Hillsdale School - Telescope Yearbook (Cincinnati, OH)

Text from Pages 1 - 72 of the 1957 volume:

.. -0 HILLSDALE Published by the Senior Class Hillsdale School Cincinnati, Ohio 1957 Truth and H onorw KindneSSw finding Lasting friendshipSw Love of learning---- These have we known F rom each September, These have we shared, These shall we remember. wANNE GRAY 7m Editorial The desire for unity, the wish for peace, the longing for concord, deeply implanted in the human heart, have stirred the most powerful emotions of the race and have been responsible for some of its noblest actions. SIR WILLIAM OSLER If all of us on the Annual Board were to choose those qualities which we feel best exemplify the spirit of Hillsdale School, we could perhaps do no better than to cite the above quotation by Sir William Osler. Unity, peace, concordethese words seem particularly applicable to Hillsdale, for they are descriptive of the spirit which prevails throughout the school and are responsible for some of our llnoblest actions? This spirit is evi- dent at the very beginning of our school day when everyone gathers to- gether for a few minutes of peace before the activities of the day begin. And it pervades to the last bell of the day when we gather once more for dismissal. 111 class itself, one is conscious of the feeling of harmony brought about by the close unity of the students and teachers bound together in search for knowledge. At the lunch table too, there is the atmosphere of lhtogethernessal as girls from the seventh through the twelfth grades share their thoughts and ideas. The unity, concord, and peace for which we strive so diligently often meet with success in performing hlnohle deeds? Visitors and newcomers to Hillsdale have frequently been heard to remark on the sincere co-opera- tion displayed in such matters as tax stamp drives and committee meetings, where posters are made to advertize school projects, where school policies are introduced and enacted, where many minor office and library tasks are performed. Perhaps the best example of accomplishment through teamwork is displayed in the Harvest Fair and Miracle Play which are splendid successes year after year. We are confident that our experiences here at Hillsdale of working and playing together with a singleness of purpose will serve us well all our lives. Perhaps our efforts to implant and maintain in our individual lives these three qualitieSeunity, peace, and concordewill eventually lead to ttnohle deedsl, which will have influence of world-wide importance. LYNN DUNBAR ............................................................................ Co-Editor JUDY SMYSOR ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Co-Erlitor TONI LABOITEAUX .......................................................... Literary Editor ANNE GRAY ............................................ Art Editor JANE MILLS ........... Photography Editor BARBARA HILL ...................................................... Junior Representative The Annual Board wishes to thank Miss Sheffield, Miss Neu, and es: pecially Miss Overberg and Meanne Mashhum for their assistance in producing our Annual. Senior portraits and group pictures are by Carl Carlson; printed by the Taylor Publishing Company. Dedication MISS MARTA CAVIEZEL For eleven years, Hillsdalels halls have been graced by a woman whose kindness has radiated to all who have known her. In the sick room or in Junior Study Hall, Miss Caviezel is equally efficient. Her presence is felt by everyone as she stands by unobtrusively at hockey and basketball games, willing to offer aid and sympathy in case of emergency. And how can we forget her kindness in helping us with our minor ailments! If we have acquired good study habits during our six years at Hillsdale, it has been through Miss CaviezeYs firm but beneficial guidance. We will part from Hillsdale with these wonderful memories in mind. And so to you, Miss Caviezel, the Class of 1957 dedicates its annual. MISS FLORENCE E. FESSENDEN H ead M istress We, the members of the class of 1957, wish to express our deep appre- ciation for the years of guidance under our beloved Head Mistress, Miss Florence Fessenden. Her tact and patience have helped us through difficult times, and her vivacity and warm spirit have made our years at Hillsdale most pleasant. L x12? n.1,. : V mi? 5. Factnx. LYNN DOREMUS DUNBAR JUDITH ARBUCKLE CAROLYN LODGE EDWARDS AI ANNE ALLEN GRAY MARIANNE HASTIE SALLY REED HATFIELD JUDITH ANN HAUSER JANE GOODRICH HAUENSTEIN BARBARA ANN HIXSON SUZANNE ANTOINETTE LA BOITEAUX MARY SLADE MARTIN Mm K inuuUuL Rub $5 w m ' u3 h-m331 Annie m me m$p u. NW. Mm W MARIANNE LUCIA MASHBURN ANN BOYER McCOMAS I I I I I I I I I I I I I ' I I I i I JANE ELIZABETH MILLS CHRISTINA MUIR L. ' an s MARGARET LENDRUM PARLIN DEE ANNE SCHROEDER 'pe aw clan J23; Jun? 6'2sz ?lli: Mug V4102. ctI.deCQM- Q44, agar, Viau. Jaw 1.. Madlw Claw allot. ' C4449 M 40an Qt ,uucw, JWLW .. - ml 24x; W yau - yang Mix. a. i 5,3 ELINOR BABB SCH RR 4M .1149; qu'x? JUDITH CARROLL SMYSOR SUSAN MORRIS STEMAN WM. rm Jam MARY ANN SWEDES ANN DORA WENTWORTH ELIZABETH HOUSE WIEHE l.- Class Will -.., Judy A. leaves her M.G. to Miss Overberg when her ttRoad-Ant breaks down. Lynn leaves the French table to anyone with the courage and vocabulary to handle it. Carolyn leaves nothing as she needs what little she has. Annie leaves her hockey stick and six years accumulated perfected techniques BEHIND! Mare leaves her uDon,t Be CmeYa record to Diana Seaman. Sally leaves barefoot. Janie leaves her striped bathing suit to Ann Warrington. Judy H. leaves Hillsdale with one more Hauser to go. Barb leaves her arguing ability to Elinor Adick. Toni leaves the thestern Plain? to Miss Brestel. Sladie leaves her snort t0 Clamiia. Meanne leaves her pony tail to Sally Snows. Ann leaves for Burt Lake. Millsie leaves her stirrups t0 Dottie Webb. Parlin leaves her big feet to Susan Harrison. Elinor leaves her Sunday afternoon rides to Janie H. and Susan C. Christy leaves her spelling ability to those who need it. Dee Anne leaves her copper sulphate crystal to'Ann Ritchey. J udy S. leaves the Annual kitty almost empty. Susan leaves Crosley Field to the Redlegs. Marian leaves her quiet reserve to Cindy Terrill. Mary Ann leaves a volume of Shakespeare to Peggy Saddler. Ann W. leaves her love of baseball t0 Betsy Benedict. Betty leaves the bookstore to Margaret Myers. air:- '3? 1.4-4 44 .7444 ......... 4.4 44444-43 M . Ayw ' Rf? , :9 R 41.44 vfw: XMJWM 'g; $944445; 4 42125254444444 3:3 4! V , X 1 g 554445 $344 4444744 4422144. 4 '1 r4 69' ' 4154455454! 5 r? 'ifo . gig Flag: 1 it;- $7,143ij h 5' x. 491 J 55:? CK'E' w '2, 353.5151- 54:5 .1 - .- 4 ??:?:??3; 43w 4!? $1 I i 1144 :u i, 1443573334435 er KW , .W W444i? Wk 45234244420? 414444264444: 45 ? speller, haters. .4, -'-7 n 'a : MAC: loves food, Whoop-giving in- valuable advice, beautiful eyes, pet peeve: distance between Cincy and Lake Bluff, Illinois. CHRISTY: full load of books, lit- tle frowner, ambition of acquiring long tapering fingernails, champion art DEE ANNE: hWell, Howie says ,J a hair-do a day, home-econw mist, cat farm, chemist, pet peeve: I n :- cat nappers. J i: q-J J SUSAN: page boy, loves talking, - 5' Bridge, HLeo kissed mew, hates ' 7; cats, pet peeve: insincere people. ANNIE: hlf only the Reds could eyelashes, passion for fruit salads, dainty perfection, pet peeve: slow driversh h MARC: Pshawl, Liberace Jr., HI have two questions? energetic French student, pet peeve: people 1; who scratch fingernails on black- ' boards. MILLSY: likes opera, always with a camera, horses, Prince Albert, pet peeves: Co-editors, and overly opti- mistic people. ' :. ELINOR: renowned for her poetry, usually found riding, star athlete, ' brisk walker, jade green eyes7 pet . peeve: slow pokes. JUDY: Gadl, safety pin collection, giggle, found learning to drive, and writing editorials, pet peeve: sing- ing commercials. SWEDIE-PIE: superb French gram- mar, dolce voice, naturally curly hair, found in the library, profound interest in people, pet peeve: tests. BETTY: dog-trainers, school, search for the ten-foot man, quiet sense of humor, the Champagne Commit- tee, pet peeve: slave-drivers. Prophecy Looking into the future, we see the Class of 757 scattered all over the World, each busy in her chosen field. On a luxurious island in the South Seas, Judy Arbuckle is a happy beachcomber spending her days pacing the sandy beaches in search of treasure . . . A little farther south, in Australia, Lynn Dunbar is raising her own Davis Cup team and watching, on the courts, Annie Gray, the worldls most beautiful Tennis Champion . . . Flying on to Europe, we find Susan Steman in France, deep in research on her next best-seller, Why Napoleon Was Divine . . . Susan informed us that Carolyn Edwards, an active traveler between the Deep South and Europe, is now writing an article for Le Voyageur, a prominent travel magazine . . . Back in the U. 5., we see Barbara Hixson, the Senator from Ohio, holding the floor in the Capitol, filibustering against everything . . . Up in New York, Margaret Parlin is carrying on her never-ending race with Univae, the brain machine . . . Several predictions in the past have come true; such as, Judy Hauser was elected Mother of the year . . . and Meanne Mashburn is the Olympic Figure Skating Champion . . . We asked Margaret about Toni LaBoiteausz chances for president, and Marg said it would be a close race . . . Her opponent, Janie Hauenstein, the incumbent B. O. A. president, would provide tough competition, because of her wonderful slogan NA B. 0. A. hat on every headll . . . Tonils is also interesting: llTippicanoe and Toni Too. While in New York, we visited Dee Anne Shroeder, popular M. C. for the tlHowdy-Doodyh show . . . Traveling on to Cincinnati, the home of many of these girls, we see, busy in her office, a most efficient secretary, Christy Muir, who has invented a spelling machine . . . Sally Hatfield has established a chain of dancing schools, a very lucrative business . . . The big attraction in the Cincinnati sports world is Ann Wentworthls Best-Dressed Baseball Players vs. Marianne Hastiels Homegrown Basketball Team e it will be quite a game, we understand and . . . A prominent golfer is Elinor Scherr, shooting well below par on the Tam Ol Shanter Course . . . Betty Wiehe is Hillsdalels, favorite bus driver e she knows the Hyde Park route quite well . . . Ann McComas has opened a beauty shop specializing in eyelash curling. As busy as a bee is Sladie Martin, happily running a date bureau for the Betas . . . Looking after all the girls is Mary Ann Swedes, Mayor of Cincinnati and a part time French teacher . . . In case these many occupations are too much for us we can always consult Judy Smysor, the only member of the Class of 57 to graduate from college; or, we can see by appointment Jane Mills, a very highly paid psychiatrist. u m w, u Junior Class E BOTTOM ROW: Sally Drackett, Wendy Thomsen, Jane Bosworth, Alison Chase. MIDDLE ROW: Brenda Blatz, Barbara Hill, Claire F riedman, Margaret Simpson, Elinor Adick, Ann Ritchey, Cynthia Terrill, Susie Bauer, Betsy Benedict. TOP ROW: Joan Barrett, Lee Adair, Susan Leonard, Betty Andrews, Esther Booe, Frances Stilwell, Carla Newstedt, Margaret Sadler, Laura Clark, Frances Garber, Janet Keys. Sophomore Class BOTTOM ROW: Irene Taylor, Bourque Wunsch, Sally Harrison, Elizabeth Layne, Emily Hauser, Jaqueline Arnold. MIDDLE ROW: Mary Beth Hilsinger, Catherine Atkinson, Muriel Richards, Martha Huff, Ann Lotspeich, Natalie Griess, Barbara Nyce, Carol Vilter. TOII3 ROW: Janet Hiestand, Patricia St. Leger-Barter, Harriet Hummel, Susan Ritter, Elizabeth Stewart, Christina Sutphin, Patricia Dwight, Janet Deupree, Nancy Gay. ABSENT: Nancy Donaldson, Joan Krehbiel, Marilyn Woods. :, ,1, U. F reshman Class In LN x, I A w ' 0 1 BOTTOM ROW: Louisa Egbert, Jean Zimmerman, Nonnie Steer, Ann Minor, Sally x; 'l ' w- Snow, Barbara Watson, Susan Harrison, Margaret Hogan, Elizabeth Williams, Lynn LawiIl. - ' MIDDLE ROW: Susan Crane, Louise Barnard, Anne Thomson, Barbara Kruse, Nancy 1 Rowe, Patricia Wilson, Betsy Hastie, Rae Weir, Heather Humphrey. . f a TOP ROW: Martha Thompson, Kaaren Parker, Tani Keeler, Sandra Rowe, Jenny Deupree, Betsy Dixon, Susan Deupree, Grayce Reuhlman, Sally Davis, Patty Berger, .Ann Mulhauser, Marcy Thompson. v- t I If 1 . . $ ; 1' I l a r I $ I . l. I , - J 1 I : . o I I f .L n . g , d 1t '- ' - 1 . ' s z, 4 ! J 1 f ' - . h -. .. . ' .. ' I ' , . .5 1 :4 J , ' 1 . .. 1 ., .t . I I Eighth Grade BOTTOM ROW: Sally Shepherd, Ellen Thayer, Marjorie Harth, Claudia Gilmore, Gretchen Crandle, Frances Atkins, Sally B. Harrison, Jeannie Vilter, Lynn Gian- nestras, Teresa Staff. MIDDLE ROW: Katherine Stilwell, Adele Perry, Holly Herschede, Pamela Terrill7 Margaret Highlands, Jane Hamill, Susan Lamson, Suzzara Chace, Sarah Taft, Gale Lockhart, Sallie Greenwald, Sandra Beech, Elizabeth White. TOP ROW: Joan Fleischmann, Grace Stewart, Margot Deupree, Sandra Dodd, Cecilia Hamilton, Dorothy Webb, Nancy Lee Hoxworth, Margaret Stewart, Carol Iannitto, Barbara Simpson, Sarah Oberhelman. ABSENT: Sydney Aiming. - f I, I L' h 1. l. t 5 , 1 i . l! 'l x . v ,' ' .v' I ' .4 ti k, I 2 . d -! k . , 1 a I ;i g . ' I a- 4 - '4 p L 9 - . ,' ' n r r A. 3 f . . J- J a I a , N .4 r . v $ . 1 2 J 9 '5 i f - ? I an 3' l -, 9 ' u, $ . i . Lx Seventh Grade BOTTOM ROW: Caryn Kleindinst, Paula Hansley, Susan Wioodward7 Sally Swigert, Margaret Myers, Karen Stugard, Karen Euskirchen, Bunny Cord, Cynthia Smysor. MIDDLE ROW: Margaret Vogel, Susan Magro, Ann Warrington, Carla Klein, Mary Mendenhall, Marion Field, Carol Crabill, Patricia Herr, Susan Burlingham, Mary Thayer7 Cynthia Kasson. TOP ROW: Diana Seaman, Louise Bettman, Patricia Gross, Eleanor Tucker, Jennifer Rowe, Ann Blackburn, Barrie Bell, Bonnie Drew, Pamela Lowry, Barbara Anderson. ABSENT: Barbara Banker. , S? .721 d J f k, . A La 4 . Hy $19579 C94I i- 33 0 JJ xx. 4 U4w Q? xxx EV k hr E 3 , U J O I x J V d x? ' w 0 X L4, g 1x K m I g? t O IE .9 7- x U Q? , - v u , r 4; 31 J J J L11 15 d m 0 9:17th QL Q1 j VJ x? d 7L Ju Q ya OJ Q Ki? 6 j 1 1' ! D W CJ 1; ijg ,0 a .29 cf 73 9L History Department English Department Miss B ROAII sumw ng .ng Head Mistress The Annual Board, on behalf of the Senior Class and the entire school, wishes to thank Miss Sheffield for taking on the responsibility of leadership of Hillbdale this year. In order to meet the demands of administration, she has been forced to give up certain academic classes which mean so much to her. We appreciate this selflessness, and we consider ourselves lucky to have heen members of the student body under her guidance. Mathematics Department Music Department Latin Department Athletics Department ti? w;:p:4h.w .- Spanish Departrhent and Library Office Department MRS. PIKE MRS. EGBERS MRS. DAVIS MRS. TURNER MRS. FAPPE MRS. DINKLE MR. YOUNG afar ' 942: F! 5 ,1? 45., L , .A A r , Annual Board LEFT TO RIGHT: Barbara Hill, Junior Representative; Anne Gray, Art Editor; Lynn Dunbar, CO-Editor; Judith Smysor, Co-Editor; Toni LaBoiteaux, Literary Editor; Jane Mills, Photography Editor. Student Council BOTTOM ROW: Susan Steman, Vice President Class 12; Judy Hauser, President Class 12. TOP ROW: Jane Bosworth, Vice President, Class 11; Jean Zimmerman, Vice Presi- dent, Class 9; Barbara Anderson, Vice President, Class 7, F irst Semester; Natalie Criess, Vice President, Class 10; Margo Deupree, Vice President, Class 8; Barbara Nyce, President, Class 10; Sally Swigert, President, Class 7, First Semester; Anne Mulhauser, President, Class 9; Majorie Hearth, President, Class 8; Wendy Thomsen, President Class 10. Athletic Association BOTTOM ROW: Louisa Egbert, Lower School Gold Team Captain; Ann Ritchey, Secretary-Treasurer; Margaret Hogan, Lower School Green Team Captain. MIDDLE ROW: Elinor Scherr, Gold Team Captain; Jennifer Rowe, Class 7 representa- tive, First Semester; Ann Warrington, Class 7 representative, First Semester; Mar- garet Parlin, Green Team Captain. TOP ROW: Sally Hetrlriscm5 Class 10 representative; Pamela Terrill, Class 8 representa- tive; Lee Hoxworth, Class 8 representative; Mary Slade Martin, President; Susie Bauer, Class 11 representative; Catherine Atkinson, Class 10 representative. Advisor: ' ' C hainnan .- MARIANNE HASTIE Art Committee Community Projects Adviser: MISS GODFREY Chairman; J UDITH ARBUCKLE I , MRS. SHELLBERG 14 Aduisor: MRS. VILTER C hairman : CHRISTINA MUIR Current Events Club Executive Committee Advisor: MISS NEU Co-Chairmcn. MARIANNE MASHBURN ANN WENTWORTH ELIZABETH WIEHE Advisor: MISS NOBLE C hairman: MARY ANN SWEDES ? Library Committee Literary C lub Adviser: MRS. REES C hairman : ANN McCOMAS Adviser: MISS CAVIEZEL Chairman: SALLY HATFIELD Marshal Committee M usic Committee Director: MISS WAGNER Accompanist .' MRS. WAGNER C hairman : DEE ANNE SCHROEDER Adviser: MRS. MCDANIEL Ca-Chairmen: BARBARA HIXSON JANE HAUENSTEIN i Office Committee Red Cross Committee Advisor: MISS TWINING C hairman : CAROLYN EDWARDS Absent: C o-Chairman MARIAN STRICKLAND THE VALLEY The sun shone warmly 0n the valley, chasing away all remnants of the nighfs cool air. The valley was small as valleys go, hemmed in by the mountains whose lower slopes gave it birth, and whose privacy had never been invaded by man. A spring high on the mountainside gave rise to a tiny stream which, gathering force as it sprang down the slopes, became a fair sized creek, twisting and turning through the glen. A young hear was clawing at a rotting log, looking for grubs, while song birds twittered frofn trees. A busy chipmunk scurried into the woods as a doe and her faun slipped from the woods to nibble on the grass at the edge of the natural clearing in the heart of the valley. An ancient oak stood towering amid a grove, planted by an acorn. A family of squirrels, which had made their home in the t1'ee,s sheltering branches, shattered and whisked about happily, aware of thetsun,s warmth. There was a light breeze that sent the leaves a7fluttering and swayed the tall weeds that grew luxuriously by the creek. Here time was eternal, a force that only caused the passing of the seasons, leaving no scars on memories. The valley was at peace. Esther 13006, Class 11 SONGS OF VENICE The gentle lapping of the waves against the moss-covered steps of the buildings, The ringing cry of the gondolier as he skillfully pilots his craft around a corner, The swish 0f the oar of a passing gondola interrupted occasionally by the roar of a modern motor boat, The chatter and hubbub of St. Marks Square with its seething crowds of tourists and pigeons, The voice of the American Express guide echoing through the great silent halls of the Doges, Palace, The hushed whisper of tourists as they gaze in awe at the great golden altarpiece in St. Marks Cathedral, The strains of ttSanta Lucia9, drifting across a moonlit canal e These are the songs of Venice, llRegina dell ,Aclriaticof, Some are modern songs, some are not so new; But Venice, with music in her soul, is singing now And will sing until she stands no more. Barbara Hill, Class 11 J UNCLE NIGHT The sickening thud of hands beating against tom-toms and the ghostly chant of voices floats through the heavily scented air. A lonely jungle bird calls mystel'ioust to its mate somewhere beneath the rising moon. The air is still; the only movement is that made by the black shadows against the blood-red fire e a fire whose flames stretch as they try to touch the tree tops with their blazing fingers, and, failing to do so, fall back with a groan 'and snap of anger, then try again. This is the sight which met my eyes as I emerged from the heavy undergrowth and stood in the flickering firelight. I stood in awe at this sight with scarcely a breath coming from my mouth. Soon, once again, the thud of tom-toms breaks into the stillness. And from out of nowhere a voodoo prietess sways gracefully in the firelight. As she dances, the natives, taken up by a wave of emotion, wail into the night in a ghostly chant. Turning quickly on hearing a rustle behind me, I saw a grotesque shadow 100m close to me. I shrank in horror, too frightened to scream. Hands seized me and I was thrown among the haIf-crazed natives. I shuddered at the thought of What they would do to me. Hearing the natives shriek with joy, I knew my horrible fate had already been decided. Then in fear I started to run. It didn,t matter where, as long as I could get away. I crashed through the jungle night, fleeing for my life. My breath was coming fast now and my mouth and throat burned with dryness. I could hear running feet coming closer and I closed my eyes as I felt someone,s panting breath on my neck. I gasped as a hot hand pressed against my hand and I heard a voice whisper, IIRelax, dear, it was only a dream!n Toni LaBoiteaux, Class 12 OBSESSION That I were able To be Nature, I alone; To lust, t0 thirst, And drink the sea, To swallow the burning crust Pushing Down, down e infinity, T0 breathe the world And rise e eternity, And there to know why, T 0 feel the immensity M ine ; Oh, that it were mine, That I were able. Lee Adair, Class 11 SOLITUDE On a Sunday afternoon the sparkling azure waters of a lake assume an aspect of peace and contentment. The dazzling rays of the sun create a bright haze which adds to the splendor and magnificence of a summer day. In the distance the sleek lines of a sailboat, its white sails swelling with wind, can be seen skimming over the water. But now the lake appears as another picture, this time a mirror, capturing all the beauties of life and Nature. Trees with lofty branches and colorful foliage are duplicated in the lake. A wild duck flying high overhead sees its reflection in the waters below and swoops down for a closer look. A thoughtful fisherman becomes curiously interested in his distorted features in the water. The blue sky dotted here and there with puffs of clouds is also reflected on the lakes serene surface. The face of a lake, unrippled by wind, undisturbed by living things, is a thing quite alone. It embodies peace, quiet, and solitude. Carol Vilter, Class 10 LIFE Birth is a laughing tree, Branches blown to and fro by a frolicsome wind. Tiny fledglings twitter, flap their useless, untried wings in. nests of down and twigs. And the blue sky shines down, smiling at the new green shoots, soon to become leaves. H eight and grace and dignity Slowly creep upon the full grown limbs. Gay birds mature to flowers, as delicately scented pastels of loveliness. The trunhas firm line points straightly Skyward in defiance of the approach- ing night. I g N ow the tree is slightly hem, Branches bowed and quivering before the storm. The birds have flown, and flowers, withered, weary limbs must face each day alone. But strength remains in seeming weakness to last until the roots mu'st fail. Marianne Mashburn, Class 12 Jim! a'rm... WRECKED tiRadio x to 415, radio 3: to 415! Boat stranded ten miles off the coast of Newfoundland? Those were the words of John Barkly, engineer of the tlSoft Spur;7 as he spoke frantically into the mouthpiece of the shipis radio in a storm of December 14, 1949. The itSoft Spuri, was a small fishing craft which had been swept off its course by the sixty-mile-per-hour winds which were now rapidly rising to eighty. The llSoft Spur, now stranded in the ice-blocked waters, floated utterly helpless as the motor had conked out and John Barkly had been radioing with no success for the past fifteen minutes. The boat was a bedlam with the majority of the shipis twenty-man crew tearing around hunting for spare life preservers, yelling orders at each other, and trying to gather what swimming instructions they could from the more learned members of the crew. Above all the ruckus there could he heard my voice, Captain R. W. Stafford, trying but failing to keep the entire crelw clelm, cool, and collected with the ltclever command of lishut up and obey or ers. , After twenty more times of saying it with a truthful plea in my voice, the noise gradually ceased, for the most part anyway. For the following few minutes it was so quiet that we could hear the sound of the engineer, :iRadiO x to 415, come ini7 . . . No answer. itCaptainfi stated Barkly, mRadio7s dead? That moment marked the end of the blessed silence, for mournful sobs started and gradually became louder and louder. Several of the crew came to me with one question, tlIs there a chance, CaptainT, I had no immediate answer as I stared out into the thick fog, trying desperately to think of something to do or say. All was lost and I knew it; for the radio had been our last chance. How could I tell the men on board s, my closest companions, my truest friends? How could I tell them; what could I say? Would We just wait until a rescue ship came and saved us . . . or starve? All these thoughts flashed through my mind like one king-sized nightmare. As I sat there cold with fear, the hull of our vessel was hit by a force so great that it sent the boards splintering high into the air. Then started the real moment of disaster for all the other mishaps had just been a prelude to this main catastrophe. I couldnit believe it! We were being crushed between two giant icebergs! The one berg had been struck so unexpectedly that for the next few moments everyone was stunned. No one moved, talked, or breathed. When we did regain our senses, our craft was sinking and the few cabins we had were already knee-deep in freezing water. ttMan the lifeboatsw was my only command. Suddenly the question, ttTo where? popped into my mind. In sight loomed icebergs filling the area. In my opinion there were only two gruesome alternatives: either he squashed by monstrous icebergs or have the sIOWer and more painful death of starvation. If we embarked upon an iceberg, chances were that the berg would melt and we would be stranded out in the icy waters of the Atlantic. Time was getting very short, for the water was now sending a small stream over the deck. Since the lifeboats had already been lowered onto a flat-shaped iceberg, I made the hasty decision that it would be best to go ahead with my original plan, and perhaps float out beyond this icy region, then put the dinghy onto the water and try to row for shore. Pretty hopeless but it was our last resort and we all were desperate. After all of us assembled, the wind ceased. Twenty uneventful minutes passed in the overcrowded boats. Groans arose from some injured men, scantily covered with soggy blankets salvaged from the emergency chest. The ttSoft Spurl, was now completely submerged, on its way to Davy Jones, Locker with only a few tell'tale bubbles reminding us of our narrow escape. We waited tensely for one certain object. Finally it came. A minute, red beacon of a plane glimmered. Perhaps it was looking for us! Nancy Rowe, Class 9 NOT QUITE A long-legged girl with raven-darh hair, Stands in the darkness outside a blue door. A silver knife of light klips under it to her; A mountain brook of voices ripples out to her. The brook flows smoothly, then drops Over a. waterfall and rushes through chattering rapids, And talks of new dresses And the blond-haired boy from across the way. The girl looks down at square-toed shoes, Scuffed with the dust of too many years; A t the cracked valleys in her workuworn hands. And she thinks of the boy with a gentle face, With a long unpronounceable Polish name, Who jerks sodas at a little musty drug-store. H e is nice to her and stirs the dark corners of her heart; A gentle harmony, like the light rich chord of a harpe But his name is unpronounceable and Polish. She feels the cold hands of fear move inside her. The hand raised to knock slowly falls, Like the dying spark of an orange flame. And a long-legged girl, whose eyes are dark, mutely sobs, M oves on up the street, among the shadows. ELIZABETH STEWART, Class 10 MORNING The cart moved slowly. Heavy-laden with household goods and drawn by one old mule, it did not go fast. The old man and woman sat huddled on the seat, bundled in old clothes which seemed gray with use. But every- thing was gray. The mist was still there, not yet absorbed by the sun. It was morning. Everything was still gray, gray from the nightgs sleep. No birds sang. Birds do not sing now; the birds have left. The cart was nearing a figure now; the figure called roughly. The old man glanced up from under his capehe spoke to the womanethWhatis that, what does he want? The woman said nothing. The mule stopped then. The figure was beside them; it spoke in a foreign tongue. It gesticuiated back, back over the road they had come. tiWhat is iteare you madewhy do you look at us ace we have done nothing? The figure did not understand; it was almost screaming nostcreaming, shaking its fistestaring at this man and woman. The man turned to his wifeettDo not be afraid, I think he is madmhe will not hurt us.,, The figure grabbed the manis arm, jerked him arounde still screaming at him. TWhat are you doing-r-what do you sayel have no time-we must go. The man clutches the mule. The figure still is holding the man9s arm; the mule lurches forward, the figure is left behind. The man turns to the womanethou see, he did not hurt uSeI think he was mad? The man suddenly lurches forward, a blood stain appears on his back growing wider and wider. The woman stares at himeshe turns her head. She does not see the bullet for she too lurches forwardeshe falls on the man. Another figure emerges from the mist in front of the carte it comes to the muleis head. The cart stops. The two figures come together and talkeone lights a cigarette-the other calls and two outlines appeare- they lead the mule and cart away. The figures vanish then. The mad-man returns to his postethe other, to his. SUSAN LEONARD, Class 11 PROCRASTINATION Being Co-Editor 0f the Annual, I have been informed I must write something for the Literary Section. This is mainly because we have run out of otherwise appropriate stories and poems and besides, it looks well to have articles by the Annual Board. Personally7 I would just as soon have another page of snapshots. Needless to say, I have put off writing something as long as possible, hoping we would fill in all our pages with far worthier material and there would be no need for my voluntary contribution. But it seems they still want an article from a Co-Editor, no matter how poor. Now that I know how things stand, there is no excuse for procrastination. All that remains to be done is the discovery of a suitable topic and some erudite and flowery phrases with which to express my feelings on said subject. After all, I am a Senior now and this should not be difficult. What to write on? It is a lovely day and I could compose a poem on the ttglittering sunlight flashing across the verdant, velvet lawns? If I use enough similes, images, and alliteration it would certainly show I observe in class. However, poetry has never been my forte. Somehow, my attempts at age seventeen never resemble those of Edna St. Vincent Millay at age twelve. There are always family pets on which to write but our cat is so proud she would not deign to have an article by such an amateur writer pub- lished, and everyone who knows our dog hates her so much that no one would read the article But we do have a fascinating supply of pet beetles that did not die Off with all their relatives at the beginning of winter and are still living with us, crawling around on beds, Iampshades, etc. However, it is rather hard to work up a good page on beetles. They really do not have that much character. Being a Senior, I could always fall back on the old stand-by, i.e., how quickly this final year has passed, how enjoyable my six years at Hillsdale have been and how I am looking forward to college. Unfortunately, my college education may he stifled before it has even begun tthose College Boardsl, and there is not much point to elaborating on two fun-filled years at Secretarial School. And yet, I feel I should write something that would tell of my happy, and, I hope, successful years at Hillsdale. But this theme has been done many times far better than I ever could. So it would be unfair to the school to try to praise it in inadequate words. Surely there are many subjects on which to write a page of stimulating literature, but they all seem to escape me. I could, perhaps, whip up a short story about a haunted house or a little, lost kitten. But when I start such an enterprise I always get involved in the story line and have troubles getting out. So the short story idea is kaput. Here I sit! The deadline is coming closer and closer; there is one page waiting for my usual superb combination of wit and moral value and I can think of nothing about which to moralize. Seventeen years old and already a failure as a writer. Most discouraging. At least I have one consolation. This procrastination on the choice of a subject has produced a page of written words which is what I was com- missioned to do. So here it is; minus the bubbling wit and invaluable moral, but fascinating all the same. LYNN DUNBAR, Class 12 M ,-' 7 .. . , , i HY. KW N v , .. J. o 4 . ,t J; 5;; f , , A? SIAMESE CAT She views her world with prestige and grace And elegance written all over her face; With disdain exceeding, Becoming her breeding, Reclines on a cushion of lace. H er demands are obeyed, imperious she, Each glance is queenly, each word a decree. From her proud expression She conveys the impression She,s aware of her pedigree. ANNE GRAY, Class 12 INSPIRING RIDE I galloped through a meadow, The wind came rushing by, M y pounding heart felt grand enough, To spread its wings and fly. Suddenly my mare siowed down, Then stood with poised head. N 0 muscle flinched as her eyes stared down, At the valley below me spread. It was the rarest sight irtdeed, For below as a flag unfurled, An unsurpassing wonder lay, Just a fraction of Codi; world. There were trees of every color, Browns, reds, of every hue. W ith yellow, gold, and amber, Against a sky of blue. Fields were dotted here and there, Like squares in a piece of patchwork. And houses on the hillside stood, With roofs of woven thatchworh. And through this lovely valley, A sparkling brook ran free. T umbling over rock and sand, 07; its journey toward the sea. As I turned around toward home again, I knew that I had seen, A greater wonder of this world, Than I could ever dream. JANE HAMILL, Class 8 T0 FLEA OR NOT TO FLEA One day towards the end of October, a dog, commonly known as tiHeinz 5P, variety, was peacefully resting his weary bones in the cool grasses of his front lawn. The night before had been too much for this aging hound. Beggars, Night, October 30, found him bravely defending his home from all these weird, unknown, un- lovable creatures that continually rang his mastergs doorbell and actually begged, if you please! Not only were his bones weary from chasing these unknowns, but his once beautifully e'xasperatiug bark was now beat to a mere squeak. Alas, a peaceful rest in the tall, uncut grasses of his mauled lawn, with not a care in the world! Oh, but how wrong can one hound be! One eye spots a FLEA, which, in his mind, is without a doubt, a foe. Shall we be cagey about this, Mr. Hound, and wait until the enemy lights, or shall we grasp him between our beautiful white teeth when Flea makes his dreadful landing toward . . . flesh. Oh, what a decision to decide on. OOPPSH Too late! That dreadful maneuver has been made while we were making up your mind. Now fight till the finish, man, and no holcling allowed. First, a bite at F lea, but as you see, he is much swifter than Worn out hound. Anyway, Flea has such protection: beautiful black and white hairs to hide among. Now letis be sensible, Mr. Hound, don,t just rush Flea; use some techniques. That a dog, you catch on. Bravo!! Thafs it. Head the head toward the rear then jerk back and seize him now careful-ly. That's rightscatch him? Noll Well, Iill be a flea. Let me see, live a houndiferous idea that will de-flea all foes. You haven,t had a bath in ever so many months. Itls really about time, don? you agree? Good.I So do I! Why not trot down to the store and -d-d-d Hey, whereas that flea going? Whatid he say, hound? I don,t believe it. What an impolite creaturHleaving like thateand just because youwI7ll Whisper it very softly so no one can hear since it is quite embarrassing to such a brave, dignified dog as you-Aw hound, donit feel too bad. Hey, where are you goingsto the store!! What for? Some flea powder and eWeet smellin, soap? Not a bad idea, old fellow! MARILYN WOODS, Class 10 A CHILDHOOD MEMORY It was badly scratched in places. The leaves were warped and the luster had disappeared from the wood. It had an over-all appearance of having already given us its best use. But as the man carried our dining-room table down the driveway and placed it roughly in the iTQood-VVilll3 truck, I felt as though it could never be replaced. Although this piece of furniture wasn,t a thing of beauty so much of my home life had revolved around it that, in my eyes, it was beauty in the truest sense of the word. Spilt milk, the nightly games of iiF'iglv and iiHollywood Rhythmf the fellowship of the evening meal, stains left deep in the grain of the wood from some candle wax which had dripped unnoticed onto the table, the centerpieces, made by young but talented hands-all of these happenings seemed to melt away and become only memories as the dining-room table was taken from my life. KATHERINE ATKINSON, Class 10 Du. :QQQ'U C50; MW MM ,9. M3 P QMWI! '19. 24M..- .X M lW-WW. W Jam wage, MWi-cl , Jagx Zgaanm-aald-d? nut $N ',W M CglmkEJawuutg-AMWAM.V LITHOGRAPHED BY T'nf LOR PUBLISHING co. DALLAS - TEXAS The East Yearbuuks um TAYLOI'LMADE