Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

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T H E A R G U S In Which We Interview Francine Larrimore. fNote: We are going to drop thiey editorial We temporarilyj I really wasn't awfully fmuch scared-just a little bit. For a solid hour I adorned a chair leading up tom the dre.ssing rooms of the Klaw Theatre. Miss Larrimore was still on the stage, and as I waited, I could hear hlelr lines. I could watch all the entrances and exits too, because everybody had to pass me in going to and from his dressing-rocim.-T-hat is, everybody except Miss Larrimore, whose room is on the stage fit's really just off the stage, only that's the professional way to say it.j Such handsome men! I made sheep's eyes at half a dozen olf them but Franciruel had just been doing the same thing, I suppose they were sltill a bit dazed. A little laundry boy came in between scenes with the villain's foh, he's not so bad after allj laundry, and the V. swore thjelre was 3, collar missing. He said 'tlhlat originally he was going to send thirteen collars, but that would have been bad luck, so he put another onlel in. The laundry b-oy vowed he took one out. I hope they settled it. At last the, Scandinavian conversati-onally inclined Cer- berus showed mle' to Miss Larrimore's dressing room. I saw a oozy, cretonney nook, smacking not at all of the theatre. In fact, werfez it not for the make-up on the dressinlg table, and ag certain red-lhlaired lady sitting at aforemlelntioned dressing table, I should never have known I was backstage. There was no star aoln the door, the mirror was not studded with electric lights, and I noted the entire absence of engaging disarray. Everything was in a most untheatrical order. The red-haired lady invited 'me to be seated while she removed the last traces: of imake-up. I disgraced myself by patting the dog. He was not a dog. He was a lump of wool. Mindful of my replofrtorial duties, I got out my pencil and took some notes. I noted an enchanting description of Miss Larrimore, but she will probably sees tlhlis Argus, so it will not be recorded here. Anyway, she is small, rather below middle lhreight, and she has wonderful red hair. As for the rest, see any evening paper. My, she chatted, it's a long time since If took midtermsl 98

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THE ARGUS tk - - - -- - -A - ' J - - - - wing 'A Q il 1 ' E 23 :E 21, - - .- - ,A ,ol A A ' A ' 'i i ' T ' VMI' ' ' o1I76N1fhN: illllina Evirnv ND now after having reviewed the accomplishments of the senior term, it seems an entirely Htting time to give our impressions of the one who made everything possible-the senior faculty advisor, Miss Beirne. Possessing even more than her share of the necessary requisites, as a faculty advisor, Miss Beirne is ideal. For pep and vivacity she is unrivalled. For wisdom and sound judgment she has no equal. As for ability :to make girls love her,-it may be the? brilliance of her intellect, or her sense of humor, or her sarcasm, biting sometimes, de- lightful allitimes, or the charming' inconsistency of her varying moods, or the adorable way she has of wrinkling up her nose when she smiles, or-as someone suggested'-the Uphlegethonian beryll of her eyes. We suspect them all but, whatever the cause, the girls go into raptures over her. The same qualities that make her an ideal faculty advisor, make Miss Beirne an ideal teacher as well. With the slightest effort, she can ac- complish wonders. That famous sense of humor and the fear of her sarcasm may account in great part for the sudden re- linquishing of our fond ideas concerning the deadness', and uselessness of the Latin language. And our desire to see her wrinkle up hen n-ose when pleased may coincide more than we realize with our desire to do our Latin. There is still another aspect in which we consider Miss Beirne-in the light of a friend. In that respect, Miss Beirne is-well, you'll all know her some- day if you are fortunate, and it is delightful to discover some things for oneself. . B. R. 97

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THE ARGUS About forty years, I guess ! At least, slaid I. Well, anyway, it's a long time, she insisted. You know how you sometimes dream of things? I dream of school. Therefs nothing Hippy about our sdhlool, it's so staid and dig- nified-I'll allways have a feeling of reverence for it. And I may have forgotten my Latin, and I mlay havie forgotten my geometry, and even my manners, but I'll never fonget the real lessons that school training taught me--system, and un- selfishness. Follows some enciouragjemlemlt for a few of us would-be Duse's. There was a Dramatic Club when I was in Hunter, and I tried every single term to m'ake it and never could. I was eliminatiesd every time. fAnd Uolday her name is up in the lights. Balm to some of our wounded soulslj What would you 'say to the beginner in the dramatic field ? I asked. Well, she considered, you have to look at it from a practical standploiint. You have. to have money, or else a home in New York Otherwise it's practically impossible. It takes a long time before you get a name, and in the hard' times when you're out of work, you have 'to have ia home to fall back on, or else muolney. And it's so hard to tell 'at first whether you've got talent. Generally beginners in -the fielld that wear heavy street make-up and such don't get anywhere. Mash notes? Oh, they're the bunk. She struck a tragic attitude. No one ever wanted tio die for me, no one ever sent me pearls inside flowers. And my stage door johnnies are mostly johannas.-Oh, tell them I have jewelry ! she laughed. I'll say so. Such braclellets, silver and jeweled, and they jingled musically. It was the fur coat, however that decided me. I1 am going to be an actress, just like Miss Larrimore. As we walked out, the Scandinavian conversationally inclined Cerberus chuckled. Th1eIre's a big crowd today waitin' 1101 see you walk out, Miss Larrimoref' I'm walking next to you, Francine, says I for did I?j. That's right, says she, maybe they'll think you're me. 99