Massachusetts College of Art and Design - Palette and Pen Yearbook (Boston, MA)

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THUMB NAIL SKETCHES A “FORTUNATE SKETCH MR. MAJOR AND “JIMMIE WHISTLER A MUTUAL FRIEND 17 JUST BACK FROM ABROAD

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The Final Touch AIRS. EFFIE B. WHITTET. Preceptress. The most entangled and com- plicated matters fall into harmony in her hands. AMY RACHEL WHITTIER. Instructor in charge of Public School De- partment. A remarkable woman of fine temperament and great force of character. FREDERICK AT WILDER. Instructor in charge of Wood-working De- partment. Whatever work he executed he threw a soul and a meaning into it. ASSISTANT INSTRUCTORS John E. Alcott — Perspective Theory. Doris Holt — Pen Technique. Carleton E. Reid — Applied Design. ANSON KENT CROSS. Teacher of perspective from 1883 to 1921 MR. KENDALL 16

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The Final Touch A VISIT TO NORMAL ART To Most Right Honorable Maker of Edition: — I have not dare seize fountain pencil to exude unusual addle of brain in this head up to this hour. Now I feel not so sinking in interior of person, so may ex- purgate anecdote seen in your honorable school. I still much frighten in stomach at remembration of experiments. I enter school in front, then sideways, after that back up and find me in room called by blue smoked maiden as exterior office. I gaze with face wide apart at beautifical labors of art on all walls, while maiden get pointer — no. Director were what she say as I think now. He approach — I bow lowly. He grin greatly under moustache and say, “What I do for you, laddie?” “I reticently beg to have permit to see over honorable natural Artist School,” I requisition. “Very good,” he retaliate, “I get green smock guide, if I may use term, for you.” “That term not apply here,” I parley, askingly, but he have left to unearth guide. Thus I start to peer thru school with other young maiden, now green. On right I see many student bending burdensomely over tall tables that run down hill. I debate hesitating. “That mechanical drafting teacher,” she say as tall worried looked man weave fro and to beside inmates pointing. Maiden she open door inwards. I advance quakingly and receive introducement. I bow solicitously. He swallow. “Well — well ! well — well ! — what’s this ?” he cogitate intermittently. I refuse answer because of paralytic tonque and exit backwardly. “His smile jolly, but desire hard labor,” say green maiden. I refuse speech absently. Next we go to darksome hall with boat in middle. Many green son and daughter on outskirts of boat looking thru small window on above said boat. I not have decision concerning craziness. Then I see young man with tall fore- head. He fold hands in front and grin sweetly. Too much sweet. I look again at scener} ' outside about me, and suspicion lodge within skull. Dark haired man with glasses propell self from inward door of dark hall. I seize maiden and direct gaze. “That Mr. Wilder,” she extricate. I disbelieve. “He look like kind heart for big man. Other ones here more wilder !” I assert convincingly. We now pass dusty old work shop. Two work people there. One look shyly up outward from above glasses while other big man talk convincingly by making balls with hands and press air with thumb. 18