Annie Wright School - Shield Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

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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

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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

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beyond the visible horizon of those who knew and loved her, the influence of her life and of the principles epitomized in her character, is upflung fronn the past to color other lives even now, inspiring them to friendliness and good hope, to kindliness and cheer — those simple, everyday expressions of a radiance within. Zora Hayden Graff. March 15, 1931. It was a far cry to New Tacoma in 1888 — Only 1200 here: tents on many a lot: Wright Park, a treeless cow-pasture — with 104 four-leaf clovers found in one corner on a single walk! But it took more than that sort of luck to keep homesickness away — And how the Seminary helped! I can still see Mrs. Wells, erect, keen, spurring each girl to her best: Mrs. Raynor. always the exquisite — and so good for one ' s manners! — Chapel with the loved clergyman — whose voice is unchanged today — Latin study, walking with Jessie Kershaw along Tacoma Avenue, for we lived closeby: Zora Hayden ' s friendship: Frances Davies ' senior-aloofness: Beth Laughton, the quiet: Frances Stotler ' s kindness: the dignity of Jessie Cavender: the lovely color, (not from a pot), of Alice Pierce ' s cheeks: Alice Rector ' s lessons — each vivid still. A far cry from home to a lonely Mary Stacy, who now says her thank you for all the Annie Wright Seminary meant to her firsf — of forty-three years in Tacoma. Mary Stacy Thomison. Grey Cottage. Gravelly Lake, February 28, 1931. 1889—1899 Tacoma. March 28. 1889. My dear Mrs. White: I have pleasure in informing you that you have been appointed Principal of The Annie Wright Seminary. at a salary of $1,000 per annum. If you see your way to come to us. we shall give you a cordial welcome: and I pray that, with the helpers whom you may have around you, you may be privi- leged to do a blessed work in training many of the young for usefulness and happiness in this world and for the eternity that is to follow. Yours very truly, J. A. Paddock. The above is a copy of the letter I received from Bishop Paddock while I was teaching at Rowland Hall in Salt Lake City. I accepted the position, and began my work as Principal of the Annie Wright Seminary in September. 1889. Tacoma at that time was on the top wave of prosperity, owing to the excitement in real estate and the stimulus given it by the recent entrance of the Northern Pacific railroad. The Annie Wright Seminary, started by and under the wise adminis- tration of Mrs. L. H. Wells, also partook of its prosperity as well as popularity. When I took charge of the school it numbered about one hundred and fifty, one-third of the number being boarders. Mrs. A. H. W. Raynor, of blessed memory, was then vice-principal of the school, and continued in that capacity during the ten years of my administration. During those ten years of prosperity as well as adversity, when there were many perplexing problems to meet and sacrifices to be made, she was always my cheerful and ready adviser, helper and friend, and I am glad to make here this record of her faithful stewardship. She had a fund of humor, the saving Page thir teen