Chatham College - Cornerstone Yearbook (Pittsburgh, PA)

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history of the Qlass of 1945 We came, we saw, we matriculated. That was in September back in 41 when our blue .jeans bad creases and our brains had not yet become accustomed to tbe glare of academic pursuits. About ninety-eight of us trooped up tbe Woodland Road Mountains, and with a shout of Bonanza, planted our flag of red and white on tbe top of Berry Hall Tower. We learned a lot of things those first few weeks . . . how to write our names, hind one first, on schedule cards ... to sing the Dragon Song . . . the approximate cost of a ham and pickle sandwich 2 . . . and the main fea- tures of the Neanderthal man ' . The history of all hitherto existing society is tbe history of class struggle. ' Our class struggled up to be pinned with red and white rib- bons on Color Day — then we struggled desperately through Minnie from Trinidad, and watched the Sophomores wipe the prize chocolate smears from their lips. It didn ' t matter — then — for that afternoon we got our just reward at the Spencer menage — bisque ice cream on meringues with mint sauce and nuts. We were in — known officially as PCW ' s Class of ' 45. It is a poor sport that is not worth the candle. Somehow the Class of ' 45 didn ' t create a stir on the playing field above the gymnasium. Most of the hockey games, it seems, were won by tbe upper classes through our default. But it wasn ' t the default of us, some pundit said, how could we help our knocked knees and flat feets? All in all, we created some kind of record in PCW athletics — never has a class of so many won such a few games. But then we were tbe intellectual types, we kept telling our- selves — until tbe Dean ' s List was published. Scattered through our athletics, song contesting, bridge in the den, there were little interruptions called classes. Young blood must have its Caesar, Julius: Commentaries, Book III. Free translation, also free pretzels, with every bottle of Pepsi-cola. It has been estimated that the cost of a ham and pickle sandwich in the Berry Hall Cafeteria is six (6) cents for one half, or twelve (1-) cents for a complete, unexpurgated edition. We ' ll take tomato and lettuce, thank you. Since the draft board has reared its ugly head with its taking ways, the Class of ' 45 has had the opportunity of viewing the Neanderthal Man shaking hands with the receiving line at every college dance. Karl Marx, from Das Capitate, (we think). All we know is what we read in Bartlett ' s Dictionary of Familiar Quotations. Bartlett — Dictionary of Familiar Quotations — we can ' t exactly re- member who said it, but suspect that he had a corner on the candle market. Some ex-member of the Class of ' 45, who was sent back to Morganza for a refresher course. [29]

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Murray, Barrett, Wood, Swannie Senior Officers Marion Swannie President Jane Wood Vice President Dorothy Barrett Secretary Jane Murray Treasurer Dr. Earl K. Wallace Honorary Member Our thanks to Dr. Wallace . . . honorary member of the class of ' 45 . . . advisor . . . encouraging words be- fore the song contest ... at the sidelines of our basket- ball games . . . his farewell speech on Moving-up Day . . . morale-builder par excellence. [28]

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course, lad. ' And we plotted ours. We soon came to understand that the stream of consciousness wasn ' t a river in West Virginia and that the Greek Parthenon didn ' t serve blue plate specials. In time the authorities gath- ered up enough courage to give us our first hour writtens. My, how those Dean ' s cards did fly ! The days passed. We doubted if we could — particularly when first semester examinations came slithering to our attention. Hut somehow most of us managed to come through with colors flying in some cases, hedge- hopping in others. But nevertheless, we came through and were ready and waiting when the Play Contest rules were read. We listened attentively and someone came through with a one-act that had to do with twins, blind dates, and a yellow wig. We just got to look at the Activities Cup that year, with the name of the Junior Class neatly engraved upon it, but we heard someone say, That Class of ' 45 is going places someday, you mark my term papers. We settled down and took Life as it came — also King Kong Komics and the American Observer. We spent our time in lab autopsies of rigor mortised pigs and in cutting the rug at chapel dances with local swains as yet untainted by the hot breath of the local draft boards. Put by the time we had delivered our Freshman speech orations in the chapel and had taken the prescribed amount of course cuts, the PCW au- thorities decided that they had had enough, and declared a four months summer vacation. We bade goodbye to Freshman phone duty, switched be- hind another pole in chapel and galloped off to field and stream. But soon we received a windowed letter from Miss Weigand, and father robbed another bank to pay the tuition for our Sophomore year at Pennsyl- vania College for Women. We now acquired little sisters, who we advised on life, liberty, and how to eat a full course lunch in the cafeteria for sixteen cents. We en- tered into the spirit of things . . . but, somehow, we never seemed to find the Berry Hall Ghost. Color Day loomed — we were doomed, I tell you, doomed. In spite of our hoarseful rendition of Clementine, the five pounds of R.V.B. went to the Freshman Class. We didn ' t care — much. Also from Bartlett ' s, Ibid., op. cit., or Greetings, friends, have a coke. Probably by some practice teacher. She hasn ' t been heard from since. Note to the F.B.I. All the pigs met with some foul play, we fear. There were those, we understand, who eat lamb chops and fried potatoes for breakfast. It is that type who could eat a full lunch for sixteen cents in the Berry Hall Cafeteria. George Washington never told a lie. though. But then we eat canned cherries. [30]