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Chapter One

Sylvia's letters from Smith show the effort of a conscientious student striving for high grades, partly to satisfy herself and build up her own image and partly to prove herself worthy o f the generous financial aid she was receiving from various sources: the Olive Higgins Prouty Fund, the Nielson scholarship, and the Smith Club in Wellesley. Added to this effort was her need to project the image o f the "all-around" person; i.e., the student who not only did well scholastically but was socially acceptable by both sexes, and the service-oriented person who made a contribution to her peer group and the community. To all this, Sylvia added her own burning desire: to develop creatively in her chosen field--writing--and to win recognition there. The pressure that developed from her involvement in all these areas was periodically overwhelming, both physically and psychically.

Dearest Mummy,
Well, only five minutes till midnight, so I thought I'd spend them writing my first letter to my favorite person. If my printing's crooked, it's only because I drank too much apple cider tonight.
Even though I don't have much finery adorning my room yet, it seems that it's pretty much home. Tangible things can be awfullyfriendly at times. Even though I've only been here since three, an awful lot seems to have happened. I kind of like getting a quiet first acquaintance with my room and the girls.
I feel that I've wandered into a New York apartment by mistake. . . the maple on my desk feels like velvet. I love my room and am going to have a terrific time decorating it.
I lay down for half an hour and listened to the clock. I think I'mgoing to like it--the ticking is so rhythmic and self-assured that it's y like the beat of someone's heart--so-o-o it stays on the bureau.
. . . After our little get-together, at which a delightful extrovert freshman from Kansas kept us in hysterics, we three freshmen sat and talked. After which I left them in their room on the first floor, drifted into conversation with Ann [Davidow] on the second, and finally arrived here at 11:30. Girls are a new world for me. I should have some fascinating times learning about the creatures. Gosh, to live in a house with 48 kids my own age-what a life! There are (don't faint) 600 in my class. Mrs. Shakespeare [the house mother] is very sweet. In fact, I like everything . . . .

Dear Mummy,
. . . so far, I've gotten along with everyone in the house. It's good to see more faces familiar to me. I love my room, my location, and am firmly convinced that the whole episode here is up to me. I have no excuse for not getting along in all respects. Just to find a balance is the first problem.
We had our college assembly this morning. I never came so close to crying since I've been here when I saw the professors, resplendent with colors, medals, and emblems, march across the stage and heard adorable Mr. Wright's stimulating address. I still can't believe I'm a SMITH GIRL! . . .
The whole house is just the friendliest conglomeration of people imaginable. Gerry--one gorgeous creature--just got a picture and writeup in Flair as representative of Eastern Women's Colleges. People are always talking about Europe and New York. Lisa told me about how good it is not to work too hard, but to allot time for "playing with the kids in the house." Seems she's done a neat job of adjusting. I hope I can really get to know her sometime. She has quite a friendly attitude, and I could talk to her about almost anything.

Dear Mummy,
The most utterly divine thing has happened to me. I was standing innocently in the parlor, having coffee after supper, when a senior said, sotto voce, in my ear, "I have a man all picked out for you." I just stood there with that "Who, me?" expression, and she proceeded to explain. Seems she met this young guy who lives in Mass. but went to Culver Military Academy. He is a freshman at Amherst this year, tall, cute and--get this--HE WRITES POETRY. I just sat there burbling inarticulately into my coffee. She said he should be around in a few weeks. God, am I thrilled. The hope, even, of getting to know a sensitive guy who isn't a roughneck makes the whole world swim in pink mist.
The food here is fabulous. I've had two helpings of everything since I got here and should gain a lot. I love everybody. If only I can unobtrusively do well in all my courses and get enough sleep, I should be tops. I'm so happy. And this anticipation makes everything super. I keep muttering, "I'M A SMITH GIRL NOW."

Dear Mummy,
. . . my physical exam . . . consisted in getting swathed in a sheet and passing from one room to another in nudity. I'm so used to hearing, "Drop your sheet," that I have to watch myself now lest I forget to dress! My height is an even 5'9"; my weight 137; my posture, good; although when my posture picture was taken, I took such pains to get my ears and heels in a straight line that I forgot to tilt up straight. The result was the comment, "You have good alignment, but you are in constant danger of falling on your face."
. . . Then quickly back to the house to pick up the much-awaited mail. There was that lovely letter from you and two from Eddie [Cohen]! . . . I'm so pleased with your news; it's all so happy--especially about Exeter. [Grammy and 1 had visited her brother, Warren, there.]
. . . After supper, we gathered around the piano and sang for a good hour. Never have I felt so happy, standing with a group of girls--with piano, Lisa's accordion, and two ukuleles--singing my favorite popular songs. It was such a wonderful feeling. No home life could make up for the camaraderie of living with a group of girls. I like them all.
After singing, two girls from our Annex house came up to my room for the purpose of studying. However we got in the process of learn ing the Charleston . . . Ann Davidow stayed to do her Religion homework. We drifted into discussion, and she is the closest girl yet that I've wanted for a friend. She is a free thinker. We discussed God and religion and men. Her parents are Jewish. I find her very attractive--almost as tall as I, freckle-faced, short brown hair and twinkling blue eyes .
. . . The sensitive guy I told you about in the card has not yet materialized. I'll give him a month. I've fallen for him already merely because of the poetry angle.