A VALUABLE PUBLIC SERVICE

Remember the Shadow and that ominous query, "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts
of men?" But what about women? What lurks in the depths of their souls? Sugar and
spice? Or something not nearly as nice? But I`m getting ahead of my story...

Rush Week `58 had been fun. Being entertained by three sororities absolutely incredible.
An unsophisticated nobody from a small town, I hadn`t really expected to get any bid. And
then to get three!

In the end, I pledged Rho Omicron Delta. It seemed to have just a bit more cachet, to
arouse just a bit more jealousy among girls who hadn`t received a bid from the Rhos.
Nobody knew just what the Rho women were up to in their secret conclaves, but most
outsiders would give anything to know. And tonight, I, Sarah Page, Little Miss Nobody,
newest of the Rhos-along with four others-was about to find out.

But this was Hell Week. So what indignities would be heaped upon me and the other
pledges? For the past week, Marge Johnson, my Big Sister and a junior in the School of
Education, had been making cryptic remarks accompanied by sly grins. "You`re expected
to make a good impression, Sarah, and there`ll be at least one surprise visitor. So no
bobby sox and loafers. Wear your best party dress. And heels. We won`t be playing Hula
Hoops, you know."

When I asked why, Marge snapped, "Never mind! Pledges don`t ask questions."

For a moment she reminded me of Mrs. Cooper, the Rho`s English housemother. Rumor had it
she was in her early forties. No one knew for sure. Nor whether she was divorced or
widowed. Her petite stature and mature figure might suggest an easygoing matronly woman,
but her-at times-stern mien was a warning to anyone who sought to take advantage of her
good nature.

The personification of graciousness at Rush Week teas and receptions and at the Rho`s
pledge ceremony, something about Mrs. Cooper nevertheless rendered me a bit wary of her.
Even upper-class girls stood in awe of her, although they all seemed quite prepared to
enthusiastically carry out whatever she asked of them.

"Oh, one other thing," Marge had added, "Mrs. Cooper says you`re to bring
an LP of your favorite songs. Something you`ll always like."
* * * *

The appointed night, I had trouble deciding what to wear but finally settled on my
sleeveless, knee-length, red wool sack with its narrow black patent leather belt, black
nylons, and black pumps. The scarlet dress and black stockings went quite nicely with my
long black hair and creamy complexion. But agonizing over what to wear had made me ten
minutes late-I still lived in a dorm-and anxious, wondering how the sorority and
especially the domineering Englishwoman would view my tardiness.

But I was greeted cordially by one of the sorority sisters who took my cape and directed
me to hurry to the sorority`s activity room, taking my LP with me.

Unlike most sorority houses with activity rooms in more or less finished basements, the
Rhos` stately mansion possessed a large room with a parquet floor and high ceiling. When I
stepped through its double doors, I found the entire sorority assembled, obviously
awaiting my arrival so the festivities could begin.

The furniture, including the ladder-back chairs reserved for the pledges, had been
arranged in a large circle leaving a well-lighted area somewhat resembling a
theater-in-the-round stage. The thought that pledges might be required to perform made me
even more nervous. Wiping perspiring palms on my skirt, I hurried to the chair reserved
for me.

Glancing around, the one person I didn`t see was Mrs. Cooper. But then, wearing a purple,
floor-length velvet gown, she made her entrance, sweeping regally through the entryway. An
older girl sprang up to close the doors behind her, and the housemother surveyed the
assembled girls. Whispering and giggling ceased.

Then she focused on the new pledges. "Young ladies, this is the most important night
of your lives. More important than graduation, than your wedding day, than the day your
first child is born."

A slight murmuring broke out, but she held up her hand. "It`s true. Your sorority
sisters will bear me out."

A nodding by the older girls corroborated her statement. We pledges, though, not knowing
what was to happen nor what was expected of us, all looked puzzled and uncertain.

"Now, ladies," she resumed, "you are a select group. Very few are
acceptable candidates for this sisterhood. It has nothing to do with social status or
economic considerations. Only with our assessment of your likes and dislikes." Noting
our puzzled expressions, she turned to a young woman sitting near her. "Madeleine,
would you enlighten these new girls?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cooper." The young woman rose to her feet. She wore a long-sleeved,
black moiré dress with white lace at the wrists. Facing us, she began, "You
ladies may remember that at the Rush Week events you were urged to indulge yourselves in
the fine wines." She smiled. "Well, ladies, those wines were served to loosen
inhibitions. To elicit your true feelings about men and about the photos we showed you in
our Pledge Assessment Book."

A vivid recollection of that notorious book flashed through my mind; my cheeks burned.
Guiltily, I glanced at the other pledges. They all seemed to have had a response similar
to mine.

The speaker again smiled. "I see you all recall that book. Anyway, observing your
reactions to those photos of nude men and then discussing them with you provided us the
insight to make wise selections of our pledges. And more importantly, you were all
extremely interested in the male buttocks, extremely, every one of you."

The speaker resumed her seat, and Mrs. Cooper took over again. "I see Madeleine
struck a nerve. But don`t worry, ladies. You`re not alone. Despite what today`s women`s
magazines would have you believe, even in these exciting Frantic Fifties, it isn`t men`s
eyes and shoulders that arouse women. It`s the male posterior, the curve of the naked
buttocks that women appreciate.

"But now, let`s move along. In the next four years, you will learn nothing as
important as what you will learn tonight, how to manage males. Lovers or husbands. It
makes no difference. You will learn how to teach them the wages of insolence. For their
good as well as yours."

A slender, blonde pledge hesitantly raised her hand. Mrs. Cooper nodded. "Yes,
Lois."

"What do you mean, manage males for their own good?"

"We`ll get to that, but first what do you think the key to managing males might
be."

Lois, obviously flustered, hesitated, then stammered, "Love?"

Mrs. Cooper pointed to another pledge, a petite brunette with short hair and a lovely
milky complexion.

The young woman grinned. "Withholding sex?"

Mrs. Cooper frowned. "Never. To quote what a wise Polish countess once had to say
about sex, `If God made anything better, She kept it for Herself.` Oh, no. We`d be fools
to renounce sex. Now, anyone else? Sarah?"

I bit my lip, then blurted, "Cooking?"

A titter ran through the assemblage. Even Mrs. Cooper had difficulty suppressing a smile.
"No, Sarah, the answer is discipline. And tonight, you will discover that love and
sex are closely tied to discipline." She pointed to a fourth pledge, a slightly
plumpish redhead. "Martha, how do women achieve discipline?"

Wrinkling her brow, the girl pondered, then shrugged. "Hire lawyers?"

The housemother looked irked. "Absolutely not. But I`ll give you a hint. It`s
something you must do yourself." She pointed to the last pledge. "Now, Amanda,
what do you think it is?"

The pledge, a tall, lanky young woman with brownish hair smiled apologetically. "I
don`t know. Nag? Scream? Cry?"

"None of those." Mrs. Cooper strolled over to a corner of the room and picked
up something leaning against the wall. Resuming her position in the circle, she smiled and
held the object up. "This is the key. A freshly cut, supple switch."

She lowered her arm. "But, of course, there`s also the birch. The birch is actually
six or seven birch switches bound together, each about four feet long. Applied to the bare
buttocks, the birch is remarkably efficient. Like six or seven strokes with only the
effort of one. A woman can chastise nicely without tiring, even if she isn`t particularly
large or strong."

Suddenly the switch sang through the air. I flinched.

"There." She smiled at her acolytes. "I assure you no male, whatever his
age or size, can be switched like that across his bare bottom and not grovel and beg for
mercy."

I couldn`t believe what I`d just heard. Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "But
that ... that`s terrible. What`s it got to do with love?"

"Or sex?" chimed in the petite brunette.

"A great deal, young ladies. Despite all you may hear about men dominating the
world, they lust for dominant women."

I couldn`t restrain myself. "Oh, Mrs. Cooper, how can you say that?"

"You`re young, Sarah, and have a great deal to learn, but take my word for it, power
is a potent aphrodisiac. Just the threat of a switching from a female is almost guaranteed
to produce an erection in a male. And women-once they`ve experienced the thrill of
it--enjoy nothing more than raising welts on a groveling male`s backside."

"But," I stammered, "you said something about love?"

Mrs. Cooper nodded. "Yes, love. For man needs a woman`s guidance to bring out his
better self. So, with a man`s better interests at heart, a loving woman asserts her
natural moral superiority."

"Natural moral superiority?"

"Remember Jane Addams?"

I suppose I looked puzzled, never having heard of the lady.

Slightly exasperated, Mrs. Cooper explained. "Jane Addams was an early social
reformer. She started the Hull House Settlement in Chicago. She and other early feminist
leaders promulgated that splendid credo."

I couldn`t hide my skepticism. "You really believe that? That women are inherently
men`s moral superiors?"

Mrs. Cooper frowned, then said, "I most certainly do, young lady. And I expect to
demonstrate to you young ladies the truth of that principle. So that you see to it males
accept your better judgment and obey. And so that you never fail to exercise the power you
possess to control men." "But, Mrs. Cooper," I said, "what about what
Mary Wollstonecraft said in A Vindication of the Rights of Woman."

The housemother eyed me, then smiled. "You mean when she wrote: I do not wish women
to have power over men, but over themselves."

"That`s right."

"In 1792, that was a great step forward, but I`m afraid today that won`t do. For,
unless women exercise power over men, they can never have power over themselves."

"But do you really think women control the world today?"

"Certainly. When we exercise our power wisely, we control the world. For, you see,
it`s not the hand that rocks the cradle that rules the world, it`s the hand that wields
the rod."

"Oh." I hesitated. "And behind every successful man--"

"--is a woman, wife or mistress, switch in hand."

"But how can a ... a mistress rule anything? They`re so dependent on their
lovers."

"Study your dictionary, Sarah. A mistress is a woman who has power and authority. A
woman who possesses and controls something or someone, who rules or directs. Not just as
the last definition would have it, `a woman with whom a man habitually fornicates.`"

"Oh ... well ... I never looked at it like that."

"I`m sure, my dear, you have a great many things yet to learn. And please dismiss
any notion that chastising men is sadistic. It`s not a case of inflicting pain for the
sake of pain. The purpose is to teach humility. Men may be able to experience physical
pain and eventually suppress it from their thoughts, but what men-or women, for that
matter-find difficult or impossible to forget is humiliation."

. Once again the switch sang through the air. She smiled impishly. "And, Sarah, can
you imagine anything more humiliating for a man than to be stripped naked and made to
prance and caper by a woman? In public or, at the very least, in front of a group of
women."

She chuckled. "Just picture, if you will, a large man being made to prance and roar
by a petite woman wielding a supple switch. If you`ve never witnessed such a sight, it`s
delicious, positively enthralling."

"But," I insisted, "to hurt another human being like that is
sadistic."

"Sarah, Sarah, it`s for everyone`s good. Remember, unlike the violence that abounds
elsewhere in this world, there is no serious injury. No bullet wounds, no broken bones, no
lacerations, no flowing blood, no burns, no ugly bruises or scars. Just welts on the
arrogant male`s backside. And, of course," she smiled sweetly, "abject
humiliation. To remind him who`s really in command."

Another pledge waved her hand. "Pardon me, Mrs. Cooper, "but have you ever done
that?"

The steely eyes stared at the lanky pledge. "What do you think, Amanda? Have
I?"

The young woman bit her lip, then hesitantly said, "Oh, gee, I don`t know ... but
... yes, I think you probably have."

"You`re right, I have. More than once. The cane and the birch are used quite freely
in England. In the UK, women use those instruments to curb men`s behavior."

"Uh ... do women ever get birched?"

Our housemother nodded. "Oh, yes. On occasion."

"Did you ever birch any?"

"A few."

"Sorority women?"

Pamela Cooper smiled. "Yes. One or two young ladies broke their pledge of silence
and suffered the consequences. So kindly remember that."

One of the other sorority sisters broke in. "Have you ever been birched, Mrs.
Cooper?"

The housemother at first looked annoyed, then smiled. "You`re being impertinent,
Mary, but yes, I have. Once. And I`ll never forget it. That`s how I know that no one,
absolutely no one, can resist it." She winked. "I sometimes think every woman
should have a taste of the birch. Just enough to know how it feels."

She turned back to us. "And mark my words: pledges who refuse to obey their
housemother or sorority sisters will be birched. So, if you are called upon to
participate, keep that in mind."

Two quick rings of the doorbell interrupted. The housemother smiled. "That`s
probably our guest of honor. Would the Welcome Committee see to their duty?"

Six of the larger girls rose and left. Mrs. Cooper folded her hands and tapped her foot,
eyes on the double door. Shortly the Committee reappeared, four of the girls dragging what
looked like a large canvas laundry bag. They hauled it to the center of the lighted area
where everyone would have a good view, then closed the double doors.Mrs. Cooper advanced
to the bag. "Ladies, inside this bag is a young man, a pledge of a nearby fraternity.
We have an arrangement with them to see to it their pledges are properly introduced to
fraternity life. And I`m happy to cooperate. It will illustrate what we`ve just been
discussing." She bent down and spoke directly to the bag. "Can you hear me,
young man?" A male voice emanated from the bag with a muffled affirmative."Good.
Now, sir, you are to be the guest of honor this evening. Twenty young women are gathered
around you. In a moment, you will be taken out of the bag to be greeted by these young
women."

An anguished cry from the bag. "Oh, no! Please, no. Don`t. I`m--"

"Silence! I understand perfectly well what your predicament is, but remember, sir,
how you`ll be treated by your fraternity in the future will depend on my report about your
behavior tonight. And you`re expected to maintain your masculine dignity. No displays of
weakness before these young women."

Mrs. Cooper nodded to one of the Welcome Committee. The young woman quickly stepped
forward and began working the knots binding the top of the bag. I held my breath. In a
matter of moments, the bag was open. The Welcome Committee member peeled it down. Huddled
on the bottom of the bag was a young man, hands tied behind his back.

Stark naked!

With the toe of her slipper, Pamela Cooper prodded the young man`s rear. "Stand up,
please."

He shook his head and hunched down, trying to hide from the feminine eyes staring at his
nakedness. Hands on hips, the housemother issued a stern warning. "Sir, tonight you
will obey my every command and any of these young ladies` commands or regret it."