Annie Wright School - Shield Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

Page 15 text:

Perhaps there was a breath longer than usual. Perhaps a heart pounded a bit. But we went on up the gravelled path that senni-circled the lawn, not nnuch broken by trees and shrubs at that early date, up the fourteen (or was it sixteen?) steps, to the porch, and rang the bell. A trinn maid answered. We were shown to the reception room — told to wait. The oblong room. The dignified furnishings. Th e windows at two sides. The crisp May breeze blowing in at the North. The clear, cool sunshine without. Across the street, a big, square house, known later — and happily — as Bishop ' s House. Beyond it, the blue and sparkling Sound, blue and cold — like me. Blue and cold, like the heavy silence that fell upon me. And like the sparkle upon the cold, my Father ' s gallant raillery to cheer me. Gradually, other impressions, Impressions from within the school itself. A subdued activity across the hall, a door opened, shut. A murmur of voices. Is the principal coming? Silence again. A bell far off. Steps in the hall outside our open door. Now? No, the steps go on quietly. Another bell — a clang this time. Then the sound of orderly marching. Near, nearer. Then fainter. A controlled confusion of voices. Then, from out in the open dir. the sound of young and happy voices, unrestrained laughter. Shouted good-byes. A glimpse of tam-o-shanters going by in twos, in threes, in groups, red, blue, vellow. The recession of steps down the gravelled path, faint, now fainter. School is over. A fifteen-year-old heart pounds harder. This self-controlled and decorous Annie Wright Seminary — will it take unto its heart a young stranger from a Mid-west high school, a greenhorn in experience, an undiluted product of Main Street? That young and happy laughter just gone, will it make room for another voice, admit into its intimacy a newcomer at tag-end term? The crisp breeze seems all at once crisper, the cool sunshine cooler, the sparkle of water — is it sparkle of ice? And then suddenly, there is no cold, no crispness, no ice. For something vivid and vital and cordial has glowed through the open door and into the room and we are on our feet, warmed and revivified by a personality. It is little Mrs. Raynor. in whose memory the Raynor Chapel of the present Annie Wright Seminary was built by her girls and by those coming after. Small in stature, this little lady, quick as a bird to move, yet with an ever-preseni dignity. Dressed always in black, her white hair framing a face piquant and smiling, eyes intensely alive and eager. Had we been waiting long? Mrs. Wells was occupied. Would the vice-principal do? Strangers? Tired after our long journey? Ah, yes, the credits, letters ... ah . . . well . . . come Monday. Monday morning . . . And then, like three old friends, we are all chatting . . . the green countryside, the hawthornes. the Puget Sound mist that is never rain! We are laughing together. Suddenly the Spring breeze blows in colder and the little lady is seized with coughing. We are all concern. My father springs to the window, closes it, tells me to bring water. I rush wildly to the hall, commandeer a startled teacher. We get the water, return. The ice is completely broken. Pan- .- ' -v-n

Page 14 text:

1884 In 1884 Bishop Paddock asked me fo come and take charge or b t. Luke ' s Church which had been built about a year, and by the death of Mr. Bonnell had become vacant. He also asked Mrs. Wells, who had been very successful as principal of St. Paul ' s School. Walla Walla, to be principal of the Annie Wright Seminary. At his request, Mrs. Wells sketched some plans which an architect put into shape and when we arrived in June, 1884. the building was almost completed. The first night we stopped at the old Tourist Hotel, Tacoma was young and crude then. The next morning I asked if the street cars ran near the Annie Wright Seminary. There are no street cars, they said. Well, then send for a cab. There are no cabs, he replied. Get me a horse and buggy then. The livery stables haven ' t any. but you might get an express wagon to take you up there. So we called an express wagon and they brought out a chair and helped Mrs. Wells up on the seat with the driver. I climbed up and stood holding on to the back of the seat and away we went. In a few days we were able to move into the incompleted building, but by September 1st everything was ready — furniture, books, provisions, teachers, ser- vants, curriculum and pupils, and we started the school. One girl came from Alaska in a wagon train and was nearly a month on the way. camping out at night. Two girls came from the Hawaiian Islands. Some of the girls had never been taught to say their prayers: some, when sleepy, would get into bed partly dressed. So the teach- ers had to make a round of the rooms every night to see that all was right. But most of the girls were nice and well-behaved. The school opened with a small attendance, but grew rapidly and soon was full to overflowing, so that we had to put cots at the ends of the halls and every other available space. We had excellent teachers, but Mrs. Raynor was the most popular of all with every girl in the school. LEMUEL H. WELLS. First Bishop of Spokane (retired). 1888 As if it were but yesterday, I remember the first time the door of the Annie Wright Seminary opened to me. It was forty-three years ago. We had newly arrived in Tacoma. My father and mother, after due inquiry, had decided that the Seminary was suitable for me. The question was. was I suitable for the Seminary? To determine this, one day in early May, only a day or so after our arrival — this was In 1888 — my father took me to interview the principal, then Mrs. Lemuel Wells. Youth is exquisitely sensitive to impressions. The whole incident Is etched on my mind as clearly and as vividly as at that time of happening. The ride there in the Tacoma Avenue horse-car. The careful picking of our way across mud-caked Tacoma Avenue. Our pause as we reached the wide wooden side-wa ' lf : rounded the triangle at Division and First where stood the school. So that was it! Standing decorously back from the street, like a neat, ana brd . lady, tall, erect, the delicacy of young, new vines softening its severity like lace at the throat of an aristocrat. Its square, spired towers crowning It like a many-pointed cap. Its porches and steps extending in dignified and conservative Invitation. Page fen

Page 16 text:

6) And so. a few minutes later, we part as friends. Mrs. Raynor still coughing and laughing and apologizing as she wipes her bright and friendly eyes. We go down the gravelled path, arm In arm, chatting and laughing, too. How do you like your school, daughter? I like it. I like it immensely! Friendliness! It is a magic key for the unlocking of hearts, and Mrs. Raynor possessed It In charming degree. There were others to whom one went for serious and profound counsel. One turned to her for warmth and cheer and happiness as one goes to the fire on the hearth or to the comforting sunshine. For there was a blltheness. a gayety, a buoyancv about her that lifted the heart and gave wings to troubles. But the source of her inspirar,on ro youth lay deeper than in mere charm and friendliness. Indeed those very qualities sprang from the same origin. It was, of course, spirituality, a strong, powerful undercurrent of her character, keeping it sweet and rich, flowering In delightful personality, yielding a spreading, enduring influence like a fragrance. It endures to this day and will continue to endure through her girls and through the memory of her, perpetuated now by beautiful Raynor Chapel. For her life touched many. She was of the Seminary from its inception until her passing. Pupils came and went. Teachers changed. Principals served and went to other fields. Bishops passed under the shadow Into light. She remained and was beloved. Of all recollections of her, pernaps none is more treasured than that of her at morning service. There was no chapel then, but the study hall did well enough The years roll away and again there Is the old room, gone now forever, day pupils in their seats, teachers coming In quietly, a gradual cessation of rattling papers, the dying away of all sound. There Is a breathless moment. Surely it is time? And then, at the last moment but always just in time. Mrs. Raynor. the last teacher preceding the principal, flutters In at the door with her quick, bird-like movement, her bright eager eyes wide now and serious. From the corridor outside we hear the prayer of the churchman, then the first note of the processional is In our ears. We rise and sing, the boarders enter, the churchman follows — Is It Bishop Paddock this morning or Chaplain Wells? It is after the service that we catch a glimpse again of an unforgettable impres- sion. The little black-robed fgure of Mrs. Raynor is hurrying down the aisle to her class-room. As ever, the linen at throat and wrist Is Immaculately white, the cross on her breast hangs from its chain. The crown of silvered hair Is as lovely and as well-kept as usual. But there is something In her face now, some Inward illumination that is particularly arresting. It is her faith shining through, refreshed and glowing. And we are minded of that tender light of dawn when the sun is still beneath the horizon, and of that glorious upflung color when again the sun has set. For it seems to us, even now, In after-years, that It was thus with Mrs. Raynor. Even as we take the sunshine of day for granted, so we were warmed and sunned by her humor and wit and brightness, accepting as commonplace her ever-ready help and com- panionship. But before that daily morning glimpse of the light that was her hidden force, we were silent and wondering. And. although she erself passed long, long ago Page twelve