this observation I
want to talk about hats.
Hats and the w'omen who wear them, lihe
dogs and humans, are capable of evolving
through some mysterious physiological process
to the point of looking like each other. This
is' somewhat hard to understand, when one
must, in all honesty, observe that while dogs
and humans are animate and therefore cap
able of change, hats are inanimate and are
therefore logically doomed to remain as thej
were created. Nevertheless, evidences of mv
thesis are found in all walks of life, and I
should like to defend my statement.
The hat most easily detected in a crowd is
that w'hich goes by the name of the P. T. A,
Special. Wearers of such a hat are immediat
ely typed as school-teacher, and not only their
age but length of service in the profession can
readily be determined by a momentary glance
at their hats. A P. T. A. hat for a young,
new-at-the-job teacher is usually a brown felt
creation jvorn on the back of the head witi
grosgrain streamers or a small yellow feather,
For the I’ve-taught-seven-years-in-the-saine-
grade teacher, the choic,e is inevitably a bright
red straw with navy band, usually of the
stove-pipe style. But the “My-dear,-l-taughf-
your-Mother!” teacher chooses vdthout a
thought the black, over-sized sailor worn dir-
eiitly over the eyebrows trimmed with a tired
pink rose .and a few wisps of veiling.
Another hat, familiar to the girls from rural
communities, is the 4-H Club number of pink
straw, pink veil, and pink flowers, secured to
the head with a large pink-headed hat pin.
This hat, like that of the new teacher, is worn
on the back of the head with a forward tilt,
sun-bonnet fashion. It is especially good for
achieving that well-fed, well-slept, well-scrub
bed look for the wearer.
The Daughters of the American Revolution
and the Mothers-of-Brides are not free from
the typing power of hats, in spite of their
ettorts to be completely novel. D. A. R. hats
are usually a little more conservative than the
latter category, but even so they tend to be
constructed of such unservicable materials as
velvet, taffeta, and ostrich plumes. They are
fashioned and worn in a becoming but super
ior manner, with very little foolishness and
a great deal of Devotion-to-the-Cause peeking
lough the stitches. Mothers-of-Brides, on
.he other hand, choose small, flowery clumps
^ at fit their new permanents, complete with
flower-sprinkled veils and a bow or two.
ese hats are absolutely useless as a head
covering and are seldom suitable for church
^ TL 1 ^ ''’edding is over and paid for.
the last category of hats is the one to which
m()st women_ belong anji everyone under
ir y -five tries to av'oid. This is known in
chapeau circles as the Old Faithful of the
v\ omens Auxiliary and Missionary Society,
and each hat has as its model every other
_ a in this^ bracket. These hats come in van
ous materials and colors, but they are never
trimmed and are all equally servicable. This
IS le one hat that never suffers from over
exposure to the public and somehow never
manages to wear out. It is always available
n can never be discarded with a clear con
science.
other hats worthy of mention,
o-m ■ tisually fit into one of the four cate-
wn.r 1 '' prescribed. Such hats as those
League and Woman’s Club
embers music teachers. Girl Scout directors
mv housewives still bear out
alLp women and their hats look
in«F i- 1 somewhat skeptical
a vvmm w ^ you. One glance at
And ’If ^ know her life history-
mpn+ni aren’t convinced, 'make a
yourself five years
four hats I’ll wearing one of these
j-uui nats, ill eat mine!