SOUTH BEND, Indiana -- Until last Saturday afternoon Temple Drake was just another pretty face in the long blonde line of Purdue majorettes, distinguished by little save a saucy turned-up nose, a reputation in certain Purdue circles as a tease, and an inside track on being Golden Girl in 1969. But Saturday afternoon, as yet another football confrontation faded into hallowed memory, Temple Drake did her thing. Saturday afternoon, as the other majorettes giggled and primped for the night's festivities, Temple Drake became as one with Paul of Harvard Divinity and Ray of Boston U. and Mike of MIT. Saturday afternoon Temple Drake went into sanctuary.

Temple Drake is still in sanctuary. The days have not been easy and the pressures have been intense and Temple Drake cries a lot, the hot tears in odd juxtaposition to the rosy cheeks down which they slowly fall. The temptation to give in, to surrender and accept the harsh discipline imposed by the Purdue Marching Band, must be great. But Temple Drake perserves--and in her perseverance is a shining example for beleaguered youth everywhere.

Temple Drake--her friends call her Tempie--came reluctantly to her sudden heroism. She really would have preferred just to endure, stoically accepting the hardships and indignities of Band life, certain in the knowledge that her agony ultimately would end. But her conscience would not let her. She began to lose sleep and weight and she was put on the Undesirable List at the Deke House.

It is a terribly moving thing, listening to Temple Drake talk about her days in the Band. "When I enlisted," she says with the hint of a lump in her luscious little throat, "I was just naive. I thought bands were supposed to do good things. Oh, like, you know, make people happy with gay music and inspire Love of Country with the national anthem. Things like that."

She pauses, hard memory reflected in her sweet blue eyes. "But I was all wrong! I was being used. I had to cut Sociology classes in order to practice formations. The Band Master shouted at me when I dropped my baton. We were forced to play music we didn't like and we had to cut our hair at neck length, and I know you won't believe this but once we had to form a dollar sign in front of 60,000 people! They tried to make us think we were serving the cause of good music and making people happy, but we knew the truth: we knew we were just tools of the academic establishment."

As if that weren't bad enough, on Saturday morning Tempie refused to get on the Band bus for the Minnesota game. The Band Master looked her hard in the eye and asked: "Aren't you going to Minnesota, Miss Drake?" She looked him harder in the eye and shouted: "Heck no, I won't go!" Whereupon the Band Master put her in handcuffs and sent her to Minnesota under the guard of two tuba players. "What they did to me," she says, "was forced induction."

Everyone who watched television that afternoon knows that Purdue lost the ball game. But it lost more. It lost Temple Drake. As the happy Minnesota crowd filed out of the park, Temple Drake slipped into the Band dressing room. She got out of her glitteringly oppressive majorette's uniform--hated thing!--and pulled on a Dashiki she'd stuck into her suitcase. Then she went to the bus station and bought a ticket for South Bend.

HERE SHE is now, in the middle of the Notre Dame campus. "I chose Notre Dame," she says as smiling Notre Dame men mill about her singing We Shall Overcome and making the peace sign, "because to kids in The Movement it is a very symbolic place. I mean, you know, Ara Parseghian is really a kind of guru, and you know the whole campus just gives off this real sense of freedom. You can do your own thing here, and you just can't do it in the Purdue Marching Band!"

Sitting there in front of the altar, Temple Drake appears terribly innocent and vulnerable and cute. Her soft blue eyes have been full of a lot of tears lately, but she can buck up and give a big smile if she sees some friendly Notre Dame Resistance workers or a priest with an Omega button or a reporter with a note pad.

The Notre Dame students are very enthusiastic about Temple's sanctuary. In fact, since she arrived on campus a lot of students have joined the Resistance. To protect her against a bust by the Purdue trombone section, the students make sure that someone is always with her. There have been many volunteers for the cause.

The university administration has been quiet about the sanctuary, but it has done nothing to stop it. On the other hand, it is known to feel it can do nothing to prevent Purdue from reclaiming an AWOL majorette. So a bust is likely, perhaps before this sees print.

But Temple Drake is calm. She says, "I won't be the last sanctuary," and one can see the quiet determination which is her greatest strength. "For every majorette they lock up," she says, "there are ten more waiting. I knew I had to do something. I know others will follow in my steps."

Some of the students sob, quietly and soulfully. Temple Drake adjusts her halo, and awaits her oppressors.