Hewitt School - Venturer Yearbook (New York, NY)

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' , .Off J.. Q 1: i ya K1 A ex? qs ' f I fig' sa' , '44, 4 jf- J lt I - 401, SN- lx- i .1345 u, , ' f ? , j 4 5, mf' -'EN ff X If fic f' if ll: r ff? ,rl , J 'h- ' 144 ' KJ X A X 5 MW The Seniors Remember One time in the softness of a still, early morning in Spring, I was out riding my horse and quite by accident, I stumbled on a place I had never seen before. It was a little valley nestled on a cliff, overlooking Long Island Sound. I got off my horse and let him roam. I lay down in a little hollow among some silvery, blond grasses that were shimmering and rippling in the gentle breeze. Sometimes I dropped stones quietly and softly into the water far below, but mostly I lay curled up looking at the clouds, and the trees form- ing a protective circle around me. After a While, I got on my horse and rode off. Iive never wanted to spoil the perfection of that day by returning. -Susan Bergman 22

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IOANNE PATRICIA WARNER 1010 Entered: September, '54 Topic of Conversation: 'KCouldn,t it be this Way . . Probable Companion: Stanislavsky Suppressed Desire: To be an Eliza- bethan Allergy: Neatness Lost Without: Ketchup and chocolate sauce Remembered For: 1010-isms 20 Years Hence: Trarnping over the rnoors In what distant cleeps or skies, Burnt the fire of thine eyes. -WVILLIANI Dramatic Club, ,55 Yorkville Youth Council, ,55, ,56 Political Club, ,56 Senior Debate, '56 Senior Dance Committee, '56 Art Editor of the Venturer, '56 Art Editor of the Yearbook, '56 President of Dramatic Club, ,56 Boarding Department, B. D., 155, Address: Twin Elmsf' Doubling Greenwich, Connecticut .SQOTLAND ' ., C0 E 1 n X A vi ! M I nw i f X liljlhl r Z ii- 2' f BLAKE ,56 'Road L , 21

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When I was a child in New Orleans, the neighbor's children and I had a wonderful World of our own behind some big trees at the far end of our garden. The world was called India, always named with reverence, for in this word combined the colorful and fascinating thoughts that made up our game. To India we brought all kinds of treasures-shells, pretty paper, colored glass, and I remember especially, shiny bits of tiles we had dug up behind the empty house at the end of the garden. The rule was that everything had to be found. We could not bring anything bought, for that would have taken the wonder out of our game. Oh, it was a glorious world! We would sit for hours on the grass under the big peach trees, fingering our pretty objects and telling stories about anything colorful, always in some way related to India or some such far country that had caught our fancy. -Louise Paine Tucson, Arizona, where I've lived for several years, is the home of a famous rodeo and rodeo parade, attended by visitors from all forty-eight states. The rodeo queen leads the parade in a resplendent Wes-tern riding costume-usually all white with colorful trimming. She is photographed, feted at balls, and is the heroine of Rodeo Week. Seeing her and hearing about her gave me a consuming ambition to be a rodeo queen. Last year the small -town of Willcox, Arizona, gave its rodeo and parade and had a queen contest. Tiny Willcox was to be crowded and jammed with eager spectators. I found I was eligible for the contest. I trained my horse and got out my most colorful Western garb. The day came, and I was in the ring with twenty other contestants. The stands bulged with spectators, cars were parked six deep, and three judges were enthroned. We were to perform one by one. My friends and family all felt, ffavor- itism and loyalty, of coursel, that I was bound to win. I already saw my picture in the paper and also opening the ball with the townis mayor. As my turn came, I rode out to frantic applause from my rooters. My horse and I executed graceful figure eigh-ts. We stopped, we started, we pivoted. No cowgirl of the West ever looked more the part, thought I. My final maneuver was to gallop wildly up to the judges, stop in a cloud of dust, dismount and bow. There was wild applause from all the spectators. Ah, the crown must be mine, I felt. I began to remount my horse, ready to make the last triumphant circle of the ring. As my foot touched the stirrup, my horse bolted and I never did reach the saddle. She tore across the ring and I ended up with my face in -the dust and a 'badly banged elbow. That was the end of Queen Ruth of the Willcox Rodeo. -Ruth Hauemeger 23