Girls Preparatory School - Kaleidoscope Yearbook (Chattanooga, TN)

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' ,KAILIEH IDQSCQDI? .111 !Xw!R,!gxX,!X,!X ZY,2XvZi2YYZK2YvZX ZYEZYYJ Senior Will ' E, THE SENIOR CLASS of Nineteen Hundred and Thirty-Eight, being of sound mind fwe hopej and memory, do make, publish, and declare this to be our last will and testament, to-wit: I, Betty Ashmead, will my artistic ability to the oncoming Seniors. They'll need it to draw Miss Whitaker's favorite reactions. I, Florence Bagley, will my carefully-coiffed hair to Elizabeth Ann Farris. I, Mary Stewart Becking, will my melifluous alto voice and my absolute pitch to the Glee Club to sustain them in their weaker moments. I, Betty Billups, do hereby bequeath my pertness and my air ,of confidence to the Seventh Grade. They will find these very helpful acquisitions with which to face the world in general and G. P. S. in particular. I, Martha Buffalow, leave my ever-faithful willingness to supply music for all occa- sions to Mary Caroline Morrison to be continued during the noon hour. I, Peggy Dean Butts, leave my cooperative spirit and mygreat loyalty to the school to Mary Catherine Fred. I, Mary Catherine Coffey, will my Red Cross duties and my poor families to anyone who wants the job. I, Dorothy Crabtree, leave my beautiful golden hair to Dorothy Brown so that hers may, this time, be more lasting. I, Alice Davenport, will my sweet disposition to Miss Zeigler, in the hopes that she may find it useful in a year or so fafter the novelty of married life wears offj. I, Beverly Eaves, will my ability to strike a pose and tell a good yarn to Miss Jarnagin. I, Presh Evans, do bequeath my withering glances and my left eyebrow to Miss Duffy so that she may some day learn how to put over a sarcastic look. We, Martha Griscom and Mary Helen Hardin, will our terpsichorean art and our ingenious new dance steps to Martha Gambill and Nancy Moses. They catch on so quickly. I, Jean Grote, will my utter femininity and my inborn coyness to Eba Smallwood. I, Peggy Mabry, leave my job as publicity agent for the school to the' Freshmen, trusting, of course, that theirs will not be of another kind. I, Barbara McCallie, will my ability to be different to anyone who thinks shei can get by with it. I, Betty Marus, hereby will my executive ability and the responsibilities of my various duties and chores to Adeline Moon. I, Alice Raht, will my proficiency in collecting rings, bracelets, and other trinkets to-well, may the best girl win. We, the Senior Class, leave the memory of our brilliant career and our remarkable record fin more ways than onej to the school as an ever-present example and inspira- tion to those who come after us. Signed, sealed, published and declared as and for their last will and testament by the above named testators, in our presence, who have, at their request, and in their presence, signed our name as witness thereto. Q -Mary Helen Hardin, '38. U-Sl yy , ,jg,jXvjxX,!XX . v!Xi f!X !xYf!.XxfJfi V Q

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ZR Zkrfirlkffplk ligykrlgfjxfx ZX JN J S +KAl-lEll DQSCQDIP-I j Recipe For a Successful Senior Class THE INGREDIENTS I Girls, any number, to be added at intervals, 1 full cup of activities to each girl, 1 cup of joys and a pinch of sorrow to each girlg Plenty of essay contestsg Six years. THE METHOD! For the foundation of this concoction, we shall take 10 girls and name them: Nelson, Ruth, Presh, Jean, Elizabeth, Gertrude, Dot, Margaret Campbell, Betty Marus, and Margaret Rothberger. Place these girls in G. P. S. and give them plenty to do. Season with sunshine, rain, and mischief. The first year, for Gertrude, add the superlative of cutest, and let Presh, Betty, and Campbell stand out as attendants to the May Queen. The second year, to the mixture add nine more girls: Alice Davenport, Basketball Queen Bitsey, Alice Raht, musical Mary Stewart, Betty Billups, blue-eyed Florence, Bar- bara, and the two inseparable friends, Mary Helen and Martha. Drop in an essay con- test and mix well. Sprinkle with joy and set aside for the summer vacation. The third year add two more girls: Beverly and another Betty, the artistic Ashmead. Toss a basketball into the bowl and place this mixture out in the gym to chill. Two more B's are added the fourth year, Buffalow and Butts. From the mixture remove Ruth and Florence, who are going on a world tour. Liberally scatter the mixing bowl with snapshots which they send. Drop in a sophomore play and an operetta. Stir. Sprinkle with sorrow, Ruth will not return to the mixing bowl. The fifth year add one girl, Peggy Mabry. Her nose for news will give the mix- ture publicity. Add M. and M. history notebooks and two French puppet shows. Break a city-wide essay contest into the center of the mixture, Mary Helen and Nelson will stand up with prizes. Drop the superlative most talented on Mary Stewart. Beat an operetta into the mixture. Shake more sorrow into the mixing bowl, Nelson, Gertrude, and Margaret Campbell are leaving it. In the sixth and last year of mixing add Lenora Moore and a seasoning of senior icings and superlatives. Add a few more essay contests and a scholarship or two. To make the mixture spicy and fragrant, fold in odors from the lab, a little HCI, and trips to the glass factory and paper mill. Stir in several cups of Dramatic Club, Glee Club, French Club, The Annual, basketball, May Days, lessons, fun and parties. Turn the contents of the bowl out on a floured board and wrap each girl in white linen. Sprinkle each with the sorrow of leaving the others, and send them out into the world to rise or fall as befits a cake. -Peggy Dean Butts. f 171 fx !fSs!Nxsffks!xksJxXs!Xeffks!k fJksAsAsffX!fk dk 1

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,ui'-,..,,-er!-rwuzumwa ml .V A, , . ' I -- -kA!.rEuooscc51Ds!-in Prophecy ELL, I thought, as I settled back in the most comfortable rocking chair in my southwest corner room of the Old Ladies' Home, well, any woman on her eightieth birthday has a right to look at her scrapbook instead of straining her brain over a two-letter word meaning 'a hypothetical force' just because some moron put it in a cross-word puzzle. With this I opened my scrapbook and embarked on a sea of clippings. By chance the pages opened at the section about the class of '38 back at G. P. S. London, Jan. 8, 1949- Miss Mary Stewart Becking tonight plays a command per- formance before His Majesty at Buckingham Palace. Her selections will be entirely her own compositions. It is rumored that her gown will be the new Fresh Green, brought into favor by that scintillating cosmopolite and friend of Miss Becking, Miss Presh Evans. The creation was ordered recently from the salon of McCallie and Ash- mead Coutourieres. Scanning each page carefully, I followed with interest the career of the Blonde Venus, Dot Crabtree. Ah, those good old days when we played golf together! Those happy afternoons spent in the rough before deadly approach shots made her the sensa- tion of the sporting world! And the headlines when she ended her meteor-like career in a sudden marriage and retirement. Then I became interested in the outstanding successes of the Modern Ballet, star- ring Mary Helen Hardin and Martha Griscom. Well can I remember the Fifties when their routines revolutionized the dancing of the world. Alice Raht did all their scenery, and Martha Buffalow was in charge of the music. What a combination! An entirely different spirit prevailed the next pages, the history of the Sorrowful Seventies. Not even the brilliant satires of Peggy Dean Butts could lighten the at- mosphere. Twice war was barely averted by the diplomacy of Betty Marus and Flor- ence Bagley, world-famous for their statesmanship. Except for the work of that great humanitarian, Mary Katherine Coffey, thousands would have starved during that period of recession. Beverly Eaves, greatest actress since Bernhardt, gave her services for charity performances, without her America's morale would have been crushed. But now, since the great work of Betty Billups, such a depression is impossible. Glancing at a clipping, I saw one of her campaign slogans: A chicken in every pot. Strangely enough the next article also was about chickens. Written in the inimitable style of Peggy Mabry, it told of Miss Alice Davenport's heroic defense of a dog charged with disturbing the peace and wilfully murdering eight Japanese chickens. What is a chicken? Miss Davenport exclaimed. A lot of feathers and a few bones! But a dog-ah, a dog-is a heart beating with love for his master, a tail wag- ging with joy, eyes gleaming with love, one of God's finest creations! She won her case and eternal fame as a dog lover with that speech. Indeed, there are none like her now-nor will there ever be again a class like that of '38. -Jean Grote. 1191 F jk jx !XX-JxNeJfXeffke!XgxfXe!fXsffXe!XeJfXwffxeffX dk 5