Mechanic Arts High School - M Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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MMDB Every Saturday afternoon when lVlrs. Fellows came home, she always asked, 'cHas Mary been a good girl this afternoon?7' I could answer truthfully that she had been. And that was how it began. We read the '4Winnie-the-Pooh stories, too. Pooh,' was Christopher Robinls '4Teddy. Pooh was fond of honey. And so he and Robin decided to get some from the bees. Pooh had a wonderful plan for getting it. They would tie a balloon around his waist and then he would ascend. The bees would be deceived and think that he was a little black cloud. But they couldn't decide on the color. I mean if he used a green balloon, he would resemble the trees-Christopher Robin finally concluded that by using the blue one, the bees would be misled, and think he was the sky. Pooh discovered after getting up that these were the wrong kind of bees. They were the suspicious'7 kind. They were even suspicious after Robin walked up and down with his urrrbrella remarking loudly that it 'Gcertainly looks like rain? Mary nearly cried because she was so sorry they weren't the right kind. One day Robin planned an Expetition to the North Pole. Word was sent around to all the forest folk. The members of the Expetition included: Rabbit, Owl, Kanga, and her baby, Roo. There was the sad and melancholy Eeyore, and cheerful, witty, little Piglet. And there was Alexander Beetle. Last, but not least, was the bear of little brain, Pooh. They tramped miles and milesf' meeting with many thrilling adventures, and of course everyone was on the lookout for the North Pole. Christopher told Piglet he was almost certain it was a stick planted in the ground with a sign on which was printed with very large letters 6'North Pole. Pooh found a stick, but it had no sign. Nevertheless Christopher Robin called the Expetition to a halt, and he made a sign. It read: North Pole discovered by Pooh Pooh found it. And the very next day he gave a party in honor of Pooh. Both Mary and I agreed that he certainly deserved a party. Don't you think so too? MMY MAN, By DEETTE HANDroRD, 130 I'm going to get married some day. At least my brother says l am if l can find a man crazy enough to marry me. l donit see why they have to be crazy, but he has lived with me for seventeen years, so he ought to know. Well, as long as that is definitely settled, I suppose I had better set about picking an ideal. y 1 V - Well, now, let's see. What types of men are there? Oh, thereis the large, brutish type, but that would never do, for I'lVl going to be boss of my home. I sup- pose I could get a little man, but they never argue with a person, and what,s the use of getting married if you don't fight once in a while? Well, l'll strike a. happy medium--a man of average height and average build. Now as regards their position in life. An artist is far too temperamental. A business man ?-too direct and business-like. l suppose a doctor would be all right, but then, they're called out so much at night, and if I don't get my sleep, Pm pos- itively haggard the next day. A day laborer invariably tramps in mud on a per- fectly clean floor. The president of some large company or other wouldn't be bad, only, there is always the danger of his running off with the blond secretary. A traveling salesman would never do, for he has the habit of arriving home at the most unexpected moments. I hate unexpected company. A sailor wouldn't do because it is rather hard to determine just how many other wives he has. An auto- mobile salesman would be all right, if it weren't that salesmen are so efficient at winning their points, and I never argue unless I can win. An aviator would expect me to fly across the continent, or maybe the ocean, with him, and I can't do that be- Pagc Twenty-eight

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HMS! one room, divided into smaller partitions by shelves of books. Here and there around the room will be small tables, each with one chair, a reading lamp, and an ash- tray. Neither will these be new, but old, comfortable pieces that I shall pick up about the city. ' At each table I shall place a small sign, saying, g'If you are not enjoying your- self, see Mr. Cray at the desk in the back of the room. If you are, continue reading. Stay as long as you like, smoke what you will, but notice the ash-trayf, My desk will occupy a space at the far end of the shop. A few shelves, replacing the traditional pigeon-holes, will contain my favorite titles. A can of tobacco and a briar pipe will rest on an ash-tray. The top of the desk will be cluttered with papers and trash, for orderliness is too business-like, and my bookstore will not be a place of business, but the home of Pleasure and Delight. I shall sit at my desk with my briar in my hand, watching the curling smoke drift lazily ceilingward. Occasionally I shall help a customer. He will always go away satisfied, for I shall know precisely what he will want. I shall look into his eyes, and say to myself, That man needs a few of Lamb's Essaysf' or I'Here's a fellow who could stand some poetry, Keats, perhapsf' Someone will want adven- ture sto-ries, but before he tells me, I shall be after the very tale he will enjoy most. Another will ask for philosophy, though his question will be superfluous. Possibly some young fellow will be a few cents shy of the price of some coveted volume. I shall let him have it. I shall not be there for financial gain, but to satisfy menas literary desires. Often I shall be visited by book-lovers like myself. We shall have long talks lo- gether over our pipes, back in a secluded corner of my shop. We shall discuss our literary likings and dislikesg we shall argue for and against some well known author. Donit you -think that I shall enjoy life, in my second-hand bookstore? Look me up about fifty years from now. I shall be delighted to help you. WHAT A VERY LITTLE GIRL LOVED TO READ By EVELYN Lorr, '30 It was a little red book. I had picked it up off the library table in desperation. At least it would contain something to read. Anything! I began to read to her. The poetry had a natural swing, a lulling rhythm. She stopped crying. With eyes wide with interest, she listened. And then presently she dozed off. Mary, cross, tired, three-year-old Mary-if anything could hold her interest-well, there was something to it. I continued reading. The poems were written about two children, Christopher Robin and Emmeline. There were poems about Alexander Beetle and a Teddy bear whose name was Winnie-the-Pooh, Pooh for short. Their utter sim- plicity is what attracted me. They were so simple that they were charming. Mary was particularly fond of one that went like this: James, James Morrison, Morrison Weatherby, George, Dupre, Took great care of his mother Though he was only three. James, James Said to his mother Mother, he said, said he, You must never go down to the End of the town without consulting mefi There are several pages in this poem, and she always liked it. And she always said, Read it again! They were easy to memorize, and so every Saturday afternoon we learned a new poem. It was great fun, the afternoons passed almost too quickly. Page Twenty-sevf'f1

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CGM!! cause wind always makes my complexion so rough. About the only two types left are the farmer and the athlete. Cows absolutely terrify me ever since the time I tried to ride one while visiting my aunt's farm, so that eliminat-es the farmer. There- fore by the process of elimination, I have arrived at my fate-an athlete. Because Pm not at all particular, I don't care what kind of an athlete he is, although right now I prefer basketball players. Now the next question is, Should he be blond or brunette? They say that brunettes are more intelligent than blends, but that doesn't influence me, because I don't want my husband TOO intelligent. And, anyway, I think that a blond and a brunette look much 'ccutern together than two brunettes, so he must be blond. Now that my fate is decided, Iim ready to start business. Any crazy, blond athlete of medium height and build, who wishes to apply for the position, will please see me personally. Don't rush, please! ' For England flmitating the Old English Songj By DOROTHY GUNDERSEN. ,530 A crashing chord, a proud refrain, A moment to live o'er again, So let it loud with victory ring, It is our song, Long Live the Kingln We are a strong, a mighty race And we shall always take our place Among the foremost. Slaves shall bring Mighty tributes to our king. Sing loud, ye veterans of war! Sing loud, ye who our lands adore! I.et young and old triumphant sing Our anthem, this, Long Live the King! 5 Fair Warrling By LEONA SKODA, 2915 Should you come to love another, I should strive-I hone--to cover All my heartache, all my pain, All my envy of her gain. Each regret and every fear, That fond wish to keep you near, - I should bury-bury deep- That untroubled be your sleep. Though farewells should ne'er be spoken. You'd not guess my heart was broken. - Should you come to love another, Spare me contact with your lover, I.est my anguish, peeping through, Should contrive to torture two. Beauty and Duty By CARYL BOTHE Beauty reached out to touch meg Beauty was here for a dayg Beauty cried for my answer, Then silently stole away. Duty came then to clutch meg Duty was here for a dayg Duty demanded my answer, Thcn stayed with me alway. I'n,L'c Twenty-nine