NOVEMBER 4, 1949
CAREFUL, YOUR MAISNERS ARE
Wasn’t it a little uncalled for that
the Dean of Women felt it necessary
to tell each girl not to take her books
in to the recent lecture—or was it? The
answer unfortunately is—it was! There
were a large number of girls who had
planned to study and a large number
who still managed to.
There have been occasions in the
past when such things as bridge-playing
occurred at lectures and when such out
spoken remarks as “give him a nickel
and maybe he’ll stop,” were heard. Let
us hope that those days are truly past
—still it is just as rude to study while
a speaker talks to you.
By the time a girl reaches college
she should know how to behave and
behaviour includes a courtesy that
doesn’t need such reminders as “leave
your books outside, girls.”
This courtesy doesn’t stand just for
lectures but the same principle is in
volved when a girl studies in chapel
or when she does anything other than
listen at a concert. Let’s have no more
Take care, girls, your manners are
The clean-up campaign is underway!
The Bee-Hive is getting her face lifted.
The dormitories are lightheaded since
the attics were cleaned, and the Hut
looks like a new bonnet for Lady Mere
dith. There has been a great response to
the campaign. Keep it up—and remem
ber—Clean It Up!
Pissocided Goile6iale Press
Sally Lou Taylor Editor
Nancy Walker Managing Editor
Barbara Schettler Feature Editor
Nancy Hefner y .'.Art Editor
Frances Altman Alumnae Editor
Joanne Mason Music Editor
Lois Harder Sports Editor
Shirley Bone Photo Editor
Betty Lou Rogers Fashion Editor
Carolyn Covington Columnist
Sue Page Exchange Editor
Reporters—Micky Bowen, LeGrace Gupton,
Mary Jane Utley, Marie Edwards, Sarah
Jane Newbern, Patsy Spiers, Dot Haight,
Rosalind Knott, Rebecca Knott, Anne
Creech, Elsie Williams, Ruth Ann
Typists — Anne Fouche, Carolyn Crook,
Jane McDaniel Business Manager
Annette Miller Advertising Manager
Sue Smith Circulation Manager
Members of Business Staff—Martha Hare,
Jane Luther, Dwan Swindell.
Entered as second-class matter October 11. 1923,
at postofflee at Raleigh. N. C.. under Act of March
8. 1879. Published semi-monthly during the months
of October. November. February, March. April, and
May; monthly during the months of September. De
cember. and January,
Subscription rate, $2.00 per year to students
Alumnae membership associational fee $2.00, of
which $1.00 covers a year's subscription.
By SUE PAGE
Down in Atlanta at Georgia Tech a
scientific experiment is going on. It
seems that the erstwhile “ramblin’
wrecks” (bless ’em) are searching for
“Miss Perfect Lips.” Cards with lip-
prints and other pertinent data are
being collected by the famous engineers.
It is also rumored that there has been
quite a lot of “sampling” going on!
Anyone living near the music build
ing will appreciate these lines from the
Bessie Tift Quill:
When I am sad I sing, and then
Others are sad with me.
Another dig at our budding musicians
is my own definition of an oboe—an ill
wind that no one blows good.
According to Campbell College Creek
Pebbles, “this old world is like a grape
fruit: round and full of mean little
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I know about my looks,
Wha’ hoppened to you?
Now I know why the editor of this
rag prints the rot I write. “We print
anything,” she said sweetly while I
curled my toes. What a blow! Why,
I thought this was the best rot in the
paper. What do you think?
Any and all correspondence will
either be appreciated or thrown in the
trash basket. I might even use some
of your comments in my next column
if there is one. In fact, I will be glad
to use your comments on anything not of
a serious nature. Don’t tell anybody,
but I am desperate for material; or
have you already guessed?
In a recent issue of one of the local
sheets, there were such spicy items as
a spy case, a lonely hearts tear-jerker,
a suicide, two strikes, and a weather
report. Nothing like that ever happens
here, so all I can give you is the weather
report: tomorrow the air will be air;
or maybe a fashion report: the latest
thing in women’s clothing is dresses; or
a news bulletin: the National Educa
tion Association states (after an ex
tensive survey of the nation’s colleges)
that you will probably attend at least
one of your classes next week. This does
not apply to students of the University
of North Carolina.
I’ll toss in this next for free: dirt
can be removed from clothing with
warm soap and water, but be sure the
soap is warm. Oh, before I forget, the
extension service of “Cow College”
wishes this bit of world-shaking in
formation to be conveyed: peaches will
be grown on trees this year.
I’d best leave now while I can.
Miss Cy Coe.
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
As Mrs. Pahk talked the other night,
many around me exclaimed that they
now wanted to go to Korea and learn
even more about these people. I heard
many students later expressing the de
sire to aid these people—people who
own no more than two dresses and who,
if they did have the chance to own
three would refuse, because they would
be too fortunate among too many un
These statements of us here at Mere
dith actually reveal a great deal. We
become excited and eager to help when
a pathetic picture is presented to us—
or a worthy cause becomes most vivid.
Yet all of us complacently voted to
adopt our unified budget plan.
But do we actually intend to support
it? Do we think enough of a starving
child in Korea, a needy student in
India, or a burned-out family in
American to dig down and give three
dollars that they might live a more
It doesn’t take a genius to realize that
the success of our unified budget will
depend on us, the student body of
Meredith. As “a house divided against
itself cannot stand,” neither can one-
half of a group accomplish a success
It’s up to us to decide. Perhaps our
contributions and even sacrifices on
the part of some will grant to us a
better understanding of an age-old truth
that “It is better to give than to re
ceive.” I dare all of us to try to truly
discover its meaning.
Palio As I See It
By MARY JOE COLE
What does Palio mean to a green
freshman? When I first heard that we
were to participate in this annual cele
bration, I thought of it only as a lot
of extra work and much foolishness.
Then, as the freshman class got down
to planning for it, I began to visualize
it in an entirely different way. With all
of its Old World gaiety and spirit,
Palio will be Meredith’s biggest event
Rushing around madly, organizing
committees, working on stunt, and keep
ing up with all the festivities of the day,
the president of our class has still
managed somehow to keep a cool head.
It has required an active contribution
from everyone in the class, for there
are so many things to be planned, and
so much to be done.
The stunt committees have been doing
their best to devise a way of entrancing
the judges into a vote for the class of
1953, while music theory students have
been wishing they were Beethoven or
Bach as they rack their brains for
an idea for the original song. The floats,
races, and marching will take up more
and more time as we go on.
As the day draws nearer, tension and
excitement will become greater in all
the classes, but one thing I’m sure of,
none of us will ever forget the grand
time and all the fun we have had work
ing on our first Palio at Meredith.
The day dragged by. Not a sound
was heard from the hall and the de
serted rooms which lined the sides. The
telephone had not issued a sound all
afternoon. Suddenly, like a lead bal
loon, the thought which I had been
avoiding all year struck me with
shattering force! I would study.
The very magnitude of this plan
filled me with awe. I examined it from
every angle playing with it as a cat
plays with a mouse. Still—anything for
a laugh—and I did have a small six
weeks quiz the next day. To complete
my mood, I gathered all my notes—
both pages—and as an afterthought put
my BUSY sign out.
The response was enough to shock a
baby out of ten years growth. Simul
taneously all the bells started tolling.
No one answered the phone, but sev
eral people were kind enough to shriek
at each other “Please! answer the tele
The patter of Clementine’s feet re
sounded down the hall straight to the
door of my sanctuary, where they hesi
tated for at least a quarter of a second
before kicking the door open. After
several pointed remarks about incon
siderate people, I sent her on her way
mumbling about inhospitable people.
To discourage intruders, I even locked
my door, but this ruse only detoured
them through the suite.
I flunked my test, and this ends my
tale of woe. Why did I waste my time
writing such tripe? Well, I have started
my own campaign for the observance
of BUSY signs. Occasionally, the laziest
of us must study. Won’t you cooperate
and tiptoe quietly away if the BUSY
is outside the door, and the eager beaver
There’s absolutely nothing like the
State Fair! The first year I went to
see who I could see from home; the
next year I went to see the exhibits and
take in all the rides that I dared; last
year I went because President Truman
was there; and this year I just went.
When I got down to my last seventy-
five cents, I decided to go to one of the
fortune-tellers to see if I was going to
get any more money. When I 'vvmlked
in, she grinned a toothless grin and
said, “Good eeeeevening. You weesh
you palm read, but first you must cross
my palm weeth silver.”
I put a quarter in her hand and she
immediately put it back in mine and
took the fifty cents. Then she calmly
began to relate to me my family back
ground—none of which was true, be
cause she insisted on my having three
sisters and I don’t.
Next, I asked her what I’m going
to do when I graduate. She just laughed
and refused to say. If I believed in
palmists, I’d be a nervous wreck for
fear that laugh was a bad omen, but
instead I laughed with her. The only
difference was that I had all my teeth.
After settling down again, she in
formed me that I was going to travel
abroad in a few years. Then once more
I heard, “Cross my palm weeth silver
and I will tell you more.” I felt reck
less, so in went my last quarter. Her
next news was that I will have three
children, a wealthy husband, and two
fur coats. When she asked if I wanted
to know whom I was going to marry, I
pricked up my ears and sat on the edge
of my chair.
But what did I hear? “Cross my palm
weeth silver and I weel tell you.” No
amount of persuasion would make her
tell me, so I’m still wondering and
The moral of this story is “Don’t
cross palms weeth seelver, cause ‘t’ain’t
Can you do better than this? Maybe
lots of you think you can, so we’ve left
this space for you to try your luck.
Turn the results of your efforts in to
The Twig and see what happens!