Mansfield High School - Manhigan Yearbook (Mansfield, OH)

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An Aspiration Pleasantly Blasted G. M. W. ’13 ITHIN twenty-four hours after Gwendolyn’s arrival that late January afternoon, her hopes and ambitions were known throughout the length T T and breadth of the school. Miss Dale, that most capable young lady, the professional dryer of all newcomers’ tears, the expert cases of home-sick¬ ness and promoter of general cheerfulness, had approached the newcomer that evening intent on allaying any possible qualms of homesickness, etc., that her charge might already have acquired. She noticed that the girl was good looking in a certain way, with thick yellow hair dressed in picturesque fashion, and large gray eyes which had a tendency to roll from side to side in an ill-at-ease, self-conscious manner. ‘Tm afraid you’ll feel a trifle lonely at first,” she began with one of her most suave smiles. “Oh, no!” was the startling response, “I’m used to being apart; I’m never lonely.” “It’s my ambition,” continued Gwendolyn, “my talent. Nobody seems to understand, so I’ve worked on alone.” The “alone” was tolled sadly and accompanied by one of those sweet die-away smiles that instantly roused her hearer’s curiosity as to just what kind of talent the girl might be referring to. Suddenly clasping her hands about her crossed knees and striking a photographic pose, Gwendolyn asked: “Do you think I look like Langtry? Lots of people have noticed the resemblance-that I am the born image of her, only more spiritual.” The clue had been found. Miss Dale beheld before her a late victim of that ever busy stage fever germ. “Well, you’re about her size and the shape of your face is something like Langtry’s,” admitted Miss Dale. “Yes, I guess it must be true,” replied Gwendolyn. “At first I was awfully disappointed, for I wanted to be one of those thin, willowy, squirmy kind—like Bernhardt, you know. But when I commenced to get fat, why, I almost stopped eating for months, trying to stay thin; but it was hopeless, for I just kept right on getting fat. But I don’t care much, for I know lots of people that think Langtry’s better than Bernhardt, anyway. Which do you like the best?” Miss Dale evaded the question by asking, “You wish to go on the stage?” “I’d die if I couldn’t!” exclaimed Gwendolyn. Here the string bell cut short further conversation and Miss Dale, having gained her room, laughed heartily over the whole affair. She thought of the words the girl’s father had spoken that morning when he came to make final arrangements for his daughter: “Gwennie’s a good girl but she’s got some silly notions. Her mother is dead, and I thought that what she needed most was a good school and some sensible women to look after her.” She agreed with him heartily now concerning the silly notions, but nevertheless she thought to herself with a little pucker growing between her brows, I only hope she is too silly to do anything foolish. Gwennie was not especially brilliant in any of her studies, but as the same could be said of many other girls who made no pretentions to dramatic page thirty-three

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Our High School Seasons K. L. B. With the Springtime flowers of learning The merry Freshmen grow; The varieties, here, are so many, That few they learn to know. The grove, the forest, field and mountain, Earth ' s fairest pictures show, Of brightest sunshine, birds and flowers, And many seeds yet left to sow. Then, gentle Sophomore, wake from dreaming In Summer ' s garden fair. The frosts have gone, the rains have come, And light breezes stir the air. The sweetest perfume of the roses The weeds may also share. But alas, now cruel scythe, Your wondrous task begins with care. Then softly tread thou dear old autumn, Junior season of the year; Your beaker full of richest dyes Keeps Jack Artist busy here. Touched are all but the ivy green, Twining wreathes for memories dear. And the mirthful cricket chirping, With voice so shrill and clear. Sublime from the north next comes Cold Winter—Senior—king of all. To thee, 0 sculptor, stern and faithful, Some mingled joys befall. Carve thou with true steel chisel; Shapen your models short or tall; There ' s a master judge in waiting; He’ll perfect them: Mister Hall. page thirty-two

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talent, the faculty had no reason for complaint. She obeyed the rules, attended the recitations, was respectful to her teachers and amiable to her school-mates; and if she spent the recreation hours in memorizing and re¬ citing scenes from some of her favorite plays it could hardly be called a misdemeanor. To be sure, she broke considerable crockery about her room and in one of her famous death falls had dislodged some plastering on the ceiling of the room below. Nevertheless, as both crockery and ceiling had been cheerfully paid for, Miss Dale’s censure, though earnest and emphatic, was never over-hard. In Miss Dale’s literature class alone did Gwennie take an untiring and fervid interest, for the class was now engaged in the study of Elizabethan drama and Shakespearean plays. While other girls might pick out the shortest possible quotations to memorize, Gwennie would commit whole scenes and acts and recite them with such extravagant passion and eager¬ ness as to cause the teacher to stop her with a stern command, in the midst of her selection. Like all true lovers of the stage, Gwennie admitted the claims of Shakespeare, but secretly in her own heart she considered McGrath the Immortal William’s superior. The many popular plays which she had attended the previous season with an indulgent and unobservant father had caused her mind to be dangerously filled with many untrue impressions of real stage life, the result of which is now showing itself in her unnatural craving for the stage. Some of the girls denounced Gwennies notions as silly and ridiculous, while some of the romantic and sentimental ones sympathized with her ambitions. But nevertheless Gwennie’s room was the gathering place of everyone in general and no one in particular, for here were sure hopes of entertainment, not unmixed with a delightful sense of novelty. Among the trunks brought from home was one which contained a full counterpart of Langtry’s costumes, made mostly of cheese-cloth and cotton- flannel, given the finishing touches by the addition of beads, tinsel, artificial flowers and other inexpensive but effective materials. But it was while alone in her room that she produced her most touching and thrilling scenes. Tragedy, not comedy, was her sphere. She loved to groan and shudder and shriek, to tear her hair, to undergo most cruel tortures and to die violent deaths. Hysterical laughter, wild cries for help and mercy, coming from the direction of a certain room at the end of the hall, ceased to awaken any fear or apprehension in the hearts of her listeners. The teachers wisely made no serious attempt to check or suppress the stage fever which by this time had seized many of the girls, knowing well how many fads come and go during the school year and that it would be over all the sooner by allowing the girls to work it off. Gradually the novelty, as predicted, wore off and the girls, one by one, sought new pastimes and pleasures. Gwennie alone untired of her art, while the teachers, knowing the fever had about run its course, relaxed into that tolerant amused state in which apprehension had no place It was in early April that the unexpected happened. Gwennie not hav¬ ing appeared at classes, a girl was sent up to investigate, returning in a few minutes with the astounding information that the room was void of any page thirty-four