Sarah Lawrence College - Yearbook (Bronxville, NY)

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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

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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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Ha. say, “a time when the Students realize, en masse, that they have all the symptoms of mononucleo- sis and all the responsibilities of Atlas; a time when nothing remains but to forget these horri- ble facts in sleep . . .” And who can sleep with those worries preying on the mind . . . The Hits and Misses pulled a show together in record time, (encouraged and aided by an actor with a genius for punctuality.) ’Sworth—the new name for that self-conscious dormitory—had its usual avant garde and distorted view of the production: everything that went on backstage was old news to them by the time “Take a Number was ready for the public; but it looked quite different from the audience. L. Primo Canasta was the man whom crime payed, (final- ly!); Annie Williams was crazy with canaries; and there was a Groucho Marx-ish psychiatrist, whose patients attested; Were sold on freud With Dr. de Thoid Psychiatry can be fun. (Between that and the Cocktail Party , psy- chiatry seems to be taking over the theatre.) . . . Parents’ Day: they showed off to advantage, (and to our disadvantage), in class. And they didn’t even think the noon meal was strenuous! It’s not the younger generation that wears rose- colored glasses. Repercussion of their visit: one lather was so upset by the memory of Mr. Gregory’s holding conferences in a poorly con- verted coat-closet that he started a new fund . . . someday, no claustrophobia. “Take your hands off my libido, young man!'’ 62