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

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Forty-eight THE SPECTATOR Character Study She was christened Helen Dorothy Grigsby much to her disgust and uses that as an excuse for all the kicking and crying she did during her first few months on earth. She began school at six and loathed it from the beginning, and, though exceedingly briliant, she hated studying and did as little as possible. At nine, while crossing the street, she had a nightmare --as she calls it, for on crossing she saw a truck four feet away heading for her at full speed and she couldn't movep her feet were as thought cemented to the street- like a nightmare. Next thing she knew, she was in a hospital in a plaster cast with a leg broken in three places. Dot stayed in bed for a year. Finally she was able to walk on crutches and again began school only to have her leg become infected soon after. She was operated on twice and missed another school year. Having recovered, she was extremely upset and was sent to camp to avoid a nervous breakdown. Here she became Counselors' Enemy No. l for she spent her time making pie-beds twice a day, filling pillow cases with hoppity toads and broken dishes, total bill for two months of fun -3450. Thoroughly cured, she was placed in convent Cand don't ask whyl where she skipped Latin classes to go talk to the hired man who was much more interesting than Caesar. He taught her how to smoke and she kept it up in memory of him. Now nineteen and in college, Dot is forever being chased by those of the opposite sex whom she treats unmercifully. She breaks dates to go out with girls, stands up boys who range in looks from Apollo to Clark Gable, and was voted the most popular girl in a school of a thousand. She cusses like a sailor among her most intimate friends, smokes a pack of cigarettes a day, despises alcohol, drives like a maniac, and is the only girl of high society in her city that has worn a path from her house to the pawn shop. She sleeps with lipstick on, hates cold cream and powder, and, in spite of it all, is the best-looking girl in the city. Grigsby's passions are horses, smoking, and above all, flying. Against her family's wishes, she has taken up three planes, one which she flew over her home where her mother was in the yard admiring it. When the fond parent was told who it was, she fainted. Dot adores horses blindly, has had four, her favorite being one she bought from a peddler for S5 because it looked so underfed and sick. The horse died two months later and she bought a black dress and wore it for a week. Her pet abominations are jitterbugs, boy-crazy girls and road hogs. She loves Stardust and lazy music and can't dance to a fast piece:

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THE SPECTATOR Forty-seven funeral he didn't come to see her or talk to her none, and thar she wuz livin with her brether and his wife and even when she hed sent her brether down here to git him to come he hedn't come and he hed told her brether he didn't have nothin to do with her. But-thar's so many little things what happened and so much talkin we did, but we wuz finally fixed up and the truth wuz found out. Bud wuzn't hurt so bad and all thet girl's brother had said wuz lies cuz thet boy jest didn't like Bud. Thet gal, she really loved Bud, and him her, so they got married soon and not sech a long time after Bud wuz made head-worker up on the Ranch and them kids even got their own house. So you see, he did know somebody up to Ohio, after alll By Gol1y '43 How Weeping Willow Trees Got Their Name On the snowy peak of Mt. Olympus, in the ancient time of Greece, lived the Gods and Goddesses who ruled over the world. These Gods, some of them beautiful, most of them strong, and others cruel, spent their days in feasting and fun. At the bottom of this majestic mountain lived Meanus, the Goddess of Cruelty, with her only daughter, Sylvia. Sylvia was as sweet and lovely as her mother was cruel and mean. For years she had endured the hardships forced upon her by her mother without complaining. Even though her mother was cruel Sylvia loved her deeply. However, one day in a fit of rage Meanus banished her daughter from the palace and sent her out into the wilds without food or drink. The poor child was terrified at the situation which con- fronted her. After several days of wandering she fell down, weak with exhaus- tion and hunger, into a little clearing surrounded by friendly willow trees. The willow trees, seeing how tired she was, decided to protect her during the night. In the middle of the night a faint murmur dis- turbed the quiet of the small glade. It was Diana, Goddess of the Moon. She bent over the sleeping child to find her dead. The trees realized that their watchfulness had been in vain. In unbearable grief they bent their heads and wept as they gazed upon the still form before them. Diana then tenderly lifted the girl in her arms and disappeared into the night. Some folks claim that a small star may be seen close to the moon. This star is the soul, they say, of Sylvia, and to this day the willow trees have not dared to lift their boughs heavenward after failing in their watch. Betty White '45.

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THE SPECTATOR Forty-nine she shakes her shoulders like Carmen Miranda cmd does the best rhumba this side of Cuba. Once she gave S10 of her lunch money to the March of Dimes because she knew how those poor kids feel, and had to pawn a solid gold football given to her by one of her ardent admirers in order to live the rest of the month. She loves to reform people by setting a bad example and though somewhat crazy and headstrong, she is undoubtedly the most likable and sweetest girl I have even known. '43 The Cabbage Miracle The cabbage-and it seems strange-has been woefully neglected by the philosophers as an object for aesthetic contemplation. When we consider, in the praise of women, to what pains the poets have put them- selves to thrust aside the diabolic and behold only the angelic, it seems indeed lamentable how few the sighs of admiration which the queenly cabbages elicit. I am inclined to think the cabbage has baffled even vegetarians because of an enigmatic reticence on the part of this bras- sicaceous plant which I attribue to a significant equivocation in regard to its life, surroundings, and indeed its whole appearance, here, for the first time, I believe, exposed to proper enquiry. First, it must be known in what regions the cabbage is most pleased to flourish. This I think can easily be answered-in the mountains- where rain falls through no great filter of grey smoke, where the soil sleeps on no flat, springless bed of plains-in the mountains where the rain drops in its pristine crystals, and the land lies pillowed among mossed boulders. Here, in the mountains, as in no other region, the sun is hot, the wind cool, and the ground moist. Here the cabbage with its fibrous abundance stands in contrast to the threadless frugality of lone- some ridges which for centuries have cloistered these lands which in- troduce the grass to clouds. Here where the growing season is briefest, summer is a most munificent and vigilant attendant of her crops. It is no wonder that the cabbage is indigenous to the Appalachians where it can grow over the deep breasted hills, although its roots are short. F rom the farmer in those regions, the cabbage receives due homage as a staple vegetable. Beyond this, however, a close understanding with the cabbage is impossible for him, since he lives with it far too in- timately ever to suspect the presence of any qualities which do not nourish him in his immediate need. When he has eaten his plate of slaw, his soul has no further appetite. He, the master of the ploughshare, has no sympathy with that which can not be dug out of the stolid ground.