Salem College - Sights and Insights Yearbook (Winston-Salem, NC)

Page 8 text:

' 0 mm ta 9 . . . We, who have known you for four years, wish to show our afiection by dedicating our Sights and Insights to you. For you are singular ... a lady, graced with an air that is an intangible mixture ot the grandness ot an opera star, the tacttulness ot a house mother who hears little after twelve, the flair of a connoisseur of exotic hats, the warmness of a grandmother with two small boys, and the dignity ot a first lady of Salem . . . one who has lived here long and given freely. You laugh with us . . . play bridge with us. You catch the bus with us . . . and smoke a cigarette with us. You are one of us. With affection tempered with sincere respect, we dedicate the 1955 Sk;hts AND Insights to you, Mrs. Starr.

Page 10 text:

My Life Cycle . . . ... is that of four years, yet once I am born I never die. My substance is intangible, however I am real. For I live in the hearts of each of you, and I shall live as long as there is a girl with hope and enthusiasm walking within me. I am living in the Moravian Church clock as it strikes out the hour, the quarter, the half, and the three quarter ... in the clanging of the class bell as Hampton pulls the rope. I am living beneath black robes and mortar boards which march in ordered fashion to chapel ... in the mud-stained sock (soaked by one of my loose bricks) that you wear to dinner. Living, as you kick the leaves on the way to the post office or pick the dogwood blossoms near the gate. I thrive on a moment of quietness in the grave yard, the May Dell or the recesses of Main Hall. I have a smell like old cigarettes left for the maid to clean up; of tobacco in the air; of dust collected on a chest of drawers or closet floors; of roses from the week- end dance; and of perfume on Saturday night. I have a feel . . . of grease paint on opening night; of black plastic in the telephone; splintered floors and paint-splashed denim; rough tweed, and even satin. Cold, when felt in the. hand rails, and warm, when the radiators pop. I have a taste . . . of coffee at the drug store or chef ' s special salad; of fried chicken on Sunday; donuts, cokes, and milk-of-magnesia. I am seen . . . most often in white blazers, in taxis, stacks of books, sometimes in the paper, in dormer windows, and in ancient padlocks. I am heard in the classrooms, behind closed doors, behind cigarettes in the date room, in tears at night, in yells of joy; at four as the choral ensemble works and at church on Sunday when I raise my voice — loud, if not beautiful. I radiate in smiling faces. I grow strong through unselfish work for me and love given freely to me. You are me . . . but unlike you I am many places at once, for I go with each of you who will let me. I am Salem.