Page Four
THE SALEMITE
November 29. 195M
Under The Clock... With Kennedy
Whoooosh—! Were those the
Thanksgiving holidays that just
went by ? Well, they were gone
almost that quickly . . . there’s
just barely enough time to recover
for Christmas vacation. Since
ther wasn’t too much happening
around ol’ Salem Square, I’d like
to switch the scene to Times
Square, N. Y. C. For approximately
three days, I was an enthusiastic
participant in the frantic, foot-
weary, and, yes, fabulous activities
of a babbling mob, better known
as the College Crowd in New York
at Thanksgiving time. We (Jo
anne Glenn, June Gregson, Kack
Anthony and Lillian Allen and I)
arrived at the Roosevelt in the wee
hours and discovered that we could
only obtain single rooms, since we
were such latecomers. We were
too tired to argue with the man
ager, so wearily fought our way
through Harris tweed, camel’s hair,
assorted furs, and strange accents
that constantly yelled “Helloo Dar-
rrling” and “God, it’s great to see
y again’,’’ up to our room fur
nished in regulation blond, mod
ernistic and a large, incongruous
Dufy print.
After a few hours of rest, we
braved the Manhattan winds and
went to see Mr. Wonderful. It was
a special Thanksgiving Day mat
inee, and Sammy Davis, Jr. seemed
to put everything he had into the
three hours. He WAS wonderful
and his songs, trumpet and drum
playing, impersonations of Elvis
and Ed Sullivan, and soft shoe
routines were the whole show.
Our next stop was under the
notorious Biltmore clock, which
was also considerably smaller than
I had thought it would be. Com
pared to our specimen on Home
Moravian Church, it resembled a
Bulova.
Some Yalies introduced themselves
and became part of our group as
we shoved our way past the clock
and into the cocktail lounge, with
its huge, poinsettia-filled fountain.
Several rounds of “Do-you-know ?’’
and “Can-you-date-me-or get-me-a
cute-date?” preceded plan-making
for the evening. We bade our new
friends farewell, and I partook of
a sumptuous Thanksgiving feast: a
turkey sandwich in the outmoded
elegance of Schrafft’s.
“bi.ew Faces of 1956’’ was first on
the program that night, and con
tained several very funny satirical
skits and a terrific Tallulah type
comedienne. At least, I thought it
was a comedienne, until Tallu re
moved her wig at curtain call, and
revealed a shiny, bald head with a
fringe of greying hair. “Nick’s”,
in Greenwich Village, followed and
we listened to blasting Dixieland
and wrote postcards to everyone,
including each other. There were
no arty natives or Bohemians etc.,
to be seen, but my tourist hopes
were revived when I saw a young
man with a long black beard stand
ing near the door when we were
leaving. I was only a tad dis
appointed when a boy in our party
introduced him as a fellow Prince
ton classmate ... A fast, jostling
ride on a drab, dingy subway
brought us. back to the Roosevelt.
Friday, we journeyed down to
the riverfront and the United Na
tions Building and searched among
turbanned foreigners and suspended
white staircase curves for former
Salemite, Terry Flannagan. After
finding out that she was having
her day off from tour-guiding, we
were given some tickets to a con
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ference. The conference which
was held in a tremendous, glass-
walled room with thick, light green
carpets, concerned Togoland. I
never really knew what they were
trying to decide, because I was
testing the earphones attached to
my chair. With a flick of the dial,
a New Zealander’s speech was
translated into Russian, French,
Spanish, or some other equally un
known tongue. Leaving Togoland
and a mile-long line of people
waiting to get into the General
Assembly, we walked up Fifth Ave.
in the growing dark, watched the
skaters in Rockefeller Center, and
rode the express elevators in the
RCA Building.
Later, we saw “Fanny” which
had to be stripped of original cast
members, Ezio Pinza and Walter
Slezak, but the sangs were still
good and the theatre was still full.
It seems amazing that after three
years and a totally different cast,
this show continues to pack ’em
in. After the show, we invaded
The Composer ‘ Room which was a
quiet, closet-size place fitted out
with burnt-orange couches, abstract
mobiles, and a progressive jazz trio.
Saturday began with lunch at the
Roosevelt and a jaunt to the Rough
Rider Room (cowhide seats and a
supecilious headwaiter) with a for
mer Finch classmate or Jo Anne’s.
The rest of the day was filled with!
excursions through the tunnel fro® I
the Roosevelt to the Biltmore and!
more meetings under the clock.
Later in the evening, calypso]
called and we found ourselves ijl
the Jamaican Room, located—-theI
cab driver informed us—at "thoid]
and thoity-thoid.” There was at-[
mosphere bursting at the seams I
smoke-laden air, palm trees, and I
green sand a la sawdust on the I
floor. We didn’t even mind stand-1
ing in the “sand” for two hours [
because the Duke of Iron and his I
Trinindad Steel Band put on the]
best act seen the whole weekend.
Another taxi took us to Asti’s]
in the Village and we spent thel
rest of the time absorbing post-[
show performances of Met opera!
singers. Anyway, the waiter told|
us they were Met stars and there}
were plenty of autographed pic-J
tures on the walls to prove somel
had been there at one time.
Sunday was departure day and]
we returned to Salem Square with]
bags full of wrinkled dresses and]
some under the eyes, flat billfolds,]
and feet, a collection of plastic]
swizzle sticks and jumbled mem
ories of a hectic and glamorous |
week-end.
Was it worth — I’ll meet you I
under the clock next November |
and we’ll discuss it.
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