The Sweetheart of Cake and Pie

When a freshman arrives at the dessert end of the Union food line and requests a double portion, Mrs. Millic J. Corballis must refuse. "I'm sorry, deary," she apologizes, "but its against the rules." Formerly the boys would take so much ice cream that it spilled from their trays on to the floor: and when an unwary Wellesley girl slipped and skidded on her pride, the one-portion rule was adopted. But, "come back, sweetheart," adds Mrs. Corballis, "there is plenty."

And the "boys" do come back, greeted by an elfish faced woman, with a Saint Patrick's Day smile. In her green dress, and with her thin white hair pulled back. Mrs. Corballis has served dessert for more than eight years. Before coming to the Union, she worked at the Central Kitchen and the Medical School. Her specialty in the freshman dining hall is dessert, served with a smile, and garnished with "Hello sweetheart, how are you today?"

Her cheerfulness, commented a foreman in the Central Kitchen, makes it difficult to believe that she was born in 1892. But Mrs. Corballis has modern tastes, including Jazz and the Republicans. "I used to be a Democrat," she explains, "but they never did anything for me." To keep up with the world, she reads the American and follows the lives of Tony DeSpirito and Jack Dempsey. "It's good to see Ted Williams back," she added, "we need him."

Although married twice, Mrs. Corballis is now a widow. On her days off, Tuesday and Wednesday, the 63-year-old girl "galavants around town out on a date, or at the movies." With a recent beau who ogled the movie queens, Mrs. Corballis retorted "young women aren't what they used to be, but, they are all looking for the same thing I am-a husband." "I'd marry you myself, Millie," quipped one freshmen, "if it weren't for the parietal rules."

Mrs. Corballis will not point out any "special sweetheart," among her hundreds of "gorgeous boys." Proudly she tells of their conduct when the University exchanged the square, muddy brown trays for the new circular platters. Although complaining that the new trays were too shallow, the freshmen never uttered a swear word, she says, not even a "damn." "These boys are gentlemen through and through." Also, she guessed, "they must like the food for they never complain, and most of them return for more dessert; except the Rockefeller and Roosevelt type," she philosophized, "they must be satisfied, or else eat again afterwards."

Not bothered by the noise and brooding atmosphere of the Union, Mrs. Corballis enjoys her work. "Noise means company and we get plenty of company." Although too young to remember the butter-flipping wars, she recalls the oddly-dressed student who staggered in during a football weekend. Flouting the University rule on eating attire, the freshman, wearing only shorts, tie, and coat, sauntered into the hall and jumped from table top to table top. His exploits, however, won him a suspension. But to Mrs. Corballis such a prank is the exception. "The hall is usually very calm."

Although she has met 10,000 men of Harvard, Mrs. Corballis is still looking for her third husband. Unless she finds him, and leaves sooner, she may retire within the nevt five years. Until that time, however, her smile and desserts will continue to punctuate the end of the Union line.