Needham High School - Advocate Yearbook (Needham, MA)

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IZOJ THE ADVOCATE found indifference. Now you know that I have countless songs in my head, and why canit I have a sudden inspiration as well as that man in the article? If youill help me write my song-after I get an inspiration, I'll hint very subtly to Eleanor that you're crazy about her. Or we can halve the spoilsf, she finished generously. G'Sure, Illl help you write your song when fand if you get an inspiration, but you keep out of my affairs. We'll divide the spoilsf' The next morning at precisely ten minutes past five Kenneth raised himself sleepily up on his elbow at the sound of ,lanie's apologetic voice at his door. '4Are you asleep, Kenny? Iam terribly sorry but I have something important to tell youf' Kenneth, prepared for a fire or a sudden death, jumped quickly to the door. I've had my inspirationln Ja n i e announced. Between them they finally finished writing the tune down. Kenneth had a rather unholy twinkle in his eye, but Janie was too rapt up in her uinspirationw to notice. At eleven o'clock she dashed out of the house toward the Goldberg Music Company, humming merrily HHappy Days Are Here Again,'7 and carrying her precious Minspira- tionw under her arm. When she arrived at the music store she asked for an interview with Mr. Goldberg and sat down beside a radio to wait. The announcer was announc- ing that the next number was to be the newest song-hit, L'Maybe I Made a Mistakef' The orchestra played the opening bars of a haunting melody, and Janie suddenly sat erect, for her own song, that song she had thought to be an inspiration, came to her shocked ears. For a moment she felt as though she might cry as she saw both the lovely dress and her self-esteem float off into space. Then she rose abruptly and walked out of the store humming sadly, Maybe I Made a Mistake. ONE THING CERTAIN Albert W. Hopson, fr., 733 I surely am no poet And the fact that you all know it, Will enable you to see What a hx it is for me, When dear teacher says quite gayly, Yvrite some Milton or some Daly. Of a feeling we're to write, But my good life4'tis so tritefg Yields forth these humble letters To impress upon my betters, That no matter how they look. Theyill not see me a Rupert Brooke. .IOYS OF A FINGER WAVE Marjorie Lunsford, 733 A gala occasion exciting eager anticipa- tion, an overwhelming desire to look oneis very best upon said occasion, a ways and means consultation with onels weekly allow- ance to discover what drastic measures will be necessary under present circumstances, net result-an excursion to the nearest beauty parlor-Hwhere Sue got her permanent, you knowl' - for a general refurnishing of Womanls crowning glory. Oh, yes, a frenzied hunt through the telephone book, and our young heroine makes her appointment for Thursday afternoon, three-thirty sharp. Always punctual, she arrives at her Mecca on the dot, and is assured by a smiling hairdresser, Not more than two minutesfi Grabbing the nearest magazine, 'clfilm I7un,', she resignedly waits, critically observing the prograss of various embryo waves, as she scans the doings of the stars After the two minutes have graduated to eighteen or twenty, she is informed by the still-smiling hair-dresser that all is in readi- ness for the operation. A First she is led to a low chair where her neck is twisted out of shape and her head

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THE ADVOCATE L191 JANIE'S INSPIRATION Barbara Blake, '35 Janie Wilson ran a tanned hand through her mop of dark curls as she surveyed the contents of an article in one of the latest magazines, entitled uWhat Is Creative Genius?7' Janie was a most impulsive young lady, and the gleam in her dark eyes might well have been attributed to the growth of a sudden idea as she read the following lines: MA great composer of modern music says that most of his finest selections are the result of what he terms a 'sudden mental inspira- tion., He relates that one morning while he was at breakfast a tune suddenly came into his mind, he left the table, wrote out his composition, and sold it the following day for a fabulous pricef' Janie was the youngest daughter of a mu- sical family. Her mother was a fine pianist, her father had a well trained baritone voice, her sister was studying violin at the Conserv- atory, and even her brother, Kenneth, played the saxophone Qmuch to the distress of his motherj. Janie had no such talents. It is true she could strum the uuken, and tickle the ivoriesn a little. She had, however, one peculiar accomplishment. She always had some song at the tip of her tongue. f'The right song for the right occasion can work wondersf' was Janie's motto. For instance, last summer at the lake, countless evenings spent in watching the moon rise over old ulfllephantls Headl' with Jack, or Harry, or even Bill, had been converted into more than just the usual routine of watching the moon rise, by Janiels softly hummed strain, such as When the Moon Comes Over the Moun- tain. The night that she and Harry had paddled their canoe right up the silver path to the moon, she had unconsciously sung Mlsnat It Romantic?,' Evidently Harry thought it was for the next instant they had both been wildly clutching the sides of the canoe, while between fits of laughter Janie had sung out at the top of her lungs, MSingin' in the Bathtub. All of this goes to show that Janie was a most unusual and impulsive girl. Now as she heard the gong for dinner, she raised her lithe body from the chair, letting the magazine fall to the floor, and merrily whistling the popular song hit Please,'7 she dashed to the dining room. Janie always dashed every- where, and she whistled only because she intended to ask Dad for an increase in allowance. uDad,l' she said as she unfolded her nap- kin, how's chances of getting exactly two dollars and eighty-live cents extra this week?,' 'fAnd why the sudden need for two dollars and eighty-five cents? demanded her father. A dress, explained Janie. L'Nothing doingll' bellowed her father, and that was that. Had Janie been anywhere but at the table she would have burst out with Am l Bluef' but one simply cannot sing at the table, so she only glared furiously at Kenneth. Immediately after dinner she dashed up to Kennethis room. uluisten, Ken, live simply got to have that W dress. she declared breathlessly. uWhat7s it to me?'7 asked Ken heartlessly. Just this. l have an idea for getting the money and a little respect from my most musical family if you'll help mein Then she told him about the article about '4Creative Genius. Meanwhile Ken displayed pro-

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THE ADVOCATE f2ll thrown back while her hair is thoroughly shampooed. Then, dripping, she goes to the wave-settingl' chair where after slapping thick, gooey wave-set on our heroineis tresses, the hair-dresser skillfully manipulates the aforementioned tresses and creates an astound- ingly symmetrical wave, tending, almost, to affect everyone with mal de mer. Since the back, after a careful survey of -its possibilities, has been declared long enough, it is twisted into countless curls, and the tip ends down by the nape of the neck are done up on cute little aluminum curlers. These Hcuten curlers are almost unbearably tight, and pull very inconsideratelyfbut what price beauty! After a hair net has been carefully adjusted, the heroine is taken to chair number three where she basks in the heat of an electric 'fwhoosizw during the interminable period of drying. Again she reads of the secret passions of Greta Garbo, and the sweet ultominessv of Alice White. By the time the wave is dry, she has memorized the contents of each of the dozen magazines. She now return to the other chair and, the finishing touches having been administered, she is allowed to leave, stretching cramped limbs, but rejoicing in the loss of the Mcutew curlers and the heat. Since her hair must not be touched before the next day, what a night she spends! Hair pinsl hairpins stick in everywhere, and the mess of curls at the back furnishes an imme- diate headache if lain upon. What agonies are endured in trying to refrain from muss- ing a single hair! After this comforting rest comes the dawn and a chance to do a little in the combing-out process. Gingerly grasp- ing the comb, she pokes and pushes here, there, and everywhere, and following horrible moments of suspense, emerges in a stunning coiffure. All is blissful during this first day, and many are the admiring compliments bestowed. Alas, could this rapture but re- main! Next day peculiar kinks appear and it is an impossibility to replace refractory hairs. From then on matters go steadily from bad to Worse, and for at least a week her hair resembles that of a shorn lamb, with nothing but ragged ends. Already there is talk of a second trip to the beauty parlor, the agonies of its predeces- sors completely forgotten l SCARVES AND FACES Eleanor Caldwell, '33 A pert little scarf frames a piquant face And adds to its charm a flattering grace, A face that shows no sign of cares, But only a life of ease declares. A dark woolen muffler thatis made for wear Half covers a face deep-lined with care, A rugged face, so kind, so true- A. gift that is allowed to few. A FAIR EXCHANGE Phyllis Brown, '33 Marcia slowly rose, with what she fondly hoped was a dramatic air. ulim sorry, Tommy, awfully sorry, but you know I'd never planned to marry young, and since Mr. Dexter has been so encouraging, I have de- cided that l should think of the public, and my careerf, g'W'ell, if thatfs the way you feel about it I guess we,re quits. You can't expect me to wait forever, you knowf, Marcia smiled, and thought to herself that he wouldn't go until she wanted him to. Aloud she murmured, sadly, HlVlaybe weid better say good-bye now, then, Tommyf, c'Good-bye. Tommy whirled and stamped from the room to run squarely into lVIarcia's younger sister, Sally, who apparently had been listening to their conversation. 6'Well,7, exclaimed Sally, al suppose you'll l