Do you ever wake up in the morning with a song stuck in your head and it just won‘t go away? That’s what happened to me today, but this tune is not one you’ll recognize unless you’re the lovely Dr. Maureen reading this. (Sit down immediately Dr. M. or you will fall flat.) It’s the “Cwens Song.”
Cwens was a sophomore women’s honorary/service organization at Kansas State College, now Pittsburg State University, back in the dark ages. At the end of my freshman year, I thought I needed to be in it, which was a total mistake, so I applied to join this exclusive club and was one of about 20 gals accepted. (Dr. M. is two years younger than I, so she didn’t achieve Cwen-dom until 1970.)
Most of the members were in sororities, Greeks, and I was afraid to speak to them because they wore snazzy clothes and had perfect hair. I latched on to Barb, another token independent, also known as “poor,” and we sat at the back of the meeting room, where we were basically ignored, and laughed most of the time.
It turned out that Cwens, Anglo-Saxon for Queens, was some sort of half-baked secret society. The officers became special queens who were given oddball names, like Wealtheau and Frerauru. We had to address them as such: “Wealtheau, there are 16 members present.” “Freauru, there is a large stick up your a**.”
Meetings started with a ridiculous creed: “I am a Cwen, I am a lady, and therefore am I bound.” Barb and I would play around with the words for our own mumbled version: “I am a Cwen, I am lazy, and therefore am I round…”
The previous year the Cwens wore a snappy outfit on the days of their meetings, so I was hoping to at least get some prestige out of the whole experience to boost my self-esteem, but, no, no, the year I belonged we basically wore a red potato sack. Most of the girls had the 100-pound model, but my lumpy bag was closer to 150-pounds. It was horrid. I dreaded every time I had to pull it over my head and stuff myself into it.
But, my, don’t I digress? What about the stupid song? Well, the melody wasn’t so bad, if you were in church, but the words were sappy deluxe. “From the plains of Omega chapter to the kinship we hold dear, we pledge to you our service and devotion through the year” blah, blah…“sincerity” blah, blah… “beauty” blah, blah, “truth” more blah, blah...“I’m a Cwen and I’m a lady” blah, blah. Gag me with a scepter and crown.
So why did I not just drop out of Cwens and donate the red potato sack to the Salvation Army, you ask? Well, Mama Bore had instilled upon me the value that once you begin something, you ride it out to the bitter, ugly end. So, I did. And now 40 years later the cursed Cwens melody is somewhat sloppily imprinted on my brain. Yes, “I am a Cwen, I am a lady, and therefore am I bound” to go nuts today with that damned song in my head. Help me, Frerauru!!!!
2 comments:
alas, i don't have any CWENS memorabilia left---i believe that i was some sort of important (!) officer---recording secretary. if i had a secret name, it escapes me now. my yr we had pretty snazzy grey pinstripe dresses withl long red scarves around the neck and down the front. i loved it because i wore that one day, my sorority outfit another day---and didn't have to think too hard on the other 3 days (jeans, anyone?) i had fun in CWENS because of some great folks in it---Barbara Beard, Brenda Rua. we ALL cut up!! and yes, i can still sing the song
Oh, I figured you would know ever single word. In fact, I figured you were probably the song leader! Well, I'm sure Rua and Beard were not too serious about it, either!
Post a Comment