Agnes Scott Alumnae Quarterly [1943-1944]

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COLLEGE

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NOVEMBER- Ti)L)/ t

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ARE YOU A PAID MEMBER

OF THE AGNES SCOTT ALUMNAE ASSOCIATION?

IF NOT .

Read Dr. McCain's letter to the Alumnae, page 29, then turn to page 37 in this
issue and fill in the blank now!

The Alumnae Association Needs Your Active Support!

If your name is not in this issue we suggest that you write your Class Corre-
spondent or mail a letter to the Alumnae House today.

Don't Lose Contact with Your College! Don't Let Your Name Fall into Our
Address-Unknown Files!

OFFICERS, COhAfiitt^/SHAIRMEN AND TRUSTEES OF THE ALUMNAE ASSOCIATION

Margaret Ridley, Jt933* / . ;

President ' ' '

Susan Shadburn Watkins,_]S26-
First Vice-Presideiii" .' .' i #<

Cama Burgess Clarkson, 1922
Second Vice-President

Ida Louise McDaniel, 1935
Secretary

Frances McCalla, 1935
Treasurer

Jane Guthrie Rhodes, 1938
Executive Secretary

Jean Bailey, 1939
Radio

Emma Pope Dieckmann, 1913
Newspaper Publicity

Penelope Brown Barnett, 1932
Alumnae Trustee

Annie Pope Bryan Scott, 1915
Tearoom

Eugenia Symms, 1936
Grounds

Kitty Woltz Green, 1933
Second Floor

Lucy Johnson Ozmer, ex-1910
Constitution and By-Laws

Julia Smith Slack, ex-1912
Student Loan

Mary Warren Read, 1929
House Decorations

Virginia Heard Feder, 1933
Alumnae Week-End

Isabel Leonard Spearman, ex-1929
Entertainment

Frances Winship Walters, Inst.
Alumnae Trustee

Jane Guthrie Rhodes, 1938, Editor

EDITORIAL BOARD

Professor Howard Thomas, Art Editor

Published four times a year (November, February April and July) by the Alumnae Association of Agnes Scott
College at Decatur, Georgia. Yearly subscription, $2.00. Single copies, 25 cents. Entered as second class matter at
the Post Office of Decatur, Georgia, under the Act of August 24, 1912.

^Araned ^cotl -Arlumnae \$ua,rterli

y

Vol. XXII

November, 1943

No. 1

CONTENTS

page
ART

Art in the New Civilization, Professor

Howard Thomas 5

About the Author 7

BOOKS

John P. Marquand's So Little Time, Eliza-
beth Stevenson, reviewer 22

DRAMA

William Saroyan: His Heart's in the High-
lands, Robert Winter 21

MUSIC

Shostakovich: a private opinion, WlLLA
Beckham Lowrance 15

PEOPLE

Meet the Newcomers! 9

Ellen Douglas Leyburn: "Teaching Is
Such Fun" 17

POETRY

Deserted House on Bayou Lafourche,
Janef Newman Preston 24

RELIGION

Why Bible at Agnes Scott? Dr. Paul L.
Garber . 19

WAR

Our Score in the War to Date, Catherine
Strateman Sims 30

Look at Agnes Scott__-26, 27

ABOUT THE CAMPUS
A Senior

and
A Freshman

Christmas Calendar 2

Campus Carrousel 3

Our $12,500 Cafeteria 12

ABOUT THE ALUMNAE

Dr. McCain's Letter 29

Some Pretty Plain Talk 37

Our 13th Alumnae Reunion 28

Magazine Price Lists 55

News of the Clubs 54

Class Notes 39

[1]

68S8

*

Dec. Mrs. Roff Sims Reviews the News in Chapel, 10:30

A. M.

Dec. 3 Informal Speech Recital, 4 to 5 P. M.

Faculty-Varsity Hockey Game, Hockey Field.

Dec. 5 Last day to see Paintings by Howard Thomas, Art
Gallery, Library.

College Music Hour, 8 P. M. Mr. Dieckman at the

Dec. 6 0rganm

Christmas Book Exhibit in the Library.

Dec. 1 The Deans Office Invites the College Community
to Coffee in Murphey Candler.
Exams begin!

Dec. 8 Opening of Joseph and Anni Albers Paintings and
Weavings Exhibition, Art Gallery, Library.

_. Afternoon Christmas Party for Decatur Children.

Dec.

Concert at City Auditorium, Luboshutz and Neme-
noff, Duo-Pianists, with Nilstein, Violinist.

Dec. 12 The College Christmas Carol Program with Glee
Club and Mr. Johnson.

Dec. 14 Women's Club Auditorium, Licia Albanese, Metro-
politan Soprano.

Dec. 15 Exams are

over

Home for the Holidays!

[2]

THE CAMPUS CARROUSEL

BACK ON THE CAMPUS this Fall 1943 . . .
and you find that outwardly, War has changed
Agnes Scott very little. The persimmon tree on
the edge of the Quadrangle still drops its juicy
orange blobs on the red bricks below. The foun-
tain still plays in the Alumnae Gardens and
people still fall into the pool. (Last week it was
Assistant Business Manager MacGregor's young
daughter, Kady, who had a wonderful time
splashing around before anxious parents pulled
her out.) Between the rows of ancient boxwood,
the crimson spider lilies still bloom. And youth-
ful biologists 101 still scan earth and sky for
pinnate leaves and doodle-bug habitat. In fact,
one of the nicest things about our Alma Mater
is the way she can take wars and food rationing
and a record-breaking enrollment in her stride
and almost always remain just as you remember
ler.

ONLY WHEN SIRENS SCREAM out sudden-
ly in the night, and student air-raid wardens be-
gin to pace the darkened dormitories . . . when
a mobile unit of the Red Cross Blood Bank moves
into the campus . . . when the little War Stamp
Booths open up in the mornings . . . are you re-
minded of the bitter conflict going on in the world
and of the real reason for your being here after
all.

BACK ON THE CAMPUS this Fall you find
many new faces. More than ever before in the
history of the College. Around 215 day students,
339 borders (two in a single at their request), in-
cluding 173 Freshmen. A total of 554 students
in all and many turned away for lack of room.

You find new faculty members, too! Tall, al-
mon-eyed Ruth Domincovich comes from Phila-
delphia to the Spanish Department; carrot-
topped, effervescent Abbie Rutledge from Texas
State College for Women to the Physical Educa-
tion Department; young, boyish-looking Lewis
Lipps from St. Agnes School and Wesleyan Col-
lege to the Biology Department ; Emma McGinty
from Randolph-Macon to the Chemistry Depart-
ment; quiet, smiling Helen Finger from Brenau
College as Mr. Tart's, secretary; and mountain
ballad-expert Joella Craig, of the class of '43,
to the bookstore.

MORE CAMPUS CHANGES: The new cafe-
teria in Rebekah Scott. (Good-by, White House
Dining Hall. Good-by to the familiar din of the
breakfast hand bell ! ) New paint in Inman Lob-
by, new wallpaper in White House, Boyd, Stur-
gis, Ansley, East Lawn, and red roses in the
Infirmary. New art headquarters on Third Floor
Buttrick with modern easels, work tables and
sketching benches. Two new archery targets.
Many new books in the Library, including the
Library of Congress Catalogue of Printed Cards,
which contains in alphabetical order all of the
printed cards in the Library of Congress up to
July 1942 around 160 volumes when com-
pleted, hordes of new books on art, music, re-
ligion and fiiction, including the three books
most in demand: Margaret Mead's Keep Your
Powder Dry, Wendell Willkie's One World, and
Eve Currie's Journey Among Warriors. New
Courses: In the Physical Education Department,
Fundamentals of Movement, endorsed by the
Army, Navy, and the U. S. Physical Education

[3]

Program to improve body balance and posture,
to build up resistance to fatigue by exercising
special muscle areas.

CAMPUS VIGNETTES: Blythe Posey, Dr.
History Posey's 9-year-old daughter, listening
intently to Miss "Mac" as she discusses her latest
research on the cytology and chromosome picture
of the malaria parasite and then asking seri-
ously: "Now just how do you do that, Miss Mac-
Dougal?" Miss Gooch tracing her family tree
back to Sir Barnaby Gooch of the court of Queen
Elizabeth. Dr. Christian at the Faculty Bacon
Bat waving a piece of lemon-chiffon pie at the
stars. Miss Harn showing off with house-wifely
pride the 150 jars of vegetables she put up this
summer. British tennis professionals, Dorothy
Round Little and Ruth Mary Hardwick, calmly
drinking tea on the tennis court between sets.
Miss Wilburn carrying off first prize at Black-
friars' Costume Show the other night, dressed as
a 1910 bathing beauty. The Faculty Bike Club,
composed of Dr. Runyon, Miss Scandrett, Miss
Gilchrist, Miss Susan Cobbs, Miss Jessie Harriss,
Miss Lucy Cline, Miss Carolyn Hewitt and Miss
Hunter, setting out for Stone Mountain amid the
cheers of the surrounding populace! At the
Black Cat Stunt: One sophomore to another, "I
guess we were just too subtle for them." (Fresh-
men stunt, Romeow and Juliecat, won.) On Lit-
tle Girls' Day: Dr. McCain, Dr. Hayes, Dr. Gar-
ber and Dr. Posey playing Farmer in the Dell
with the infant seniors. Mr. Tart giving them
pennies.

FAMOUS PEOPLE: Eleanor Calley, Miss Hop-
kins great-niece, who enters Agnes Scott as a
freshman this year. Little Zoe Dixon, Agnes
Scott's first potential great-great-granddaughter,
whose mother, grandmother and great-grand-
mother attended A.S.C. Her mother is Mrs. Zoe
(Drake) Dixon, ex-'43.

AS WE GO TO PRESS White House begins
its latest effort in behalf of Campus War Pledge,
i. e., a Pin-Up Boy Contest! For a small fee, any
student may enter a picture of her favorite man.
Faculty males will be the judges and the three
most handsome specimens reproduced in the Col-
lege Newspaper with the names of their proud
owners. Complications to date: 6 girls suddenly
discover they are submitting pictures of one and
the same man!

ORCHIDS TO Mr. Howard Thomas for taking
full charge of the cover, typography and lay-out
of this issue of the Quarterly. Orchids to Mr.
Thomas' art students for their clever illustrations
scattered over the Quarterly. Orchids to our
Advertising Committee, Betty Lou (Houck)
Smith, '34, and Jean (Chalmers) Smith, '38, for
the impressive array of advertisements which
you see at the end of the Quarterly.

A BIENTOT until February 1st then when

your next issue of the Quarterly comes out. If

you haven't paid your 1943-44 Alumnae dues

better hustle them in! Or you won't see any

February Quarterly, we fear. Turn to the very

last page in the book and fill in coupon now.

Hurry! Time's a'wastin!

The Editot]

[4]

Having eyes, see ye not? . . . Mark VIII, 18 . . .
We look forward to a brighter future when art
and science will be firmly welded together with
but one purpose: to further a richer, more
abundant life for mankind.

ART IN THE NEW
CIVILIZATION

By Howard Thomas

Our ability to see is our greatest gift. We
prize our eyes more than any of our other sense
organs. Yet little thought or attention has been
given in our schools to those forms of art which
we know as the visual arts. We have become a
people blind to the beauties of the universe and
calloused to ugly objects in our daily lives. Our
colleges and universities have graduated thou-
sands of men and women who are completely
illiterate and inarticulate in the elements of de-
sign; people who are, therefore, unable to choose
and wisely consume objects which depend upon
line, light and dark, form, color, and texture for
their intrinsic beauty.

Contemporary man is finally realizing that the
guided development of that form of art which he
senses with his eyes has been very much neg-
lected. There is an awakened need among our

people for a thorough understanding and enjoy-
ment of the visual arts. The enthusiasm is mani-
fested by the phenomenal growth of art museums
and the record-breaking attendance at art exhibi-
tions throughout the nation even during the
depression-war years. Because of improved
methods of color printing, the masterpieces from
the past as well as contemporary art works have
been reproduced in relatively inexpensive books
and magazines.

People are realizing that they need to become
informed in art. They need to see that the age
of elaborate decoration is past; not because of
the war, not because of any forced curtailment
or rationing of goods, not for any other reason
except their desire to live simply and completely.
Long before the war we realized that our lives
had become fettered with an over abundance of
accumulated relics of the nineteenth century and
we were beginning to experience the application
of intelligent design to the products of our time.
The many adjustments that we have had to make
during the last decade through the depression
and into the war years have made us search for
permanent values. The "old red hills of Geor-
gia" are full of these permanent values. Our
capacity to find them rests in our ability to rec-
ognize them all around us.

After the war is over it is the hope of civiliza-
tion that the times of ruthless destruction will be
gone forever. Industry will shift from the manu-
facture of war munitions to the production of
goods and materials for the civilian reconstruc-
tion. New homes will be built and equipped.
Long delayed community improvements will
come to life. Entire new cities will be con-
structed in war-torn countries.

And today, even before the war is ended, we
feel the rumblings of a new world which wants

m

to sift the good from the bad, the worth-while
from the worthless, the timeless from the dated.
The world, after the war, must be beautiful.
The modern woman will feel the responsibility
of making wise selections of objects for her
home. She will take her place as a determining
factor in the designing and buying days that lie
ahead. Physically and spiritually she is going
to need a sound education in the arts. We look
forward to a new day when art and science will
be firmly welded together with but one purpose:
to further a richer, more abundant life for
mankind.

Art in Agnes Scott College

Looking to the future, the educational policy
of Agnes Scott College has been adapted to a new
program in the visual arts. The work in art his-
tory which has long been a vital part of the cur-
riculum will be continued with increased empha-
sis given to the meaning of art in the lives of the
students.

There are two broad objectives of the new art
program :

1. To provide a rich background in visual
arts experiences.

2. To give a sound preparation for living
with and using art in all of its forms.

One of the first problems will be to give the
students confidence in themselves by freeing
them from fears and inhibitions. They are afraid
because of the veil of mystery which often sur-
rounds a work of art. They will therefore be
thrown immediately into contact with visual art
materials so that they may tear the veil apart
themselves and realize the actual and immediate
nature of these materials. The growth in their

ability to explore and discover will be in direct
proportion to the depth of their active experience.

Contemporary education recognizes the labo-
ratory experience in the visual arts as a vital
contributing factor to intelligence. Creative ex-
perience, the coordination of the hand and the
brain, develops the individual into a better ad-
justed person who is more prepared to under-
stand and enjoy the finer works. It adds to his
resourcefulness and his inventiveness. We be-
lieve it is an obligation of our times to create
instead of borrow. As Gilbert Rhode so aptly
says, "If the Greeks had been concerned only
with studying the work of the Egyptians there
would have been no Greek art."

But what happens here in the lecture and lab-
oratory studios is not the important thing; it is
what happens out there in the homes and in the
communities in which our students are to live
that is really thrilling to contemplate. It is what
happens inside of them and what they give that
lasts forever.

The entire third floor north wing of Buttrick
Hall has been remodeled into new studios
equipped for laboratory work in the visual arts.
The basic courses are open, without prerequi-
sites, to interested students. The work will sup-
plement the art history lectures and will carry
full academic credit. The reception of this new
program has been unusually favorable.

To further the visual arts program in the col-
lege community, arrangements have been made
for a continuous exhibition program in the
Library gallery throughout the season. Exhibits
of paintings, drawings, prints, and crafts will be
shown in periods of two to three weeks duration
so that visitors may study well-chosen original

[6]

works and become articulate in their language.

Here at Agnes Scott College we gladly accept

the challenge of this emergent era. We want to

be ready to take our places in an age of freedom

when man will live unhampered in a new civil-
ization, his birthright in the twentieth century.
We want to share in the reconstruction of a war-
torn world.

"Put the man, his house, his conversation to-
gether and you have a painting."

Howard Thomas.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mild-mannered, quiet-voiced Howard Thomas,
writer of the preceding article and Art Con-
sultant to the Alumnae Quarterly, comes to
Agnes Scott this year as head of the Art Depart-
ment from the Women's College of the Univer-
sity of North Carolina at Greensboro. He is a
young-looking man, sensitive, reserved, intensely
interested in the world around him. And the
varied experiences of his life have greatly con-
tributed to his talent for painting people as they
really are their houses, possessions and com-
munities.

Growing up in a family of sober, industrious
Pennsylvania Quakers, where even whistling was
frowned upon, Howard Thomas learned early in
life the value of hard work, the pleasure of sim-
ple things, the importance of a religious faith.
Evidences of these quiet, restrained early years
abound in his work from the layouts which are
carefully planned before a stroke is painted to

the minute meticulous lines of the wood engrav-
ing reproduced on the cover. Even in such care-
free abandoned water colors as Coal Miner's
Home, Boat and Turtle, and Willis Alley, his
delight in little details well done is obvious.

As a boy, Mr. Thomas spent summers and
Christmas vacations working in the little shoe
store of Monessen, Pennsylvania, waiting on cus-
tomers, making posters and designing window
displays. Later on he became a structural iron
worker in a steel mill, working until he had
saved enough money to enter the Chicago Art
Institute, where he studied under men like Ernst
Detterer, George Bellows and Park Phipps. He
spent 3 months in an army camp (just before the
Armistice was signed in the last war). He has
had a summer abroad, where he attended the In-
ternational Art Congress at Prague as a delegate
from Wisconsin. He taught art for 6 years in the
Milwaukee High School, where he had the dis-
tinction of being Milwaukee's first male art teach-
er. For the next 12 years he held the position of
Director of Art at Milwaukee State Teachers'
College, going from there to the Women's Col-
lege of the University of North Carolina, which
he left last Spring to come to Agnes Scott.

In his spare time, between classes, on week-
ends and summer vacations, he painted con-
tinuously contributing to state-wide exhibi-
tions, holding one-man shows and carrying off
such coveted awards as the Milwaukee Institute
Bradford Memorial Prize for a group of block
prints, The Milwaukee Journal Purchase Prize

[7]

for an oil, Women uf Prague, the Milwaukee Art
Institute Medal and Purchase Prize for another
oil, Haymarket Square, the University of Wis-
consin Salon First Prize for a group of water
colors in 1938 and again in 1941. Two of these
water colors, Laurel Ridge and Mountain Crew,
were purchased by the government and now hang
in the Marine Hospital at Carville, La. He also
found time to become President of the Wisconsin
Painters and Sculptors Association, to get mar-
ried (in 1922) and to rear two daughters, Anna
Dell and Margaret, now 19 and 14.

Howard Thomas' work is as varied as his life
and includes wood engravings, lithographs, silk
screen prints, etchings, drypoint, water colors,
oil and tempera paintings. "Oil is my favorite
medium," he says, "because it is the one in which
I think best." He makes his own picture frames,
carving them out of white pine and finishing them
the proper tone. In his studio on Third Floor
Buttrick stands a cabinet filled with little bottles
containing earth pigments (the first colors used
for painting) which he has collected from road
cuts and river banks all over the country. These
colors range from a greyish-green discovered
near Highpoint, N. C, to the terra rosa of our
own Georgia Hills. The earth is first ground with
mortar and pestle to a powder consistency then
mixed with linseed oil or gouache, according to
its use.

Mr. Thomas believes that a painter should
have a variety of approaches that he should
avoid at all costs routine or accepted mannerism.
He is pleased when an observer exclaims, "Oh,
did you do this? But it doesn't look at all like
your other works!" He likes to paint boats
"There is something about a boat, the shape, the
rhythm of lines, the structure that is so honest.
Boats have a definite function. There is no ex-

traneous ornament about them." He likes to
paint alleys rather than main streets, the backs
of houses rather than their fronts "Walk around
to the back of a house and you discover its real
personality. Here, all pretense is gone. Only the
functional things, the zig-zagging stairways, the
ashcans, the passageways remain, and they speak
volumes for the people who inhabit the house.
Old houses, built a hundred years ago, are more
interesting to paint than new ones because they
are more honest. They were constructed for one
purpose protection against the elements."

Above all, Howard Thomas likes to paint peo-
ple. He thinks painting is an excellent way to get
to know people. "Just take up a position and
start sketching and presently someone will stop
to watch. Then he begins to talk, and you find
out all about him, where he lives, what he does,
what he likes. Put this man, his house and his
conversation together and you have a paint-
ing." As a painter of the people, he believes
that good art belongs in the home as well as in
the museum, that the ability to choose the right
rug or lamp for a room is as important as a
knowledge of the masters, that good taste is rare,
and that the person who possesses this gift also
has the obligation of transmitting it to his com-
munity.

Because of this democratic down-to-earth con-
ception, Howard Thomas stands today as one of
the leading figures in American art. Whether his
paintings live on or not (we are too close to say),
his teachings will. For his belief that art is a
vital part of the New Civilization, that it must
become universal through communication of the
learned few to the masses this teaching is of
tremendous importance to our own generation
and to the generations after us.

[8]

MEET THE NEWCOMERS!

Minute interviews with six new Faculty and Administration members.

Genial, giant-framed, deep-voiced Paul Les-
lie Garber comes to
Agnes Scott this year
as head of the Bible
Department from Dur-
ham, N. C., where he
held the pastorate of
Trinity Avenue Pres-
byterian Church. As a minister's son, he has
moved around considerably, spending most of
his boyhood, however, in Ashland, Ohio. Beside
his B.A. and B.D. degrees he also holds a Ph.D.
awarded him by the Divinity School of Duke
University in 1939. It was on the campus of
Duke that he first met Mrs. Garber, then secre-
tary to the Dean of Freshmen Men, whom he
married 13 months later in the University's fa-
mous chapel.

"Ours was a whirlwind affair," Dr. Garber
admits, grinning, "and we've been rushing
around ever since!"

In the two short years of their marriage, they
have managed, between church and social ac-
tivities, to take several trips through the New
England States, North Carolina, and to New
York.

'When we travel," Dr. Garber says, "we look
for two things : strange and unusual places to eat
and good shots for our movie camera. On our
last trip to New York, Mrs. Garber and I dined
in 8 different foreign restaurants.' He pauses to
recall an especially toothsome delicacy served to
them in a Persian restaurant there. "It was fillet
of lamb, mildly seasoned, baked and brought to

the table wrapped in grape leaves. Um-m-m-m,
delicious! "As for our movie camera," he con-
tinues, "that was a wedding gift. And with it we
have recorded all the important occasions in our
married life so far from the day of our wed-
ding to the time we were snowbound in the Vir-
ginia mountains."

Besides traveling, gourmetizing and movie-
camera-ing, Dr. Garber also likes to read. Most
of his reading at present is done in relation to
teaching. Right now he is working on the sources
of the different religions their fundamental
concepts and significance in the world today.
This information he hopes to pass on to his
classes with the view of helping them to an under-
standing of religion as a whole. His plans for
teaching Bible at Agnes Scott are equally sound
and interesting. (See p. 19 this issue, "Why
Bible at Agnes Scott?")

Both he and Mrs. Garber are enthusiastic
about Agnes Scott, its friendliness and coopera-
tive spirit. We welcome them to the campus with
pleasure!

Muttering, salty-humored, unassuming Wal-
ter B. Posey, who
takes over the duties of
the History Depart-
ment this year, hails
from Birmingham-
Southern College. He
has also served on the

faculties of Cumberland and the University of
Hawaii; studying at the University of Chicago,
Cumberland University and Vanderbilt; marry-

[9]

ing, in the meantime, one of his pupils, who he
admits was a "pretty good student!"

As a boy, Dr. Posey grew up in one of the
oldest and most historic houses of Rutherford
County, Tennessee. In fact, Dr. Posey could
write his own play for President Andrew Jack-
son also slept there, on his way to and from
Washington, when the surprisingly modern-look-
ing house was used as a tavern. Built in 1817,
the old Posey homestead is wainscotted through-
out, boasts hand-carved mantels and door sills,
morticed and pegged timbers of yellow poplar,
black walnut, white ash and oak, chimneys con-
structed from brick baked in a kiln by slaves and
entrenched 8 feet into the ground, two rare
museum-piece cherry presses in the dining room,
and a two-story smokehouse bearing cannon
scars of the War Between the States. All in all,
it seems quite an appropriate home for a man
who has made a career out of teaching American
History.

His most interesting assignment, perhaps, was
to the University of Hawaii, where he accepted
an exchange professorship from 1939 to 1940.
Mrs. Posey and his young daughter, Blythe, went
along. He recalls their year on the island with
a sigh of pleasure. "Pineapples weighed around
6 pounds; papayas tasting like a delicious mix-
ture of banana and peach, breadfruit which we
prepared in the manner of our Southern sweet
potato, abounded. Cocoanuts, of course, were
everywhere. When you get hungry in Hawaii
you just step into your backyard and gather all
you eat!" As for orchids," he adds, "our cook
kept Mrs. Posey well supplied."

At the University of Hawaii, Dr. Posey taught
American history to a mixture of Chinese and
Japanese students who, he says, spoke excellent

English and rated higher mentally than the aver-
age student of an American university. "This
was due to the fact," he points out, "that the
University is the only institution of higher learn-
ing in the islands and has about three times as
many applicants as it can take."

When questioned about his favorite hobbies,
foods, entertainment, Dr. Posey frowns a little
then says, slowly, "Oh . . . there's nothing es-
pecially interesting to write about me. I'm just
an ordinary person making a living at what I like
to do best teach." Such is our new History
Head's modest opinion of himself. But you'll
form quite a different opinion when you meet
him. And you'll want to make his office the first
stop on your next trip back to the campus!

Presbyterian, Scotch-Irish, and a native
Georgian, Dr. John-
ny Armstrong Mc-
Cullough seems like
an old friend to most
of us at Agnes Scott.
This year between of-
fice hours in Decatur,

she physicians to our college crowd, checking
metabolism, advising low-calorie diets, and
soothing sprained ankles in the Infirmary. She
is a slight, wiry, efficient little woman almost
midget size beside her towering 6-foot-2 husband,
who is a major in the medical corps at Lawson
General Hospital. Dr. McCullough likes danc-
ing, country ham, Bette Davis, purple evening
gowns and accompanying her cornet-playing hus-
band on the piano.

She believes that the rationing of food has
made us a healthier nation as a whole that
mental health is as important as physical health

[10]

that while the war has actually brought about
no new medical discoveries, it has hastened the
perfection of the famous sulfa drugs and pen-
cillin which doctors had been experimenting with
long before the war. To war workers, collegiates
and other busy people she advises a balanced
diet and plenty of rest.

With a B.A. from Randolph-Macon, an M.D.
from the University of Virginia Medical School,
and with 2 years experience as Decatur's only
woman pediatrician, she seems well-equipped to
handle the situation here at Agnes Scott. Already
. . . her keen wit and delightful informality have
made a name for her on the campus.

Blonde, blue-eyed, and thoroughly capable

Howard MacGregor,
Agnes Scott's new As-
sistant Business Man-
ager-Treasurer, has
been a financial expert
almost from the day of
his graduation at Johns
Hopkins School of Business Administration in
1934. Since then he has held various impressive
positions in banks and investment banking con-
cerns over Maryland and Virginia. And for the
past 4 years has served as Treasurer of Queens
College in Charlotte, N. C. He is a surprisingly
young man (31 last September) to have such an
experienced background, and he will need it all
here at Agnes Scott, where his duties include
supervision of buildings, grounds, personnel re-
lations, and the collection of campaign pledges.

After a hard day's work, he goes home to a
good mystery story, the financial pages of the
newspaper, and to his 3 small children Sally,
6; Kady, 2/^ ; Glenn, the baby. He is especially
fond of oysters on the half -shell, ice tea (which

he drinks the year around), David Copperfield
and Dagwood. His biggest puzzle to date: "How
to tell the different faculty houses on S. Candler
apart. "Ansley, Sturgis, Boyd they all look
alike to me. I never know where I'm going!"
We hope for Mr. and Mrs. "Mac" and all the
little "Macs" a happy first year at Agnes Scott.

TWO MORE NEW FACES ON THE CAMPUS THIS

year are those of Mrs.
J. B. Bunnell and Mrs.
Ewing G. Harris, resi-
dent-hostesses at the
Alumnae House. Both
are native Tennesseans
both have been close
friends for years. Together they are managing
the Tearoom in the Alumnae House and taking
care of Alumnae guests.

Last year, Mrs. Bunnell was house mother at
Emory's Sigma Nu house. When the government
took over all fraternity houses she came to us.
Asked which she liked the better: mothering col-
lege boys or girls, Mrs. Bunnell honestly replied,
"Well, when I left the boys at Emory I thought
I would never love the girls as much as I loved
them. But now I find that Agnes Scott is creeping
into my heart." Mrs. Bunnell has a married
daughter, Mrs. R. J. Buskirk, living in Atlanta;
a son, Major J. B. Bunnell, Jr., who is Command-
ing Officer of the Dental Corps at Fort McPher-
son. Her cordiality and poise, her sparkling blue
eyes and distinguished white hair make her an
ideal mother and hostess for our Alumnae House.

Mrs. Harris can also claim the title of ideal
mother. Hanging in her room is a service flag
with two blue stars one for a son, John Ewing,
who is with the Classification Headquarters in

[11]

Sicily, and one for another son, Hunter, who is
home at last after 30 months as a sergeant in the
Marines. Hunter went with the expeditionary
forces to Iceland and spent 9 months in the Pa-
cific area.

Mrs. Harris has just returned from Chicago,
where she attended the National War Mothers'
Convention as delegate for Tennessee. She is al-

ready famous on the campus for her ice-box
cookies and tangy tomato aspic. Together, our
two new hostesses are serving real home-cooked
meals to capacity college crowds. (Dinner at
night is by reservation only.) Alumnae coming
back to the campus this year will find their
Alumnae House even more of a home than ever
thanks to the capable management of Mrs.
Bunnell and Mrs. Harris!

OUR NEW $12,500 CAFETERIA AND HOW IT WORKS

Last June when the school term ended and fac-
ulty and student body moved out into the wide
open spaces for a little well-deserved rest, two
hard-working, equally exhausted people
stayed here on the campus to tackle one
of the biggest problems in the history of
the college i. e., FOOD! How to feed
the campus in the year ahead with (1)
provisions getting scarcer, (2) help un-
certain, (3) new equipment almost im-
possible to obtain, and (4) a record-
breaking enrollment expected. Here was
a problem to stump an Einstein. But
quick-thinking, fast-moving Business Manager
Tart and slender, energetic Head Dietician Jessie
Harriss sailed in with their sleeves rolled up,
determined to find a solution. This is what hap-
pened.

Although campus officials had been puzzling
over the situation for a year or more, it was Miss
Harriss who got down to brass tacks first. "Why
not adopt the cafeteria plan?" she queried, "with
everybody eating under one roof. Many other
colleges have. Why don't we?"

"How do you know we could get the necessary

equipment, service counters, etc.?'
must have asked.

someone

"Well, we could try . . . "

"And what would happen to White
,i \ House dining hall?"

"Close it up! One kitchen is less ex-
pensive to run than two."

"But would there be room enough to
k ^\ seat everyone in Rebekah Scott dining

I \ hall . . . and besides, wouldn't the cafe-
teria system destroy our home atmos-
phere of the family around the dining
table?"

"Give me a week or two," Miss Harriss replied
amiably," and I think I can provide you with a
workable set of plans."

So during the month of June, while most of
us were back-yard vacationing, Miss Harriss sat
in her little offiice behind Rebehak Scott dining
hall, estimating floor space, conferring with cam-
pus officials and drawing the plans. Within a few
weeks her layout was unanimously approved and
a list of vitally necessary equipment turned over
to Mr. Tart, who began his long and victorious

[12]

struggle with government priorities, triplicate
and quadruplicate applications in Form PD-831,
411, sent to WPB Ref. L-182 and L-248 or Ref..
L-89 . . . and similar headaches!

"Our main problem," Miss Harriss states, "lay
in utilizing all available space and equipment
with as little alteration of the present building as
possible. We're even using the same light plugs!"
When you go through the cafeteria with Miss
Harriss today, you see how ingeniously this has
been done. Only one wall at the back of Re-
bekah Scott dining hall was torn down. All the
rest stand as they were. Every inch of space has
been used. Behind the dining room are two
doors, exit and entrance to the new built-to-order
cafeteria service counter which keeps dishes and
food piping hot, salads on ice; and has mammoth
sections for hot breads and ice water. Built into
the wall behind the counter stands the impressive
four-shelved dumb waiter which can bring up
around 300 pounds of food from the basement
kitchen below.

Through a door to the left of the cafeteria
counter lies the dishwashing room with its hand-
some new two-tank dishwasher that cleanses
china, silver, glassware twice, rinses and dries
by evaporation enough utensils for a whole meal
in 50 minutes. Here also are the huge refrig-
erators, one salvaged from White House, the tow-
ering salad dressing mixers, dishracks and
vegeteable choppers. To the right of the dish-
washing room you find the storage room where
dry groceries are pyramided to the ceiling, and
behind this room the linen closets with their rows
of snowy napkins and tablecloths. Gleaming milk
cans take up the last bit of available space. When
you reach the linen room you are almost at the
back of the building, but even here, Miss Har-

riss has managed to squeeze in a long rectangle
of an office which opens on the hall leading to the
basement kitchen below. It was in this medium
sized, day-lit basement room that most of the re-
modeling had to be done. "In fact," Miss Harriss
says, "carpenters were still putting up shelves
when we began serving our first meal."

Looking around the kitchen you are amazed
at the number of pieces of equipment it holds.
Side by side, neatly dovetailed around the
walls, are the meat block, the vegetable bins, the
cavernous steam cooker, the serving tables, food
choppers, mixers and the new curved-front bak-
er's table, capacity, 200 pounds of flour, with its
wooden mixing bowl the size of an ordinary wash
tub, and its immense rolling pins. If you arrived
in the kitchen on meat pie day, for instance, you
would find Lynn in his white mushroom-topped
cap standing at the baker's table rolling out in-
numerable pie crusts. While on the opposite
side of the room, before a huge five-sectioned
range that stretches along the whole length of
the wall, would be Burton in his high-peaked
chef's hat, lifting cartwheel lids from pans of
simmering meat and filling the air with a mouth-
watering fragrance.

Behind the kitchen you find more storage
rooms, more closets built into every nook and
corner, and a new 10-foot walk-in refrigerator
which keeps eggs, meat and vegetables at three
different temperatures. If you are a hardy soul,
you might do as the refrigerator's name suggests
and walk in! But you won't stay long. Your
breath goes out in white, frosty streams and after
a while you begin to feel as cold and numb as
the tub of plucked fowls that sits in the meat
compartment awaiting tomorrow's dinner.

When your inspection of the cafeteria is over,

[13]

you begin to realize what ai amazing amount of
work has been accomplished in three short sum-
mer months. And the total cost of $12,500
(which does not include all of the remodeling)
seems fairly small in view of the fact that around
12,000 meals are served daily. Another nice
thing about the plan is the way it combines cafe-
teria and traditional family-style meals. For
only breakfast and lunch are served cafeteria
style. Dinner in the evening is just as it always
was, with hostesses at each of the tables. How-
ever, this year, scholarship students, many of
whom volunteered for this duty, help serve the
evening meal. There are 49 of them, rotated
over a period of 7 weeks according to the in-
genious and effective plan worked out by Assist-
ant Dean Charlotte Hunter. So that each student,
at one time or another, serves each of the 34
tables in the dining room, including the 3 tables
in the faculty parlor across the hall, where pro-
fessors take their evening meal in blissful peace
and quiet. Student servers eat 30 minutes before
the regular dinner hour. They never enter the
kitchen. They are on duty only four days a week
the rest of the time being free.

Campus acceptance of the cafeteria system is
enthusiastic. "It's faster more convenient,"
one sophomore says. "At breakfast, for instance,
you choose only what you want to eat and then

dash off to class."

"It's so wonderful to sleep later in the morn-
ings!" another student confides. "You see, if you
don't have an 8:00 o'clock class, you can wait as
late as 7:45 before going down to breakfast."

"It's more democratic," a thoughtful upper-
classman explains. "This way you usually eat
with the person next in line to you rather than
with a set group. You get to know all the classes
better especially the freshmen, since they're not
eating in White House any more."

"Our system works fairly well, at present,"
Miss Harriss modestly admits, "but we've still a
long way to go." She looks down ruefully at the
grocery list before her and you realize, suddenly,
that her biggest job that of procuring food
lies ahead. However, it seems a pretty safe bet
that she and her assistant, Miss Will, can con-
tinue to supply Hottentots with their favorite
delicacies; guave jelly, chocolate ice cream and
mint sauce, honey rolls, shortberry shortcake and
steak. If you're planning a visit to the campus
soon, put Agnes Scott's new cafeteria first on
your list of things to see. It will give you some
interesting pointers on how to conserve space and
time in your own kitchen. It will make your
problems of food and servant shortage absurdly
simple by comparison.

[14]

SHOSTAKOVICH:

A PRIVATE OPINION

by Willa Beckham Lowrance, '33

Organist at the Covenant Presbyterian Church in Atlanta,
graduate of the Atlanta Conservatory of Music, member
of Mu Phi Epsilon, ISational Music Honor Society, and
wife of Robert S. Lowrance, Jr., director of the Agnes
Scott Glee Club.

Dimitri Shostakovich, that "rather noisy
young man" as he has been described, has cer-
tainly given the musical world something to
talk about! Living in a country of struggle and
upheaval, he has embodied that life in brilliant
and striking form, clothing it in bright colors
with startling effects.

My first introduction to this modern Russian
composer made me feel that surely he had taken
the rhythm of roaring engines, of noisy factories,
of busy streets and put it into musical form not
too musical at that! What I heard in part was
the Seventh Symphony, known as the "Leningrad
Symphony", played on the Sunday afternoon
Symphonic Hour. Shostakovich is quoted as say-
ing, "Music cannot help having a political ba-
sis," and his Seventh is the story of Leningrad's
struggle. Later I read the following story about
it.

The completed symphony was to be played
for the first time in Leningrad, and Shostakovich
was still dissatisfied with the final climax of the
work. While he was waiting to board a plane,
the precious manuscript clutched in his hands, a
stiff wind came along and blew away the last

pages. Immediately upon arrival at the capital,
he started to reproduce the missing pages. Just
as he sat down, he heard the roar of an angry
mob and throwing open the window, saw a group
of enraged Russians approaching with two Ger-
man pilots who had been shot down in battle.
This menacing, threatening roar became the
crashing, thunderous climax of his Seventh Sym-
phony.

However, upon listening more closely to other
of his compositions, I found them certainly in-
tellectually interesting, surprisingly melodious,
and with an occasional dash of downright sweet-
ness. His harmonies are very modern, with
dissonances to which most of our ears are un-
accustomed. His themes are difficult to establish
because rather than developing one idea at
length, he is continually introducing new ones.
He employs wildly descending chromatics and
crashing, thunderous chords. He describes the
youthful, straightforward vigor of the Russian
people; also the haunting sadness of the race.

EH]

Leopold Stokowski has played several of his
symphonies and enthusiastically defended them.
His Fifth Symphony is described as "a thought-
ful and tuneful glorification of the October Revo-
lution." His opera, Lady MacBeth of Mzensk,
written in 1932 with its American premier in
1935, was praised for the "uncanny way the
orchestra described each character, each situa-
tion." Virgil Thomson summed it up by saying,
"The New York audience loved; the New York
critics hedged."

As a man, Shostakovich is described as "look-
ing like an incredibly shy school boy pale,
solemn, cherubic, with thatched hair and wide
eyes behind horn rimmed spectacles." He was
born in Leningrad on September 25, 1906, and
studied at the Leningrad Conservatory of Music.
He volunteered for service in the People's Army
of Leningrad after the Germans attacked the
Soviet Union but was considered too precious to
serve there. He is, however, a member of the

Home Guard and contributes greatly to the mor-
ale of the people through his music.

Although he received a $20,000 award for
highest achievement in Arts and Sciences for a
piano quintet in 1940 and is hailed today as the
"Mozart of Modern Russia," Shostakovich was
not accepted at first by his fellow countrymen.
It is said that in playing a piano recital before
an unenthusiastic audience he ended with a so-
nata of his own composition. To the backs of the
audience departing amid feeble and scattered
applause he remarked, "I'll play it for you
again. Perhaps you didn't understand." After
he finished it a second time, hardly a listener
remained.

There is no perhaps about my not understand-
ing his music, but I do find it very interesting
not taken in too large doses. The appeal is of
effect rather than of sheer beauty, but it may be
that when I have listened and listened, compre-
hension will lend added enjoyment. He is un-
doubtedly a very gifted person.

[16]

. . . The first of four articles concerning the pri-
vate lives of outstanding campus personalities.

ELLEN DOUGLAS LEYBURN:
"Teaching is such fun!"

Halfway down South Candler, oldest and most
dignified of Decatur's streets, stands the house
of Ellen Leyburn, professor of English at Agnes
Scott. It is a small boxy white house, Cape Cod
in style, situated well back from the road and
almost enveloped in Georgia maples and oaks.
There are trim green shutters at the windows and
the grounds about are simply kept and heavily
wooded, so that many going up and down the
street might pass by, unaware of the startling
contrast this spick and span little house keeps
with its older, more towering neighbors.

Lifting the brass knocker and walking through
the square white door of the house, you find
yourself face to face with its owner, designer and
decorator Miss Leyburn herself. Almost the
first thing you notice is the startlingly deep and
resonant tone of her voice. It is a voice not
easily forgotten. And next you notice her eyes
clear grey-green, alive, interested. She welcomes
you with a heart-warming cordiality and you like
the tall grace of her stride as she leads the way
into the living room, the long thinness of her
hands as she clears away a mountain of theme
papers on the little table before the sofa.

While you are getting settled in the lovely old
cherry rocker that belonged to her grandmother,

Miss Leyburn says in that slow North Carolinian
drawl, "I'm sure Caroline would like to meet
you. Let me call her." You prepare yourself
for a meeting with someone no less important
than a Pulitzer-prize poet or a visiting colleague.
And presently, in comes Caroline, silky-haired
pensive-eyed, waddling on four fat legs. She
passes you by with a barely perceptible sniff and
scuttles across the floor to the sofa, where she
stretches full length, happy at last by the side of
her adored mistress. Like all good Americans,
Caroline is a mixture of several races. Sky ter-
rier probably being her most definite strain. But
pedigree blood is somewhere along the line and
Caroline doesn't let you forget it. There is a
slightly aloof look in her large brown eyes and
she withdraws carefully from the approach of
an unfamiliar hand.

After you have met Caroline, you begin look-
ing about you in unabashed curiosity. You see a
pleasantly cluttered, livable room with an Early
American fireplace on one side and a great
square staircase breaking into the other side and
going up to the bedrooms above. There are
many windows in the living room and French
doors at the end opening on the garden below.

k\

It's the fun of sharing . . . with others.

[17]

Gradually you become conscious of a very
subtle, unobtrusive color-scheme. Shades of pale
wine, mist green, natural and grey predominate
in the striped sofa, the quietly flowered Victorian
rug, the restrained wallpaper. It is a color
scheme with a definite purpose, for against these
soft wines, greys, greens and buffs, Miss Leyburn
has assembled in a fascinating melee all of the
things she likes best. In the living room, for
instance, you find side by side, a rare old English
set of Boswell's Life of Johnson and a rugged
mountain bench . . . treasured pine end-tables
made on the family plantation years ago and
drapes designed by Miss Leyburn, herself, from
warm uncut corduroy discovered in a North
Georgia mill. In the dining room, modern tea
tiles rest beside the mellowed and lined family
wedgewood. In the bedroom two exquisite Delft
vases brought back from a trip to Holland . . .
and on the floor, a hand-hooked mountain rug.
Upstairs you are also surprised to find the Cape
Cod dormers are missing at the back of the house,
the wall rising straight to the roof. "I needed
more room!" is Miss Leyburn's simple and very
adequate explanation.

All the time you are looking at the little house,
you find yourself arriving at new conclusions
about Ellen Leyburn, the woman. She is a really
good architect, you decide. Her house is well-
planned, functional, made to live in. She has
the rare combination of imagination and prac-
ticality. She is honest, without pretense, and
there is no display about her house. She has
filled it simply with the things she likes to live
with and these range from a deep red homespun
comforter, chosen for its color, to a lovely old
reproduction of her favorite painting, Vermeer's
View of Delft. Also, she is a good cook. This
definitely proved by the odor of hot muffins for

dinner that floats out from the narrow kitchen
behind the dining room and now fills the house.
Back in the living room again, you settle down
to an earnest discussion of Miss Leyburn's pro-
fession. Why is a teacher? What qualities
should she have? What are the dividends in
return for years of study and patient instruction?
Caroline, yawns sleepily from her favorite place
on the wine, green and grey striped sofa, close
beside the tweed skirt of her mistress. She is
worn out from the recent tour through the house,
which she personally supervised, her little black
toenails click-clacking on the polished floors.
She knows that soon a long gentle hand will drop
to ruffle and smooth the silky white hair on her
head and back. So she waits and pretends to
doze.

And presently the hand begins, up and down,
rising and falling in an unconscious rhythmic
precision. Caroline relaxes with a groan of
canine ecstacy. And you become aware only
of the movement of the hand, the falling of
leaves in the garden below and the slow, haunt-
ing voice of Miss Leyburn as she speaks. "Teach-
ing, I think is a lot of fun. It's the fun of
sharing what you have read and learned with
others. It's the fun of watching an idea catch
fire ... of laughing with a class over the diary
of Fanny Burney. Why, some of the best times
I've had, have been in class. I don't believe a
teacher ever considers her job as hard work or
a sacrifice, particularly. It's just something she'd
rather do than anything else. And I think she
receives as much from her students as she gives
them."

In the course of conversation you discover
other things about Miss Leyburn, too. All of her
family were born in Virginia. But her father,
who is a Presbyterian minister, moved to North
Carolina just before she was born. "Consequent-

[18]

ly," Miss Leyburn adds with a twinkle in her
eye, "the rest of my family rather look down on
me." You begin to get a picture of her childhood
and adolescence. How the Leyburns moved from
manse to manse, from Hedgesville, Virginia, to
Durham, N. C, to Rome, Ga. How she entered
Agnes Scott in 1923, and was the first Agnes
Scott graduate to continue her study at Radcliff
College in Cambridge, Massachusetts where
they were rather skeptical in the beginning of
"this Southerner from a Southern college." How
after receiving her M.A. degree from Radcliff,
she taught for three years at Buffalo Seminary, a
private school for girls, going from there to Yale
where she received her Ph.D., and finally return-
ing to Agnes Scott as English instructor. How,
during all of this, she managed to spend three
summers abroad, one each in Italy, Germany and
England where she collected many of her favor-
ite possessions.

You know that it is getting late and that you
must go. But you stay on a little longer. Outside
the long sloping garden is filled with the autumn
mist that rolls up over Georgia hills and hollows
this time of year. You sit in the growing dark-
ness and listen to Miss Leyburn as she talks of
her favorite man of letters Samuel Johnson
and of his common sense, his full-bodied humor.
You chuckle a bit as she quotes a passage from
his famous dictionary What is a pie? "Any-
thing baked between two crusts!" If you are not
an avid admirer of Johnson, you will yearn to be
before you leave. So great is her enthusiasm and
thirst for knowledge that it is impossible to talk
with her, even for an hour, without becoming
stimulated and inspired. This, then, is the real
secret of her success as a teacher and friend.
This, plus a disarming modesty which is summed
up in her parting words at the square white door
... "I can't believe that I've spent a whole aft-
ernoon talking just about myself!"

WHY BIBLE AT AGNES SCOTT?

An open letter from our new Bible
Department Head, Dr. Paul Leslie
Garber. Interview on page 9.

Dear Alumnae;

You see, because equally earnest people differ
on what the well-informed mind should know,
every subject must constantly justify its inclusion
in a college's curriculum. For some subjects
that is more difficult than it is for others.

Agnes Scott from its beginning in 1889 has

included regular Bible study in its course offer-
ings and in its requirements for graduation. In
framing the Agnes Scott "Ideal" President F. H.
Gaines made the second item, "The Bible as
textbook."

The explanation for this action is given in Dr.
Gaines' introduction to Bible Course: Outline
and Notes (1895). "There are strong and even
unanswerable arguments," he wrote, "for the
introduction of the Bible into the college course."
He enumerated those arguments:

1. The Bible stimulates "mental develop-
ment" by causing the student to think

[19]

about "the greatest subjects in all the
range of human thought."

2. The Bible contains uniquely valuable
knowledge such as the origin of man, the
fall, ethnology, law and psychology.

3. The Bible has a preeminent value in the
literature it contains and also in those
writings which it has inspired either di-
rectly or indirectly.

4. Bible study produces maturity in knowl-
edge of the Bible to match developing
ideas and knowledge in other fields.

5. Study of the Bible aids character forma-
tion by teaching the right, instilling the
love of the right and guiding in the right.

Perhaps it would be just as well for me to
leave the matter just here. Certainly I would
agree with Dr. Gaines and the Agnes Scott tradi-
tion that the Bible has a rightful place in the
curriculum and that for "strong and even un-
answerable" reasons.

But we all like to say things our own way.
Then let me try. Why study Bible at Agnes
Scott? The answer lies in what the Bible is.

1. The Bible is an important source for an-
cient history. Without those tested facts
found only in it our knowledge of life in
the ancient Middle East would be measur-
ably abbreviated.

2. The Bible is vital, pulsating writing not
produced as literature but accepted now
as a touchstone of literary style and
achievement.

3. The Bible's primary value is religious. It

was written and "handed down" to culti-
vate faith in God, to warn against evil and
to extend His promise in Christ of redemp-
tion and eternal life.

Beyond these brief comments of ageless truth
two observations relative to our day are worthy
of mention:

1. The Bible gives a meaning to life which,
when accepted, becomes a center to make
college an unified experience for the stu-
dent and not, as it is for many, a series of
unrelated "dead" studies strung on a
thread of more vital week-ends.

2. The Bible has that motivation for service
which is able to blast even college people
out of complacency and indifference into
the employment of talents and skills for
the benefit, not of self alone, but of society
as a whole.

The most significant contribution Agnes Scott
can make to our country's present needs is a
generation of college women who know life's
inner meaning and who consider their education
primarily training for service and only secon-
darily personal enrichment. Basic to that effort
is the Bible.

These brief comments on why the Bible at
Agnes Scott, I share with you in the hope they
may be of interest to all members of the Alumnae
Association.

It is a joy to be related to the charmed circle
of Hottentots.

Sincerely,

Paul Leslie Garber.

[20]

WILLIAM SAROYAN: "his hearts in the highlands'

\v V

Roberta Winter, '27*

V*- _

"Nobody believes in anything
any more," marvels Owen in The
Beautiful People. "Not even old
ladies."

But William Saroyan does.

He believes in the magnificence of Almighty
God, 1 the creator and preserver of trees and birds
and mice and children; in Life and Death; in
love and music and genius; in talk and in the
communion of silence; in broad generous reck-
less deep honesty. He acknowledges the wonder
and waste of human beings; he mourns that the
world is inhabited by the dead not the living;
that there is no Honor or Grace or Truth in con-
temporary history; that everything is getting
worse every minute but in a way that is irresis-
tible and noble, with that delicate balance of
despair and delight which glues all unrelated
things into the continuity and architecture which
are the fable and fantasy of this world and life.

He believes in a theatre that could stage Whit-
man's "Leaves of Grass" or a production which
he calls largely "Chicago: 1905-1925."

He believes in the infinite capacity of man-

*Instructor in Speech, Director of Blackfriars,
author of the play, "Bridal Chorus".

1 Italicized material is Saroyan's.

kind to re-create himself and the
world through the exercise of
noble imagination.

He believes in William Saroyan.

The very nature of Saroyan's
beliefs provokes hostility in a conventional, real-
istic, scientific world. Because he is original and
independent and enthusiastic, we feel uncom-
fortable and pronounce him obscure, undiscip-
lined, and impertinent.

For hundreds of years man has been facing
what he calls facts, deducing laws and limiting
himself by them, formulating rules and insisting
that others observe them, falling heir to beds and
lopping off occupants to fit them. Time helps
him to accept many things screamed at as mad-
ness by contemporary objectors; but each suc-
ceeding generation is as unresponsive as the pre-
ceding one to its non-conformers. We insist on
an artist's disciplining himself, not according to
his own capacity, but along lines laid down by
ourselves. Shakespeare's plays do not fit the
pattern of Sophocles'. Bach's interpretation of
life is not the only one for those who can listen to
the message of Shostakovich. Van Gogh's frenzy
at last achieved meaning.

It is therefore less important that Saroyan be
summarily measured and classified, than that he
not be restrained or embarrassed or silenced by

[21]

an unsympathetic reception. If an artist's phi-
losophy is worthy, his method of expressing it
deserves consideration. Certainly Saroyan's stat-
ure is undetermined. He has a rich imagination,
a headlong pen, a capacity for revealing souls, a
gift for unreality. He has not written the great
American play. But for those who will enter the
dream-like, hilarious, tragic, absurd, heroic
drama that is the expression of his genius, there
is refreshment, stimulation, pleasure, and pain.

Shaw was called the "upstart son of a down-
start father," who "struck the stage like a thun-
derbolt." O'Neill's reception was more sympa-
thetic, probably because his experimental work
came after the acceptance of his naturalistic, and
therefore obvious, early plays. But O'Neill him-
self contended, "We have taken too many snap-
shots of each other in every graceless position.
We have endured too much from the banality of
surface."

Saroyan is sincere in his effort to use the
modem theatre for vicarious experience beyond
the banality of surface. That he can write con-
ventional, realistic plays he has proven in several
short plays and his scenario, "The Human Com-
edy." It is to be hoped that he will not be made
self-conscious and apologetic about his experi-
ments lest coming generations with freer dra-
matic appreciation than ours be cheated of rich
material. In any case, his extravagance and
bravado will have shaken the shackles of more
matter-of-fact dramatists.

His chief contribution to date has been his
call to belief in the beauty and goodness of peo-
ple, thus reminding us in a very salutary way of
our own practices in suspicion and indifference;
our reliance in substance and logic and formula ;
our acceptance of limitation. He makes us sad
that we have allowed angel visitations to dimin-
ish on the earth. And impatient with ourselves
for having been involved in so few miracles.

BOOK REVIEW

SO LITTLE TIME
by John P. Marquand

Little Brown and Co., Boston, 1943, $2.75

Elizabeth Stevenson, '41

Book Editor for the Atlanta Journal

To describe change is a difficult thing to do.
So Little Time is an ambitious effort to confine
the unsolid present within the limits of a novel.
The satiric eye surveys America being forged
anew in the shifting influences of the new war.

The author's eye is Jeffrey Wilson, whose
variety of experience makes him well able to
savor the crazy contrasts in this interlude in the
national life. He was born in the small town,

Bragg, Massachusetts, one fact which is an im-
portant comment on his life. He flew in the last
war, and now he has a son just old enough to
fight in this one. He once wrote a play that ran
two weeks on Broadway. Today he doctors other
people's plays and movie scripts and does it
almost with genius. He married into Park Ave-
nue. His wife has persuaded him not to be
Bohemian.

Jeffrey often says that it is strange and con-
fusing to have lived his life in so many different
compartments none of them having any connec-

[22]

tion with the others. One of these compartments
was his small town, American youth. He looks
back with real tenderness upon an episode which
suggests Seventeen; however, Seventeen seen
through experienced eyes. Another compartment
was that queer time when he lived close to death
and close to life when he was an aviator in
France. He has never been able to talk about
it even to Jim, his son; even now, when Jim is
about to go to war.

Jeffrey's pinched New England background
has effectively prevented him from being able
to believe entirely in the two worlds which divide
his time. Neither the staid magnificences of
Park Avenue nor the extravagant vagaries of
Hollywood have ever entirely convinced him.

One side of his life is where he works at ham-
mering other people's creative energies into pro-
fessional shape. Because he has never entirely
believed in the characters and settings of this
theatrical world, he has been able to bring zest
to his craftsman's task.

On the other hand, his marriage, it seems to
him, has been supposed to represent security.
That is what Madge has wanted. It is a pity that
the solidity of Fifth Avenue and Park Avenue
seems in the cold dawn of 1941 to be the most
ephemeral part of the American scene. Like a
great many Americans he found that all that he
had thought permanent was dissolving. The
feverish nights and days of pre-war hysteria had
infected him. All was fluid.

In representing this spirit of change and de-
parture, the author was faced with a dilemma.
Having tried to seize upon something which by
its nature was unseizable, he is in danger of
having his story dissolve into the general atmos-
phere, what he aptly calls "a sort of chaotic
discontent."

To solve his problem, Marquand, who has had
a reputation built up upon his subtle and satir-
ical sense of irony, has done a difficult thing. He
has flatly and simply tried to reduce all the
problems of his scene to the most ordinary and
average human relations. In truth, Jeffrey finds
that they are all that are left. The only surety
he finds are his feelings for his wife, Madge, his
son, Jim, for the few friends who have lasted
for years, for Marianna Miller, who may become
important enough to change his whole system
of habits.

This matter of habit bothers Jeffrey. He is a
reflective man. For that reason the absurdities
of the scene are doubly absurd. The satire of
the world correspondent scene, the big Holly-
wood writer conference scene, the first night
scene, etc., seem to belong naturally to Jeffrey
rather than to the author. Jeffrey is most critical
of himself. He is highly self conscious. The
unrest of the new, the unpredictable America
unsettles him too, in his views of himself.

He has a chance to quit the brilliant hack work
that he does honestly and efficiently. He worries
himself with an urge to give his long restricted
creative ability a chance to try again. This de-
sire is all mixed up for him with the person of
Marianna Miller, an actress who has loved him
frankly and wistfully for years. He hovers upon
the edge of a new relationship.

However, the person who comes to fill up most
of his conscious and unconscious thoughts is his
son, Jim. In this, Jeffrey is pathetically like
most fathers of a war generation. He comes
more and more to identify himself with Jim. He
sees what he was in the last war in Jim in the
new war. Trying to avoid a fancy and profes-
sional climax, the author tells the story of Jim's
being in love and going to war, of his mother's

(Continued on Page 58)

[23]

First published in the Poetry Society of Geor-
gia's Yearbook, this poem won the 1933 Savan-
nah Prize for the best poem depicting Southern
low country local color. It is one of our favor-
ites of all of Miss Preston's brilliant and colorful
works. We reprint it here with her permission.

DESERTED HOUSE ON BAYOU LAFOURCHE

Janef Newman Preston, '21

Instructor in English at Agnes Scott College

These broken columns, once so proudly tall,
Uphold too long the roof that men disown ;
Too many summers' grass has split the stone
Of steps that bear no more a light footfall.
Unmarked by feast or fast day, seasons crawl
Across the chimneys that long since have sown
Their sparks upon the dusk, or thinly blown
Blue smoke upon the day at matin call.
The sundial mocks, "Horas non numero
Nisi serenas." While slow hours pass,
The garden's marred and broken patterns show
Like skeletons half covered in the grass.
Time lingers on this threshold but to taunt
The house that has outlived man's utmost want.

He wants no more the roof he made secure
Against the sharp, bright daggers of the sun,
And sky that plunged him little and alone
In space that only planets can endure.
He wants, no more, walls builded to immure
The old sweet certainties that he has known:
Hearth fire, the broken loaf, the benison
Of sleep; and after grief, time's sure
Uplifting of the stricken head. He craves
No closet here for prayer, no ringing rafter

[24]

To answer to his mirth; and silence saves
Upon its edge no crying now, nor laughter.
This was his shelter, and his dream defended;
The latch is broken now, the dream is ended.

Here is the lonely shame old houses bear
When men who loved their comeliness are gone.
From empty door to empty window flown,
The birds have left their droppings everywhere ;
Dismantling Time has trod to dust the fair
Unmeasured welcome of the wide hearthstone;
The swamp mist climbs from stair to foot worn stair,
And down the smooth hand-rail the lizards run.

Better the river's lethal breast had taken

Or that a towering flame had wrapped and crowned

This beggared beauty by all men forsaken,

This legend's body left above the ground.

No tales are writ in water, and no scar

Tells in to-morrow's grass where old walls were.

[25]

A FRESHMAN LOOKS
AT AGN ES SCOTT

Bet Patterson

Agnes Scott, you friendly sensible community
of brick and stone and wooden buildings with
life inside of you and all around, with something
real and important going on through you; I like
you.

You weren't always something real to me.
Three months ago you were only a dream, a
group of buildings one of which housed a swim-
ming pool and all of which were floating grace-
fully six feet off the ground with a convenient
little nebula hovering around your foundations.
Then you were an unknown thing to me, a quick
glowing eagerness and a lingering timid dread.
It had taken a long time to decide upon you as
the place to spend my next four years.

Not knowing where to go to school, I had
asked advice from a friend, who answered with
a set of questions:

"Where do you feel you could find that place
which would help you to become your highest
self? to stimulate you to growth in mind, body,
spirit relationships in such a way that you can
be a used person in the world? Where can you
be truly yourself? Where do you think you
could express your highest self in work, among
friends, in relationship to faculty, in looking out
on and understanding a desperate world?"

Agnes Scott, I knew that it would be presump-
tuous for any girl to enter college this year unless
she had that purpose of becoming a used person

in the world. Seeing all
the boys left without any
choice, I felt that I should
have to decide carefully,
that I should have to learn
a part of their share. I
chose you, Agnes Scott.

When I first came, I
liked you. I liked the
straightforward friendly
interested look of your
leaders, who seemed to
want to be used. I liked
the sensible way that people had of doing things
of signing a list to see a committee and then
leaving instead of waiting around in line all day,
of providing a junior sponsor or a sophomore
helper to pop up at just the right moments to
make us feel at ease in this new place, of having
a roommate already selected with a view to inter-
ests and backgrounds and selves.

I like your sense of the values of things, your
emphasis on intellect and faith and graciousness
and health. I like the challenge of you, Agnes
Scott, the way you trust a girl to do the honorable
thing, the way your teachers demand more work
than most of us had ever thought about before,
the way you expect a girl to be her highest self.

I like your faculty with its academic merit
balanced by its understanding interest, with its
rigid expectations strengthened by its happy
sense of humor. I like the gracious manner of
your dean, and I like the prayers of your presi-
dent. I like your willingness to change your
ways of doing things to meet real needs which
you must face today.

The friendships in the making here are full of
(Continued on Page 38)

[26]

A SENIOR LOOKS
AT AGNES SCOTT

Anne Ward

A Senior who tries to look objectively at Agnes
Scott is apt to find that she is attempting the im-
possible! She finds that Agnes Scott has given so
much of itself to her that she identifies Agnes
Scott with the particular things that it means
to her.

Perhaps, however, the best way to look at
Agnes Scott is introspectively. After all, the only
sure way one has of measuring the worth of a
school is by measuring what it is to oneself.
Seeing what it has made of other people,
alumnae and fellow students, can make us
realize to a large extent its worth; but, in the
final analysis, the test of one's own experience
is the ultimate standard by which the individual
can determine value.

As I look at Agnes Scott, (and I very frankly
admit that I look, not from an objective, but
from a personal viewpoint), the thing that im-
presses me most is that Agnes Scott is looking at
the world. As I look at Agnes Scott, it seems to
me that each year that I have been here her pro-
gram has become more closely related to the
needs of society outside the college campus.

Of course, the truth of the matter is not that
Agnes Scott has changed, but that I have changed.
Agnes Scott, as a liberal arts school, has always
had as its aim to equip the individual with those
skills and understanding, those attitudes, and
those appreciations which will enable the indi-

vidual to contribute most
to her community when
she leaves college. It has
been possible for me to
understand this aim only
in proportion as it has be-
come my own aim.

Because it is the or-
ganization that has given
most to me, the student
government association's
theme for the year, "To-
day's Agnes Scott Stu-
dent: Tomorrow's Citizen", expresses the spirit
that I see when I look at Agnes Scott. Agnes
Scott students look today at a world where a
fundamental selfishness and dishonesty are caus-
ing unfair practices such as the black market,
where a lack of discipline and self-control is
leading to a deluge of juvenile delinquency,
where bigotry and ignorant prejudice are en-
couraging religious and racial discrimination,
where inertia and apathy on the part of even the
intelligent citizens are nourishing corruption and
inefficiency in government. As today's Agnes
Scott students who are about to become tomor-
row's citizens, we are realizing that we must
build now, in specific college situations, those
habits of honesty, self-control, fair-mindedness,
and active interest in the needs of others which
will enable us to contribute most to Agnes Scott
now and to the communities in which we take
our places later.

Our Senior, Anne Ward, is President of Stu-
dent Government, member of Mortar Board and
the collegiate Who's Who. Our Freshman is the
sister of Pat Patterson, whose story "Mom" in
the January '43 Quarterly won such wide ac-
claim.

[27]

150 ATTEND AGNES SCOTT'S 13th ALUMNAE DAY

Good-Fellowship, the Keynote of the Day!

On Tuesday, No-
vember 9, approxi-
mately 150 Agnes
Scott Alumnae met
on the college cam-
pus for a quiet, in-
formal reunion. Due
to traveling restric-
tions and gas ra-
tioning, only local

Alumnae were contacted and the program closely
followed that of Alumnae Day last year.

Art Lecture, Exhibit
Registration began at 4:00 in Buttrick Hall
on the afternoon of November 9. At 5:30 Alum-
nae met in the Library lecture room to hear
Agnes Scott's new Art Director, Howard Thomas,
discuss the works of two outstanding Southern
artists Dr. Marion Souchon and Reuben Gam-
brell. After the lecture, Professor Thomas took
the group to the Library Art Gallery, where
paintings of these two artists were on exhibit.
Keynote of the lecture and gallery tour was in-
formality with the Alumnae asking many spon-
taneous questions and receiving interesting, stim-
ulating answers from Professor Thomas.

Dinner, Cafeteria Style
At 6:00 Alumnae and their escorts dined in
Rebekah Scott's new cafeteria as guests of the
college. Broiled halves of chicken, Georgia
yams, green beans, salad, and chocolate-date ice-
box pudding made a feast to remember espe-
cially in these rationing days. After dinner,
Alumnae adjourned to the Library, where coffee

was served around an open fire in the huge Li-
brary fireplace. This social hour, from 7 to 8,
was the highlight of Alumnae day.

Among those present were Dr. McCain, Miss
Scandrett, Miss McKinney, Miss Torrance, Dr.
Sweet, plus new Faculty and Administration
members, who were introduced to Alumnae, plus
members of classes from Academy days to the
present class of '43. Miss Margaret Ridley,
president of the Alumnae Association, poured
and 12 members of the Atlanta, Decatur and
Business Girls' Clubs served. Miss Hanley pro-
vided an interesting and up-to-date exhibit of the
newest books, which everyone enjoyed.

"The Next Act in Europe"
At 8:15 a warning bell rang and the Alumnae
hurried to Gaines Chapel in Presser Hall, where
the Lecture Association presented its first speaker
of the season distinguished, suave Henry C.
Wolfe, who had just returned from Europe.
Mr. Wolfe, author, international correspondent
and expert on foreign affairs, lectured on "The
Next Act in Europe." He discussed generals,
our boys, and the outlook of the war with an
informality and insight that delighted his au-
dience. After his lecture, Alumnae and student
body were introduced to Mr. Wolfe at a coffee
in Murphey Candler.

Alumnae Children

For the first time in Alumnae Reunion history,
Alumnae children were invited to attend Alumnae
Day. While mothers listened to the Art Lecture,
dined, and enjoyed the after-dinner coffee in the
Library, their children romped and played in
(Continued on Page 38)

[28]

WHY JOIN THE
ALUMNAE ASSOCIATION?

Here's the Answer
in a letter from our
President, himself!

JVgrtes Jicoii College
Sccatur, Cicorgta

OFFICE OF PRESIDENT

Agnes Scott Alumnae:

This question has just been asked: "Why should
those who have attended Agnes Scott join the Alumnae
Association?" I think I have never before tried to answer it

I suppose in normal times I would recite some of
the benefits which a member might receive, such as the
Quarterly, an invitation to the Alumnae luncheon, special
consideration as guests in the Alumnae House, and other
like privileges.

Just now, however, it seems to me that there is
something much more important than these personal benefits,
something more important than keeping in touch with Agnes
Scott and giving assistance to it. More than at any
previous time it is important that people with some degree
of culture and of high ideals unite their strength
so as to be of real assistance in the post-war planning
and in the building of a new world.

There are no more effective ways of uniting our
strength than through the various alumnae-alumni organiza-
tions of the strong colleges, which surely will be acting
together in the days ahead.

Just now, alumnae membership is significant in
this larger sense.

Cordially,

October 4, 1943

J. R. McCain,
President.

[29]

"In modern warfare, an advantageous position
is not a place where you stay, but a place from
which you got"

OUR SCORE IN THE
WAR TO DATE

Catherine Strateman Sims

Assistant professor of History, teacher of International
Relations, and advisor to Agnes Scott's International
Relations Club, reviews past Allied successes and set-
backs, brings you up to date in World War II.

There have been many depressing periods
since the European war began a little over four
years ago. There was the summer of 1940 when
Norway and Denmark, the Low Countries, and
France had been overcome, when the British
Army had been evacuated from Dunkerque, when
the Battle of Britain was at its height. Then for
the first time most Americans realized the true
nature of the struggle going on in Europe.

The late fall of 1941 saw first the steady re-
treat of the Russian armies, with Germany in
control of most of southern and central Europe,
followed by the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor
and the rapid fall of most of the bastions of Brit-
ish, American and Dutch strength in the Far East.

Yet in retrospect and in a larger view, the early
fall of 1942 was perhaps most dangerous of all
for the United Nations. At that time no percep-
tible dent had yet been made in Japanese strength
in the Far East and in the western theater of the
war the situation was indeed dismal. The Ger-
man armies were then pressing forward in their
second great offensive in Russia. All the Ukraine
had been overrun. A deep penetration had been
made in the region north of the Caucasus Moun-
tains. The epic battle of Stalingrad was at its

height. If the Russians had lost that battle, and
for many weeks it seemed that they might, the
consequences would have been at least threefold ;
first, the destruction of a considerable part of
Russia's military power; second, the cutting of
the southern route by which goods come to Russia
from her British and American allies, by way
of the Persian Gulf and Iran ; and third, the con-
quest by Germany of the entire Caucasian region
with its vast wealth of oil. At the same time Gen-
eral Rommel's Afrika Corps, one of the finest
military machines the war has produced, was
poised in the desert of North Africa, at El Ala-
mein, only 70 miles from the British naval base
of Alexandria. A Nazi conquest of Alexandria
would have assured Germany of complete domi-
nation of the Middle East, would have jeopard-
ized the southern supply route to Russia, and
would have endangered India from the west.
Never were the United Nations in greater danger
than at this period when Russia might have been
eliminated from the war, when Germany and
Japanese forces might have made a junction in
India.

In the year which has passed since then, the
story in the Far East has not been one of regain-
ing lost territory and bases but rather of secur-
ing the bases that still remained in the United
Nations' hands and developing new ones. We
have managed to hold the Japanese enemy within
a strong girdle of ships and planes and to prevent
him from making further conquests. We have
undertaken a few limited offensives to push him
back a little. Our own strength has increased
and Japan has suffered from a steady attrition
of her strength.

In Europe the action has been more dramatic
and decisive. We have moved from defensive to

[30]

offensive warfare. No one now speculates as to
where the German armies will strike next, but
rather as to where United Nations' invasion
forces will land. That is the measure of what the
last twelve months have done for us in the Euro-
pean theater.

Desperate as the situation was last year, even
as late as the first of November, the next few
weeks were to show that the darkest hour does not
come just before dawn, and by the end of Feb-
ruary, within 6 months, the military situation in
the western theater had altered greatly in our
favor.

The events which brought this change about
were, in chronological order, the successful Brit-
ish offensive at El Alamein which drove the Ger-
mans out of Egypt back into Libya; second, the
combined British and American landings in
French North Africa ; and third, the fact that the
Russians outdid themselves at Stalingrad and
held out until the approach of winter ended the
German offensive. It was on October 21 that the
first shots were fired in the British offensive in
Egypt, on November 10 that the landings began
in French North Africa, and by the end of No-
vember it was possible to say that the second
German offensive in Russia had failed. Stalin-
grad had not been captured and the German
armies were being expelled from the Caucasus
region.

At the time it seemed that the tide was turn-
ing with painful slowness and yet we can see now
that during the winter months of 1942-43 the
United Nations were steadily improving their
situation with regard to the Axis. This was true
in the Far East as well as in Europe, though on
a smaller scale. Early in August of 1942 our
first offensive of the Pacific war began with the

landings of United States' Marines on the island
of Guadalcanal in the Solomons, northeast of
Australia. The Guadalcanal campaign seemed
ill-fated in its first months, but after some of the
bitterest fighting the war has seen, we made good
our hold on Guadalcanal and the neighboring
island of Tulagi. Likewise, a limited but success-
ful offensive was conducted by Australian and
American forces on New Guinea, the large island
north of Australia.

By the end of February of this year, the net
result of all these campaigns, in Europe, Africa
and the Far East was this: The German armies
at Stalingrad had surrendered, the first time large
German forces had surrendered since the war
began. The Caucasus region had been entirely
cleared except for the Black Sea naval base of
Novorossick. The siege of Leningrad had
been broken and the strong German lines in the
Ukraine were being pierced. Germany, instead
of being established in the heart of European
Russia, was retreating until the spring thaw came
and brought Russian offensive operations to a
halt. In North Africa, Egypt and Libya were
entirely within our control, as were Morocco and
Algeria. The Afrikan Corps was bottled up in
Tunisia between American forces on the one side
and British forces on the other. To be sure it was
still struggling hard to break the bottle. In the
Far East, Japanese forces had been withdrawn
from Guadalcanal and the land campaign on
New Guinea at Buna-Gona was proceeding satis-
factorily and was soon to end.

In the spring the first large-scale attack direct-
ly against Germany herself began. Week after
week thousands of tons of bombs were dropped
on Germany and German-held territory. Ham-
burg, the seaport and naval base, Wilhelmshaven

[31]

and Nuremberg, Hamm and Essen, Duisburg,
Berlin itself, and many other places felt the
weight of mature British and American aerial
power. There were several naval and air battles
in the Pacific, all victorious to us, costly to both
sides but more so for Japan, since her power of
replacing lost ships and planes is inferior to our
own. Individually, these naval and air battles
may not have appeared so significant. But the
successive victories in the Coral Sea, at Midway,
in the Bismarck Sea, off Savo Island, and in the
Kula Gulf, to mention only some of them, may in
the future be recognized as marking the turning
point in the Pacific war.

By the first of June the Tunisian campaign was
over all Africa was in the control of the United
Nations. As we now know, the stage was being
set for what is happening in southern Italy today.
The results of the long struggle in Africa have
been several. First of all, the United Nations in-
flicted a decisive defeat on important German
forces, a famous German army. Good for our
morale and for the morale of conquered Europe;
bad for German morale. In the second place, we
secured a safe and short supply route by sea
through the Mediterranean and the Suez Canal,
not only to Russia and the Near East but to the
Far East, too. After Italy entered the war in the
summer of 1940, this route was for all practical
purposes closed. Convoys to India and Australia
went across the Pacific or by the Atlantic around
the coast of Africa. Convoys to Russia used ei-
ther the difficult and dangerous northern route to
Murmansk or the long southern route around
Africa into the Indian Ocean and the Persian
Gulf to Iran. The opening of the Mediterranean,
which was achieved with the successful conquest
of Tunisia, has thus automatically increased the
shipping at the disposal of the United Nations.

One ship can now make perhaps three round trips
in the time formerly occupied by one. Our sup-
ply lines have in some cases been shortened by
as much as 10,000 miles. And last, but certainly
not least, we acquired by the conquest of North
Africa a base for the invasion of Europe. Fur-
thermore, we established there well-trained, well-
equipped land, sea, and air forces ready for the
offensives of the future.

In addition to these concrete results of the
African campaigns, our efforts and those of the
countries which preceded us in the war have
brought about other favorable consequences. The
shipping shortage, though it will last in some
degree until the war is over, has ceased to be
acute, both because of the building program
here and because of improved defense measures
against submarines in the Atlantic. And, al-
though the victories of the United Nations have
been few in number in comparison with their de-
feats, they have, even in defeat, managed to
inflict damage on the Axis. There have been
millions of Axis casualties in Russia and hun-
dreds of thousands in North Africa. Thousands
of planes and tanks and guns have been de-
stroyed. The Japanese have lost relatively few
soldiers, but many thousands of tons of ship-
ping and thousands of planes. The day-by-day
reports in the newspapers sometimes are not par-
ticularly impressive. What do 150 dead Japanese
amount to when there are 70 million left? What
do 25 German planes amount to when German
factories may be producing three times that many
every day? But the accumulation of losses on
the one side when confronted with growing
strength on the other, will tip the scales. Every
summer since the war began some commentator
has spent a good deal of time proving that this
summer was the summer Germany had to win if

[32]

she were to win at all. But now it is obvious to
all that Germany had to win in 1942 at the latest.
When she failed to knock out the Red armies and
to destroy the British in Egypt, she lost her last
opportunity. For by the summer of 1943 the
potentially greater strength of the United Nations
had been mobilized.

What has happened this summer and this fall
has thus been made possible by the hard lessons
learned and the hard work done in the last four
years; the protection of the sea lanes in the At-
lantic by the British navy, the steady attrition of
German strength by the Russians, and Japanese
strength by our forces and the Chinese armies,
and finally, the enormous production of Amer-
ican factories, the conversion of this country
from peace to war.

Shortly after the end of the Tunisian campaign
several small Italian islands in the Mediter-
ranean were easily occupied, notable Pantelleria,
between North Africa and Sicily. Then early in
July, Sicily itself was invaded. The campaign
was short, about 38 days long. The defense of
the islands had been entrusted largely to Italian
forces who preferred not to fight, an encouraging
sign for the future. The conquest of Sicily meant
full protection for our supply route through the
Mediterranean and it also gave us a stepping
stone for the invasion of Italy. On September
3 the British Eighth Army crossed the narrow
straits of Messina from Sicily into Italy and not
long after the combined British and American
Fifth Army, under the command of General
Clark, landed at Salerno just south of Naples.
There has since been a junction of the Fifth and
parts of the Eighth armies on the western coast
of Italy. These combined forces have succeeded
in taking the city of Naples. They have pushed
beyond Naples, to a point some 90 miles south

of Rome. Meanwhile units of the British Eighth
Army have pushed up the eastern or Adriatic
coast of Italy. The result is that our combined
forces now hold a nearly straight line about 100
miles long across southern Italy from sea to sea.
The conquest of southern Italy is an accom-
plished fact.

We have then established our bridgehead on
the mainland of Europe. We have a funnel
through which men and supplies can be poured
for the offensives of the future. The port of
Naples, one of the finest in Europe, is large and
deep. It can harbor many ships and large ships.
The toilsome task of unloading from cargo ship
to lighter and from lighter to beach which was
necessary at Salerno will not be necessary for
the future. It is true that some damage has been
done to the port facilities of Naples. But we and
our British allies have had excellent experience
in dock repair and salvage work, beginning with
the clearing of the harbor of Massaua in the for-
mer Italian colony of Eritrea, through the raising
of the Normandie, and the clearing of the North
African harbors like Bengazi and Tripoli. Con-
servative reports indicate that the port of Naples
is now in partial use and will soon be in full use.
Among the most important of our recent gains,
in addition to Naples, is the town of Foggia in
south-central Italy. Foggia, the location of some
twelve or thirteen air fields, is within bombing
range of a large part of southern and central
Europe, from France to Rumania. The city of
Rome is the next objective of the Fifth and Eighth
Armies. The road is hard; progress has been,
and will probably continue to be, slow.

Meanwhile, the summer which saw the col-
lapse of Italian power in the Mediterranean also
saw a definite deterioration in Germany's posi-
tion in Russia. The Germans began their third

[33]

offensive of the war in Russia on July 5. By July
15 the strength of the drive had been spent and
the Russian counterattack began. By August 4,
barely a month after the heavy fighting started,
the Russians had taken Orel and Belgorod, the
two points from which the German attack had
come. Hitherto in 1941 and 1942 the Russians
had compelled to bow beneath the weight of the
German summer attacks. Their own offensives
had not come until winter. The fact that this has
not been the case this year is a good measure of
the strength of the Russian armies and the rela-
tive weakness of the German armies.

The break in the German lines which occurred
in the middle of August has steadily widened.
Cities which the Germans have held for over two
years have been recaptured. Rostov, Stalino,
Taganrog, Kharkov, Smolensk have been retaken.
The entire valley of the Donets River, Russia's
great industrial area, has been recovered. Novo-
rossisk, the Black Sea naval base, all that was
left to the Germans after the disastrous Caucas-
ian campaign of last year, has been taken. To-
day Russian armies have broken the German
defense line along the Dnieper River. They have
taken Dnieperopetrovsk and are pressing hard
at Kiev. They were among their earliest losses
to Germany in 1941. They have already entered
the province of White Russia. They are today
less than 90 miles from the border of Latvia and
not much farther from the pre- 1939 border of
Poland. In the South the route of escape from
the Crimea has been closed and Russian forces
are driving swiftly forward toward the mouth of
the Dnieper River. The German armies have al-
ready suffered a major disaster in Russia this
year. Others may be in store for them. It is in-
deed possible that the decisive blow against Ger-

many may be dealt along the eastern front and
not in western Europe.

Yet we know that additional offensives in the
West are being planned. It is not impossible that
landings may be made in Norway or Holland or
on the Atlantic coast of France, although that
seems unlikely for the present. It has been sug-
gested that forces operating from North Africa
may invade the Mediterranean coast of France.
That is perhaps made more likely by the fact
that the islands of Sardinia and Corsica have
been brought under our control. There is a strong
possibility that the Balkan peninsula may be in-
vaded from southern Italy. Certainly we control
both the sea and the air in that part of the world,
and can make landings wherever we choose. An
active fighting front is known to exist already in
Yugoslavia, where guerilla troops have never
stopped fighting Germany.

As the military situation has changed in our
favor, so has the political. Benito Mussolini was
forced from power in Italy on July 25. Whether
he is today dead or alive, it is clear that Italian
Fascism is dead. It is a system which feeds on
victory but has nothing to offer in time of defeat.
The government of Marshal Badoglio, which
succeeded Mussolini, surrendered to General Ei-
senhower on the day General Montgomery's
forces landed in Italy. The Italian fleet has been
turned over to us. And now Italy has officially
entered the war against Germany. On August,
neutral Sweden announced that the use of Swed-
ish railways for the transportation of German
troops to and from Norway was ended. When
Norway was overrun in 1940, the Swedish gov-
ernment found itself unable to deny German de-
mands for the use of Swedish railways. Their
assertion of independence at this time is a pretty
good indication of well-informed neutral opinion.

[34]

In August also, there was a revolt against the
Nazis in Denmark. The German commander was
forced to abolish the technically independent
Danish government and so ended what the Ger-
mans liked to call the "model protectorate." The
Finnish government has categorically announced
that it wishes to make peace with Russia on cer-
tain conditions. Mysterious events have happened
in Bulgaria. King Boris is dead, just how or when
no one knows, but it is suspected that he met his
death because he resisted German demands for
further aid from Bulgaria. The significance of
these events is that the German plan for the con-
quest of Europe always called for a large meas-
ure of collaboration from the conquered people
and from the neutrals. Today there is less col-
laboration than at any time since the war began.
These events are blows at the New Order. They
are straws in the wind, showing that the non-
German Europeans believe that Germany is los-
ing the war.

I wish it were possible to paint as bright a pic-
ture of the Far East. There we have made some
progress, but it has been very little compared
with what has happened in Europe. The Japanese
have been driven out of the two islands in the
Aleutians which they held for over a year. The
island of Attu was invaded in May and con-
quered in June. In August our troops landed on
the other of the two, Kiska, to find that the Jap-
anese had abandoned it. It is hardly true to say
that we have thus acquired the bases for a major
offensive against Japan. It is more true to say
that we have eliminated the danger of an attack
on Alaska and Canada from the Aleutians. In
the south Pacific the central Solomons were in-
vaded in June and by mid- August we were estab-
lished there. Of particular value is Munda
airport, only 425 miles from the great South

Pacific base of Rabaul. Now an invasion of the
northern Solomons is under way.

And we have just seen the completion of the
third campaign on New Guinea. The first was
fought a year ago to prevent the capture of Port
Moresby by the Japanese, and thus the southern
coast of the island was cleared. The second was
the Buna-Gona campaign of last winter. The third
campaign has resulted in the capture of Lae,
Salamaua and Finschhafen. There will probably
be more fighting on New Guinea, but the worst
seems to be over. And whereas the defense of
Port Moresby last year was motivated by fears
for the safety of Australia, the campaigns at
Buna-Gona, Lae, Salamaua and Finschhafen
were intended to clear the island so that we may
use it, together with the Solomons, as a base for
operations against Rabaul. In addition to these
limited land offensives we have been able to in-
crease our aerial offensive against Japan. The
Marcus Islands, 1,200 miles from Tokyo, have
been heavily bombed recently. There have been
frequent raids over Burma and portions of Oc-
cupied China and a few in the East Indies. At
least twice within the last year, Paramushiro, the
great naval base in the Kurile Islands north of
the Japanese homeland, has been attacked. In
the middle of October a very heavy raid was con-
ducted against Rabaul, on New Britain, perhaps
the next objective in the South Pacific.

Probably the most significant recent news
about the Far Eastern war is the appointment of
Vice-Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten as su-
preme commander in Southeast Asia. This is
believed to herald the long-awaited sea, land
and air offensive against Burma. The reconquest
of Burma is an absolute essential if China is to
be relieved and the way opened for a vast offen-

[35]

sive from China against the Japanese homeland.
We may reasonably expect the beginning of these
operations sometime within the next six months.
The surrender of Italy and the consequent release
of portions of the British and American fleets
for use in the Pacific will materially advance
the beginning of operations in southeast Asia,
as will the opening of the short supply route
through the Mediterranean.

Our Far Eastern effort, in other words, is still
in the preparatory stage. That is easy to under-
stand because the plan laid down for victory over
the Axis calls for the defeat of Germany first.
The strategic soundness of this plan can no longer
be doubted. It is obviously true that vigorous
prosecution of the war in Europe is the best way
to strengthen our position in the Far East.

A short time ago the Secretary of the Treasury,
Mr. Morgenthau, made a bond-selling talk over
the radio in which he asked why we allowed our-
selves to indulge in this "childish and foolish
optimism." Some people were rather irritated
at what he said, but he was telling the unpleasant
truth. The day after the surrender of Italy was
announced, one congressman was quoted in the
newspapers as saying that there was now no need
to impose higher taxes, and another one as saying
that there was now certainly no need to extend
the draft for the armed services. Just a few days
after these optimistic gentlemen assured us that
the war was "in the bag" the Fifth Army at Sa-
lerno was struggling desperately to keep its
bridgehead. It was in imminent danger of being
driven into the sea. The early surrender of Italy
does not mean that the war against Germany is
at an end. Anything is possible, and the Ger-
mans may lay down their arms next week. But
the odds are heavily against it. It is almost cer-
tain that they will give ground in Italy slowly,

fighting the hardest kind of delaying action until
they reach the valley of the Po River in the
north, where they will probably make their last
stand. When Italy is conquered, there still re-
main Norway and Denmark, the Low Countries
and France, Central Europe and the Balkans.
When the last war ended in November, 1918, the
Allied High Command had already laid its plans
for an offensive in the spring of 1919. It is in
that spirit that we must proceed now. Our cas-
ualties may be heavier in the next few months
than they have been for the whole war up to now.
Certainly there will be a heavier drain on all
kinds of equipment and supplies (including gas-
oline) than ever before. Other invasions with
their heavy toll of men and shipping will be nec-
essary before final victory can be achieved in
Europe.

When Germany has been defeated there is still
Japan. In the Far East a tough war is certainly
ahead for us, even if it should not be as long
a one as some people fear. We have enormous
distance to go in the Pacific, and, as Vice-Ad-
miral told us recently, on the other hand, we
have to build bases from the group up as we
advance. The Japanese plan in joining with Ger-
many and Italy was that the Western Powers
would either lose the war against Germany and
Italy or be so exhausted in winning it that they
would have no strength to continue the war in
the Far East. The loss of Italy from the Axis and
the weakening of Germany on the Mediterranean
and Russian fronts now present to Japan the
prospect of a great combination against her
alone, a combination which would outnumber her
in men, ships, planes, artillery, tanks and every
other conveivable category of war material. To
defeat Japan it is necessary that the combination

(Continued on Page 58)

[36]

SOME PRETTY PLAIN TALK...

From an Old Maid Aunt ,

TO ALL AGNES SCOTT ALUMNAE:

y^ Did you know that out of some 7,500 Agnes Scott Alumnae, only
600 pay their Alumnae dues regularly?

^ Did you know that your Alumnae Association is still forced to
accept financial support from the College to keep going?

~jr Did you know that if only 3,000 Alumnae paid their yearly dues,
we could become an independent organization?

With this special edition of the Alumnae Quarterly, we open our 1943-44 drive for paid members
in the Alumnae Association. Your dues of $2.00 annually or $50.00 life membership go toward
the upkeep of the Alumnae House and Tearoom (our main contact with students on the campus
tomorrow's Alumnae), and bring you four issues of the Alumnae Quarterly each year (your main
contact with classmates and college news). Your degree from Agnes Scott gives you definite prestige
in the business world and in your community. Show your loyalty and appreciation by becoming an
active supporter of Agnes Scott through the Alumnae Associataion!

We realize of course that there is a war going on . . . that many of you are busier than ever
before. But one of the things we are fighting for is the privilege of a higher education. The reputa-
tion of Agnes Scott and of all colleges and universities rests with the Alumni and Alumnae . . . what
they do after graduation, how well they impart to others the ideals of the institution which they at-
tended. Here is your chance to become an active member in the educational movement which is plan-
ning now, for the new world after the war. Join your Alumnae Association today!

Remember no one else can take your place!

Sincerely,

Your Aunt Agnes.

r

Agnes Scott Alumnae House, Decatur, Georgia.

I want to join the Agnes Scott Alumnae Association, and herewith enclose $2.00 ( )
for my '43 - '44 dues or $50 ( ) for a life membership.

Name.

.CI

ass_

Add

ress_

L__.

Check Enclosed ( ) Money Order Enclosed ( )

Make All Checks Payable to the Agnes Scott Alumnae Association.

[37]

j Watch For The February 1st

"Foreign Correspondents' Issue"

Of Your Alumnae Quarterly!

It will contain reports from Agnes Scott Alumnae
all over the world . . . China, Africa, Canada, the

150 Attend . . .

(Continued from Page 28)

White House under the supervision of twenty-
five members of the Agnes Scott Granddaughters'
Club, headed by Betty Pope Scott, '44. Alumnae
Children also ate at tables set aside for them in
Rebekah Scott dining hall. From 7 to 8 they
were taken on a tour of the campus, including
a survey of roller skating in the gymnasium,
which is a feature of Tuesday nights. Betty
reports a good time by all especially by the
Granddaughters. And the entertainment of
Alumnae Children will probably become a regu-
lar part of Alumnae Day.

Committees for Alumnae Day
Credit for the success of Alumnae Day goes

A Freshman Looks . . .

(Continued from Page 26)

joy for me. The midnight feasts, the bull ses-
sions, the craziness of folks are all a part of you.
There's nothing longer strange in you, and I
know that I belong with you, dashing for your
mailroom, peering at your bulletin board, stand-
ing in your breadline, singing at your vespers,
digging at your lessons. I'm sore from doing
sit-ups and tired from reading great English

[38]

Canal Zone. You'll get a new slant on our
neighboring countries and a global education
in one magazine!

If you haven't already paid your '43-'44 dues,
send them in now! Don't miss this exciting ad-
venture-packed issue! (See p. 37 for coupon.)

to Miss Scandrett, who planned, with Margaret
Ridley, the events of the day; to Mr. Thomas
for an illuminating lecture, to Miss Hanley for
her help in the after-dinner coffee; to Mrs. J. B.
Bunnell and Mrs. Ewing G. Harris, Alumnae
House resident hostesses; to Miss Harriss, Die-
tician, for her tempting dinner; to members of
the Granddaughters' Club; to Mrs. Bonner
Spearman, president of the Agnes Scott Club in
Atlanta, for her artistic flower arrangements; to
Mrs. J. C. Sylvester, president of the Decatur
Agnes Scott Club; to Miss Elizabeth Nicolassen,
past-president of the Agnes Scott Business Girls'
Club, and to their telephone committees who
brought out such splendid attendance. It is
hoped that after the war, our more elaborate
Alumnae week-ends will be continued. In the
meantime, that is just one more thing to keep on
fighting for, to keep on buying war bonds for!

literature in a hurry, but I'm happily sore and
glowingly tired, for I'm discovering things and
I think I'm on the way to beginning to learn how
to be a used person.

You aren't perfect, Agnes Scott, but your
foundations are steady and sure. Your room
for improvement is chiefly a matter of growth
not of fundamental change. Your ideals are
high, and it seems to me that you are tending
toward them. I appreciate your past; I believe
in your future; I like your present.

Give Magazines for
Christmas! for New Year's!

Order Them Through the Alumnae Office,
Personal Attention to Each Subscription!

Why buy your magazines through an agent or other
channel when you can buy them at the same prices
from your Alumnae Office and contribute to the
Alumnae Budget at the same time! Below is a partial
list of the most popular magazines which we carry
. . . with their lowest accepted prices, Special Group
Rates and Club Prices. Actually we have some 2,500
periodicals from which you may choose. If the maga-
sine you want is not listed here write the Alumnae
Office for current rates. As Authorized Agents we can
Dffer you the same prices of any other authorized
magazine agent. Check the list below and send us your
arder today! Special Points to Remember:

it Any orders you send us are accepted at the
the lowest rates in effect at the time. But all
prices are subject to publisher's changes.

* MAGAZINES IN ANY COMBINATION OFFER
MAY BE SENT TO EITHER THE SAME AD-
DRESS OR EACH TO SEPARATE AD-
DRESSES EXCEPT WHERE OTHERWISE
STATED.

it Appropriate gift cards for Christmas, birthdays
and other occasions will be sent on request to
recipients.

it Publishers require from two to three weeks to fill
orders sent in during busy December and Janu-
ary months. If your order is too late for the
magazine itself to arrive at Christmas or New
Year's let the publisher's holiday gift-cards an-
nounce the coming gift!

it "Club Prices" mean a special rate is offered
when two or more subscriptions of the same
magazine are ordered.

if Abbreviations: M means monthly, W published
weekly, S-M semi-monthly, Q quarterly, etc.

Add lor
Publ'a Can- For- Pan-

MAGAZINES Price ada elgn Amer.

American Girl m. 2.00 .60

1.20

2 years M. 3.00 1.80

3 years M. 4.00

American Girl

with Boy's Life 3.25

with Child Life 3.75

with Etude Music Mag 3.50

with Open Road for Boys 2.90

with Parents' Mag 3.25

with Reader's DJgeat 4.00

American Home M. 1.50 1.00

2 years M. 2.25 2.00

3 years M. 3.00 3.00

Two 1-year gift subscriptions,

(one donar) 2.50

Three or more 1-year gifts

(one donor) each 1.00

American Magazine M. 2.50 .50 1.00

2 years M. 4.00 1.00 2.00

3 years M. 6.00 1.50 3.00

American Magazine, special late for U. S. Armed Forces. To

Military address. 1 year only W. 2.00

American Magazine (* To one address)

* with Collier's W. 4.75

* with Collier's and Woman's

Home Companion 6.00

* with Woman's Home Companion 3.50

American Mercury M. 3.00 .50 1.00

2 years M. 5.00 1.00 2.00

3 years M. 7.00 1.50 3.00

American Mercury, special rate for U. S. Armed Forces. To Military

address. 1 year only 2.00

American Mercury

with Reader's Digest 5.00

Antiques Magazine (Club Price 4.75) M. 5.00 1.00 1.00

2 years M. 8.00 2.00 2.00

3 years M. 11.00 3.00 3.00

Atlantic Monthly (Club Price 3.75) __M. 5.00 1.00

(Current Renewal) M. 4.00 1.00

2 years M. 8.00 2.00

3 years M. 12.00 3.00

Atlantic Monthly, special rate for U. S. Armed Forces. To Military

address. 1 year only 2.50

Atlantic Monthly

with Asia 6.50

with Harper's Magazine 7.00

with Nation 7.50

with New Republic 7.00

with Reader's Digest 6.00

Better Homes and Gardens M. 1.50 1.00

2 years M. 2.50 2.00

3 years M. 3.00 3.00

Better Homes and Gardens

New De Luxe Cook Book 1 copy 2.00

Boys' Life, for All Boys M. 2.00 .75

2 years M. 3.50 1.50

3 years M. 4.56 2.25

Boy's Life

with American Girl 3.25

with Child Life 4.00

with Nature 4.00

with Parent's Magazine 3.25

with Popular Mechanics 4.00

Camera M. 3.00 .50 1.00

Child Life (Club Price, 2.25) M. 2.50 .25 .50 .50

2 years M. 4.00 .50 1.00 1.00

3 years M. 5.00 .75 1.50 1.50

Child Life

with Parent's Magazine 3.50

with Popular Mechanics 4.50

with Reader's Digest 4.50

Christian Herald (Club Price 1.75) M. 2.00 .50 1.00 1.00

2 years M. 3.00 1.00 2.00 2.00

3 years M. 4.00 1.50 3.00 3.00

Collier's Weekly W. 3.00 3.50

2 years W. 5.00 7.00

3 years W. 7.00 10.50

Collier's Weekly, special rate for U. S. Armed Forces. To Military

address. 1 year only W. 2.00

[]

Add for

Publ's Can- For- Pan-
MAGAZINES Price ada elgn Amer.

Collier's Weekly (* To one address.)

with American Magazine 4.75

with American and Woman's

Home Companion 6.00

with Woman's Home Companion 4.00

Coronet M. 3.00 1.00

2 years M. 5.00 2.00

3 years M. 7.50 3.00

Coronet, special rate for U. S. Armed Forces. To Military address.

1 year only 1.50

Esquire, The Magazine for Men M. 5.00 .50 2.50

6 mos. subs M. 3.00 .25 1.25

2 years M. 8.00 1.00 5.00

3 years M. 10.00 1.50 7.50

Esquire, special rate for U. S. Armed Forces. To Military address.

1 year only M. 3.50

Etude Music Magazine

(Club Price 2.25) M. 2.50 .25 1.00

2 years M. 4.00 .50 2.00

3 years M. 6.00 .75 3.00

Etude Music Magazine

with Parents' Magazine 3.75

with Popular Mechanics 4.50

with Readers' Digest 5.25

with Child Life 4.25

Financial World W. 15.00

(Incl. 12 monthly Stock Manuals with Ratings and Statistics on
1,600 stocks. 3 weeks' trial offer for NEW subscribers
only W. 1.00

Fortune The Magazine of

Management M. 10.00 2.00 2.00

2 years M. 17.00 4.00 4.00

3 years M. 24.00 6.00 6.00

(Subscriptions start with current Issue)

Current Issue 1.00

Fortune, special rate to U. S. Armed Forces. To Military address.
1 year only M. 6.00

Glamour of Hollywood M. 1.50 .25 .50

2 years M. 2.50

Good Housekeeping

(May not be clubbed) M. 3.00 .50 2.00 1.00

2 years M. 5.00 1.00 4.00 2.00

3 years M. 7.00 1.50 6.00 3.00

Harper's Bazaar

(May not be clubbed) M. 5.00 .50 2.00 1.00

2 years M. 7.50 1.00 4.00 2.00

3 years M. 10.00 1.50 6.00 3.00

Harper's Magazine (Club Price 3.75) M. 4.00 1.00 1.00

2 years M. 7.00 2.00 2.00

3 years M. 10.00 3.00 3.00

House and Garden M. 4.00 .50

2 years M. 5.00 1.00

Hygeia, The Health Magazine M. 2.50 .50 .75

2 years M. 4.00 1.00 1.50

3 years M. 6.00 1.50 2.25

Jack and Jill

(for Children up to 10 years) ___M. 2.50 .50 .50 .50

2 years In U. S. and

Poss. only M. 4.00

2 or more subs, for Schools or

Libraries 2.00

Jack and Jill

(* To one address in U. S. and Poss. only)

* with Saturday Evening Post 5.00

* with Ladies' Home Journal and
Saturday Evening Post 7.00

* with Ladies' Home Journal.. 4.00

Ladies' Home Journal

(In U. S. and Poss. and Pan-America)

3 years M. 4.00

2 years M. 3.00

1 year M. 2.00

Ladles' Home Journal

( 1 year only In all other

foreign countries) M. 3.00

( No reduction for long term foreign subs.)
Ladies' Home Journal, special rate for U. S. Armed Forces. To

Military address. 1 year only M. 1.50
Ladles' Home Journal ( to one address)

* with Saturday Evening Post

(in U.S. and Poss. and Pan-Amer.) 4.50

* with Jack and Jill

(U. S. and Poss. only) 4.00

* with Saturday Evening Post and Jack and Jill
(in U. S. and Poss. only) 7.00

Add for

Publ's Can- For- Pan
MAGAZINES Price ada eign Ame

Liberty W. 3.50 2.00 l.C

2 years W. 6.00 4.00 2.C

Life, The News Mag. of Pictures W. 4.50 1.00 5.50 Li

2 years W. 9.00 2.00 11.00 3.(

3 years W. 13.50 3.00 16.50 4.E

Life, special rate for U. S. Armed

Forces. To Military address,

1 year only W. 3.50

Mademoiselle M. 2.50 1.00 2.50 1.:

2 years M. 4.00 2.00 5.00 2.!

McCall's Magazine M 1.50 1.00 .!

2 years M. 2.40 2.00 M

3 years M. 3.00 * 3.00 1.1

Add 10 cent3 to Publ's Price for

Canadian subscription.
McCall's and Redbook (to one addr.) M. 2.60 1.00 2.00 1.1

Motor Boating (May not be clubbed) _M. 3.00 .50 1.00 l.i

2 years M. 4.50 1.00 2.00 2.1

Nature Magazine

(Club Price, 2.75) 10 Nos 3.00 .75

Nature Magazine

with Boys' Life 4.00

with Etude 4.75

with Parents' Mogazlne 4.50

New Republic (Club Price 4.50) W. 5.00 1.00 1.00

New Republic

with Atlantic Monthly 7.00

with Harper's Magazine 7.00

Newsweek W. 5.00

2 years W. 7.50

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[56]

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AGNES SCOTT ALUMNAE ASSOCIATION

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[57]

Our Score to Date

(Continued from Page 36)

continue to exist. The stronger and the more
united it is, the sooner will victory come in the
Far East.

An accurate and realistic estimate of the cur-
rent situation requires one to say that the United
Nations are today in an advantageous position
on all fronts. Yet accuracy and realism also re-
quire this word of warning: In modern warfare,
an advantageous position is not a place where
you stay but a place from which you go.

Book Review

(Continued from Page 23)
opposing this love, and his father's fostering it.

Marquand has dared to be simple. For that
reason, I call this his most ambitious novel to
date. One has a sense of the author's trying by
the sweat of his brow to avoid the sophistication

which has been the breath of life of his othei
novels. In this effort of his, I would say that as
far as the main line of action is concerned, he is
successful in conveying a straight, unspoilec
emotion. However, since it is not his natura
mode of expression there is a flatness about I
that has not appeared in his earlier books. Il
does not spoil the novel. The effect is rathei
moving, a flat, hard honesty of approach.

Compliments of

Sherwin-Williams Paint

n

[58]

HAVE YOU A

New Husband?-
New Job?

New Baby?

New Address?.

If so, won't you please let your Alumnae Office
have this information at once? We want to keep
your name in the Quarterly Class News so that all
your friends will know where you are and what you
are doing. If you are uncertain about your present
address, send us your home or permanent address
so that each issue of the Quarterly will reach you!

AGNES SCOTT

ALUMNAE QUARTERLY

FOREIGN CORRESPONDENTS' ISSUE

E B R C A It Y

19 4 4

IF YOUR ALUMNAE DUES ARE ABOUTTO EXPIRE...

You will find attached to this Quarterly a notice to that effect. This advance
warning gives you one month in which to renew your dues ($2 for 12 months)
and to reserve your copy of the next Alumnae Quarterly, April 30 CAREER
ISSUE.

From now on all subscribers will be notified of expiration of dues one Quarterly
in advance. Also, all new or renewed subscribers will be mailed DUE CARDS
announcing the receipt of their dues and the expiration date. (e.g. Your dues of
$2.00 have been received today, March 1, 1944. They will expire next March
1, 1945.)

Save your DUE CARD and save yourself worry later on! Keep us informed
of any change in your address!

OFFICERS, COMMITTEE CHAIRMEN AND TRUSTEES OF

Margaret Ridley, 1933
President

Susan Shadburn Watkins, 1926
First Vice-President

Cama Burgess Clarkson, 1922
Second Vice-President

Ida Lois McDaniel, 1935
Secretary

Frances McCalla, 1935
Treasurer

Jane Guthrie Rhodes, 1938
Executive Secretary

Jean Bailey Owen, 1939
Radio

Emma Pope Dieckmann, 1913
Newspaper Publicity

Penelope Brown Barnett, 1932
Alumnae Trustee

Annie Pope Bryan Scott, 1915
Tearoom

Eugenia Symms, 1936
Grounds

Kitty Woltz Green, 1933
Second Floor

EDITORIAL BOARD

THE ALUMNAE ASSOCIATION

Lucy Johnson Ozmer, ex-1910
Constitution and By-Laws

Julia Smith Slack, ex-1912
Student Loan

Mary Warren Read, 1929
House Decorations

Virginia Heard Feder, 1933
Alumnae Week-End

Isabel Leonard Spearman, ex-1929
Entertainment

Francis Winship Walters, Inst.
Alumnae Trustee

Jane Guthhil Rhodes, 1938, Editor

Professor Howard Thomas, Art Editoi

Published four times a year (November, February, April and July) by the Alumnae Association of Agnes Scoti
College at Decatur, Georgia. Yearly subscription, $2.00. Single copies, 25 cents. Entered as second-class matter at tht
Post Office of Decatur, Georgia, under the Act of August 24, 1912.

Vol. XXII

Craned ^cott ^fiumnae \o(uarterlu

February 29 "Foreign Correspondent" Issue

No. 2

CONTENTS

reports from page
TOKYO, Isabel McCain Brown 5

GERMANY, Inge Probstein 9

HAWAII, Barbara Frink 11

CANAL ZONE, Elizabeth Roark Ellington 15

PEARL HARBOR, Bryant Holsenbeck

Moore 17

AUSTRALIA, Mary Anne Derry 19

CANADA, Glenwyn Young Bell 21

BRAZIL, Bille Davis Nelson 23

INDIA, Emmie Ficklen Harper 27

BELGIUM, Paule Triest 31

CHINA, Nell Allison Sheldon 35

PUERTO RICO, Yolanda Bernabe 43

LONDON, Eliza King 49

KOREA, Emily Winn 51

articles of interest

DR. McCAIN'S FOUNDER'S DAY
MESSAGE 47

PROFILE OF MISS MACDOUGALL 61

WILL YOUR CHILD BE DELINQUENT?
Emily S. Dexter 57

CAMPUS CARROUSEL 3

SPRING CALENDAR 2

THE CLASSES 65

SPRING CALENDAR

MARCH

1 Exhibit of Faculty Publications, Library. Lamar Dodd
Exhibition, paintings and drawings, Art Gallery, Library

2 Exhibition Badminton Match, Atlanta Athletic Club
players, Gymnasium

3 Brown Jug Basketball Tournament, Gymnasium

4 Dr. Kenneth J. Foreman, Davidson College, Chapel
speaker for Religious Emphasis Week

5 "The Bat," Philadelphia Opera Company, City Audi-
torium

6 Music Appreciation Hour, Presser Hall

8 Exhibit, Vocational Guidance on Librarianship, Library

9 Exams begin!

15 Last day to see Lamar Dodd Exhibition

16 to 21 Spring Vacation!

21 Watercolor Exhibit, Gregory D. Ivy and Mary Leath
Stewart, Art Gallery, Library

25 Exhibit of Chinese books, pictures, poetry, Library

27 Sophomore Musical for War Fund Drive, Maclean
Chapel

29 Ballet Theater, City Auditorium

APRIL

1 Exhibit, Opportunities for Women in Social Work,
Library

3 Hugh Hodgson, Music Appreciation Hour, Presser Hall

4 Carroll Glenn, American Violinist, Women's Club,
Auditorium

12 Oscar Levant, City Auditorium

THE CAMPUS CARROUSEL

THIS IS SPRING at Agnes Scott . . . white
pear trees rising into the sky, white bridal
wreath by Inman, white hyacinths blooming in
Dr. McCain's doorway . . . the pale pink of
peach blossoms near the Infirmary, the flaming
pink of Quince behind Science Hall, the dusky
jink of the camellias on Miss Scandrett's desk
, . the tender green of tree ferns after a rain,
the slick black of the tree trunks, the bright
unbelievable green of the grass, with jonquils
strewn like yellow stars through it . . . the gold
oi the forsythia along the Stukes' picket fence,
the red-gold of the fat lazy gold-fish in Alumnae
Pool . . . the sound of rain falling on the
library roof, rain mixed with the calls of
warblers, wax-wings and wild-canaries . . . the
smell of rain . . . and of wind and damp
;arth, the lingering sweetness of Christmas
ioneysuckle. . . . These are the colors and
sounds and fragrances of Spring returning to
\gnes Scott. It is a spring you can never forget.

VMS IS WAR at Agnes Scott ... the drive
or junk jewelry staged by the War Council,
he second waste paper roundup that netted
iround 5000 pounds . . . the "Junior Joint" that
idded $100 to the War Fund ... the Freshman
>hoe Shop, the IRC Fireside Chats, the Senior
bridge Benefit, the Sophomore Musical all
>riginated for the same cause. War Council
^ilms Desert Victory and The Pilot Is Safe
it Maclean Auditorium. The minor "battles"
raged recently by students against (1) the
resent nominating system, and (2) the present
rganization of Student Government. After
nany stormy chapel sessions, No. 1 stayed the

same, No. 2 submitted to a general reshuffling
of duties and qualifications the most impor-
tant change being, perhaps, a separation of the
executive and judicial branches of the organi-
zation. War casualties the Founder's Day
Dinner, the Minuet, the Junior Banquet.

PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT Miss

Lewis' nephew, Lt. Hugh Barr Miller, who lived
for 43 days on cocoanuts and water on a Jap-
held island, whose extraordinary deeds have
won him the Purple Heart, the Gold Star and
the Navy Medal . . . about Miss Sydenstricker's
return to the campus last week for a round of
teas and dinner-parties . . . about Freshman
Bet Patterson (see p. 26 November Quarterly)
who outspelled professors and classmates in the
recent faculty- student spelling bee . . . about
our new May Queen, Robin (Taylor) Horneffer
of Atlanta . . . about Tommie Huie's ('44)
May Day Senario The Making of the Rain-
bow . . . about Miss Hanley's collection of
foreign coppers, given to the Library by Dr.
Sweet . . . about Miss Wilburn's new course in
Recreational Leadership . . . about the enthusi-
astic approval of Miss Cilley's new textbook
A First Portuguese Reader and Mrs. Dunstan's
timely translation of Pena's History of Mexican
Literature . . . about the retirement of Ella
Carey after 30 years of faithfully announcing
your "Comp'ny in de pahlor" . . . about Louise
the cook, whose chocolate fudge cake is making
tearoom history.

SO YOU LIKED YOUR November issue of
the A lun nae Quarterly! We of the editorial and

[3]

art staffs say thank you for the deluge of letters,
telephone calls and dues still pouring in. Thank
you for showing us what kind of Quarterly you
want . . . for helping us make it a magazine you
will pass on with pride to friends, neighbors and
(incidentally) future Hottentots!

SO YOU CAN'T TRAVEL again this year.
So what! This issue of the Quarterly takes you
around the globe in an afternoon ... to India,
China, Japan ... to Brazil, Hawaii . . . even
to Germany. You'll visit all the countries you've
wanted to see through the eyes of Alumnae
who have recently returned or are living there
now! Don't expect our "Foreign Correspond-
ents" to talk about the war. Do expect them to
discuss the quaint customs, the beautiful scenery,
the admirable traits of these good-neighbors
who are working with us to end the war.

BY THE WAY . . . your cover artist for this

issue of the Quarterly is Joan Crangle, '48 froi
Florida. Other Quarterly illustrations are I
students in Art 150. Professor Howard Thoma
of course, is responsible for our super-smoo
make-up!

COMING APRIL 30 . . . Alumnae Quarterly
much talked-of CAREER ISSUE, filled with tl
success stories of famous Hottentots. Author
artists, editors, musicians, entertainers, hom
makers! Read how these Agnes Scott care<
girls climbed to the top. If your dues are pai
your copy is reserved.

AND DON'T FORGET . . . Alumnae Off*
is still magazine subscription headquarters f<
more than 2,500 of the country's leading pei
odicals. We can handle your new, gift <
renewal subscriptions at lowest authorized rate
So send us your orders. We need the busines

The Editor.

[4]

ASSIGNMENT TO TOKYO

Home.

Isabel McCain Brown, '37

America doesn't know the meaning of sacrifice decides
President McCain's daughter, Isabel, after 6 months
in Tokyo where she and her husband were sent to study
the language and customs of Japan. She writes here of
Japanese thrift, psychology and stoic endurance.

One last piece of advice," said our friends,
lalf seriously, half jokingly, the night before
ive landed in Japan. "Be sure to write your
x>ok on Japan before you have been here more

lan six months."

'Why in the world?" I asked half jokingly,
;oo. "That is, if I should decide to write a book
in Japan. Surely I ought to wait till the end
)f our first missionary term anyway."

'Oh, no," they replied. "After six months
fou begin to realize how much you don't know
ibout Japan!" And then more seriously, "Be-
ides, the first clear impressions you get of the
ountry will begin to get 'fuzzy' about then, and
he sharp lines in the pictures will blur."

We did stay in Japan only six months and a
lay; so I have all the advantages of that point
)f view and the disadvantages. It is true that
ome pictures of Japan are still clear and sharp
n my mind. I can never forget the first ones.

Our introduction to Japan really came before
hese first pictures, I suppose, for we sailed on
i Japanese boat, the Hie Maru. On it we be-

came accustomed gradually to Japanese stewards
and officers, and some missionary friends taught
us (or tried to) a few words. We even tried
Japanese food several times. A "first-timer"
like ourselves told us with an air of superior
wisdom that one unguessed item in some soup
was seaweed. It was like paper dry and taste-
less to me. "I was just joking," she confided
later to me," and was I surprised when one
missionary told me afterward that it really was
seaweed!"

Even with this introduction, however, we
faced with a little awe the prospect of seeing for
the first time the land where my husband and I
expected to spend most of the rest of our lives.
Our first glimpse was early in the morning, Sep-
tember 14, 1940. We were awakened about
4:30 a. m., as health and immigration officers
were to inspect us and our passports early. We
climbed up to the port hole of our cabin, and
looked out on the harbor of Yokohama. At first
we could see nothing in the thick mist. Grad-
ually the shapes of many ships, of many na-
tions, and all kinds, became visible. There was
one old sailing vessel, and some of the little
Japanese fishing boats with their big sails, be-
sides all kinds of freighters, tankers, and pas-
senger ships. The mist gave a quality of un-
reality to it all. And then the sun began to rise!
It was a great scarlet ball of fire just as it is

[5]

pictured on the Japanese flag rising slowly
through the mist. My husband and I looked at
each other. We had finally arrived at the "land
of the rising sun!"

As soon as possible we went up on deck for
our first glimpse of our new land. The ship
had pulled closer to the docks, and already we
could hear the click, clack, clickety, clack of
the wooden sandals on the cement docks. It is
the most characteristic sound of Japan I think,
and was a constant refrain through our six
months' stay. Wooden shoes clicking on our
half-paved street in Tokyo, wooden shoes click-
ing on the railroad platforms, and across the
wooden bridges. Wooden sandals with thick
wedges in rainy weather, and with decorated
toe protectors. Beautifully lacquered wooden
sandals, and ordinary sixty sen kind.

After we marvelled at the noise of the shoes,
we marvelled at the costumes of the people on
the docks, and we continued to marvel. Any
mixture is permissible. The East really meets
the West here. Some of the men on the docks
had on kimono, but I think they all wore Amer-
ican style hats, and many carried American style
umbrellas. Some had on western clothes entire-
ly or clothes somewhat similar in style (with-
out the style) "Japanized" American clothes.
American clothes are not really becoming to
most Japanese, however, because of their short,
rather stocky figure. The kimono is truly flat-
tering.

I was amazed at how becoming the kimono
was to the men. "How sissy they would look!"
I had thought. But I'll never forget one six-foot
giant ("giant" comparatively, in Japan) who
swept out of one of the railroad cars with flow-
ing robes. They added at least a foot to his
height, and a world of dignity.

And it is certainly flattering to the women,
There was one young woman on the docks wh<
made a beautiful picture. She had on a viole
shaded kimono that brought out all kinds o:
tints in her lustrous black hair. Her feature
were sculptured, and her complexion perfect
The flow of her kimono gave a liquid grace t<
her movements; so that she had poise even 01
her wooden shoes. (I still wonder how. I coul
barely hobble in the things myself. They d(
account for a sort of characteristic shuffle in th>
Japanese "gait.")

Many even of the women on the docks, how
ever, had on dresses more or less like ours, too
Almost all the women in business, industry, oi
professions (and more and more are enterinj
this type of work because of the war) wear thi
kind of dress. It would be hard to imagine z
stenographer typing in flowing kimono sleeves
or a factory worker operating a machine in one
Most of the men and the women, however, relaj
in the kimono at home.

And in the country towns and villages the
old-fashioned kimono is still the rule. The mer
wear dark colored kimono, and the women some
what brighter shades with more figured patterns
(Every time these are washed they are rippec
apart and ironed by drying them on boards ; ther
they are sewed back together!) The little chil
dren's kimono are a riot of color red and pinl
a favorite combination. Even in the villages
however, at school the children wear westerr
clothes. The middy and skirt is the national uni
form for girls; and a military uniform mucl
like ours is worn by the boys, light gray in the
summer, and navy in the winter.

Another thing that astonished me about th<
children's clothes was the number who wore
knitted suits. Japan had evidently had, and wa
having, a knitting "craze" worse than America's

[6]

Women knitted standing up in street cars, and
even walking along the street sometimes. And
some of the garments were "fearfully and won-
lerfully" made, too. All kinds of sweaters, suits,
sants, combinations. It didn't matter whether
hey fit or not. Sometimes a kimono would be
vorn over the suits, and over that a little "bib-
ipron." Yes, anything was possible.

Some of the laborers on the docks wore short
unics coolie style. And I never tired of seeing
he straw raincoats that the laborers, especially
n the country, wore in the rain. They made
hem look like haystacks. And another strange
tern of clothing was the health mask, a black or
yhite mask that a large proportion of the people
rore, especially in the winter to protect them
rom cold germs, and tuberculosis germs. These
nasks startled us at first, but we finally became
tsed to them.

But I don't want to leave us standing too long
m the deck of the boat; for eventually we did
eave boat and docks, and made our way through
ustoms, and boarded one of the electric trains.
Tiose who complain of crowded trains and
Hisses in America should go to Japan. The
umber they accommodate is, I am sure, a
lathematical impossibility. The crowd breathes
s one, sways as one, surges as one toward the
oor whenever it is opened. I can hardly re-
lember riding in one without a soldier's sword
ticking in my ribs, or a baby's head bobbing
nder an arm, or my practically sitting on some
ittle old lady's back. If I did get a seat by
ome chance, some man would probably look
mazedly at me, wondering why I wasn't polite
nough to get up and give him my seat!

Yes, the women were supposed to stand for
le men (and carry the suitcases, and walk about
sur steps behind their "lords,") but we often

saw men and women both stand to let little chil-
dren sit. They say a child never cries in Japan,
and most of them are petted and spoiled when
they are young. We never stood for children,
that I remember, but I did let my husband have
my seat in the busses sometimes, for his six-feet-
one could never stand up straight in the five-
feet-ten busses, and he would get a crick in his
neck if he stood too long. It always amazed me
that / could see over the heads of practically
everyone. I had to get a whole new perspective
when I came back to America, a sort of Gul-
liver's travels adjustment!

On that first train trip we craned our necks to
catch our first glimpse of the land of Japan, but
we could really tell little about what we saw
mostly tile roofs. We passed mile after mile of
houses and factories, separated by occasional
canals. We couldn't tell where Yokohama ended
and Tokyo began in fact. Eventually, however,
we arrived at the local station near our future
home, and walked with our host along the wide
street. We hired a ricksha to carry our bags.
A row of them stood outside the station.

This was one of the larger streets, broad,
paved, with street cars running down the middle.
Not an automobile was in sight in this, the third
largest city in the world! (Whenver we did see
one, I was sure it was headed for a wreck, for
it careened madly, it seemed to me, along on
the left side of the street, as Japan observes
European traffic laws. I never could get used to
it.) As we walked along an ox cart did lumber
by. Several bicycles passed us; and two or three
"Grasshopper" vehicles, somewhat like motor-
cycles except with three wheels, which were used
by business houses for delivery, hauling, and
other such purposes. The sidewalks were level
with the street, and all the stores open imme-
diately on the sidewalk, their sliding doors

[7]

thrown open.

Soon we turned down a narrow side street.
This was barely wide enough for a car to pass
through, the pavement was broken and uneven,
the street was full of children. On either
side were small Japanese homes. These, too,
were shops. In the evening when the husband
and father returned from work, in a factory
perhaps, the doors were closed, and this was
home. In the morning the doors slid back, and
the family brought out its small stock of goods.
One home was a pickle shop, one sold sandals,
one sold cookies and candy (of a sort), one
sold boiled sweet potatoes two or three times a
day a treat for the children, one made "ta-
tami" straw mats, and all other goods imag-
inable were displayed.

It was on this street that we lived for six
months. Ours was an American style house with
a garden behind a high wall. We had sliding
doors on our closet, and there were Japanese
style quarters for the servants, but most of the
house was familiar in style to us. We lived next
door to a Buddhist shrine, and the gong that
called believers to worship was soon a familiar
sound. The children played in the shrine
grounds; it was the only place they had beside
the street. Occasionally little boys or girls could
be seen playing with "brother" or "sister" tied
on their backs. (I had somehow thought this
was an outmoded custom, but mothers especial-
ly, carried babies this way all the time. And a
very convenient way it is too, especially when
there are two other small children one for
each hand!) There was most excitement when
a baseball game was in progress. The boys loved
it, and of course it is the national game of Japan.

I could not tell you the name of the street,
for the streets in Tokyo do not have names.
Districts are named, and the houses are more

or less numbered, but it is almost impossible
for a stranger to find anyone in Tokyo. But I
think I could find the street again by its smell
not an unpleasant one, for Japan is exceedingly
clean but a composite of all sorts of interest-
ing, strange smells. The smell of the large vats
of radish pickle which stood "seasoning" outside
the pickle shop in a poisonous looking yellow
mixture; the smell of chrysanthemums from the
flower shop; of fish from the little fish market;
of incense; and rain on the pavement; and
the musky, almost sweet odor of the Japanese
people themselves. Every time we walked along
the street the little children would call "he-ro'
("hello"), their one American word to us. Anc
we would peer into the homes and wonder wha'
it would be like to be a member of one of th<
families there.

Life seemed so simple. Only a room or two
Most of their belongings were stowed away ii
drawers in the wall. There was usually a smal
table on the floor with cushions around it fo:
people to sit on. Heat (what there was of it!]
came from a small jar filled with burning char
coal. The wife "primped" before a tiny mirro
over a chest of drawers that would be the deligh
of any little American girl with a doll house
The floor was raised from the entrancewa;
(where sandals and shoes were left), and wa
made of springy straw mats. A house is meas
ured not by number of feet in Japan, but b;
number of mats necessary for the floor. It i
really a luxurious feeling to walk in stockinj
feet on this soft, springy floor. I've wished fo
some matted floors in America many times. The;
have no pictures on the walls, or decorations a
we think of them. A few simple objects of art
a scroll, a carving, a vase of flowers, in a specia
niche called the "tokonoma" is as much as any

(Continued on Page 41

[8]

Inge fled from Germany with her parents just as the
Hitler regime got under -way in 1934. In the article
below she gives a telling description of the changes
Hitler has made in the Old Germany she knew and
loved.

The Last Time I Saw
GERMANY

Inge Probstein, '45

I dislike telling people I am from Germany.
Not because of any ill-feeling this may awaken
against me. But for the fact that it puts a bar-
rier between myself and that person. Immedi-
ately I feel as if I were some kind of novelty.
My conversant begins to picture me in six petti-
coats and black vest from the "old country."
Or he starts sniffing mentally to ascertain how
much beer and sauerkraut I consume daily. Or
he shelves me as a compound of these two Ger-
man elements. If he could see a picture of my
father today, I can almost hear his disappoint-
ment when he finds that gentleman neither at-
tired in leather knee-pants, nor topped by a
green feathered Robin Hood affair, nor even
caught in his natural habitat, yodeling over the
mountain tops. Alas!

After the inevitable disappointments suffered
above, my conversant usually pities me, admires
me or continues with the following questions:
"How is America different from Germany?" A
question involving some thought and general
rumination for which in 10 years I have never
yet mustered a reply. Or: "What were your first
impressions of America?" Or: "How do you
like it here?" My answers to these questions
are equally vague and unformulated. But if

he should ask me "What do you remember of
Germany . . . what is your last picture of it?"
. . . ah, immediately I am carried back to my
home town to Frankfurt and I start to pass
down its streets again, mentally, on my way to
school.

Isn't it strange how, in childhood, the build-
ings of your home town seem to be mere facades,
fronts propped up by wooden joists, and im-
mediately behind is the blue sky? The build-
ings of Frankfurt, particularly in the Altstadt
(Old Town) give you that stage-set feeling.
This Altstadt dates back to remote and pictures-
que centuries. One house, painted pink and
blessed with many quaint towers, bears a 14th
century building-date on its forehead. I used
to pass by this building with special pride and
a somewhat arched back just as if I had built it.

In the Altstadt, the cobble stone streets are
narrow and dark. The second and third stories
of the tall, slim houses jutt out above the first,
thereby conserving ground space, yet gaining
room from above. Window boxes profuse with
white and purple petunias dot second and third
story windows. A wrought-iron sign swings from
an inn here and there announcing that this is
"The Golden Crock" or "The Evening Star."
From out of these taverns streams the healthy

[9]

odor of pork and rotkraut (red cabbage). The
day's menu is posted in the window, carbon-
purple typing on white paper, complete with
prices. The Old Town is crowded with impres-
sions and smells and noise and darkness, little
broken by sharp patches of sunlight where the
rays have finally succeeded in breaking through
the dense conglomeration of roofs, gables, and
chimneys.

I love to remember this Altstadt, this little
romantic paradise. I should like to isolate it
from everything else and tuck it away like a
keepsake, but this is impossible because, you
see, the streetcar runs through it; the streetcar
that goes to the zoo. It rushes through Alstadt
with sacrilegious clatter and 20th century im-
personality, speeding on its way to the New
Town.

But I was on my way to school and that is
in the New Town where most of us live, and
market, and go to school. Here the streets are
wider and the stone houses, rather large, two,
three, and four stories high, are set back in
little gardens surrounded by a high wall or an
iron fence. That is one thing distinct about Eu-
rope in general, I believe ; the sense of property
is accentuated by careful fencing and bounding.

The general aspect of the New Town is much
like the old parts of Philadelphia or New York
the brown stone house section big windows and
soothing, formal, unimaginative gardens. There
are few really small houses except in the mod-
ernistic building projects further out in the
suburbs where one-family houses alternate with
large apartment buildings, flat topped and thor-
oughly scientific with wide strips of communal
lawn.

But I am supposed to be in school by now
or else the fateful second bell will toll. My

school is in the brownstone section, a somewhat
gloomy place that habitually smells of boiled
milk, which is meted out to kindergarten patrons
at "sensible intervals." Naturally, I resent this
smell, for I am in the enlightened fifth grade
and I eat emancipated sandwiches in the Pause
at 11 o'clock.

I place my hat and coat on a numbered peg
beside other hats and coats that are already
regimentally hung there. I pass into the class
room where most of the girls are giggling anc
whispering behind open desk-tops. When th<
teacher comes in, all action in progress freeze;
into the one and only approved position: bad
straight, feet flat on the boor, hands foldec
demurely on the desk, and mouth tightly but
toned. Variations from this standards are cor
rected by Fraulein Munch, our teacher, whc
passes around the room with a yardstick bring
ing this down on any rounded back that ma;
come into her field of vision. Whispering o
poor work is punished by a stinging applies
tion of the ruler to the outstretched hand. Wo
to the hand that is drawn away to deflect th
blow, either from fear or spitef ulness ; the re
ward for this is a double portion of the sam
medicine. (Corporal punishment, even mild a
this, was definitely "on the out" before th
advent of the Nazis, but the New Order revive
it immediately in 1933.)

Our course of studies was much the same a
in America. Perhaps we were a bit mor
thorough in our preparation for recitations an
consequently could advance more rapidly.
the other hand, there was definitely not a goo
pupil-teacher relationship. Most German teacl
ers teach from a raised platform, which the
leave only to administer raps on student back;
It is not hard to see the consequent reverence

(Continued on Page 26

[10]

^ A W A I I : ANOTHER PART OF AMERICA

iarbara Frink, '45

J-

Sifter living three years in the
awaiian Islands, I now look at
lem not as a strange, isolated
and, but as a real part of Amer-
ca with its own atmosphere. Pre-
5 earl Harbor Hawaii was thought of as a sparse-
y occupied land of soft music, grass skirts, pine-
ipples, and Waikiki Beach. Letters from "main-
anders" would come asking us if we had auto-
nomies, if we had ever seen movies, if we wore
;rass skirts and flower leis, if we had depart-
nent stores, and numerous other questions. The
lawaii I knew four years ago was a busy Amer-
can territory, brilliantly colored with tropical
ife and equal to a community in the States.
There were cars and too many of them; there
vere movies in modern outdoor theatres; there
vere large stores in downtown Honolulu, there
vere grass skirts only on festival days, but there
vere also flower leis every day, soft music, pine-
ipples and Waikiki Beach. I loved living there
)ecause it is a combination of a typical main-
and town and Hawaii with all of its local color.

Looking geographically at the islands as a
jroup, Hawaii, ihe largest, was the island of
anches, mauna loa, and summer resorts; Maui
lad the tallest volcano, Haleakala; Kauai was
amous for its colored craters and flowers; and
)f the smaller islands Oahu was the most im-
)ortant, with the city of Honolulu situated there.

The islands were surrounded by
coral beds protecting the beaches
from fish trespassers, also mak-
ing it possible to walk a mile
from shore in some spots. Warm,
continuous, tropical breezes kept the climate
ideal. The days got hot, but the evenings were
always cool. It rained in the rainy season, but
since the sun shines too, no one noticed it. We
would take off our shoes and socks "to keep
from catching cold" and forget that there was
any "liquid sunshine."

How well I can remember my first glimpse
of the island of Oahu. We were on the ship at
sunrise rounding the volcano Diamond Head.
The sun made the waters of Waikiki Beach glis-
ten at the foot of Diamond Head with the re-
flection of the magnificent pink Royal Hawaiian
Hotel dancing in the ocean. Behind the beach
rose the deep green mountain Tantalus with its
fertile Moana Valley. The shore was dotted with
early swimmers, fishers, and outrigger canoes,
as we moved slowly along to the harbor of Hono-
lulu with its Aloha tower welcoming us. Every-
thing was colored in this first picture, deep,
vivid, sincere colors that never faded but grew
richer with familiarity.

Here was Honolulu, the only city of any size
in the islands. It appeared to be a friendly,
country town, but buzzed with the importance

[11]

of a large city. No one seemed to know where
it began or ended, but the actual business sec-
tion was not much larger than ten city blocks.
However, including the residential districts far
into the valleys, on the craters, and along the
beaches, it resembled a rambling bungalow. Be-
cause Hawaii is American, the buildings were
all similar to those found in our own southern
cities. Yet, Honolulu had the only palace on
American soil, with its throne room and all the
dignity of true aristocracy. Its presence in the
life there was impressive and invigorating be-
ing the center of Hawaiian history and festival
days.

The country surrounding Honolulu was ex-
tremely picturesque. Continuing around the is-
land from the harbor, there were acres of pine-
apple fields along the road to Pearl Harbor and
Schofield Barracks. The pineapple fields inter-
changed with sugar cane plantations all the way
around to Diamond Head again with barren
strips of land covered with lava from volcanoes
to heighten the picture. Beautiful beaches,
treacherous beaches, and fishing markets sur-
rounded the island sloping to the center to form
the mountains seen from the ship. With the ex-
ception of large army posts on the other side of
the island, few people actually lived there, but
it was a favorite spot for recreation.

The people in Honolulu were Americans. They
might be Caucasian, Hawaiian, Japanese, Chi-
nese, Portuguese, Korean, or Philippino in ap-
pearance, but they were American. Of the Cau-
casian race, most of them were service people
in the army or navy who lived there on the
average of two years, but shiploads more always
arrived keeping the islands up-to-date with the
mainland. Then there were the tourists, mostly
movie stars and others looking for a rest, who

[12]

made themselves at home, and enjoyed the trop-
ical life, with the exhibitions, around-the-island
tours, festivals, and beaches. You could always
tell a "malehine" (new comer) from a "kamah-
aina" (old timer) because the first thing they
always did was buy loud Hawaiian print shirts,
wear Japanese shoes, wear Philippino hats,
whereas the Kamahainas dressed in the fashion-
able vacation clothes from the mainland. There
were many haoles (white people) who made
Honolulu their home, but they were few in
comparison to the transients.

Of the other races, Oriental people predomi-
nated, ranging from the very Americanized ones
to those who still carried on their native life.
Those born and raised in Honolulu were very
American and have mingled, intermarried, and
become equal to the white race in many respects.
They are required to attend American schools
and two-thirds of my classmates were Oriental.
However, most of their families sent them to
their own schools immediately after the Amer-
ican schools were over in the afternoon so that
they continued having their own education.
Those who had come directly from the Orient
lived just as they would have there. Our maid
was the quaintest person I've ever known. About
4' 10" including the high coal black hairdress,
dressed in exquisite Japanese silk kimonas with
obis around the waist, tabis, and slippers, she
looked like a China doll in a curio shop. Like
most of them she seemed timid, frightened, and
quiet, but was as sincere and loyal as a puppy.
Shimi was always there speaking her Pidgin
English, fixing us Japanese dishes and floral
arrangements, and loving us all.

Unfortunately, the Hawaiian race is fading
away. In Honolulu, there were very few true
Hawaiians, but on the other islands many more

of this race still lived in a primitive style. The
most familiar sight of the Hawaiians was one
of my first experiences in Hawaii. As the boat
steamed in the harbor, it was surrounded by
swimming copper colored boys with shining
black hair and eyes, each one screaming "Throw
me penny, neekel, dime; I catch!" They would
greet all the ships and follow them to the piers,
where an Hawaiian orchestra played "Aloha Oe"
and "Song of the Islands." Standing along the
wall, with their arms full of gorgeous flower
leis, were the Hawaiian lei sellers. Each one
had on a Mother Hubbard style dress with a
short train in back called a holoku. They were
of a very bright flower print and were topped
off by broad brimmed straw hats with flowers
banded around them. The Hawaiians were a
very handsome race, with a melodious language
modeled somewhat on German pronunciation of
"w" but they pronounce every syllable. With
the mingling of many races and languages in
the islands, it was amazing to see their under-
standing and friendship toward each other in
work and play.

Although there were many hours devoted to
play and leisure, the rest of the days were spent
in vigorous outdoor occupation. One of the fa-
vorite places of interest to all visitors was the
large, modern pineapple factory that had pine-
apple juice flowing from drinking fountains, and
fresh pineapple strips for the asking. Sugar
cane business and working in the fields took
many laborers and it was a favorite summer
time job for students. Men on the other islands
ran prosperous cattle ranches. One exciting
sight I remember on the island of Hawaii was
the transporting of cattle from the beach to ships.
The cattle were herded into the water and made
to swim to the ships where they were lifted on
board. Riders swam out to keep the cattle to-

gether, yelling and shouting in Hawaiian. There
was always great excitement on these days with
crowds gathered on the beach to cheer them on.
Fishing was a common occupation and pleasure.
The Japanese sampans puttered out of the fish-
eries every night flying their curious many col-
ored flags to return in the morning with their
catch. Of course, there were the usual business
positions for men and women but they are not
peculiar to the islands.

Women in the islands never worried about
finding just the right clothes or finding many of
the same right clothes on other people. All
dresses were original creations of talented Japa-
nese dressmakers. Every block was dotted with
shops where all styles could be made to order
with tailored finish. The dressmaker soon be-
came one of our best friends and there was no
need of fine shopping districts to fill our desires.
Women also made and sold the flower leis that
were seen every day. They had their own wagons
adorned with orchid, carnation, gardenia, hibis-
cus, pikaki, rose or tube rose leis and sold them
at unbelieveably low prices when they knew us
and realized we were not tourists. The children
all went to school which started very early in
the morning so that we could get out early.
They were standard American schools with the
same courses. Classes were often held out of
doors and there were many holidays given for
Hawaiian celebrations. After school, and after
those who had to attend Oriental schools had
gone, the rest of us went to the beach without fail.

Hawaii had limitations to activities because
of the seasons, but what was not natural to sum-
mer weather had an Hawaiian substitute. Being
a lover of winter sports, I knew I would miss
sleighriding, but Hawaii was full of surprises.
I found that ti-leaf sliding down the steepest

[13]

mountain held thrills and dangers foreign to
coasting. Our gang spent many drizzling moon-
lit nights at our favorite slide enjoying the mud,
bumps and bruises. To be prepared, we had to
dress ourselves in our oldest slacks and shirts,
no shoes or socks, hike or ride up the mountain,
collect large clumps of long ti-leaves in neigh-
boring woods, and hurry to get the slide in good
condition. By sitting on the leaves and holding
the stems between our outstretched legs, we could
slide down a well-worn slide, slicked by the
moist drizzle and lighted by the moon. After
several trips, the slide was slippery enough to
go down without the leaves by sitting on one
foot, feeling the cool mud ooze over our feet
with the warm wet breeze blowing through our
hair. It was messy, yes, but it was fun, and
that was a nice thing about Hawaii] We could
have a good time, and no one seemed to care
how we looked while we played.

Some nights we would sit on the sea wall in
front of our house and watch the torch fishers.
Their costume was quaint with flaming torches
attached to head bands, face plates, rubber boots,
and a long spear. The flames attracted small
fish, and we could see the expert fisherman spear
them quickly and put them in their boxes. If
we did not watch the fishermen, we often went
to the Hawaiian feast, luau, where true Ha-
waiian atmosphere is felt.

Rows of mats were placed on the ground with
bowls of food on them and everyone sat around
the mats. The main courses were pig, cooked
in pits dug in the ground, poi, a pastry starch
eaten with the fingers, and sea-weed. The part
of the feast I enjoyed was not the food, but the
music and dancing performed by natives. Gui-
tars accompanied the hula dancers as they told
ancient Hawaiian legends through the motions

of their hands and the smooth swaying of the
hips and legs. The gracefulness of the hula done
by an Hawaiian is very rarely equalled by a
haole, and few people understand the signifi-
cance of their dance. Their costumes were of
fresh ti-leaves made into skirts, with a-tapa cloth
waist decorated by flower leis. The singers wore
white shirts and trousers, red sashes, and flower
leis and entertained the guests with their rich,
mellow voices. The luau was a custom enjoyed
by everyone in the islands as well as the May
Day Celebration.

May Day was Lei Day in Hawaii. Everyone
wore leis; the Hawaiian women make their pret-
tiest leis for exhibition, and a May Day festival
was given. In the big park, lei stands were put
up to display the originality and talent of the
makers. To visit it was like walking into fairy-
land. The color was brilliant, the intracacies of
design and pattern were extraordinary, and the
perfume could not be equalled. Following the
judging, there was the parade of boats bedecked
with flowers and Hawaiian scenes to the place
for the pageant put on by the schools of the
islands. Hawaiian themes were carried out and
although everyone was thrilled by the perform-
ance, we secretly wished that Hawaii were like
this day always full of old tradition, gay anc
dancing, singing and laughing, simple and nat
ural.

To go on about the many other gifts offered u<
in Hawaii would be easy, for it was a place ir
America with an especially different atmosphere
and locality. Even with its individual differ
ences, we did not feel we were away from th<
mainland, but as if we were living in a glorious
part of America with opportunities to know anc
understand the American people who made Ha
waii their home.

[14]

We Live at the ZONE
a nd Love 1 1 !

Elizabeth Roark Ellington, , 28

My husband and I

^fe^S| Wjg came to the Canal

^fcj3s%!$f Zone over twelve

3iE&-^>l$^^ years ago. Except

for visits home and
a nine months leave
of absence in 1938,
we have been here
ever since. I admit
being "Far from thy
sheltering arms" but
it doesn't seem far.
Vliami, Florida is only six hours distant via air
travel; New Orleans only a little more than
twelve hours. Then, too, there are so many
thousands of us here, and have been since 1904,
that the Zone is typically American.

Those of us from the South have less difficulty

in becoming adjusted to the life here than do

hose who come from colder States. The tempo

)f the tropics is not displeasing to our languor-

)us dispositions. Having known Negroes all

)ur lives, the Jamaicans, who speak cockney

nglish, the Barbadians, all the West Indians,

n fact, are understandable to us. We are neither

lorrified nor dismayed at the sight of roaches,

entipedes or scorpions, having long been ac-

ustomed to them.

It is never as hot here as it is in the South in
ummer. The nights are always cool, and the
lean temperature the year round is 80 degrees.

Yet the humidity is high and often we feel miser-
ably warm and sticky and doubt the thermomet-
er's accuracy. We use small electrical heating
units in closets to keep our clothes dry and free
from mold. We paint our books with an anti-
mold solution, we keep needles in talc to prevent
rust, and there are many other precautions we
have to take in combating humidity.

My husband came here to be a health officer.
The first four years we lived in Cristobal. Our
Betty was born there, at Colon Hospital, on the
beach. From my room I could watch the ships
begin their transit of the Canal. In those days
it was not at all unusual for thirty ships to go
through in a day. When the sea was rough I
could watch the white caps dashing over the
breakwater, and I enjoyed the refreshing breeze
blowing through my room. When Betty was
three we moved to this, the Pacific side. Both
Jesse, Jr. and Richard were born at Gorgas Hos-
pital, and I think it is the loveliest hospital,
with the most beautiful grounds I have ever

seen.

We live in Ancon. To be more specific, we
live in a big two-story frame house, across the
street from the Tivoli Hotel. All residences in
the Zone are furnished and rented through the
Quartermaster, and we refer to them as quarters.
Ours happens to be one of the largest and oldest,
built when servants were plentiful and sumptious
entertaining a matter of course. But we like it,
for it is cool, and roomy enough for our children
and their playmates to romp as much as they
like. The screened porches, shaded by bougain-
villea vines, are fine for games.

The backyard, too, is well suited for children.
An old mango tree with widely spreading
branches is ideal for climbing, and when the
fruit is in season there are always children

[15]

in it, seeking the "peachy ones" in the topmost
parts. Other trees in the back include a cashew,
a calabash, a breadfruit, a poinciana and a
frangipani. The latter two are famed for their
blossoms. Bamboo trees line the backyard fence
and screen us from the railroad tracks and
Panama City.

There is also an air-raid shelter in the back-
yard, built soon after Pearl Harbor. Those of
us living in this block were so impatient to
have it that we all took part in digging. Those
who weren't digging made sandwiches and
served them with Coca-Colas. It was a good way
to get acquainted and we had fun, finally when
we finished and the carpenters came to do the
frame-work, they told us we had dug it too
deep! Yesterday I noticed children having a tea
party on top of it: grass has carpeted it, so it
isn't as ugly as it was.

Citrus fruits, as well as guavas, papayas, and
bananas are raised here. Pineapples, coffee,
sugar cane, rice and most of your summer veg-
etables are also grown here. However the sup-
ply is not enough and most of the food is shipped
here from the States. Lately a good deal of food
had been coming in from neighboring countries.
I do my marketing at the Ancon Commissary,
in fact, nearly everything I buy comes from
there. There are, of course, shortages, but that
is to be expected. Nothing, however, is rationed,
except gasoline.

The days here do not vary in length more
than twenty minutes throughout the year, as
we are only 8 degrees from the equator. My
day begins early since my husband goes to his
office at seven-thirty and the children are due

at school at eight. The school system in the Zone
is splendid and compares favorably with the
best in the States. The teachers are well paid
and most of them have been here many years.
There are probably three thousand American
children enrolled and about half that number
of Negro children, in separate schools.

I do a little church work. As there is no
Presbyterian Church we moved our membership
to the Balboa Baptist Church. There are about
five hundred members, and the average Sunday
School attendance stands around two hundred.
Perhaps it may interest you to know we have
Sunday School busses making rounds every
Sunday morning, without charge, for all whc
care to use them.

I, also, do some Girl Scout work. Nearly
every community has a "Little House," and w
have a splendid one here in Ancon. I thoroughly
enjoy being one of the leaders. The Scouts
here, as in the States, enjoy picnics, hikes anc
weiner roasts. They have been making dairj
life scrapbooks to send to England in an ex
change. Now they are making Christmas gifts
for the service men in hospitals here.

Recently the censorship rules were modifiec
somewhat and now I understand servicemen sta
tioned here can give their post office addresses
I am sure it made them happy to be able to tel
their families in plain words where they are
Someday they will be transferred away fron
here. The Army and Navy have their system;
for doing that. The Panama Canal has no sucl
plan. To its thousands of employees this wil
remain home.

[16]

I Saw the Bombing of
PEARL HARBOR

Bryant Holsenbeck Moore, '43

Just imagine sitting on the sofa in the Alumnae
House, deeply engrossed in the Sunday paper
and suddenly having the house jarred quite
abruptly by some nearby explosion. You would
do just as I did on that beautiful Sunday morn-
ing December 7, 1941. You would dash out of
the house to see what had happened.

It did not take us long to realize what the

targets were for those planes diving out of the

sun onto "the harbor." We live not over fifty

feet from the harbor, on a peninsula projecting

put close to that part of the harbor where the

Dig battle ships put in ; however, rather ironical-

y, our view of the ships themselves is obstructed

jy a screen of palm trees on a neighbor's estate

a Japanese doctor's estate. Of course, we

vere dazed by the thought that at that minute,

ye were plunging into war. The bursts of anti-

ircraft in the blue sky over head reminded us

lat we should seek shelter at once. But I could

:ot stand missing what went on, so with my

ine months old baby in my arms, I stood at

le kitchen window watching the planes. The

ibrations and noise became very intense so

itense that I did not know until later that the

apanese plane which barely missed scraping

ur house had showered us with a burst of

lachine-gun fire which entered the opposite wall

id went out of the house through the very side

was facing!

The attack lasted from 7:55 a. m. until about
:00 a. m. At the very beginning my husband

left immediately for his post. Three of us wives
and two children gathered in my house to keep
each other company. It is funny to look back on
the things we thought and did. The boat load
of men we saw coming our way appeared under
our distorted imagination to be a Japanese land-
ing party, until we saw the white through an oil
soaked sailor's cap. We would not even go from
one house to another alone without feeling sure
that something dreadful would pop out around
the corner though we weren't quite sure what
that something dreadful would be. And I was
positive that the red flag an engineer had put
in front of our house the day before for dredging
purposes was some sort of signal for the enemy.

[17]

The three of us decided to stay in my house
instead of going to the main part of the island,
or to the sugar cane fields and to the hills as
most of the other peninsula occupants were do-
ing. We sat in the dark and listened on short
wave to New York and heard for the first time
approximately the extent of the damage. We
played a guessing game, but we each kept one
ear turned to the speaker on the radio, who
was discussing the possibility of a night attack.
We laid out our heavy suits and, fumbling in the
dark, filled a suit case just in case. Then we
all flopped into bed for our first moment of
relaxation.

No sooner had we dozed off than the death-
like stillness enveloping our area was broken by
the rat-tat-tat of machine guns and the boom of
anti-aircraft fire. The sky was lit up with red
and green rockets just like 4th of July. Before
we realized it, a plane had plummeted to earth
in flames two blocks away. A stiff wind came
up suddenly, blowing sparks over to our roof
and into our yard. And we heard the swoosh
of fired bullets dropping all around.

After convincing the police that there was a
fire other than the fire from the Arizona down
our way, a policeman came in a blacked-out
car to take us off the peninsula. We asked
him to take us to the safest place. I'll never for-
get how the three of us smiled when he an-
nounced that the Waiman's Home would be the
best place for us the home for the feeble-
minded! It turned out that it was the safest
place and that only people with children were
being taken in there.

After a ride which was interrupted every few
hundred yards by sentries, we finally arrived
at the home. We were guided through the night
to a dark hall where a hand reached out of the

blackness to give us a blanket, and a kind voice
told us to find a square on the floor. And thus
we were introduced into the first stage of being
refugees. Our refugee career continued the
next day when we were sent to a Red Cross
emergency center at a nearby sugar plantation.
Of course, the center was like all those you have
read about even to the soup line. But I musl
confess, never had soup and crackers tasted sc
good. The wife of a sugar plantation superin
tendent insisted that I take my baby and come
to her house. Their house made me feel secure
quiet and grateful. No matter how courageous
a person wants to be, he can not go through a
bombing without feeling the need of such a place
or without having a deep admiration for peoph
who have gone through more.

After my husband found us and took us bad
home, we began visiting around to see hov
to improve our black-out windows. Sometime!
we gave dinner parties when our husband;
could come home, but we always had to be h
by the nine o'clock curfew. The Japanese ston
where we bought our groceries continued to giv
us good service excellent service, in fact. M;
Japanese cleaning woman who spoke little Eng
lish and much Japanese continued to work fo
me, but she lost twenty pounds the first twi
weeks from sheer fright. Our Japanese neighbo
the doctor was put into a concentratioi
camp, and our Japanese land lord fined and pu
into prison. Indeed life in Hawaii became ver
changed after the seventh of December.

I have to admit I regretted leaving Hawai
when I stepped into the coast-bound clipper i
the middle of March of 1942. Luck gave me .
chance to have my friends at both ends of m
one-way trip, for after spending eighteen hour
in the air, we landed in Hawaii! Later our plan

[18]

finally made the trip.

Some day I want to go back to Hawaii. I want
to go deep sea fishing again and know the thrill
of conquering a savage barracuda. I want to
feel the salt water pounding the beach of our
favorite swimming place. I want to wake up
in the middle of the night and see a mystical

silver lunar rainbow over the moonlit hills.

I want to go back and take that trip we were
to take on December 8 to the more rustic Ha-
waii the island of Hawaii where two active
volcanoes keep the land barren and weird and
more like the Hawaii the ancient Hawaiians
knew.

Mary Anne Derry, '45

The fall of Singapore brought Mary Anne home from
Australia to Agnes Scott. Although, as the daughter
of an American Consul, she has also lived in Paris and
Mexico, it is evident from the article below that her
heart belongs to . . .

THE HALE AND HEARTY AUSTRALIANS

An American, upon leaving Australia, re-
marked to the representatives of the press that
the Australian was a "hardy bird." Many of
our Australian friends in Perth, Western Au-
stralia, felt insulted by this classification, and
we Americans, left behind, found it most difficult
:o explain to them what we knew our compatriot
lad meant. Indeed, we found the Australian to
De what we would term a "sports fanatic." His
ove of the great out-doors, and his determina-
ion to excel in all types of sports, regardless
)f any obstacles imposed by nature, is one of
he most striking aspects of life in Australia.

Fortunately for him, the climate in all of the
lost populous sections of the continent en-
ourages out-door sports for the greater part
f the year. In Sydney and Brisbane on the
acific or Tasman Sea, as well as in Perth on
le Indian Ocean side there are never freezing

temperatures. The winters (June, July, and
August) are mild and often rainy, but there are
many clear and crisp days when everyone wants
to get out of the unheated and uncomfortable
houses to the "great out-doors." The summers
(December, January, and February) are usually
dry, but the cool southerly coming up from the
South Pole refreshes the cities and greatly
tempers their summer heat. Spring and fall are
perfect seasons for life on the outside.

Of all the out-door sports, I am sure that
Australians love swimming or "surfing" as it
is sometimes called, best of all. We had hardly
put our foot upon the continent, when we were
taken for a ride to see the beaches of Sydney.
It was a warm December day and the surf was
"riding high." But there were thousands of
"surfers" enjoying the breakers that came roll-
ing in from the Tasman and broke with thun-

[19]

derous roar upon the beach. We were told all
about the shark tower, the shark boat, and the
efficient life-saving system necessary to maintain
for protection against the dangerous undertow
and shark-infested waters. When we remarked
that we would be afraid to go into such waters,
our Aussie friends said, "Oh, why be afraid?
No one has been taken at this beach in two
years. Besides, there is always someone on
watch in the shark-tower. If he sees a shark
approaching, he sounds the siren, and every-
body comes out of the water. Then, the men
get into the shark-boat and follow him, hoping
to get in a lucky shot with the shark-gun. Really,
there is no danger!" But we found little com-
fort in his words.

The Australians are beautiful swimmers. Liv-
ing on the water, and being able to swim from
October to April, they are usually champions
before they are twelve years of age. Swimming
is compulsory in all schools and it is taught by
professionals. Most cities have municipal pools
in the river or harbor with shark-proof fences,
and it is here that all little six-year olds in
Australia are taught to swim. It is not an un-
usual sight to pass a pool on a cool March morn-
ing and see the teacher giving instruction to
thirty or forty small boys and girls. All schools
enter into the yearly Interschool Swimming Con-
test. The contest is held in one of the fenced-in
pools in the river, and every type of group and
individual swimming and diving is demonstrated.
Happy is the school that establishes "records"
(accent on both syllables) and wins the shield!

When we were steaming up the Indian Ocean
side of Australia, approaching Tremantle, the
port of Perth, where we were to make our home
for three years, we were thrilled to see the blue
water dotted with graceful little sail boats. As
we rode from Tremantle to Perth, following the

road along the Swan River, we saw more of
these lovely little boats. Our taxi driver asked
if we had a yacht? Thinking that he must con-
sider us millionaires and associating "yachts"
with the luxurious ones we had seen at our
former post in Mexico, we quickly told him that
the only type of boat we had ever owned was a
small motor boat, which we had left behind in
Mazatlan. He said that nearly all Australian
men and lots of young boys owned yachts, and
that yachting was one of the principal sports of
old and young. After much conversation on his
part, we came to the conclusion that "yachts"
to the Australians were sail-boats or motor
launches to us. The yachting season was in full
swing when we arrived in Perth in early January.
Every afternoon the Swan River, or tidal estuary
as it really is, was dotted with boats of every
size from the tiny dinghy to large sail-boats.
It is true that every Australian boy at an early
age learns to handle sails. He accompanies his
father on the races which are held every Sat-
urday afternoon, and by the time he is fourteen
he is a most skillful skipper. On the races his
swimming is often tested, for many times i
sudden squall or a bad tack capsizes the boat
It is "sink or swim" and every Australian boj
swims, and usually rights his boat. Along th<
rivers or harbors are many Yacht Clubs, mos
of them with the adjective "Royal" prefixe(
before their names. These clubs have lovel;
houses with beautiful grounds, and here the mei
and their families do much of their entertaining
Closely associated with yachting is anothe
sport that high school boys enjoy. It is rowing
and the Interschool Contest is called "The Heai
of the River." For weeks before the actual cor
test, the rowing crews may be seen practicin
daily on the river. All the fathers and mothers
as well as relatives and friends of the rower

{Continued on Page 40

[20]

Non-rationed shoes and cheese, soldiers in kilts, dogs
on streetcars . .

This Is Wartime CANADA

Glenwyn Young Bell, '41

Hello from Canada the supposedly "frozen
north" which, at the present time, is as warm
as Atlanta with no snow or ice anywhere! Of
course, I must admit that the temperature has
been below zero a few times, but there has been
little suggestion of real winter weather here as
yet. I have heard much about feet of snow be-
fore Christmas and planned on enjoying a white
Christmas, too, but I was disappointed.

Toronto, our new home, has about a million
)eople mostly connected in some way or another
ivith one of the three thousand factories scat-
ered over the city. Due to the presence of so
nany factories the city is dirty and in appear-
mce is similar to Buffalo with
le old three-story houses built
lose together and practically
without yards. Of course, some
ections have beautiful homes
vith large yards. There are
nany churches here and, conse-
uently, the city has been
abbed "Toronto the Good."
eople outside of Toronto, how-
ver, call it "The Hog City"
ince it always claims credit for

everything that happens in Canada.

The city, itself, is a very cosmopolitan city
with a wide variety of nationalities, tongues,
and accents. Most of the people seem to come
from British parents, mostly English or Scotch;
however, there are many Chinese, many Jews,
some Italians, some Poles, some Czechs, some
Negroes, and a smattering of almost anything
else. Our neighbors upstairs are Austrian, next
door Italian, and across the street Scotch. So,
we are in constant contact with all kinds and
types of people.

I find the people that we meet, socially, very
cordial and friendly. Many we have met are
strangers in the city, too, and eager to make
friends. In our search (which lasted over two
months) to find a place to live, we met a young
couple who were househunting also. After ex-
changing woeful tales of no place to live, we
became acquainted and now we are good friends.
Incidentally, they were much more fortunate
than we, because they found a five-room duplex
and all we found was a three-room apartment.

People aren't so friendly, however, in stores,

on the streets, or in street cars. In fact, they

are very rude and inconsiderate;

H^gr and it's a fight and struggle

*2$P each one has to face for himself.

One time I saw an old blind

man get on a crowded car and

no one helped him or offered

him a seat. Once in a while

some one will give a seat to an

elderly person but not very

often.

Canada, outside of the prov-
ince of Quebec, is very similar

[21]

to the United States, thus, I don't feel as though
I'm in a foreign country at all. Nor do Cana-
dians refer to Americans as foreigners. There
are some small differences and customs which
have been brought over from "The Old Country,"
and these have made my stay here very interest-
ing. Many families still have afternoon teas
and invite their friends to come to see them at
tea time. Socially they are very polite and
formal but greet friends warmly. Tea is served
with every meal. I still have to learn to make
tea that will satisfy the Canadian palate, and
they still have to learn to make coffee to satisfy
mine. I thoroughly enjoy the Scotch foods and
short bread and hope to learn something about
Scotch cooking eventually.

Approximately the same things are rationed
here that are rationed in the States meat, but-
ter, sugar, gasoline being outstanding items.
However, shoes are not rationed; nor is cheese;
nor canned goods; but tea and coffee still are
rationed. The cheese here is excellent; most of
it being made by monks in Quebec. Coca-Colas,
to me, just do not taste the same as the ones in
Atlanta. Perhaps the colorless bottle in place
of the familiar green one is the true difference
instead of difference in taste. All boxes and
packages have instructions on them in French
and English, because about forty-five per cent
of Canada is French. (Montreal has more
French people in it than any city in the world
with the exception of Paris). Milk is much
cheaper here than in Atlanta and the quarts are
a fifth larger. I am still trying to get used to
red mail boxes, and oftentimes I'll pass several
before I realize that they are not fire alarm
boxes.

Once in a while you see a soldier in a kilt;
and whenever I do, I stop and stare and wonder
if he feels as odd as he looks to me. As yet,

though, I have not seen a Royal Mounted Police-
man but I still hope to see one sometime. One
of the oddest things I have come across was a
rest room in the middle of a bus.

Some words are pronounced differently from
the way we pronounced them in Atlanta. "Lieu-
tenant" is pronounced as "left-tenant"; the letter
"z" is pronounced "zed." A tale is told of a
man, a Canadian, who claimed he was an Amer-
ican and had been to Canada for a short visit,
The immigration officer, suspecting that he was
Canadian, asked him to say the last three let
ters of the alphabet; and when he came fortl
with "zed" for "z" the officials refused to le
him into the States. No one here ever say;
electricity. It is always "hydro."

Stores in Toronto are very like those in th<
States with about the same merchandise bu
without as many novelties and unusual things
These Canadian stores really excel in woollei
(Canadian spelling) goods and leather goods
practically all of which are imported from Eng
land. Goods from England are much less expen
sive than goods imported from the States due I
the high duty in crossing the border.

Dogs are allowed to ride on street cars her
with their masters and a fare is paid as if for ,
person. Once in a while a dog will board a ca
by himself, jump into a seat, ride to a certai
stop, and then will fuss to get off. It is littl
things like this which make the city different an
fascinating.

I am not accustomed to hearing "God Sav

the King" in every theater, in every church sen

ice, and at every public gathering. Wheneve

it is sung, I am afraid that I turn American an

the words of "America" always come to m

mind, since the tunes are the same, instead o

the words of "God Save the King."

{Continued on Page 26

[22]

Our correspondent arrived in Brazil at the tender age of 6 months
wd lived there with her missionary parents until her entrance into
Agnes Scott in 1938. She was President of the Christian Association
luring her senior year. She is the wife of Atlanta Journal sports
vriter, Claude Nelson, Jr.

I Grew Up in BRAZIL

Billie Davis Nelson, '42

Jrazil is such a magic land, with so much that
s quaint and beautiful and picturesque, that I
:an't begin to tell you about it. There are books
ind books you can read on Brazil, but you will
lever get its full thrill and intensity until you
ee for yourself the mountain-beach-and-city
tattern of Rio, until you climb up in a faboticaba
ree to eat all the "grapes" you can hold, until
ou experience the warmth of Brazilian friend-
hip and the demonstrative Brazilian embrace,
ou really must go to Brazil as soon as you can
avel safely again you'll love it! Until you
in go, let me try to tell you some of the things
> which you may look forward. And I believe
le best way I can do that is to let you grow up
ith me in Brazil.

My first recollection is of tall bamboos sway-
g overhead and of the intensely sweet smell
the white "flags" growing near the marsh,
lich were only incidental, however, to the main
traction paddling down a narrow wooden
iter conduit while my father held my hand
surely. Our huge orchard also made a big im-
ession on me, with all its orange and tangerine
:es, banana and papai palms, small wax-col-
?d plums, and unbrella-shaped mango trees,
ce all old-style Brazilian houses, our house
s placed right along the street, with the living-
mi windows opening right onto the sidewalk.

TC

It was built of sun-dried brick covered over with
plaster and sheltered with a tile roof. The
smaller cobble-stoned patio was separated from
the orchard by a rough adobe wall, and the same
kind of wall separated our orchard from the
neighbors' yards.

Our living-room windows always gave us a
ringside view of everything that went on in the
street. The whole family, including the cook,
nurse, and errand-boy, used to rush to one of
the three windows whenever a procession passed,
carrying Saint John, Saint Peter, Our Lady of
the Apparition, or whatever saint was being
honored that day from the central cathedral to
one of the older churches. The day-time proces-
sions appeared more colorful, for you could see
plainly the rich embroidery detail on the canopy
held over the priest's head and on the table-
cloths and sofa pillows set in the windows of
the homes to be blessed by the priest's passing.
The bright sunlight accentuated the colors in
the paper flowers placed around the saint's altar
(carried on the shoulders of four men), the
deep purple robes of the Daughters of Mary,
and the scarlet vestments of the Brothers of
Joseph. It also made the gold incense-burners
sparkle as the small black-robed boys swung
them on their chains, and it added a special
radiance to the little white "angel-girls" bobbing

[23]

down the uneven streets with cranes' wings on
their shoulders and a tinsel halo around their
hair. The night processions, though, were de-
cidedly more fascinating because of the lighted
candles in two even rows along each sidewalk,
first, as the church orders led the group; the
lighted altars in the center; then the hundreds
of candles carried by the ordinary people
massed at the end of the procession.

Through the same windows we watched the
congada on the sixth of January (which cele-
brates the arrival of the Three Wise Men in
Bethlehem). Groups of masked and painted
men, dressed in all kinds of outlandish costumes,
came dancing down the street, beating on tin
pans and drums. They would stop in front of
an encouraging front-window audience, sing a
song, do their dance, and try to catch in their
hats the coins tossed from the window.

Processions didn't happen every day, though,
and sometimes, in search of some excitement, I
would go to the living-room to try to catch a
humming-bird. Mother kept a big vase of flow-
ers on the magazine stand close to one of the
windows, and since there were no screens, an
occasional humming-bird would dart in, hover
over the flowers for a second, and then be on
again in a flash. My ambition was to catch one
alive in my hands; so there I would stand, with
a pinch of salt in my fingers, waiting for the
moment when I could drop it on the humming-
bird's tail. I was a disappointed huntress, for
that moment never came.

It wasn't until my first trip to the U. S. A.
that I found out that not everybody has five
meals a day. We did at home, in true Brazilian
style hot milk-and-coffee with bread and butter
the first thing in the morning; then a full-fledged
meal for "breakfast" around 11:00 a. m.; more

coffee, home-made cookies and sweets at 3:00;
dinner at 6:30; and coffee again before going
to bed. Of course, we children always had milk
with one or two drops of "cafe."

Christmas was different, too. In Brazil, it
comes in the middle of the summer, during the
rainy season. Hard going for Santa Claus-
and no chimneys, either, for the Brazilian houses
are not heated. And so, in the Christmas stories
told to brown-eyed, dark-haired Brazilian chil-
dren, old St. Nick is beginning to abdicate, more
and more, in favor of Papai Indio (Father In-
dian). Since there are no fireplaces, Brazilian
children know nothing about "stockings hung
by the chimney with care." They put their shoes
near the kitchen stove a huge wood-burning
affair built of brick covered with concrete. In
some homes there are no Christmas gifts at all
because the families prefer to celebrate New
Year's Day instead.

Going back to Brazil after forgetting every
single word of Portuguese besides sim and nao
was no fun for my brother, sister, and me-
especially at school. But we found that oui
American novelties had their attraction in a town
where tricycles, doll's hair brushes, and chewing
gum were none too common. We gained pres
tige, also, by the general impression that while
in the United States, we had hobnobbed daily
with Tom Mix, Janet Gaynor, and Charles
Farrell.

The half-abandoned public garden in fron
of our house was the ideal gathering-place foi
all the children of the neighborhood. Most o:
the garden was taken up with flower-beds (roses
tiger-lilies, daisies, dahlias, bougainvillea
palms, mimosa trees, bird-of-paradise bushes)
but the open place in front of the fish-pond wa
just the place for hop-scotch, jump-rope, an(
"peteca" (something like a large badmintoi

[24]

nrdie made of leather and batted with the palm
)f the hand ) . The fish-pond itself was a source
)f interest: it was lyre-shaped and built around
he little round, tile-floored "coretto" in which
he city band gave public concerts.

High school in Lavras was the height of any
rirl's desire. An ideal situation, with five girls
o 40 boys in a class. Since the mission school
in our home town of Varginha had only six
grades, I went off to a boarding school at the
ige of twelve. There were four or five other
\merican students, who went to school with 300
Brazilian boys and girls, studying in Portuguese
iccording to a government-approved schedule
if courses. We had eleven subjects one year
Portuguese, English, French, Latin, general sci-
ence, physics, chemistry, world history, geog-
raphy, mathematics, art and gym, too, first
thing in the morning. It never got cold enough
to snow in our section of the country (about
200 miles inland from Rio), but on some frosty
nornings in June, we were so cold in the un-
leated classrooms that we moved outdoors in
he sunshine. We studied hard, especially every
wo months when "partial exam" time came.
Jut we had plenty of fun, too, with parties,
licnics, and athletic events (soccer, volley-ball,
asketball, tennis, track and field events). The
arties always began with a program of musical
umbers, short plays, and one or two declama-
ons; then came refreshments and a chance for
roup games and informal "promenades" on
le campus. The picnic honoring the freshmen
as a delightful yearly event in a eucalyptus
ove four or five kilometers away from school,
a winding red dirt road. We had such fun
ewing on sugar cane and oranges, going for
Iks and perching on top of abandoned termite-
Us to say nothing of exploring the well-filled
nch-bags that we forgot about the ant-bites

and ticks until we were back home again.

On Saturday nights the "footing" in the pub-
lic gardens was the main attraction before the
movies opened (one cinema, showing one film
once eveiy evening). Since Brazilian girls were
not allowed dates as the American young people
know them (it would be unheard-of, for instance,
for a girl to go for a drive with her boy friend),
they made the most of the "footing." The usual
technique was to line up arm-in-arm with three
or four friends and walk slowly up and down
the center aisle of the public garden. The boys
would also walk back and forth in groups of
two's and three's, each one looking for one
particular girl if he were the "steady" kind, or
flirting with several if he were more of the play-
boy variety. This "drink to me only with thine
eyes" system had its limitations, which even
serenades could not amend although there is
no question that the sounds of a rich baritone
and guitar floating up to one's window held
plenty of heart-throbs. The Brazilian young peo-
ple like the easy congeniality and the natural-
ness of American ways, which they are adopting
more and more.

Young people in Brazil mature sooner than
the Americans, and they impress me as being
more serious-minded, on the whole, discussing
politics and world affairs with zest, writing
poems and essays for the school paper and lit-
erary clubs, and cultivating their talents of
oratory. They are much more formal with their
parents and teachers, addressing them as "o
senhor," or "a senhora." They are also very
proud of the richness of their land, of its cultural
heritage, and rapid progress. They sing their
patriotism in the inspiring anthem, "Ypiranga";
declaim it in speeches honoring various patri-
otic leaders; and they prove it in hard work
tilling the soil, or in opening schools in back-

[25]

wood communities, and in carrying the radiance
of Christianity into the fog of ignorance, super-
stition, and fear. Green, blue and gold are the
colors which represent Brazil in its flag green
for forests, blue for sky, and gold for the metal
itself. To me, they also express the refreshing
spontaneity, the true loyalty, and the golden
warmth of Brazilian friendship.

. . . CANADA {Continued from Page 22)

Ian, my husband, (the name is Scotch for
John) and I came to Canada last June, visited
his home for a while, and then went to Montreal
because the French influence made it so very
different from any city I had ever visited.
French is spoken as frequently as English there.
Then, too, I was interested in the great influence
the Catholic Church had over the lives of the
people and the running of the province. There
are the most elaborate Catholic churches in
Montreal that I have ever seen. One church, St.
Joseph, was started about ten years ago and
will take about another twenty to finish because
it's so large.

After about a month we left Montreal and
took a trip down the Hudson River to New York
and then I went to Reading, Pa., while Ian went
to Wilmington to the du Pont laboratories to
learn some rubber chemistry. Then our next
stop was Toronto. I would suggest the trip from
Windsor, Ontario, to Toronto; take a boat,
maybe, from Toronto to Montreal; venture a
side trip to Quebec City, and head home via the
Hudson River as a most worthwhile and beauti-
ful trip.

Ian is a rubber technician for Canadian In-
dustries Limited and has to travel to all rubber
factories in Ontario. I have taken every oppor-
tunity to travel with him and see all I could

of my new home. The rest of the time I keep
our little apartment and shop around the stores
to see what I can find that is new and unusua]
without much success.

That sums up a few things about my nev
home with the exception of our family itself
We have an odd combination of nationalities
in this Bell family a Scotchman, a Canadian
and an American. You see, at the present tim<
I am in the hospital, and up the hall is th<
newest member of the Bell family Master Roi
Clark Bell. He is a week old now and ha:
red hair.

And so from Canada we all send greetings

GERMANY (Continued from Page 10)
and feared position the teacher occupies in th
student's mind.

I think German children must grow up mor
quickly. I have seldom heard American 10 t
12 year olds discuss politics as we did then,
remember distinctly January 31, 1933, whe
Hitler won his fatal victory, how, clustered i
hot-beds of discussion in front of the school, v,
were too absorbed by the weight of the momei
to note the ringing of either first or second bell

After that day things changed noticeably an
quickly. Our old principal was replaced almo
immediately by a party-sanctioned man, a Stor
trooper. The morning recitation of the Lord
Prayer and "Good Morning" were replaced 1
"Heil Hitler" and the singing of such Na
inspirationals as "Die Kopfe Rollen, Die Jud<
Heulen," (The heads are rolling, the Jews a
shrieking). Our geography lessons were co
fined to a study of Germany's "rightful coloni
in Africa which have been shamefully stol
from her," and Germany's encirclement, ec

(Continued on Page i

[26]

INDIA the Land of Paradoxes

Emmie Ficklen Harper, '24

After 16 years as a Methodist teacher's wife in Jubbul-
pore, India, Emmie Harper comes home only to dream
of going back again after the war. In this article she
introduces you to Indian shopkeepers, various Mo-
hammedan women veiled and unveiled, and to the
Indian nationalistic youth.

Greetings to Agnes Scotters from Hindustan!
India is a land that many of you are interested
in because you have husbands, lovers, brothers
or close friends there. They probably can't tell
you much about their stations because of cen-
sorship rules, so I am going to tell you a bit
about India so that you will feel closer to them
and so that you will become more interested in
this great country.

India is a land of paradoxes. Thousands have
been dying in Bengal from lack of food. At
east half of India's population has only one
good meal a day. In one section of a Native
State near our home, the average income of a
family each month is $1.50, and yet the richest
man in the world, the Nizam of Hyderabad, is
an Indian. The fat, fleshy Bengali candy seller
is symbolic of too much rich food. These thou-

ands are dying in a country where three good

rops a year can be grown.

India is a land where
tfoman is considered a
)ossession of man. She
sometimes yoked
vith a buffalo to plow

e ground; she is

ught from birth that

her duty in life is to serve her husband's every
whim and to bear him male children, and yet
in India this same country, the most beautiful
monument in the world, The Taj Mahal, was
erected to honor a woman.

India's heat is what the soldiers write home
about, and yet the Himalayas are snow-capped
and snow-covered the year around. In the Pun-
jab there are places where the rainfall is 8 or
10 inches a year, while on the other side, in
Assam, at one place the rainfall is over 300
inches yearly.

Differences as great as these are true in our
daily living in India also.

We have made our home in Jubbulpore,
Central Provinces, for nearly sixteen years.
Jubbulpore is located in central India. We like
to say we live in the heart of India, for, indeed,
many of the customs and habits of the north
combine with others of the south in our section.
For example, the people of North India, es-
pecially of the Punjab eat wheat bread twice
a day. The Madrassis, south Indians, use rice

s

b

[27]

as their principal dish twice daily and eat no
bread. In Jubbulpore, Indians have rice for the
noon meal and bread for the evening meal.
With the rice and bread a stew-like dish, highly
flavored, called "curry" is eaten. Curry has
about as many varieties as there are kinds of
pie in the U. S. A. In our own home, I suppose,
we combine the Eastern and the Western, as
well as the English and American. We love to
be English early in the morning and have a
nice cup of hot tea before leaving our beds;
in the afternoon between 3 and 4 o'clock, even
though the thermometer registers 105 degrees,
a cup of hot tea is refreshing. Many of our
soldiers will have the tea habit if they stay in
India, or around the English for any length of
time. For breakfast, we have Indian food; In-
dian cereals with buffalo milk and sugar, then
curry, rice, and bread with a chutney of fresh
vegetables; in the evening our dinner at eight is
the end of a long working day and we enjoy
the combination of English and American food.
I have become Indianized to the extent that I
crave Indian food even when it must be eaten,
Indian fashion, with my fingers, but I still can-
not eat grapes with a knife and fork as some
English folk insist on doing.

Ancient and modern meet in Jubbulpore, too.
Our homes are not modern and yet many Indians
think they are. Since we went to live in India,
Jubbulpore has been electrified, that is, some of
us have electric lights and fans. One thing that
the Indians marvelled at when the Americans
began settling down in Assam was that they put
in lights before they finished the barracks. Lights
are so modern in India that they are never put
into anything but finished houses. The wires
are strung around on the outside of the walls
like a border on wall paper until the mason can
find a place he can bore through the sun-dried

brick walls. Many Indians believe that elec-
tricity is connected with witchcraft. My cook
was so afraid of my electric waffle iron that
he would not touch it even when it was discon-
nected, but would walk all around the room to
avoid stepping on or over the cord. He did
not object to switching on the light because "it
came on so far away." Air conditioning is
fairly common in Delhi, Bombay and Calcutta
but is unknown in Jubbulpore. Our most recent
development in electricity is a few refrigerators
which must be serviced from Calcutta, 700 miles
away.

Jubbulpore means "City of Rocks" and folk
lore has it that when the monkey god, Hanuman,
was on his way to Ceylon to free the beautiful
and faithful princess, Sita, he stumped his toe,
fell, and broke the big bag of rocks which he
was carrying to use as ammunition and scat-
tered rock everywhere. These are the black rock
of Jubbulpore, which are older than the Hima-
layas. Another legend has a different story to
explain the prevalence of the many rocks. This
is the Mohammedan version while the first was
of Hindu origin. High on one of the hills sur-
rounding Jubbulpore is situated an old Gond
fortress. Historically this was the fortress oi
the aboriginal tribe, the Gonds, and their last
stronghold in Central India. When the Queen
saw that she could not hold out against her
enemy, the Mohammedan Prince of Lucknow,
she turned all of her faithful army into black
stones, the larger stones around the fortress be-
ing the faithful elephants, and the smaller hei
loyal soldiers. Then the Queen mounted hei
faithful steed and rode horseback down a steer
hill into the lake at the foot; so neither she noi
her army was ever defeated. Today Americai
and English tanks are maneuvering among thes<
black rocks.

[28]

My shopping tours would be considered
medieval by Agnes Scott girls. We have no de-
partment stores in Jubbulpore though Jubbul-
pore is the eleventh largest city in India. The
stores are shops, most of them having only a
few feet of frontage. One enters the shop and
sits on a bench or small stool while the clerk
sits on the floor at one's feet. Then begins the
ordeal, if you must have certain things, but
the evening's entertainment, if you are just shop-
ping around. Once I needed some bottle green
cloth for a curtain in the church, and I tried at
least ten shops before I got the idea of dark
green across, for when I said velvet they always
brought out gay bright colors. The material was
no trouble because many uses are made of velvet
by the Indian tailor. Most of the shopkeepers
did not speak English and I had no idea what
bottle green was in Hindi, and neither did they
know anything about the furnishings of a church.
Finally, in desperation I decided to see if I
could get a color chart from a paint shop to
show the shade I wanted. So, leaving the cloth
section of the city, I rode over into the hardware
section to my Mohammedan friend's shop. I
told him that I wanted to borrow his paint chart
in order to find a piece of green cloth of a cer-
tain shade to use in our church. His face lit up
and he said "I have just the shade you want in
paint; it is for a church and you can take the
can along to get the color. It is 'Holy Green.' "
"Holy Green" was a shade unknown to me, but
I did appreciate his interest so he sold me a
can of HOLLY GREEN which was just the shade
I desired. With the help of the label in color
on top of the paint can, I finally got my cur-
taining material.

It is a wonderful afternoon's entertainment to
sit while the shopkeeper and his assistants bring
out for you anything that you can describe. I

have gone with several young men to help in
choosing the wedding saree (dress) for their
fiancees, for it is an almost universal custom
in India for the groom to buy the wedding dress
for his bride. It is grand to look at the beauti-
fully woven sarees, fascinating in texture, colors
and designs. I can not entirely enjoy the outing
though for I have no idea how much the young
man wishes to spend; I do not know whether
to admire something expensive or to see the
lasting qualities of a cheaper piece of silk, so
I make a number of selections, and, then, at a
later date, the young man goes back and bargains
for the saree which he wishes his fiancee to wear
on their wedding day.

Bargaining is a part of every sale in India.
At first I could not stand it but now it is part of
my nature. I had an embarrassing moment the
other day in a large store. The clerk told me
the price of something and I said, "I will give
. . ." and was about to add a figure about half
the price when I realized what I was saying
and lamely added, "an answer tomorrow." The
merchant in India expects you to give him only
about half his "asking price." If he says one
dollar for something I want, I will gasp and
offer him fifty cents. He will show me some
important feature I had not apparently seen and
I will add five cents to my fifty. Then I must
show him some flaw (which is not usually a
difficult task) and he will graciously come down
to ninety-five cents. This will keep up and the
price will be decided low, if I am clever, and
high, if the merchant has guessed that I must
have the article under consideration. This is
really fun at times but when every pound of
rice, every egg, every article of clothing has to
be bought this way the process is painful. If
you are just shopping you never dare offer even
half. Once, just the day before I was returning

[29]

from Landour where my boys were in school,
to Jubbulpore, where my husband was, a cloth
merchant came to the porch of my apartment.
He opened his bundle, displaying lovely lunch-
eon cloths. A group of American ladies gathered
around and a good deal of money changed
hands. There were two cloths that I desired,
but knew their value to be more than I could
spend. Just as a friendly gesture when he was
spreading out his wares, I said I would give
him half of what he asked. He shook his head.
Later, I went back into my apartment to finish
my packing and left the merchant on the porch
selling to some of my neighbors. Imagine my
surprise when he stuck his head in the room
and handed me the two cloths asking for the
amount which I had offered. I had the money
on hand because I had my railroad fare and
travelling money in the house. I was thrilled at
my bargain but my husband lectured me when
I arrived home from a thousand-mile trip with
only enough pennies to buy one more cup of
tea. I will bargain again, but never will I spend
up to my last dollar before a long railway
journey.

No running comments on India would be com-
plete without a word about the women. Here,
again, you have a wide variety in the pattern
of life-differences that can't be marked by north
or south, ancient or modern, for they are found
now in every part of our city. I was present
at a tea party in Jubbulpore when a Moham-
medan woman came in without a veil. It was
the first time in her life that she had ever gone
out of her own door without a long thick veil
covering her completely. She was naturally
thrilled though self-conscious. In contrast, there
were other Indian women present who had trav-
eled in Europe and America and had enjoyed

social freedom all their lives. One friend of
mine was a grandmother at twenty-five, but she
insisted that her granddaughter finish High
School before marrying. She didn't want to be
Westernized, but thought everything Indian best.
There was a time when out walking with her
husband, she always walked three paces behind
him, but now she leads him a merry chase.

One day I was invited to the "Women's Quar-
ters" of a Mohammedan home. There were four
young brides, all under twenty, in this home
where they were cared for by an old aunt. I
was the first European these girls had ever seen
at close range. We had some language problems
but became very intimate before I had finished
my tea. They served me royally, but would not
eat with me. The youngest was more outspoken
than the rest and she felt that my parents had
made a very poor marriage arrangement for me
since my husband did not give me even one pair
of heavy silver anklets. During the conversation
the oldest told me that her father-in-law was
very modern. I thought he must be since he in-
vited me to see his women-folk and did not stay
with me to see that I didn't say anything that
might put foreign ideas in their heads, but I
asked her why she thought this. She answered
that one day they were all told to put on their
burqas (veils) and come down stairs where they
were put into a closed automobile with the shades
drawn. They were taken for a ride then the
climax when they were out in the country the
car stopped, their father-in-law opened the shade
on one window, the girls were told to lift their
veils, and they looked out and saw the mountain
that made that small town famous! That father-
in-law was modern!

Many of you who read this will already know

(Continued on Page 34)

[30]

"When the war is over, the old customs will come
back little by little . . ."

Thinking of Home -BELGIUM

Paul Triest, '45

I am writing about my home Brussels, Bel-
gium, which I have not seen since we fled from
it shortly before the German invasion in 1940.
But I shall not talk about the war, or about the
brutal invasion of the Germans and all the hor-
ror that was brought with it. I shall just talk
of the normal life that I lived as a Lycenne of
sixteen ... so that you will know more about
my home, the proud, happy Belgium that will
yet be again.

A first class at 7:45 means that everyone
living within a normal distance of school has
to get up at 6:30. This is just as hard to do in
Belgium as it is in any other
country, especially in the winter
when you have to get up before
sunrise. Of course, once you
are up you enjoy the sunrise
but while still in bed you would
much rather not have to see it.
Some people, following the
French example, just drink a
cup of black coffee for break-
fast. But I enjoyed eating just
as much then as I do now, and

in my family breakfast was a hearty meal,
much as it is in England.

After breakfast, the trip to school was very
pleasant. Although I had a car at my disposi-
tion, I went to school on a bicycle, according
to the custom. It took me half an hour on one
of our typical bicycle tracks. Of course, our
house was built in the valley and in the mornings
when I was in a hurry, I had a hard time climb-
ing up the hill, while in the afternoon when
time was not so important, I came home coast-
ing down at full speed!

School in Belgium was in certain ways very
different from what it is here. But no matter
how great the difference, there is one thing the
same the world over. It is what I would call
a "teacher's intuition" which means that on the
days when you haven't studied your lessons, you
are always called upon. And on the days when
you have studied as you should, you are ignored.
At the Lycee in Brussels, the requirements were
naturally very different from the ones here.
Both Greek and Latin were required for any-
one desiring to follow university studies. Out-
side of this, mathematics, physics, chemistry,
biology, history, literature and languages were
an important part of the pro-
gram. As you know, in Bel-
gium both French and Flemmish
are official languages. In order
to go to the University one is
suppose to know both of them
well. A foreign language, either
German or English is also re-
quired. I don't have the time
nor the space to go into many
more details about this but I
can assure you that to study at

[31]

the Lycee in French was just as hard for me as
it is to study here in English. All the time
passed at home was, as one can understand with
a program like this, devoted to study. This even
included Saturday afternoon and part of Sunday.

Meal time and habits were very different
from the American ones. I have already talked
about breakfast which usually takes place at
about 7:30 during the week and 8:30 or 9 on
Sunday. Although we had the most important
meal at night, I think that usually dinner is eaten
in the middle of the day. Home-made vegetable
soup and potatoes are such an important part of
it that a meal is not called dinner unless both
are served. Belgium is a paradise for vegeta-
bles, and meat and fruit are abundant. (Oh,
dear, I am getting hungry just to think of it. . . .
What wouldn't I give for one of those home-
made vegetable soups and a 2-inch thick steak
with french fried potatoes, cress, some "chicons,"
and some "tarte al maquee). The evening meal
usually takes place at 7:30 or 8. Beer is drunk
at those two meals. Most of the families drink
wine on Sunday and on special days. Friday
dinner is an institution. No matter who you are
or to what religion you belong, Friday dinner
is always composed of a kind of soup made of
buttermilk, fish with mashed potatoes and melted
butter, and rice pudding for dessert. (Peasants
or people living in places where the fish supply
is not very good sometimes replace the fish by
eggs). People don't eat between meals as it is
the habit here. Well, it seems that I have talked
a lot about eating. But is always has occupied
quite an important part in my life, and perhaps
in yours too.

As we are on pleasant subjects we might go
on and talk a little about vacations. We used
to travel in foreign countries in summer. One

[32]

must realize that distances are much less in Eu-
rope than they are here. Vacations were the
only time when I could enjoy my family. The
rest of the year, school took much of my time,
both my parents being very "mondain," were
often away from home for meals and Daddy
had to travel a lot for his business. Vacations
were really the only time of the year when we
lived together. And maybe that was why it
seemed to pass so fast.

Christmas vacation was one that had the most
to do with family life. Classes would stop the
24 of December at noon. At night we would
have our Christmas Eve dinner. My little cousins
were always there and no other guests were ever
invited. Usually the menu was the following:
caviar, oysters, and other kinds of sea food, and
some dessert. After dinner we would go upstairs
while my parents fixed the tree. Although we
were quite grown up the last years, we never
did help our parents decorate the tree. They
would ring a little bell when we could come
down. The tree, as it is always done at home,
was lighted with real candles. Then we would
each choose a candle to see which one would
burn the last. The choice made, we would open
all our Christmas presents. Then we would sit
down. Daddy and Mother in chairs and we,
the children, on the floor or on the stairs. (It
was the only day of the year when we were
allowed to sit on the floor and on the stairs).
We would all sing and sing until the last candle
was burned. . . .

Christmas Day was quite exciting. Members
of the family would come for dinner. Goose,
plum pudding, nuts and raisins were on the
menu. Two or three different kinds of wine were
served. Everybody was very pleasant and had
a good time no matter how old or young he was.

After dinner my cousins, my brother and I
would play together and our parents would talk
and enjoy each other.

New Year was quite an institution, too. But
New- Year's Eve was not much fun for us chil-
dren. We were too young to go anywhere and
so stayed home and went to bed. My parents
went out. New Year's Day was not pleasant
either. It is a custom at home to go and visit all
those members of your family who are not very
closely related to you but whom you have to
see at least once a year. Such as great aunts,
cousins, etc. ... In general they were all very
anxious to see us and would kiss us for hours
which I have always hated. Then they would
give us some chocolate. I didn't like that kind of
chocolates. And, being a child I didn't see any
point in tasting any of them. Unfortunately,
those old ladies never seemed to understand
this, and mother would look at me in such a
way that I couldn't possibly refuse. Another
thing that I disliked about the custom was that
we had to sit still and listen to conversations in
which we did not have the slightest interest.
By the end of the day both parents and children
felt rather tired. The parents, because of the
night before and also for being afraid that the
children might make some social error, and
the children had a stomachache from all those
chocolates they had eaten. Anyway, we started
the year well by rendering to all our family the
respect that was due them.

. . ."Well, I wonder what has happened to all

those people Are they still alive? Are they

in Belgium? Where is our young crowd? Some
of them should be at the University by now,
others at school. Maybe some of my friends
even got married. ... Oh, do I wish that this
war would be over soon so that I could write

to them or maybe see them! I would not even
mind a few New Year's visits if I could only
see them. I wonder what life is like there now?
I know that I am lucky to be here.

But I also know that no matter how greatly-
life has changed there, as soon as the war is
over the old customs will come back little by-
little. Men will always criticize the government.
People will always cross the streets against the
red light. Maids will always wash the street
in front of the houses with soap and water
on Saturday morning. Children will still ride
bicycles to school and eat bread with a bar of
chocolate for tea. We will still have buttermilk
soup and fish and rice pudding on Friday. And
Christmas will always be Christmas and we
shall sit on the floor near the Christmas tree
and sing until the last candle is burned.

. . . GERMANY (Continued from Page 26)
nomic and military, by her foes. Even the music
department cooperated with the trend of the
times by substituting the official Hitler Youth
songs for the mellow "Liederkranz" selections
that had been used by the department for 30
or more years previously.

Other memories of Germany are more satis-
fying the long winter evenings when the family
was collected around the big round table in the
one heated room (we were not lavish in the
care and feeding of the ovens) the late sup-
pers of tea and smoked salmon on rolls the
winter the river froze over and we walked across
the ice under the big bridge on our way to the
Christmas mart in the Altstadt where they sold
red-eyed gingerbread men and gaudy trimmings
rainy afternoon walks and the gratifying stop
at the bakery where we bought Kremschnittchen,
my favorite confection for afternoon coffee . . .

[33]

innumerable snatches of childhood memories.

My first impression of America was not fa-
vorable. The filth and shabiness of the New
York Harbor is certainly not a very beautiful
"welcome" mat on America's doorstep. I was
miserable because I knew no English and the
children in school made fun of me. I felt thor-
oughly "not at home." I learned English, I
acquired an American "reversible," I began to
like "cokes," and padded my vocabulary with
slang. I graduated from the Saturday Evening
Post to the New Republic; I thought it may duty
as a good American to appreciate Tommy Dor-
sey and to laugh at Jack Benny (only at first
the laughs came entirely at the wrong moment.)
I tried, like mad, to become Americanized. And
in the process, naturally I came to feel at home
and really love America. Before I knew it I
was accepting it in the unquestioning, matter
of fact way of the Americans around me.

Now this is where the barrier I spoke of earl-
ies arises between me and my American-born
friend. He expects me to look at his country
from a be-petticoated, yodeling background; to
draw comparisons, to know why I like his coun-
try and what I like about it. I have at times
thought I could answer these questions, and I
have answered them as if I were writing a prize
essay. But the truth of my answers has been
a partial, none the less valid, truth.

Ask yourself why you like your home and
you will probably find it true but incomplete
to answer that it is because of the ideals for
which your home stands. It may stand for love
and kindness and Christian virtue. But it also
stands for apple pie and the pictures in the front
room, the wheeze of the water tap, and snow
shovelling in winter. You may have ants behind
the kitchen sink, yet you'll set ant traps to clear

them out. If your home catches on fire you will
do your utmost to put out that fire; you will
do so unquestioningly, because, after all, it is
your home.

Well, that is the way I feel about America.
It's home and I love it!

. . . INDIA (Continued from Page 30)
that our work in India is in a college where
young Indian men are prepared to take their
places as leaders in the Indian Church. Our
students are decidedly "nationalistic" mean-
ing by a nationalist one who loves his country
and thinks the customs of his country the best.
Our students prefer their native dress and speak
their own language when they are together,
though our classes have to be conducted in Eng-
lish, for that is the only language common to
the fifteen vernaculars spoken by the students
now in residence. Further, they prefer their own
food and their own family habits. They are
proud of India and Indians, and feel that India
should have her place among the great nations
of the world. In our own church government,
Indian people have been given places of leader-
ship and have proven that they were ready for
these places. In our Methodist Church two In-
dians have already been elected Bishops. We
hope that someday the Indian ministers, trained
in our College, will have the entire leadership
of our Indian Church and we, who are mission-
aries, will assist them in fields where they still
are not as well qualified to work.

Hindustan is a great country a place where
there are many opportunities to serve, a place
where conditions are so varied that there is room
for the talents of all. Lovers of India beg that
all interested in her try to learn more about her
and lend their aid to help her attain her rightful
place among the nations of the world.

[34]

"In the eyes of Dong-sao, my brave old nurse, I saw
the steadfast spirit of the Chinese . . ."

Return to CHINA

Nell Allison Sheldon, '38

Once upon a time there was a
colony of well-fed, well clothed
and happy American Presbyte-
rian missionaries just outside the
East Gate of Kiangyin City. The
broad chocolate colored Yangtze encircled the
city in a gently curved elbow, rising and falling
with the tides over wide fringes of giant reeds
where in season wild ducks sported.

The American men felt that the ducks came
for the especial delight of themselves and their
hunting-dogs and enthusiastically tracked their
quarry through deep brown mud, keeping the
Fall tables well supplied with duck, quail and
pheasant. The Chinese people shrugged their
shoulders over gentlemen who purposely went
into mud to their waists and cared not a whit if
they came home splashed with pheasant blood.
But in those days, up to about 1927, the white
men were a power and legend backed up by the
fabulous renown of America's armed might.

To be sure, the missionaries had come to do
good, and had set up a hospital and schools; yet
they too profited by the legend. Their homes,
seven in number, were large two-story brick
houses, kept in good order by Chinese servants
vigilantly directed by the American wives. In
one of those large airy homes I was born, and,

blessed from the first with a good Chinese amah,
entered on a most pleasant and pampered child-
hood. Dong-sao's duty was to take me out in
the sunny walled yard about the house, or to
walk with me over the paths through the rice
fields outside. We played hide and seek in the
mulberry groves which fed the silkworms, and
watched the little boats poling up and down the
shallow canals. Always I was noticed, exclaimed
over, and commented upon, a golden haired little
"foreign devil" who had but to shake her doll
before the spectators in order to hear delighted
exclamations.

In Spring we floated along the canals on house-
boats to the foot of the hills and climbed them
for armfuls of wild lilac. From the hill-tops
we could see the far green patch work of the
fertile river basin, nourished by a glimmering
network of canals. We opened picnic baskets
on the terraces of an old temple over-looking
the Yangtze, and sailed in brown-sailed junks
on the river.

During the hot damp summer months we
clambered aboard a British river steamer and
went inland to the great Kuling mountain range,
sprawled across the land in velvety folds. The
streams were clear for swimming, and there were
such wonder spots as the little stone temple with
a yard full of tiger lilies, nestled away in a
valley. I shall never see a Chinese bluebell with-
out visioning the hillsides of Kuling.

Yes, that was the gunboat era, when the U. S.
gunboats waited at the mouths of China's great
river arteries, ready to rush in at the sound of
an American complaint. In 1927, one colorful
U. S. naval officer took matters into his own
hands, not waiting for official orders, and was
heard to remark as he opened fire at the feet of
a group of Chinese troublemakers near Nanking,

[35]

"It's either a courtmartial or a medal!" It was,
not so surprisingly a medal. After all the white
men had been in peril!

That was the day in old China when my father
would pay to a coolie, either of a rickshaw or a
sedan chair, that which we saw fit, and then, if
a complaint arose, dismiss the matter with a
wave of the hand. And what could match the
dignity of the foreigner in those days when he
would be invited to a wedding feast at a promi-
nent, wealthy Chinese home? I remember a
three-hour repast worthy of a Roman Emperor,
with mothers whispering anxious warnings into
their children's ears about not eating too much
of courses one to ten remember how much
more was to come! On this occasion, with ad-
mirable delicacy in the presence of the Christian
foreigner, the happy bridegroom concealed be-
hind the scenes his two previous wives, and all
was gayety.

It would not be going too far to say that we
Americans in the old China felt the prelude to
coming troubles and uncertainties as far back
as 1927. A new figure was to climb into national
view from this year on a young soldier named
Chiang. My father's school for young men, like
so many others, was wracked by the new teach-
ings of communism and anti-imperialism com-
ing in from Red Russia and other sources. No
longer were they only good, well-mannered
young gentlemen. Dark looks began to be direct-
ed at "the imperialists," which term was at that
period in danger of being worn quite threadbare
by constant usage.

Threatening slogans of all kinds were chalked
up on the compound walls, entreating that the
foreigner and his imperialism be brought low.
We felt that the chalk campaign had reached its
climax one day when my father came home weak

with laughter, he had seen a slogan which simply
shouted in magnificent abandon, "Down with
everything."

Never again, although we went back home
after a lengthy refugee visit to Shanghai, did we
feel the same security in the midst of our wall
protected gardens. We tried to wipe away the
memory of the months when Chinese troops had
stabled their horses in our yards (where the
animals meditatively chewed on our weeping
willows), and themselves in our homes. We
fumigated; we repainted; we scrubbed. But
they had not been cleanly persons; and I seem
to remember that the north guest-room always
kept about it a peculiar aroma to remind us that
we had once been invaded.

During all of the period of 1927-1937 there
were outbreaks of violence which kept a good
many foreigners sitting uneasily on the edge of
their chairs, although in Shanghai business tried
its best to carry on as usual, and the big names
of Standard Oil, British American Tobacco,
Dodge, Asiatic Petroleum, and others were still
much in evidence. Toward the end of the period
a certain retired officer of the U. S. Army, came
to Hangchow to establish an air field and flying
school to train both white and Chinese pilots
for emergencies ahead. His name was Claire
L. Chennault. Once when a group of us were
gathered in the Worth's home in Kiangyin, the
houseboy appeared in great excitement and an-
nounced that there was a strange American gen-
tlemen (then a rarity) at the door. It caused
quite a sensation when he turned out to be a
large, husky ex-football star from Pittsburgh,
whose plane had made a forced landing in the
Yangtze nearby. He was our first tangible con-
tact with the group of aviators at Hangchow,
Some of those men became the famous Flying

[36]

Tigers.

In 1932, the Japanese made an important
trial of the white man's mettle. They made it
on the much abused soil of the Chinese section
of Shanghai, called Chapei. They clashed fi-
ercely with the Chinese over a pretext, and for
some few weeks the skies over Shanghai were
reddened with the glare of blazing homes. I was
a sophomore at the Shanghai American school
at that time, and one of the youthful Americans
who hung out the dormitory windows in fearful
fascination watching the burning city miles away.
We were ordered to keep a bag packed and
ready to snatch up in case of a sudden evacuation
to the U. S. warships lying in the Whangpoo.
All the evacuation drills did was waken us at
inconvenient hours for there was no exodus.
Apart from some personal after effects, there is
little to report of the brief incident, for the for-
eign authorities clicked their tongues and did
nothing. No doubt the Japs noticed this and
were pleased.

I had learned to knit as we all did and thought
I was working very fast on a sweater for a baby
refugee, but alas, the incident was gone and most
of the refugees back in their half-ruined section
before the sweater was done! A daring faculty
member took a group of us to Chapei for an in-
spection tour as soon as the firing had ceased,
and I shall never forget the rutted, muddy
streets, dotted with unexploded "potato masher"
grenades, and a most forlorn carcass of a fallen
horse. The people had not yet come back except
for a few poor ragged figures picking over the
rubble for treasures.

Of the "incident" a simple but heartfelt com-
ment was made by a school houseboy (rechrist-
ened by us "James Fitjames" after we had
studied The Lady of the Lake) "Japanesa a

velly bad man."

I have recently read Caroll Alcott's book, My
War With Japan, which plainly tells how during
all these years the Japs in the Shanghai Munici-
pal Council were refusing Jap money for the
support of public improvements. Now we know
too well that they knew they would eventually
grab the finished product, paid for by British,
French and American money.

1937 was their moment for striking. After
Shanghai fell and the Chinese crack 19th Route
army retreated, inner China crumpled and was
soon taken by the invaders. I was a senior at
Agnes Scott when I received a letter telling me
that my parents and the others had refugeed
into the countryside on houseboats and that our
beautiful compound at Kiangyin had been wan-
tonly burned by a party of Japs maddened with
"saki," a potent rice-wine. I telephoned at once
to Charlie Sheldon at Columbia Seminary, then
my fiance, and when he came cried on his
shoulder for the lovely place of my childhood
that was gone.

Mother and Dad and another missionary lived
for months on their flat-topped houseboat or in
Chinese huts, out in the country among the peo-
ple, doing all they could for them. Dad, to his
surprise, even turned doctor in emergency and
helped inject into withered cholera patients the
saline solution that brought them back almost
miraculously to life.

In 1939, I married Charlie and the next year
we sailed for China on the "President Taft." On
board we became friendly with several attractive
navy couples bound for Cavite in the Philippines.
We never heard of them after that and I always
wondered how they fared after Pearl Harbor
when the islands fell to the Japs.

[37]

It was a different China into which we went
the Japanese had held the Yangtze basin nearly
three years. The foreign settlements in Shanghai
were still controlled by the British, Americans
and others; but France fell that summer and
Frenchtown, of the long boulevards and shade
trees, where I had gone to High School on Ave-
nue Petain, knew the uneasy atmosphere of a
colony whose mother country can no longer sup-
port it. The police had their hands full with
gangsters and lawbreakers who now knew the
law was weakened. Even the name "Petain" on
the avenue signposts meant no longer a proud
war hero.

We lived around in a good many sections of
Shanghai, bumping into Japs everywhere; they
overran the Chocolate shop, once favorite Nan-
king Road rendezvous of us all, and could be
seen each afternoon eating huge quantities of
pastries there. Most of us took to lunching at
the foreign Y. M. C. A. where the Japs did not
go. Midway on the broad bridge over Soochow
creek stood Jap sentries who demanded passes
of those who would pass into or out of the
foreign settlement territory. Over the sentries'
shoulders one could still read the sign, now fo-
lorn-looking on the Jap held post office building;
"China National Aviation Corporation: Use Air
Mail."

We stayed one month at a friend's apartment
in St. Luke's Refugee Hospital, out past puppet-
governor Wang-Ching-Wei's house, a section
called the Bad Lands because it housed so much
crime. Sometimes we had glimpses of thin ba-
bies being fed back to health on the new soybean
milk.

Then there were the trips inland! Home to
Kiangyin, bumping over the dusty highway, over
bridges recently blown up by Chinese guerillas;

to Hangchow, where guerilla bullets spat at the
passing train, and Jap guards sprayed a foul
smelling disinfectant on us at the station. The
little brown men were deathly afraid of germs,
and fought against them most inconsistently. At
Kiangyin I looked at the heaps of brick which
had been our homes and imagined how I had
last seen them. Dongsao, my old nurse, was
there, unchanged, and I saw in her brave old
eyes the steadfast spirit of the Chinese. We all
lived in the one building left, once the Boys'
School Dormitory.

When the Fall came there were six of us
young Americans who were registered at Lan-
guage school in Soochow; we listened to friend-
ly, intelligent Chinese men and women, repeat-
ing and writing the characters after them, until
in a month or two the strange shapes began to
take form to us. We shopped for antique Chi-
nese treasures after school, poking into little
shops for jades, ivories, and porcelains.

Then suddenly our U. S. Consul at Shanghai
said there might be war; we must leave. It was
strange, then, to be saying goodbye to China.
It had come in so short a time to be like home
to Charlie and had again become familiar to me.

I look up now and see about my apartmenl
some of the beautiful things we brought back;
and each has a tale of its own. Three years have
passed since our leturn, we were back ahead o:
the war by a year. Sometimes it seems strange
that my husband should have been sent baci
to China to be chaplain in the U. S. Arm)
Air Forces there; but he serves under Genera
Chennault, who helped years ago to build th(
beginnings of the Chinese-American Air Force
and it makes me proud to know he serves Chim
as well as America.

To my mother and father came the fate whicl

[38]

would have been ours had we not sailed on the
S. S. Washington in 1940; internment. During
1939 to 1941, the situation at Kiangyin was such
that though small scale work could be done, the
pressure of the Jap authorities made the mis-
sionaries mistrustful of leaving the city even for
short periods. It was apparent that the mere
presence of the Americans there beside the Chi-
nese Christians before Pearl Harbor kept the
Japs from much violence.

I have always wished I could have seen the
following incident told me since by Dad. A lone
Jap had been shot to death while he was buying
something at a little shop, and left lying on the
ground while the guerilla who had killed him
made a hasty escape. This happened in a small
village near where Dad's country work took him,
so a Chinese dashed over to call Dad, fearing
reprisals by the Japs. The village street had
emptied of people as if by magic. Dad reached
the scene and simply stood quietly over the dead
soldier, hands in sleeves as he had learned to
stand, when a mob of heavily armed Japs came
rushing down the village street. Seeing the for-
eigner, they stopped short, grenades ready to
throw, and for a moment stood silent. Then their
offcer said, "You came after this was done?"
Dad nodded. Without firing a shot he then turned
his back, and no revenge was taken on that vil-
lage. Dad still marvels to this day how his pres-
ence could so have stopped the violent soldiers,
but it proved the still potent legend of the white
man's eastern prestige.

For months, the handful of missionaries stood
like a shield between the Chinese and the in-
vaders. Then came Pearl Harbor. First they
were removed to Shanghai, and restricted to the
International Concession. Here they found a
myriad tasks among the refugees and many of
their young Chinese, come there to study. At

this time those young boys and girls, feeling an
even closer kinship to the Americans who now
shared their war directly, began to substitute for
"Mr. and Mrs. Allison," "Granny and Grandpa
Allison." I think my parents were happier over
their new name than they could say.

There followed seven months of internment
for the Southern Presbyterian group, in a camp
in Chapei, on the edge of the city. Dad was on
the road-building squad, and mother helped the
women at "debugging" the grain to be cooked.
The work was hard, but the thousand-odd mixed
crowd of white people managed to set up a good
school system and even University Extension
courses in their imprisonment. The fact that the
internees calmly studied every subject from
Spanish to navigation while behind barbed wire
speaks very well for the morale of the camp.
When the exchange ship Gripsholm was due to
sail this past summer, a list of internees was
chosen for repatriation ; my parents' names were
on it. Mother said going through the open gates
of the barbed wire taught her again what free-
dom means. The road to the docks was lined
with friendly Chinese who waved and wished
them well. A new warmth seemed to have sprung
up between the Chinese and those who had long
lived among them. Now they had known a com-
mon hardship. Mother and Dad looked tired
and older when they came back; but their verdict
was simply, "We really wouldn't have missed
it all for anything."

As for the white-man's once vaunted suprem-
acy, if that never returns again, he will surely
learn that friendship is better than lordliness,
and his place in the new China will be secured
by the strength of a new understanding.

But I am glad I also knew the rich, varied
pattern of life in that other China.

[39]

AUSTRALIANS (Continued from Page 20)
of the school line the bluffs at vantage points
on the day of the contest. The boys that win
are very proud of their school and their "old
school tie."

Australians are equally at home at land and
water sports. We thought it rather queer when
the real estate agent, who was hunting us a place
to live, soon after our arrival, asked us if we
wanted a tennis court. But, we soon found out
that all Australians who can afford it have courts.
Most of these courts are grassed, but there are
many who prefer the dirt courts. Tennis parties
are the most popular of all parties for old and
young. They are usually held on Sunday after-
noons. Family and friends take turns at the
game and promptly at four o'clock everybody
takes time out for tea. If the weather is fair and
not windy, tea may be served outside on the
lawn. And such a tea! Dainty and delicious
sandwiches, hot savouries, (canapes), sponge
cakes light as a feather with tons of cream for
a filling, and tempting meringues baked in the
form of a pie with cream, fruit (banana or pine-
apple) and the Australian's favorite fruit, pas-
sion fruit seed as a filling. Australian sand-
wiches are very small, and are more of an ap-
petizer than a meal like ours. They use a va-
riety of fillings that we never use, but we found
them delicious and very different from ours.
They make a filling of sheeps' brains and cooked
in milk and with English walnuts chopped and
added. This mixture well seasoned with salt
and pepper, and spread between very thin slices
of buttered whole-wheat bread makes sandwiches
fit for the gods. We also learned to like "sweet
corn" sandwiches, "asparagus rolls," and many
other delectable foods that are typically Au-
stralian tea foods. These sandwiches and cakes
were always eaten along with large cups of

[40]

very strong and very hot tea served with the
milk poured in first and the sugar last. It is
needless to say that the nicest part of a tennis
party to me was tea time. To the Australian,
however, it is just an intermission and he goes
back to the game well fortified with his tea.

A game that all old men enjoy is bowling on
the green. I never saw anyone but very old
and portly gentlemen play this game. The
greens are beautifully kept, and must be faith-
fully watered all during the dry season. They
are kept cut just the desired length and are
beautifully surrounded by hedges of hibiscus.
Every Sunday morning the old men may be
seen coatless and with rolled-up shirt sleeves,
rolling the large white balls over the green.

The most Australian of all out-door sports
is the "chop picnic." How we laughed when
we were first invited to go on a chop-picnic! A
chop picnic is always held in the "bush." The
bush is the great stretch of slightly wooded re-
gions that surround the cities along the fringe
of the continent. As these regions are so dry,
the vegetation and trees do not reach great
heights as our oaks, pines and hardwoods do.
The "gums" or eucalyptus trees, the wattles
(a species of Acacias), the banksias, the jar-
raks are usually not tall, and the foliage is
skimpy. The branches are knotted and gnarled.
It takes time for an American to learn to love
these trees as the Australian does. There is an
absence of undergrowth with the exception oi
salt bush and various types of thorny bushes,
There is such a sameness to the bush that it is
not uncommon for people to get lost in it. Ir
September, after the rains of the winter the bush
loses its gray-green drabness, and blooms out
with millions of lovely flowers flowers that art
typical of Australia. The wattles are dripping
with yellow fingers or balls of fluffy blooms like

our mimosa. The red and green kangaroo paws
burst out in places where there have been brush
fires. The violet hovea and yellow gorse form
a lovely color scheme. Millions of pink ever-
lastings give the desert lands a faint blush for
a short time.

In September then is the time when all Au-
stralians take to the bush, rain or shine. A short
ride of a few miles brings the picnickers to
their favorite spote. They will have brought
along several pounds of lamb chops, several
loaves of bread, and pounds of sweet butter,
lettuce, tomatoes, a Dundee cake (light fruit
cake), a package of tea, milk and sugar, salt
and pepper, and perhaps a bottle of "tomato
sauce" (catsup). Upon arrival in the bush some-
one is delegated to beat off the blow-flies with
which the bush is populated, especially in Sep-
tember. The flies "blow" the meat in a split
second and are counted by Australians to be one
of their worst pests. Another person, usually
a man, builds the fire, and then the piece de
resistance, the chops, are grilled. If it rains,
someone must hold an umbrella over the fire
and the cook till the chops are done. When they
are very black and smoky, they are ready. Still
another picnicker makes the tea by boiling water
from a nearby stream in a black bucket called
the "billy." Others butter the bread and then
3at it slice by slice, and cut the light fruit cake,
must say I never got the thrill from a chop-
jicnic, for I didn't like beating off blow-flies
vhile eating rare smoky lamb chops. After the
unch, the fires were carefully extinguished and
f it were not raining, the Australians would lie
>n rugs placed on the ground, and look up at
he gums and say, "How lovely is our bush!"

Van Loon says in his geography that Austral-
a is the step-child of Nature. You cannot make
n Australian believe that. His sloping danger-

ous beaches with their shark-infested waters, are
the best beaches in the world to him. He doesn't
want the wide Florida beaches with their gently
warm Gulf stream. Give him the icy Tasman,
Bight, or Indian Ocean any time! Give him
his beautiful Sydney Harbor or the blue Swan
in Perth. Give him his tennis courts in his own
garden. Let him bowl away his old age on a
lovely green. Let him get away to his beloved
bush where he may commune with Mother
Nature after his lunch of chops and billy-tea.
No indeed, Mr. Van Loon, he says Nature has
made him what he is.

TOKYO (Continued from Page 8)

one can truly appreciate at one time they think.
The "tokonoma" are changed with the seasons
of the year, or oftener at times.

The Japanese way of life is simple at all
times, but it was trebly so when we were there
on account of the war. America does not begin
to know sacrifice as they had felt it in Japan
even when we were there. One reason the clothes
astounded us so much I am sure is that it was
practically impossible to get cloth or clothing
of any kind. Wool or woolen clothes, cotton,
linen, even silk was unobtainable. The cloth
in most shops was "sufu," and "imitation" cloth
that fell to pieces after a little wear, and didn't
have any shape to begin with. Leather goods
of any kind were unheard of. American style
shoes were made of paper or other fiber.

The food situation was just as bad. Milk (ex-
cept for babies under one year), bread, butter,
sugar, coffee, Irish potatoes, chocolate, flour,
any sort of canned goods, and most of our other
staple products were scarce or impossible to get.
We brought large quantities of supplies with us,
but customs' "red tape" was so involved that
they were released only a week or two before

[41]

we left. We managed because there was a wizard
of a cook in our house who could conjure a
delicious soup almost from the air. Then, too,
there were plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables.
We saw carrots over three feet long, and rad-
ishes, too. I believe they must tend each single
plant solicitously; they do have to make the most
of each square inch of soil in a land only fifteen
per cent arable! In one town we saw where a
man had spread dirt over a concrete walk and
planted vegetables; and we think "victory gar-
deners" have utilized American soil!

The Japanese cat most of their vegetables in
pickled style, with rice, and some fish perhaps.
A lot of their protein content is supplied by soy
beans, in curd form or otherwise. Men trot
through the streets with tubs of curd slung over
a pole across their shoulders and peddle it out
to houses in slabs like our "butter and egg
men" (in the "good old days.") We could never
have lived on Japanese food alone, and really
ate comparatively little of it. My! I still re-
member some cold pickled Irish potatos served
as a delicacy at a Japanese dinner that did not
get along so well with my interior! The raw fish
served with every formal meal was better. But
neither my husband or I ever tried the roasted
grasshoppers for sale on our street occasionally
during festival days. After all, there is a limit!
Our favorite dish I suppose is "suki-yaki,"
which, like chop suey, was not a native dish to
begin with. It is small bits of meat and various
vegetables cooked at the table in shoyu sauce,
and eaten with rice and raw eggs (maybe).
Delicious!

There were other inconveniences besides scar-
city of food and clothing due to the war. Busses
no longer had gasoline, but had to use charcoal
burners to furnish power (and "smelly," ineffi-
cient things they were, too!) Private cars were

non-existent. Taxis might or might not reach
their destination on the cupful of gasoline they
probably had left. There were never any avail-
able anyway. All articles which might in any
way be considered luxuries were banned except
to tourists. The government had requisitioned
all gold. Out of courtesy I wore neither my
engagement nor wedding ring while there, noi
any other jewelry.

No, the war was certainly not popular with
the people. Few of the "people on the street''
really knew what it was all about, anyway.
But most of them bore their privations uncom-
plainingly as they had been told by "those whc
knew" that this war was necessary for the honoi
of Japan and the glory of the Emperor. And
how could they know otherwise? A soldier or
leave was not permitted to talk under penalty
of severe punishment, and it was unlawful foi
more than two people even to talk of food short
ages together! Besides the Japanese people are
used to calamity, and suffering, and poverty, as
well as being told what to think and strict regi
mentation.

It is true that in the short time we were there
we did not get to talk to a great many of them,
and knew fewer of them well personally. 1
would like to introduce a few of them to you.
however.

First there was the sister of Tamiko Okamurg
who attended Agnes Scott when I did, Sadako
She was small and pretty and spoke unusuall)
good English, better than Tamiko when she came
to America. Her father was a doctor in a coun
try hospital, and she was in Tokyo in schoo.
preparing to do religious work. She was con
stantly doing thoughtful things she brought u
a hen from her father's farm and with thi
food situation as it was that was a real help

(Continued on Page 46

[42]

"Yolie", our exchange student from Puerto Rico, lets us see her
native land and its beautiful capital, San Juan, through the eyes
of a newcomer in

Letters from PUERTO RICO

Yolanda Bernabe, '44

December 12.
Dear Mother:

This is Sunday night and my first chance to
write since Friday. I think I shall start by tell-
ing you all about the trip.

We took the airplane in Miami and six hours
later we were landing in the Municipal Airport
at San Juan, Pueii;o Rico, having travelled about
2,000 miles. We did stop in some places like
Cuba, the Dominican Republic, and Haiti, where
I tried to show my knowledge of French with
not as good a result as I expected from my two
years of High School French. At the airport
Maria's family was waiting for us and took us
to their home after the usual introductions.

Their house, like most of the houses here, is
jainted in white. It's a two-story concrete house,
with a bright red roof. The style is Spanish and
herefore it has a large open porch and bars on
ill windows. There is also a garden with flowers.

was surprised as to their variety and colors.
]an you imagine having orchids growing in
rour back yard? As I found out later, no matter
tow small a house may be it usually has flowers,

nd girls love to wear them on their hair at

ll times.

Well, that's all for now. I think the best thing
o do now is to go to bed and be ready tomorrow
a see everything.

Love,

Jean.

December 15.

Dear Mother:

I'm really surprised at myself. I can actually
say something else besides "si senor" in Span-
ish. As you know Spanish is the native language
here, but most educated people speak English
or French or both. Although Maria speaks
Spanish, English, French, Italian and Portu-
guese fluently besides knowing some Greek and
Latin, I realize the hard time she must have
had when she had to talk and study in English,
a foreign language, all the time at school.

We went riding this morning, about 6 a. m.,
and I had the surprise of my life. We were
riding along when just before us I saw quite a
number of men with knives! And what knives!
The blades were at least 25 inches long and
about two or 3 inches wide. I was naturally
scared but Maria didn't seem disturbed in the
least. Then she explained that the men were
merely going to work. They were carrying their
"machetes" to cut the sugar cane in the planta-
tions. Sometimes they had to walk miles to get
there so they had to start early.

Later during the day we went to see the city,
which consists of two parts completely different,
the old and the new. The new is like any other
modern city, but the old one is very interesting.
The old part is full of traditions and legends.
The streets are paved with square stones and
are so narrow that an auto can't go through them.

[43]

The houses are old, close together, made of stone
and they always have a balcony. We also saw
places of historical interest, old churches, and
castles, some dating 3 or 4 hundred years. There
was one place that called my attention, perhaps
because of its legend. It was "La Garita del
Diablo," (the devil's sentry-box).

According to the legend, this sentry-box,
which is placed in one of the walls of El Morro
Castle at the entrance of the harbor, was enchant-
ed. Every night the devil came in the form of
a very beautiful woman and would take the
sentry away. Anyway, every night a sentry dis-
appeared without leaving any trace behind and
was never again seen. Almost every part of the
old city has a legend as interesting as this.

I'm very glad Maria asked me to spend Christ-
mas with her. I'm seeing so many different
things!

Love,
Jean.

December 17.

Dear Mother:

Yesterday we went to the movies. They played
American pictures, but with Spanish titles so
people who don't know English can understand
the picture.

And I must tell you what happened last night.
It must have been about 2 or 3 a. m. when I
was roused from sleep by music. I thought we
might have left the radio on, so I lifted up my
mosquito net and decided to get out of bed and
turn it off. But to my surprise the radio was
turned off. From where, then, did the music
come? Maria told me not to turn the light on,
that it was not the radio, but that we were being
serenaded. I was thrilled! I had read about

serenades in books but had never even dreamt
that it would happen to me! The music was
very pretty and the songs were Spanish songs
some of which I recognized. I found this one,
a very charming custom. When a boy wants to
express his admiration for a girl, he serenades
her; that is, he plays music under her window
and sings to her. If by chance he can't do either
personally, he then hires part of an orchestra
or sometimes the whole orchestra to come and
play for the girl! After that we crawled back
into bed and went to sleep under our mosquitc
nets, which we must use night after night.

Love,

Jean.

December 20.

Dear Mother:

I had a wonderful week-end. I'll start wit!
Saturday night when we went to a dance at th<
Escambron Beach Club. The dance started abou
10 p. m. and lasted till about 2 or 3 a. m. Th<
orchestra plays "congas," "boleros," "rumbas,'
"tangos," "danzas," "zambas," "polkas,'
"paso-dobles," etc., some American dances an<
NO boogie woogie. The dance always start
with a waltz and everybody knows how to danc
them well. The terraces are so built that the;
are placed over the sea. So I was really dancin
over the Atlantic Ocean!

And I must tell you about the chaperons. 1
young girl never goes out at night without one
usually her mother or some other elder membe
of the family. At the dances and parties the
have a table reserved for them and the youn
people have others. So it really isn't as ba
as it sounds.

Men are always ready to pay a complimei
to a lady and what I might consider a "line'

[44]

here the most natural thing in the world. Even
when you walk down the streets men will pay
compliments to you ("piropos") though they
may be perfect strangers to you.

Sunday morning we went to church. I was
thrilled to death because Maria's mother let me
wear her "mantilla" to church. Here hardly
anybody wears a hat to church; instead they
wear a "mantilla" which is a sort of a veil made
of lace, either black or white. The one I wore
was a heirloom made of hand-made black Span-
ish lace. Very pretty indeed.

That's all for tonight.

Love, Jean.

December 26.
Dear Mother:

Christmas night was a most exciting one. We
had an "asalto" which literally means an as-
sault, but don't get excited, there was no viol-
ence. This merely means that a group of friends
get together and go caroling to the house of
another friend. The latter joins the group and
so on till they end up in a house where they
dance and eat. And you should see the things
we ate!

The Christmas dinner consists of roast pig,
which is prepared by barbecueing the whole
log; baked green bananas and sweet potatoes;
'pasteles," "cazuela"; all of which are native
lishes quite difficult to describe but very good
:o eat. For Christmas they also eat "arroz con
lulce" and "tembleque" which are desserts pre-
jared with cocoanut as the main ingredient. We
lso had hazel-nuts, pecans and hot roasted
:hestnuts.

I have probably gained weight!

Love, Jean.

January 6.
Dear Mother:

Strange as it may seem to you, we still have
our Christmas tree up. It's very pretty and it's
decorated with real candles instead of light
bulbs. The reason why we haven't taken it
down at such a late date is this. The Puerto
Rican children do not have a Santa Claus. In-
stead, on the night of January 5th the Three
Kings from the Orient come on their camels to
bring them toys. We hang up stockings for
Santa Claus, but the children here leave a box
full of fresh grass and flowers for the kings'
camels to eat. And on the morning of the 6th
they find out that most of, or all the grass is
gone, but that there are a lot of presents under
the Christmas tree.

This isn't much of a letter but that's all the
news for now.

Love, Jean.

January 9.

Dear Mother:

Today we went to the mountains. Generally
the climate is rather stable. It never goes over
85 in the summer but you may have a very
bitter winter and even a temperature as low as
65! In the mountains naturally, it is always
cooler. It is a ride of about two hours. The
highway is cut through the mountains and it's
very winding. On both sides of the road there
are trees planted and these grow to meet in
the middle and above the road, thus forming
a sort of a tunnel. This is one of the most com-
mon trees in the island and is called "Flam-
boyant" after its bright orange-red blossoms.

We finally reached our point of destination.
The place is really a biologist's paradise. You
could see all kinds of ferns, trees, plants and
brightly colored birds. I was afraid of meeting

[45]

a snake, but was told that there are no poisonous
reptiles in the island.

There's one spot which is particularly pretty.
Out of a rock flows a small body of water and
glides down among the green plants, increasing
in size as it advances and finally falling to form
a huge natural swimming pool. The water falls
into the pool with such a rythmical and lovely
sound that it seems to be speaking a language
of its own.

We climbed to the mountain's top in about 2
hours. From there you could see almost all the
island and both the Atlantic Ocean and the
Caribbean Sea. It was a very impressive sight
and just then we were able to see the sun set
over the Caribbean. Just seeing that is worth
a trip, for everybody knows how famous are the
sunsets of the Caribbean, and it certainly is one
of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen!

I came down rather sad for I knew too well
this was my last day here. I certainly do hate
to have to leave so soon, for Puerto Rico is an
island whose beauties never end and I'm coming
home to say so.

Love,
Jean.

. . . TOKYO (Continued from Page 42)

She took me to visit the exhibition of flower
arrangements prepared in honor of the two
thousandth anniversary of the founding of the
Japanese empire. These are just examples. She
really showed me what a Japanese friend
could be.

There was Mrs. Matsumoto. She was an elder
in the Tokyo Presbyterian Church where I taught
an English Bible class. Her husband, a doctor,

had finally left her, with five children to rear,
because she would not give up her Christianity.
She did a wonderful "job" with her family; one
of her sons is with the Y.M.C.A. in America
now. She finally won her husband back, and he
became a Christian two years before his death.
I taught her English; and she taught me some
Japanese, entertained us in her home, and inter-
preted many Japanese customs and thought pat-
terns to us, and was constantly thoughtful and
kind.

There was the pastor of the church, who had
studied in England and America, a really conse-
crated Christian gentleman. He left Tokyo to
become head of a large girls' school in Yoko-
hama. He proved himself a true friend to the
missionaries after war was declared, and helped
those interned at real risk to himself.

There were the teachers in our language
school. One was no bigger than Thumbelina, as
pretty as a picture, and "smart as a whip." She
kept us "on our toes," and stood for no nonsense
from any of us. But Kako Sensai (Professor
Kako) was fun, too, with a real sense of humor.
And they were all patient and helpful.

There were the nurses in St. Luke's Hospital
where I had to stay during five weeks of scarlet
fever. They took much better care of me than
I ever received in American hospitals. One es-
pecially, Matsumura, used to entertain me with
Japanese nursery songs, and all kinds of broken-
English jokes. She would act out the words she
didn't know, and was a real clown, no end of
fun, and a help during the tedious hours. For
of course I could neither read, write, have com-
pany only lie flat on my back and think!

There was the little girl in the room next to
mine, Aiko, who had diphtheria. She heard I
couldn't read, and so she read her English text-

[46]

book to me through the wall, sent me pictures,
and other things to amuse me. I still remember
the story about the time of the Stuarts in Eng-
land. She went to a Catholic school, and spoke
English excellently.

There was the purser on our freighter coming
home, Kega San. He had been to one of our
Christian universities, and had a brilliant mind.
Some of his stories had been published, he had
won a national oratorical contest, and was an
honor student. We had such fun teaching him
English slang; and we had to watch our step
or he would "catch us napping" with some of
our own choice morsels. An interesting insight
into Japanese psychology is the fact that the

officers and men on board this freighter had sev-
eral poetry contests to pass the time using a
difficult form of poetry comparable to our son-
net. Imagine the officers and men on any of our
freighters writing sonnets!

There is so much I haven't yet told about
Japan about their unbelieveable flower gar-
dens, their schools, their show places, their
language, their countryside with terraces mount-
ing up the steep hillsides like golden steps for
some giant to climb when the rice fields are ripe.
And there is so much we were beginning to find
out that we didn't know about Japan as had been
predicted. With real regret we left a country
and friends as interestingly different from ours
here, as they were also interestingly similar.

A Message from Dr. McCain on Our
55TH FOUNDER'S DAY

Dear Agnes Scott Alumnae:

As most of you know, we celebrate Founder's
Day in honor of Colonel George Washington
Scott, who contributed about $200,000 for the
firm establishing of our institution. We are
always interested in keeping in touch with his
family. One of his daughters, Mrs. Nellie Can-
dler, still lives in Decatur, not far from the Col-
lege. Many of Colonel Scott's grandchildren live
in this general vicinity, and two of them Julius
Scott and Scott Candler are Trustees of the
College. Three of his great grandchildren are
now in Agnes Scott, and others have graduated
recently. In a sense, the whole College is a me-
morial to Colonel Scott; but the citizens of De-
catur some years ago set up the George W. Scott
Foundation, which endows the Department of
Philosophy at Agnes Scott.

When we think of the founding of Agnes
Scott, we inevitably are reminded of Dr. F. H.
Gaines, who was the first Chairman of the Board
of Trustees and the first President. He was the
active head of the institution for the first thirty-
four years. Mrs. F. H. Gaines still lives on the
campus and is interested in the college programs.
Both of Dr. Gaines' granddauguters are grad-
uates of the College. Our very beautiful chapel
in Presser Hall is named in his honor.

Another name constantly associated with those
of Colonel Scott and Dr. Gaines in the early
days is that of Miss Nannette Hopkins, first
teacher ever employed by the school, and for
forty-nine years its principal or dean. I would
remind you that we have in the library a very
good marble bust of Miss Hopkins, and that
funds are now being collected for a very beau-

[47]

tiful memorial dormitory which will bear her
name. Her influence is still deeply felt by all
of us who knew her.

As we think of others who had a large part
in the development of Agnes Scott from its early
days, we certainly could not omit Murphey
Candler, Bucher Scott, Samuel M. Inman, Joseph
K. Orr, and many others.

Last year four of our strong officers or faculty
retired, and we miss them during the current
session. They are Mr. R. B. Cunningham, Busi-
ness Manager for thirty-two years; Mrs. Alma
Sydenstricker, Professor of Bible for twenty-six
years; Miss Catherine Torrance, in the Depart-
ment of Latin and Greek for thirty years; and
Miss Louise G. Lewis, teacher of Art for forty-
three years. They have all helped to develop
here standards and qualities which we value.

Many of you will remember two of our oldest
and most faithful servants: Mary Cox and Ella
Cary. Both of these are now too feeble for active
duty and are retired on our pension plan. They
both live near the College, and we see them
frequently.

For the current session, we have brought in
more new officers and teachers than in any other
year in the entire life of the College. We have
been greatly blessed in finding those who are
promising and enthusiastic, and who are already
making worth-while contributions to the life of
the institution.

I wish I could make a similar report about our
servants. In addition to those who have volun-
tarily retired as mentioned above, quite a num-
ber of others who have been here a long time
and who have been quite efficient found more
remunerative positions and have left us. It has
been exceeding difficult to secure others for their

places. The very necessities of our situation,
however, have brought about certain beneficial
results. We have decided to operate only one
dining room, in Rebekah Scott, and we have been
able to accommodate all of our students and
such faculty members as wish to live on the
campus. We have found the use of student
waitresses for the evening meal very satisfactory
and delightful. Breakfast and lunch are now
served on a cafeteria basis.

We are nearing the completion of our seventh
major campaign for Agnes Scott, the sixth since
I have been connected with the institution. In
every one of these we were able to secure the full
amount which we sought in our published ob-
jectives, and we believe that we will be able to
collect 100 per cent of our requirements in this
campaign, as in all the others. Our friends have
been very fine in their cooperation.

During the current school year, we have the
largest enrollment in our history, and we found
it necessary to turn away more girls than ever
before. We are interested in securing the best
possible material, and we will always welcome
suggestions from our alumnae regarding girls
who ought to be accepted.

On the very first day that our institution
opened (known then as Decatur Female Sem-
inary), it was dedicated to the glory of God.
It is our earnest hope that this dedication may
be renewed from day to day throughout its whole
history. We are sure that any progress made
to date has been under His guidance, and we
hope the growth through the years ahead will be
according to His will.

Cordially,

J. R. McCain, President.

[48]

Eliza King's real article all about her exciting work
as the head of a Red Cross Clubmobile unit has not
arrived as we go to press. We're holding space for it
in April 30th Quarterly, though, and as a substitute,
reprint here one of her fascinating letters sent . . .

V-Mail from LONDON

American Red Cross
A.P.O. 887

New York City

Dear Alumnae Secretary:

I do hope that by this time you've gotten
the article I sent to the ARC public relations
director and asked to have censored and for-
warded to you. I'm afraid you'll be a little
disappointed in my "slants" but as I said in
the article, it's the only thing I know really
well over here. I think our view of England
nust be a bit lopsided, but if you can still use
some ideas here are a few.

The food the FOOD! Much of that can be
jut down to the war but I'm convinced that
vhat I've always heard about the lack of imagi-
lation in English menus is true. They eat
potatoes the way we southerners eat hominy
or breakfast. Always there are boiled potatoes

there may be browned potatoes or fried pota-
oes but there are still boiled potatoes. I shall
lever forget the shock I had the first time I
aw "bubble and squeak" on a menu. I asked
vhat it was and the waitress said, "Cabbage
nd yesterday's potatoes fried together!" A
dessert" here is a sweet, which in these days
f course usually isn't very sweet. Raw vege-
ables or fruit are unheard of, but I must admit
lat the fresh green peas in the summer almost
lake up for the brussel sprouts in the winter.

I never realized before that what we call a
teaspoon is an American institution. The sim-
plest meal here calls for the most amazing array
of cutlery but the dessert spoon is like our
"ice cream spoon" and for tea they use small
demi-tasse spoons.

And speaking of tea. I think that's one
English institution the Americans have accepted
wholeheartedly. The fact that you can get tea
served anytime, anywhere in contrast to very
limited hours for meals (e.g., at this hotel, 1-2
for lunch, 7-8 for dinner) may have something
to do with it, but it is a very pleasant habit.
In the lobby of a London hotel we recently
noticed two big bulky American sergeants sit-
ting serenely in the corner having tea together.
We all said, "Imagine those two going into a
hotel for tea together at home!"

I can't say much about shopping in England
because I've done very little of it. Most things
call for coupons and the things that aren't
rationed are sky high. One thing we all agree
on is that a pound which is worth $4, goes as
fast as a dollar bill. You casually tip a taxi
driver a half crown for a two shilling (40 cents)
fare and suddenly realize that you've given him
fifty cents.

Pubs sound intriguing but we all miss the
juke box. In order to have any music, by the
guests or otherwise, the proprietor has to have
a music license. Consequently there are few
places where you can sing or dance or even
hear any music. And to Americans who are
used to places that stay open until all hours
of the night, it's quite a shock to have every-
thing shut up by 10 or 11.

I suppose that's part of the English conser-
vatism. They are grand people when you get
to know them, but it does take a little time.

[49]

They're solid and steady, though, and once they
make up their minds to do something, they don't
stop at any half-way measures. They don't get
all excited over things the way we do. We
sometimes appear terribly impulsive and imma-
ture by comparison. Each of us can learn
and is learning something from the other. I
remember hearing a story which pretty well
typifies the difference between our tempera-
ments. An English soldier and an American
soldier were working together on a job of
unloading some goods. The American soldier
impatiently said, "Step on it, pal," to which
the English soldier imperturbably replied,
"Come off it, chum," and they found a pace
that satisfied both.

One of the things which took me a little time
to get used to is this business of having to walk
half way around the hotel to take a bath. Rooms
with private baths are non-existent outside the
large cities. I used to scurry along the hall
looking straight down at the floor, but now I

think nothing of going around in a bathrobe
with my hair rolled up and cordially greeting
other people in similar stages of disattire!

England has its charms and I'm thoroughly
enjoying my stay here, but like most people,
I prefer our own pecularities. I think the things
I'm looking forward to most are being able
to make all the noise I want to, as late as I
want to and being able to count money by
fives instead of twelves and twenties. Every
time I make out an expense voucher, I am
reminded of those tortutous days of logarithms
and multiple equations.

I was on the quadrangle of Balliol College
recently, and it made me homesick for Agnes
Scott. Please put in the Quarterly that my
address is as above, that I love everybody and
wish I had more time for letters, that I'd be
pleased to have my name added to anybody's
list of mail-for-morale. I hope it won't be long
before I can be running out to Decatur to see

you! Good luck!

Eliza.

[50]

We have been fighting Japan only 2 years. But the
Koreans have been in or out of war with Japan since
1592. So writes Miss Winn, Agnes Scott's own mis-
sionary to Korea since 1912. In the following gripping
narrative she shows how this little land of "morning
calm" and gentle people has always been Japan's step-
ping-stone to China a first step in Iter age-old dream
of world conquest . . . and how Korea, turning from
country to country for protection, now looks to Ameri-
can for her beloved "Tong Eep Man Say" Freedom
Ten Thousand Years!

Spring Comes Late to
KOREA

Emily Winn, Institute

It is such a little country compared to China
or our country, about equal in square miles to
the state of Kansas, the northeastern tip to the
southern coast of the country stretching as far
and in about the same latitudes as from Port-
and, Maine to Charlotte, North Carolina, and
lardly seventy-five miles wide in the widest part;
jut there are about twenty-two million people
iving in that little land a quiet, gentle folk,
nostly farmers, all holding culture of highest
ralue, all filled with passionate love for their
ountry and its long centuries of freedom and
ndependence, and a deep longing to again be
ree.

The names, by which we
now this little land, are beau-
ifully descriptive of it. Ko-
ea, the name originally of
ne of the old dynasties, is
lade up of the Chinese char-
cters "Ko," meaning high,
nd "rea," clear, and to those
i us who know that land the

name brings vivid pictures of beautiful high
mountains that we see everywhere we go, and
clear sparkling streams flowing through the val-
leys, and great rice plains, "clear as crystal"
reflecting the deep blue of the eastern sky
throughout the day, and the gold and rose of
dawn and sunset. The other name, Cho Sun
(Cho Sen), most commonly used by the people,
made up of the Chinese characters "Cho,"
morning, and "Sun," calm, brings vividly be-
fore us the quiet and calm of this little land
facing toward the morning. But we remember,
too, how accurately this name describes the
days out there almost always a calm, peaceful
morning with the wind rising soon after noon,
often welcome, refreshing breezes on summer
days and cold, biting winds in the winter. The
name for this land, dear to its people, which
shows their pride in their country, is Tai Han,
the "Big Kingdom." But that name has been
banned by the Japanese, with imprisonment the
penalty for using it, and I remember how it
used to touch my heart with compassionate pity
when some old grandmother 'way out in some
little country Bible class would pour out her
heart in prayer to the Heavenly Father for
"Oodie Tai Han" "Our Big Kingdom," and
the fear that in this group of village folk some

"Spy" would report the dear

old lady.

Each group of foreigners,
American or British, thinks
the section of the country in
which they live the most beau-
tiful, proving that Korea is a
land of surpassing beauty. To
those of us who live in the
Chulla provinces in the south-

[51]

western part of the peninsula, each season
brings with it its own peculiar beauty. Our
climate in Chun Ju is very much like that of
Richmond, Virginia, though a bit colder in win-
ter and much hotter in summer.

Our winter weather starts toward the last of
November. Almost every year the women com-
ing into our month's Bible Institute at that time
have to come over the mountain passes and
across the streams in the first snow of the year.
From then on till spring there is snow on our
highest mountains. Many years we have one
snow storm after another, so that there is a soft
white blanket of snow over Chun Ju and the
surrounding hills and mountains most of the
winter. The hills on which our mission com-
pound is situated are covered with low spread-
ing pines, and often through the winter months
we live in the midst of hundreds of Christmas
trees. The stream below our compound and be-
tween us and the main part of the city, is frozen
over often during the winter and crowds skate
there. The boys have great fun spinning their
tops on the ice and beating them up and down
the icy surface with long bamboo sticks. Chil-
dren in heavy padded clothes little girls in
long full skirts and little boys with long volum-
inous trousers tied at the ankles having a mer-
ry time, tumbling around in the snow and sit-
ting back on their heels and sliding down the
steep paths and roads through our compound,
making it impossible for us to walk over the
compound or down to the city or villages except
in the gutters at the edge of the roads. Hardly
a year but we have a "White Christmas." Early
on Christmas morning when the silent stars are
still shining far above the snow-clad hills and
valleys, and Chun Ju, like Bethlehem of old, is
wrapped in a deep sleep, the young people of
the Christian Churches, slip out through the

[52]

dark streets and past our houses, too, on the hills,
singing the Christmas carols in lovely harmo-
ny Christmas carols all the world loves trans-
lated into Korean. One group after another
comes and sings and passes on, and our hearts
are filled with real Christmas joy as the refrain
comes back to us over and over, "Joy to the
World the Lord has come." Our "big cold"
comes in January. And in the last of January
or early February, the biggest holiday season
of the year the New Year of the old Chinese
lunar calendar and the children in little groups
on the streets or walking down the country roads,
dressed in their New Year's clothes of red and
green and yellow and lavender and rose bring
a brilliant splash of color to our grey or white
world.

Spring comes late, but it comes with white
and pink cherry blossoms in most of the towns
the purple azaleas blooming on hills and moun
tains, the wild violets on the little grass-coverec
ridges between the paddy fields, and the wilt
rose so much like our Cherokee rose, alonj
many a roadside. The fields in the valleys an(
plains are full of white clad farmer folks, mei
and women. The barley and wheat grow beau
tiful in the sunshine and rain of spring and hen
and there scattered among these fields is m
tender green of the rice seed beds and the bril
liant cerise of vetch. In other fields, that hav
lain fallow during the winter months, the farme
and his patient ox turns up the rich, brown soil
And on our mission compound the jonquils an
lilacs and tulips bloom, and just as spring turn
into summer, our roses.

Our own "bird man of Korea," D. J. Cun
mings, the husband of Shannon Preston, '3(
tells us he has found some eighteen varietie
of birds on our mission compound, from th
tiny English sparrow to the big beautiful blu

ind black magpie. But the bird event of the
rear is the coming of the oriole in May. Our
learts thrill to the indescribable beauty of their
ong and watch with delight as they fly from
he tall Lombardy poplars to maples and oaks
i golden streak of yellow amidst the green
eaves and across the blue sky.

"Merdie kok gay peet go,
Mool ke ne onera"

'Comb your hair neatly and come across the
vater," the Koreans say the male oriole sings
:o its mate.

Out on the broad plains and in many valleys,
*reen fields of waving barley and wheat have
;urned to gold when summer comes, and are
larvested by the last of June. The myriad-
shaped paddy fields are turned into thousands
)f little lakes all through the land some far up
mi the hillsides and rows and rows of tender
)lades of rice are planted in them by hand,
sometimes by the middle of June the rains
>egin to fall, and all through the summer one
ainy season follows another. There are days
nd days when the rain pours in torrents and
le clear streams become brown and muddy,
'he clouds clear and the hot blazing Eastern sun
nakes the steam rise from the rain-drenched
arth and the flooded rice fields, and a burning,
teamy heat fills the land. But the rice grows
nd develops and dark green patches of hemp
nd flax, and hundreds of wild flowers bloom
n the hillsides, and over the land especially
round the temple sites, the "hundred-day
ower" blooms from July on into September
le flower we call crepe myrtle.

But of all the year, the autumn days are the
lost beautiful in Korea, days when the skies
re a deep, deep blue, crisp days full of
Jarkling sunshine; when the rice fields all

around us are full of golden grain; when the
pumpkin vines growing over the straw thatched
roofs of the villages are full of yellow pumpkins,
and bright red peppers are spread out on the
roofs to dry; when everywhere are the wild
chrysanthemums, lavender ones and white ones
that look like our daisies that bloom at com-
mencement time, and bright cosmos; when the
Korean persimmons some the shape and size
of our oranges, others like big Ponderosa to-
matoes and the pears and the apples are ripe;
when, here and there, on the hillsides covered
with grass and pines, maples and oaks are dress-
ed in rich autumn colors, and amidst the grey
tiled buildings of the Confucian temples, the
fairy winged leaves of the ging-ko trees are a
deep, rich gold.

The people of this land are truly the gentle-
men and the gentlewomen of the Far East.
There are rude and disagreeable people among
them, but the Koreans are a people of inate
courtesy and generosity. Long centuries of
heathenism and superstition have brought all
kinds of vice and sin, and the most pitiful cry
is the one I have heard from so many women,
old and young. "It is so dark, so dark in my
mind" (or heart), but the longer we live among
them the more we realize that all we have had
that is in any way superior to them is the direct
result of the possession of the Light we and our
forefathers for generations have had, "The Light
that shined out of darkness, who shined in our
hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the
glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." We
have seen so many Koreans, whose lives have
been warped and twisted and darkened by sin
and superstition, transformed into lives of
marvelous beauty by their childlike faith in the
Lord Jesus Christ.

Today the Koreans, always longing for free-

[53]

dom, are "lifting up their heads," confident that
out of this terrible world conflict, they will gain
their independence with the ultimate defeat of
Japan by the Allies.

If you look at the map of the Far East, at
the peninsula of Korea, jutting off the southern
border of Manchuria, the northeastern tip touch-
ing Siberia; at the islands of Japan encircling
this little country to the south and east, separat-
ed from it by the Sea of Japan and the turbulent
waters of the Straits between this and the Yel-
low Sea ; then you will see why this little country
has always been the "stepping-stone" to the con-
quest of China in Japan's centuries-old plan for
world domination.

A few old tablets have been found that date
back as far as the time of Abraham, but the
history of the Korean people, as we know them
today, begins about the time of David. In the
year 1122 B. C, some scholars claim, a Chinese
sage named Kija with five thousand followers,
many of them artisans and skilled farmers, came
over from China, pacified the primitive natives,
many intermarried with them; and the Koreans
of today are their descendants. Korea has had
long centuries of independence interspersed with
periods in which she paid tribute to China, and
her folk-tales and traditions are full of the
glories of the different centuries-old dynasties.
The highest civilization of the country flourished
in the time of the Silla kingdom from 37 to
935 A. D. At Kyungju, the ancient capital, in
the huge domelike grave mounds, old pagodas,
tiled roofed palace buildings, the old stone Ob-
servatory, the first to be erected in the world
for the study of the stars, and the wondreful,
deep, reverberating tones of the Silla bell, one
can still catch some of the glory of those days.
The many tiered, jeweled crown of one of the

reigning queens kept in the old museum, and the
pagoda in which she kept her jewels make her
very real to us.

The Japanese had their first dream of world
conquest in the latter part of the sixteenth centu-
ry. By their time-table, such as Hitler had, they
were to conquer Korea in the spring of 1592,
and by the New Year be in possession of the
Dragon throne of China in Peking. This time-
table was upset by the defeat of Hideyoshi's
army in Korea by Sino-Korean allies, and this
defeat was largely due to the iron-clad tortoise-
shaped boat the Korean Admiral Yi invented
the first armored battleship of the world with
which he skilfully cut off the Japanese supply
line. "Korea, however, was so helplessly devas-
tated by this war that she never completely re-
covered," Dr. Syngman Rhee tells us in his book,
"Japan Inside Out," "and from that time till
1876, shut herself in so air-tight that neither
Japanese nor Chinese could enter the Hermit
Kingdom without special permission." Mr.
Thomas, the first Protestant missionary, attempt-
ing to take the gospel to Korea, was killed as
he tried to land at Pyeng Yang; but later
God's providence, Dr. Horace N. Allen, a med
ical missionary to China, was able to save the
life of one of the royal family during an up
rising, and thus gained the friendship of Korea
for America. Trusting America and our treat)
"yith her in 1882, in which we promiseu to us*:
our good officers in her behalf if she were evei
unjustly or oppressively treated by any othei
power, Korea opened her doors to the world
and Dr. Allen later became the Envoy Extra
ordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to Korea

We know how Perry had already opened Ja
pan to the western world and how Japan, alway
militaristic in her ideals, had found of greates

in

[54]

interest the military power and weapons of the
west, and immediately began to prepare herself
with modern military power for her age-old
dream of conquest. In 1894, Japan fought and
defeated China on the pretense of freeing Korea
from the yoke of China, Chinese troops being in
Korea at the request of the government to help
put down a great religious-political uprising.
In the peace treaty, the independence of Korea
was recognized and the island of Formosa was
ceded to Japan. In 1904, at the time of the
Russo-Japanese war, "Japan was allowed to
send her troops through Korea, having pledged
to withdraw them when peace was restored, and
to respect the independence of Korea, but when
war was over, Japan in open violation of her
treaty filled the country with her victorious army
returning from the China borders, and betrayed
her ally, robbing it of its independence and the
people of their land." In 1910, she formally
annexed Korea. Our country and all other coun-
tries who had a like treaty with Korea ignored
these treaties and "this act of international
banditry and outlawry was perpetrated with
the full sanction and approval of the civilized
nations of the world, which had solemnly
bledged themselves to help Korea in her time
af need," Dr. Rhee claims. "And this was the
spark," he says, "which started the conflagration
hat now envelopes the world. Japan had gotten
i firm footing on the 'stepping-stone' to China
ind the conquest of Manchuria, eastern seaboard
>f China, the Philippines and the Dutch Indies
las been accomplished, and a long way gained
n her declared policy to bring "the eight corners
>f the universe under one roof."

As we think of the appalling victories Japan
ran first by treachery and then because of years
i preparation against our unpreparedness, we

can realize the helplessness of this peaceful,
almost wholly unarmed people of Korea against
the crushing, modern military power of Japan
and their utter helplessness to regain their
longed-for freedom from Japan. The courage
of this brave people! The first World War, with
Wilson's policy of "self-determination of the
small nations" brought them great hope, but
the war was over, Korea forgotten, and Japan
made stronger. Early in 1919, representatives
of the thirteen provinces of Korea gathered se-
cretly in Seoul, Dr. Syngman Rhee was elected
president of the Republic of Korea, a Cabinet
appointed, and Shanghai was chosen as the seat
of the exiled Provisional Government of Korea.
On March the first, the independence of Korea
was declared by thirty-three prominent leaders
in the city of Seoul. Throughout the land, in
villages and towns, little children, high school
students, men and women gathered in the streets
and public places shouting "Tong Eep Man
Say" Freedom Ten Thousand Years. Thou-
sands were shot down that day and hundreds
imprisoned. The Japanese policemen came up
to arrest the leaders among our mission school
girls and take them off to prison, torture and
what shameful treatment one knew not. The
mother of the most beautiful girl in that group
was the first baptized Christian in all that part
of Korea. She was standing by as her daughter
was tied and led away, and with head held high
she called out to her, "Remember, Little Treas-
ure, it is a glorious thing to die for one's
country."

Yes, this part of "Our Father's world" is
very beautiful, and we hope that over all the
country is still that peace and quiet so peculiar
to that little land. But the hearts of the Father's
children are troubled, and in many Christian
homes are heart-ache and distress. There are

[55]

still millions who have never heard of the
Savior's love, and many hundreds who have
heard and turned away from His call, so there
are over twenty millions still living "without
God and without hope" in the midst of their
poverty and sin. But to many thousands, God
has granted faith in His Son, and for many
years in many homes throughout the land three
generations of Christians have worshipped the
only true and living God, studied His Word to-
gether and sung praises to His name. And now,
for almost a decade the Heavenly Father has
been granting to them also "to suffer on His
behalf," and their faith is being tried and re-
fined in the fires of bitter persecution.

The Cairo Conference pledged that Korea in
due course shall become free and independent.
The thrill this message has given all of us who
love Korea! And how we hope that America
will be true to this promise and not fail Korea,
who still trusts her.

Note: The historical facts given, familiar tc
those of us who have lived in Korea a long time,
are to be found in Dr. Syngman Rhee's booh
Japan Inside Out, and in the Korean Research
Bulletins for January and September, 1943
and have been verified by Dr. and Mrs. W. D
Reynolds, missionaries of the Southern Pres
byterian Church to Korea, 1892-1937. Emil)
Winn.

[56]

Every Alumna mother will want to read this practical forthright discussion of a national problem
juvenile delinquency. Professor Dexter lays the blame for today's alarming increase not on
the schools, not on the churches but on our homes!

WILL YOUR CHILD BE DELINQUENT?

F 'l q j) f Associate Professor of Psychology and Education
* ' at Agnes Scott

Every state in the union spends more money
3n the education of delinquent, defective, and
dependent children than on the education of
normal children in the ordinary public school.
Every second hospital bed in this country is oc-
cupied by a mental patient. (This statement ap-
jlies to the years immediately preceding the war.
Current figures can scarcely be materially dif-
erent, but are not available.)

To approach those two distressing facts from
mother angle: One out of every 22 children is
nentally afflicted, if neuroses are included. If
he present trend continues, eventually 1,000,-
100 of our present school population will be
nstitutionalized for nervous and mental disor-
ers. One out of every 24 children will be crim-
lal at least will be in the hands of the law;
nd 82 per cent of them will be definitely headed
l that unfortunate direction by the age of 15.
urthermore, right here in Georgia, it costs
bout $625 annually to put a child in jail and
ire for him there, whereas we spend only about
35 a year on the average child in our schools.

The above paragraphs seem an ominous be-
nning to a brief paper on child training. But
e may as well face the facts; ignorance is rare-

an asset in solving baffling problems. It is
so a fact that war conditions make it even
irder to train children.

Of course, each one of us consoles himself
thus: My child, my nephew or niece, won't be
one of those poor, pitiful vitims of society. And,
again to face a fact, this time a happier one, our
children needn't be of that group; at least not
often. But the main thing between them and
most of these forms of maladjustment is the
training they get in their homes in the pre-
school period, training that needs to begin at
their birth, and that covers every aspect of their
growth and behavior, physical, mental, emo-
tional, social, and spiritual. The second line
of defense is the school. The church should
be, and sometimes is, a training force, but does
regrettably little.

Nowadays, at least in the homes of those read-
ing this article, the narrowly physical well-
being of children is very well attended to. The
modern mother overlooks no details. Cod-liver
oil requirements, teeth, vitamins everything is
as it should be. The school goes right along with
the health program as one of its primary con-
cerns.

Likewise, mental requirements are quite well
met. Stories, songs, nature study, and the like,
along with stimulating toys and games are to
be found in every one of your homes, and in
the school. But there is one element too often
found that calls for a word of caution: We who

[57]

are college bred men and women, or who great-
ly longed to be and could not, for one reason or
another fulfill that desire, tend too much to rely
on the "traditional" subjects. Let us accept the
fact there too: The mental heirlooms did not
keep us out of war, do not and cannot help solve
more than a very few of the complex problems
of today. Our children need to look to the pres-
ent and the future more than at the past. The
old leisure, never at best for but a few citizens,
no longer exists; and a very small minority of
experts are all we need now to glean light from
the very obscure and remote past to shed on our
world today. To understand the diversified gov-
ernments, economic problems, educational de-
mands, scientific achievements, industrial, insti-
tutional, and vocational requirements of the
masses of our citizens, transportation well, let
us just say to understand to only a minimum de-
gree of efficiency the varied aspects of the living
structure of the world today is of immeasurably
greater importance for 75 per cent of us than
to have vast amounts of detailed information
that can by no possibility help us lead really
better lives. We do need to provide education
to meet every need, however esoteric. But let's
admit this: Mighty few of us have very many
esoteric needs. Most of us and our high school
boys and girls need more, and profit much more
by, English and American literature, science, in-
cluding simple mechanics and electricity, world
geography, modern languages, music and art ap-
preciation, the rudiments of economics, psychol-
ogy, and government, and everyday arithmetic,
than the grammatical forms of dead languages,
and abstract and theoretical mathematical tech-
nicalities. A college course can take care of
these latter subjects for the few that need them
or can profit by them. The above may seem
merely a digression into curricular content; but

there is a very real moral: Our schools and oui
homes must work together in training our adoles
cents to recognize and handle intelligently thf
emergencies confronting them ; to vote, to live ir
our American democracy. The conditions tha
have made our American standards possible
standards available to all, not merely the mon
favored, must not be allowed to die out, mus
not be forgotten.

In the other aspects of child training, social
emotional, and spiritual, we are very inadequate
Our families now are small, the average numbe
of children to a family being less than two. Thi
means that too often this one and only child, or
possibly these two, gets entirely too much wait
ing on, too much attention from adults, too littL
opportunity to learn to do the things ultimately
required of him; to be helpful in the home; t<
become self-reliant; to adapt to people his owi
age; to be satisfied not to be always even a
home the very center of the stage; to share hi
belongings graciously and even eagerly; to stan<
up for his own rights. To quote Aristotle: "Th
things we have to learn before we can do them
we learn by doing them; e.g. men become build
ers by building, lyre-players by playing th
lyre; so too we become just by doing just acts
temperate by doing temperate acts, brave b
doing brave acts." A little sulking or whinin.
too often is all that is necessary to get any cor
cession the childs wants: an icecream cone, ,
delayed bedtime hour, or, later on, more tha:
his share of the family income.

The one and only way to form good habit
(or bad) is by practice. Teachers can't dissolv
all the bad habits parents send attached to thei
children. Besides its not fair to send a teache
such horrid material. A child should be, &
any given stage, right for that stage; right i
every way including social and emotional. 1

[58]

e isn't, then the quicker he can be remodeled
le better. Catch a bad habit before it consoli-
ates into habit; head it off. Training, to be
ffective, must always be consistent, firm, and
litable to the age and nature of the child.

In regard to spiritual values one must need
e less specific, but this at least can be said: a
lild should have the kind of religion best
dapted to produce effective and worthy char-
cter. Dogmatism and doctrines and creeds do
ttle toward that end, and may do exactly the
pposite; they may lead to a critical and dis-
greeable intolerance. The idea of God should
e one that promotes kindness, serenity, firm
rinciples, good habits, emotional stability, as
ell as openminded reverence. The church can-
ot be relied on to achieve these ends, so the

home must do it. The policy of the school is
almost necessarily a neutral one in this field.

To hark back to the opening paragraphs for
a moment; if we do for our own children all
that has been indicated as essential to avoid all
unnecessary pitfalls, we want no less for the
companions of our children. "Evil communica-
tions corrupt good manners." Or, "One rotten
apple can spoil a whole bushel." If for no other
than financial reasons, that is, as tax-payers,
let us each do all we can in our own communities
to provide good schools and libraries, good
churches, good parks and other recreational fa-
cilities, good movies and soft drink counters,
and other agencies for wholesome fun and social
development. A community can be no better
than the spirit of the homes that make it up.

kBOUT BOOKS

Elizabeth Stevenson, '41

r ALT WHITMAN, AN AMERICAN

Henry Seidel Canby
DUghton Mifflin Co., Boston

TAKE IT that the hard thing that a biogra-
ler does is show a man's development, not
st static pictures of a man first in one phase
id then in another, but the change itself, the
tual growth or decay of a soul. Canby has
>ne it here in his biography of "an American,"
alt Whitman.

Whitman has been many things to many
nericans. One of the "toughs" to Lowell in
)ston, the polemical prophet of the new equal-
of sex and class to many disciples, the
lorphous ancestor of a whole breed of twen-
:th century poets. He has been romanticized
most out of existence as a real person.

A perplexing problem in biography has been
well handled. A difficult person has been fitted
between book covers without losing the flavor
of personality. Walt Whitman, as a boy on Long
Island, as a printer in the expansive Manhattan
of the thirties and forties, Whitman as the re-
spected provincial editor of the Brooklyn Eagle,
Whitman as a new and suspect kind of poet, as
the nurse and friend of the wounded, as a
Government worker in Grant's Washington, as
the maker of one poem of life-long length, all
these Walts Canby has assembled and shaped
into the life of one man. A particular fasci-
nation in this biography is the just proportion
and moderation with which Canby, the modest
and careful scholar, shapes the life of the ex-
plosive, expansive, careless Walt Whitman and

[59]

loses nothing in lifelikeness.

For example, at one period of his life, Whit-
man, then known as Walter Whitman, had at-
tained respectability, the satisfying fame that
comes to a big man in a small town. As editor
of the Brooklyn Eagle Whitman wrote an un-
distinguished but effective prose and proselytized
successfully in the liberal cause: slum clear-
ance, city improvements, and support of the
Whig candidates. He was a cheerful and con-
fident preacher of a working democracy.

Not one of Walt's associates on the Eagle
would have called him a poet. Yet during all
these years a ferment of poetry was going on
below the prosperous and confident surface.
Only a few private notebooks of the time record
the boiling desperation of inner growth. Con-
fused in language and in thought, they record
the moving process by which Walt Whitman
taught himself to unlearn one way of thinking
and to learn another more difficult. Canby re-
cords the very birth pangs of a poet.

Similarly, Whitman, in the Civil War hos-
pital camps, living with the wretched wounded
of both sides, feeding them, reading to them,
laughing with them, suffered and changed and
grew as a man and poet. The letters of this
period thrill with the pain of life in war time.
The common love and shared hardships of those
days were food for his love of humanity and
gave him a background of experience that he
had desired and assumed but never had before.

The quality of lifelikeness which Canby has
captured in the book is the one most to be de-
sired in a biography. So I have emphasized it.
But a short review of the book cannot do justice
to the full and varied study it is of Whitman's
life, his time, and his art. It will drive you to
Walt Whitman, himself. The book simply com-

pels a fresh reading of such poems as Song c
Myself, Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rockin{
When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomet
Passage to India. It may seem to you that yo
have never read them before.

OUT OF THE SILENT PLANET

by C. S. Lewis

The MacMillan Company, New York

Most of the novelists who continue to wri
during the war seem to have been stirred up 1
a furious busyness with the fatuous, pompou
and overstuffed conventions of the long historic,
novel rather than the putting to paper of any <
the real impressions of the difficult times. A
exception to this depressing state of affairs
C. S. Lewis' Out of the Silent Planet. The boc
is successful on two levels: it has the authenti
delicious terror of the good thriller and tl
witty excitement of the philosophical romanc
The book has also the blessed virtue of beir
short.

The story is written in the tradition of tl
space-time novel of H. G. Wells. An Englis
professor, engaged upon a peaceful walkir
tour across a deserted countryside, comes up(
a mysteriously aloof house, and makes the a
quaintance of two gentlemen there, up to i
good. He is drugged and awakes to find himse
in the company of the two gentlemen in
globular vessel, "standing out from Earth abo
eighty-five thousand miles," on the way
another planet. The story of the Three Me
Ransom, the reflective individualist, Weston, tl
experimental, rudderless scientist, and Devin
simply greedy, is a witty entertainment
human fears, ambitions, and dreams.

It is apparent from the start that althouf
this space-time fantasy is written in the manni

(Continued on Page 6

[60]

ATLANTA'S WOMAN OF THE YEAR IN EDUCATION:

OUR OWN 'MISS MAC

( This is the second in a series of articles concerning
he private lives of outstanding campus personalities)

High up on third floor Science Hall where
i wind stirs restlessly even on calm days, and
lie flooring creaks with every step . . .is the
larrow crowded office of Mary Stuart Mac-
Dougall, Agnes Scott's professor of biology for
23 years, Atlanta's first woman of the year
in education.

If you are smart, you have arrived early at
lie office, only to find that Miss Mac is out.
[f you are lucky, you have wrangled permission
:o wait inside! Then, left alone, with only the
tvind and occasional creaking of the floorboards
o break the silence, you may examine to your
leart's content this inner sanctum of an impor-
ant woman scientist this dingy little room
vith its jumble of books and slides and papers
vhere our Miss Mac lives and experiments.

It is such a small office to hold so much, you

link. Three man-sized desks, two desk chairs,

daybed, shelves of books mounting to the

eiling, filing cabinets, innumerable papers

1 jammed into a place about the size of a

workman's lunchbox. An oblong lunchbox with

huge green-blinded, storm-plated window at

ne end. Gradually you discover the reason for

iree different desks. One holds a typewriter

nd the precious lab manual material which

liss Mac is compiling as an accompaniment

) her recently published textbook, Biology:

he Science of Life. (Job No. 1).

acing this desk with only enough

pace between for a worn swivel

hair, is another desk this one hous-

tig the grades and papers of her w^Jo^*?

tudents. (Job No. 2). And next to

lis desk, is still another bearing a

beautiful microscope encased in glass, box after
box of slides, enlarged photographs of the
malaria parasite and other material needed
in her malarial research which she is conduct-
ing as Special Consultant to the United States
Public Health Service under the auspices of
the U. S. government. (Job No. 3).

You sit for a while in the old swivel chair,
feeling its smoothly worn arms and listening
to the wind hurling itself against the heavy
storm-plated window. You walk up and down
the room once (12 paces). You stop before
a row of photographs, distinguished looking
gentlemen with test tubes and microscopes and
the unintelligible signatures of geniuses.

"Hmm . . . colleagues!" you assume and
manage to decipher some of the names for your
notes. Later you find that you have a fairly
complete list of the world's greatest contem-
porary biologists. Finally, you come to rest
on the daybed beside the door with a copy of
the textbook that won Miss Mac the title of
Atlanta's Woman of the Year in Education,
that has been adopted by 53 colleges and uni-
versities, that is now entering its third printing
since publication less than a year ago.

While you are leafing through the 901 pages
and some 500 illustrations (done by Agnes
Scotters, Betty Fountain Edwards, Beatrice
Shamos, Mrs. Runyon, Frances Baker, Mrs.
Florence Kendrick and Jane Wyatt) you hear
a voice on the creaking stairs below.

"One-two-three more to go . . . this
is the fourth time I've climbed these
stairs today!" And you look up to
see Miss Mac herself, stalking through
the door.

Few people have the figure or the

[61]

poise for stalking. Miss Mac has both. She is
a tall well-built woman with fine wisping hair,
a resolute mouth and the aristocratic features
of her ancestors. As she stalks to the swivel
chair by the great arched window, you feel a
wave of that old Freshman awe returning, from
the days when an assistant called the roll of
your biology class, another assistant graded
your papers, and "the lady of the red robe"
entered only to lecture then disappeared again.
When she has caught her breath, Miss Mac
speaks. And the statuesque illusion is imme-
diately shattered. For her voice is warm and
womanly.

"So you've come to interview me!" she says
giving you a searching look. "Well . . . here
is all the information you will need. Some
biographical data I had compiled for the Atlanta
papers . . . birthplace, education, degrees . . .
etc. You may keep these " and she hands
you a sheaf of onion-skin papers.

You glance at the first page with sinking
heart.

Th

is is

fine

but.

"Go ahead read it," Miss Mac urges with
a wave of her hand. So you begin to read the
first sheet which goes like this:

MacDougall, Mary Stuart, biologist; b. Lau-
rinburg, N. C, Nov. 7, 1885; daughter of
James and Sarah (nee Williams) MacDougall;
A.B. Randolph-Macon Coll., 1912; M.S.U. of
Chicago, 1917; Ph.D. Columbia U. 1925; ScD.
Universite de Montpellier, 1935. Research and
Instructor in Protozoology, Marine Biological
Laboratory (Woods Hole, Mass.) 14 summers;
Prof, of Zoology and head dept. of biology
Agnes Scott College since 1920; Research Asso-
ciate, Johns Hopkins Sch. Hygiene and Pub.
Health 1927; Research Kaiser Wilhelm Inst.,
1931; Coll. de France and U. of Montpellier,

1932 and summers 1932-35. Pres. Southeas
em biologist, 1943-43. Mem. Am. Soc. Zool
gists, A.A.A.S., Ga. Acad. Sciences (pre
1927), Phi Beta Kappa, Sigma XL Gugge,
heim fellow for study abroad, 1931-32. Autho)
16 articles on the genetics of Protozoa an
Malaria published in jours., and a textboo
Biology; The Science of Life, 1943. Addres
Agnes Scott College, Decatur, Ga.

At last you gather up your courage. "Th
is fine, but our readers want to know abo
you as a woman not as a scientist. In othi
words, Miss Mac, have you ever been in lover

"What? Why of course!" is the quick repl
There's not a woman alive who hasn't hi
some man ask her to marry him, at one tin
or another. But I've always had too much
do to bother with romance. My mother ai
father died when I was 12. There were 7
us in all and we older ones had to scuf
for the rest. That's how I became interest*
in science, really. Because in order to go
Randolph-Macon, I had to work my way throuj
doing office work in the mornings. And the on
classes left in the afternoons were science ones

You scribble away happily on the daybi
now. There is no need even to ask questior
Then suddenly, the conversation stops.

"So you want to know about me as a woman
Miss Mac announces rising slowly. "Well, cor
along, and I will show you my flowers, I
period furniture and my needlepoint."

"N-needlepoint?" you ask in amazement.

"Of course!" is the somewhat sharp rep.
"Needlepoint requires the same thing necessa
to scientific research. Patience . . . patier
and accuracy. Why shouldn't a scientist
needlepoint. Or paint? Or play a musi<

[62]

nstrument for that matter? These intellectuals
yho go around saying a scientist is incapable
if enjoying music! Humpf! Why only a physi-
ist could begin to understand the mechanism
if sound in Beethoven's Ninth."

"Yes indeed," you agree and follow her lead
[own the creaking stairs.

"Now, this is my nursery," Miss Mac an-
lounces with a chuckle as you near her apart-
nent in Ansley. She points to a strip of ground
lear the back entrance.

"I've rooted everything from holly to haw-
horn here and none of it has ever died. This
s my greenhouse," she adds mounting the wide
>ack steps to the cottage.

African violets!" you exclaim the moment
ou enter the little glassed-in slanting-roofed
ack porch. "Rows of them!"

Yes, because they are so easy to root. Just a
af or piece of stem will produce another plant."
"And pink and white begonias, primroses . . .
yclamen . . . oh, this is lovely!"

I've always had a garden," Miss Mac con-
des as you leave the miniature greenhouse.
At home each of us had his own plot of ground,
always grew vegetables. And I'll never forget
le day my mother mistook my row of popcorn
jr sweet corn. There was quite a commotion in
le kitchen later."

You walk down a darkened hall and stop
efore a door.

Now . . . these are my living quarters. You
lay look around all you like while I put on
pot of water for the tea."

"Please don't go to any trouble," you pro-
st, "we really shouldn't stay for tea."

No trouble at all," Miss Mac calls from
ie tiny kitchen at the end of the hall, "I've

already prepared the trays." And you realize,
with a little thrill that she has planned on your
coming today.

The room in which you are left is the bed-
room, spacious, many-windowed with a lovely
Colonial four poster bed (one of the prize
period pieces) an open fireplace, books, maga-
zines, a handsome secretary and more books.
You are curious to see what a scientist reads
in her spare time. So you examine the books
on the huge curved-front radio which is pulled
up flush with the bed for easy reaching. There
are four of them, all book-marked, and they
include a mystery, a new biography, the latest
fiction and Konrad Heiden's Der Fuehrer.

"I read according to mood," Miss Mac ex-
plains coming into the room. "Each of the
books you see there has a purpose. One stimu-
lates me, one amuses, one relaxes and one puts
me to sleep. I read to get my mind off my
work. And by the way, did you notice the
MacDougall coat of arms here by the fireplace?
The motto is interesting, I think. Vincere Vel
Mori, to conquer or die."

You stand looking up at the resplendent old
crest with its silver lions, blue shields and red
Crusader's cross.

"To conquer or die . . . that's something
to live by!" you say gravely.

"Isn't it? And the MacDougalls were just
like that. The fightingest people I know of
that is, next to the Stuarts. They were rather
determined people too!"

In the parlor which is just down the hall
you find the needlepoint. Squares of it . . .
on 6 Hepplewhite chairs, on a cherry rocker,
on a footstool. In this room you also find the
impressive silver tray awarded Miss Mac at
the recent "Woman of the Year" banquet, more

[63]

books, and on a coffee table before the fire-
place hot tea and cakes.

All the time you are eating, Miss Mac brings
you things to look at. A white lace tablecloth,
yards around, which she crocheted one winter.
Dinner napkins dripping with cut-work and
luncheon cloths edged by hand. Finally nothing
surprises you anymore not even the little
group of books hidden away on one of the
book shelves.

"This is something I don't tell everyone but
... I still like fairy tales. Here is my collec-
tion. Have you ever seen a German edition of
Die Wurzelkindern. . . . ?

At half-past five you are standing by the
back door of the little greenhouse again, making
your farewells. In the growing darkness under

ABOUT BOOKS {Continued from Page 60)
of Wells, the emotional tone is different. The
fact that there is a warmth of emotion disting-
uishes it from the stunt that it might have been.
Ransom said that the most astonishing thing
that struck him that first incredible morning on
Malacandria was not the oddity of a new world,
but the beauty of it. Ransom cared for beauty,
and the irony of his adventure began to unfold
to him when he discovered more spontaneous
admiration for poetry, music, and bravery in
this other world than he remembered upon his
own planet.

He learned that Earth, or Thulcandria, as he
was now taught to call it, was the only silent
planet, that all the other planets were in joyous
communciation and that only Earth was dumb.
There was a story in Malacandrian mythology
to account for this: the presiding spirit of Earth
was thought to have become evil, to have become

the slanting roof, the African violets are ai
even deeper blue. You are asking your las
question, seriously.

"Tell us, Miss Mac, doesn't teaching eve
interfere with your scientific research? Don'
you sometimes wish you could just forget classe
and test papers and conferences?"

"No," is the calm answer, "because I'v
discovered the two professions balance eac
other. During the week I'm a teacher o
week-ends I shut myself up in the office an
become a hermit scientist. The two jobs mak
a healthy combination. They keep me froi
getting stale. Then too, in all my experimen
ing, I've never come across a fact that couldn
be passed on to my students. I like teaching . .
at Agnes Scott."

a Bent One and to have been confined to Eart
alone. However, there had been rumors i
the heavens of mighty struggles in Thulcandri
against the Bent One, so far unavailing.

The attempt to indicate the tone of the boc
should not minimize the solidity of the settinj
Malacandria's colors, sounds, smells seem rea
They seem remembrances rather than invention

THE BATTLE IS THE PAY-OFF

by Ralph Ingersoll

Harcourt Brace & Co., New York

It was thought by many that his neighbo:
did the country a doubtful service by draftii
Ralph Ingersoll into the Army. The editor <
PM was a key man in the exposition of progre
sive ideas in the war against Fascism both fo
eign and domestic. However, a 1-A at forty-tw
he went into the Army (and many thought obli
ion) as a private. Many months later, havir
worked his way up through the ranks, Capta:

[64]

ngersoll wrote a book which does outstanding
ervice for the Army of the United States, and
ncidentally for the author's reputation.

Its style carries to the pitch of brilliance the
eporter's modest gift for the reality of persons,
dace, and climax. During the American ad-
ance into Tunisia, Ingersoll was attached as
n observer officer to a company of combat engi-
leers who were in turn attached to a battalion
f Rangers. This small but formidable group
f men, during one night, by a forced march
ver difficult country, by-passed the Italians at
l1 Guettar and came down out of the mountains
>ehind them to defeat in a violent engagement
in enemy three times their own size.

Ingersoll's sharp, lucid account of this clash
hould become a classic description of a battle.

is understanding encompasses materiel, ter-
ain, and men. The narrative is simply and
wiftly paced and as climactic as good fiction.

et it seems honest, unforced, and true. It is

intensely moving.

If Ingersoll has any axe to grind, it is to
point out the relation of good training to a suc-
cessful battle action. He, who was so exquisitely
miserable during his basic training, would nov
call for more of the same of all American sol-
diers. For an Army to establish contact with
the enemy in the field and engage in battle,
there must be a tremendous amount of prepara-
tion, organization, and transportation. But when
the pinch comes, the Army which has toughened
on hard and rigorous training is the Army which
comes through as did his small group of engi-
neers and Rangers at El Guettar.

If some future editor will cut out the last few
exhortatory pages of the book right and proper
now considering the need of the time for better
and more training, Ingersoll's story may outlast
the war and find a modest place in American
literature as a distinguished narrative on the
subject of men in battle.

[65]

WAR BONDS for AGNES SCOTT

We are all buying bonds for our country. Let's buy one for Agnes Scott too! It's
a grand way to pay up your pledge, to make an additional gift to Agnes Scott,
to put your money to work for your country and your college!

HERE'S WHAT YOU DO

Purchase either Series F or Series G Bonds (Series E Bonds cannot be owned
by a college) and register your bond in the name of Agnes Scott College, Decatur,
Ga. Then write to the College and tell us how your bond is to be used.

HERE'S WHAT YOUR BONDS CAN DO

^k Your bond can help complete the Semi-Centennial and University Center
Campaign.

"At Your bond can aid in the completion of Hopkins Hall. (Bonds contributed
for this or other cash purposes will eventually be bought by the College
Endowment, so that cash can be released without turning in the bonds to
the Government.)

"A" Your bond can be used to create a new memorial scholarship fund if the
gift is $1,000 or more and if this is desired.

For further information, write to your Alumnae Office.

AGNES SCOTT

ALUMNAE QUARTERLY

CAREER ISSUE

JULY 1944

YOUR QUARTERLY

This issue of the Quarterly is the last in a series planned by Jane Guthrie
Rhodes, the editor of the November and February numbers. The many alumnae
who expressed enthusiastic praise of these artistic publications will congratulate
her too on the birth of her third son, William Lee Rhodes III.

Contributors to this Career Issue have written interesting accounts of their
lives since graduation. The professions presented in these articles are only a few
samples of the varied careers followed by Agne Scott alumnae scattered all over
the globe. We dedicate this Career Issue to our alumnae who are doing their jobs
well no matter where they are serving.

Although this issue of the Quarterly has been delayed because of changes in
personnel and difficulties in publishing, it brings news of importance to each alumna.
Read especially the annual reports and the outline for the reorganization of the
Alumnae Association. Details of the plan, which was approved by the Board of
Trustees and accepted by the members of the association at the general meeting in
May, will be explained fully in the November Quarterly.

OFFICERS, COMMITTEE CHAIRMEN, AND TRUSTEES OF THE ALUMNAE ASSOCIATION

Margaret Ridley, 1933
President

Susan Shadburn Watkins, 1926
First Vice-President

Cama Burgess Clarkson, 1922
Second Vice-President

Ida Lois McDamel, 1935
Secretary

Frances McCai.la, 1935
Treasurer

Eugenia Symms, 1936
Executive Secretary

Editor
Eugenia Symms, 1936

Jean Bailey Owen, 1939
Radio

Emma Pope Dieckmann, 1913
Newspaper Publicity

Penelope Brown Barnett, 1932
Alumnae Trustee

Annie Pope Bryan Scott, 1915
Tearoom

Katherine Woltz Green, 1933
Second Floor

EDITORIAL STAFF

Lucy Johnson Ozmer, ex-1910
Constitution and By-Laws

Julia Smith Slack, ex-1912
Student Loan

Mary Warren Read. 1929
House Decorations

Virginia Heard Feder, 1933
Alumnae Week-End

Isabel Leonard Spearman, c.\-1929
Entertainment

Frances Winship Walters, Inst.

Alumnae Trustee

Art Editors

Professor Howard Thomas

Leone Bowers Hamilton, 1926

Published jour times a year (November, Februa.y, April and July) by the Alumnae Association oj Agnes Scott College
at Decatur, Georgia. Yearly subscription, $2.00. Single copies, 25 cents. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office
of Decatur, Georgia, under the Act of August 24, 1912.

Vol. XXII Career Issue, July 1944 No. 3

MOTHER, a woodcut

Robert von Neumann 2

POSTWAR PLANS FOR AGNES SCOTT

Dr. J. R. McCain 3

ONE FOOT ON EARTH

Sara Catherine Wood Marshall 5

BOTH A BORROWER AND A LENDER BE

Emma Laura Wesley _ 8

I WOULDN'T TRADE WITH ANYBODY

Betty Willis Whitehead 11

STILL WRITING

Marian McCamy Sims 13

REINFORCED FOUNDATIONS

Marie Baker 1 7

NOT BASIC ENGLISH

Penn Hammond 21

CONTENTS: six months down and the duration to go

Eliza King 25

ARMY LIFE AS WOMEN LIVE IT

Clara Morrison 27

THE IRRESISTIBLE PRESENT

Sarah Shields Pfeiffer 31

DOUBLE TALK

Rosalind Janes Williams 33

"LIFE IS SO FULL OF A NUMBER OF THINGS"

Betty Lou Houck Smith 35

BUY A PICTURE, NOT A NAME

Lamar Dodd 41

ABOUT BOOKS THREE FRONTS

Elizabeth Stevenson 43

ANNUAL REPORTS 49

CLASS NOTES 53

Mother

From the woodcut by Robert von Neumann

Dr. J. R. McCAIN

Postwar Plans for AGNES SCOTT

The impact of the war on Agnes Scott's de-
velopment has not been so disrupting as in
many other institutions or as we had feared. We
have been very conscious of it, and we have
given up many cherished annual events, have
supported sacrificially the calls for money and
service, and have modified important phases of
the curriculum and of student activities. How-
ever, our student body has been maintained quite
well as in peace times, and our faculty has not
been decimated by heavy military calls. Both
groups have cooperated in performing needful
campus duties while maintaining high standards
of intellectual accomplishments.

The postwar plans of the College are essen-
tially those which we had before Pearl Harbor
and which have simply been postponed. We
hope that they can be carried out rapidly after
peace comes.

Among the physi-
cal improvements
which are needed,
we would place first
a new science hall.
Plans for this have
been drawn, and it
is estimated that it
will cost perhaps
$350,000 on prewar

estimates. We hope that it will not run much
more than that in 1946, shall we say? It will be
located south of Buttrick and Presser Halls, and

the three buildings will make an attractive
quadrangle.

A new dormitory, to be named Hopkins Hall,
after our beloved Dean of former days, will be
our second improvement. It is to be located just
where the old science hall is now standing. It
is being paid for very largely by Alumnae gifts,
and it will cost probably about $200,000. It is
expected to house the girls who have been living
in White House and in the cottages, and it will
simply take care of them more comfortably
rather than increase the total student capacity to
any great extent.

A third improvement, toward which we have
as yet raised no money, should be a new dining
hall and kitchen. We are now using a single
dining hall, and it gives a unity to the student
groups and an economy in operation which

are worth while. We
would like for the
new unit to be lo-
cated on the plat
of ground between
Gaines and Ansley
cottages, and the
combined dining
room-kitchen build-
ing will likely cost
$250,000.
A fourth project, for which also we have as yet
raised no funds, will be the erection of a new
hospital. Our present infirmary is now a

[3]

wooden structure and is standing in its fifth
location on the campus. It has been moved about
so much, and was so inadequate in the begin-
ning, that its replacement is most important. A
new building will probably cost $100,000.

It will not be a great while until I will be
reaching the age for retirement. Before leaving
the College, I would like to see these major
improvements made, but I hope also to secure
the funds for some minor construction which I
think will be valuable. These items will include
new homes for the incoming president and for
the dean of the faculty and for the dean of
students. They will also include modern faculty
apartments of varying size, and a practice build-
ing for the Department of the Home which we
expect to establish eventually.

Not included in new construction, but of great
importance to the comfort of the students, will be
the remodeling and improving the interiors of
Rebekah Scott and Inman dormitories, very much
like the changes in Main.

Turning from material things, we are planning
to extend very greatly our personnel work with
students. We feel that we know quite well how
to give fully as much assistance as is needed for
the lower 20 per cent of our enrollment. Some
of the faculty wonder whether we do not give
these too much guidance and stimulation. We
also feel that we are succeeding in the develop-
ment of the upper 10 per cent of the girls who
come under the possibility of the honors program
and who are capable enough and sufficiently in-
telligent to care for themselves to a large extent.

On the other hand, we have not made much
provision for the 70 per cent who come between
the extremes of our enrollment. Many of these
are not stimulated to do better work, but with a
little help might develop into outstanding stu-
dents. Others might be leaders in student affairs
if they were encouraged to exert themselves.

Most colleges come short in handling this large
and important group. We hope that Agnes Scott
can do something which will be constructive and
significant not only for our own girls but for the
cause of the college education in general.

There will not need to be made a large number
of curriculum changes, so far as we can now see.
We feel that our science offerings will be much
enlarged as we secure better quarters. We be-
lieve, also, that we should add to the college
program geography, geology, with fuller work in
astronomy, physiology and hygiene.

Considerable expansion should be made in
sociology, economics, philosophy, and govern-
ment. Some of these departments, as well as
those in science, may be strengthened through
cooperation with Emory University and with
other units in the University Center group.

Agnes Scott has assumed leadership in the fine
arts, at the urgent requests of its neighbor institu-
tions, and there is a large development which is
needed in this field. We are making progress
here, but it cannot be spectacular. Music,
art, and speech will probably have increasing
emphasis in elementary and secondary education
after the war, and Agnes Scott should receive
better material with which to work.

At the very beginning of its existence, our
college was dedicated to God and to His service.
We wish this dedication to mean a great deal to
officers, faculty, students and all others con-
cerned. It is our earnest prayer that our progress
in material things, our recognition in the educa-
tional world, and our patronage from all parts of
the earth may never dim the sincere and simple
faith of our founders or keep us from giving to
God the praise for whatever may be accom-
plished. May it ever be the aim of the College
to send out educated Christian women to be a
power in blessing the world and glorifying God.

[4]

ONE FOOT ON EARTH

Sara Catherine Wood Marshall '36

"My life in Washington has been happy and satisfying

My husband and I were
being entertained at the
now world-famous May-
flower Hotel in Washing-
ton. Soon we were to
have dinner with all the
officers of the church and
their wives. The elevator
door snapped shut, and
we began to descend.
Peter reached for my
hand, and gripped it.
''Catherine, I'm scared. Perhaps I should never
have accepted this church. Perhaps I should
never have left Atlanta. What if they don't like

me after all? What if ."

"Main lobby, suh, watch yo' step, miss," said
the elderly colored man, not realizing that he
had rudely interrupted a fine display of the jit-
ters. Each of us took a deep breath and stepped
out into the bright, palm-studded lobby. We were
on our way!

That was almost seven years ago, and it seems
as though we have lived a lifetime since then.
We are not quite so frightened now, although we
are still awed by the responsibilities thrust upon
us. The church which we serve is the historic old
New York Avenue Presbyterian Church. Its or-
ganization is almost contemporaneous with that
of the Capital City itself, since it dates back to
1803. The present building was erected before
the War Between the States and was the church
in which Abraham Lincoln worshipped during

his Washington years. The Lincoln Pew, with
its straight, uncomfortable back and its maroon
velvet cushions, is just back of the Pastor's Pew.
When I think of this historic relic, I always
remember Miss Mary, our dear old friend from
Marietta, Georgia, "an unreconstructed rebel,"
who always squared her shoulders and stuck out
her tongue every time she walked past the
Lincoln Pew. The church has in its possession
the trustees' pew-rent book, with one of the pages

marked simply, "A Lincoln" . The record

shows that Mr. Lincoln had not yet made the
last quarterly pew-rent payment when he was
assassinated.

The history of the church is filled with famous
names. John Quincy Adams was a trustee.
President Andrew Jackson attended the church
until driven away by the interference of the
minister, Dr. Campbell, in the Peggy O'Neill
incident. Peggy, you may remember, was the
"Gorgeous Hussy," made famous by Joan
Crawford.

What does such a church expect of its minis-
ter's wife? To say that she is expected to be
gracious, charming, poised, equal to any oc-
casion would be a gross understatement. She
must be able to meet the most undistinguished or
the most famous persons with equal equanimity.
She must know how to entertain two or two hun-
dred. When called upon unexpectedly at a
banquet or other church gathering, she must be
able to speak well entertainingly or inspir-
mgly, as the occasion demands. She must be the

[5]

diplomat supreme. She should have a sense of
humor. Added to all this, a congregation would
like for its minister's wife to dress becomingly
and to be as attractive as possible. I have
gradually found that it pays to buy fewer clothes
and to have them exactly right. One winter I
bought only one hat. I splurged on it, getting it
from one of Connecticut Avenue's most expensive
shops. It was a lovely American Beauty shade
gay, though not flamboyant one of those most-
becoming, once-in-a-life-time hats. The whole
congregation enjoyed that hat. I suppose hun-
dreds of people commented on it during the
winter.

Of course, these things are the more super-
ficial ones. One all-important qualification re-
mains. A minister's wife must have more than a
hearsay conventional Christianity. She must
have had a personal religious experience, so
that she will really have something to give other
people. She must be genuinely interested in
others' problems and able to sense their needs.
My greatest incentive to spiritual growth during
these years has been the fact that others, in-
cluding my husband, have expected so much of
me. I knew I could never live up to their
expectations on my own strength and ability, and
so I have more and more learned to depend on
the Source of all strength and wisdom to give me
what I lacked.

The person who lives in Washington soon finds
that underneath its beautiful exterior there is an
appalling amount of filth, greed, corruption, and
wickedness in high places. Seeing the machinery
of government at such close range, one sometimes
despairs of the future of democracy. It seems as
though our Washington bureaucracy may become
a Frankenstein monster able to devour us all.
Capitol Hill sometimes seems to be ruled by

pressure groups and selfish minorities. Yet, with
all this, down underneath there is also a deep
hunger for spiritual reality. Sunday after Sun-
day, crowds stand in line waiting for admittance
to our church, exactly as they stand in line for
the movies. Sunday after Sunday, the ushers
pack people in until there is scarcely room to
wriggle. They sit on the steps, stand in the back,
and listen over loud speakers in the Sunday
School rooms. People generally are sober and
thoughtful these days. They know that our nation
is facing grave decisions. Many of them will
have a personal part in helping to make those
decisions. One feels instinctively that they come
seeking an answer to the question, "Does Chris-
tianity have the answer to these problems? If so,
how can we find it?"

Naturally, other things have happened to us
during these years, not the least of which was the
arrival of Wee Peter, now four years old and his
father in miniature. He is a blond, with blue
eyes, intelligent, stubborn, and imaginative. He
is always coming out with something like,
"Mummy, you know the lightning looks like
string beans dancing." There was the Sunday he
had had to wait an unusually long time after
church for his daddy. He was tired, and several
over-demonstrative ladies kept annoying him
with nonsensical questions. Finally, he could
stand it no longer, and blurted out, "Don't talk
to me. I'm tired of spoke to people." The re-
mark has by now become a classic around the
church.

Wee Peter has become a great friend of the
Secretary of War, Mr. Stimson, who is our next-
door neighbor on Cathedral Avenue. One very
warm Sunday afternoon several years ago, the
three Marshalls were enjoying a bit of relaxation
after the strenuous morning services. My hus-

[6]

band had put on his bedroom slippers and
changed his wilted shirt for a silk polo shirt,
open at the neck. Wee Peter's toys, together with
the Sunday paper, were strewn from one end of
the living room to the other. I had just finished
saying, "Wouldn't it be awful if we were to have
callers?" when, out of the corner of my eye, I
saw two people coming up the front walk. There
was no time to do any tidying-up, and when I
went to the door, imagine my embarrassment
when I found it was the Secretary and Mrs.
Stimson! They sat down unconcernedly in the
midst of the litter and visited with us, playing
with Wee Peter, and talking about their many
trips to Scotland in the past. That sort of thing
could happen only in Washington!

Since college days, I have acquired some new
interests, many of them stimulated by the travel-
ling we have done. There was a wonderful trip
to Scotland and England in 1937, a trip through
Canada, by way of Vancouver and Victoria to
the West Coast. There have been many trips
through the Deep South and through New
England, where we have spent the last six sum-
mers on Cape Cod. I have become a movie
camera fan, studied interior decorating, and
enjoyed trying to make cooking an art rather
than a drudgery. On Cape Cod, in the little
shops along the elm-shaded streets of lovely
Sandwich Village, I first saw Sandwich glass and
instantly fell in love with it. Since then, I have
acquired quite a collection of Early American
pressed glass. To one's finger tips this glass
has the same velvety smoothness that charac-
terizes the patina of fine old furniture. Its beau-
tiful colors cobalt blue, cranberry, amberina,
opalescent, claret, amethyst fill the window
shelves in my sun-parlor and brighten the whole
house.

Then there is the writing on which Peter and
I have sometimes collaborated. This has proved
to be fun, because we can keep even our closest

friends guessing about where his writing leaves
oft and mine begins. Our latest venture is a
Bible Study on Ephesians, being published this
spring by the Westminster Press, in Philadelphia.

You can see that I have had a busy enough
life and have loved every minute of it. You
asked whether anything at Agnes Scott equipped
me especially for this life? I feel that I owe a
debt of gratitude to Agnes Scott, to Dr. McCain,
and my professors, which I shall never be able
to repay. The training which I received there is
now the very foundation-stone of everything I do.
A little knowledge of history, an appreciation of
literature, the training I received in writing, and
in public speaking, most of all the dissatisfac-
tion with anything less than the highest academic
standards, with anything less than one's best
these are the things I received at Agnes Scott.
I feel that I gained as much from the informal
contacts with my professors, through such things
as the Poetry Club, the Debating Club, and other
extra-curricular activities, as 1 got through my
studies. Debating, because we took it seriously,
using it to learn to do research work, to reason,
to express ourselves clearly and decisively, to
cultivate an attractive platform manner, was
probably surprisingly enough the most in-
valuable training of all.

Wee Peter is at my elbow, talking incessantly,
and begging me to read him a story from his
well worn and most beloved Winnie-the-Pooh
book, so-o-o I shall have to end this rambling
epistle. There is so much more I might tell you,
but perhaps I can best summarize it by saying
that my life in Washington has been happy and
satisfying, shot through with a sense of adven-
ture, because I know I am in the place God
intended me to be. As I try to fill that place to
the best of my ability, I can only hope that I
am having a small share in helping to build that
brave new post-war world, toward which we all
yearn, and for which we shall all be striving in
the years that lie ahead.

[7]

Emma Laura Wesley '99

BOTH A BORROWER AND A LENDER BE

The Agnes Scott Institute 1899 Aurora carries this prophecy:
School oj Pedagogy, Pedagogue, Miss Emma Laura Wesley

This forecast came true. How could the
editor have known unless she saw the pupils in
my eyes? For eleven thousand ineffable days I
anticipated with eagerness the melody of the
school bell; now I count time by heart throbs
where rich treasures are hidden, old gremlin
Habit being an uninvited guest, who vanishes be-
fore my philosophic wand,

" Every day is a fresh beginning,
Every morn is the world made new."

At the Pinegrove Schoolhouse when my side-
line was the Blueback Speller and Appleton's
First Reader, my chief business was in a play-
house where during delightful recesses I trained
a retinue of future citizens by the natural method.

On a May day in 1890 the town schoolhouse
had been made ready for a visit from the super-
intendent. I can still smell the flower-scented
breezes coming through open windows and feel
the same thrill of impatience in the long spelling
line to show off my skill. When the superintend-
ent made the recurring appeal, so pressing now,
for future teachers, it was I who solemnly prom-
ised to prepare; and that pledge, made at the
age of twelve, has been kept in my limited
capacity unto this day kept through romantic
high school days when boys and books fused so
rightly; kept through five years of Agnes Scott
ideals. Especially have I tried to honor that
early vow in efforts to make good on the testi-

monials of Agnes Scott teachers who sent me to
an employer with the following words: "She is
amiable, attentive, conscientious, earnest, easy in
manner, efficient, energetic, enthusiastic, ex-
emplary in character, dignified, faithful, fine
influence, patient, persevering, pleasing, mas-
tered branches pursued, and is studious." Those
words are in my bank of ideals and I draw hard
on them.

In 1893, at age fifteen, I had a license to teach
which I never used except one month in the
summer of 1897, because I entered Agnes Scott
in 1894. I mention this experience only to show
a Georgia teacher's first salary, twenty dollars.

The estimated cost of my education is about
$3,000, and my earnings about $100,000. Be-
fore teaching I attended school for fifteen years
and later added twelve summers of accredited
work at leading universities. If I had acquired a
Doctor's degree instead of studying favorite sub-
jects, pecuniary emolument would have been
greater. It might have been that my lack of
ambition in that direction was due to a love of
breadth rather than depth; or that the conven-
tional or formal was not in tune with my blithe
spirit; or that I just kept putting off that great
decision.

It is said that travel in youth is a part of edu-
cation; in later life, a part of experience. The
three hundred thousand or more miles accom-
plished in my education and experience began

[8]

by taking the cow to the pasture, watered by a
musical brook, in which mosses, ferns, violets,
honeysuckles, and singing birds were reflected.
rSine early years lived close to nature prepared
me for the later glory of books other than our
Bible, Almanac, Home and Farm, and The
Atlanta Journal; and for the miracles of Pike's
Peak, Yosemite Valley, and Lake Louise. The
antique in my nature must explain why historic
spots have been so magnetic for me.

Out of Agnes Scott I stepped in 1899, wearing
a white organdie dress with a train, a white
leghorn hat, a class pin, bearing a Normal
Diploma in my hand stepped out of the chapel
that reverberated President Gaines' favorite
" Jerusalem, the Golden," Dr. E. H. Barnett's
account of the Pyramids, Dr. Theron Rice's
European trip, Bishop Candler's wise humor,
and the soft echo of evening musicales satis-
fied that I had taken care of left-loved-ones in
the class will.

With "commencement" trousseau and young
delight I next found myself at Emory College,
a house-party guest of the K.A. Fraternity, in
the Means' home, with a date for every waking
hour.

Out of that bit of heaven I enrolled in a
teachers' normal conference and willingly fell
in step with a profession full of opportunities
for happiness and service.

Three years in Douglasville College, teaching
English and science in a community of appre-
ciative people, was a period full of pleasures
and serious work. Years of subsequent educa-
tional employment have not dimmed the memory
of the lessons gained there nor of the friendships
acquired. There I gladly lived and learned and
taught, and early found home visiting greatly
contributive to effective teaching.

The Atlanta public school system accepted
me in 1902 by application and examination.
There was a long skip from college subjects to
third grade, but subject matter and methods of
the two were related. A graded school with
monthly limits was, however, a new thing to
me, and to this day I can never limit the fast
or slow learner. Those sixty eight-year-olds are
still my boast. Interest and effort mixed with
freedom and opportunity know no bounds.

Early in my fourth grade year, a mother of
a handsome but problem child volunteered, "My
son thinks you are beautiful, and you are the
only teacher who could ever manage him."
Great is the power of charm if the small amount
of that ingredient I possessed turned the tide
of this ill-adjusted child into the direction of
the Christian ministry, where he still serves.

Adolescent psychology was relearned during
several years of teaching seventh and eighth
grades. We lived and grew into knowledge
and wisdom happily and successfully together
without too many "do-nots," I'm sure, for their
appreciation often comes to me in words simi-
lar to those Sir Isaac Watts used long ago:

"But thanks to my friends for their care in
my breeding,
Who taught me betimes to love working
and reading."

As assistant principal I often taught sight
singing to my class and to others in the school.
I was inheritor of my Father's "/a sol la"
avocation as shown by my fondness for sing-
ing. If some of my Latin and math hours had
been given to that fascinating art I might have
substituted enchanting melody for the volume
I produced and induced. The three R's are
inadequate for complete living. A teacher should
sing, dance, draw, and play if she would develop

[9]

children born to do the same. Two outstanding
events in my school life were my playhouse
and singing, "I cannot Sing the Old Songs I
Sang Long Years Ago," as the grandmother in
the Red Riding Hood Operetta.

Supervising a playground two summers
brought tan to my body, satisfying exercise to
my muscles, children to my district, and fifty
dollars monthly to my purse.

It is not presumptuous to mention that I
"assisted at the birth" of two useful and power-
ful organizations in the early part of 1900. I
refer to the Atlanta Teachers' Association of
1905 which has lifted the level of our teachers
financially, professionally, and socially; and to
the Parent-Teacher Association of 1911, which
has developed a helpful ascendancy into every
phase of civic life. I was program chairman of
our P.T.A. for thirty-two years and I am a
life member. During the years of my principal-
ship the P.T.A. made and spent above $18,000
on school equipment and welfare work.

Other organized groups in which I labored,
besides the Methodist Church and the Quota
Club, are: the N.E.A., G.E.A., D.E.S.P., A.C.E.,
Garden Association, C.L.S.C., Girl Scout Coun-
cil, Red Cross, and the Agnes Scott Alumnae
Association. Necessarily, pension days will de-
flate the enthusiasm in some of these organiza-
tions.

During the summer of 1916, while directing
the school of accelerated children, I was con-
firmed in a strong conviction that children
should not be hurried in physical, mental, nor
emotional development.
"Unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy."

These seem more in tune with nature's way.

I have studied many geniuses and subnormal
children, and find that teachers generally strug-
gle in foreign fields when they would guide
their growth. The large middle groups are
more in accord with our preparation to teach.

It was my good fortune during thirty-two
years as principal of a school to have well
trained teachers, co-operative patrons, attractive
buildings and grounds, and I follow the post-
education and business successes of my students
with zeal, and the four hundred boys in the
U. S. service with prayers. Among my eight
thousand pupils or students I never found a
really bad one.

The Atlanta Normal Training School, during
my term of eight years as principal, prepared
three hundred teachers and trained many in-
service teachers in extension work. My teaching
subjects were child psychology and sociology.
While training teachers, each one was my other
self and I spared no pains to make her paths
straight, and if any preceptor ever had a worthy
reward, I have had in the A.N.T.S. Alumnae.

Agnes Scott College employed me for six
years from 1930 to 1936 inclusive as director
of observation and practice teaching. Each of
the one hundred sixty-two seniors trained is
successfully and happily serving humanity in
some worthy capacity.

During 1935 I taught adolescent psychology
and Special Methods in Primary and Elementary
Subjects in the University System of Georgia
Evening School. One class member was one
of my 1899 graduating class and another shortly
afterward celebrated her golden wedding.

Teaching can be fun and effective if the
teacher has learning, health, enthusiasm, a sense
of justice and humor, knows the value of system,
uses guidance rather than force, and has the

[10]

childlike appetite for the new. "Perhaps the
most valuable result of all education is the
ability to make yourself do the thing you have
to do when it ought to be done, whether you
like it or not," observed Thomas Huxley.

Going on the air for the first time was a
great thrill; receiving fan mail was another,
on the occasion of singing my famous "B-A Ba"
song.

Speeches and published writings have been

on educational subjects such as teacher train-
ing, kindergartens, nursery, nature study, safety,
ethics, P.T.A., and better homes; and they were
published in daily papers and school journals.
In September, 1943, I was retired from the
Atlanta School System, after forty-one years
of service. I shall always retain a live interest
in the little child, the Master Teacher, and in-
comparable friends, and hope for many useful
tomorrows.

I WOULDN'T TRADE
WITH ANYBODY

Betty Willis Whitehead '37

". . . . the profession has belonged
to men and rightfully so .... "

Looking into years past it is hard to lay a fin-
ger on the reasons for a course of action. My
early ambition was to grow up to be "Daddy's
little took" until at the age of ten or twelve I
decided to be a doctor. Through high school
and college the idea crystallized amid the advices
of a good many older friends and relatives who
argued the pros and cons in sometimes heated
discussions. I treasure now a letter from an
anxiously concerned friend, himself a doctor,
who pointed out that "from time immemorial
the profession has belonged to men and right-
fully so by reason of their possession of certain
characteristics lacking in women. These include

tact, poise, physical stamina, and the ability to

inspire confidence in
the patients with whom
they work." These ad-
monitions were coun-
teracted by a some-
what hardheaded de-
termination to follow
my own course of ac-
tion with the consent
of my father and the
approval of my mother
and others. The choice
itself was made, I
think, on rather scant
knowledge and a some-
what romantic concep-
tion of medicine. Further acquaintance has
disclosed a career of such interest that I have
never yet had reason to regret my choice.

Medicine as a career means hard work, long
hours, and a moderate share of difficulties and
disappointments, compensated by growing
knowledge of a challenging subject, a satisfying
sense of achievement on some occasions, and a
great deal of fun along the way.

[11]

Work begins with college pre-med courses
which usually include a liberal share of labora-
tory hours. These reveal, no doubt, many fas-
cinating secrets concerning the atomic structure
of various molecules and the inner workings of
the earthworm and dogfish, but they tend to
grow a little tedious on warm spring afternoons
when the arts majors are out under the pine
trees on the quadrangle writing compositions, or
perhaps just day-dreaming.

Work continues in medical school where the
student has the stimulus of knowing that each
course will fit into his final pattern of knowledge
and determine his success or failure not only in
school but later in the care of his patients. Pre-
clinical courses are factual and interesting. Dis-
sections lose their morbid horror as the archi-
tecture of the human body is discovered a
complicated structure able to balance itself on
two relatively small extremities, to move and to
govern its own movement, to supply itself with
energy for growth and work, and to think and
feel and act as no other organism is capable of
doing. Beyond the realm of known facts lies
the vast forest of undiscovered knowledge whose
edges have been pushed back gradually through
the years but whose mysterious shadows still
beckon the inquisitive mind to further research.
Far from being overwhelmed either by the
mystery of the unknown or the wonder of the
known, the medical student learns to direct the
light of his accumulating knowledge on the one
and becomes so familiar with the other that in
moments of relaxation in the laboratory he may
organize an irreverent game of baseball with a
spleen and femur, or may enclose a tissue-
wrapped ear in a letter to his girl.

It is a proud but fearful day when, with his
new bag full of shiny instruments, the young

[12]

doctor enters a ward in search of his first pa-
tient and a new phase in his career. He strug-
gles to assume the air of an experienced prac-
titioner. This is rather difficult in view of the
fact that he is not yet familiar enough with tak-
ing a history to do without a large mimeo-
graphed form of questions which he dares not
lay aside for fear of calling forth the wrath and
scorn of various members of the staff by not
having all the answers which he must enter on
the chart. Later some of his confidence returns
when his eye falls again upon his new bag and
its shiny contents. This fades rather quickly as
unforeseen difficulties develop. It's hard at first
to look into an eye with a small light and mag-
nifying apparatus without getting your own eyes
crossed even if the patient is able to hold his
still, which is unusual. It's hard to learn just
how to combine a tongue, a small smooth blade
of wood, and a light so that the result is a view
of the tonsils rather than gagging. No one who
has never tried it can imagine the indescribable
sounds or lack of soimds in an untrained stetho-
scope. These difficulties occupy the attention
almost but not quite enough to prevent some de-
gree of embarrassment at such close inspection
of a fellow being. One is lucky if the patient
isn't a nice old woman who mentally pats him
on the head and quite vocally addresses him as
"child." He is even luckier if it isn't a crotchety
old man who spitefully withholds certain vital
facts to disclose next day to the attending staff
man on ward rounds while the student listens
hopelessly to information he had tried in vain to
obtain. He is luckiest of all if it isn't a poor
neurotic soul who turns to him as someone who
has to listen to her every mournful complaint
and multiplies her symptoms for the joy of

(Continued on Page 68)

"There is a novel clamoring to be
written and I cannot ignore it . . . ."

STILL WRITING

Mariam McCamy Sims , 20

Whenever i am asked and I am asked fre-
quently how I "happened to take up writing,"
the answer always embarrasses me and confuses
the questioner. Because I am forced to reply
flatly and unimpressively, "I don't know." Ac-
tually, I believe few people "take up writing";
I think they simply sit down one day and write
in complete and touching innocence. No
malice aforethought about it.

It would be pleasant, in my case, to feel that
the urge was present even in childhood, but my
memories of those days are concerned chiefly
with horses, dolls and baseball. And with books,
of course, although there was never the slightest
desire to make up my own stories. Even at
Agnes Scott I looked with awe at the students
who "wrote," and devoted my extra-curricular
hours to tennis, basketball and Blackfriars. The
only course I ever failed was a semester of
what was then English XI, but I seem to remem-
ber a few rare words of praise for the short
story which was my final assignment in Fresh-
man English.

And then, after three years of teaching, three
years of writing direct-mail advertising, and two
years of marriage, I sat down one day in 1929,
I think it was and began a short story. It was

a very bad story, so I tore it up and wrote
another equally bad. With a very few excep-
tions I kept on tearing them up for four years,
although many of them earned an impressive
number of rejection slips before the final de-
struction. (Two of the exceptions were later
published: one in The Saturday Evening Post
and an anthology for that year, the other in
Colliers's and an English magazine.) At the
end of four years I decided that I would be
wise to abandon the whole idea and take up
something more remunerative, but as a final
gesture of defiance I submitted the first of the
two stories in a North Carolina State Writers'
Contest.

Struthers Burt was one of the judges, and to
him goes a great deal of the credit or the
blame for the fact that I am still writing. I

[13]

can never repay him for his help and his friend-
ship, but I have tried during the past years to
do the same thing for honest and promising
writers. At the moment, I'm giving advice and
encouragement to a woman in Ontario whom I
have never seen, but who I believe has real
ability.

But magazine writing, however lucrative, is
a limited medium of expression. Once you have
become accustomed to the excitement of seeing
your work in print, you begin to chafe at the
restrictions of the short story form and the
necessity for writing according to an accepted
pattern. That pattern has broadened a great
deal in the last few years, and during those
years I have written novels instead of short sto-
ries. I had never expected to return to the
magazine field, but the peripatetic life of a
Navy wife has made sustained writing almost
impossible and I find myself once more in the
pages of The Ladies' Home Journal, McCall's,
and The Woman's Home Companion. There is,
however, a novel clamoring to be written and I
cannot ignore it much longer.

Writing for the popular magazines can be
both a help and a handicap to the serious nov-
elist. It furnishes excellent training in the mas-
tery of form and the elimination of the unim-
portant; in reading, I often find myself wishing
that the author had served that rigorous appren-
ticeship, and thus learned the value of shape as
well as substance. There is a universal ten-
dency among intellectuals to lift a shoulder at
the "slicks," but their structural and technical
excellence needs no apology.

The handicap, on the other hand, lies in a
tendency towards facility and a habit of writing
with gloves on, so to speak. I have only grad-

[14]

ually overcome that tendency : my first novel was
competent enough, but completely innocuous
and unimportant. ( It was called Morning Star,
by the way, and the heroine went to a school that
bore a striking resemblance to Agnes Scott.)
The second one, The World With A Fence, (how
did I ever decide on such a title?) changed
horses in the middle of the stream and became
two separate books; the first one good, the sec-
ond trite and artistically false.

Call It Freedom marked a long step on the
road to honest writing, and my first escape from
the discouraging classification of "light nov-
elist." It was a novel of divorce, and when I
re-read it several years later I still felt that it
had substance and reality. The ending was
over-simplified, however possibly the lingering
influence of magazine fiction. The book was
published in Norway and in Sweden, a fact
which I found interesting as well as gratifying.

The fourth, Memo To Timothy Sheldon, was
a novella in which I experimented with a tech-
nical form that had appealed to me, and the
style now seems to me smug and self-consciously
"pretty." Only the second of the three parts
had any claim to merit and I have dismissed
the book from my mind. Surprisingly, this too
was published in the Scandinavian countries.

The City On The Hill, my most ambitious
book up to that time, was a cross section of a
typical Southern city and a portrayal of two con-
flicting philosophies within that city. It is solid,
as honest as I know how to be, and it contains
some of the best writing I have done; I only
wish I could discover why it disappointed me at
a later reading. It received good reviews
throughout the country, but I wonder now if the
reviewers were too generous, and I wish I could
re-write it. I suspect that I may have committed

a sin which Clifton Fadiman calls "selling one's
birthright for a pot of message."

In 1940, before our world exploded in our
faces, I began research for my first venture into
historical fiction. Even then the present was
refusing to stand still long enough for me to
draw it, hence the retreat into the past. Beyond
Surrender, a story of Reconstruction in South
Carolina, was more interesting to me than any-
thing I have ever worked on; it is certainly the
best book of the six, and I was delighted to see
it received favorably on both sides of the Mason-
Dixon line.

But I am fully aware of the distance I have
yet to travel. Improvement has been slow, of
the trial-and-error variety, and my chief comfort
is one critic's opinion that each book has stood
on the shoulders of the previous one. Not a
great achievement, to be sure, when the first of
the six was so very poor. For a fortunate few
a very few the ability to write is innate; for
most of us, writing is an art that must be
learned at great cost and over most of a life-
time. It seems to me, too, that immediate suc-
cess is a perilous blessing for a beginner; the
limbo of literature is full of young authors
whose first novels succeeded by a freak of
chance, and who had not the foundation on which
to build a successful career. One of my yard-
sticks for a promising writer is his recognition of
the hours and words that lie between him and
genuine achievement, and I grit my teeth when
I hear the airy, threadbare phrase: "I've got a
marvellous book in mind, if I just had time to
write it . . ."

For the past year, I have been on the review-
ing staff of The Atlanta Journal and have given
even more thought than usual to the trends and
the new names in contemporary literature.

Often I find myself swimming against the criti-
cal current, which disturbs or puzzles me with-
out altering my convictions, but which seems not
to disturb the literary editor at all. I derived
great comfort from Ellen Glasgow's A Certain
Measure, a book which I believe to be as im-
portant contribution to American letters. She,
too, seems bewildered by the present cult of
amateurism; by the way authors boast of hav-
ing been stevedores or pugilists or hoboes of
having been anything, in short, except students
of the art they are attempting to practise. She,
too, is bewildered by the prevalence of what I
choose to call cobblestone prose, and its accep-
tance by critics and readers alike, as if the lit-
erate world had suddenly become tone deaf. Or
it may be that these authors are the Prokovieffs
of prose, while I am still listening for the Bee-
thovens and Mozarts.

As for my personal life: In the past eighteen
months it has undergone a sea change; some of
it rich, all of it strange. After years of seren-
ity and comparative security I took a last look
at the forty acres on which we had once staked
out a house, stored my furniture, and drove
solo from Charlotte to Kansas City. My hus-
band is now a lieutenant in the Naval Reserve,
assigned to Naval Tir Transport, and after his
indoctrination he was ordered to Fairfax Field.
We were together for ten weeks, then he was
given temporary duty at the Naval Air Station
at Oakland. Two months later the transfer be-
came permanent, and once more I packed my
car and completed the trek across the continent.
We have been in Oakland for eight months,
but I suspect that the next move may not in-
clude me.

And after years of domestic freedom of
maids who even knew how to darn socks and

[15]

shield me from the telephone I have re-learned
to cook and wash and scrub the kitchen floor.
I have learned to live in furnished apartments
without wincing, and to assuage the longing for
my garden by putting pots of ivy out to sun and
taking them in. My golf clubs went to Kansas
City and back to Charlotte, my badminton
racket is molding on a shelf, my exercise con-
sists of leaving my car in the garage and walk-
ing to a distant grocery store for my soul's sake
and the sake of my waistline.

But those things are a small price to pay for
the privilege of being here, of discovering what
other parts of the country are like, of feeling
closer to the vast machinery of war. I am de-
lighted to cook for five or six days a week when
on the seventh we may have dinner with a man
who, three days before, has taken the first mail
into Tarawa. Or when I can spend an evening
with the pilot who has flown Undersecretary
Forrestal on his tour of the South Pacific. Dish-
pan hands and a postponed novel mean very
little if the reward is a contact even so re-
mote and tenuous as mine with the realities
we are facing today.

Because I have discovered, in eighteen months
and thirty-two hundred miles, that the realities
are very unreal to most of us. Part of it lies in
a lack of imagination, part in an unwillingness
to visualize death and agony and devastation.
We need to visualize them, or the men who
come back will find themselves trying to shout

at us across a chasm. I have learned that, and
I try to pass on the warning . . .

One other question is often asked me: Have
you been able to reconcile marriage and a ca-
reer? The problem has never existed for me,
perhaps because writing fits more easily into
the traditional pattern of a woman's life, and
because my husband has been so intensely in-
terested in my efforts. I know that even writing
is popularly supposed to wreck homes, but only,
I think, for the sort of woman who publishes one
book and then rushes to take an apartment in
New York, where she can Breathe and Be Free.
I have known a good many successful women
writers, and the more successful they are, the
less need they feel for dramatizing themselves
or their work. Temperament and Bohemianism
are marks of the perennial amateur, and I am
always ready to lay a small bet on the seekers
of the Freer Life.

Writing exacts a price, of course, and long
ago I gave up a great many small pleasures:
afternoon bridge and regular golf, sifting the
news over a morning Coca-Cola at the market-
ing center, the pleasant, day-to-day association
with my friends. But they remain my friends,
so the price seems very small. To those who
want to write I always say, "Come in; the water's
fine. But never try it just because you think it
would be such a nice, easy way to earn a living.
Actually, it can break your heart."

[16]

.... one has to have some vision of
the possibilities in rehabilitation . . . ."

Marie Baker '30

REINFORCED FOUNDATIONS

I shall be glad to tell you something of my
work as employment-placement director at the
Federal Woman's Reformatory, Alderson, West
Virginia, but it will necessarily be in the past
tense because early in December I transferred
to the much publicized Georgia State (Tattnall)
Prison, Reidsville, Georgia, when the Federal
Government "loaned" employees to help in the
reorganization and setting up of standards
here.

Setting up the standards of Alderson is a
good-sized story in itself; but let me tell you
about Alderson and then you'll understand
something of what I'm trying to approach at
Tattnall. Since you ask about my first impres-
sions there I'll begin with the first day when I
transferred there from the Federal Penitentiary
in Atlanta where I had been working with the
Supervisor of Education.

I'd heard that Alderson was much like a col-
lege campus in physical appearance, but I was
hardly prepared, even though I'd seen pictures,
for the campus-like scene: the buildings them-
selves, red brick colonial "dormitories" housing
30-45 inmates; the well-kept lawns and shrub-
bery, the walks, and most especially the friendly
atmosphere of inmates and "faculty." Nor was
I quite prepared for Warden Helen Hironimus
although I'd heard of her engaging personality.
She exceeded my expectations: a tall, slender,
dynamic sort of person who has been mistaken

for Wallis Simpson. An attractive college
woman of quick sympathies with whom you
may imagine it was a fine experience to be asso-
ciated. And the inmates themselves, ranging
from 14 to 70 years, so trim in their seersucker
dresses in tiny blue, pink, brown, green and
white, red and blue stripes plain pastels on
Sundays individualized by neat organdy and
lace collars.

Most of all I was thrilled to discover that
there is an American penal institution for
women that has been developed to such an ex-
tent that it is scientific in meeting the needs of
individuals. It is, by the way, the only insti-
tution in America at this time for women federal
offenders; so the inmate population represents
the entire country. It meets the physical and
mental needs in providing, through a compe-
tently staffed hospital, complete physical and
psychiatric examinations and necessary treat-
ment. Included on the staff are a surgeon, a
venereal specialist, a psychiatrist, a dentist. If
a girl has one leg, an artificial limb is supplied
her; if she needs glasses she gets them; if she
is cross-eyed an operation is performed; if she
needs dentures she gets them.

It meets the educational needs in providing
elementary classes so that a girl with limited
education can get help in the 3 R's. Others who
are ambitious can get a high-school certificate
(issued by the State of West Virginia) or can

[17]

take college or special courses by correspond-
ence.

Vocationally the girls have several trades to
study, and while learning they are paid in
money credited to their account and also in
being given industrial good time from their
sentence, both of which are powerful incentives.
They can work as power sewing machine opera-
tors in the garment shop; they can learn weav-
ing, cooking, dress-making, millinery, baking,
or the laundry business ; and to meet the need of
the emergency there is a class in aircraft sheet-
metal work. Training for being home-makers
is a part of every girl's experience, each one
being required to keep her own room and to
maintain an A-l standard of neatness. More-
over she learns that a home can be made attrac-
tive with a minimum amount of money.

This phase of the training is where my work
came in. My job was to get jobs for the girls
to report to immediately upon release. And
what a challenge it was, and what fun. I worked
through individualized letters to employers,
through personal visits to employers, and
through the help of the U. S. Probation Officers.

The spiritual and social needs of the inmates
are not overlooked. The inmates are in close
daily contact with the Warders of their cottage.
These women are selected as carefully as pos-
sible for their balanced understanding, good
character and personality, and are qualified to
give individual attention to individual prob-
lems. The cottage system provides an approach
to the spiritual and social tone of a home: par-
ties are given occasionally and vesper services
are held Sunday evenings. A Protestant min-
ister conducts weekly services and a priest is in
charge of special Catholic services. Then there

are parole and social workers who work with
the inmates on their own personal problems.

I have mentioned these last but not because I
think they are least important. The most im-
portant factor in helping an individual to ad-
just his or her behavior pattern to accepted so-
cial standards as I see it is to find the way to
appeal to something inside him; and to do this,
other things being equal, it takes individual
treatment. This is of course an expensive
method requiring a large personnel group. The
Federal government, in providing an organiza-
tion operating on the Alderson plan, does in-
clude this individual element and makes it pos-
sible for a great deal of personal work to be
done.

I shall not forget "E," a sweet young girl of
Hottentot age, one of a family of 14, all but two
of whom had had trouble with the law. We had
secured a home and a job for her in a new
community and she confided on leaving that she
would always think of me as a mother. She
didn't know it, but she gave me a shock. I was
indeed old enough to be her mother. The last
time I heard of her she was doing all right, was
a member of her company's basketball team,
and had received a raise.

It would be hard to say that one phase of the
work at Alderson stood out above all others in
interest I liked interviewing the girls, helping
them work out a plan for the future; and it was
especially interesting after working with one
over a period of time ; first discovering what she
thought she would like to do, suggesting related
training if this was indicated, then when her
release date was near securing a job and work-
ing out details for her reporting to it. There
was not a large percentage of those whom we
heard from later (and there were many disap-

[18]

pointments), but enough "made good" to make
us feel that the effort was worthwhile.

There was "L," an appealing young woman
whom we trained as a power sewing machine
operator, for whom we secured a job in a gar-
ment shop and a home with a minister's secre-
tary. There were "V" and "J," sisters 21 and
23 years old. "V" had a bad heart, and "J"
was expecting an illegitimate baby. Both re-
fused to return home. We found an employer
who gave "V" a sedentary job in his factory
and a social-minded woman who assisted in
obtaining hospitalization for "J" and a room
where they could both do light housekeeping.
Recently I had word from the woman saying
both girls had visited her lately and were doing
nicely.

Visiting employers was interesting and gave
variety to my job, and in this respect I was per-
haps more fortunate than many since the isola-
tion of the institution (in a town of 1,000 popu-
lation, some distance from larger places) was
not a real problem with me. In fact I worked
so much I didn't have time to think of it.
Among the interesting trips was one to New
York where I visited aircraft factories with Miss
Hironimus. Then there were other trips to
laundries, bakeries, aircraft plants, local U. S.
Employment offices, War Manpower Commis-
sion state offices, federal probation offices, gar-
ment shops, cotton mills, and factories of many
kinds. You may imagine how stimulating it was
to be able to make comparisons of the same
business in different states and even within the
same community. For instance I found mini-
mum laundry wages within the same Southern
cities to be 15c to 35c an hour, the same job in
a Northern city paying a 50c minimum. Some

people have said, "What a glamorous job you
have" they should have seen me working in
Louisville one August day in a wool suit and
the temperature 102 (my bag had been routed
via Cincinnati and was not with me on arrival)
or sitting up all night on the train and working
the next day as I did a number of times because
reservations were not available.

You ask how my training at Agnes Scott
equipped me particularly from the standpoint of
my major in psychology. I can say that my
degree was undoubtedly a deciding factor in my
background leading to this work. Frankly I
felt I had not had the specialized training one
needs to make one's work effective and I should
have had graduate courses, but even so I feel
that Agnes Scott gave me the quiet assurance
one needs as a general foundation to undertake
what might be a difficult job. One definite little
recollection of a diagram Mr. Stukes gave us
in Psychology 201-2 I found myself using in
talking with girls. A believer in visual educa-
tion, I consciously "doodled" with paper and
pencil during an interview, and adapted in
everyday lingo the diagram of the "synapse,"
suggesting to a girl the possibility of breaking
an established habit pattern this principle may
not be acceptable now, that of the synapse but
the idea was helpful I felt in getting a girl to
thinking about her habits and arousing her to
thinking of modifying questionable ones.

I liked and respected almost without excep-
tion the work and personnel at Alderson. It is
a well regulated institution now, but under Miss
Hironimus' direction it continues to improve.
Before I left a Home Economics teacher had
been employed and one of the classes indicated
for her was in teaching the girls how to spend
money.

[19]

And what do I think of reformatories? My
dear, my experience is too limited for a valua-
ble opinion, and if you will remember this I
will simply say that an institution of the Fed-
eral Reformatory's standards can and does do
a fine job in rehabilitation. I believe it heads
the list in the thinking of most seasoned penal
administrators in its field. It is a prison, yes,
but humanitarian; and if there's anything to
build on, that is, if the person is capable of
learning and is not too insensible because of
hardened practices, can be helped a great deal.
Of course there is a percentage, and we find
we have to be objective in our thinking to a
certain extent, which is "lost." I'm afraid I'm
a hard person to convince in this respect where
a human being's future is at stake, however, be-
cause I want to try to do something with him.
There was a 19-year-old girl, for instance,
whom all officers reported as being untrainable.
She and her family had been known to 35 social
agencies. She had had an unfortunate personal
experience at 11 years of age and had sold flow-
ers on the streets. But four months ahead of her
release she wrote me a request for help in get-
ting a job. She was thinking ahead. Perhaps
our effort was wasted on her, but I want my
errors to be in the positive rather than the nega-
tive side in this kind of work.

I do not know of a recipe for success in prison
work. I will say that to have even a degree of
success in helping another person, it seems to
me one needs to have the faculty of getting co-
operation from others, to have at least an aver-
age amount of intelligence, to be interested in
helping to the point of personal sacrifice, to
have some vision of the possibilities in rehabili-
tation, and to be discontented unless something
is being done about an individual's problems.
Moreover I think the person who is markedly
successful in penal reform must have "a surplus
of practical values."

At the Georgia State Prison where I am now
doing welfare work, it is possible to meet indi-
vidual needs as Alderson does, if the penal sys-
tem can be stabilized by eliminating politics
from its supervision. Students in the Univer-
sity System of Georgia have suffered because of
political intervention; so will prisoners continue
to bear the brunt of the changes made in the
penal program with each change of administra-
tion. It is to be hoped that legislation can be
enacted to bring this stabilization about. Now
the need is for additional personnel, men and
women genuinely and unselfishly interested in
helping to further the splendid program that has
been outlined and initiated here.

[20]

NOT BASIC ENGLISH

"It is not an easy thing to give up your independence and
to become a lowly cog in the great machine of war."

Penn Hammond '40

As we pulled out of the Atlanta Terminal Sta-
tion, bound for Northampton, Mass., and our
first taste of Navy life as officer candidates of the
Navy's WAVES, Atlanta was drenched in rain
and looked its worst. Yet every one of us, while
excited and eager to know what lay ahead, was
apprehensive, too.

For it wasn't just Atlanta we were leaving
behind. This was an entirely new world we were
entering. We were leaving here in Atlanta the
frills and feminine fancies of civilian life. We
were embarking on a career in the Navy, and we
had yet to learn just what it would be like to be
WAVES. We had joined the Navy mostly be-
cause we wanted to help get this war over with
as soon as possible, and also for a number of
personal reasons, but none of them seemed suf-
ficient at the moment.

It is not an easy thing to give up your inde-
pendence and to become a lowly cog in the great
machine of war. The Navy will tell you what
to wear and how to wear it, how long your hair
can be, where you must live, and just how to
ceep your quarters, and hundreds of other things
you have worked out for yourself in the past.
Yet, I told myself, all those things were small
compared to what so many people were giving in
he war at least my life wasn't being offered,
o as I climbed into my berth that night, I
insisted to myself that this was going to work out
fine but deep down inside me I wasn't sure
that joining up was such a good idea.

We reached Northampton the next afternoon.

And then the fun began. We were sent here to
register, there to turn in our baggage checks,
yonder to get our billets. Everything was so
well organized from the beginning that we weren't
too surprised to find ourselves marching off to
our quarters and making haphazard responses to
marching orders given by a cute little black-
haired ensign who was our particular company
commander.

Luck was with me in my room assignment. I
drew a double room with a huge closet, and a
grand roommate who was from Atlanta, too. We
hung up the one extra suit we had brought, and
put things in what we called order before we saw
the pamphlet which was to become our guide.
That pamphlet told us how to do everything.
We must fold our blankets just so, and have
the head of one bunk from the opposite end of
the head of the other. We must stow all un-
authorized gear in our suitcases. We must
arrange dresser drawers as specified. It was
all worked out for us. So we began all over
again to get our room shipshape.

One rule was a mystery
to us for days. It stated
no thumbtacks were to be
placed in the bulkheads.
Not having any idea what
a bulkhead was we were
afraid to put a thumbtack
anywhere, until we learned
that in the Navy a wall be-
comes a bulkhead. In fact,
the Navy language is
thoroughly drilled into
you during those training
school days. The stairs are
ladders, the floors are
decks, the water cooler is
the scuttlebutt, and just

[21]

to confuse things further, scuttlebutt is also the
Navy term for rumor. Time is on a 24-hour
basis instead of 12-hour. We so learned to hit
the deck at 0600 each day and we secured at
2200. My quarters were on the third deck, and
I used the forward ladders to get to them.

The first uniforms we were issued consisted of
a name tag, low-heeled black oxfords, lisle hose,
and seaman's hats. With those items we wore
civilian clothes we had brought along. The mid-
shipmen who had already been around for an
entire month were snappy in their Navy blue
uniforms, and looked good to us. We wore our
nicest clothes and looked like goons. That was
when we began to get uniform fever. They gave
us shots for typhoid and vaccinated us against
smallpox, but the only known cure for uniform
fever is an outfit of Navy blue.

The first day in uniform is one of the most
exciting of all your Navy days. You feel as
conspicuous as a sore thumb, and proud enough
to burst. At formation our company commander
told us how swanky we looked and we beamed.
The middies sang a little song to tell us how nice
we looked. "Golly," I thought, "now I am really
part of the Navy."

From the first we had classes in Naval history,
oiganization, etiquette, law, ships and aircraft,
and the like, and each day we had drill and
physical education. For a day or two it seemed
impossible to get everything done in the allotted
time, but later we found we could manage.

There is so much to remember about training
days the Smith College girls who wear blue
jeans or men's clothes or disreputable, baggy
sweaters to class; Mrs. Roosevelt's visit to see
how the WAVES trained; the first time I saw
Captain Mildred McAfee, head of the WAVES;

the midshipman show; how hard it was to keep
our rubbers on when we drilled on muddy fields;
and the day we were told to have our uniforms
striped.

We stood in company formation that day just
as we had done every day before noon mess.
The company commander read a list of names,
people she wanted to see at once, and mine was
on the list. With fear and trembling we fell out
of ranks and followed her into the dormitory.
Then she told us the wonderful news. We had
been chosen to go to the Navy Supply Corps
school at Harvard, and we were to be commis-
sioned in two days. We rushed to the village to
have our uniforms striped, and to get our new
officer's hats with the "brass in front and the tail
in back." And then we were actually sworn into
the Navy as officers, most of us as ensigns.

At Supply School, in Cambridge, our training
continued. But now we were actually commis-
sioned officers, and our course was a specialized
training. We were divided into two groups, half
to study supply, and the other half, to which I was
assigned, to study disbursing.

The first day at Cambridge we were convinced
that disbursing was to be a weighty subject. We
were issued the Bureau of Supplies and Accounts
Manual and Memo, a copy of Navy Regulations,
known to bluejackets as "Rocks and Shoals,"
Navy Travel Instructions, and other miscel-
laneous books, whose combined weight actually
totaled 30 pounds. To carry these books we were
also issued a traditional Harvard book bag.
made of green canvas with a bright yellow strap,
which, slung over one shoulder, enabled us tc
march to class with only a slight list to port,

Day followed day with study and fun, anc
suddenly we realized it was the last of May am

[22]

we were to graduate in June. Then we began to
get billet fever. The Navy makes its decision as
to the job you can fill, and then asks where
you'd like to be assigned. If there is a job open
of the type for which you are suited at the place
you want to go, you have a good chance of getting
it. But you never know until you actually receive
your orders. So the suspense is more than
terrible.

Our class had heard of an opening at the
North Dakota School of Mines, and I just knew I
had been assigned there. We all went around in a
daze, dying to learn our billets, and yet scared
to hear the news, too.

The night finally came when our billets were
read to us, and by the time they were at my name
my heart was in my throat and I could scarcely
breathe. And then I heard, "Ensign Hammond,
to be Disbursing Officer at Georgia Tech!" What
a relief! And what a surprise! I knew all about
Georgia Tech and Atlanta and it would be fun to
go back home. My leave and proceed time that
I'd thought would be spent in giving Atlanta a
last look for the duration, I spent in New York,
giving it a last look instead.

Then the day came when I was to report
aboard" at Tech. As I approached the Navy
Armory there, my orders clutched in one hand,
my knees began to feel weak and I had trouble
breathing again. For this was the real beginning
of my Naval career, and though we'd been taught
the proper way to report, I felt unsure of my-
self.

When finally I got inside the Armory all I
could see was gold braid. My little blue stripe
that had seemed so big and grand faded and
shrank away to nothing at all, and I felt like
running out the door. Then I noticed that the

officers were smiling in a friendly, welcoming
way and I felt a little better.

When I was taken in to meet the Captain he
told me what a tough job I'd have and asked if I
thought I could handle it. I pulled out my cer-
tificate showing I was qualified to "Disburse
Ashore" and said, "Well, Captain, this says I
can!

Navy trainees at the colleges to which I am
assigned are V-12's. This V-12 program is a
college training program which enables men to
complete college while being trained to be naval
officers. The boys are very carefully chosen and
must uphold a high academic and aptitude stand-
ard to be kept in the program. Consequently,
these trainees are especially fine to work with.
The colleges whose pay I handle, in addition to
Georgia Tech, are Emory, including the Medical
and Theological Schools, the Atlanta-Southern
Dental College, and the University of the South
at Sewanee, Tennessee.

For these schools we handle the pay accounts,
see that the trainees carry government life in-
surance, arrange for them to buy War Bonds,
and handle the sale of clothing to the boys. We
make railroad reservations whenever a trainee
leaves, and furnish him transportation. To the
trainees, our most important job is paying off.

We hold a pay day once a month at each
school. I go to the bank, using the back entrance
along with the Brinks, Inc. trucks, with a large
leather money bag and two armed guards. I
carry a pistol, too, which scared me to death until
T got a Chief Gunners Mate to give me shooting
lessons. Then the trainees line up in pay number
order and we pay off. If a boy is late to the
line, he must wait until everyone else has been
paid before he is paid. One night during a break

[23]

when the paying party was resting, three of the
men who were late to the line asked to see me. It
seemed that they had heavy dates with some
Agnes Scott girls and would be late if they waited
till the end of the line. So I relented that time,
and let them be paid right away.

Part of the fun of being in the Navy is knowing
other WAVES. For instance, about thirty
WAVE officers are stationed in and around At-
lanta, and many of them have come to be my
closest friends. Our jobs are all different, so we
get together and swap stories about them, like
any civilians, but we're all acutely aware of the
fact that we're part of the U. S. Navy.

The jobs we are doing, just here in Atlanta,
are almost as many as there are WAVES. There
are two other Supply Corps officers, doing work
much like mine. The officers at Procurement are
particularly interested in telling more girls about
the WAVES and bringing more WAVES, officers
and enlisted personnel, in the Navy. (They're on

the Seventh Floor of the Healey Building, by the
way, in case you'd like to get down to brass tacks
on this!)

At the Naval Air Station, where the largest
number of officers are stationed, their particular
duties vary from administrative posts to technical
assignments. Two of them are serving as officers
in charge of training schools mighty important
billets for which they knew a lot about aviation
before they even came into the Navy.

When it comes right down to it, I suppose the
thing all of us like best is knowing we are without
question releasing men for the real fight. So
many of us have actually come in to take over a
desk left vacant by a man who's gone off on the
Navy's ships or planes where they want most
to be in this war, and where the Navy needs them
most. And then, too, as you've probably guessed
by now, we're all terribly proud to be part of the
U. S. Navy.

[24]

"We make and serve donuts and coffee
at army camps in England . . . ."

SIX MONTHS DOWN

and the
D U RATI ON TO GO

Eliza King '38

For six months now, I have been working on a
Red Cross Clubmobile, and yet I still feel
stumped when I try to describe exactly what we
do. The simplest explanation is that we make
and serve donuts and coffee at army camps, but
that is only an excuse for our real job. Visiting
with the soldiers, bringing them a touch of home,
helping their morale call it what you like. I
suppose it boils down to being an American girl
who shares enough of their army life to realize
what it takes to be a soldier and at the same time
understands, without being told, the people and
things they miss at home.

Each clubmobile assignment has peculiarities
of its own, but the essentials are the same for all.

The van itself is outfitted with a victrola, a
donut machine, mixing bowl, coffee urns, cups
and other utensils for making and serving the
donuts and coffee. The back half of the large
ones, which used to be regular "highway" busses,
are furnished as lounges, but in the small, ton
and a half and two and a half ton trucks, all the
lounging and visiting has to be done in the

"kitchen." Each van has a crew of two to four
girls, who drive the small trucks. The schedules
vary according to the type of troops served, but
our clubmobile is fairly typical.

We go out each morning from the town which
serves as our base and spend the day at one
of the camps which we visit on a weekly schedule.
The clubmobile is parked by the mess hall, where
we have an electrical outlet for the donut machine
and where we can get water for cooking and
washing up. We cook and serve there until early
afternoon when we go out with our load of good
cheer to the various spots where the men work.
Most of the day the clubmobile is seething with
soldiers of all kinds and descriptions. They help
stack the donuts, play the victrola and serve the
coffee, they read newspapers from home and
visit with one another and with us. When we get
out to serve, too, we have able assistants who do
everything from pouring coffee to washing cups.
I've heard many a soldier, from engineers to
navigators, say after a day on the clubmobile
with us, "That's the hardest day's work I've done
since I got in the army." They must love it,
though, because they keep coming back. It's
something that is theirs, and it's the one place
where military rank means nothing. Privates
stand by and watch captains wash cups and
sergeants get served before majors if they come
first in line.

We see the soldiers often enough to become
well acquainted with them and yet not so often
that we get tired of each other. There are always
dozens of new faces and every week we add more
to our clubmobile crew. We see all their pic-
tures. We know their wives and their sweet-
hearts and their children. We sympathize with
their trials and tribulations in the army and we

[25]

reminisce with them about the joys of civilian
life. The army is a homesick bunch and it seems
to help to be able to talk it out with another
American who is not another soldier. I wish I
had counted the times I've heard "Oh, if you
knew what it means to talk to an American girl."

I've never worked quite so hard in my life,
but I've never felt more repaid. To hand a cup
of steaming hot coffee to an engineer or a
mechanic who has been working for hours in the
cold and rain and have him say "We've been
looking for this wagon all day"; to have our
donuts waiting for flyers when they come back
from a mission over Europe and have them say:
"Donuts and girls this is worth flak and
fighters"; to have a mess sergeant say "I'm
always glad when it's Red Cross day makes
such a different atmosphere in the kitchen."
Those are the things that make us know we're
needed.

It is a good feeling, too, to be accepted as part
of the outfits we visit. We have watched fields
of mud turn into airfields and have shared the
pride of the engineers who built them. We have
"sweated out" flyers through twenty-five mis-
sions. We have sent old crews home and wel-
comed new ones. We have waved goodbye to
planes as they started out on a mission and
hours later stood with the others watching and
listening for the first sign of the returning forma-
tion, praying that the number would be the same
as those that went. We have seen boys become
men as they experience war. And we have be-
come acquainted with America, too, by working
and playing with soldiers from every part of the
nation and the world. They come from every
type of civilian background, into every kind of

army job, each proud to be a Yank and possessed
with an irrepressible sense of humor and a fine-
ness and steadfastness that make him an in-
dividual human being as well as a soldier.

My only regret about clubmobile life is that
there is little time left in which to get to know
England and the English people, for at camp or
in town, wherever we go, there are American
soldiers who spend their free time with an
American girl. My first impression of this
country, however, has become a lasting one. Life
is so amazingly normal and the people are so
amazingly normal that we tend to forget what
they have experienced during the last four years.
At the hotel where we live, for example, we get
our beds turned down, our shoes polished just
by leaving them outside the door, tea served at
any hour of day or night. They do so well with
what they have and complain so little that it
almost makes us embarrassed over the riches of
our country. We all complain about the ETO
(European Theater of Operations) and brag
about the United States, but you'll find in every
American here a sincere admiration for the
ability of the English to "take it."

Our life is not all romance and glamour. We
get tired and homesick and discouraged about
the length of the Duration. (We're here until
the last soldier goes home.) I for one, though,
would do the same thing again without hesitation.
For I know that we are helping to make soldier-
ing more bearable and to counteract its neces-
sarily dehumanizing effects. And in the days to
come when we shall turn our efforts from war to
peace, I shall know things that no one can learn
secondhand but which will be important to under-
stand in order to help build a world which will
not have to repeat the same tragic mistakes.

[26]

E> ... as a result we would have a
stronger nation and a better democracy . . . ."

ARMY LIFE

AS WOMEN LIVE IT

Clara Morrison '35

I suppose i should begin with my reason for
enlisting. Like the cause of wars in History
101, the causes of my joining were of two kinds:
underlying and immediate. During my second
year of teaching at Agnes Scott, I had a cozy
apartment and was keeping the records and
record-player of two friends in service. When-
ever I settled down comfortably in front of the
log fire and listened to the music of Bach, Bee-
thoven, Brahms, Mozart and Shostakovich my
pleasure was subconsciously disturbed by this
thought: "What right have I to enjoy these
things in comfort and security? If men who
love these things as I do had not given them up
to fight for them, they would not exist. Why
does being a woman exempt me from fighting
for these things?" Early in April I signed the
application, but I held back from enlisting for
about a week.

Then came the immediate cause which sent
me back to take the oath of enlistment. I heard
Leland Stowe tell about the heroic service of
women in Russia, how they, along with chil-
dren, planted and harvested all the food for the
whole Russian population, army and civilian. I
was ashamed that I had hesitated a week.

This was a momentous decision and one which
many women are afraid to make. But it had

no fearful results. On the contrary, it led me
to many rich and happy experiences which I
love to relate. Most women know very little
of our routine. Routine is a dull word. Most
people think that because we live by a routine
our lives are dull. How wrong they are! Min-
gled with the ordinary routine of my life in the
Army have been some highly amusing and
highly gratifying experiences. I arrived at the
Reception Center of Fort Oglethorpe on a
dreary, rainy, Tuesday afternoon June 8,
1943. I was surprised with what I found. In-
stead of finding the rough treatment proverbially
depicted in the Army, I was received by a pleas-
ant WAC officer who sent cards to our parents
to tell them we had arrived safely. There were
women from all walks of life, agreeable, inter-
esting human beings. I could see that the asso-
ciations would be pleasant. Though I was in
the Reception Center only a few days, I could
see, too, that life was going to be amusing. One
of the first delights was the sign which faced us
as we marched to mess, "Speed limit five miles
per hour." After a couple of days, came the
great day of receiving uniforms. We marched
over to the Quartermaster Depot in our civilian
clothes. But we marched back in uniform. This
military splendor, however, was dimmed a little
by one unfortunate circumstance. Garters or
garter belts were no longer issued. The unfor-
tunate recruits who had arrived at Fort Ogle-
thorpe wearing bobby socks had to put on long
stockings when they were issued at the Depot.
Off we marched, strictly at attention. Suddenly
the platoon sergeant interrupted her "One-two-
three-four" cadence with, "Platoon, halt!"
And then, "Get them up, there!" Whereupon
several members of the Women's Army Corps
halted and rescued their drooping hose. My

[27]

last day in the Reception Center was a real
climax. It was Friday. I was on a "detail" to
"police the area" for Saturday inspections. This
"detail" had to police with extraordinary fer-
vor, for the next day was to be momentous. Six-
teen Generals and Colonel Hobby, the director
of the WAC, were to visit Fort Oglethorpe.

First I picked up leaves. Then I picked up
scattered stones from the grass and put them
back in the road. Then I started on the grass.
How my friends and former pupils would have
enjoyed the spectacle! I mowed grass. I chop-
ped grass. I scythed grass. I pulled grass by
hand long graceful grass, short stubby grass
grass that ignored the blunt instruments I had.
I raked grass by hand. I started the cycle all
over again trying every instrument and finally
resorting again to the hand-picking method. The
broiling sun was beaming down on me so fiercely
that I was lured under a building to a cool,
grassy spot. Here I repeated the same activi-
ties, only in a prone position.

So ended the first stage of my Army career.
Basic Training, a hectic but interesting period,
began the next day. One of my first discoveries
here was that "falling out on the double" did
not mean forming in two lines (a delusion I had
been under for four days). It meant forming
twice as fast as possible. This activity occurred
countless times each day. We "fell out" of
bed when the cannon sounded at 5:55 A.M. We
"fell out" for reveille and roll call at 6:25.
After breakfast was over and the barracks were
cleaned, we "fell out" at 7:45 for classes. At
the close of day we "fell out" for retreat.

After a week of this routine, the monotony
was broken by KP. I won't descride KP be-
cause you wouldn't believe it anyhow. But I
will say that after you have washed, scalded,

and put away millions of pans, you heave a sigh
of relief and satisfaction and look around for
new worlds to conquer only to find that the
cooks have used all the pans again the same
pans again staring you in the face. And I had
the most unfortunate experience on my first KP.
I was "detailed" to the dining room at noon.
Just as we were winding up and ready for a
"break," which is rest period, came the inspec-
tion. Alas! The inspector found grease on the
trays. All the trays had to be washed again.
After this experience, even when detailed to the
dining room, I managed to keep an eagle eye
on the dish water, gently suggesting that it be
changed or heated up as the occasion demanded.
I did this so efficiently that one KP asked if I
had ever been a school teacher.

Fire drills as well as KP are used to relieve
the monotony. I shall never forget my first one.
Three shrill blasts on a whistle roused me from
that first stage of dreamy sleep which precedes
sound sleep. I grabbed my blanket as I had
been instructed and dashed "on the double"
down the stairs and lined up in formation for
roll call. One poor girl, still half asleep "fell
in" clutching a pillow instead of a blanket.

Most amusing of all, however, was the First
Sergeant, almost the last to answer to her name.
For the company commander had first shouted,
"Sergeant B! Sergeant C! Sergeant D!" No
answer. Then sternly, "First Sergeant!" "Here
Ma'am," she cried as she bounded from between
the ranks! And there she was, our most mili-
tary figure, clad not in uniform and dignity,
but in beach sandals and a ruffled dressing gown.

Part of our daily routine was close order
drill, which I had anticipated disliking. To my
surprise I loved it. But I thought I could never
bring myself to give commands. It seemed so

[28]

loud, so unladylike. Of course I was never
precisely the model of womanly propriety; yet
this shouting orders seemed too much to expect.
When the time came for volunteers, however, I
swallowed hard and stepped out. I was de-
termined to learn anything and everything any
officer would ever have to do. It wasn't bad
after I recovered from the initial shock. In
fact I really enjoyed it.

Shouting commands was not the only new
thing I learned. The Army gives a woman a
chance to try out new muscles and to develop
hidden talents. During basic training, as a result
of the labor shortage in laundries, I did my own
laundry everything but shoes, hats, and ties,
yes, everything. I am proud that now I can wash,
starch, and iron a shirt. That is an accomplish-
ment I hope not to be called upon to demon-
strate in civilian life, but if worse comes to
worst I can do it.

In the laundry as we washed and ironed, we
got acquainted with each other. Sometimes a
portable radio provided amusement. Sometimes
the women themselves joined in the singing of
WAC songs, or popular songs, or even hymns.
Sometimes it was conversation and not music
that provided entertainment. Here personali-
ties unfolded. The most cherished treasure of
my basic training period is the memory of inter-
esting personalities.

One of the brightest memory is J , little

and wiry, with hair like a mop, broad face, blue
eyes, and a throaty chuckle that would dispel
anyone's blues. When I think of her, I think
of energy and combustion. She always worked
the fastest, took the hardest jobs, and finished
with the fewest complaints. She made one think
of combustion because she fairly burst with
wrath when the less energetic sisters complained

of their tasks.

-!" she would

say in language unsuitable for the Agnes Scott
Quarterly. "I could do it all myself with one
hand!" What contempt she poured on those who
deserved it. But for one who needed help, she
was a friend in need.

Our company boasted one woman the clum-
siest in the Women's Army Corps, I do believe.
Every day for two weeks her name headed the
delinquency report, or "Gig sheet" as it is called
in Army slang. She simply could not do things
the Army way. The first time her name failed
to appear on the Gig sheet we were all amazed.

J had done her work that day. When a

few of us tried to compliment J on her

charity, she waved us away, "Hell, I got tired
of seeing her name at the top of the Gig sheet!"
For the remaining two weeks of Basic Training
J kept that girl's name off the gig sheet.

I have a warm spot in my heart for R too.

She was another who chose the heaviest tasks for
herself. I shall never forget what she did for
me. She and I were on the same squad. On the
day I was to have my first intervier for Officer
Candidate School our squad duty was to clean

the laundry. R wanted me to get to the

Board clean and fresh, a difficult task in July at
Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. At six o'clock when

I got up I found that R had already cleaned

half the laundry so that I could be excused. She
wouldn't allow me to thank her. "Oh," she
said, "I just couldn't sleep this morning."

Basic Training was not a break with my past.
It was a continuing of my education. It hardly
seems possible that I could have learned so much
in five weeks. I had developed an amazing
amount of physical endurance. I was far more
self-reliant than I had ever been. And I had a
completely new attitude toward time. As a Civil-

[29]

ian, if I had fifteen minutes to dress and go
somewhere, I would have said, "Oh, I can't go.
That's not enough time." Now I say, "Fifteen
minutes? Why, I don't even have to hurry."

But more important than physical growth and
coordination has been my spiritual understand-
ing with a greater love of people and a greater
understanding of them. These women came from
everywhere, from every country, from every part
of this country, from every state of society, from
every known occupation. Working with them, I
liked them. And I was overwhelmed with their
willingness to accept each other as equals. I am
grateful for this experience; it will make me a
better teacher.

The rest of my career in the WAC has been a
deepening of these same experiences. After fin-
ishing basic training I spent several weeks at
"Staging" the place where WACs wait for
assignments. Here I enjoyed the variety in the
Army personnel. Here I met women from those
who say "youze" for you, to those who speak,
read, and write four languages. Here I knew
teachers, clerical workers, X-ray technicians,
radio operators, radio mechanics, teletypists,
switchboard operators, truck drivers, bus drivers,
jeep drivers, cooks, and many without special
talents. This experience increased my apprecia-
tion for many people whom I could never have
known in civilian life. It also increased my ap-
preciation for the patriotism of the Polish-
American women. One of the most interesting
experiences I had was an evening spent with a
large group of Polish-Americans who were going
out together. They had come from different sec-
tions of America, but they had been brought up
in the same traditions. "Did you used to sing
this?" one would ask, and as she would start the
tune the others would join her. It was quite

thrilling to hear their Polish songs and realize
that they were now part of our American
tradition.

The next stage of my career was O.C.S. Here
the group was not so varied in background and
talents as the Staging group, but it was interest-
ing. In our midst were two German refugees,
four women who had served in the last war, and
four women who were the first of the North
African WACs to come back to this country for
officers' training. If you had asked me to write a
book I could recount some amusing experiences
of O.C.S. , but I realize I must restrain myself.

I have just completed the next interesting stage
of my career recruiting for thirty days in
Chicago. I shall always be grateful for this
opportunity. I can't express in words the whole-
hearted, democratic spirit I have seen in Chicago.
Here democracy is not merely a fine theory. It
is an actual practice. Here people are accepted
in their communities for what they are and not
for what their ancestors were. I admire the type
of Americanism I have seen in Chicago.

Because this has been such an illuminating
experience for me, I wish that a greater number
of American women would join our ranks. I
believe that the human understanding we have
acquired in the Army will lead us to make wise
and tolerant decisions. Knowledge of human
beings will make it possible to put aside
prejudices and follow reason and justice. We
shall meet our problems not only with a greater
understanding of people, but with a deeper love
of American principles than we have had before.

These things I have wanted very much to say
to women. If I could persuade every eligible
woman to join us, I would, for I believe that as a
result we would have a stronger nation and a
better democracy after the war is won.

[30]

"Now, Mother, does that faraway look
mean you will write about this, too?"

THE IRRESISTIBLE PRESENT

Sarah Shields Pfeijfer '27

"Mother, you've got that faraway look again!"
my teen-age son was saying with a shake of his

blond head.

"Please be quiet,
Jack. I'm thinking
about a story."

"But, Mother, we've
got so much to tell
you!" chimed in ten-
year-old Peggy, put-
ting down her knife
and fork. "And you
ought to listen to us!"
The short story,
half finished in the
study, did a mental
\ YJ\ 1 fade-out before the

irresistible present of
dinner with my fam-
ily. Certainly I should pay attention to the chil-
dren! They needed a sympathetic, ready per-
son to listen. And in a few years Jack would be
in college or in uniform. And Peggy was almost
as tall as I. . . . Their small talk flowed around
me current enthusiasms, Scout work, inci-
dents at school and recess, movies they wanted
to see.

How did other women manage to write, I often
wondered. How did they find quiet and unin-
terrupted hours? And how could I eke out time
from looking after my husband and children,
doing housework, war work, club work, laundry,
gardening and lecturing?

And then something came back to me, a
nugget of wisdom from Marjorie Kinnan
Rawlings, whom I had interviewed for The
Christian Science Monitor. She had said: "One
is not unique in being obliged to toil and struggle
and suffer. This is the simplest of all facts and
the most difficult for the individual ego to
accept."

I remembered interviewing Margaret Lee
Runbeck and meeting her adored niece, Miss
Boo, who has furnished material and inspiration
for books and stories. I remembered seeing Life
With Father, dramatization of events in Clarence
Day's boyhood. And Rosemary Taylor's Chicken
Every Sunday, which depicts part of her child-
hood.

Surely everything that had happened to these
authors is grist to their typewriters. The stories
may have been written in mellow recollection but
their great appeal was in dramatizing familiar
incidents and characters. They used a seeing eye
on everyday events in their past.

[31]

But something my own children said has made
me believe that people rarely value or see the
significance of their current experiences. Both
ardent movie fans, Jack and Peggy agree that
the only movie they ever disliked was H. M.
Pulham, Esq., that splendid character study of
J. P. Marquand.

"Why didn't you like it?" I asked them.

"Nothing much happened in it, Mother," said
Peggy with a shrug. "The man waked up and
went to work and thought about things just
like parents do every day."

Nothing much was happening to me, according
to young eyes, but I found life brimful of activity.
And now a backward glance, at your editor's
request. Writing and reading were obsessions
with me at college. Meeting people, particularly
those who had traveled or who had unusual
professions and experiences, was another inter-
est. Even though I belonged to K. U. B., I wished,
then and later, that Agnes Scott gave a course
m journalism. Many of you will remember my
husband, Chick Pfeiffer, whom I met at Lillian
LeConte's home during my sophomore year. We
were married the October after graduation in
1927 and moved to Asheville, N. C. There I kept
up my hobby of writing at The Asheville Citizen-
times. A year in the city room in a small city . . .
doing rewrites, society, a column, feature stories
and interviews with visiting celebrities . . . learn-
ing that readers value the correct spelling of their
names above all else and finding out that the
most famous people are the easiest to interview.
I thought it was just a wonderful job but
editors and top-notch reporters point out that
such varied training is good preparation for any
career in writing.

Then my husband's transfer to Boston severed

[32]

that hobby. This is an old, fascinating city.
Its residents come from everywhere. It is esti-
mated that three-quarters of the people in New
England had foreign-born parents, so here is a
rich tapestry of backgrounds and accents and cul-
tures. One of the interesting things about bridge
parties and literary luncheons is discovering the
birthplaces of people beside you. Generally,
strangers find that Bostonians are hard to know
at first but make warm, staunch friends after the
ice is broken. Southern girls find life harder
at first. The long, harsh winters seem unending
when you are accustomed to early, fragrant
springs. Servants were scarce and expensive,
even before the war. My Boston friends knew
how to do all their housework competently, so we
Southerners felt the challenge to do likewise.
Learning the intricacies of laundry and house-
work was hard but it has been pleasant to feel
more capable and independent.

Knowing nothing about magazine markets, I
struggled with short stories and free lance
articles. There was the heartbreak of rejection
and the elation of a first sale. Two courses in
writing helped me with technique. Then my
lectures about "Such Interesting People" and
"Life on the Run" began in a casual way. A
church circle asked me to talk about the celeb-
rities I had interviewed. I had always avoided
talking on a platform. How I wish I had taken
Miss Gooch's courses! Chick knew my fear of
speaking and of doing anything for the first
time but he encouraged me. So I managed to
talk for forty-five minutes. I am sure that I
stammered. My words came out too fast. And
my voice did not carry. Then Chick suggested
that we both study public speaking in Boston.

(Continued on Page 48)

DOUBLE TALK about an Advertising Career

Rosalind Janes Williams '25

"The Good Lord's way of putting
a career woman in her place . . . ."

Anything i say about my advertising job is
bound to sound like Double Talk. For I work at
advertising with one hand; a husband, two chil-
dren and a household with the other. And for-
tunately, or unfortunately for both, my left hand
does know what my right hand doeth. No matter
how sternly I tell myself when I leave the office
at 6 p.m. that my thoughts, time and energy be-
long to my family, I find myself groping for
"Headlines" and struggling with copy-slants on
the family's time. Headlines don't operate on a
time clock and have a way of bobbing into your
mind at the oddest moments . . . when you're
listening to the radio, bathing the baby, reading
"Winnie the Pooh" to the children, even in the
bathtub. But if advertising intrudes on the
family, just as frequently the family spills over
into office hours. Like the time when my cook
didn't come. I had risen with the dawn to cook
breakfast, get Linda off to school, Billy to nursery
school and had made what I thought were fool-
proof arrangements to have him delivered home
at 1 o'clock, when I would get back to receive
him. As I walked into my office, very hastily
thrown together, yet feeling noble and efficient
withal, I was greeted with a message that Billy
had "come down" with mumps and they were
keeping him isolated at nursery school until I

could get home. So I
started back on the bus
to receive my little
bundle of mumps and
/ V wonder why I hadn't
>i/ elected to be something
\ simple and uncompli-
cated like a buck
private whose life is
strictly G. I.
This should give you an idea of what I mean
by Double Talk and how inevitably when I talk
about advertising I get back to my family and
vice versa. When the Alumnae Quarterly editor
asked me to write something about advertising, I
was reminded of the story of the man who, when
asked what he thought about Life, replied: "I
don't think about it, I'm too busy living it." For
the past fifteen years I've been doing advertising
so frantically I haven't had time to think about
how I like it or why I keep doing it. It is pure
luck that I do like it, for surely no one ever
fell into a profession more reluctantly. A friend
of mine on one of the Atlanta papers thought I
would like advertising and sent me to be inter-
viewed for a job in a large department store. I
had never heard of copy-writing, thought vaguely
that local ads were done in New York or Chicago,
and was frankly scared to death of the whole
business. The advertising manager who gave me
the job in spite of myself, told me months later

[33]

that she never interviewed a job-hunter who tried
so hard not to get the job. I am sure she took
me only because the ink was so fresh on my
Agnes Scott diploma. She kept reassuring me:
"Some of my best copy-writers have been Agnes
Scott girls. That college has never let me down,
so I'll take a chance on you."

It was a long time before I could go to sleep
at night without a clutching fear that I wouldn't
be able to think of anything to write the next
day. Months before I could sit down to my type-
writer without a self-conscious feeling of "Look
at me! I'm writing an ad." I believe the inex-
perienced copy-writer who is of any real value
for the first six months is rare. Inevitably, the
novice is writing for her own satisfaction, to get
pet phrases out of her system, with little or no
awareness of her reading public. But slowly,
through writing and re-writing, pruning and pol-
ishing, filling countless waste baskets with count-
less crumpled sheets, she gets the feel of the
audience she hopes will read her words. The
housewives to whom she talks of dishes and
mops and brooms become Mrs. Jones and Mrs.
Brown people who eat and sleep and raise
children just like her neighbors. For several
years, a small carved wooden figure stood on
each of our copy-writer's desks. We named her
"Mrs. Murphey" and kept her there to remind
us that ad readers are people, too. With an
awareness of your readers, comes also to every
conscientious copy-writer a deep sense of respon-
sibility to them. You become obsessed with the
necessity of telling the absolute truth about your
product, yet making it sound attractive. You are
sobered by the thought that the ladies in Flowery
Branch and Ellijay may be depending on you to
chart their Spring fashion course. The pink you
casually name "Lotus" right out of your head,

[34]

had better be "Lotus" for you are likely to
receive floods of mail-orders for that very pink.
The power of printed words is sometimes fright-
ening and always humbling to those of us whose
stock in trade they are. The admonition of my
first boss to write every piece of copy as if it
might be my last, still echoes in my mind, still
keeps me searching Roget for the exact word,
still, on occasion, fills my waste-basket with copy
not good enough.

The question most often asked by people on
the outside is: "How do you think up all those
things you write about?" "The world is so full
of a number of things," the wonder is that we are
able to think of so few. Everything is grist to
the copy-writer's mill. New songs, new movies,
the latest jive-jargon, everything from Sinatra's
"swoons" to symphonies. Once in the grip of ad-
vertising, you are its slave. I never see a sunset,
never walk along a country road, never read a
book that consciously, or subconsciously, I don't
store up some impression for future use. Ad
ideas are as likely to spring from Mother Goose
as Shakespeare, "Mairzey Doats" as Milton.
And the seasons! What would ad-writers do with-
out Summer-Autumn-Winter-Spring, Mother's
Day, Christmas and Easter. Seasonal campaigns
must be planned so far in advance that copy-
writers develop the faculty of projecting them-
selves into the mood and tense of a distant mo-
ment with the ease of a musician changing keys.
In July, when most people are thinking about
how to keep cool, advertisers are dreaming of
sleigh bells and Santa Claus whiskers. When the
first daffodil is still only a dark brown bulb in
the earth, Spring is blossoming all around the ad
office. It is this constant living ahead of the
moment, with deadlines dangling like a sword of
(Continued on Page 40)

". . . . a woman with several children belongs

at home .... most of the time

II

II

"Life is so full of a number of things, I'm
sure we should all be as happy as Kings." What
an apt statement to describe the Smith Menage!
In fact, it's so full, I sometimes feel like my
favorite author, O'Henry's famous "Thanks-
giving Day Gentlemen," who ate two complete
Thanksgiving dinners in one afternoon to avoid
embarrassing a brace of charitable hostesses.

It was inevitable, that between the covers of
this "Career Issue," there should be an article
on the fundamental and foundational career of
Home-making. Why I should have been chosen
to write same, I'm still wondering but if run-
ning a big rambling house, a bunch of kids, a
ditto of rabbits, fifty chickens, and one husband
constitutes a career, then I qualify so here
goes.

But maybe I'd better begin at the beginning.
Months before I entered Agnes Scott, I received
a letter from Dr. McCain asking me my reason
for wanting to go to college. I promptly replied

LIFE IS SO FULL OF A
NUMBER OF THINGS

Betty Lou Houck Smith '35

that I hoped to acquire enough sense to help me
rear eight children, and I meant it! With what
degree of doubt the authorities viewed my sin-
cerity, I'll probably never know but the proof,
in this instance, lies in the passing years.

But I digress. Somewhere along the line, my
ambition strayed to other fields namely his-
trionics, and I continued my endeavors in that
field at Yale Drama School after graduation
from Agnes Scott. Thence to New York to try
my luck.

It was while I was in New York pounding the
pavements, interviewing managers, auditioning
for this and that, and any other new show which
was opening, that I received that letter an
ultimatum from Bealy. I was to decide im-
mediately marriage or a career. And sud-
denly my first ambition crystallized. And so they
were married in the Little Church Around the
Corner in New York City in 1935.

Back in Atlanta, it didn't take long to realize
that anyone who has enough intelligence to be
graduated from Agnes Scott College can't use
up all her mental and nervous energy cleaning a
small apartment and cooking two meals a day. I

[35]

know all of you have had that futile feeling
which dusting gives you - it's all got to be done
again tomorrow and where does it get you?
There's certainly nothing constructive or creative
about it.

At this moment, I was offered the direction of
Agnes Scott Radio Program and I accepted grate-
iully and eagerly. I loved every minute of that
year's work and it laid a foundation of experi-
ence in radio which helped immeasurably in all
the radio work I've done since.

At this time the Little Theatre, allied with the
Federal Theatre, was going strong in Atlanta,
and I joined the group. It was swell to "feel the
boards under my feet again" and I had two
swell years of emoting. Suddenly I realized I
was definitely "having my cake and eating it
too."

When I left college, I had said there was one
thing I'd never do and that was teach but
about this time, the Y.W.C.A. asked me to take a
class of Bell "Y" girls in Dramatics. I hesi-
tated I really didn't know whether I could
teach anyone anything so I said yes I de-
cided I'd find out. Strangely enough, I loved it.
And if I had it to do over again, I'd certainly
include courses in Education in my curriculum.
My friends cryptically remarked that it was just a
matter of my discovering how well I liked telling
other people how to do things a trait they'd
recognized and suffered from for years.

Then Sally Allison Smith arrived, December
27, 1938, and sixteen months later Jo Alli-
son Smith put in an appearance. Prior to their
advent, needless to say, an effective stop was
put to stage appearances, but television not
having been perfected, I saw no reason to curtail
my radio activities, so I joined the cast of the

[36]

WSB Dixie Playhouse, and, al the same time for
six weeks did a daily broadcast for Thompson-
Boland-Lee shoe store.

After their arrival, I applied myself to learn-
ing about babies (a completely foreign sub-
stance to me), to the uplifting job of washing
twenty diapers a day, and to the eternal quest
for a good, dependable servant. Oh the
nebulousness, the wishful thinking of that quest.
There was Mary I told her we liked our rice
steamed, and I found her cooking it in the tea
kettle, that being the only utensil from which
she'd seen steam exuding. There was Winnie,
who doted on cleaning but would leave a
crawling baby unguarded on a double bed within
reach of lethal safety pins. Then there was Julia
who was educated but definitely and who
would, unasked, interpret for us all foreign
phrases which might come over the radio.

All this time I was trying patiently to regain a
definitely lost figger, by exercise. I weighed a
heavy 150 pounds after Jo Allison came a
cool thirty pounds over weight. I'd bathe a child
and then roll a while then I'd bathe another
and hit the floor again. It worked! With daily
adherence to the exercise routine, in six months I
was down to 117 pounds and felt like a million.

Then Josie came to us a veritable jewel
of ebony. And at last I could concentrate on less
mundane things than food and washing, and
cleaning.

By this time we were outgrowing our living
quarters, especially after the children began re-
ceiving Christmas gifts in the form of tricycles
and wagons and such. You didn't dare open a
closet in our house. If you did, you opened it
quickly and jumped out of the way. Then you
retrieved the article you were searching for out

of the debris w.nch tumbled to the floor
shoved hard on the door, and closed it if you
could.

So we started looking for a home and then
came Pearl Harbor. Bealy was a reserve officer
and, of course, was called very soon but was
medically discharged so we bought a ram-
bling old house out on Peachtree Road with five
acres of land and had another baby, Sharon
Allison Smith. We also acquired at this time a
flock of chickens. A friend (?) gave Sally and
Jo Allison each a white bunny we also bought
a dog and Bealy and I for the first time
delved into the mysteries of farming.

In the meantime we had joined the Peachtree
Presbyterian Church, and Sally and Jo Allison
joined the Cradle Roll. Bealy had always done
work with young people and they asked him to
take over that department in the church. Because
I could sing louder than most, they soon had me
leading the singing in our very active and very
swell young married people's class. The choir
was the next step, and I think Bealy will concur,
that no other "outside" activity has given us
more real satisfaction and fun than affiliation
with our church. I think the Lord was laughing
up his sleeve, however, when He designated Sun-
day as a day of rest. He certainly didn't have me
in mind. That's my busiest morning what with
routing Bealy out, bathing the baby, combing
and brushing two other little gals and dressing
them in their Sunday clothes gulping a cup
of coffee, and throwing some clothes and make-
up on myself, all before 9:25 it's quite a feat.

Give me a quiet Monday every time, when
there's only the washing, one child to be "got
off" to kindergarten, two others to bathe, the
chickens to be fed, the rabbits tended, and the
marketing to be done.

In connection with our church work there
came an opportunity for my more domineering
qualities to be allowed full sway. They asked me
to direct last year's Christmas pageant and
for a month I was in hog-heaven telling fifty
people what to do and how to do it. The cast
was composed of the young people of the church,
and I never had better cooperation from any
group of people, young, old, or indifferent.
They gave me a lovely Christmas present and
asked me for a repeat performance this year,
so I must not have been too hard on them.

You can get too much of even a good thing,
and I began to feel a little stultified and stifled
by too much domesticity so I poked my head
up over the edge of the wash-tub and looked
around sure enough, there was a serial radio
show, "Just Home Folks," simply honin' for my
services, and a light opera, "The New Moon,"
in which I was asked to take part. I don't need
tc tell you I said yes, with a capital Y. It
wouldn't mean neglecting the children, for re-
hearsals were at night, with one night a week
reserved for church supper and choir practice
and I could get the kids all safely tucked in bed
before taking off into the land of make believe.
But it did mean neglecting Bealy. However, he
aiose to the occasion, gave me his blessing and
said go ahead.

The radio show didn't take much time. It's
one of those 15-minute shows a soap opera
with one terrific emotional upheaval after an-
other, and was sponsored by Lydia E. Pink-
ham's! The opera rehearsals were strenuous, but
it was so much fun, I never felt tired. And the
show was a great success.

As a result of radio work, I was contacted by
an advertising agent who signed me up for some
transcriptions of one-minute "spot" radio an-

[37]

nouncements and this led directly to the job
which, above all others, has been the most satis-
factory, the most interesting, and the most re-
munerative. The man who cut the transcriptions
knew that the Audichron Company was search-
ing for a new voice, and suggested that I see the
manager. For three years now, I've been the
voice of the telephone time service in about forty
cities in the U. S., and they tell me that I inform
about six million people a day as to the correct
time. However, "a prophet is not without honor
save his own country" and when General
Motors ceased advertising in Atlanta through
this time service, a local concern bought the
sponsorship here in the city and they wanted
the voice of their own radio commentator so
if you want me to tell you the correct time you'll
either have to call direct, or call Jacksonville,
Augusta, Nashville, Knoxville or some other
nearby city.

At home, I was trying my hand at growing
flowers for the first time, and had just spotted
the first green shoots with great delight, when a
thunderbolt struck Josie had a heart attack
and we were suddenly faced with that much dis-
cussed topic the servant problem! We finally
decided not to have a problem by not having a
servant so for five months I reverted to my
ancestors. I felt like a veritable pioneer
woman tending the children, caring for the
stock, and raising and canning our own food
from the very excellent garden Bealy had
achieved in his spare time. I even took to baking
our own bread just to see if I could. My one
divergence from the pioneer pattern was my cos-
tume shorts and a halter and no shoes. I got a
perspective of myself one day and almost had
hysterics. I was kneading bread, a boiler of to-
matoes was processing on the stove, the washing

[38]

machine was humming merrily, and two kids
were dashing in and out, the third would have
been clinging to my skirts, had there been any to
cling to. That was last summer, and if I remem-
ber, we had two cases of chicken pox, I had my
tonsils out and we wedged in a trip down to my
home in Florida. What a trip!! Like refugees,
we were, boarding that train. You can imagine
the number of bags one babe in arms and two
trailing behind Bealy carrying a bassinet
which carried, in turn, all the things I couldn't
get in the bags. A lady on the train with one
little girl, looked at me awesomely and said,
"And I thought I was having trouble!" But it
was a swell summer; we had heaps of fun, and I
learned an awful lot.

The servant problem has continued to rear its
ugly head. There's one thing I simply wont do,
and that's serve them their breakfast in bed. We
had a couple who lived on the place, but they
had a fight with knives pffft! The day they
quit, I had to pack Bealy's bag for a New York
trip, take my group to kindergarten, do the mar-
keting, get Bealy to the train, pick up the children
and deposit them at their respective homes do
the cooking and in the midst of all this
of all days the bunnies had little bunnies!

Since then, there's been one case of flu, three
cases of measles, one abscessed ear, one terrific
cold, and a horrible sty, all scattered throughout
\arious members of the family. We go along for
years as healthy as cows, and then everything
happens at once. This year we've had a Spring
deluge of diseases.

Needless to say, my outside activities have
been cut to the bone I have one radio show a
week for J. P. Allen's which I can do only by
virtue of the fact that it's at night, when Bealy
can step in the breach.

When there are several children in a home, one
learns to expect a certain number of terrifying
and unavoidable accidents. And usually, there's
one child to whom everything seems to happen.
Jc Allison is that one, in our case. Summer be-
fore last, a mean-tempered dog dashed through
the hedge into our yard and bit literally
the end of her nose off. This past summer, she
was running through this same hedge, and a
thorn from one of the branches lodged in her
eye. This necessitated a delicate operation (the
longest short period of time I've ever spent) . It
was most successful, however; the vision is unim-
paired, and all that remains is a very slight scar
on the cornea which is fast disappearing. The
nose has rebuilt itself, and, given time, should
turn out to be a very creditable proboscis.

If any of you sew, you know what fun it is.
Outside of concocting exotic new dishes, it's the
only housekeeping chore which is creative and
with three little girls, it's been not only fun, but a
necessity. And herein, the chickens have been a
great help. Since the war, cotton prints have
become practically unusable so I have turned
to the intriguing patterns found in the chicken
feed sacks. With a little braid, or rick-rack
added, it's amazing what pretty pinafores can be
achieved from these lowly beginnings. Last
Christmas my presents were limited entirely to
ruffly aprons made of these same sacks, and I had
very satisfactory responses from each recipient.

This year I feel I've reached the pinnacle of
success I am one of the judges who is to pick
the most outstanding actress at Agnes Scott. It
makes me feel my "nine years out" however, for
those bumptious freshmen insist on "maiming"
me whenever I put in an appearance on the
campus, to attend one of the plays. Honest, I
don't feel any older than they do. In fact my
jitter-bugging is not too far out of the groove.

You're probably wondering where war work
comes in I have done some civilian defense
work, but only in snatches. It's a firm belief of
mine that a woman with several children belongs
at home most of the time. If her outside ac-
tivities remain of a sporadic nature, and her
charities can be worked into her home schedule,
then I say bravo but a full time charity,
War, or Red Cross job had best be left to women
with fewer home duties. Running a home is a
full-time, war-time job.

Yes life is full and wonderful and we
are "as happy as Kings." Although there's only
one King on the premises at present, we're ex-
pecting "a little King" in October.

I guess after all, I am having a career but
so are thousands and thousands of other more
competent women all over the world and the
great majority, at the moment, are carving theirs
without the aid of " a man about the house."
Fm lucky and grateful one of the few for
whom the carving has been made easier.

[39]

DOUBLE TALK

(Continued from Page 34)
Damocles, that makes advertising a continuous
three-ring circus.

Another question often asked is: "How did
you learn advertising?" My answer to that $64
question is that, after fifteen years, I am still
learning. There were no advertising courses at
Agnes Scott when I went there. I had no supple-
mentary study after college, so the only prepara-
tion I had was my A.B. degree (without even an
English major to make it easier). I have done
about everything there is to do in an advertising
office except art-work. Even my dearest friend
wouldn't trust me at a drawing board. I have
chased proofs, marked type, made layouts, writ-
ten copy for all the departments of a big store. I
have ridden out a depression, a recession and
boom times, and am now getting a taste of ad-
vertising under the restrictions and limitations of
war. I blush to remember the lush, florid copy
of those old days when I first began. That was
the era of soaring superlatives, grandiose
phrases, thrown recklessly about. Fashion was
"Dame Fashion." The lady you addressed in
your copy was "Madame." To compare it to
advertising today is like trying to compare a
henna-haired lady bursting her black satin
seams to a slim, streamlined Powers model. To-
day, any copy worth its newsprint is terse, brief
and tied in compactly with the things people are

eating and wearing, doing and saying. That is
why people who write ads should have open eyes,
keen ears, sharpened senses, a sociable interest
in people and what makes them tick. They
should touch life on many sides and in many
places. They should combine a little of the show-
manship of P. T. Barnum with the sly whimsey
of Lewis Carroll and the stark realism of Grant
Wood.

It's funny, but just writing all this down has
helped to crystallize some of the things I have
believed vaguely about advertising but never had
time to put down. Maybe it has helped me dis-
cover some "Things I never knew 'til now." If
the "I" pronoun has been too prevalent, excuse it
please. After all, you take an awful chance when
you turn an inhibited advertiser, accustomed to
writing completely impersonal copy, loose for a
thousands word or more! I am so trained in the
school of "Make it brief or your customer won't
read it" that I am scared to death of holding my
audience beyond fifty words. After all these
years I still can't decide which gives me the
greater satisfaction writing an ad that pulls
or cooking a successful pot of spaghetti for my
family's dinner. I think the spaghetti is a little
in the lead, which is the Good Lord's way of
putting career women in their places. And why
any career-mother's story comes out Double
Talk.

[40]

Mr. Dodd, who is head of the Art Department at the University
of Georgia, is one of the most distinguished of American artists.
Recent one-man shows of his paintings both in New York and in
Washington have attracted much attention. (A personal friend of
Mr. Thomas, Mr. Dodd has given much help and advice in the
reorganization this year of the Agnes Scott Art Department.)

BUY A PICTURE, NOT
A NAME*

By Lamar Dodd

There is a place for art in our everyday lives.
We cannot all afford to own masterpieces, but
there are few who are unable to obtain good art
that will mean much to them and bring about a
richer life. A real renaissance in America will
begin when art plays its important part in man's
life in his home as well as in his museums.

Many paintings are not suitable for the home.
Too often, a painting is an after-thought on the
part of the buyer; it does not play the important
part it should regardless of its merits. If the
painting is important its inherent qualities will
bring the buyer a source of enjoyment.

It is true that many paintings are produced for
exhibition purposes only or with the ultimate
hope that some day the picture will hang in a
museum. The artist must consider his public.
It takes the sympathy, understanding, and sup-
port of the layman as well as the sincerity and
ability of the artist to make this thing called art a
success. The artist is happy when he feels that
his work is being enjoyed by others this is a
reward within itself a reward far greater than
the price obtained for his work.

We should try to remove personalities from

* Reprinted by permission of The Atlanta Journal.

art. Naturally, the artist's personality will find
its way into his work; but names of themselves
should mean little. Recently I served on a jury
to select paintings for a national exhibition by
contemporary Americans. There were approxi-
mately 2,000 entries, though only two awards of
equal merit were given. Both of these honors
went to "unknown" artists. Their names were
not mentioned until they were called out for the
secretary to record.

We have many great masters of painting, but
this does not mean that everything they produce
is worthy of a museum. I would rather own a
good sincere painting by an unknown local
artist a painting that really held a meaning
for me than to own a third or fourth-rate
canvas by some foreign "Old Master" whose
only meaning or value was the name.

Many fine collections of art that exist today
are the result of the efforts of individuals who
by faith in their own judgment, not only admired
the work of unknown artists, but supported their
admiration for and belief in the artists by pur-
chasing their works.

Near the turn of the century a group of citizens
in a certain community, who were interested in
beginning a collection, purchased as their first

[41]

work of art a painting by a comparatively un-
known man. They made the purchase because
they liked the canvas and were led in this selec-
tion by their understanding and sincere apprecia-
tion and not by any set of rules that had been
given. The artist was young he had not made
his reputation. Today this work is considered one
of the great paintings of the past generation and
the finest canvas from the brush of an American
master. From the standpoint of a financial in-
vestment, it is now valued at a figure far beyond
the greatest expectations of that small group.

Too often the above story is not the case.
Too often we wait to purchase from the recog-
nized artist. Then it is a name that is bought, not
art. Can this be sincerity in the true sense?
It is not as important to know who painted the
picture, who carved the sculpture, or who pro-
duced the drawing as it is to be sensitive to the
recognition of true values in art.

On several occasions I have had the interesting
experience of being in an art gallery when a
guide whose job it was to explain to his audience
the "meaning of the paintings," entered with a
group of people. Much of his knowledge had
been obtained from some book on art apprecia-
tion which was cluttered with thories; thus, his
lecture contained analyses which not only were
superficial but completely irrelevant to the artist
who produced the canvas and to his audience.
Such critics have pointed out "things to look
for" in my own work that were not important
and unrelated to my approach.

In a recent Rembrandt exhibition two ladies
came into the Metropolitan Museum to see the
work of this master. Immediately upon enter-
ing the room one exclaimed, "Isn't he wonder-
ful!" The other replied, "Exquisite." And with

these remarks they left. They had seen Rem-
brandt, but only in name. They had not seen the
work which he produced that will live through
the ages.

They did not see Rembrandt with an intelli-
gent understanding and honesty with the same
honesty and sincerity that a child would discover
when viewing the work of another child.

We have in our daughter's nursery such paint-
ings of children by children. These were done in
the demonstration school of our university by
pupils in the lower grades and they are in a
language that the child speaks and that our child
will understand, a language filled with color, life
and vitality.

Frequently we hear the statement, "I do not
know anything about art. All I know is what I
like." This familiar legend might easily be
changed to "What I know, I like." Does not the
"accepted art" play too important a part in our
selection? Are we not bound down by too many
preconceived ideas when we look at art? Do we
trust our judgment as much as we should?

We might think of art in terms of friendships.
I would hate to think of a man's life passing
without addition to his circle of friends. True,
old friends are to be treasured; but one also
welcomes new friends who will stand the test
of time, and the only way this test can be de-
termined is through a sympathetic understand-
ing. We are all familiar with some of the paint-
ings of the English school, "The Age of Inno-
cence," for example, and with numerous paint-
ings of the old masters such as Raphael's
"Madonna of the Chair"; and most of us have
come to accept and love these only through long
association. Then when we are confronted with a
new creation by a living artist, portraying his

[42]

time and life, we are inclined to turn away from
it in dismay and refuse to accept it as we do an
old familiar masterpiece. Give the new picture a
chance. Many paintings that we do not under-
stand at first will reveal fine qualities in later
study.

If you see something the artist has produced
that you yourself sincerely like, even though it be
different buy it and live with it. In all
probability it will bring you much joy and pleas-
use. This broad attitude on the part of the public
will bring about that renaissance in American
art.

Be daring to a certain extent, believe in your-

self and realize that the true artist is honest.
Let us not accept the opinion of just anyone.
Let us be honest with the artist and his creation
and, above all, think for ourselves. The artist
wants encouragement from the layman he
needs it. He wants his work studied and pur-
chased. This is the only way an artist can go
forward or any art can take on a real meaning.
Art will always play an important part in our
lives. Certainly, war will have its effect upon the
artists of our nation; but art will live, and I
sincerely believe that more and more man will
gain from it a source of contentment and joy.

ABOUT BOOKS

Elizabeth Stevenson '41

THREE FRONTS

Voiceless India, Gertrude Emerson
Battle Hymn of China, Agnes Smedley
Strange Fruit, Lillian Smith

Three books, published within a few weeks of
each other, demand joint discussion from an
innate relationship of theme rather than from
the superficial coincidence of authorship by three
American women of distinction. Gertrude Emer-
son's, Voiceless India is a book of observation
of the oppressed living under the settled rule
of a foreign nation; Agnes Smedley's, Battle
Hymn of China is a book of revolutionary
action directed against an invader; and Lillian

Smith's novel, Strange Fruit, is a book of incite-
ment to change, an indictment of the hypo-
critical tyranny possible in a state calling itself
democratic.

Gertrude Emerson's book (which is a reprint
of one published in 1930 and brought up to
date) is the most passive of the three. She was
content to go to the small village of Pachperwa
in India to learn rather than to reform or evan-
gelize, and this fact never ceased to amaze the

[43]

villagers. The outstanding failure of many west-
erners' approach to India has been a burning
intolerant desire to "improve" India, always
holding in mind their own occidental culture as
the norm and the differentness of Indian ways
as the measure of Indian darkness. The author
of this book had no preconceived ideas. She
tried to learn what Indian ideas of goodness and
evil were, what forms they took, and in what
ways Indian village life departed and was cor-
rupt in departing from the native ideas of a good
life.

Voiceless India has succeeded in making one
small village a microcosm of a nation. For the
average, uninformed westerner, therefore, it is
one of the best books to read first on India. It
is not statistical, nor theoristic, nor general. That
kind of a book is more understandable after this
one. Here principles and ideas have become
solidified in the satisfying artistic image of a
town in all its changing aspects of life and death.

The completeness of the picture is remarkable.
It includes a sensitive appreciation of the physi-
cal aspect of the Tarai, the low lying land in sight
of the mountains, with its flat fields of rice and
stretches of jungle interspersed, with its tiny
villages planted like natural growths incon-
spicuous and natural to the scene, and fourteen
miles away the incredibly high mountains of
Nepal.

The people of the village, from the all power-
ful rent collector, the Tahsildar, down to the
people of her house, the Ayah, the punka puller,
and the cook, are described with the absorbing
interest of a non-snobbish, open, and sympathetic
mind. Her exhaustive and first-hand studies of
such small-town economic problems as money
lending, tax collecting, well drilling, as thorough
as they are, never lose sight of the individuals

concerned. The people living this particular kind
of life, so strange at first, became her friends
and neighbors.

The book is by no means a political book. But
the evidence stacks up in numberless, objective
examples that English domination has not been
good for India. Pachperwa, her village, in its
civil life, in its economic problems, and in its
social and educational maladjustment, is a study
in deterioration. The steady decay of village
life has taken place in the last two hundred
years, the years of British rule.

Once each village was an autonomous com-
munity, self-governing, growing its own food,
setting aside a surplus each year for the lean
seasons, employing its own priest, teacher, and
barber. The community craftsmen, set apart each
in their own proud group, had the artisans' and
artists' delight in the good work of their own
hands. Today, surpluses are shipped out by
train and in barren years there is famine. Crafts-
men are losing their skill and joy in their work
and are slipping down into the common village
serfdom to the land. Agents, sent out by a
Maharajah or the British, rule the village. The
old, self-regulating spirit has almost died out.

The book is a significant sociological docu-
ment in that it shows in the life of a real village
how ignorance can serve the exploiter. Yet un-
like many sociologists the author is capable of
an artist's appreciation of the unfamiliar mores
of an obviously subject and exploited people.
Her western concern for our particular virtues
of cleanliness and sanitation and her desire for
India to share in these qualities did not blind her
to the beauty of Indian poetry and philosophy.

She found the poetry even in, "the common
objects of everyday life, in the archaic simplicity
of the Indian bullock cart . . . (whose) two pon-

[44]

derous creaking wheels possess that beauty of
form perfectly adapted to purpose," or in the de-
light of the most ignorant villager in the ancient
folk legends of Rama and Sita and Ganesh.
Gertrude Emerson would desire all the possible
benefits of modern science brought to India, but
she adds, . . . modern science is too often taken
for the whole of enlightenment instead of a frag-
ment, . . . without plumbing and with no concep-
tion of scientific prophylaxis, India in the past
has produced great spiritual leaders out of just
such insanitary little villages as Pachperwa, and
may produce more."

From 1928 until Hitler came to power Agnes
Smedley repersented the liberal Frankfurter
Zeitung in China and from that time until
ill health brought her back to America in
1941 she wrote for the Manchester Guardian.
During that period she become the most famous
American woman in China. She came to know
China as well as any Westerner ever has. In
tfie war she worked with the Chinese Red
Cross Medical Corps as propagandist and unoffi-
cial supply officer. Wearing the Chinese army
uniform, travelling with the armies of China into
battle even behind the Japanese lines, she helped
gather medical supplies, trained medical recruits,
lectured to troops, spent her journalist's salary
upon China and in addition her strength, her
intellect, and her love.

It is a little difficult to write objectively about
Agnes Smedley. The book, Battle Hymn of
China, has the mark of genius upon it. It
gathers the diffuse elements of war and civil war
and lifts them into an epic including corruption
and heroism in one passionate whole. It con-
tains the living force of China within its pages.
The bigness of spirit which inspires the author
permits all the geographical and spiritual diver-

sities of a great country to come together to
form a whole as these elements have, in fact,
united in the war against Japan.

The years that Agnes Smedley lived in China
saw a gigantic transformation of China from a
medieval to the most modern nation in viewpoint.
It saw the chilly and dismal hopelessness of the
early days transformed into a hope that was
forged strongly upon violence, death, and defeat.
Disillusion clogged her footsteps in the early
years. She came to China at a bad time. Reac-
tion in its blackest form of repression destroyed
any timid attempt at democratic action. Liberal
thought could be expressed by China's leading
author, Lu Hsun, only in a "mosaic of allusions
to personalities, events, and ideas of the darkest
period of China's past." Death by ugly, squalid
torture hung over every educated man or woman
of the land. Many of her friends were hunted
to their deaths in the streets of Shanghai by the
agents of their own Government while great sec-
tions of the city were held captive by the several
imperialist powers within their shiny, clean can-
tonments.

From the unhappiness of this period and one
following it when China gave in helplessly again
and again to Japan though the electrical shock
of the skirmish at the Marco Polo Bridge and the
growing resolution of resistance, she carries the
reader to the time when China, in spite of weak-
ness, inner division, and the lack of everything
to make war, stood up against the Fascist invader
and fought.

She describes the mood which made subordina-
tion of self to the larger task possible: "Our old
values seemed to vanish and we lost regard for
material things, for no one knew whether there
would be a tomorrow. We were like passengers
on a ship foundering in a stormy sea who at last

[45]

had found their humanity and clung to each other
with that love ... In the tense atmosphere of war
even poetry, song, and wit blossomed among us
and a magical glow shone over our friendship."

The book is important historically for placing
the elements of the new China in the proper
perspective to one another. The queer mixture of
reaction and nationalistic honor that makes up
Chiang Kai Shek appears in relation to other
elements of greatness in the nation. The im-
portance of the native Chinese Communist
armies, especially in the sphere of political de-
mocracy and social cooperation, is fully de-
veloped by a person who lived and worked with
the leaders and the rank and file of these groups.
The progress of Chinese thought in social and
economic matters emerges from the book with an
almost innocent freshness and vigor. The ob-
jectives of such a group of people do not deserve
to be patronized by the west.

The book is important artistically as the ex-
pression of a great American individualist who
is not unworthy to be compared with such other
self-propelling geniuses as Thoreau, Whitman,
and Dickinson. A part of two paragraphs in the
opening pages of the book gives a just impres-
sion of her personality:

"When I was sixteen, my mother lay down
and died from hard labor, undernourishment,
and a disease which she had no money to cure.
My father fell on his knees and wept dra-
matically, then rifled her old tin trunk. With
the forty-five dollars he found hidden between
the quilt patches he went to the saloon and got
drunk with the boys. My elder sister had just
died in childbed, leaving a baby boy, and I
was thus the eldest child, with responsibility
for this baby, as well as for my younger sister
and two brothers.

[46]

"Had I been more like my mother and less
like my father, I would have accepted this bur-
den as inevitable. But I resented my mother's
suffering and refused to follow in her footsteps.
I knew nothing of the world save the tales
related by cowboys, miners, and teamsters. I
knew that Columbus had sailed the seas and
discovered a new continent and that my fore-
fathers had fought in the American Revolution.
The clatter of the hoofs of the horse of Jesse
James as he robbed the rich to give to the poor
echoed in my ears. It seemed that men could
go anywhere, do anything, discover new worlds,
but that women could only trail behind or sit
at home having babies. Such a fate I rejected."

In China she was known as a Smedleyite since
she swallowed the official line of no party or
faction, and in fact was known as a formidable
party in her own person. The importance of her
chronicle to herself is that it is the story of hun-
dreds and thousands of individuals making up
the common war. The hopes and fears of each
of them is not negligible, but an important part
of a varied, multicolored, potentially demo-
cratic whole.

The importance of Strange Fruit is that it
goes to the heart of what is wrong with the
South. Among southern leaders, the liberals
along with the reactionary, polite evasion or a
euphemistic smoothing over of troubled waters
takes the place of a candid straightforward ap-
praisal of facts. The unpalatable truth is that
southern society is based on a lie.

The assumption upon which the South as a
nation stands is that the Negro is animal and not
human and must be kept in his place. This ugly
and outrageous article of faith is held consciously
or unconsciously by a majority of the white
people of the South. As far as possible the ugli-

ness of the tenet is disguised with soothing corol-
laries: the South understands the Negro, the
Negro is happier in the South than in the North,
cooperation between the races is improving the
conditions of white and black alike. This state-
ment is partially true; but amelioration, like
southern logic, can go only so far. As the author
says through one of her characters, ". . . always a
place here where you quit thinking. Quit or get
out. You go so far, run into a sign: Road Closed.
After that you start detouring . . ."

The South lives by a social religion whose
superstructure can be modified but whose prem-
ises cannot be touched without incurring excom-
munication from the body of believers.

An apparent prosperous and progressive mood
visible upon the surface of southern life is de-
ceptive. Question the southern verities and the
melodrama of violence becomes the potential
answer. Short of murder, the answer will be the
nauseating mouthings of such phrases as poll tax,
states' rights, and white supremacy. The be-
trayal of sincerity and justice in such words is a
continual distress to an increasing number of
southerners, an embarrassment to our foreign
policy, and a fundamental contradition of de-
mocracy.

Lillian Smith has been criticized for making
her book a display of southern violence. Such
critics miss the point. The end product of the
twisted beliefs current in the minds of so many
millions of men, women, and children is violence.
The superstructure of southern society has im-
proved. Yet, so long as lying and brutal beliefs
keep their hold upon the mind, just so long will
violence be the potential act.

Strange Fruit attempts in a novel to lay
bare the whole problem. By means of the ele-

ments of fiction plot, character, and back-
ground it states in a particular way what has
been said over and over again in general in
editorials, essays, and pamphlets. The idea will
reach many more people, more poignantly than
it ever has before.

As a problem novel, it is of very high order.
It can be compared to John Steinbeck's problem
novel on the subject of strikes, In Dubious
Battle, or Lillian Hellman's problem play on
the subject of anti-Fascism, Watch On The
Rhine. Of course all three as works of art
sacrifice a great deal for the sake of an over-
whelming idea.

The story is a remorseless study of the conse-
quences of a situation which is humanly possible
and yet, in the South, socially impossible, the
love between a white man and a Negro woman.

The author's detractors will cry "nigger-lover"
and trail across the path the red herring of
fraternization. Yet, given the characters de-
scribed, Tracy Deen, the irresolute rebel, and
Nonnie Anderson, the gentle, beautiful, vague
dreamer, the situation is entirely believable.
Grouped around these two central characters are
the inhabitants of Maxwell, Georgia, white and
black, anatomized by a just creator as to their
pitiful human mixture of good and evil.

No imaginary small town has ever been created
with more gusto or a truer devotion to the
realities of a particular pattern of existence.
Any Georgian can recognize the town as one he
has known and acknowledge the fidelity to
familiar ways of living and thinking. The fact
that Strange Fruit is the indictment of those
ways by a native who knows and feels those
thoughts instinctively as something grown up
with, makes for an added dignity and power.

[47]

The similarity of oppression in India or China
to a domestic tyranny in America is too often
slurred over. The same American who deplores
the British imperialist policy in India or pities

Hitler's French slaves, blinks at the local, home-
made injustice. It is a vapid, shallow patriotism
which finds the only enemies of democracy wear-
ing a German or Japanese uniform.

Gertrude Emerson, Voiceless India,
The John Day Co., New York. $3.00.

Agnes Smedley, Battle Hymn of China,
Alfred A. Knopf, New York. $3.50.

Lillian Smith, Strange Fruit,
Reynal and Hitchcock, Publishers, New York. $2.75

THE IRRESISTIBLE PRESENT

(Continued from Page 32)
We took courses at night for two winters. This
practical experience was so helpful that I became
a professional lecturer and booked engagements
through a bureau.

The material gleaned from interviewing peo-
ple whose names make news has been useful both
as lecture and article material. Meeting writers
through the New England Woman's Press Asso-
ciation has shown that free lance writing requires
a certain kind of courage. In many professions
hard work on a prescribed course of study
usually means a diploma and success. But the
tricky part of writing is that the road to success
is uncharted and varies with each person. Some
work at it years without sales ; some begin selling
before they understand technique. Selling
articles is dependent on many things an author
cannot control. Timing demands that you write
four to six months ahead of the calendar, due to
the mechanics of publication. Even so, current
events may at any moment ruin the market for
the subject you have studied. For instance,
editors worry now about buying war articles for
fear that the war will end suddenly. The turn-
over in editors also influences sales. Material
of other writers may crowd out the need for your
manuscript.

But whether a person writes fiction or articles,
there are two characteristics I have noted when
interviewing successful authors. First, they work
regular hours, no matter how alluring an invita-
tion comes along. Maybe they sit up late at
night; maybe they write best in the afternoons.
Yet they follow this loneliest of professions at
definite hours. And second, they specialize in a
certain type of material.

Strangely, a period of illness helped me find
the field in which I seem to write best family

[48]

life. We have an eight-room, white shingled
house ten miles west of Boston. We entertain
informally with bridge or games, usually serving
some Southern dish such as jumbalaya. My
routine is to write from 9 to 12 each morning
while the children are in school. At least, that
is my ideal, barring all sorts of interruptions!
Housework is done before and after that period.
When I was too ill to go out on interviews, it
seemed that the family was so much with me!
But I kept thinking with Mrs. Rawlings: "One
is not unique ..." I realized that there must be
hundreds of people with the same problems as
mine. So I searched for solutions to the situa-
tions that I must be sharing with other mothers.
My heart was poured into every word of an
article about the difficulties of writing mothers.
It sold to The Christian Science Monitor and
happened to win a national feature story prize.
Another idea, "Parents' Night Off," sold to The
American Home. Woman's Day took an illus-
trated article about home renovation. Each short
cut in cooking and entertaining goes into articles
or fillers. An account of the system Jack and
Peggy use in dishwashing sold recently. Parents'
Magazine was interested in boys' cooking.
Everywoman's in children's hobbies. And even
the room in which I write this the former
maid's room converted into a study supplied
an article idea. And so it goes.

Everything that happens in our lively family
may be turned into an article or a story some
day. My notes are mounting. Jack shakes his
head, half proudly, when the crisis of an incident
is past. "Now, Mother," he says, eying my busy
pencil, "does that faraway look mean you will
write about this, too?"

"Don't be surprised!" I say between notes on
the irresistible present with my cooperative
family.

ANNUAL REPORTS

Annual Meeting of the Association

The Annual Meeting of the Agnes Scott
Alumnae Association was held on Satur-
day, May 27, 1944, following the Trus-
tees' Luncheon. The president, Mar-
garet Ridley, called the meeting to
order and extended a welcome to the
seniors. She expressed the hope that
the newest alumnae would give valu-
able advice for cooperation between
alumnae and students. She stated that
very favorable comments have come to
us on the Quarterlies of this year. An
additional grant from the College en-
abled us to send the fall number to all
graduates and to some others. She ex-
pressed gratitude to Professor Howard
Thomas and the students in the Art
Department for their contributions to
the Quarterlies. A summary of com-
mittee reports was given.

It was explained that we have been
greatly handicapped by the exigencies
of war and by a constant change of
personnel, both in the office and on the
executive board. This session there
have been three executive secretaries:
Mrs. Jean Chalmers Smith, who served
a few weeks in September; Mrs. Jane
Guthrie Rhodes and Miss Eugenia
Symms. Miss Symms began work in
the office in April and is to return for
the next session. Because of the
changes in staff, the April and July
Quarterlies will be combined.

Recommendations for changes in
rates for rooms in the Alumnae House
were made by Katharine (Woltz)
Green. They were approved as read.
(See report of Second Floor House
Committee. )

Isabelle (Leonard) Spearman ex-
tended an invitation to all alumnae to
attend the dessert-coffee for the seniors
on Sunday, May 28.

The president and secretary of the
senior class were introduced and the
members of reunion classes recognized.
Miss Ridley explained that in April
she had appointed the following com-
mittee to analyze the opportunities and
limitations of the Association and make
recommendations for growth: Penelope
(Brown) Barnett, chairman; Lucile
Alexander, Fannie G. (Mayson) Don-
aldson, and Billie (Davis) Nelson.

The ex-officio members were: Margaret
Ridley, Katharine (Woltz) Green and
Eugenia Symms. Mrs. Barnett gave the
report of the committee. She told of
the need for revitalization of our or-
ganization so that it could render more
effective service to the College and to
the alumnae. A careful study had re-
vealed that the present income is in-
adequate (only 450 alumnae pay the
annual dues) and the one secretary can-
not handle all the work of the office
and keep the files in shape. Reports
from other Associations reveal that the
Alumnae Fund plan reaches more peo-
ple, supports the Association in an ade-
quate manner, and brings in enough
money to make a substantial gift to the
College each year. The recommenda-
tions from the committee include (1)
the elimination of dues and establish-
ment of a new alumnae philosophy
through an Alumnae Fund, (2) a new
staff set-up, (3) a new publications
system reaching more alumnae, and (4)
an adjusted budget through an in-
creased grant from the Trustees of the
College. These recommendations were
approved by the executive board of the
Association and then presented to the
Trustees. The Board of Trustees ap-
proved the revision and guaranteed
$5,000 for the Alumnae Association
budget for next year. The president of
the College was authorized to direct the
Alumnae Fund Campaign. Mrs. Bar-
nett moved that the recommendations
be accepted by the Association, Mrs.
Donaldson seconded the motion and it
was unanimously passed.

Miss Ridley said that all details for
the plan had not been completed and
requested that suggestions be sent to the
office.

The following changes in the Con-
stitution and By-Laws were presented
by Lucy (Johnson) Ozmer and accepted
as read:

Constitution

Article II. Membership.

Sec. 1. There shall be only one class
of members and they shall be known as
active members.

Sec. 2. Any graduate or former stu-
dent of Agnes Scott College may be-

come an active member upon payment
of a contribution to the Alumnae Fund
for the fiscal year for which such con-
tribution is paid. Life members are con-
sidered active members irrespective of
annual contributions.

Sec. 3. Powers of Members. Only
active members may have the privilege
of holding office and voting.

By-Laws

Article I. Membership.

Sec. 1. An alumna is considered an
active member of the Association only
when and so long as she pays her an-
nual contribution.

Any member may be restored to
active membership in the Association
upon payment of a contribution for the
current year.

Sec. 2. Life Membership. Any mem-
ber of the Association may become a
member of the Association for life
upon contributing the sum of fifty dol-
lars within any one fiscal year.

Article II omitted entirely.

Article II. Meetings (no change).

Article III. Officers and Commit-
tees.

Sec. 3. Standing Committees.

(1) Publications and Radio.

Sec. 4. Committee Members. All
members of committees shall be active
members of the Association, etc.

Sec. 5. Duties of Officers and Com-
mittees.

(q) The Publications and Radio
Committee. This committee shall con-
sist of three members whose duties
shall be to supervise all publications
and to prepare appropriate programs
and arrange for the presentation of the
same over available radio facilities in
such manner as is consistent with the
purpose and character of the Associa-
tion.

Maryellen (Harvey) Newton ex-
pressed the appreciation of the Alumnae
Association for the unselfish service
rendered by the retiring president,
Margaret Ridley. As a token of ap-
preciation, all members present gave a
rising vote of thanks.

[49]

Florence (Perkins) Ferry, chairman
of the Nominating Committee, pre-
sented the nominees for 1944-46 and the
following were unanimously elected:

Katharine (Woltz) Green, President.

Patricia Collins, Second Vice-Presi-
dent.

Betty Medlock, Treasurer.

Mary Louise (Crenshaw) Palmour,
Alumnae Week-end Chairman.

Ellen Douglass Leyburn, Publica-
tions and Radio Chairman.

Martha (Rogers) Noble, Entertain-
ment Chairman.

Alice (McDonald) Richardson, Sec-
ond Floor House Chairman (to fill un-
expired term of Katharine (Woltz)
Green who was elected president).

Charlotte E. Hunter, Grounds Chair-
man (to fill unexpired term of Eugenia
Symms who is now executive secre-
tary).

The meeting was then turned over to
Katharine (Woltz) Green, the new
president. She pledged her whole-
hearted endeavor for the coming years
and stated that she felt that with the
help of the excellent executive board
we would have more effective participa-
tion in alumnae activities.

Margaret Ridley was nominated as

Alumnae Trustee. This nomination was
unanimously accepted.

The meeting was adjourned.
Respectfully submitted,

Ida Lois McDaniel
Recording Secretary

Report of the Executive Secretary
On April 1, 1944, I assumed the duties
as executive secretary and succeeded
Mrs. Jane Guthrie Rhodes, who had
held the position since September, 1943.

Mrs. Rhodes turned over to me the
material she had collected for the third
Quarterly for this year. Because of the
pressure of the other work to be done
at this busy time in the spring quar-
ter, we will not be able to publish but
three Quarterlies this session. This last
one will be sent out in July as we
wish to include in the last Quarterly
the reports of the Annual Meeting and
the Commencement activities.

My time in the office has been taken
up with bookkeeping, correspondence,
checking on magazine sales, working
with all of the standing committees,
conferences with the hostesses for the
house and tearoom, serving on the
Nominating Committee, working with
the seniors, planning for Commence-
ment activities and working with the
special committee appointed by our
president to study the limitations of
our Association, the progress of other
Associations and to make recommenda-
tions for growth.

Because of the pressure of time, all

the work mentioned above has been
hastily done and I have not yet had
much time to devote to the final plans
for the Quarterly, for contact with the
clubs throughout the nation who met for
Founders' Day or the class secretaries
who send in the news. The general
files of correspondence and reports
need revision, and much time should
have been spent trying to bring the
individual card files up-to-date, and on
general reorganization of the office.
The scholarship girls have needed a
great deal of supervision and should
have had more than I have been able
to give them.

The analysis of some of the prob-
lems of the executive secretary and the
Association have been carefully out-
lined in the report of the special com-
mittee appointed by your president and
as it involves too many things to be
mentioned here, I will refer your at-
tention to that report and request that
you give it full consideration and sup-
port.

Our Alumnae Association should
compare favorably with other Colleges
of our standing throughout the nation
and we as members of the executive
board should put forth every effort to
reorganize our present set-up and estab-
lish our Association on a sound and
creditable basis.

Respectfully submitted,

Eugenia Symms
Executive Secretary

COMMITTEE REPORTS

The following reports were read at
the meeting of the Executive Board on
May 17, 1944:

Alumnae Week-End Committee

Alumnae Week-End was again con-
densed into "Alumnae Day" on No-
vember 9, 1943. After registration at 4
o'clock, there was an interesting dis-
cussion by Professor Howard Thomas,
Head of the Art Department, on two
Southern artists, Dr. Marion Sauchon
and Corporal Reuben Gambrell. The
alumnae then proceeded to the Art Gal-
lery to view the exhibit of paintings by
these two artists.

The College was host to the alumnae
and their escorts at dinner served cafe-

teria style in Rebekah Scott. Fol-
lowing this a social hour in the library
was enjoyed by all as an opportunity
to chat with the faculty.

The evening lecture was given by
Henry C. Wolfe on "The Next Act in
Europe." (This was the opening lec-
ture of the Student Lecture Associa-
tion series.) The "Day" ended with a
coffee in Murphey Candler to which all
the guests at the lecture were invited.

An added feature this year was the
provision made for the alumnae chil-
dren during the day and evening by
the members of the Granddaughters'
Club. There were games, sightseeing,
and a special dinner for the children.

Approximately 150 alumnae were reg-
istered for the day.

Virginia (Heard) Feder

Chairman

Constitution and By-Laws Committee

The committee met and recommended
to the executive committee changes in
the Constitution and By-Laws made
necessary by the recommendations of a
special committee appointed by the
president of the Alumnae Association
to consider changes in the set-up of the
Association. (See minutes of the an-
nual meeting.)

Emma Pope (Moss) Dieckmann
Elizabeth (Moss) Mitchell
Lucy (Johnson) Ozmer,

Chairman

[50]

Entertainment Committee

The Entertainment Committee assisted
the Alumnae Week-end Committee in
November. They furnished colorful
flowers, greeted the guests, and helped
with the arrangements for the after
dinner coffee in the library.

Plans for the Annual Trustees'
Luncheon were scaled down due to the
war situation. As there was no speak-
ers' table, there were no elaborate cen-
terpieces, but just the usual decora-
tions in the dining room and the lunch-
eon was served cafeteria style. Mem-
bers of the committee met the return-
ing alumnae, and seniors and furnished
name tags.

A feature of Commencement was
the dessert-coffee. This was held
for the first time after supper on Sun-
day night. The seniors, their parents
and guests, and members of the faculty
were guests of the Alumnae Associa-
tion and were served in the Alumnae
Garden at twilight. Members of the
Granddaughters' Club and officers of
the Association assisted as hostesses.
About 200 attended.

Expenses for dessert-coffee:

225 pies $16.88

Coffee and cream 2.07

Maid service 4.90

Moving dishes 70

$24.55
Isabel (Leonard) Spearman

Chairman

House Committee

Our report is brief in visible accom-
plishments, though we have work
planned and under way. We are open-
ing a bank account in the name of the
committee for deposit of such gifts as
we may receive for the future purchase
of rugs which are badly needed and a
cabinet which will further carry out
the proposed plan for living room. We
will discuss with the College officials the
painting of the outside woodwork on the
house. The purchase of Venetian blinds
for the two small windows in the living
room is under advisement, if available
and practicable. A chair rail will be
installed in the dining room. A recom-
mendation comes from our committee
for a regular, adequate maintenance
allotment for the house. Painting and
redecoration of the living room and
dining room will be necessary in the
near future, and there are no funds

available. The financial report is as
follows :

INCOME

Brought forward..- $34.57

Grant from budget 15.00

Donation 5.00

Total $54.57

DISBURSEMENTS
Cleaning rugs and furniture.. $20.00

Balance _ $34.57

I wish to thank my committee for
their cooperation this year Mrs. Fon-
ville McWhorter, Mrs. John Eagan,
Mrs. Granger Hansell and Mrs. Asa
Warren Candler.

Mary (Warren) Read

Chairman

Second Floor House Committee

The Second Floor Committee, composed
of Elizabeth (Simpson) Wilson, Alice
(McDonald) Richardson, and Knoxie
(Nunnally) Roberts with Katharine
(Woltz) Green, chairman, submits the
following report for the year 1943-44
to the executive board of the Agnes
Scott Alumnae Association.

The budget allotment to the commit-
tee was $15.00. With this sum the
following expenditures were made:

Slipcovering one boudoir chair.. $ 2.50

Two maid's uniforms. 3.58

Four sheets (double bed size).... 8.36

$14.44

In view of the increased cost of op-
erating the Alumnae House, the Com-
mittee wishes to make the following
recommendations to the board:

1. That the rates for occupying a
room in the Alumnae House be $1.00
per day for all alumnae; and that rates
for all other guests be $2.00.

2. That only one room be rented on a
yearly basis and that it be rented, only
to an alumna or one associated with the
College, for the sum of $25.00 a month.

3. That the college guest room be
rented by guests of the Association only
in cases of real emergency.

Katharine (Woltz) Green

Chairman

Student Loan Committee

To date there have been neither pay-
ments nor borrowing this year.

Bank Balance April 27, 1943 $239.12

Interest deposited 1.94

Interest from $300 invested

in Government Bonds 7.50

Bank Balance May 17, 1944 $248.56
Invested in Government Bonds 300.00

Total on hand $548.56

There is now an amount of $336.40
owed to the fund. It has been decided
to send letters to those alumnae who
still owe these various amounts.

Julia (Pratt) Slack

Chairman

Radio Committee

No report, as radio time could not be
secured.

Jean (Bailey) Owen

Chairman

Tea Room Committee

The Tea Room Committee presents the

following report:

Receipts

Income from Alumnae Asso-
ciation $175.00

Expenditures

Six maid's uniforms $ 12.86

Kitchen stove 126.00

Installation of stove 22.00

$160.86

Balance on hand $ 14.14

This balance of $14.14 will be ap-
plied on the painting expense for the
kitchen walls and the Tea Room tables.
The $25.00 from the Gorham Silver
Company, earned by this committee by
sponsoring a display, will also be used
for this redecoration. Other needs of the
Tea Room and kitchen have not been
met because additional funds were not
available.

Gifts made to the Tea Room and
kitchen have been gratefully received.
The Atlanta Club gave two dozen des-
sert plates. The committee itself pre-
sented the Tea Room with a complete
set of tablecloths and napkins, nine

[51]

TEA ROOM COMMITTEE

(Continued)

maid's aprons, one maid's uniform, and
two articles for the kitchen.

The Alumnae Association is most
fortunate in having this year in the
Alumnae House as Tea Room managers
and hostesses Mrs. James Bunnell, for-
merly a house mother at Emory, and
Mrs. Ewing G. Harris of Clarksville,
Tenn. Their efficiency and charm will
continue to make them assets to the
college community next year also.

Annie (Bryan) Scott

Chairman

Garden Committee
Receipts

Income from Alumnae Asso-
ciation _ $25.00

Expenditures

Pansies _._ - $ 6.25

Labor 18.75

$25.00

The appropriation for this committee
was cut by the Finance Committee from
$50.00 to $25.00 for the nine months
of the school year. This low budget
kept us from doing many necessary
things. From time to time, students

and other members of the college com-
munity put in many hours of labor and
to all of these we would like to express
our grateful appreciation. We would
also like to express to Mrs. Robert B.
Holt our thanks for her continuing in-
terest and assistance. We are also in-
debted to her for the care she gives the
garden during the summer months and
the careful administration of the $100
fund allotted by the College for this
purpose. The pruning of the shrubbery
comes under her supervision in the
summer.

Eugenia Symms

Chairman

[52]

I WOULDN'T TRADE WITH ANYBODY

(Continued from Page 12)
telling them.

Fortunately, experience brings a large meas-
ure of relief from these discomforts. Eyes be-
come sharp, ears learn to hear, and fingers to
feel and act. Minds become attuned to catch
and evaluate pertinent facts. Embarrassment
disappears as the impersonal problem of diag-
nosis is faced. As the years add some maturity
and a few wrinkles and grey hairs, and as
knowledge and ability increase there comes the
satisfying reward of growing respect from pa-
tients and colleagues.

The final commencement procession down
the lawn toward the coveted M.D. is little more
than passage through a doorway from one class-
room into another where the student begins the
rigorous life of an intern. Almost any hospital
house officer will raise an eyebrow when the
conversation turns to the grueling eight hours a
day that others spend in strenuous office work.
There isn't any quitting time in medicine.
Someone who has eaten more than was good for
him might really have appendicitis in the mid-
dle of the night and not just indigestion. Just
because it served someone right to get bopped
on the head when he got drunk and beat his
wife doesn't mean the doctor can put off sewing
him up. And there isn't any quitting time in
learning. Facts known and not steadily used
slip out of mind and must be reviewed. New
facts must be learned and put to use. Each case
is a problem to be solved, and good medical
practice is an eternal challenge.

Women are no longer museum pieces in the
medical profession. I had heard fearful tales
of the welcome the boys gave the co-eds here
and I was weak with apprehension when I
walked meekly into my first class and sat down.
To my surprise and relief no whistles and cat-
calls greeted me. The famed animosity toward
women in medicine is only a conceit which men
like to maintain in principle but do not seem to

[68]

apply to individuals. I have yet to see a worm
who has not been accepted on her own merits 1
her fellows and her patients.

There are some questions that I have bee
asked many times. Yes, I did faint in the ope
ating room the first few times when I went on
to observe, but it didn't happen when I reache
the place where I could actually scrub and hai
something to do. Taking off a long leg ca
was about the most strenuous thing I ever ha
to do in a medical line, but I did it once witho
any help and I can again if necessary. l\
sometimes been achingly tired and extreme
sleepy but I've never seen the doctor who hasn
been both many times. I cannot speak with ai
authority on the question of how to manaj
family life and a career since I have not y
reached a place where they conflict. My hu
band, who was a classmate in medical school,
overseas. When he comes home we hope to
ahead with our plans for joint practice in
country town where we will have enough woi
and some time left over for full living.

I wouldn't trade jobs with anyone. I lil
finding out what makes people as they are, an
sometimes helping to make them more as the
wish to be. I like my children in Pediatric
not only because, as a friend facetiously r
marked, "they are such responsive and sati
factory little mechanisms to keep in order," bi
also because most of them are such nice lift,
people you can't help loving them. Medicir
these days is drawing closer than ever to tl
doctor's goal of working himself out of a jo
Diagnosis is still the most fascinating puzz
known, and chemotherapy has just revealed u
dreamed of possibilities in weapons to fight di
ease. It has put into our hands the means <
favorably changing the course of events in mar
conditions so that now we can do more than ti
to make the patient feel more comfortable wlii
he and the germs battle out their own decisioi
There isn't any drama better to watch and to 1
a part of. Nope! I wouldn't trade with an?
body.

y^

For Reference

NOT TO BE TAKEN FROM THIS ROOM