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

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The Spectator Fifty-Seven 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. Whooping cough. I know that, for every night For a long time the young mother spent her nights up and Down while the little baby wheezed. Their bathroom Light is always on at about ten o'clock at night, Just when we want to sleep, and it shines right Into our room. The woman washes out her clothes All the time and hangs them in the bathroom to dry. That I know because strange familiar shapes are Magnified on the wall of our room at night. Then Next to them are two young girls. They go to the Secretarial school just around the corner, and one Of them seems to think she has a nice voice. At Night she plays the radio loud enough for me to hear The programs without having mine on when I shouldn't, But she always spoils them with her scales and variations. The girl who stays with her types all the time, and When the weather is warm all I hear is the peck as She works. They never have learned to pull their Shades, and I sometimes wonder how they'd feel if They knew or realized how open their life is. Up on the top floor is the tiny little garret Room, and a young man lives there. I never see him Except late in the evening when I open the windows Before I go to bed, and can see that he reads at 'Night and puts his light out shortly after we do. That's all I know about the people and the house, But, although it's awfully ugly, it's nice and Neighborly. Stevenson, '41 The Perfect Senior Would Have Figure .......................................................................... Jackie Mayhew Legs .......... ....,........................... A nn West Hands ....... ........ M argaret Ann Trenchard Eyes .......... ........................ K athy LaCour Hair .......... ....................... J ane Hackett Teeth ........ ......... J une Barkerding Mouth .......... ........ B ettie Brewster Nose ................ ........ A nn Springer Complexion ........ ......... J ane Hackett Disposition ......... ....... D ottie Eaves

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Fifty-six The Spectator There aren't many annoyances around the dormitory aside from a few I'd like to mention, such as the kind person who refuses to wash the ring from the bathtub after she bathes, or the one who never has enough food of her own at the table and tries to take yours skilfully, and if caught wiggles out of it and makes you look the fool, or that lovely person who parks in the tub for full two hours while the rest of the house blows up, or the one who prowls about the house at night slamming doors and emitting ghastly noises. We have them all, and do we love them? Two guesses. Many people outside of the dormitory feel that we are prisoners and never allowed out of the door. That I must vigorously deny. We do get outside of the door. That ought to be obvious enough since everyone sees us at school every so often, or maybe now and then. Our shopping tours can be done absolutely on our own, only the things we turn up with usually ought to be Worn only when we are absolutely alone. It's all quite simple. We are a normal bunch of people, quite willing to be guided along the right path if we receive an explanation every inch of the way for the method and manner employed. We love the dormitory and we love the head of it. We are, on the whole, extremely happy and contented with the privi- leges we have, even though we are always ready to accept additional ones. It's a great life. You ought to try it! As I stare out of my window, my eyes Rest upon the large, and most ugly red House next door. It is a boarding house, And when you look at its massive lumbering You shudder quite impulsively. The boarders are ordinary people, each Living his or her life, regardless of the Joys and sorrows of the other. On the downstairs Front there is a nice, cozy apartment where a Man and his wife live. They have enough money For comfort, and they look it. The only time I See them is at night, when the lights are on And Momma has on her housecoat and curlers, And Poppais without his shirt, and in his slippers. There is a little kitchen off their rooms and Each night it is lighted as they widen their No longer slim waistlines. In the apartment above them Is a young family, and not so long ago the baby had

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Fifty-eight Th e Spectator A Tale Told for Baby Day This is a tale so sad to relate Because in the end it turned into hate. A rabbit named Tabbit, they say, Hopped out in the garden one'day, And what should he see But a big bumble bee Making passes at a horsie at play. Big tears made her lovely eyes blink And her coat of soft, delicate pink Indignantly rumpled And bumpled and humpled, While at her he buzzed with a wink. Now Tabbit straight forward he rushed, And Puffy, the pink horsie, blushed, He swatted the bee Who had buzzed in such glee, But now his harsh humming was hushed. With fluttering, downcast eyes As blue as summer's skies She smiled her thanks As she twitched her flanks, You could see his temperature rise. For Tabbit 'twas love at first sight, And Puffy he told of his plight. Said Tabbit, dear Puffy, I think you're quite snuffy- Marry me-make my life bright. Oh, Tabbit, gasped Puffy-I'm shocked, My very foundations you've rocked, I can't take your kisses For I am a Mrs. My heart against you must be locked. So Tabbit went out to get crocked. Springer and Dooley.