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Page 80 text:
We were very proud of our " brighties " when they shone at the Cum Laude meet- ing, and never to be forgotten was the Senior Banquet, followed by the turning over of our beloved parlor (sans porch!) to the Senior Mids. After a quick change we warbled our " Where, oh where ' s " all over the Abbot world, as did our long line of Senior predecessors. Desperate cramming with confusion could mean only one thing — final exams. Then in rapid succession came rally night, anxious chapel awards and announcements, balancing of cakes and plates at our garden party, Draper Dramatics, Bacca- laureate, the last chapel, and our imminent (and eminent) graduation. Is it possible that a whole year has passed since the Class of 1940 planted its tree and marched so solemnly in blue caps and gowns to South Church? One of these days, perhaps for our fiftieth reunion, the Class of 1941 will be hobbling back with canes and grandchildren to dig up our treasure and to reminisce about these our " memories dear. " 1941 ' s Growing Responsibilities Good-bye to 1940 — We ' re Next 1941 in 1951 THE Bronx local was late as usual, so we wandered over to the information booth to ask plaintively how long we had to wait. The encyclopedia on duty an- swered, " You just missed it, child " — an inner chord responded and we lifted startled eyes to behold Polly Packard, run- ning Grand Central, and who should be handing her special bulletins but Secre- tary Knox. A voice boomed " Intervale Express leaving, track 18. " Straining our eyes, we recognized through their ski paraphernalia Grieco, Little, Mary Martin, Moody, Selden, Campbell, and Tyer. As they passed, Conductor Mamie Martin told them where to get off. Close on their heels come Biart and Bondy, arguing for the seat by the window on the Taft Special. " Ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience " — Perkie ' s bell-like tones an- nounced to the listening world the big event of the day: " Miss Beverly Brooks, ac- companied by Stott, is leaving on her fare- well concert tour before switching to art — or is it literature? " Not to be gut- done, Sue Long on Glamour, arrived from Hollywood, and with her was little 
Page 79 text:
" The Cradle Song " Stars hearsed like fury to become pious nuns as our play " The Cradle Song " took shape. Adie, Jo, Janie and Nancy were just a few who succeeded in bringing tears to our eyes. Then with hopes and fears, we prac- ticed Frannie ' s keen Ring Song which we sang to the school in the McKeen Rooms on the momentous night when we received those long-anticipated heralds of gradua- tion. These we displayed boastfully to the " young ones " and twiddled them with pride in English class! That was really the beginning of the end so soon to come. Close on the heels of spring vacation came the Prom, and we kept Western Union busy arranging for our " Toms, Dicks and Harrys. " Our young hopeful Romeos started shining on Friday night at a super-long calling hour, and on Satur- day we treated them to a luncheon at the Andover Inn. We observed tea time at Sunset, guests of Miss Hearsey, and then came dinner and the dance in the cleverly and beautifully camouflaged gym. " May I introduce — ? ' Hearts and Flowers 
Page 81 text:
Jo Hartwell, getting experience for her walk-on in Scammon ' s latest Broadway production. They were welcomed with a big smile from Mayor Troub, and a blaring orchestra pitched by Kelly Means. Over in the corner stood Kiki, keeping her eye on the band. Reporters surrounded Miss Glam- our, and firing questions to beat the band was Fiske, the white hope of the Daily News. We decided it was time to buy our tickets, so we stood in line behind Joan Belden, smiling agreeably as Edie White short-changed her. From opposite sides of the station, a stream of children came tearing in, led by Addie and Dorie, waving and calling frantically, " I ' ve lost my Hankie " and " Have you seen my little Bobby? " The children turned fascinated eyes as they beheld Kel and La, roller- skating through Grand Central, complete with Amherst banners and " The Cow Kicked Nellie. " When the dust cleared, we found Ellie Raftcn looking anxious while Erkert and Sommer, of Travelers ' Aid, ever on the alert for an SOS, came to her rescue. We noticed a crowd gathering, but couldn ' t make out who was on the soap box. Ah! little List, campaigning for Canine Suf- frage, and Harris, with her Great Pyrenees demonstrating how much more intelligent dogs can be. . . . Peeping cautiously out of the door, was Chamber of Commerce President McCreery, trying to discover what Manhattan has that Florida hasn ' t. Over in a corner we saw Gerrisb, ex- plaining to Life ' s Editor-in-Chief Harvey how she managed to become the first woman Supreme Court judge. A clatter of metal on stone announced Eccles and her tennis cups, and Em-on-the-Spot Mills as usual lent a helping hand. Balanced on ladders of Various heights were the Janes, Towne and Parrot, painting murals for eyesore travelers. Then we bumped into Bonney, who explained to our " What are you doing in New York? " — " Oh, just bu22ing around! " From there, we wand- ered over to the booth where Dottie White was making picture letters " while you wait. " It was getting to be quite an Art. Racing each other down 42nd Street, were Whittier with her rodeo, and Poynter with her taxi. A familiar voice rang out, " Where are my bags? " and we reminded Joanie Waugh that she was sitting on them. Continuing blithely on our way we passed Cosmopolite Philbin ordering por- ters around. The prospect of our journey seemed brighter when we learned that Jane Davey had decorated all the Pullman cars with chintz curtains — not that we take Pullmans! An off-key murmur of " I ' m Just Wild about Harry " reached our ears, but it was getting late and so we didn ' t bother to turn around. We knew it must be Beachie. A trail of heavily laden porters led by Curator Shields hove in sight. " For my museum, " she explained as Emi gingerly picked up a whale ' s tooth from the floor. A porter gave Calder a shove onto the Oklahoma train, and she handed him a eard announcing the opening of her new dress shoppe. " Tell your wife. Just as Packard ' s Patented News Service informed us that the Bronx Local was ready, we looked around for a last glance. How could we have overlooked that line of men with hands outstretched! Hitler, we wondered? No, just eager votes for the people ' s choice, for sitting calmly in the doorway of the Ladies ' Room was Julie Nelson, trying on wigs. That was the last straw! To think that we had come to this. We made a running leap for the train, and settled down in our seats, exhausted, to reminisce about Abbot in the " good old days. " 
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