Dominican Convent High School - Veritas Yearbook (San Rafael, CA)

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FRESHMEN CLASS Pwuiderrr . . . . . MauooTKaLLurr Vice-Pr'erider2t . . . . . . RossaTaDsVaLurss Serr'einr'y . . . . joan PATTERSON Trearrner . . . ...... Hruuunr Lsvnv ,, R l We We arrived in eager anticipation and with high ambitions, and as the year draws to a close, we lcok both forward and back-forward with hope of three more successful years, and back to the memory of a very happy one. True to tradition, we had a good time, with no thoughts for the consequences. But to balance our conduct, our scholarship has been of the best. We won live gold ribbons in one month! There have been varied activities this year, our Baby Party, dinner and picnic being the most outstanding. All in all, our year has been very happy and fruitful. Pr'erider1t ni... Mauoor Karma

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M Y FIRST SCHOOL joAN Baawnrr-TAYLOR, '41 Often, when I look back upon my early childhood, in the days when I Hrst began creeping like snail, unwillingly to school, I think of the little school I first attended. It was not the proverbial little old schoolhouse in the valley, it was a private house, grey and gloomy to the front, gay and sunny behind, and it was kept by two sisters, the Misses Ward. The eldest Miss Ward was tall, with greying hair that flew out in curling wisps from her comb, and she did not smile very often for she was never very well. As I remember her, she dressed always in brown, with a crocheted lace shawl about her shoulders. In her childhood, she had witnessed the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria. But Miss Vera-. Miss Vera was tall and thin and her face was pink and jolly. Her black hair was wound in thick braids about her head and clasped at the back with a tortoise-shell comb. When she laughed, the skin about her brown eyes crinkled up like the paper cups in a chocolate box and her whole face twinkled. She took charge of the gymnasium, and I remember well the class on Thursday afternoons, in the summer. Miss Vera, clad in black tunic, high white blouse and long black stockings, takes her place by the jumping stands and one by one the plump little boys and girls straggle over. Every now and then theirod falls off the top and there is a rush to re-erect it. And I see myself, early barred from further competition, keeping score beneath the lilac, it is warm and soothing and I forget about the score as I watch the bright Red Admiral butter- flies fluttering about the lilac, and the green pines above. Late in July the school held a garden-sale and sold the accumulated craft work of the year. The crowning delight was, of course, to serve at the candy counter, and I can still taste, in retrospect, the sticky pink and white cocoanut ice that disappeared so quickly. After the sale there was a rush for the meadow', where our long-suffering parents sat in the broiling sun while their progeny wiggled through sacks and put up umbrellas in the obstacle race, and balanced a precarious egg in the egg-and-spoon marathon, and then went up, breathlessly triumphant, for prizes. How well I remember the Christmas pageants, those familiar kindergarten plays, with their frequent hitches and minor discords! It is fun to recall the excitement of the costumes and the strange appearance of the schoolroom, half curtained off, half choked with chairs, and the little girl dressed as an eskimo who was forced to sit alone upon a chair until her entrance came, because her cotton-wool costume moulted. There was the little boy, too, who got stage-fright and muttered his lines, head down, hands stuffed in pockets, prompted with agonizing agitation from behind the scenes.

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