Sarah Lawrence College - Yearbook (Bronxville, NY)

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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?'

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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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A freudian Slip. speakers name: Swami Nikilananda; anyone with such a poetic name must have something important to say. What did he say?—I don't know; hut he had the most beautiful hands! . . . Amazing feat of imagination: Bates became a chapel for one fantastic half an hour, as televi- sion cameras recorded us marching to “Onward Christian Soldiers.” . . . Mr. Gregory paid his an- nual visit to the cafe and made a vast deduction: I am DELIGI ITED to see that the cafeteria has become a common meeting-ground for the students and faculty.” . . . The S.S. Scholarship Dinner: a horrible grinding sound and Bill Head’s much-magnified voice saying “NOW HEAR THIS!” (How could we help but hear it?) l ags on the silverware at our left hand: “Fork Over. (This is the first time they've asked us lor donations colloquially!)—and the Faculty show: a new singin' and dancin’ sensation in |. P. Birdbath: Three Little Maids From School: Esther, Margaret, and Alice B. Why should we be so introspectual? We’ll be completely ineffectual; (ringing despair) Sometimes a girl has feelings— (sotto voce) —which are not intellectual. Script-writer 11 ill’s directions. Why don't we all just move to Broadway? February began with a film to end all Friday night films, with the END OF REEL ONE coming in the usual critical spot: “Dead of Night.” I don’t think Charlie McCarthy's very funny any more ... I lard work was beginning to derange us a little. Announcement at dinner: There will be a meeting for all those interested in having a meeting at seven o'clock in the Em- ployees’ Lounge.” NOW YOU IIAVE A GOOD OPPORTUNI- TY TO REST UP. Interim week: . . . a week will be set aside early in February to enable Students to finish up back work . . . and, generally, to relax.” A most inaccurate generalization. They meant to You can't get a wan with a gun