Montreat Anderson College - Agape / Sundial Yearbook (Montreat, NC)

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Interior, Gaither Hall Chapel The Living Room in the Dormitory 25 The Dean's Ofiice

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IQS? Cottzcjz ON one of these lazy days of which you hear so much in the tropics, I was sail- ing in a flat-bottomed boat on the Nile deep into the heart of Africa, where I had often yearned to be. Now that I was here, how- ever, on this slow-moving boat with only a maiden aunt for company, I began to wonder if Africa was going to be worth all my dreams. Where was the mystic charm which is supposed to prevail on the black con- tinent? , and why had I left home? These thoughts roamed through and through my head—all of a sudden there was a jar, and I was knocked off of the blanket on which I was lying. This would probably not have shaken me out of my drowsy state had it not been for the raving of the natives on board. Hoping the cause of their yells would prove to be something exciting, I rolled over and looked around. The sight that met my eyes was far better than I had ever hoped, for in front of me was a boat on which was a white girl. There was some- thing familiar about the way the girl stood, the way her hands were placed on her hips, but thinking I was seeing a mirage (about which my aunt had often warned me, for hats were still the banes of my exist- ence) I stood gazing at this wonderful sight until my failing brain finally registered the fact that I might find out whether or not she spoke English. As I went closer to the edge of the boat, she seemed to become more familiar, and my mind began groping for her name (and I knew my aunt's threat had descended on me.) Groom was the first word that I thought of. but I knew no one by that name; then Bride flashed into my brain, and suddenly I knew that it was none other than Ellen Lee Bridewell who confront- ed me. Well, there comes a time in every young girl's life when she is rendered speechless, and this was my time. Soon, however, Ellen Lee was transferred to my beat and we began talking over old times. Speaking of our classmates of '37 back in Montreat started us wondering what had become of them, and so- we began swap- ping stories. First telling me hers, I learned that Ellen Lee had gone from our Alma Mater to the Assembly Training School and from there had immediately gone out to Africa. During her vacations at home, she had toured from church to church and had received news of many of the old girls. First she told me how Margaret Tucker had become a radio star, she is the Bright Child of the air from whom we had been learning so many of the bright sayings of the day. Cornelia Wolfe is covering all the remote spots of the earth searching for animals with Arnold Jr. and Sr., in her work. Isa had now be- come a multi-billionaire—she invested her money in a chicken farm and not only raised chickens but taught them singing lessons (the whistling hen has nothing on her!) Sara Adams is now on the screen and Step-and-Fetchit certainly feels the compe- tition he is receiving from the one and only Run-and-get-it. Laura Altman has established a life-long career for herself, for she has undertaken the task of teaching the colored people of the islands around Charleston to speak But- ter-Geachie. L. Anderson is the traveling companion of Mrs. lone It, and has been to many distant parts of the universe. L. Casada is playing the harp in Hans Kindler's Symphony Orchestra and it is ru- mored that even the strings are made of gold. As the boat slowly glided up the green waters of the Nile, we continued our gossip. Ellen Lee informed me that she was just returning from the Olympic games, and that there she had found Mary Beckett, who was winner of the pole vaulting contest. That was surprise enough, but she quite took my breath away by informing me that Harriet Brown is Madame Browne, world famous milliner who is taking Paris by storm with her new creations. The next person we thought of was Cor- nelia Brown, and this time I contributed the bit of information, for I had been to Atlanta recently and met Brownie on the street. She herself had told me about the salve she had invented that would take away pain from smashed fingers, so Bill's (who's an ar- chitect) contractors can carry on. (These helpful wives!) Mildred Coe couldn't decide whether to marry or become a school teacher and so she flipped a coin to decide the fatal ques- tion. It turned tails, so Mildred is teaching (Continued on Page 29)

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(£ at Witt (Put czHiitorij Q I E, the Senior High School Class of the W Montreat College, Montreat, N. C., be- ing of unsound minds, do hereby declare this to be our last Will and Testament. We do first bequeath our most treasured possession, Miss Elizabeth Leigh Porter, to Mr. James Lawrence Bennett. We do hereby bequeath to Miss McElroy, Virginia Ham hoping it will mix with Georgia Bacon. I, Mary Bauman, do hereby bequeath to Peggy Dennis my athletic ability to turn a somersault, and to Elizabeth Woods my fem- inine charms and my ability to keep my mouth shut. I, Helen Cain, do hereby bequeath to Gen- eva Higgins my red hair, and to Mary Har- man my shortness. I, Janet Carlisle, do hereby bequeath to Bette Brown my northern accent. I, Isabelle Carter, do hereby bequeath to Lucy Dean Wham a portion of my immeas- urable height and a lady-like voice. I, Sarah Clark, do hereby bequeath to Jean Cartwright my feminism, and to Dora Hayes my athletic ability. I, Carolyn Frame, do hereby bequeath to Ann Williams my un-surpassed amount of energy, and to Martha Guy my sharp nose. I, Louise Goodman, do hereby bequeath to Adelaide Bardin my ability not to study. I. Helen Hardie, do hereby bequeath to Patricia Piatt my black hair. I, Eloise Miller, do hereby bequeath to Marjorie Lucas my dignity. I, Mary Milne, do hereby bequeath to Mary Wynne Williams my love for Scotland. I, Priscilla Noyes, do hereby bequeath to Isbell Ager my peculiar ability to keep quiet. I, Mary Redding, do hereby bequeath to Dorothy Colvin my large frame. I, Cora Sapp, do hereby bequeath to Louise Porcher my loud mouth, and to Edna Robin- son my love for French. I, Elizabeth Scott, do hereby bequeath to Virginia Douglas my lovely hair and happi- ness. I, Patsy Smith, do hereby bequeath to Har- vison Smith my lack of sarcasm, and to Mar- garet Thompson my love for Latin. I, Paulina Wenz, do hereby bequeath to Aileen Conley my precise curls. ACK in 1934, we, the dignified Seniors, were only a small group of Freshmen, composed of these girls: Katherine Jenkins, Nell Cook, Elizabeth Chedester, Sara Clark, Cora Sapp, Kay Frame, and Eloise Miller, who started out on the Road of Knowledge, which seemed to stretch endlessly before us. During our first year we were more inclined to play than to work and as a result had quite a struggle. At the beginning of our Sophomore year we lost two from the old class, but these were added to our number: Isabelle Carter, Jane Walton, Ruth Alexan- der, Doris Mann, Vivian Bair, Edward Max- Wehlox Cl WAS in an insane asylum. Suddenly there came a thundering in my brain and, being filled with a desire to see my classmates, I slipped out and started for my former stamping grounds. Finally I arrived at Montreat and while passing The Store I was halted by a burst of melodious laugh- ter drifting from above. It was Eloise Miller who, with her husband and six little boys, had taken over the grocery business. Well, even back in the good ole days she was in- rlining that way. We conversed for a while, and then I trudg- ed to the dorm to be met at the door by a robust, matronly young woman who gave the appearance of being head of my Alma Mater. She was, and tee hee, it was Sarah Clark who just couldn't leave Montreat and was taking Dean Spencer's place while that good one went abroad for a well-earned va- cation. That evening (Saturday) for entertainment, what should it be but an orchestra-- Bau- man's Beautiful Belles. it was a splendid program with Elizabeth Scott giving operatic selections as a vocal attraction. In the midst of the music there was a disturbance in the rear and upon investigation it was—Bless my soul—Patsy Smith shaking her lorgnette 26