Eleanor McMain High School - Echoes Yearbook (New Orleans, LA)
- Class of 1945
Page 27 of 68
Page 27 of 68
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Page 27 text:
“
41 3, ,
.R . x l-r, Mx,
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un.-, .
atedl now for over a year, and it's
such a task to have to write all he
wants to say.
But now let's take 'a look at poor
Benq Ben is one of those rare per-
sons who in their spare moments,
further obligate their friends by
sending added news in an unreadable
scrawl. Never a day goes by that
Ben doesn't write a letter, but seldom
are his friends as quick in answering
him. Because his love of letter writ-
ing is known so well, his friends
never think of answering him until
they have received three or four let-
ters. Some, like the person about
whom we've just spoken, never
answer him at allg but this never
bothers Ben. He knows how hard it
is for some people to write letters,
and how all people love to receive
them, so he keeps on writing. There
aren't very many people who really
appreciate Ben, but the few who do
treasure his letters and write to him
as often as they can.
While I have dissertated upon
the two extremes in letter writing,
I've not mentioned the person who
is in between. There really isn't
much to say about him, for this per-
son, if given enough time, will gen-
erally answer all the letters he re-
ceives and loves to make new friends
numerous to mention in this paper.
so that heican write to them ffor a
little while at leastl. This character
is the average letter-writer, and there
we shall let it rest, for every person
has his idiosyncracies, which are too
In addition to the few general
types of letter writer given above,
there are many special styles. Many
persons, in fact, are in, a class by
themselves, but there isn't room in
this paper to mention them. I But in'
closing let me say that this essay
has made me more conscious of my
own letter writing, and that of my
friends. I wish we could see one
an'other's faces, and watch the chang-
ing expressions as we read our let-
ters. I'm sure it would be a sight
to behold. Next time you receive
a letter, remember your reaction, and
when you meet your friend, compare
notes with him as to his reaction
when he received one of your letters.
I imagine that there would be many
surprises if we really did such a
thing. And, it might make us more
careful of what we say. K V
Barbara Terry, '45.
E-GH-O-E-S I
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A arblcs
By Anne Gulledge
IN the spring a young man's fancy
lightly turns to thoughts of love,
but a young boy's fancy turns to
marbles. When the March winds
come roaring and capering through
the towns, theitrees are covered with
verdure, and the dainty spring flow-
ers sprightly nod their bonneted
heads at each passerbyg a young
boy's pockets are' filled with many
things-tops and kitestring, but, espe-
cially marbles. What a reverie of en-
chanting thoughts comes to your
mind of those miniature balls of mul-
tifarious colored marble, which are
not really marble, but glass. Breathes
there a man in these United States
who has never played an exciting
game of marbles, or does not even
proudly boast that he once played
marbles?
Of course, everyone knows that
the object of this thrilling game is to
knock the marbles out-of the ring.
A great majority of the American
youths play the commonly known
game of ringers, but there are ap-
proximately twenty-Hve other varia-
tions of this 'popular game. There are
a number of rules, which are often
quite as complicated as those in foot-
ball, but they vary from time to
time, therefore, there is no reason
either to confuse or bore the reader
here with any complicated instruc-
tions on how to win a marble tourna-
ment or how to play marbles. You
may secure the principal rules from
any school boy.
We have heard from some old
legend, which was told by an an-
tiquated yarn-spinner, who is now
both obscure in our memory and
moldering into dust, that George
Washington and Thomas Jefferson
M omin g
Dorothy Brisbi, '45
The first morning .runbeams slipped
b through the trees,
As :be sky in the east turned gold.
.Rosy-edged clouds in splendor proclaimed
The beauty of God for men to 'bebol:l.
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ranked among the best
players of their time. Forthis, reason
many Americans probably believe: -fl'
that marbles are just as American
as the corner drugstore andthe sun- .,
dae, but this is not true. The child-'1 -
hood game of marbles dates backito'
antiquity and is common to all peo- 'A
ples. Although the origin is shadow-K fi g,
ed with doubt, we 'often find a clue, W
if we search diligentlyfand far enough A 'F
back into history. ,
Some have the firm opinion' that - A
it was a marble, instead of a pebble, V il
that little David used in his celebrat-I ,gigs
ed clash with the giant Goliath. Per- K H-if
haps this is true. Who can be the 94
judge? Marbles have been found in if
the time-defying pyramids of the
Egyptian pharaohs. When the Colon- f '31-1
ists landed at Plymouth Rock the .--1-.ig
elusive Indians were playing their 'F
version of marbles with round stones s
in the cool, green depths of the shady
forests. Their game was strangely '
similar to the one which our fore- A,
fathers had played in merry England ' '31 R,-
for an unknown number of centures.
Yet, we cannot give the English the ' '
credit for marbles. We do not know 1
who brought the first marbles to . Q
Britain, but it could easily have been ,
the stalwart Romans, who were lured '-
to Engiand by the white chalk cliffs'
in fifty-five B. C. In the highly
advanced and civilized 'Roman nation
nuts were frequently used for mar-
bles. However, we must not assume
that the ancient Roman was the
father of marbles, because the Mound
Builders in the New World placed.
marbles, along with their other valued
possessions, in their mounds in order
to still possess them when they ar-
rived at the Happy Hunting Grounds.
We, likewise, have proof that the
Aztecs of Mexico and the Mayas of
Yucatan and Guatemala played mar-
bles. You may argue that scientists
generally think that the ancestors of
the Indians originally came, from
Asia, crossed the Bering Straits to
Alaska, and gradually roamed and n
drifted southward somewhere be-
tween twelve thousand and twenty
thousand years ago.
Every man must have his own
opinions, therefore, I merely 'place
these crumbling bits of evidence, at,
your disposal in order that you finay '
weigh and consider them, and, after'
much consideration, make your own -
decision concerning this age-old
mystery. ' 'al
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Page 26 text:
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On Handshakes
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.
interject ooh
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-
Twenty-four '
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
you. .
Georgia Fischer, 45.,
I n Writing
Letters
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-
plaint. E
. 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
letters.
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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Page 28 text:
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By Rose Marie Letten, '45
THE actual finding of a bargain, an
advantageous. purchase, is seldom
the result of the tiring experience of
bargain hunting. Bargain hunting
may well be defined as a transaction
or event involving good or bad conse-
quences , usually involving the lat-
ter. For examplei let us consider the
experience of a certain Mrs. Jones.
Mrs. Jones rises one bright spring
morning without even the slightest
notion of what is in store for her
that day. Drowsily she picks up the
morning news and scans its pages
with herhalf-opened eyes. She is in
the midst of a very wide yawn, when
suddenly something catches her eye
'which immediately stirs her interest.
those words which always bring a
thrill to the hearts of economic house-
wives- Big Bargain Sale .
Thought after thought goes buz-
zing through Mrs. Jones's now wide
awake brain as to when the store
opens, how long it will take to get
there, whom to get to stay with the
baby, and how much time she has.
After quickly glancing at her watch,
she heaves a sigh, for that glance'
has told her she has but forty-five
minutes. Her mathematical mind be-
gins functioning and in a few seconds
she has conceived that she has to al-
low at least twenty-five minutes for
the ride to town, leaving the slight
sum of only twenty minutes to get
ready.
The rush is on! She dashes to the
phone and after getting the wrong
number. and the busy signal several
times, she finally gets in touch with
the girl next door, who agrees to
stay with Junior. To help matters,
Junior begins to cry' and after run-
ning back to his room, Mrs. Jones
finds him on the floor, where he had
fallen trying to climb out of his crib.
When she has sufficiently soothed
him, she hurries to dress. Finally
she is ready and dashes out of the
house, giving Mary Jane lastminute
instructions on how to care for
Junior. ' ' '
Mrs. Jones, half lrunning, half
walking, makes her way' to the car
line. Just as she reaches the stop,
a car goes whizzing by, leaving her
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7
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standing there a bit disgusted. After
a few minutes' Wait, 'she catches the
next car. Nervously she glances at
her watch every few minutes, won-
dering whether or not she will arrive
in time. On and on the street car
creepsg Mrs. Jones has reached town.
Hurriedly she makes her wav down
the crowded street, dodging this per-
son and running into the next, until
she reaches the store which is having
the sale. .
Just as she reaches the entrance of
the store where hundreds of other
bargain hunters are waiting to cnt-er,
the bell rings and the doors swing
open. As a fish is drawn into a
wild, spinning whirlpool, so Mrs.
Jones is drawn into the even wilder
crowd. She elbows her way through
as best shecan saying, Excuse me ,
in her most polite manner when she
has jabbed someone in the ribs fac-
cidentally, of coursej.
Since the shoe sale, the one which
she is interested in, is on the second
floor, she has the perplexing problem
of getting into an elevator. Several
times just as she is about to step into
an elevator, the operator calls out
in a very sweet tone, Next car,
please ! At last Mrs. Jones success-
fully makes her way into an elevator
and feebly says, Second floor,
please .
Having reached the second floor,
she peers around for the shoe tablesi
She has now arrived on the outskirts
of the crowd surrounding what she
has found to be the shoe tables. Since
she cannot see the shoes for the
crowd, she decides to shove her arm
through and grasp whatever shoe she
can get her hands on. '
After many unsuccessful attempts
to and quite a few embarrassing sit-
uations, our Mrs. Jones finally gets
hold of a shoe. On examining it she
finds it to be her size, the color she
wants, and the right style, just the
thing for her Easter outfit. But, oh,
my, Mrs. Jones then realizes that she
has but one shoeg the other must be
found. The struggle with the crowd
is on again. Attempt after attempt
is unsuccessful, but to Mrs. Jones's
delight, she finally finds the mate
tothe shoe.
Now there remains but one prob-
lem, that of getting someone to wait
on her. What a problem it is, with
so many people and so few sales-
girls! Mrs. Jones waits, and waits,
and waits some more, until finally,
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just before she collapses from sheer
exhaustion, a salesgirl comes to her-
aid. In a few seconds the package
is wrapped and handed to her Kmaybe
thrown at ,her would express it bet-'
terl.
'Wearily our Mrs. Jones makes her
way out of the store, carrying her
precious bundle and for the first time
in ,hours breathes in some good fresh
air. I
Having stood up all the way on
the street car, Mrs. Jones at last
reaches her home in most exhausted
condition. Feebly she opens the door
and throws her weary self down to
rest on the lounge. After relaxing
for a few minutes, Mrs. Jones decides
to take a good look at her prize pack-
age. As she opens the wrapper,
thoughts of the wonderful bargain
she has found, and how lovely the
shoes will look with her new outfit
float through her mind.
Eagerly she opens the lid of the
box, folds back the inside paper, and
--1 Mrs. Jones sinks down
against the back of the lounge, heav-
ing a sigh of woe, the tears about to
roll down her forlorn face.-1
She has been given the wrong pack-
age.
The Art Of
Floundcrling
Marie Louise Tureau, '45 .
THE joy of seeing the cool, clear,
water shining like diamonds under
Diana's gentle beams: the lucid sands
of numerous colorsg the dull green
sea weed that playfully clings to
your legs 3 the empty flounder-beds
that mark the once temporary home
of that fish-those among' other
things are the pleasures of flounder-.
ing. In competition with the moon
above, I carried the glowing death
torch of the flounder-the light that
will lead the way to the hiding place
of my prey. The sharp spear, pa-
tiently awaiting the sight of its vic-
tim, glitters wickedly under the
watchful eye of Venus and the Big ' g
Bear. The waters part at my every
step, revealing schools of fishes hur-
rying as though 'they were going to
a bargain sale. At closer observation,
I saw orange luminous lights, ,darting
through the waters like greased light-
ning. It is these shrimp that are pur-
sued by masses of leaping mullets
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Suggestions in the Eleanor McMain High School - Echoes Yearbook (New Orleans, LA) collection:
Are you trying to find old school friends, old classmates, fellow servicemen or shipmates? Do you want to see past girlfriends or boyfriends? Relive homecoming, prom, graduation, and other moments on campus captured in yearbook pictures. Revisit your fraternity or sorority and see familiar places. See members of old school clubs and relive old times. Start your search today!
Looking for old family members and relatives? Do you want to find pictures of parents or grandparents when they were in school? Want to find out what hairstyle was popular in the 1920s? E-Yearbook.com has a wealth of genealogy information spanning over a century for many schools with full text search. Use our online Genealogy Resource to uncover history quickly!
Are you planning a reunion and need assistance? E-Yearbook.com can help you with scanning and providing access to yearbook images for promotional materials and activities. We can provide you with an electronic version of your yearbook that can assist you with reunion planning. E-Yearbook.com will also publish the yearbook images online for people to share and enjoy.