Louise S McGehee School - Spectator Yearbook (New Orleans, LA)

Page 53 text:

The Spectator Fifty-one Seniors-Did You Ever See: Mona-Looking frowzy. Katherine B.-Minus a bandana. J une-With her shirt tail in. Bettie-Slumping. Margaret Ann Counce-Minus a man. Patty-In a bad humor. Evalyn-Acting sensible. Dottie-Being snobbish. Ruth-Uninterested. Beth-Unhappy. Mary--At home in a chemistry smock. Jane Hackett-Without that little gold football. Klippie-Not rolling her eyes. Kathy-With stubby eyelashes. Polly-Immodest. Lorraine-At a dance. Bobbie-Acting like a baby. Margot-With her homework done. Jackie-Not talking. Joy Nes-At school. Joy Reynolds-Raising Cain. Althea-With a hair out of place. Adah-Looking her age. Seemann-When she didn't screech Hello. Virginia-Being really mean. Ann Springer-Not dressed to fit the occasion. Nadyne--In a loose fitting dress. Meg-Without a letter in her hand. Suthon-When she wasn't displaying that subtle wit. Margaret Ann Trenchard-Without her finger in the pie. Little-Being serious. Tete-With a cigarette. Ellie-With lipstick on.

Page 52 text:

Fifty The Spectator be no work then, just you and I, and I will fight anyone who comes in our way and kill them-like my father did the man from the moun- tains. He was standing now, carried away with the idea and with his own future greatness, and he seemed a part of the wind and the rush of the water. But suddenly an angry voice from below him interrupted, and a thick, dark woman appeared on the rocks, with a dirty blouse and eyes that flashed fire. Grabbing him by an arm she started on the way down, with a short look of scorn for his companion. Wasting time counting sea-gulls, when there's work to be done, and the washing at home, and no one to bring your father's barrels to market. As he scrambled away he looked back, with great fear in his eyes, and the joy and the pride taken out of him. But the girl on the rocks hardly turned, but sat still in the wind with her gold braceleted arms about her red skirt, and her hair playing games with the wind, and the sun and the spray all around her. ii. -ii Smog Smog settled from the air and belched From the tall smoke stacks, grips you In its claws by the throat and you Fight with gasping lung its hold. The rays of the sun battle spasmodically To break it, but fail, and it chokes on. Stevenson, '41 -1 Will you ever forget that night last summer? We were out at the lake, and there was nobody around for miles, And the breeze blew, and rippled the water over our bare feet, And the spray flew up, and got us wet, and we laughed. You said my hair smelled good mixed with salt, And you liked to feel it blow in your face. You were being poetic, dear, and didn't know it. You knew you were in love though, You told me so, but now, somehow, you seem to have forgotten. M. T. M., '41

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Fifty-two The Spectator Senna! eclian Elaine to Launcelot The waving of the grass has tales to tell Of how she, waiting, stood, and would have waved. The parting of the grass shows ground engraved With parting-parting dawn-without farewell. This was the green beginning of all hell, This was the second taste of all she cravedg This was the last desire she still had savedg This was the hell where wanting angels fell! She did not look to see the grass still bent. Her lips half-parted kissed the morning, chilled She saw the widened path that she had meant Her kiss to take, and morning love was killed. He rode into the dawn without farewell, This is the tale the grasses have to tell. Carmefr' Clabaugh, '42 Sonnet on Math Oh, gosh, how I hate to study Math, I get all twisted up on curved lines, And every day in class Miss Schuler finds That I have strayed from off the beaten path. It's really not her fault at all. Somehow My mind is just not geometrically Inclined. Instead of squares sometimes I see Horses or boats or maybe a moo cow. I think that I would like to take my book And tear it page by page in little shreds, And burn it in a fire until I see It turned to ashes. Then I would go look For a nice restful place to lay my head And never have to think again. Ah me! '42