Faulkner School for Girls - Kismet Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

Page 20 text:

To My Mice Ah, little mice, it’s to thee I sing— The ones who pains to others bring When you scat across the floor, Or, perchance, peer ’round the door. You nibble here and nibble there, And people always wonder where You put most of their crumbs and food Is it all taken back to your hungry brood? You’re welcome to the cheese I put in the trap If only you won’t scratch when I’m tak- ing a nap; So scamper home to your hidden nest And, for Pete‘s sake, let me get some rest. M. Von Hermann

Page 19 text:

Those Old Classmates of Mine As I sit here in the evening by my fireside all alone, Dreaming o’er the happy moments my high school days have known, The flickering of the firelight weaves a shadowy design, And I see the smiling faces of those old classmates of mine. And I feel again the flutter of that little freshman band, As we started on our journey, all our golden future planned, When we should all be Seniors and have nothing else to do But pity little Freshmen and write a theme or two. The studious and the merry, the fickle and the true, The brown eyes, and the grey eyes and the eyes of azure blue Look out upon me smiling. Oh, ’tis a joy divine To see again the faces of those old classmates of mine! Then the well-remembered faces of our loyal teachers start Into being in the firelight bright as memories in my heart Of their wisdom and their counsel in the dear old golden time, When they so wisely guided those old classmates of mine. But, oh, my dream is broken! The black log burns alone, And the hearth is growing darker and my memories all are flown, And I feel the teardrops starting as I think upon the time When I’ll say farewell to teachers and those old classmates of mine. Ann Decker HAVE YOU HEARD? Miss Davis: Does it not? Miss Faulkner: Posture! Miss Breslich: In-ter-es-ting. Madame Baillot: Mais, elle est si mignonne. Miss Moulton: Literat-ure. Miss Jones: Game-point-tournament. Miss Mack: What color is Noah’s white cat? Miss Canfield: Construction-case and why. Miss Farr: Where were you last Wednesday? Two Seniors Deidara ay is IN DESPERATION It’s not that I mind writing Stuff you use to fill up space; But just look around you And see the look on sister’s face. You see, she has to listen to everything I do; So [Pl just send this contribution, And the best of luck to you! Bobbe Mayer Page 15

Page 21 text:

- Senior Prophecy Last night, April 1, 1945, while I was strolling down State street, I noticed the new “Sensation House,” “The Club Faulknero.” The name attracted me for it brought back memories of my school days, ten years in the past. In blue and red Neon signs were the words “Celebrity Nite,” Florence Booth, Mis- tress of Ceremonies. I was not surprised that Florence had obtained so enviable a posi- tion. Her ability to hold an audience, however boisterous, was well-known to me in the long-ago days of my learning. I walked into the brightly lighted foyer and left my coat in the check room. As I took my check, my eyes rested on the face of the check girl and a mutual recognition sprang into our eyes—it was Marjorie Von Hermann. I had rather expected to find her serving humanity in her own inimitable way, as had been her wont at Faulkner. I was shown into the black and silver dining room and seated myself at a side table. Amidst loud applause, the Mistress of Ceremonies, my old friend Florence took the center of the floor, as always! “Friends,” she said, “this is more than a celebrity nite, for me, it is a class reunion. First on the program is our star doing her famous interpretation of ‘‘Salome’s Dance of the Seven Veils.” Surprisingly enough, it was Virginia Buettner who did this dance with amazing grace and finesse. Florence then announced that the rest of the program would be broadcasted over the national chain. Next on the entertainment was the famous youthful President of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union who proved to be none other than the dignified Phyllis Cummins. Following her uplifting speech, the Manager of the Beauty Shop of the Air, Betty Cheney, spoke words to the effect that anyone who wished the “coiffeur extraordinaire,” different from all the world, should listen to her weekly programs and send for her free photograph demonstrating her own original hair dress. Then a stately young woman, Miss Ann Decker, stepped up to the microphone. She was introduced as the President of a new experimental college for select young ladies— she said that she owed it all to Faulkner. The inventor of a remarkable new cream, ‘The Faulknerete”—shy Marion Jernberg— told her radio audience how to keep the school-girl complexion from blushing. As Florence was about to sign off the air, she spied me and dragged me, protesting, over to the microphone. She announced me as the voice of experience and asked me to say a few words. All I could think of to say was, “For an experience you will never forget—go to Faulkner.” Bobbe Mayer