Cumnock School - Chronicle Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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CONFESSIONS OF A CUMNOCK GIRL By O. Winchcrum O'Hill It was spring. I was young, vibrant, alive with gloriousness of life. It was then that my parents decided to send me to Cumnock. Little did they know then of what was to happen to me. Ah, how gay I was, how bubbling, how innocent. And I had so many new clothes. There were the thrilling days ahead, the buying of the tickets, the tearful farewells, the train trip, and then, one beautiful morning, I stood in the hall of Cumnock -just a mere girl on the threshold of life. Soon I was inducted into the dormitory. They were kind to me, but I know now that they must have smiled at my innocent naivete. How little I knew, how much I was to learn there! My roommate's name was Ermin- trude. She was very sophisticated. She laughed at my childish ways, and promised to show me life as it is. My, it was so wonderful. How blind I was! How little did I realize then the pitfalls ahead of mel Then I met him one morning in my English class. The class blurred into nothing as I became aware of the swarthy boy whose soulful eyes drank in my angelic beauty. It was love at first sight. We were introduced by a mutual friend. He asked me to go to the mixer. It was all so new, so different, so thrilling. We danced together, our souls merging in a glorious paroxysm of platonic love. For a few short weeks we were happy, then one morning I overheard the other girls talking about us. Poor kid, they said, little does she dream that she is his tenth love. Even as poor Desdemona succumbed to his Latin charms last semes- ter, so will she, said another. Furious, I swept into the room, demanding retractions. But they were not forthcoming. Kindly, they told me the bitter, bitter truth. l was crushed. But slowly my torn heart mended, the wound within me healed. Then I met the Cumnock splash. He was the campus hero. Mighty, strong, manly, and powerful-his quick wit made him the idol of the campus. He took me in his strong arms and showed me the raw love of the athlete. We whizzed about from party to party in his snappy Dusen- lContinued on page l29I IZ6

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DEATH IN THE DORM By Darcy McNutt Drip! Drip! Great crimson pools of blood oozed on to the gray carpet of the little room. Drip! Drip! The grotesquely sprawled figure draped over the desk was still warm, but life had left scarcely an hour before. Foot- steps echoed in the dimly-lit halls of the dormitory. The measured tread grew in volume as the approaching person reached the door of the room of horror, knocked, then opened the door. Then a scream . . . voices. . . lights . . . telephones . . . There's been a murder over in the girls' dorm, stated Maurice Ma- curda, the celebrated criminologist. He fitted a cigarette into a long amber tube and seemed wholly absorbed in the process, which he performed with great care. Oh yeah? I replied, rather tritely. You are so incredibly naive, chided the detective. He arose from the satin divan and exchanged his silk lounging robe for a tweed coat. Let's stroll over and look at the clues. lose, a huge and sinister Mongolian, glowered darkly as he showed us to the cold, cold drawing room lit was after twelve and the heat was off! where the disheveled group of suspects was gathered. Mrs. Hovey ap- proached us, her face ashen. lt's moider! she hissed. They were all upset. Miss Hardison had the jitters and was chewing her fingernails, completely unpoised. Who-whom-who- Maurice looked to see if Mrs. Woody was around. Who? Maryanna! muttered Elinor McKeel through her bridgework. Absurd! Impossible! snapped Maurice, shifting his eagle eyes upon a silent red head. lHe had a weakness for red heads.i What do YOU know about this? She can't speak English , volunteered Lois. Nope, not a single word, affirmed Gloria. The motive is obvious, thundered a massive voice. It was the cele- brated psychologist, Verna. Gardner developed an acute Electra complex lContinued on page I28I l25

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THE RIDER FROM GUMNOCK GULCH By Chenowith von Scrimtummi A bunch of the boys were whooping it up at McDonnell's bar. They were all there, Rusty Robbins, the Cumnock Splash: Ole Doc Spier, Weaver, the bartender, Henry Sorge, who ran the delicatesseng Dead-Eye Huebenerg and the rest of them, when suddenly the swinging doors opened, and a tall figure stood in the door. A hush fell on the room, and instinctively each man reached for his gun, for it was none other than Two-Gun Graham, the terror of Bar 44 ranch. Hullo, thar, Two-Gun, said Slicker Hankey, the faro dealer, trying to keep a calm face as his hand fingered his .45. Nobody move and yuh won't get hurt none, snarled Graham, his eyes taking in everything in the room. Now, Lennox, said judge Macurda, one eye on his shotgun, Behave yourself. Dynamite Carnahan was crawling under the table with Peewee Bone, and Hardrock Hall had snuck out of the back window and was riding for the sheriff. A deadly silence fell over the room with a smash. All except two fellers in the corner, what was talking. One of them was old Dad Cox, the owner of Bar 20056. The other was a furriner-some city slicker. I'm a-lookin fer a feller named AxeIson, yelled Graham, and when I git him I'm going to ventilate him proper-like . . Terrible! shouted Miss Hardison. Take it again and put more life into it. This second act is lousy! l27