North Shore Country Day School - Mirror Yearbook (Winnetka, IL)

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nicest, Spank added generously. Talk about muscles! Yes, yes, I interrupted. But tell me, have you heard from Peggy Boyd? Spankie sighed. When she got hitched, we lost one of the best shaggers in the troop. I gasped You mean she married what ' s — his — name? Yep, she answered, she did. Lack of time forced me to leave the Mac- farland troupe, and as I approached the exit, I noticed Mac McCaleb sitting on a soap box. He wore a pink turtle-necked sweater, and furiously puffed a black cigar. Mac ' s our bouncer, Spankie explained. Cute, isn ' t he? It makes us girls feel so safe to have him around! I gulped and rushed outside. Further on, I was stopped by a familiar name on a clothing store: Howard ' s Hand- some Haberdashery. John, himself, was giving a little man a salestalk in the door- way, and I strained my ears in his direction. My dear chap, John explained, snap- ping his bow tie. No one is wearing white shirts; it ' s not done. We have a stunning flowered shirt ensemble with a chartreuse background, and if worn with our imported violet socks — The little man shuddered and ran off muttering; John flicked one padded shoulder and entered his store. Passing a record shop, I observed a minor riot taking place. A policeman was battling with his victim, and I recognized them as Dick Hart and Pete Kuh. Pete was trying to escape with a record, while Dick, dapper in a policeman ' s uniform, attempted to hand- cuff him. Please, just one more record, sobbed Peter. I ' ve got 99,999, and this one would put me on a round-numbered basis. C ' mon, Dick — for old times sake! No! panted Dick. I haven ' t used my shiney new handcuffs for ages. I exited, realizing how fickle was friend- ship. Around the corner stood a flagpole at least sixty feet high, with a melancholy fig- ure perched on top. Heavens, who ' s that? I questioned an onlooker. Someone named McCluskey, I was told. He claims life is but a farce, and he ' s staying up there until he can think of a really good reason to come down. So far, he ' s done nothing but toss peanut shells on the people below. I dodged a volley myself and traveled on. Suddenly, with a loud blast, a long green car drew up beside me. It was Loey and Anne, and after greeting them, I asked what they were doing. Loey was aghast. What! she cried, throwing away a banana peel and starting on an almond Hershey. Haven ' t you seen Anne on Broadway? No, I gulped. Is she an actress? Anne blushed modestly, just missing a telegraph pole, while Loey explained, She ' s the greatest living actress today. I ' m here to watch her diet — you know what food can do! Want a Life Saver? she questioned. No, said I, pitying Anne ' s hungry ex- pression. That afternoon Anne and Loey took me to a concert given by Helen and Mary Adams, back from their European tour. Mary had acquired a foreign accent and smoked Tur- kish cigarettes in a long jeweled holder, while Helen sported a devastating Lelong gown and six diamond bracelets. They sang beautifully, and were accompanied by those amazing artists, Harriet Case and Merritt Starr. Afterwards, Harriet and Merritt invited us out to their rose-covered cottage in Win- netka, but unfortunately my time was too limited. Back on the street, I saw a brass band ap- proaching, evidently heralding a tall man rolling along on a ball. It was Roger Fisher, and he carried a sign announcing: Around the World on a Ball — Non Stop Flight. Roger looked quite strained, and had a dif- ficult struggle in balancing and driving off souvenir hunters. Wearily I went into a drug store for norish- ment, and while downing a coke, I noticed a most peculiar contraption on the counter. That ' s called ' Wieboldt ' s Folly ' , the clerk explained. The inventor forgot to explain what it was, but it must be good. That guy ' s an electrical wizard. Where ' s Wieboldt now? I queried. He ' s on an Hawaiian expedition, but you know how much he ' ll accomplish with all those hulas around! The man winked know- ingly. Hmm, I always thought Jim was the monk type, I murmured as I left the store. A movie next door drew my eye, and I bought a ticket, for relaxation from my lively afternoon. A newsreel flashed on, and re- vealed Eleanor Daughaday. This fearless woman has done much for the African Flat- foots, the announcer ' s voice began. Here she is shown converting the savages to red coats, just like her own, when a young girl in America. The savages were shown clasp- ing the coats tightly to their brown bodies, while Eleanor, in a white helmet, smiled in gleeful pleasure. When I came out, I noticed an engaging figure flipping pancakes in a store window across the street. Yes, it was Bill Davies, (Continued on page 68)

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CLASS WILL We, the class of ' 39, having at last fulfilled the exalted station of Seniors, and regretting our future transfiguration to the lowly status of Freshmen, being of sound minds full of happy memories, do hereby bequeath the following cherished possessions: To the Juniors — Our seats with the lower grades in morning ex. To the Sophomores — Our morals. To the Freshmen — The hours after midnight. To the Faculty — Our youth (They ' ve already taken the best years of it). Pudgy — Her school spirit to Betty Mercer. Pete — His football letter to John Bingham. Peg — Her blue sneakers to Miki Marion — Her languor to Marj Otter. Jack — His studiousness to Bill Watkins. Mac — His wild stories to Spike. Anne — Her Zephyr to Stan Johnson. Bob — His football shoes to Franny Wilson. Let ' s see him fill them. Janet — Her pep to Dulcy. Dick — His place on the touch football team to E. Fallon. Spankie — Her giggle to Sally Glaser. Rog — Thisbe to the Freshmen. Daugh — Her red coat to Mr. Smith. Mary — Her cynicism to Alice Warner. 3ull — His jokes to the S. S. Class. Mir — Her integrity to Larry Brashears. Jo — A well-locked building to Mr. Bollinger. Jean — Her sophistication to Nancy Scribner. Jim — His height to Anne Johnson. Hib — Her obtuseness to Patty Totman. Loey — Her weight to the football team. John — His cooking ability to Mrytle Gibson. Jane — Her disposition to Babs Pettibone. Barb — Her cyclamen lipstick to Miss Leslie. Merritt — His taciturnity to Loey Mason. Bill — His white track pants (underwear) to Tommy Keator. Harriet — Her hair to Miss Rost. Ziessy — Her vagueness to Mr. Taylor. CLASS PROPHECY It was on a hot spring day when Mr. Corkran was discoursing on labor problems that I suddenly heard a deafening roar and crash, and the next minute I found myself standing on a busy metropolitan corner! No- ticing a newspaper stand nearby, I dazedly grabbed a paper and found to my amaze- ment the date was 1949. I tremblingly turned the pages and came upon large headlines, announcing: Eliot ' s Newest Book Baffles Nation. Further on, it stated, Johan Eliot, noted professor of Boopers Institute, has done remarkably well in his latest work, 7s Grav- ity Here to Stay? ' Prof. Eliot maintains, ' If people wouldn ' t bother about gravity, grav- ity wouldn ' t bother about them. ' This must be 1949, I sighed, and con- tinuing down the street I spotted a large building labeled Dance Palace. The place advertised Spankie Macfarland and Her Troup of Dazzling Dynamos — Positively Last Week. Hoping that Spankie might be prac- ticing, I rushed to the stage door. There she was, with her hair a brilliant platinum, and with a charm bracelet composed of fourteen fraternity pins jangling on her wrist. Hi! You ' re just in time to hear the girls rehearse, Spanky greeted me. Is that noise an orchestra? I queried. Sure, she answered. Lydia still pounds the drums, like in the good old days, and she ' s one of our big attractions, too. Janet- er- plays the clarinet, and swings by her teeth on a rope between acts. Marion sings now, she added. The Bazooka got too many complaints, but they call her the Helen Morgan of ' 49, these days. Say, why aren ' t Jean and Eleanore Zeiss here? I questioned. Well, Spankie said, combing her hair vigorously, Zeissie, as you know, always had western tendencies. She finally married a bronco buster, and when they ' re not break- ing in horses, they ' re raising the twins to be cattle rustlers. How cute, I sighed reminiscently. What about Jean? Shh — , Spankie whispered furtively. She ' s an international spy. Right now she ' s in Albania posing as Countess Vonderplotz. What, I cried. Where ' s her husband? If you mean the fourth one, she left him, I was informed. The fifth one was the

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Br S ■ «■ ' ' ' ' BMBh lI 1 ■nflM ■» ; ig ii. ' i , . nKpiL -. 1 J t p ■ ■■ g ' ' ih 1 £ 1 £ -U-. «- ,«« ' ' ™ ■Mnrrn. s ■ « - V IBM SHgHPIMi HiHHi H Fourth flow — F. Wilson, R. Graff, J. Bingham, E. Fallon, H. Lowther, B. Mason, W. Wood, R. Wells, J. Wilson. Third flow — J. Mack, W. Watkins, W. Benoist, J. Malia, R. Wilcox, L. Barber, H. Gordon, S. Mosser, G. Green, S. Johnson. Second Row — B. Hoyt, M. Burnham, Z. Boynton, S. Straub, C. Nevius, L. Konsberg, S. Glaser, C. Harris, H. Harding, M. Smith, B. Mercer. First Row — C. Lowrey, A. Johnson, S. Welsh, J. Goodman, P. Totman, B. Conway, N. Scribner, L. Mason, P. Frank, B. Bird. LIFE OF A JUNIOR On the steps of the office a young Junior sat, Singing Willow, titwillow, titwillow! I sat down beside her and gave her a pat, Singing Willow, titwillow, titwillow! I said to her, Silly, why are you so mad? Oh have you been wicked or terribly bad? Or is it some teacher who ' s made you so mad? Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow! She answered me sadly and heaved a great sigh, Singing Willow, titwillow, titwillow! And murmured so grimly, I ' ll never get by, Singing Willow, titwillow, titwillow! My teachers all told me I never would pass, If I didn ' t work harder to shine in each class, But I didn ' t — so now I ' m a sad little lass. Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow! I said to her, Don ' t let it bother you, dear! Singing Willow, titwillow, titwillow! Just think of the fun you have had Junior year. Singing Willow, titwillow, titwillow! Although you may flunk we ' ll just envy you, for You ' ll be a Junior again at North Shore, At the end you will find you are asking for more. Oh, willow, titwillow, titwillow!