Castilleja School - Indian Paintbrush Yearbook (Palo Alto, CA)

Text from Pages 1 - 36 of the 1926 volume:

Dedicated to miss Eflizzrlreih 531231- 'Cf.fg11g Academic Principal FN Q - 4 is W 'V fx SENI m rl - - x , Q, L4 II? 4 ik X :I , il MB ws . V WW L.: X 7 1- bw LJ .- X f ? A X ' ' I N .JN fl' N 53 gl ,, I hy- N3 f f 1 'f 1? -A - 3 ' L : J f ' ix -Uv 1 Q M 5 , 4 N N Jug. 1. j kr 1 X , W - - ,,!Nt:4l F ix Florence Rose Babcock Hermione Elizabeth Beattie Margaret Willis Emma Catherine Crites Elizabeth Ethyl Davies Helen Cressida Eissler Zelda Ellet Claire Billy Flint Rachel Sue Ford Heath Stephenson Hamilton Hildegarde Moreno Hamm Eleanor Avery Hancock Marjorie Hart Frances Jane Hawkins Frances Hart Hilbom Anna Dolores Hill Dorothy Rockwell Hoag Edith Jayne Seven Frances Grace Johnson Dorothy Miner Maderis ' Benetta Delight Merner Phyllis Jane Metschan Helen Mona Montgomery Elise Constance Morse Dorothy Lorraine Munson Shirley Thelma Nighberc Margaret Robertson Pascoe Eight 'iv WI Evelyn Dorothy Peyton julia Elizabeth Post Muriel Price Anna Minerva Ritter Margaret Electa Rowell Kahtarine Blanchard Shaw Anne Dorothea Sloggett Muriel Lee Smith Dorothy Alice Stelling Nine Katherine Aileene Booth Stephen Nadine Townsend Claire Louise Thompson Margaret Van Norden Juanita Wagner Ann Bradford Wheeler Nancy jane White lla Alberta Wilcox Sue Dulaney Willard Ten 7-If GCTIVITIESM E x Twelve EDITORIAL STAFF Emma Crites Margaret Van Norden Nell Cornell Shirley Nighbert Ediwf-in-Chia! Edna Roberts Hermione Beattie Constance Morse Cecil Marrack Busgness Manager 33 PLAY DAY Thirteen Fourteen lA F E F iffeen Sixteen SENIOR FAIR-A FLORIDA Boom V 1 , T y R Q H M I agff 4 E A Ns Eg , A T I n n L 2, Ya , if , 1 K If , Q N! , ll I! r I xt rl Y, S21 3 Q X , r :Il U X lx ' H 'xl Y Nl Q Mm ,N utr 1 ' T Y 'i' 1 1:10 if g 1 HI. ' A 1 Seventeen W Eighteen Nineteen Twenty ... l T .elllr .1 .HD- Twenty-one 4 Twenty-two r 2 I Twenty-three Senior Calendar September 21-School opens September 26-The jolly-Up. The old girls entertain the new girls. October 3-The Alum Rock Picnic. Both day and resident girls journey to Alum Rock. October 9-Mrs. Stein speaks at Assembly. Subject: French Literatezlre of the Period of the Rczfolution. October 18-Senior Supper. Miss Lockey entertains in the Bungalow. October 22-Alumnae Tea in the Orchard House. October 24-Senior-junior Informal Dance. November 10-Dr. Adams of Stanford University speaks at Armistice Day Assembly. December 5-Senior-junior Formal Dance. December 18-january 5-Christmas Holidays. january 16-The English Play. The Seniors take part in the production of Shake- speare's Taming of the Slzrcw. ' February 6-Senior-Junior Informal Dance. i February 10-Professor Anthony Blanks gives a reading at Assembly, Drink- water's Abraham Lincol 11. February 15 and,March 5-Mrs. Stein speaks at Assembly. Subjects: Napoleon and Josephine, Napoleon: and .Marie Louise. March 6-Play Day at Stanford. Ten private schools join in a Play Day. March ' S-Arbor Day Exercises. March 13-The Senior Fair. A Florida Boom, for the benefit of the Stanford Convalescent Home. March 14-An hour of harp music. Mr. Attl. March 18-March 29-Spring vacation. April 7-Dr. Aurelia Rinehardt speaks at Assembly. April 24-Senior-junior Formal Dance. April 30-Mr. Wlilliam Ellsworth speaks at Assembly. Subject: The Times of M ay M ay May May june June june june Queen Elizabetlz. 1-The Claremont Tennis Tournament. 7-Two French plays, Le Chat Boite, Los Trois Bomics sous Ie manic Bonnet. 21-The junior-Senior Banquet. The juniors give a dinner for the Seniors at the Oak Tree Inn, San Mateo. 30-Senior Tea. Miss Tyng, Miss Smith, and Miss XVhite entertain the Seniors at Tea. 5-The Senior Party. 7--Class Day. The Seniors present their gift and plant their tree. The Senior Luncheon. S-Commencement. Alumnae Dinner. The Alumnae welcome the Seniors into the Alumnae Association. 9-The Seniors leave for home. Twenty-four s 2 Twenty-five o Bells CHOOL becomes a habit after awhile. We go placidly along, thinking of little except our work. Wie hear a bell, we then proceed to rack our brains as to what in the world comes next in our day's program. 'We finally remem- ber and rush off to a class or to luncheon. The lovely musical' jangling of these bells comes to be an inseparable part of us. VVhen we go home for a week-end we invariably have strained expressions on our faces, which often worry fond families exceedingly, but we are merely listening in vain for bells. N o bells! A bomb has been dropped in our midst! Such a terrible sugges- tion very nearly shakes the foundation of our lives. When we are in such a placid, contented state, it is cruel to shock us so. The idea is put before the council, and the members, after a few misgivings, see the real sense of it. 'I' he plan is then suggested to the rest of the girls and.-is received with surprise, to put it mildly, but the objections are overruled. . x - Once again we are leading the peaceful, undisturbed life ofka boarding school. But-there are no bells! Alarm clocks and Ingersolls are invested in wholesale, and we start out with fear and trembling on our program of lgwbellsh. The plan has been in operation only a short while, but, surprisingly enofefrh, it has been quite successful so far. We realize that our lives are really peaceful now and that the ipievious horrible clatter of the incessantly ringing bells gbt, on our nerves terribly. Of course, we are not all utterly punctual yet, but time will bring improvement, we hope! Our lives have resumed their former serenity, but-there is a degree of intelligence on our faces now as we look at a trusty Ingersoll and say: Time to go to our next class. ' LOUISE FOVVLE. The Storm AST stretches of uneven gray plain--nothing else. The sun is shining with- out enthusiasm and is speedily being totally obscured by lowering clouds. Momentarily the sky becomes leaden, heavy, oppressive. The atmosphere is tense and nervous. Expectancy hangs brooding over the scene. Then, in the north, far away, is seen a heavy, black, cone-shaped mass whirling madly over the plain. Swiftly it approaches and envelops the place in darkness and screech- ing winds. The ground heaves and sways, and, with each motion, groans seem to issue from the bowels of the earth. The chaos is overwhelming! Terrible! Suddenly the turmoil ceases. The wind dies down, and the great clouds roll away. The light of the sun once more Hoods the plain. Peace is restored, for I have solved my algebra problem, and I give my poor brain a rest. HELEN MONTGOMERY. Twenty-six Stick 's 5' HERE is a certain haunt of collegians, who wear too voluminous cords or unneeded tortoise-shell glasses, and of would-be's, which is also frequented by the ever famished inmates of Castilleja. Each Saturday afternoon, as inevitably as doom, they descend upon this fa- mous palace to fill all the little booths and send the waitresses scurrying after their sumptuous orders. After many whines and furious complaints directed at the slowness of the service, the girls see a waitress staggering towards them with a tray probably laden with the favorite Toasted Swiss, that delectable creation-the College Sundae, or the still more sensational concoction of saccharine viscidity - the Fairmont. IVhen the strictest of diets has been all too successfully broken, the girls swamp the candy counter. VVith eyes shining and fixed, each one carefully chooses her thirty-live cents worth of beautiful confection to carry triumphantly home. HELEN STINE. of-415511399--lu A Rhyme This started out to be an essay On the pricelessness of time, But the meter of it caught me And I couldn't resist the rhyme. This turns out so very often To be the way I workg My mind is turned to something else Though I do not mean to shirk. I leave my studies, duties, lessons, To ride, or drive, or walk, And my mind is oft diverted By frivolity of talk. . I postpone my next day's studies- I shudder to relateg I plan to do them on the morrow, And then it is too late. So let this poem be a lesson To those who waste their timeg This might have been an essay- It's just a silly rhyme. HEATH HAMILTON. Twenty-seven A Perfect School Day FTER the lights had been turned off and quiet once more reigned over the corridors of the residence, my roommate and I held, as usual, a long con- versation. If, in some supernatural way, you were allowed to have just one wish, for what would you wish? asked my roommate. To have the school routine go on as I pictured it when I was a youngster, I answered sleepily, turning over. VVhen I opened my eyes to find Mrs. Vaughan bending over me, I thought I had been asleep for only a few minutes. She was saying queer things. Because I was not wide-awake, the words seemed entirely devoid of sense. I was being told that I need not get up for morning drill if I preferred to sleep. At last I realized that I was now quite awake and that Mrs. Vaughan was speak- ing to me in all seriousness. It is often true that, when a person finally gets what she most desires, she no longer wants it. I immediately got up, donned my clothes, and appeared on time for morning drill, which consisted of strenuously bending each finger on both hands five times. Breakfast followed the drill, and everyone had all the coffee-cake and very strong coffee she wanted. Upon arriving at my first morning class, I found that Miss Criss and Doctor True, my teachers of the first and second periods respectively, had decided that we should go on a bicycle picnic. It was a great success. After cycling over to the Stanford campus, singing our Castilleja Song in front of the Adminis- tration Building, and accepting, with fitting blushes of modesty, the orchid bou- quets thrown at us by the many students and professors, we returned just in time for Assembly. Cn entering, we found, to our great surprise, Miss Lockey in a gorgeous red evening gown, assisted by Miss Smith, Miss Tyng, and Mrs. Stearns, giving a large tea in honor of all the resident girls. After leaving the tea, I rushed through the corridors, knocking down and trampling upon Mademoiselle Petitdidier. Not having time to stop and offer first aid to the injured, I continued on my wild scurry to arrive at Miss Sin1pson's class on time. The brutal thing I had done to Mademoiselle had been the only unpleasant happening in this so-far perfect day. Reaching my destination at last, I opened the door to Hnd Miss Simpson sitting on her desk, idly kicking the sides of it with her heels, and reading to an hilarious class selections from Life, This last was too much for ine. Everything turned black before my eyes. I stumbled and fell-out of bed. Realizing that I had only dreamed of a too per- fect day, I quickly dressed and came to the conclusion that I was glad to find my- self confronted by a school day of the regular routine, with serious business be- fore nie-better by far than my version of a perfect day which was all pleasure and no work. LILIAN MCNEVIN. Twenty-eight l 1 4.1 Traitorous Revelations T is a pose of all good American students to declaim loudly and monotonously that school is to them a Chamber of Horrors, a second Inquisition, a place of slow, grinding tortures. They repeat these ideas fnot, perhaps, in identical termsj, emit futile outcries, and enumerate one by one the various and sundry reasons why school is a dreadful place for them. Une becomes accustomed to these inevitable rages and takes for granted the cruel impositions and deadly boredom which, according to younger acquaintances, constitute the average school day. One says hypocritically in the fall, reveling in the self-satisfaction that comes from recognized superiority, XfVell, itis too bad, you'll be going back to school soon now. I suppose you hate to go. And vehement assurances of the truth of this statement follow. Yet-do we really hate school? Should we be happy if we nezfcr had to go back? Xve say so, yes, but, if we didn't go, how long would it be before, in a state of complete ennui brought about by nothing to do, we began to reminisce, to recall with amusement and not a little envy all the humorous things that hap- pened, all the jolly times we had- IVe did have jolly times, didn't we? Things always seem more fun after they're over. Do you remember- ? And so we talk, and before long it appears that we have never had quite so much fun since. NVe recall all the funny little characteristics of girls and teach- ers, all the amusing incidents, the sports, the dances, even the work itself which seems lively and jolly in comparison with the staid and boring sameness of our lives out of school. VVe long for the companionship of those days, for the sense of being allied against the probing questions of those who sought to prove our ignorance. And then we recall the carefree feeling we had when, after our work was done, we sauntered along the streets, going home with whichever girl prom- ised the best foodg or how on windy days we went on long walks into the hills fjust two of us-long walks are recognized as not for groupsj to sit on a log and eat sticky chocolate, or how on rainy afternoons we congregated in wet, chatter- ing, book-laden groups at the movies. You see, school days are not so hard. Our vehement protestations of un- dying hatred inay be laid to that immemorial right of Englishmen-free speech, which we in our youthful zeal desire to uphold. There may be, and there prob- ably are, some hardened characters who really do hate school, but I think that the majority of girls agree with me and realize the fun as well as the exceptional educational advantages and opportunities. MARGARET PASCOE. Twenty-nine 1 41' Boarding School Realism Versus Fiction VVAY back across the years I see a timid little girl, reluctant and yet eager, crossing the threshold of her first boarding school. She was homesick, just a little, but her eyes were bright, for had she not read beautiful stories of the wonderful lives the girls lived in just such a school? From my vantage point of sophistication and grown-up worldliness, with four yearsi down and just four months to go,'f I look back over my varied experiences and feel qualified to give you an insight into actual boarding school lifeajmfg up That' most tenacious fable of all-the inidnigihit feast! It is impossible to have a feast without some careful guardian walking in upon the party, and every- body always gets sleepy before eleven, anyhow. So most affairs of that kind happen early on Saturday nights under a chaperone's supervision. You can de- duce for yourselves that there are no chafing dishes. DQ11,t you. remember how, the girls always use them for clandestine fudge orgies? Well, we do not. Boxes from home! Itdoes seem pitiful to ruin this beautiful illusion. Some- how it is practically impossible to dissociate the thought of boarding-school from this idea., Une of the girls alwaiyisi jumps up from the charmed circle on the floor to get av hammer with wluch to pry open the boards. Now, that small detail in itselfishould, be enough, tokconvince the initiated that the writer of such rubbish knew nothing whatever of boarding school life. Everybody, outside of fiction, uses nail files to open anything. D 'In all my experience, no teacher, garbed in.a high-necked flannel nightgown and-wearing her .hair in curl papers, has ever walked into my- room. Somehow, even after my third year, when I should know better, I fondly cling to the idea that some dayi isgmehow, I may detect a teacher that does her hair in curl papers. Also, I have never heard of a. teacher ever having opened -a door to be suddenly doused with cold water by means of a very clever device above the door, This playful little trick has never been known to happen. N Since we, seem tohave started on the subject ofuteachers, we might as well continue to the bitter end.. They are very seldom tyrannical, unjust, and awe- inspiring. They very seldom have thin lips and black cotton stockings. Really, some of.them are very human, they eveiiilplay bridge and wear silk hosiery. VVe do not play around all day strumming ukuleles, reading novels, and eat- ing chocolates. VVe follow well-ordered schedules, and chocolates are fattening. VVe don't even spend our afternoons at bridge, after the first three weeks of our busy life, we become .so accustomed tohtearing through the days that, when the machinery suddenly stops at vacation time, all, its poor little cogs, of humanity are thrown out into the worldsof Leisure, with no preparation for the Great Strain of answering the question: l1Vhat shall I do next? School life is so or- dered that each piece in the machinery fits. Life in a boarding school is really . lg ,X U Thirty ! w l 4 1 4 much happier than it is pictured. NVhen these days are over and we go from the mad, busy, yet ordered whirl of boarding school out into that greater, madder whirl of life, we carry with us lasting friendships and happy memories. fr ' I MURIEL LEE SMITH. ' A Regular Irregular Qde I know that many poets in the past Have written lofty-sounding dissertations, That many noble sonnets were addressed Unto the birds whence came their inspirations. Let Shelley sing of nightingales and skylarks, I write of a more humble sort of bird, XfVl10SC voice inspires not by melodious cadence, But in loud squawkings is most often heard. I sit in study hall and chew my pencil, I ponder, cogitate, and chew some more, Then for a change I look out of the window- Just lessons, studies, problems, books galore! But sometimes, staring blindly out my window, I watch that flock of chickens, all are white But one be-draggled, bob-tailed, old brown rooster, Wfho fights for his own share with all his might. Around him the fat Leghorns, sleek and snowy, Rush squawking for the corn at the gardener's call, Yet while they squabble 'mongst themselves for one grain The clever rum steps in and gets it all, And so, when bored with studies, tired of working, I watch my little friend across the street, My still persisting, cheerful inspirationg Then, shamed, I work till lessons are complete. EDITH JAYNE. Thirty-one 4- --H pf -Ya, Wk AUTOGRAPHS r U fax xii Sb 'W-1 WM i5 Q S 'L N-1 Yu M i . , f , .XA 'R . :N 'V , J