From The President:

Now that we are fully recovered from King Cakes and Mardi Gras celebrations, it is time to begin the TFoNC New Year. We have been planning the redesign and launch of our website as well as new formats for The DaisyChain. In the next few months you will see the results of all that behind the scenes work. But now we need your input to help us.

How do you know who you are?

How did you get where you are?

Where do you want to go?

How can TFoNC help you? How can you help members?

We have every reason to believe that  we are unique—but if not, we are special to be sure. We are figuring out what we want to be when we grow up.

After five years of litigation,  the TFoNC case has led to new case law in Louisiana. Direct descendants of donors may sue colleges and universities if they feel donor intent was violated. The Louisiana Supreme Court declined, however, to hear our individual case.

Those of us who believe we have a future together, as an independent alumnae association of a college now closed, have the honor of exploring how we go forward with our mission: Through Us, Newcomb Lives.

It is an honor, it is a journey, it is our mission.

With this issue of The DaisyChain, we begin this journey in earnest. The Board of Directors has approved the budget, vice presidents are busy working with their committees and now we need to hear more from you, too.

We will be bringing you many ideas about how we can fulfill our mission that I hear about from all of the board members. I can promise you some of these are ideas which you may not have seen anyplace else. It is electric to see an idea start with an “I wonder if we could…” and take off.

We want your ideas, too. We need your ideas, too.

This is a Happy New Year and Post Mardi-Gras Daisy Chain. Any resolutions you made now may have been forgotten, save one.

Through Us, Newcomb Lives.

Karen D. Depp, N’66

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Through Us, Newcomb Lives…The It Sisters Choose Now

  Cheree Cleghorn, N’66

People say to college-bound freshmen, “These will be the best years of your life.” That’s just not true. If it were, there would be nothing to look forward to. Nothing.

Many of us were told that, which could have meant: Daisy Chain ceremony. Jump in Mississippi River.

No, thanks.

What do those unthinking adults really mean? Some of our strongest bonds may be college bonds, forged through memories made then. That’s it.

Our freedom. Our fun. Our friends. These are only ours. They don’t belong to our families. Whether we lived in a dorm, an apartment or spent the day on campus before heading home, our journey to grown-up land began there. At least, that’s what our families counted on when they sent the fat tuition checks. They really will grow up, right?

Some years ago, a family member’s serious medical problem made me crave peace. Crave. I told our doctor I’d like to crawl into a convent room somewhere – silence the only sound.

“What would be there? Exactly?”

Good question, especially as I am not Catholic.

Solid plaster walls. Sunny windows overlooking giant trees. Stacks of books. Fresh flowers. Big bathtub. A bed made up with freshly-ironed linens. Lots of down pillows to arrange for reading. A Terrier to lie beside me as I read, so I could run my hand up and down its wiry coat. Quiet.

Something’s not right here.

This is not like a convent.

My first memory is of my grandparents’ wire terrier, Tootie, a patient mother dog. Tootie inched along with me, steadying me as I learned to walk. I can feel the curls on her back as if it were last week. She kept me from falling, a steady presence to lean on when I couldn’t do it alone.

We Help Each Other So That We Are Never Alone…

Tough times? Taking a big life step? We reach out to the people who steady us so that we don’t feel this issue is bigger than we are, too much to handle. College friends leap to the rescue, even when you haven’t talked in years. It is simply amazing to me how they surface, seemingly magically, reaching out to help.

But they do.

As soon as I gave my doctor my crave list out loud, I started laughing.

This was my childhood room. This also is my adult room.

What was new then was a tough illness which possessed us while we fought it. There was quiet here, but the wrong kind. Sick quiet.

My mother kept my happy little world well-ordered, as a Mother Superior could, plus providing an enhanced amenities program convents don’t.

What I was missing was someone to take care of me. You probably know how that feels, too.

No Mother Superior, or Inferior for that matter, was here. Just one worn-out family care-giver, scared half out of her mind.

Doctors know that family members have to take care of themselves if they are going to take care of anyone else. I forgot.

That wish for a convent room scooped up a lot of childhood memories and remixed them, so I could see what I really needed. I could let others help me. Healing came to my family member. Peace again.

Memory aids us when we search for answers and don’t know what the real questions are.

Memories also may trap people. The longing for the past can own people for years, for lifetimes. That’s not who we are.

Our Newcomb Memories Guide Us Toward Our Future…

When we consider The Future of Newcomb College, our memories are partly bittersweet. It’s gone.

Newcomb’s rigorous academic demands created a kind of order. They had their reasons for educating us as they did. Learning to learn? Nobody can take that away.

Our Newcomb memories have been strong enough to propel us. One could make a powerful case for asserting that our memories may be at least a bit more powerful than the ones in most people’s collegiate memory books. Otherwise we wouldn’t still be together after five years of a court case.

We agree that we do have a future.

What is it? Why does it matter?

We once had to explain our major to ourselves, our advisors and parents, even when we couldn’t do that well. (“But I live for art, Daddy!” Father bows his head and prays for patience. “You look at art. You don’t live for it…dear lord, child. What am I paying for?”)

Art majors turned into attorneys. Future teachers turned into tax experts. Some of us did exactly what we set out to do, too. Some could only do one thing well. Our majors declared us. In any case, we couldn’t leave there without one.

Now, as an independent alumnae organization, we have to declare a new major. True, this is a self-designed major, one unlike any faculty has seen before. Ours would love it, I think.

The faculty who taught us would say something like, “You are smart girls. Figure it out. Work harder! You don’t have it yet. We told you! We weren’t always going to be there to give you the answers. Think for yourselves!”

Our Memories Help Guide Us to a New Path…

There is great freedom here, freedom which can trump the loss.

We It Sisters are on our own again. We are together. We can be whatever we want to be.

This new path we discover surely will be influenced by memories we can serve up with ease, regardless of our class year.

One alum wrote me that she majored in the French Quarter. Many did. For many visitors, Quarter scenes are postcard images. For us, these snapshots were background for our mental scrapbooks.

Going to Cafe du Monde for beignets, coming out half-covered in powdered sugar. Mardi Gras and the beads. Yes, the drinks. The jazz funerals.

Our own parties of various kinds, from dorm rooms up to Carnival and Opera nights.

We had unique experiences because of that city, that college. Most of us remember the sudden showers which turned into torrents, leaving us to wade in water up to our knees to get to class. Few students have to learn how to wade to class to arrive dry above the knees.

No other city offers those architectural wonders. The above ground cemeteries, the cities of the dead.

Those St. Charles houses. That urban spirit, a rich gumbo of history and today. This all adds up to America’s most European city. We had that without a passport.

Our lives were in the classroom, organizations we belonged to and times we were together. People laughing too hard to talk—let the good times roll. They include people crying over bad news, there or at home. For some of us, these recollections include hurricanes, anticipated or ones which arrived with a vengeance.

Our Bond Holds...

A bond was forged by those of us who studied there together, never mind when, a bond which cannot be fully explained to anyone who did not go there.

Our bond is a heady mix of people and place, that mix of uppity women and that sassy city. But it is so much more. It is that we care about how the Newcomb story comes out. This story is still being written by us.

That campus there among the live oaks does not belong to us. We know.

What does belong to us is our good fortune to live in an interactive age, where we can create a virtual campus of our own—with learning opportunities which could not have been dreamt of and, if it works, with a community which can sustain itself because we can “meet” online just as easily as we walked under the palm trees.

But a great many of us seem to share that drive to keep on finding more paths in life to explore.It says something about us that we have alums who are in their late 80s and early 90s who sent among the first e-mails when The It Sisters made their debut.

Learners for life, it would seem. Not everyone who went to Newcomb fits that description, of course.

Women’s issues shift by era. They always matter. They always need answers.

A great many of us live in ways that are influenced by our education in a female-centric setting. Almost every woman’s college grad does, don’t you think?

Newcomb was where I started my own future, separate from my family or my childhood place, beckoning me to enter those gates.

What Did Newcomb Mean to You?

What did Newcomb mean to you? Dig deep. Forget those cute boys. Reader, maybe you married him, but right now, please focus on our new work.

If you could bring your best Newcomb treasures to our new campus online, what would they be?

Who are you now? What can you teach us or show us?

In your memories are the roots of our shared purpose, the fresh shoots appearing above ground.

Though Us, Newcomb Lives.

We now choose how.

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WATCH THIS SPACE:

So why exactly are we watching this space?

What can you expect, as a reader of The DaisyChain, to find here in the coming months?

First, The IT Sisters will be “adventuring.”  VP for Development DeeDee Roussel will be telling us about the events that are being planned for late Spring and how you can attend or help plan for them.

Second, we will be expanding our “antiquated” website and bringing it into the age of interactivity. It won’t happen over-night. In fact, it will probably be looking a bit strange for the next few months as we try out new formats and templates. But the end result will make us all much more happy with what we see and area able to do. We will be asking you to help us make this as “user friendly” and attractive to visitors as we can. We hope that you will let us know how YOU want to use it and how you see it being the link to and the bridge between fellow Newcomb College alumnae and women of all ages who share our interest in the education of women. We have grown our “circle of friends” to include graduates and students of many institutions for the education of women. We want to become the “meeting place” for all of us. We are designing the campus for our future.

Third, you should be watching this space because VP for Communication Sue Bentch is working to change the format and appearance of The Daisy Chain to make it reflect more accurately the organization that we are becoming. Social media has become the new “little black dress” that we all need in our collection and TFoNC is ready to walk the runway!

So, yes, WATCH THIS SPACE!

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FROM THE PRESIDENT:

The Officers and Board of The Future of Newcomb College wish you all a most happy holiday season and the very best of things to come in 2012. We invite you to take an active part in our organization as we plan events and projects for the coming year. We thank you for your continued support and interest. We look forward to hearing from you!

Karen Deener Depp, N’66

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FROM THE VICE PRESIDENT FOR DEVELOPMENT:

Before year end, please consider a tax-deductable gift to TFoNC.  We make certain that your donation will be meaningful in several ways.  It can honor a special person, or be sent to friends in memory of their loved ones.  It can be designated to help with the fulfillment of our debt obligation, or be donated to help finance the events we will plan with you, for you.  We will remain strong with your commitment to our mission and with your financial support.

Credit cards and Pay Pal are accepted on our web site www.newcomblives.com.

Checks can be made out to TFoNC and mailed to

TFoNC

c/o Brenda Leder

PO Box 1947

Decatur, GA 30031

Thank you and have a wonderful holiday season.

Dee Dee Breuer Roussel N‘62, VP Development

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THE IT SISTERS

Nana and the Book Wars

By Cheree Cleghorn, N’66

Nana, the best of grandmothers when I looked doll-like in my smocked dresses and charmed her friends, became different when I no longer acted like her little doll.

By age five, I had a mind of my own. Little dolls definitely don’t have those.

I suspect a number of “It Sisters” might have been like that. Just guessing.

How did the first shot in what became our private little civil war get fired?

Reading.

I did not set out to drive Nana crazy.

In the Arkansas Delta when I grew up, kids who lived out in the country went to school in split sessions. School was out in fall and spring so that they could help their parents farm. When they returned each summer and winter, a lot of reviewing had to be done.

One summer, the superintendent of a school outside town called my mother. He was unable to find anyone to teach English and music. Would she, please? My mother said she’d be happy to, but she couldn’t leave me.

The superintendent said, “Bring that child and her teddy bear. We will put her in Miss Marguerite’s first grade. She can color and listen. Miss Marguerite is a favorite.”

Off I went at the great age of four to first grade in a country school. Because Miss Marguerite was a superb teacher, I was picking up letters and words without knowing it. My bear and I were sorry to say good-bye.

Some months later, I was sitting on my grandfather’s lap as he read the newspaper. “Look, Granddaddy! I know that word. And this one. This one, too.” I was excited. These were just like Miss Marguerite said.

My grandfather thought that he must have a genius for a granddaughter. With no effort, she read! Look everybody! She reads!

My mother quickly figured out what had happened. I had learned to start reading, not through genius, but during that blisteringly hot summer school session.

Nana scowled, not enough to risk wrinkling her forehead, but she was not happy. Nana—the role model for all anti-It Sisters—would have been proud not to be one of us. Proud. She suffered Mama and me, but never gladly. How could we happen to her?

I begged and begged to go to school so that I could read anything, everything.

My mother believed that when a child is ready to learn, the child should be given the opportunity. Only the Catholic school would take me at five.

On the first day, we read all morning. Joy!

In the afternoon, un-joy.

We had to learn numbers. I went to Sister and said, “I’m ready to go home now. I didn’t come here to learn this.”

Sister explained this was a package deal. You did all of it, not just the part you liked. If I had to learn to count to 100 to read more, I would. No one could make me like it, but if that was the price, I would pay.

Reading was magic for me, as it is for all book-lovers. I come close to meeting the clinical standards for addiction.

A couple of years later, alarmed that this reading obsession had continued, Nana now was risking wrinkles, a crisis in itself. Many jars of Pond’s cold cream gave their little white glass lives to protect Nana’s gorgeous skin, she was so bothered. She started buying Pond’s by the case. She wrung her hands, which she did especially well.

“You will hurt your eyes reading all of the time.”

“You will not have good posture sitting in the chair, reading like that.”

Gradually, I figured out that Nana was anti-reading, but only for females. My grandfather had lots of books. No comment. He read them! No comment. It was not the books themselves that were the issue. It was who read the books. No females need apply. Well, except for old-maid schoolteachers. They had nothing else to do anyway, right? Poor things.

Ladies should not read too much. Everyone knew that, Nana said—willfully ignoring her own daughter’s library. Ignoring inconvenient facts was one of her great strengths. Anti-It Sisters share that. And Nana’s syllabus did include Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar.

One day when we were alone, she shot her big cannon. My reading was wildly out of control by now. I always had my “nose in a book.”

“You never will get a husband if you read too much,” Nana said triumphantly.

I was in something like the third damned grade by this point. Nana was worrying about a wedding?

“Mama reads a lot. Daddy married her,” I said politely. This was a civil civil war.

Nana fired her back-up cannon. “Yes, but she didn’t have time to read before she married! She always had to practice the piano. She only started reading once she had a husband, so you had better watch out. You already read too much.”

Oh. Don’t read until you get him, if you absolutely must read. This was Nana’s Plan B for husband-catching for readers. Trick him. Like he wouldn’t notice the books later? A real prince wouldn’t ask you to give up books, I said to myself. Daddy didn’t ask Mama to.

Our civil war allegedly was about reading, but our battle was about so much more. Who do you want to be? Why? How?

All small countries need help in wars and I, a small country in the family, had three powerful allies: Mama, Daddy and my love-blind grandfather, also almost love-blind about Nana. Despite dual loyalties, I knew he would not let Nana really mess me up in the book department. He had many ways of working around her. He used them all, slipping me expensive books in plain sacks, like a drug dealer.

My grandfather married her. She never read. He was a prince.

Therefore, want a prince? Don’t read. Nana logic. F – B = P.

(Female – Books = Prince)

Getting her prince was Nana’s “it.” Done. The Austen era rules worked.

My mother once said, “I wonder how her brain really works.”

My father answered, “I really do not want to know and neither do you.”

Sarah McNally, a young woman in New York City who has a remarkable bookstore, was the focus of a New York Times story. (See http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/13/fashion/sarah-mcnally-of-mcnally-jackson-books-in-manhattan.html?emc=eta1.)

Thanks to her, at last I have finally found the answer to the Nana book wars. Maybe.

McNally says, “I believe that within every great reader there are multitudes of people. And you have to open yourself to all of them. I love British chick lit and I love Proust. Don’t judge yourself! There are so many kinds of writing that are great but bear no relation to each other. ‘A Book of Memories’ by Peter Nadas is like climbing a mountain. ‘Cutting for Stone’ is like going down a waterslide.”

“Book-buying is aspirational,” she added. “They (books) are deeply hopeful purchases.”

Jane Austen’s fictional young ladies in the 1800s were assessed on almost the same scale Nana used, almost 150 years later. Be pretty. Listen to men. Don’t have too many ideas. Better, don’t have any of your own. Pour yourself into a mold which has held up for centuries. Out will come a perfect lady, but not an It Sister.

The Delta was not unlike England was in Austen’s day when it came to young women. Nana had one aspiration for me. Follow these rules. Life will be good. Otherwise, you will be terribly vulnerable. There is no way of knowing what could happen to you. Books cannot fit into this plan for husband-securing. Stop this now while you can still be saved.

Actually, this was what passed for her loving me—keeping me safe.

Bored silly, but safe.

Nana was a spoiled, skilled manipulator, but she also was a grandmother who knew only one way to succeed as a female. She really believed all of this. She hoped to save me from a certain fate: An old-maid schoolteacher.

My mother’s generation was the bridge crossing from Nana’s world into hers and over to the next, when a new world was opening up for women.

Outside the South, women had made more strides. Still, there were more than enough mothers and grandmothers like Nana elsewhere. The mold, updated, is still being used every day.

Women who shape their own lives as best they can—while fulfilling other roles in life as well—are the most fortunate females of all.

At Newcomb, we got the clay.

A female needs to know who she is before she can decide who she is for others. This is a question she likely asks, over and over, as she moves through life.

One of the best parts about having a community of women educated in an all-female institution like Newcomb is that gender questions inform our discussions, learning, and inquiry effortlessly. Joy! Like my first grade reading class.

Nana cannot hear us.

I don’t think.

If she can, a jar of Elizabeth Arden face cream will fly across the room and whack me on the head. Hard.

There are so many ways to be, and to do, and to go, and to see as women. Poor Nana, with her one, limited, definition of a successful woman.

We learned how to choose who we want to be.

We can keep learning how as new aspirations emerge.

That’s a big part of the “It.”

It Sisters are always learning.

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WATCH THIS SPACE

Next month brings the beginning of the new year and with it a new definition of “membership” and what that means for The Future of Newcomb College. Muffie Moroney, VP of Membership, will give you some hints about what it is and isn’t for us, and how you can help us define it.

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NEWS AND NOTES

In Memoriam:  Barbara Jeannette Gardner Payne, Phi Beta Kappa member of the Newcomb Class of 1945, died in Pensacola, Florida, on December 2, 2011.  Her full obituary is here:

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/pensacolanewsjournal/obituary.aspx?n=barbara-payne&pid=154853017

In Memoriam:  Mildred Fossier, member of the Newcomb Class of 1935, died in New Orleans on December 4, 2011.  A proud supporter of TFoNC and a donor to the legal efforts to save Newcomb College, she claimed kinship with Mrs. Newcomb. She was the first woman to serve as a department head in New Orleans city government and she was a prominent environmental activist.  Her photo and more complete articles about her remarkable life can be found here:

http://www.wwltv.com/news/Mildred-Fossier-first-NO-city-department-head-dies-at-98-135296738.html

and here:

http://www.nola.com/politics/index.ssf/2011/12/mildred_fossier_pioneer_politi.html

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President’s Note: Mary Ann Miya, N’66, serves TFoNC as the Vice President of Programming. Programming? What does that mean to you? Do you have to sit and listen to some lecture? Take notes? Is there going to be a test? All good questions to ask! I can feel the tension level rising as you read! Relax. And smile. I think we will find the answers very quickly as together we read Mary Ann’s article below.

Mary Ann is continuing our conversation that Cheree started in the last DaisyChain. She is asking us to not only enjoy being one of The “IT” Sisters, but also to tell her how we see ourselves moving forward. What we tell Mary Ann will form the basis for TFoNC’s planning for next year. Our conversations with Mary Ann will help create the ideas for our projects and programs. What we discover about The “IT” Sisters will determine how we build this new place for Newcomb College alumnae. This will be where we meet to catch up, talk, dream, learn, teach, and enjoy one another’s company.

So, grab a pencil and jot down your ideas as you read. Zip off an email to Mary Ann at  ideas@newcomblives.com, start a list, draw some diagrams, circle some keywords – whatever it is that you do to get your thoughts in order. Call a friend, forward this DaisyChain, visit the TFoNC website  www.newcomblives.com or send us a handwritten note. Just be sure that you make your ideas heard. And just be sure that you are here with the rest of your “IT” Sisters!

Remember, it is here that “Newcomb Lives!”

Karen

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“’It’s over.’ Not yet. That’s the best news of all. We are so not over. But we are moving on.”

(from “The ‘IT’ Sisters” by Cheree Cleghorn in The DaisyChain, October 17, 2011)

Gail Collins begins her wonderful book, American Women: 400 Years of Dolls, Drudges, Helpmates and Heroines by saying: “When I look back through all of American history, the one moment that stays with me is the image of women standing on the deck of the Mayflower, staring out at a whole continent of dense forest.”  Surely, this was an “IT” moment. Consider all that happened after.

They had no idea.

And, here we are – so not over, but we are moving on. You might think that this is not an apt comparison. Yet I venture that those women just wanted to find a place to live, wash their hair, change to clean clothes and get on with their lives. Who knew where it would lead?

We, too, are standing on the verge – verge of what – who knows? But we are moving on.

As The Future of Newcomb College goes forth, we want to include every one of you to the extent that you wish to be known and a part of the vision.  What ideas do you have that might enrich yourself and each other, enliven our conversations, enlarge our vistas, broaden our knowledge of each other and the world in which each of us lives.  I ask you to consider the following as if there were no restraints and let me know what you think:

What is your wish for TFoNC?

What is your wish for yourself as a participant in TFoNC?

Is there a particular direction that you see TFoNC might follow? Or not follow?

Are there concerns that you may have about our undertaking?

Do you have stories that you would like to tell? Our stories are sacred and  sharing them is an act of community creation.

Do you have a talent, skill or resource that you would like to share?  Do you know someone else who might?

Are you interested in taking part in conversations using online forums? Blogs? Social networking? Interactive website?

Would you be interested in joining a local group in a shared program or undertaking?  And/or attending an occasional annual event located in a different venue each year?

Are there questions you would like to ask of your fellow DaisyChain readers? Or the TFoNC Board?

Is there something you wish that I would have asked, but didn’t?

I will compile and analyze your responses regarding your hopes, wishes, ideas and comments to find themes, trends, collective and individual ideas to help usto create a program that will support and inform the emerging vision of our new world. I wish to serve as a clearinghouse for your thoughts about our joint undertaking. We know that our readers include Newcomb alumnae from the 1930′s through the 2000′s. This is an incredibly broad generational expanse. Each of us has something to offer. Please tell us more about yourselves and your wishes.

Already, I sense an excitement about our continuing existence even among people who are not directly involved. How can we build upon this excitement?

Like the women on the Mayflower, who knows what lies ahead?

I can be reached through ideas@newcomblives.com. I promise that I will read your messages thoughtfully and respond to them as promptly as I am able. Please send anything and everything.

Newcomb Lives!

Mary Ann Miya, Newcomb ‘66

Vice President for Programming

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WATCH THIS SPACE

“Mama said there’ll be days like this. There’ll be days like this my Mama said.”

And I know some of you are singing this while you dance across the floor. And why not? Mama did say such things. And lots more. Amen.

The times may have changed since the Shirelles put those words out on the airwaves. Our circumstances have surely changed. But other things haven’t and never will. And we all know that Mamas don’t change.

And so, no matter who your Mama is or was, you are going to feel like you are right back at home next month. Just wait – you’ll recognize that voice, those words. Oh yes, you will. She’s back! And guess what! She’s been right all along.

“Mama said there’ll be days like this….”

Watch this space for more about Mama in Cheree Cleghorn’s next column.

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HELP WANTED

Desperately Seeking 1938 Newcomb College Class Ring

A 1938 alumna writes that she could not afford a class ring during the Depression but that she always wanted one.

In reply to our offer to join her in her search, she writes, “Thank you so much for your kind response to my plea. I have literally been searching for years without success, and your note gives me new hope that after all this time something good may happen.”

She has longed for that class ring for 73 years.

She has looked everywhere. Adler’s. Balfour. Yes, they did have them, but no, they did not keep the forms. Her class ring can’t be replicated.

Any clues, any suggestions? Do you have one you could part with? Know someone who may?

Please help if you can.

Send suggestions, leads, or other replies to news@newcomblives.com.

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NOT TOO LATE FOR “HOMECOMING” CONTRIBUTIONS:

In our excitement about new programs like those described by Mary Ann Miya and all the new things that are planned for the DaisyChain and our website

(http://www.newcomblives.com), we must not forget that TFoNC still has an outstanding obligation. We absolutely must retire our legal debt.

Before we begin to dedicate major funds to future plans, we must focus all our efforts on raising the necessary funds to accomplish this. The TFoNC Board, aswell as alumnae and friends who see this obligation as a priority, realize that we must do so in as short a period as possible.

It is customary for colleges to ask for support during Homecoming season. This month, which would have included Newcomb College’s Homecoming Week, TFoNC asks you to honor Newcomb College and the stand that TFoNC took in its defense. This especially is the time for each of us to commit to doing our necessary part.

Please be a donor to our Debt Retirement Campaign and help us finish this one last task. Be with us as we plan for our future and celebrate our past. Remember that “Through Us, Newcomb Lives!”

You may contribute by sending a check to:

TFoNC

c/o Brenda Leder

P.O. Box 1947

Decatur, GA 30031

You can also use a credit card at our website, www.newcomblives.com. Please

include your name and address, a “Debt Retirement Campaign” notation, any

dedication you wish to make, and an indication that you would like to be

recognized among our donors on our website.

YOU’RE IT!

 President’s Note :

Cheree Cleghorn, N’66, is a board member who will be writing as a Contributing Editor to DaisyChain.   Her column will poke and probe around what makes Newcomb women and the women’s college experience special; what is the “IT” that we shared, that we feel so fortunate to have had and that we hope to celebrate through TFONC.

As you might imagine, we spent much time deciding on that name. Everyone seems to know that “IT” exists, but we are all at a loss to actually define it.  So, this is where we are going to try to do just it!

Cheree’s column is unofficial, not approved by TFoNC, and not the thoughts and words of the Board.  She offers only her thoughts on this topic, with a few Amens from the chorus. We decided “The ‘IT’ Sisters” was irreverent enough to make it clear that this is not official.  And yet, it is relevant enough to our concerns that it describes what will appear here.

I think you will find this fun and thought provoking. We hope you will write Cheree and let her know what you think about the “IT” subject . We will be  talking about this and many others things that we think define us as Newcomb Women.  We want you to be a part of the conversation, too. You can reach her at: opinions@newcomblives.com. You can read about her credentials in her biography on our website.

So, it is with great joy and excitement that I say to you all:  “Welcome, ‘IT’ Sisters! Let’s go!”

Karen

*****The “IT” Sisters Have Arrived*****

Despite—or perhaps because of—a fondness for bourbon with breakfast, lunch, and as an after-class refresher (bottom desk drawer), one Newcomb professor taught me much about how to think about thinking, to challenge conventional wisdom, and to be absolutely clear that being a smart female was a very good thing indeed.

All of that in six semester hours.

Too bad I don’t remember what his favorite bourbon was. Maybe you do.

Our other teachers worked at those things well, no question, with their own ways of transmitting what they thought important.

What made this professor different was not substance, but style. He appeared more off-handed than the others, yet he often was more direct. On the first class day, he explained to Tulane students that they might have trouble “keeping up.” Just so you know, fellas. You’ll run hard. It does not get more direct than that. He said this out loud! I was amazed. You don’t tell boys straight out girls can be smarter, do you? He did.

He tested us each week on readings of the original history documents which shaped this nation. I learned you don’t get behind that way, even with heavy-duty material. I learned never to believe anything until I read the original source. I learned, seemingly effortlessly, to see where anyone should have questioned versions of American history which had been diluted, twisted, or totally revised. This was riveting reading for those of us who loved history. People wrote textbooks which were demonstrably wrong. We had studied them, believed what was in them, made A’s on tests based on what we had “learned.” Asking lots of questions, in general, is highly recommended in History and in life.

Despite the fact that some days he couldn’t quite pull off roll call after lunch, he worked at this. Teaching is very hard work, with or without bourbon. Today, the slang that applies is this: He gave me a “new normal” for learning and using that learning. I use what he taught us every day.

That, ladies, is a liberal arts education at its best.

Years later, my stepson came home from college.

To me, he is nearly-perfect, but he was much less nearly-perfect then. Today he is the wonderful father of two daughters, the kind I hoped he’d be when I was whacking on him about how to treat women, how to relate to them. Forgive this necessary digression, but it makes a point about our Newcomb experience. (He asks that I stipulate: He was not then, nor was he ever, a troglodyte. Done.)

These comments of mine prompted him to describe the whacking discussions this way. “You know how you are.” Then, he’d begin. Carefully.

We have Newcomb to thank for helping us get uppity and stay uppity as we went out into the bigger world. Be smart. Do our homework first. Hold our ground. Speak up. Speak out when necessary. Remember, there is an honor code. Manners matter.

Nearly Perfect-Darling Son was co-editor of his college newspaper. There was a huge controversy. Should this college admit women? His paper had to take a position.

As if he were the editor of The New York Times, he began. Deep breath.

“You know how you are. I wanted to tell you myself that I have decided our editorial position will oppose the admission of women.”

He waited for the whacking. It didn’t happen.

“Well, I would be a total hypocrite if I didn’t support your right to a single sex education. I had mine and I loved it. You have to do what you think is right.

“However,” I said, “your father and I write much too big of a check for you to write anything that resembles what your classmates put on their ridiculous picket signs.” This hot debate had been going on all year.

‘Girls in the hay but not all day’ was my favorite ridiculous picket sign. I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Not all day? Really? Who reared you? Who taught you? Who fed you and kept you passably presentable? Female persons, that’s who. All day.

My son never would have considered carrying that sign with or without me, but we already had had what the State Department terms a “full and frank” exchange about this issue, his class, and that school when I saw that hay picket sign picture in their paper.

He had good reason to be unsure about how this would go.

“Write what you believe, but you must make your case as well as it can be written. I will support your right to make it.”

Bewildered, yet again.

How did these women’s angles work out in life? What just happened? He expected protest and got agreement. What he got was a lesson in critical thinking.

You either believe there is value in this single sex education experience or you don’t.

I did.

My son did then.

I still do.

You still do or you wouldn’t be involved in The Future of Newcomb College (TFoNC), even though there is no more Newcomb College as we knew it.

What we have are plenty of ideals and ideas about why this educational experience was so important.

What we have, as a community, is the sense of possibility that these ideals and ideas need not die because the college is gone. Newcomb lives.

Learning, as we were taught, is a daily event. It is quite possibly still an hourly one if you are engaged in paid or volunteer work which requires brain “upgrades” often. Just like Newcomb. In any class at any time, you suddenly saw that your brain needed more than was there. Fix that yourself. You are the only one who can.

We who joined TFoNC are on a journey together, a community whose members want to discern how Newcomb can live on now and beyond us.

I have two granddaughters 16 and 12, and two neighbors for whom I am honorary grandmother. They’re 12 and 10, enrolled in a fine girls’ school right up the street. I went to Grandparents Day. It was like being at Newcomb—showing me some common threads between our schooling then and theirs today.

This female-centric learning experience still produces exceptional young women. A related boys’ school offers experiences comparable to ours with Tulane, so their school structure is close enough to ours for comparison purposes—only for younger, 21st century students.

The science teacher was working with these girls to interest them in science just at the breakpoint when so many say, “forget that.” There is a national shortage of women in the sciences, long-standing, puzzling, and unacceptable. What is the answer? Nobody knows yet. A female-focused science class might be one way.

This teacher is in the trenches, fighting for one female future scientist at a time. She links science to anything else girls are interested in. The science teacher teamed with the history teacher to connect an Egyptian history unit to the study of metrics.  Each girl’s carrot got its own sarcophagus.  They tracked the carrot-mummy’s measurements at intervals, learning metrics fairly painlessly, although the preservative grossed them out. (It wasn’t.)

Give that creative teacher an A +. Give the girls an A for making their way through that icky white stuff to get to the carrot. (It was like sand. No ick.)

There are original documents to check, proving this female educational system still works. Grades.  Accomplishments of earlier grads. Charitable work they all do as naturally as breathing. Their personal talents.

Newcomb had something that holds us still. What was it?

With this column, we will start talking about the “IT.”

That’s our purposes here—to distill what you all think the “it” is so our community can decide how to go forward. You talk. I’ll report from the field.

E-mail me at: opinions@newcomblives.com about your thoughts. I will read every one and reply when my other work deadlines are met.

Thank you for the privilege of coming along with you.

I already have laughed five years’ worth in a very short while. I already have found a group of women who are as smart as I’d expect, as passionate about this as I’d expect, and determined that Newcomb will live on through us.

That would not be expected.

After five years, most would say, “We did our best. It’s over.”

Not yet.

That’s the best news of all.

We are so not over.

But we are moving on.

Please accept my assurances that there is a virtual bourbon bottle in my bottom desk drawer, in case that helps with critical thinking.

__________________________

(Disclaimer: This column’s purpose is to help the discussion along. It does not purport to represent our board’s views. All mistakes are mine alone.  As we go into 2012 elections, no politics in this column. Our issues transcend politics.  Cheree)

**********WATCH THIS SPACE**********

 So what is it this time, in this “watch this space?”  Are you expecting to see something that will make your hair curl or your heart beat faster? Are you looking for fun in all the right places?  I really hope so, because this is where you will find it. In our next DaisyChain you will be introduced to our Vice President of Programming, Mary Ann Hyde Miya, N’66, who has been charged with leading us to discussions, conversations, adventures, and learning experiences that are relevant to who and what we are today, as well as what we think we were yesterday. She will be introducing us to subjects and topics that cover just about everything. And if that weren’t enough, she’s even agreed to let us take her off-topic to discuss what WE want to discuss. Can’t get any better than that. So sharpen your pencils, get your iPads ready, blast Pandora on your iPod, and get ready to send her some good questions – what do YOU want to know about, talk about, tell us about, march on Washington DC about? Or, we can just chill out and remember the good times and plan to get together in small groups or big hordes to celebrate us – after all, we are “The ‘IT’ Sisters!”

***”HOMECOMING” CONTRIBUTIONS***

 We are excited about all the new things that are planned for the DaisyChain and our website, and are looking forward to the programs and projects that will begin in the next few months. However, we must not forget that TFoNC still has an outstanding obligation. We absolutely must retire our legal debt!  Before we begin to dedicate major funds to future plans , we must focus all our efforts to raising the necessary funds to accomplish this. The TFoNC Board, as well as Alumnae and friends who see this as a priority, realize that we must do so in as short a period as possible.  Will it be hard work? YES. Can we do it? YES. Will you help us? We are hoping that this answer is YES also.

Now is the time for our fundraising efforts to become Priority Number One.  It is customary for colleges to ask for support during Homecoming season. This week, during what would have been the Newcomb College Homecoming Week, TFoNC asks you to honor Newcomb College and the stand that TFoNC took in its defense. This week especially is the time for each of us to commit to doing our necessary part. Please be a donor to our Debt Retirement Campaign and help us finish this one last task. Be with us as we plan for our future and celebrate our past. Remember that “Through Us, Newcomb Lives!”

You may contribute by sending a check to:

TFoNC

c/o Brenda Leder

P.O. Box 1947

Decatur, GA 30031

or use a credit card. Please include your name and address, a “Debt Retirement Campaign” notation, any dedication you wish to make, and an indication that you would like to be recognized among our donors on our website.