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The Red Cross Year










19 September 1939

This is the third night of a new school year, with the freshmen still much in evidence, and
no upperclassmen in evidence. I came Sunday, leaving the family after only four days stay, and found everything very much as it was last June 20th, when we left it. However, this is our senior year, the last year of our youth, and therefore, it should be the best. Ann and I are rooming together, a grand room except that it [is] over Miss Heimbach who probably will eventually object to the noise, but that is yet to come. But this is a queer sort of year to end one's college career with. By this time, Germany (and Russia) have taken Poland, and England and France are fighting for their very existence. This afternoon, at Beck's, Chris and I had a mutual sort of discussion about the whole ghastly business with conclusions about the same: war is ineffective, a waste of manpower and what civilization we have, and once more, the U.S. will be suckers if they enter it.

21 September 1939

Today was registration, and over Miss Logan's prostrate body, I am taking Spanish, not because I really want to but because I'll be dammed if I'll spend another year cursing over French verbs. Also taking 17 credits, with Miss Gilbert's permission on condition that grades are kept up. Registration followed by regulation big-little sister tea, with atrocity of atrocities, a line consisting of Misses Briggs, Gilbert, Ruez, Roberts, etc. all ladies with yellow corsages. Very hot & stuffy.


15 October 1939

...the Mixer, my last, thank goodness. Its one of the things I'll be glad to leave behind in June. Hope this doesn't mean I'm anti-social. We were hostesses, and as identification wore white carnations and it was our duty to act as sort of an unofficial group of cupids. The men were average, and not too exciting. The orchestra was very good. Spent most of the night in aunt-like conversation with Ben, Chan, Dick, and other people's little men.

18 October 1939

Have started a short story for 401 about a maid named Willa. I wanted to make her terrifically sinister, but she's turning out mild and uninteresting, thus divesting me of even a skeleton of a plot, and plots are hard to get. Yesterday played hockey in lovely fall weather -very cold and snappy - the kind of weather that makes your nose run. Then stayed up until 12:30 studying Spanish and reading Enemy of the People. For the present, Ibsen is in a rut, and it's high time we give up the Social Problem period of his life.



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