Sarah Lawrence College - Yearbook (Bronxville, NY)

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Another trifoliate course has been opened for us: generally, to be characterized by the new word CLEAN. Division A deals with that roily ulcer-bed, the dining-room: herein one is battered through the kitchen to witness the endless life-and-death struggle between the cooks, to be galvanized by the blood-curdling shrieks of the dish-washer: “Over heRE! ”; one is obliged to play the role of a pendulous vulture, and to realize with horror that the hands, at the end of a week’s plate-snatching, become un- controllable. self-motivating birds of prey. Di- vision B is less wearing: the community is its concern. (How we ramify into zillions of abilities here! Once it took me half an hour and a broom to sweep the hall; now live min- utes’ mopping does it. I think the air is getting cleaner, or something.) Division C: the room. Closer to the floor, one comes to know all the dusts: the feathery little individuals, the less independent colonies, and dust condensed to grime. Oh much-lamented maids! my knees threaten to give out; and where will cleanliness be then, poor thing? Hidden underneath the ring around the tub. But we have survived such drudgery; life is embellished by other things: psychology films are a pleasant diversion, if only because of their titles and sequence: “Life With Baby”, “Over- dependency”, “Feeling of Rejection”, “Grief” . . . And then “Cat in the Puzzle Box . (It’s Dust we are, to dust returneth—” “Ours not to reason why— become more obvious why Betty Bennett calls those volumes about psychology “bug books.”); and as for more legitimate drama: “Juno and the Paycock”. December may not have been a winter wonderland, but surc’n I’m after thin kin' 1 saw one too many leprechauns dart- ing around corners, and “darlin” is not such a darlin’ word any more, Joxer Daly! Worksheets and a prom before Christmas vaca- tion: the one attended to with universal lack of enthusiasm; the other attended by some, and cursed by a great many others whom the din kept awake . . . Beau geste before the mass exo- dus made by Miss Weismantel: the Christmas Dinner. If only Charlie Dickens had been there: Boar’s I lead, Apple, Plum Pudding, and all. (But shades of Scrooge! They sat like miser’s gold, untasted.) The Scholarship Committee descended with another money-making scheme: If you bought tickets you could answer ques- tions. Who was Emmeline? Miss Milligan guessed Emmeline was an erstwhile resident of Sheffield: a cow. Miss Milligan won a pink shirt. (Mr. Martinelli made a very vivant tableau as he ate six pieces of pumpkin pie.) . . . The Chorus finally performed at home that night!

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SEPTEMBER 20: Nothing seems to have changed: Harry's at the Spoon ( good to see ya, doll ); Earnest is still here to keep us on our tip-toes; the Freshman advisees advise the ad- visers; the three courses we picked are filled up —and so are the tennis courts; Nina’s post-cight- thirty heart has grown no softer, although the medium eggs have, (Thank God!) . . . Oh, there are two changes: there are now dormitory rooms underneath the ground in Gilbert where they used to raise mushrooms, and I have a new ring:-----. Another year’s moss-gathering has begun. THERE WILL BE CHEST X-RAYS ON TUESDAY: NO PINS, HOOKS, EYES, OB SNAPS. (I’m all yours in buttons and bows.) You know there is no smoking in here?” (Nina, these mental blocks play havoc with my memory.) ... 1 he entertainmen. Committee, in the vigour of its youth, imported Columbia and Eordham for a square dance, prompted by some- one’s remarking: I wanta know more men!” (More than you'd wanta remember came.) “I should soy, my dear, that your problem is psycho-somatic. Tragedy?”, anyway? (But Mr. Fitzgerald, I thought a goat song was simply Baaaaaa”.) I DON’T WANT TO FRIGHTEN YOU GIRLS: BUT ONE OF THE STUDENTS II s COMI DOWN WITH I 111. ll sl is. RI PORI TO Illi INFIRMA BY AT THE FIBS I SIGN OF A RASH. (Good grief! Suppose this isti't acne!) Ars Longa Perkins began the Scholarship Drive with a card party and an empty house; and Mr. Lautcr- bach showed a fdm called “The World Is Rich.” O unworldly SLC! . . . Well, for I leaven’s sake: look what Bryan Green has done! . . . They’ve given up trying to decide whether the Sales- man’s Death is tragic; new problem: “What is An Athletic event! Gilbert, abetted by Mr. Bab- ban (out of uniform) vs. MacCracken: volley- ball. MacCracken had two ringers; Gilbert won a moral victory . . . Hallowe’en: leaky milk- straws, cider, and a body that got itself out on a limb. The Freshmen roused our curiosity with enigmatic little signs, and then satisfied it with their show: Somebody’s Always Looking”, an interpretation (whimsical) of John Dewey’s fair-haired girls. Grande finale: We are as arty as pictures by Rembrandt We are as nutty as butter pecan All the ivorld thinks xve are hioh-powered drinks And a menace to civilized man. (The tune was rather familiar.) Buses came and went one night early in De- cember, full of girls in heavy black skirts;— something about a chorus concert.

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“Everybody has to get into the act. What Ross hath wrought! Though the frost was cru el, there were some conscientious min- strels who sang under Bronxville windows— until one window was slammed. A pox on’t! Vacation . . . (the small-library-travelling-com- panion might as well have collected dust in the rooms at school; hut, taken home, at least they arc safe from the Misses Stone) . . . Can the sweet mystery of life be Sleep? It was very nice . . . the first few days, at any rate, before the others returned . . . JANUARY 3: Back to sharpen our noses again, proverbially. A bare left hand looked awfully bare, suddenly. Edith Sitwell hasn’t ever been engaged. (But gee—she doesn’t look very happy.) Impassioned notes to Dons from the A.A. Office: vacation had not made the muscles of the disenchanted fencing class any more supple.—Somehow the first blaze of romanticism —that brought to mind Douglas Fairbanks and The Prisoner of Zenda—died away with the scientific exercise of the en garde position, (in sneakers), and class attendance shrank propor- tionately . . . Joe Campbell spoke on Good and Evil” while New Year’s irresolute Resolutions were still slightly remembered; but the usual shortage of time left us with inchoate questions that had no hope of being answered. (When will the library wait ’til eleven to close??) TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES! THIS IS VERY GOOD WEATHER FOR PNEU- MONIA!! (I’d call it EVIL!) The Masquerade Ball: chivalry hasn’t died! Even if a lady is half fish, there are some gal- lants left in the world who'll wheel her in a barrow . . . January was a lovely month for fish: Mrs. King brought us J. D. Salinger and his Banana Fish. (We expected a scrawny little pale man !) Friday night suppers didn’t im- prove, however: the same haddock for twice as many. (The population is heavy in January: contracts and little news from where the mid- terms hold sway.) . . . “Can the Intellect Sur- vive?” But Mrs. McIntosh, if I let men know how intelligent I really am, they’ll be afraid of me. Is it all right if 1 let mine survive incognito? . . . We went to this meeting because of the “Haven't I seen you somewhere before?'