The Rise and Fall of Clementina Potts
IV.. MARV LOUISE VINCENT
npHE president of the Girls'
•'f League wound up her speech
ca “Participation., in Activities
and the Advantages Lying There
in" with a verbal flourish to the
effect that “who knows better
than we who have gone before
yo' that there are other things
on. the campus beyond the frivoli
ties of social life, the false al
lure of pretty clothes, and the
enjoyable, unprofitable expendi
ture of time or. what the movies
depict as collegiate life that can
reap you no gain and'result in.
jkq honor.”
She murmured a “God knows
■what!" to the vice-president and
strode off the platform. The ma
jority of her listeners, doubtless
ly.- sunk long ago into the “frivol
ities of social life” to a point far
beyond redemption, heaved a not
inaudible 3igh and shuffled out
of (die auditorium clutching their
re; ersibles.
If Clementina Potts had
sighed it didn't denote the same
attitude as these more shallow
characters, for she had been
smitten with the full impact of
what she had heard. It wa3 clear
that she was one who had not
fallen into the pit of social life
—the round shiny face and snub
rose would have tended to keep
her on very level ground; and if
there was allure of any sort,
however false, about blue serge,
Mf s. Potts had managed to con
ceal. it in Clementina’s pleated
skirt.
But the five-foot-three figure
With the plain brown hair was
struck with, a resolve that was
truly noble- she out of all these
lesser characters had heard her
call and she would answer. At
that moment she took her vows
and dedicated her life to activi
ties .
IMJNKER Hill college had been
^ frankly unaware of Potts,
Clornentina lip until the moment
of |jier inspiration, but within a
fortnight there were few people
©a the campus who were not
Potts-conscious, She descended on
“dear old B.H.” with the vehe
mence of a Valkyrie. She volun
teered to sell Hot Cross buns for
th® benefit of Indigent Seniors,
a:>.4 \V'as awarded a booth in the
library tower hall with a sign on
it that read ‘ Eat a Bun, for '41”
—‘H being the unhappy class for
which people hke Clementina
Potts (’41) were giving their all.
Clementina tackled all comers
alike; student body presidents,
the more severe members of the
faculty, sleek senior Romeos and
pimply freshmen.
She emerged victorious from
Bun \veek, and was mentioned in
the Daily Bunk on the seventh
page. She cut out the whole sen
tence “Clementina Potts sold the
most buns” and started a scrap
book. She was on her way.
After this evidence of her abil
ity “the world (as far as the
campus was concerned) beat a
path to her door.” She sold pea
nuts for the speech division, pen
nants for the law division .pro
grams for the drama division, and
pop for the art school (she was
an English major herself). She
peddled chrysanthemums for the
football team, magazines for the
alumnae group and pamphlets for
the chamber of commerce (it
was never quite clear how the
latter had sneaked in.)
She collected contributions for
the Chinese, the Polish, the Fin
nish, the French, and the Wa
hoonatuch County Depraved
Adolescents. She swam for the
Associated Water-Dogs, danced
for the Modern Dance group, and
played field hockey, ping-pong,
basketball, volleyball, tennis, golf,
and Chinese checkers for the
house team.
Then one day, one wonderful
day, all the sweat and strain of
the long preceding months were
erased from her memory, all her
struggle and endeavor culminat
ed in a glorious, soul-elevating
moment of reward. Clementina
Potts was tapped. In fact she was
thiice tapped, for the service
honorary of Omieron Omicron
Omicron believed in going whole
hog if you go at all, and tapped
her (and 42 other girls) first with
a rose, then a lighted candle and
finally a book. Clementina stood
up under the thorn in the shoul
der, hot wax down the back and a
clunk on the head for the sake
of virtue, guidance, and knowl
edge respectively. She seemed
hardly of this world at that mo
ment.
The president of the Girls’
League made an inspiring speech,
pinned three cents worth of black
and cerise ribbon on 42 girls and
Clementina murmured, “God, late
for lunch again,” and left, Clem
entina still floated—St. Peter
could never open the way into
bliss beyond this. She ate baked
beans and salad composed of
sliced oranges and mayonnaise
that noon and never even tasted
it.
IT OR awhile Clementina gave to
Omicron Omicron Omocrin
all that it deserved. She some
times directed affairs now that
she was experienced, but she still
sold, peddled and collected for
there seemed to he a dearth of
people for these positions and she
felt that where she was most
needed was the place she ought
to be This noble attitude result
ed one day in her being stationed
with a jug of cider in front of
% a Jlaued One
Oh yes, I will be careful with this spark,
This little flame that flickers in my breast.
This candle, held so high against the dark.
Some loving ones reflect it in the west
Of their own hearts; this little hour of song.
This fevered passion, fire beneath my grasp;
This that becomes illusion, when iny clasp
Holds it tco tightly, clutches overlong.
For this intangible half-shadowy thing
That has no flesh, no bone, no visible life;
For this that often will refuse to sing
la peace and calm, to turn a lark in strife;
1 will be careful what I do and see
Since this, I am aware, binds you to me.
—Barbara Hampson
the YMCA. A position like this
was old' stuff to Clementina, and
she was dishing out cider like an
automat without really keeping'
her mind on her work, a pardon
able sin considering her skill. She
was dreaming of multi-colored
ribbons, gold pins, and addresses
to the Girls’ league when some
thing snapped her mind back to
the present. This something was
Morton Joe Hodges.
Morton Joe spent his Saturday
mornings at the Y with the fel
lows and at 11:30 he always w'ent
home to mow the lawn. Today
as he left he saw Clementina, and
all thoughts of the lawn left his
mind. She wasn’t really conscious
of his presence until he bought
his fifth glass of cider, but after
his seventh glass she gave him
a faint smile. Morton Joe felt that
nine glasses of cider gave him
the right to move up within two
feet of the defenseless girl and
murmur juicily (the cider, no
doubt)
“Brown is my favorite color
for eyes. Yours are pretty. More
cider, please.”
Now if Clementina had not led
so sheltered a life (her father
had taken four years to court
her mother and Mrs. Potts just
didn't realize how things could
be), she might have been some
what equipped to cope with this
situation. She poured out a glass
of cider, ran it oyer two pints
onto the table and handed Morton
Joe the jug.
Morton Joe fell back a foot or
two, and with the jug held de
fensively between him and Clem
entina (he had four older sisters),
said,
“You’re like the goddess of the
harvest giving cider to thirsty
mortals,” (which was pretty
smooth talk for Bunker Hill). He
swallowed hard handed her the
jug, retreated a few steps, fell
over the curb, and went straight
home.
jpRIDAY morning amid tele
phone calls about requisi
tions, tickets, and decorations,
she received one of a different
sort. She answered with the us
ual “Clementina Potts speaking"
which she had found saved time.
But the answer wasn't of the us
ual breed. It came in a gasp, and
was, as nearly as she could make
out,
“This is Morton Joe Hodges
which drank all the cider in front
of the Y and I belong to the Ep
worth league which is giving a
dance and we all have to bring
somebody and would you like to
go."
“With who?” was all she could
blurt out.
“With me, Morton Joe Hodges,"
he said, fully under control.
“Why?" Clementina would
never have said things if she had
been in ordinary circumstances,
but these for her were extraor
dinary.
This broke through some of
Morton Joe’s smooth sophistica
tion and he frankly had to search
for an answer. “I did drink an
awful lot of that apple juice and,
—and—and—but if you don't
want—"
“Oh, I do want—the cider, of
course, surely—yes that would
be fine—yes, thank you, thank
you,” recovered Clementina.
“You're welcome. Eight o’clock
tonight. Goodbye." He had recov
ered his composure and he rat
tled this off.
“Good . . . bye." Clementina
whispered.
«t
Yellow stars will sing in my dreams tonight
Yellow stars, like a glimpse of gold bees,
And I will know an aeon that was all delight.
Forsythia, the name is old to me—•
Old as the hills are old,
Young as their spring is young,
Worn as these pebbles,
Sharp as this sun . , , .
He. who remembers, sometimes sees
Forsythia, a dream of bees,
Which in the far time
Before his birth,
Told his grave mind
Of death, of earth.
—Marjorie Major
^LEMENTINA went through a
day such as she had never
imagined could exist this side of
Hell. The creative instincts in 15
girls bloomed and flourished;
and beauty processes are inclined
to be unpleasant, even in the
hands of the most solicitous of
attendants. Her hair was cut,
washed, dried, and screwed into
pin curls; she was manicured
and pedicured; she underwent
mud packs, beauty packs, van
ishing cream, tissue cream, com
plexion cream and massage; she
was powdered, painted, rouged,
and mascaraed; she tried on 11
formal dresses, E pairs of eve
ning slippers, 4 girdles and end
less amounts of jewelry. She was
fully instructed in the “Hard to
Get,” the “Flatter Your Man.”
and the “Woman of the World”
techniques of conquering man
kind.
« * «:
JJE didn’t recognize her at first
because she did look a little
different, and then, of course, she
had no cider with her; but even
inexperienced Clementina could
recognize the pleasure mixed
with incredulity when she went
up and shook hands with him.
After Morton Joe had ex
pressed his approval, for a
Hodges knows a good thing when
he’s confronted with it, Clemen
tina, too, grew to like the way
she looked, the way she smiled,
and the way she felt. Above all
she liked the way that Morton
Joe gaped at her, opened doors
for her, helped her with the coat,
and fell down the steps because
Literary Page Staff:
Editor: Carol Greening
Contributors:
Mary Louise Vincent
Marjorie Major
Barbara Hampson
he was looking at her.
But that’s what worried her—
liking it. She knew that hera
were “frivolities of social life,
false allure of pretty clothes, and
wasteful expenditure of time"
and she, Clementina Potts, Omi
cron Omicron Omicron, was not
only induging in it but liking it.
When Morton Joe with his
smooth oily tongue told her that
she looked like the Blue Fairy in
“Pinnochio” and asked her to
see. “Roaring Hoofs’’ with 11,
Saturday night, Clementina wres
tled with her conscience, knocked
it down, sat on it, and said,
“Yes!’’
* v *
T>UT fate seemed to have put
1 Clementina on her black list,
for when she got home that night
she found an underlined notation
on her “List of Things to Do for
Saturday” that read: “assistant
punch ladler at University Fath
ers’ Free-for-All—9:30 p.m.”
Clementina was distraught. There
was no doubt but that the Fath
ers would prove more enlighten
ing than “Roaring Hoofs,” and
still there was just one thing she
could do.
She realized that there was
telling to what ends Morton ijt
might go when crossed, being the
(Please turn to Page Seven)
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