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

Page 22 text:

cz! 9 2 D gs Z A fx , 3 f, B f ,303 f2 2 . 5 5 Z R 5 3 LQ rf Q 45'- 5 E 5 W -1- 2 . ff 5 45, LJ .ry ' WEN V2 :Hn X 5 gf 71 X -J lf 1' X M' an ' 33' cqr fc Q I . A. - . vvv . L We M xg MQ Q 1, 52? E2 f 22 X M--- : -cm f E i q Q K' IOL 1, my '-. ft I -15, ff 31,0 f , J W H M gl 'x M Sl X Z ' Cir C F1 'Crit Dim E ii f vfg' f EC D E 'lrfcf 2 -U4 U U ' 5 1 fb if 1 1 X Z f WP 2 'E 7? QQ, 0 Q g Q gx Q J I f S Wag! A K'-2? S '57S.?s1Yf , ' -4 ' 9 CT' --W... if 13 G Q' SEQ' ,f X X A . va z Xcrw W 2 5 Q 5 'W ' 0 3 i 1 X 5 U I, X lg W, 52 : 2 - fix E V X A I 5115 'U Qkgqfy A : 5 2 KX- -a N2 L Q , 1 ff V23 Rf X A Q! E - N 5 E 4 S Sn N 5 :Q 5 3 g v bi xg E Q 6: lf. , U U Z 3 3 k tm Q Q1 , R Ln' QI: A w ,lil c-f I 55 K4 ca X 3.57 Qsff

Page 21 text:

THE DOORS By ELEANoR MANTEUPPEL Whenever I hear the word 'Adoor, three different pictures immediately take shape in my mind. One is that of an open door, one, of' a closed door, and one, of a door swinging to and fro. If a door is opened, I know that the contents of the space behind it are not to be barred from me. I know that I am entitled to enter it, and to indulge in its opportunities. If a door is closed, I have two impulses: one is to hurry past because what is behind it is not intended for my eyes. I shudder, too, because the mystery of the unknown is gruesome. The other feeling is one of curiosity. I would like to peek into the keyhole. I would like to know and see what is on the other side. Then there is the swinging door. This is the door that wants attention. It is for me to close or for me to open. I am the one that can do the deciding. If I grow tired of seeing what it is holding, I can shut it, or if I want to see what it holds, it is my privilege to open. There is nothing to hinder me from doing either. Life is a swinging door. THE IDEAL PLACE TO REST By JoHN SONNEN Mention iwater' to some people and they'll think of glasses of cool sparkling liquid that more than once has made them feel like a million dollars. Mention it to some one else and he'll see a dish pan full in which dirty dishes must become clean, Turn around and mention iwater' to another person and to him it is rain-warm rain that helps so much towards the growing of crops and the welfare of the country. But mention 'water' to me and I'll be looking out over a pine-encircled lake fanned by a soft South breeze. Resting is one of the best things I like to do. Some say it is the best thing I do: maybe they're right. All I know is I like to rest and when I rest I like to rest in a hammock,-not a hammock swinging on a porch of a house in front of which pours a continual stream of traffic, but a hammock that swings between two pine trees overlooking a cool, sparkling lake filled with water such as people dream about when they're dying of thirst. These two pine trees should not be alone in overlooking the lake but should be accompanied by others, others that stretch as high as they do. The variety of the trees should be White Pine or Norway. Balsam and Spruce aren't stately enough, while Jack pines are too shabby and straggly. There should be a soft South breeze blowing in from the lake, just enough to keep the mosquitoes back in the timber. The hammock tends to irritate the back if it is of canvas, therefore I would select one of softer material. Perhaps I could do without the hammock just so I am satisfied in my other desires. Squirrels should keep away. I know just how long my dog and I would listen to their infernal chatter before we would start chasing them through the woods. He doesn't like them nor do I and we especially dislike them when they intrude upon the leisure of a sleeping dog and a drowsy boy. What?-s the Use? By GoRDoN MENTEN, '31 What's the use? You strive and hope to win And never take a chance: Then someone steps right in Your troubles to enhance. What's the use? Page Seventeen l.?J

Page 23 text:

GTHE COMO CON SERVATORY By ELMER BAEKER, '31 It was a synthetic wilderness of beauty. The air was the atmosphere of the tropics-humid, hot, and sweet. All around were foliage plants of grotesque shapes, plants from all the earth. great sago palms, orchid trees, yams, mantillas, banana plants-vines that once entwined themselves in the jungles of the Amazon. Fish of gold swam in and out among the water lilies of a limpid pond. A baby alligator lay half submerged, only his head above water, his piercing eyes looking greedily at the gold fish which, alas, were out of reach. From inside the fern-hidden mouth of a cavern came the sound of water drip- ping. All was quiet, dreamy, languid, There came the citrus tang of a lemon tree. It was offset by the perfume of delicate blossoms of lavender. Music came and with the incentive of the plaintive notes of a Hawaiian guitar one felt a desire to lie down among the petunias and columbine and build upon the scented air a dream of the tropics. THE PESSIIVIIST DESCRIBES HERSELF By CARoL RAHM I'm of a varied height: no heels, 5 feet 5 inches, low heels, 5 feet 5 one- half inches, high heels, 5 feet 6 inches. In the high heels I tower over everyone and manage to fall over every little obstacle: I hate low heels, and anyway they're not becoming, and people don't go around in stocking feet. My hair is brown but so is everyone's else, so that's no asset. Anyway, I overheard my mother once, describing it as mouse-colored and I can't stand mice. I had an original hair cut once, but that was long ago. It's a windblown now and it never looks well. When it's just washed it's terrible: and just about the time it might look decent it's dirty again and has to be washed. They tell me my forehead is neither high nor low, but I am strongly inclined to think that I am a low brow. My eyebrows are black but scarce: I love heavy eyebrows. My eyes aren't large, and they're brown, and once one was black and blue. My lashes are long, but no one ever notices them because the tips are light. As for mv nose, well, I'd rather not even mention it. I have small ears though. The last time I looked at my nose it seemed out of pro- portion with the rest of my face. I can't remember what was wrong, and I haven't the heart to look again. A girl once told me I had pretty lips but she only wanted to use my lipstick. Even all this I might try to overlook but horrors of horrors-my chin. There's a dent right in the middle. This is as far as I will go. If you can't picture me, it doesn't make much difference, because I'm not much to look at anyway. , ON BEING AN OLD LADY By CAROL RAHM I don't want to be just a sweet old lady, or a sharp, cranky one, or even a haughty, stern one. I want to be a dignified old lady with white hair and perhaps a pair of bi-focals. I want a green and white kitchen with starched dimity curtains and a flower box. I want a yellow cat, a yellow canary, and a little white dog, I'll have a sunny living room with comfortable chairs and many cushions. When visitors come, Cand I'll have manyj I'll serve honey- cakes, and tea in a fat teapot. Young people will come to see me to ask advice, and when they leave, they'll shake their heads and wonder if I've had a dis- appointed love affair, ' Page Nineteen