Fairfax Hall High School - Chain and Anchors Yearbook (Waynesboro, VA)

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GERTRUDE SUDDARTH “Bobby” GRAFTON, WEST VIRGINIA Ball and Racquet Tennis Club; Hikers Club; Swimming Team; Riding Squad; VY. W.C. A. “Bobby” is one of our good-look- ing girls, and perhaps that’s the reason she gets such “scads” of let- ters from the University and other places. At first, she was distress- ingly homesick, but she’s all over that now, and we all love her dear- ly. She has a voice that is equally as charming as her personality, and altogether we are proud to have her in our Senior class. AA RUTH HERMINE WEBER “Rutchen” CLEVELAND, OHIO Rack-a-ho Club ; Club; Swimming Team; Team; Y.W.C. A. Tenms Hiking Track Isn’t she just the sweetest thing? And she’s generous and good-na- tured too. But she likes to have her fun, as you may readily see if you poke your head out of the door some night after light bell. She doesn’t neglect her studies though, or you wouldn’t find her one of the leading members of this bright (7?) class. Anyway we like Ruth just heaps, and so, they say, does Earl.

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ELIZABI LH BRO SS “Betty” PORTLAND, OREGON Secretary and Treasurer Senior Class; Manager Golf Club; Ball and Racquet Tennis Club; Hiking Club; Swimming Team. Who doesn’t know Betty? Some- how she always reminds one of Neysa McNein covers or girls on Community Silver advertisements. And who hasn’t heard Betty give a scream of joy when the Annapolis mail comes in? S core one for the Navy, as the “Navy’s coming through.” We vote her a 4:0. SIDNEY RANDOLPH TYLER A pe CLARINGTON, OHIO Executive Board; Dramatic Art Club; Rack-a-ho Tennis Club; Glee Club; Hiking Club; Riding Squad. W iG, From the banks of the beautiful Ohio comes Sid, bringing with her sunshine and merriment. Good-na- tured and big-souled, she has won a place in all our hearts. Although, like Rip Van Winkle, she may have somewhat of “an insuperable aver- sion” to labor, she is unusually tal- ented and can say and write the cleverest things. We prophesy for her a brilliant future. How proud we shall be of our “Sid” when she gets to be “Miss Tyler, the novel- ist |”

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A Glimpse Into the Future aes | HE MARDI GRAS at New Orleans was in full swing. The city was a riot of color and every one was entering into the spirit of the carnival. I alone seemed out of tune with my surround- ings. Lonely, and seeking vainly for diversion, I wandered down among the old antique shops on the river front. The gay abandon and joy of the carnival had not penetrated there. I entered one of the shops. It was dark, and the odor of musk filled the little room overcrowded with antiques. A little Jew in a long black smock and black skull cap came out of a back room at my entrance. Listlessly I looked at the beautiful things. Then suddenly my attention was arrested by a large transparent globe that seemed neither unique nor valuable. I picked it up and the Jew said, “That, Madam, is a magic globe. In it can be seen past, present, and future, as you wish.” My lips curled scornfully; I did not believe in fairies or miracles, but underneath all my cynicism was a streak of curiosity which all women possess, so I bought the globe and laughed at my foolishness. At night, though, I take out my new purchase. I wish I knew something of the seniors of ’22 at Fairfax, but I doubt the power of the globe to reveal the secret. As I gaze at it, however, it fills with a mist which slowly clears away. I see a manor house of old England with turreted roofs and gloomy towers. Under the porte-cochere stands a dream of a Rolls Royce. A liveried servant is holding the door. The bronze portals open, and the tall, dignified duchess of the manor steps forth. Though wrapped in sables the figure seems familiar. She turns— Gladys Knox! Again the mist envelops the scene. Slowly, slowly it clears away. The Great White Way of New York. One brilliant sign stands out above all the others: “Florenz Zeigfield presents Pauline Earl in ‘Why Men Leave Home’,” | Pauline constituting the chief reason. Then the inside of the crowded theatre is revealed on the stage, and, dancing madly in the spot light, a dainty morsel of femininity—our Polly of Fairfax. Then the chorus prances out and, in the front row, singing blithely, is Mae Carter from Virginia—if you please. Then the globe again becomes a blank. This time the clearing of the mist re- veals a little bungalow in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. On the porch a pretty matron sits serenely sewing. A man enters the gate. The woman goes to meet him, and greeting each other tenderly they go into the house arm in arm. It is Betty Horne and, naturally, the good-looking man is Joe. Then—a big office marked “Private.” A girl sits at the desk, taking dictation. Both occupants of the office seem familiar. The man? Surely I have seen his