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Page 25 text:
man toog but now it seemed long,
long ago that I had moved in that in-
significant circle and had so much
as acknowledged those known as my
predecessors. Could I possibly have
been as tiny as this swarming mass
about me? I thought I had known so
much. Could it have been that I too
was ignorant of all but thex basic
fundamentals? Helping these be-
wildered and frightened newcomers
was just one of my many added tasks.
But oh! what a glorious task it was.
Here was my chance to let everyone
know that I was a Senior. Here was
my opportunity to direct and com-
mand, and inwardly 'to wonder at the
helplessness of the new generation
that was following in thefootsteps of
this wonderful Senior class -of mine.
Could these wee mites in their pres-
ent apparent stupidity ever rise to
the station of a Senior possessing all
the knowledge that was mine on this
first day of my Senior A term.
As this class holds elections, and
plans for graduation, my thoughts
are reaching ahead to the last week
of my four years of high school. That
week, which will be filled to over-
flowing with luncheons, parties, and
programs, is the one which all girls
dream of. We wonder who will come
out first? We wonder who will win
the English cup? These questions are
foremost in the minds of my class-
mates and me as we anxiously await
honor day and graduation. The ma-
jority of the girls in my class have
spent their entire four years at Mc-
Main and we are all held together
by the bond of human friendship
which comes from close association
through the years. '
We are the class of '45, and in
graduating will separate to go in
many directions, moving towards our
individual goals. Some will go. on to
finish their education in the various
universities and colleges of the na-
tion. Many will enter the business
By Mary Nell Dorman, '45
HAVING more than the usual share
of wisdom and comprehension,
I have taken it upon myself to in-
struct those slow minded creatures
who compose a large part of my pres-
ent English class upon the art of
writing essays. Recently I was ask-
ed to broadcast my views upon the
subject over the Purple Network but
decided to postpone my address, not
deeming it right to enlighten the
world before giving my own beloved
classmates of lower mental capacities
than myself the benefit of my erudi-
So, at this point I shall begin, hop-
ing that you will pay the most duti-
ful attention to very word. Believe
me, great things are in store for you:
greater, indeed, than brighter minds
could reasonably comprehend. Per-
haps, though, you have already read
my short stories, poetic works, bi-
ographies, and histories, and are al-
ready brimming over with uncontroll-
able enthusiasm and passionate fer-
vor at the prospect of being inspired,
and lifted to the- heights of joy by
the heart warming style with which
I convey even the most d-ull and
monotonous facts written by learned
men of former ages.
Let me, before getting into the
heart of the subject, present my
views upon the work of the noted
essayists of the past. It is the honest
and firm opinion of the writer that
those essays of Carlyle, Lamb, Hux-
ley, and others are too difficult to
be read by those of your ability. lf
there are passages which you don't
understand after looking up the more
difficult words in the dictionary I
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words are then merrily dashed off ,
when, suddenly and without warning, I
all thoughts cease and the writer is
at a loss for words. Commonly this
is regarded as only a temporary slow- --
ing down of the brain to allow the '
pose. Approximately two hundred
. , if
befuddled thing to collect some new
ideas. But alas, after some time has .
been spent in fruitless struggle, the
harassed essayist ordinarily decides '-137
that the right text wasn't chosen,
whereupon he very rashly. but cere- , 5--
moniously tears the parchment into JT'
a thousand tiny bits and chunks it .
into the wastebasket, thinking it a
good riddance. This only goes to A- if-N
show how inexperienced and un- -'
patriotic the penman is. If only he '
knew the? injusticelhe had done him-
self! Had he donated the paper to
the scrap drive he might have been .ff
able to recover it. - Lf.
Directly succeeding this incident A
the unhappy person seats himself ',-,-.E
and, after much more deliberation .-
than before, begins anew. This time ,
he writes only a page of witty and 1
beautiful statements, when to his dis-
may, he finds himself in the same A 'Big
predicament as beforeg he finds that I 'gtg
he knows no more about How To
Raise an Orchid Bush in the Back-
yard than he knew of The In- 'V
tricacies of the Japanese Language. ' fi .,,. ,
He then recalls the fate of the first
essay. But with all his wishing he
cannot bring it back. At this time I
should suggest that the author have
someone near to restrain him from -,
some desperate action.. '
Unknowingly the poor writer thinks -
all his trouble is caused by too much - igjftil
noise. What he needs, he erroneously
thinks, is solitary confinement. Since
it is beyond the power of the un-
fortunate individual to make 'the
neigbbor's baby refrain from exercis- I
ing his lungs he retreats to the park., gf'
But never' does it enter his mind to 'iii
give upg no, not under any condi-
world. In years to come the gap be- Shall be glad to 9-USW91' all inquiries- tions. After about three attempts, Qfi
tween us will widen as we follow dif- fThGI'6 is T10 cost iY1V01V9d- Merely and then returning home, it sudden- i
ferent paths. In years to come, some Semi 3 Stamped, Selfmddressed en' ly dawns upon thewriter that his ,
few will be forgotten in the turmoil V910De and enclose two T00.tSle Cereal teacher precisely said to make an jj,-if
of an everchanging world. In years t0PSl- outline. My sympathy lies with the f L. Qfjl,
to come, memories willgrow dim and Before beginning the writing of miserable character. Can't you See I
mental pictures fadeg but many years the essay proper, the log-ical thing to him, sitting at his study table, his nj V -.
from now, when others are graduat- ,do is to choose a subject. This is hair tousled, gazing wearily at the.
ing from high school, I shall look much more difficult thanlit sounds. pages and pages before him, some'
back and remember the year when I One usuauy has about ten or twelve crumpled, others with half the Words, '
crossed the threshold of McMain to Subjects in mind. gnly after much blotted out and many marginal notes?
enter the world at large. serious reflection is it decided which Yet all this energy was exerted for fzff
- Jean Burnett 45. of these- best suits the writer's pur- fContinued on page'50j .. I
E-C-H-O-E-S 1 V ' Twenty-three E
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Page 24 text:
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The Ages .
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- Great captains, with their guns and
Disturb our judgment for the hours,
But at last silence comesf,
These all are gone, and, standing like a
Our children shall behold his fame
The kindly, earnest, brave, foreseeing
Sagacions, patient, dreading praise r:o!
New birfb of our new soil,
The First American.
HAVE you ever wanted to meet a
man of the ages, one existing
only in books and in the minds and
hearts of the people of this genera-
tion? This inclination is not a fancv
which will soon fade away to become
an obsession, for a thought like this
penetrates into one's mind until it
becomes a torment. Ever since the
dav I realized the importance of a
history book I have admired one of
the truly great men, Abraham Lin-
coln. He fought to preserve the Un-
ion for which we are now fighting:
he considered the necessity of prov-
ing that popular government is not
an absurdity. Had not it been for his
tragic death, he would have lived to
see his dreams materialized. For it
seems he'was sacrificed during the
time his services were most needed.
If he had lived, what would have
been his desires for this country, and
how could such a seemingly unattain-
able goal be reached? Question upon
question-could they be answered?
They were, or at least, my mind un-
derstood to a greater extent this
statesman, whose hands had helped to
tie together the bonds of a broken
About sunset one afternoon. I lay
on my bed letting my eyes wander to
the ceiling. At my first glance I saw
a rough place in the yellow-lined
iwallpaper, caused from the damp
weather, but as I continued to stare,
my eyes focussed upon something en-
wtirely different. The rough place
gradually formed into a huge hill,
and the lines were paths leading to
the top. To my surprise, I was
.ascending one of these paths toward
aitall, lean, angular man, who seemed
to appear from nowhere and walk in
my direction. Upon reaching me, he
gently took my hand, and we started
walking to the top, which seemed so
far away in the distance. I looked up
and completely observed my compan-
ion. He wore tails and his face was
lean, with many small lines: his hair
was 'tousled by the wind. When I
finally caught my breath I asked-
And so at last I meet you, Mr.
Lincoln? I have come a long way.
He nodded with a smile, and that
smile transformed his face into one
of kindliness, sincerity, honesty, and
wisdom! His voice, when he spoke,
was not shrill, but low and calm.
Yes, my dear, you have come
from a world of war. Oh! will there
never cease to be wars! My memory
recalls another war. One night many
years ago I stood by a window look-
ing out at the soldiers marching
home, tired and worn. That moment
I wanted dreadfully to be a young
man again, reading law by pitchpine
light with friendliness of the people
around me. But Tim waits for no
man as its passes sp edily on. Soon
I was no longer called Abe Lincoln
of Illinois, but 'President Lincoln.
Then out of the stillness of the dawn,
cannons boomed, and soldiers march-
ed away to fight. These soldiers
fought to vindicate the principles of
self-government. They knew in their
hearts that the conflict would be a
lasting one. They fought and died!
Homes were broken, leaving only the
weeping families! The thing I was
forced to do was right, yet it troubled
me to the end. .
'All persons held as slaves within
such designated states and parts of
states are, and hence forward shall
be free! '
But the land had to be free: the
North and South had to be free.
These soldiers below my window
slunk homeward, doubting victory.
My heart felt for the South, and I
longed for it to emerge from the
deep dark depths of oblivion to hold
its head up again. It has been a long,
hard struggle, but it overcame this
obstacle. My wishes were carried out
indirecuy by the leaders who 'fol-
lowed in my footsteps. '
Again to-day a dark cloud has
passed over as war emerged from
selfishness and desire for power on
-the part of so many people. The re-
maining people fought because they
wanted to protect something dear
to them. That something' needs no
. ' ' . V,-xi, I. .fxgix-fz, ,ay
explanation, K for the' simple Word,
freedom, means so much in itself.
The names of Bull Run, Gettysburg,
Vicksburg, Appomattox, shall always
ring in my ears as Tarawa, Iwo Jima,
Guam, D-Day, Guadalcanal, shall
ring in yours. Yet, in our hearts we
'That, these dead shall not have
died in vaing that this nation under
God, shall have a new birth of free-
dom, and that the government of the
people, by the people, for the people,
shall not perish from this earth? 5'
As though some unseen hand had
dismissed me, I slowly descended the
hillside, and at the bottom I turned
and looked up for one last glimpse of
this man of the ages, ,who gave
such a clear conception of the pres-
ent. He waved when he saw me glance
back, and as quickly as he had come
he disappeared, for I was staring at
the yellow-lined wallpaper on the
ceiling. I did meet him, though, if
only in adream!
Lenore Monnot '45,
ON that first day of my Senior A
term, I woke with only one
thought: I was finally on the last
lap of my Senior year. To think that
in only a little over four months I
should be graduating was almost too
much. I sank back on my pillow to
enjoy the deliciousness of contempla-
tion, only to be interrupted a few
minutes later by the sound of Moth-
er's voice asking, Are you never
going to get up? I was so excited I
could scarcely dressy but the clock
ticked menacingly 'on, and I knew
that I must not be late on this of all
My arrival at the school was
greeted byfa chorus of voices, Senior
A voices, welcoming others and my-
self into their smug, complacent
group. Four years had taken its toll
and those who were left had won
their places as Seniors with blood,
sweat, and tears. We had at last
reached the top and. quite naturally
expected all to wonder at the marvel-
ous new Seniors. But those' other
students of lower rank, walked right'
by, quite happily oblivious of our
thrilling status, not realizing that
our joy could not be drowned by
their ignoring- us. ' ' '-
'I had. once been an underclass-
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Page 26 text:
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By Georgia Fischer, '45
IT has been said, Your personality
is revealed through- your hand-
shake . Therefore great pains should
be taken to achieve such a handshake
that will cause everybody to know
that the performer has the finestper-
sonality ever. This can be done bv
observing many people'-s handshake-s
and benefiting by their mistakes.
First, there is the Bone-breaking
Handshaken. This is usually the
greeting from a happy, red-faced
gentleman who enjoy-s food and ob-
viously eats plenty of it. He will
walk up to you, a broad smile on his
shining face. and with Aa gentle pat
on his back, which leaves you breath-
less, he grabs your hand in a vise-
like grip and swings it up and down
until your face grows pale and your
weak admonishings are finally under-
stood. For the next four or five
minutes, as you slowly regain your
former composure, you are besieged
by the heroic account of your com-
panion's last fishing trip during which
he, of course, played the leading role.
Occasionally, too. as he pauses in
his exciting tale it is up to you to
or Nah . Finally.
as his eye falls on another victim.
you get another pound on the back
and a hearty good-bye. As soon as
your companion's back is turned all
attention rivets to the hand. You
massage it with great care and hope
never to meet his kind again.
Then there is the Cold-fish Hand-
shake . This greeting is typical of
simply delightful ladies who, after
shaking an uncountable number of
hands at their social gatherings simu-
ly cease to exert pressure atgall. If
you have ever had this gruesome ex-
perience you know what an empty,
lost feeling you get when expecting a
responsive return you suddenly find
yourself holding an inanimate object
which 'refuses to react at any cost.
Finally you drop the hand with an
expression of mild disgust, politely
mutter au-revoir and continue on
your way. '
g A handshake that, if you care much
about tact and good manners in -so-
ciety, will throw you .off your guard
completely, is the 'fMight-have-been
Handshaken. A hostess at a U.S.O.
dance, for instance, comes in con-
tact with this type only too often.
Knowing that a lady should always
put her hand out first, she politely
extends hers and waits for a response.
A few seconds pass and becoming
puzzled her gaze rises from a tightly
clenched fist up a stiffly starched
sleeve to a slightly rounded shoulder
and finally to a freshly scrubbed face
of a young soldier only to discover
his eyes intently observing what the
younger generation would call a
slick chick . She withdraws her
hand with a patient sigh and moves
on to greet another G.I. Joe.
There is also the Ill-mannered
Handshaken. Only members of the
stronger sex are guilty of this mis-
take. Sometimes, when, trying to
make a good impression on a lovely
lady, he is a little too eager and ex-
tends his hand first. The lady whom
he is so rudely addressing looks down
on him with disdain in her hard eyes
and coldly moves away. ,
Last, but surely not least is the
Correct Handshakeu. This greeting
should be the aim of every person.
In it is expressed with true sincerity
one's happiness and pleasure at meet-
ing or seeing again an old friend.
The best example of this handshake
is the 'strong clasp of a minister who,
at peace with all the world, endeavors
to extend his true happiness to others.
With this thought, I conclude, and I
leave it to you, reader, to decide
which of these handshakes applies to
Georgia Fischer, 45.,
I n Writing
By Barbara Terry, 45
ERRIE, Weezie, Johnny, Dot, Jon-
sie, June-golly, shall I ever finish
answering these letters? Just as
soonas I getone written, another
one drops through the mail-slit in the
door to the rug beneath, and I begin
the cycle all over again. Now, mind
you, I'm not complaining 'about re-
ceiving mailg it's only the fact that
getting a letter means answering a
letter, and that alone ,is my com-
. I don't know why, but every time I
sit down to write a short letter, I
always end with a manuscript of
about :six pages, and a bad case of
write1j's cramp. Where I get all the
ideas to fill that much space is be-
yond me. I often wonder what the
person who receives the letter thinks
as he contemplates the pages. Does
he think, Oh, joy! Another nice,
long letter from Whoozit! Or does
he despairingly remark, Will she
ever quit writing long letters? Now
I'll have to sit down and rack my
brain to find news enough to answer
her. Or is he the third type, whose
only remark is, N'uts! This is the
type of person who never answers
This third type includes the person
who will never write a thank-you
note, because he doesn't know what
to say. Anyway, he thinks the send-
er of such a beautiful present should
know he likes it, so what's the use of
going to the trouble of 'writing a
thank-you note? After a while he
receives no more presents or cards,
and wonders what has happened to
all his former friends.
The more common type in this
category, however, is the person who
receives a lengthly epistle from a
very dear friend whom we'1l call
Ben . Ben begins his letter with,
I haven't heard from you in a long
time, and ends with Write soon,
of course expecting a long letter in
return. But he doesn't reckon with
our dear friend, the more common
type. This person thinks to him-
self, Pd better wait a little bitfbe-
fore I write him, so that I can gather
some news to make my answer long-
er. So he Waits, and week after
week passes. Finally, his conscience
begins to bother him, and he decides
he had better write the thing and get
it over with. As he sits at his desk,
pen in hand, doubts begin' to assail
him and he wonders whether dear
old Ben still lives in Detroit. Maybe
his firm has transferred him to Kan-
sas City. That's where he was the
last time I wrote, he remembers.
Or maybe he's been drafted. He
did say something about it in his let-
ter. That's it! I-Ie's been drafted!
It won't do any good to write to him
now. It'll take too long to catch
up. I'll just wait till he writes again
and tell me his new address. So,
his conscience eased by this effort,
unsuccessful though it was, he goes
blithely about his business. He likes
Ben! Surely, he's one of his very
best friends. But they've been separ-
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