Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / Jan. 18, 1952, edition 1 / Page 2
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Scuf ^UohJi 1^044. Do you as a student really give credit to those who deserve it? Do you compliment a person or an organization for the good work they do? Take for instance the excellent chapel pro gram that the Day Students sponsored Thurs day, Jan. 10. We are sure that most of the students enjoyed having Billie Cummings and Jimmy Pfaff play, but how many told the Day Students that they enjoyed it and would like to have a similar program again? We are sure that you have noticed the ex cellent posters put up by the Y. W. C. A. this year, but have you expressed this to a mem ber of the “Y” Cabinet? The Scorpion-sponsored open houses every Sunday night have done a great deal toward bettering student-faculty relations. The fac ulty has co-operated completely. Have you expressed your appreciation? Even better than a “thank you” is the appreciation you show when you attend on open house, because they are given with the interest of the stu dents foremost in mind. The Pierrette’s presented a workshop play last Tuesday night. Do you realize the vast number of hours that the cast and director rehearsed ? The play was not only to give ex perience to drama students; it was to enter tain the student body. Did you feel enough appreciation for their efforts to stay for the discussion period? We as students do appreciate the things that are done on our behalf, but all too few of us ever make the fact known. It takes very little effort on our part to go to someone with a compliment and “thank you” for a job well done. Is it too much to ask of us to be more thoughtful and appreciative? P. B. Qcunceiejd 6o4iifiacti , , , Marguerite Higgins is sick. But is she really? If so why did she not merely post pone her southern toiir instead of canceling it altogether? If she did not plan to keep her engage ments why did she sign the contract in the first place? Of course, she signed before she was selected “Woman of the Year” for 1951. That could be the difference. Did she feel the newly-acquired title should warrant more money than the contract allowed? Perhaps the west coast—where Miss Higgins is re cuperating—has more to offer in the mone tary line than does the south. While Miss Higgins undoubtedly would have provided excitement and color behind the lectern, we feel that Marquis Childs will have as much—or more—to say. However, we don’t like the principle of the thing — contracts .suddenly canceled on a flimsy excuse. n4Va Published every Friday of the College year by the Student body of Salem College OFFICES—Lower floor Main Ffall Downtown Office 30-306 South Main Street Printed by the Sun Printing Company Subscription Price $2.7^ a year Editor-in-Chief Watson Associate Editor j^an Patton Managing Editor Eleanor MacGregor Make-Up Editor peggy chears Copy Editor ja„e Schoolfield Copy Editor p^y, Lee Feature Editor Anne Lowe Feature Assisants Peggie Johnson. Jean Calhoun Make-up i^sistanU Alison Long, Barbara Allen Headline Assistant Phyllis Forrest Pictorial Editor Beth Coursey Business Manager Emily Warden Asst. Advertising Manager Jean Shope Exchange Editors Fae Deaton. Lil Sprinkle ■; - - Betty McCrary, Lou Bridgets Reporters; Lorrie Dirom, Phyllis Forrest, Kitty Burma. Martha Wolfe. Jane Smith, Joanne Bell A ice McNeely, Ann Hobbs Peggy Bonner, Cynthia May, Elsie Macon. Emily Mitchell. Jane Fearing. Edith Flagler and Fae Deaton. Feature Writers: Ann Hobbs. Lola Dawson. Ruthie Der rick. Ldith Tesch, Eleanor Johnson. Eleanor Fry, Emma Sue Larkins, Florence Cole and Kitty Burnis Cub Reporters: Mary Ann Raines, Jackie Neilson. Sara Outland. Carolyn Kneeburg, Bobbie Kuss. Frieda Siler, Lou Fike, Franclne Pitts. Mable Taylor Sally Reiland, Dorothy Morris. Barbara Allen, Toddy Smith Betty Tyler, Anne Edwards and Betsy Liles ^vertising Manager Ann Hobbs Circulation Manager Martha Fitchett Faculty Advisor Miss Jess Byrd By Pat Kelly ^ (Based on Byron’s interpretation of Mozart’s presentation of Moliere s adaption of an old Spanish legend, from an idea by Adam.) Wherever she’d gone—when the school let her. VI Soon she was settled and studying well, Taking dorm courses—all she could take— About State, Carolina and W. and L., Davidson College, Duke U. and Wake, Learning all the songs, and learn ing to swell With pride on each song and to shake; And she earnestly aped, in stage like role. What the other girls did; “the standard soul.” VII But hardest of all (explain it to Mater) Was absorbing the names and all meanings Of all houses known as Delta and Theta; (A prof with popularity leanings Should teach this in class, since it’ll elate her To see her young girls fall on such gleanings); To be in the know, Joan willingly paid The price of no sleep, no studies, no grade. VIII She received her reward, that is for sure. What she’d learned by being so scholarly Plus looks and charm gave her sure-fire allure: She sailed away like a ship run ning free. Trailing broken hearts through Davidson pure And flunking a chapter of DKE; She caused a siege of chronic pel lagra Among the boys Alpha Tau Omega. IX To Salem, to Clewell, men beat a path; It was: “Joan, it’s the phone,” all through the day; She smiled or she sneered, grant ing joy or wrath To the T-shirted boys blocking her way; Pins came so fast that a major in math Was given a job computing Joan’s sway; True loves she followed just once or deuce, But ne’er turned any of the other boys loose. Canto the First (and last) I I want a heroine (not to be con fused With the dope that has the very same name) ; She’s easily found, and so I’m de- Mused, Having no use for a muse, since the flame, Fire and spirit of the tale now perused Is an early female’ who lays true claim To many frat pins (only one on loan From her roommate dear); it is Donna Joan. II Born in Caroline, fairest of the States— “Perfect Vacationland,” say all the ads— Donna Joan evolved into a girl who rates Whistles and howls and winks by the scads, And what, lacking a better name, we call dates; She wore sweaters and socks, 'Knew all the fads That a high school girl needs must recall To convince the boys that she’s on the ball. III Her father was a rounder, with vagaries. Tier mother, by custom, was a prude. Who packed her daughter off to St. Mary’s, Where Joan was depressed; there shortly ensued Chapel Hill week-ends all spent in Harry’s— The poor girl was young and not yet embued With college girl’s wisdom which must insist Frats are the only place one can exist. IV But Donna Joan arrived soon at the age When, under ancient Southern tradition, Girls must be firmly fastened in college. Or their parents hauled up for sedition; Thus the girl’s mother went looking to gauge The school that would allow Joan’s admission And still sternly restrict her from mayhem; The search wasn’t lengthy: Mama picked Salem. V Thus came she to learning’s old citadel. The enchanting, fair, capricious young Joan, And if she found Salem a bit-o’- dull, It couldn’t do worse than Mary’s had done; Early she learned the school wasn’t quittable Until she’s signed away life, flesh and bone. So that — she supposed — Mama could get her So great was Joan’s fame —the story is told— Wake Forest let out when she came to call; Hogan’s Lake was changed to “Joan’s Swimming Hole,” And Duke presented endowment and all; At Salem a ballot by coeds bold Named her “Girl They Enjoyed Seeing in the Hall”; While the girls—so generous, show ing finesse— To Donna Joan gave a badge marked “I. R. S.” Dear Papa By Anne Lowe Dear Papa, New York had a big ticker tape welcome for Captain Carlsen today. Guess he’ll be a big hero fer a week or so, don’t you ? Citizen Truman has did it again. He’s asking fer more taxing this coming “year of strain”. He’s jest calling fer five billion this time. I guess it’s a sure thing the Presi dent went to school somewhere. If he hadn’t he couldn’t count so high. We are mighty glad all them folks on that train in California is warm and safe now. Watch out Chamber of Commerce — you are getting some poor publicity. I understand that if you mention poor weather around that country its fighting words. Times is changing everywhere. Fer instant, I noticed where cow boys rode motorcycles to catch five steers and a Brahma bull that es caped from a rodeo. Now ain’t that disillusioning ? That s all the news week, Papa, except this, like to say anything bad about Thomas Jefferson, but I secretly believe that inventing that swivel chair fer bureaucreats just about offset all the good he done in life. Your ever lov’en daughter, Anne fer this I don’t By Anne Lowe Saturday night. No ambition. No cimr ettes. No date. No nothing. ^ Well, what does happen to 250 girls whose lives have been enriched “intellectually, vofea- tionally, culturally, morally, physically and spiritually through a sound liberal arts and science curriculum—to prepare them for their own inevitable solitude” (see Salem Collet Bulletin, page 18) when they don’t have\ date on Saturday night? Wash clothes? By all means. The Clewell resident was getting tired of all the socks standing alone. Besides her Mother said that mischief falls into idle hands. So roundini> up all her no-date buddies, she let them watch her put the “things” to soak, and they set out for the local pub—drug store, to you. Four ham sandwiches, five cups of coffee and two sundaes later they strolled back across the moonlit square and parted ways at their habitual abodes. Our little heroine opened the door of her room with her eyes closed. After all, who wants to be greeted by a sink full of dirty clothes? She wasn’t. As the water rose around her ankles, and two pairs of pink you-know-whats hit her knees, she instinctively knew some thing had gone wrong. Not to be outdone she donned her John Paul Jones expression and swam out of the room. There were no available boats so she took the nearest canoe and paddled daunt- lessly to the basin. With a calm hand she turned off the water and began to w'ash. Now a glance at Bitting to see how seniors bear up under inevitable solitude. Ah soli tude ! No lights were visible. All seemed quiet—blit wait, what manner of man (or sen ior) is this? In a second floor window sits a huddled form. The still, comforting night conceals all but the hot, pensive little face pressed against the window pane. Does she dream of the handsome man from the shore of the sea! Does she delve into the intricacies and veiled obscurities of life? Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men? No. it’s none of these. She has no man for evil to lurk in the heart of. But a sophomore on the lawn below has, and—it just so happens—at this instant she is kissing him goodnight. Meanwhile down in the basement of Bit ting, all is light, festivity, jollity. Flames roar and leap in the open fireplace. Draped on the couch is Betty Parks en chanted with The Life of Aaron Burr. Swash buckling Lola Dawson wields her mighty pen in defense of The Tudor Wench. Daring Kitty Burrus peeps into the forbidden and racy pages of Byron’s Don Juan emitting an oc casional cynical giggle. Disillusioned Sally Senter thumbs idly through the pages of Lif®- A satanical quartet concentrate feverishly on a hand of biddge. 0 lost! Glancing into Sisters’ smoker, three lonely young ladies could be seen. They had decided to spend the evening with three charming gentlemen: Alexander Hamilton, John Mar shall and Geoffrey Chaucer. They were m deep intellectual contact with their heroes when someone mentioned a poodle cut. They were certain said cut. would look “perfectly charming” on yon, “Of course I couldn’t wear it’’. “Oh yes, yon could, but I couldn’t”. The third girl had an appointment with Lamberti Tuesday. In Strong the telephone ring echoed down the empty corridors. Suddenly the stairs quaked and groaned with the patter of tiny feet. One hardy creature survived the dasn- She limped to the phone booth and cradled the receiver lovingly in her mangled hand. “This is she—Hello Honey—I’m lonesome-^ I know 500 miles is too far to come for one weekend, but you could—Well, I didn’t get a letter from you two weeks ago Thursday" I don’t care, you just don’t love me anymore- And down crashes the receiver. Five mm utes later, remorse having won, she dmle long distance frantically. “Honey, I’m sorry I got mad—You mean you didn’t even know I was mad. Well) never It doesn’t take long to fly 500 mi e And two weeks ago last Thursday—”• , _ And so, as the Saturday night moon slow sinks in the west (or wherever moons h our ship slowly sails from Salem square, the distance the native voices are rnise i Wash? I’d love to—0 lost!—^poodle cut" 500 miles isn’t really so far—.”
Salem College Student Newspaper
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Jan. 18, 1952, edition 1
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