p(gt;eimber 9, 1935
THE SALEM!TE
P«ge Three
cot
)uld
f: a
own
ttles
it'dt
had
anr
Eve
neci
hed
gel,
one
sfith
Off,
ivho
nan
i of
in’t
in’t
ave
ack
»irl
His
be-
use
see
ind
lim
1-
she
on
ire-
ne-
it,
tn-
'Ut,
>ed
the
lOt
to
ras
led
in
lid
;he ,
Spirit Seizes Salem Children, 3-21
Salemites Tell Their Negative
Wishes For Yuletide Gifts
Mickey Clemmer and
Barbara Darham
A recent poll, "What don’t yon
want lor Cbristmaa?’’ met with the
foUowins answer*:
Becky Keel—“A Baby Brother”
Ana Siler “Trip to Bermuda
withnot Darid.”
Derry Jo Hardagte— "A copy of
Salem’s Alma Mater.”
Martha McClure—"Money to pay
my tuition second semester.”
Virginia White—“Shaft."
Kay Hannon—“The unusual ear
rings.”
Jean Humphrey •— “New conver
tible.”
Mary Curtis Wrike — “Out-to-
luuch sorch gun.”
Jane Bridges — “Bottle of corn
juice." 1
Margie Holland—“Beads.”
Anne Summerell—“A dear John.”
Barclay Ball—“More Bermudas.”
Anne Fordham —"To sUy here
Martha Ann Kennedy — “More
long royal purple arrows.”
Mary Hadley Fike — “Another
drink.”
Martha Lackey — "Another wis-
dom tooth.”
Martha Thornburg — "I don’t
want to see the Catacombs.”
Sarah Pate—"I don’t want any
thing that’s not Bob.”
Ann Campbell—“I don’t want any
Bermuda shorts.”
Bebe Boyd — “I don’t want
Tommy flying a Fury Jot at Cherry
Point Christmas.”
Betty Morrison — “I don’t want
‘Rock’ to join the Foreign Legion.”
Jody Meilicke—“I don’t want to
see Santa kissing anybody but
‘Mommy’.”
(Continued on Page 4)
Carrie's Christmas
By Anne Miles
Carrie was sitting alone in the
basement of the dorm, staring
blankly at the textbooks which
were staring back at her. She,
Carrie, was a tall Salemite with
brown eyes, thick brown lashes and
a temporary air of indifference
about her. She just couldn’t get
her mind on her lessons tonight.
It w^as the night before Christ
mas holidays and she just couldn’t
concentrate •— Honestly! Some
teachers, just had no Christmas
spirit at-all—-homework the day be
fore a holiday! It was already
12;15 a.m. and she was getting
sleepier by the minute.
Suddenly she heard a farawaj"
jingling noise which reminded her
of all the Christmas stories her
mother had read to her when she
had been young. Goodness! It
used to be nice back then to have
a few minutes to read Christmas
stories.
Right now-, though, Carrie could
think of ' (nothing less interesting
and more time-consuming than to
read about Santa Claus, Christmas
trees, presents, and reindeer. Well,
maybe it wouldn’t be quite that
bad. but who had time ?
There was that jingling again—
it gave her a kind of warm feeling
and made her think about red and
green decorations and fruit cake.
The jingling grew louder and louder
and she heard heavy footsteps.
The next few seconds were a;
series of scratching, scramblings,
and, sudden!^; in front of the chim-1
ney stood a .found, jolly man with!
laughing blue eyes, alT dressed in
red. !
“Whw^vyhy, you look like the
pictures of Santa Claus,” Carrie
said, amazed. |
“Ho—ho”, was the answer. i
“But—you aren’t real! You’re just |
a children’s story hero”, Carrie i
stated. matter-6f-factly. |
Another loud chuckle emerged ■
from behind the white beard wig- i
gling above the red suit.
“All ri^ht, then, if you are Santa
Claus, what are you doing here at
Salem?” '
“Why I came to cheer you up!”
“But,” replied Carrie, “Santas
don’t do “things like that! They
bring presents to children!”
Then the red suit moved toward
a couch and spread itself there.
“Everyone’s a child at heart, little
one,” rumbled Santa.
“I'm certainly no child”, Carrie
stated coolly. “I’m a mature col
lege woman—uh, where’s your bag
of toys?”
Igno.ring the first statement,
Santa replied, “I didn’t bring my
toys. .It’s too soon’ to start de
livering them — this is a special
mission to bring Christmas cheer
to you.”
“Oh,” was the weak reply from
an overwhelmed Carrie.
“Tell me, now, what’s bothering
you—maybe I can help—”
“Well, Santa, I’m just not in the'
Christmas spirit. You know, with
homewmrk and packing to do—I
can’t seem to get in the swing of
things.”
“Is that all?” inquired Santa.
“As a matter of fact, no—you
.see, I think I’m a little too old for
Christmas, to tell you the truth.
1 mean, after all. I’m Carrie Heath,
a college woman, you know!”
“Ho, ho! If that’s your problem,
Carrie,” soothed Santa, “Then, just
make up your mind to relax and
enjoy yourself! Don’t you hang up
a stocking each year at Christmas,
and put up a tree and give pre
sents?”
Three affirmative nods answered
his questions.
“Well, then, if you hang up a
stocking, you must not be too old,
and if you put up a tree, you are
joining in with the Christmas
spirit.”
The puzzled look which had oc
cupied Carrie’s face finally broke
into a wide grin of honest defeat.
She liked Santa and she liked
Christmas.
Santa grinned back and in a flash
was gone, amidst more jingling
bells.
The jingling continued and turned
into a slowly pulsing jangle—Car
rie’s head popped up. The alarm
clock, which she had set, in case
she went to sleep over her books,
was giving out its last effort to
wake her.
She had been dreaming — but,
hadn’t Santa been here — or had
he ? Remembering his jolly laugh
and crinkling eyes, Carrie smiled
happily as she had in her dream
and picked up her books and clock.
As she snuggled under her green
plaid blanket, she thought of all
the things she would get in her
red stocking when she got home—.
The Christmas
Dilemma Of A
Teri'Year'Old
By Mary Avera
The second stanza of “Auld Lang
Syne” died away. It was all over.
Another Christmas season began
and ended with the same familiar
refrain.
What was more significant about
this Christmas ? Had I not re
ceived a cuddly, baby doll in pink
lace finery ? Had cranberry sauce
and turkey? And unwrapped pre
sents in crisp Christmas paper?
.'\nd then I remembered that day
in November.
The day was November 10, 1944.
It was dreary, cloudy day and the
rain was coming down in a mist
with occasional torrents. I was ten
years old and, like the usual ten-
year-old, w^as very hard to pull out
of bed in the mornings. As my
mother yelled, I slowly put my
feet on the hardwood floor and
slipped out of my bed. With one
eye open I began my morning
rituals.
These rituals consisted of trying
to braid my fourteen-inch pigtails,
putting on my plaid pleated skirt,
and finally swishing the brush
across my teeth one and a half
times.
The smell of ham came from the
kitchen and I knew that breakfast
was being served, as the fourth
bellow from the kitchen bounced
on my earbrums. Being at last
half awake, I walked into the kit
chen. The usual, aimless chatter
began and ended my meal. I was
going to be late for school and
why didn’t I ever get up when she
called me.
I went up to my room to make
up my bed. As I was thinking
about it in a daze, I wondered who
was standing on the horn on the
outside. After tugging my sheet
one time I realized it must be Bo
(the boy I hate because he won’t
give me the marbles when I win
them) and his mother, who take
rne to school every morning.
I hit every other step going out
and tripped into the car with my
umbrella hung on the outside.
After we retrieved my umbrella,
we rode on to school. Bo talked
about the picture he saw yester
day; I talked about my geography
project.
After we splashed up to the
schoolhouse, we were greeted by a
small clandestine group of boys
who pulled Bo off to one side. I
followed some girls into my fourth
grade classroom. There was a
hushed whispering rippling through
the room. I was curious so I asked
my best friend to tell me what was
causing the whispering.
As she began to explain in a low
voice, a peach-size lump came into
my throat; I wanted to hear more
and to run at the same time. Tears
TOWN STEAK HOUSE
QUALITY FOOD
S. Hswthonts Pl»o»e 2-0006
BRODT-SEPARK MUSIC CO.
620 West Fourth St. Phone 3-M41
Music of All Publishers
Welcome
Christmas Shoppers
McPHAIL’S
Faculty Juniors Make Many
Requests In Notes To Santa .
By E. L. Fin
North Pole Correspondent
Have you written your letter to
Santa Claus yet ? Perhaps you
haven’t, but the children of the
faculty have.
In _case you can’t get too in
spired by yourself, maybe they can
help you.
Dear Santa Claus,
I want A Tiny Tears, and a Bi
cycle, a cooking set, and a toy
stove.
I love you
Jean Peterson
First Grade
Age 6
filled up my eyes, but didn’t com
mence to trickle down my face
(for I hated for people to see me
cry). I wanted my mother to take
me in her arms and tell me that
it was not true.
I wandered over to my seat when
the teacher entered the room. The
bell rang; we were all seated.
School that day had no meaning
for me, for all I could think of
was what Ann had told me. My
lunch, so neatly packed by mother,
remained that way except for a
few small nibbles.
The bell rang again, and I slowly
got up to take my place in line to
march out. Mother would be there
waiting for me. She was there, as
everyday, but I didn’t want to see
her. I didn’t say much on my way
home.
Slamming the car door, I ran to
my room. I even forgot to slip
down on the scatter rug that I
always tripped on when racing
around the house. In my room I
threw myself on my bed and sob
bed. Mother heard me crying and
came to comfort me. But I could
not tell her what was wrong. I
didn’t want her to know because I
didn’t want to see my mother cry.
At last I went to sleep, a rest-
Baby Carriage . , . iu- jp ,
Baby Doll u,:
Roy Rodems (Rogers) Barn: Gun,
Dody Africa
Davy Crockett at the Alamo,i.i- T.iH.
Tiny tears—cries—wets—blows,,;bufe-.
bles—baby
High chair
Doll carriage
Doll house furniture ,.
Christine Elizabeth, Africa
2383 Ardmore Terraif^,,
Apt. D. ^
Send this on to Santa , !.
P.S: SOS Message i ^
Dear Santa Claus,
Thank you for all the things you
brought me last year. I liked the
castle most. We used it when we
were studying about knights at pur
Cub Scout meeting. This !ydar ‘ $
want a Roy Rogers Ranch,' a'^
inch English bicycle, sorhe Tcit'he’f
gloves and a model battleshifi ' Wei
will leave some cookies' for' yPli.
If you wake me up I’ll helh'"you
eat them. .j.--..
Love,
David Mel;Wh’ ' ’ ' '
Dear Santa, • '•'(
This is what I want for ChfisT-'
mas. A Doll, a toy sewing mach
ine, and a paint set, I have been a
good girl most of the time, il atn
seven years old. : :
From Sharon. W.endt.; t,
(Continued On Pace FnUr)
less sort of sleep full of vivid
dreams. When I awoke, I' Had’re
signed myself to facing the awful
reality.
As the last refrains' of “Auld
Lang Syne” resounded, il rhegan
taking the blue and silver Christ-'
mas balls of the smalh i brown,'
withering tree. I could think •about'
it now minus that once sickening
feeling on the November day.
I was almost eleven now, .(getf!
ting to be a big girl) and I .wimid:
have to face more Christmas’s
without Santa Claus. • ,1-: • . i.riA;
the accent is on...
“ail American”
PASTEL P-J'S
University emblems lend scho-
I
lastic flavor to the colorful pat
tern of these Pullman pajarpas.
Impeccably tailored of soft/
smooth, lustrous cotton broad- (
cloth ... with the Pullman flaif
for pajama-making perfectiop ,
evident in every skillfully
wrought stitch. . .. Full-cut for
full comfort. Washable.