Northern Arizona State Teachers College - La Cuesta Yearbook (Flagstaff, AZ)

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LA CUESTA 1930 Ruth lay awake for some time thinking about things. Yes, Tom was a good sport, 'kinda' fun to be with, but Percy was a regular college man, especially in his clothes and manners, and she was glad she was going to the show with him, at least he realized her ability as an actress while all the other fellows didn't seem to appreciate the fact that she had been in two major roles last quarter in Emperor Jones and this quarter she had been the footsteps in the distance for the play, Jack, the Giant Killer. Anyway, she'd show them ..... Ruth Smith, dressed in the very latest style, walked into one of the smart shops on Broadway. The proprietor came eagerly forward: Ah! how charming you look today, Miss Smith, no wonder New York sings in your praise, you are a beautiful woman, a talented woman, a woman of great fame and opportunities. Ruth accepted this as a mere matter of fact, smiled at the Parisian tailor, and said, Oh, Monsieur, would you please send my beaded gown to my dressing room, I'll need it in my second act, and now I must hurry on because Mr. Halstead, the scenario writer, wants me to criticize his new play. Hurry now, Monsieur, with the gown, won't you ? The music of the Metropolitan was not the only attraction from the outside, for the lights were playing over the name of Margaret Mansefield in The Great White Way, and really this was our Ruth Smith at the height of her fame. Back of the scenes Ruth was talking to Mr. Halstead: Well, this common acting doesn't appeal to me, but I'll be your star for a few weeks, of course, the understanding will be that the contract will be signed for 35,000 a week, and after that I'm going to be a critic where chances are big. Mr. Halstead was bubbling over with joy at the prospect of hiring the star. It would mean success to his play. The lights went out and then spotted the stage. There was a low murmur of anxiety from the audience, and a tiny white figure with jet black hair and a lovely white face was before them. Margaret Mansfield! Margaret Mansfield! The house was roaring, and Ruth, smiling timedly, blew them a kiss. Horace Limberger, who played the part of the leading man, was on the stage, tall, graceful, the idol of Broadway, but his heart had been for little Ruth ever since they had known each other at school. She was in his arms-he had kissed her-now he held her shoulders- Ruth-Ruth- wake up, we got to get over to Deaver's class and dissect frogs-hurry, honey, it's almost eight! Almost eight . . . Deaver's class . . . Dissect frogs . . . But how about Horace Limberger? How silly, why, that was just the kind of cheese all the girls ate with their hot dogs last night! What a terrible dream, no more hot dogs at ten-thirty for me. Ruth called to Jean to come and close her window, and turn on some bath water, and find her clothes, and get her books ready, and borrow a pencil from someone, and lend her lipstick, and ask Agnes for a handker- chief, and the prof. probably wouldn't have to wait so long after eight o'clock for her appearance, and, of course, he would wait! One Hundred Fifty-scv

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LA CUESTA 1930 CRASHING BROADWAY Now the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Miss Smith, if this line were bent, what would it become? Two rows back a sleek, black-haired girl with eyes that seemed to reflect the same sleekness, looked at the professor with a start. Why- er-Dr. Reagan, it would be crooked. The professor seemed confused at such an answer, and thinking that perhaps he had not made himself clear, smiled at the confident Miss Smith and said, I beg your pardon, you didn't understand. fPeople were always begging Ruth's pardon, those eyes of hers almost made youb. I mean, if a straight line is bent, what do we call it? Ruth gave the Doctor a look of uncertainty, flashed him a smile, and replied, Modernistic art. It was seven-thirty in the dormitory, six girls were reclining on vari- ous pieces of furniture, including the bed of Ruth Smith's room. It was study hour and the girls were occupied in various ways, two were indulg- ing in the contents of the latest issue of College Humor , one was writing a letter home, which ran something like this: A I'm outta dough, Mom, and I spent all my Prom dress money on hot dogs and chewing gum, you know, Mother dear, a woman of the world must live up to her own social standing, so you see how it is, darling, a college woman has a great deal to contend with, and now be a dear and write me a little check for-oh, let's see-I'm sure I can run on 350.00 for a couple of weeks, and listen, don't tell Dad and maybe he won't cut down on my allowance. Your loving daughter. P. S.-I'm sorry I got all 4's, but these old teachers can't appreciate talent, because, Mother, you realize my abilities, don't you, dear? Jean. Ruth Smith was sitting in the window discoursing with one of the campus shieks concerning a date for the show Friday night: Yeah, kid, you wanna go, 'cause, Ruth, ya know, you expect to go on the stage when you get big, and this here show is 'shore' good I'm tellin' ya. O. K. We'll go see the Show of Shows if you'll promise not to go to sleep, big boy. Q Then, turning to the laboring girls in the room Ruth said, Listen, kids, let's go over to the stand and eat a hot dog, then we can come home and play bridge, and then if there isn't anything else to do we'll study a little before the lights go out. This seemed to meet with approval and each girl went to her room for the necessary dime. They were big, hot juicy dogs, and arranging with the manager to charge it they ate two, besides Milky Ways and salted peanuts along with bismarks and doughnuts. In fact, they did not reach the dormitory until ten-thirty and on arriving at Ruth's room no one felt like playing bridge for some curious reason. After a few comments on the incorrect methods used by college professors and the scandalous gossip that was being circulated about a few of the students, each girl fled to her own room with barely enough energy to perform the necessary washing of hose and teeth before crawling in. I One Hundred Fifty-six

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LA CUESTA 1930 THE OCOTILLO Many, many years ago, while the Imperial Valley was still an arm of the ocean, there lived, at the foot of the Chocolate Mountains, a tribe of Indians with their mighty chieftain, Kwonesha. He was famed, far and near, for his quiver of arrows, which were so effective that many Indians believed them to be magic. Only Kwonesha himself knew the secret of making the bright red poison in which he dipped the tips of the arrows and which made them the most deadly weapons in the west. He was very proud of his quiver full of poisoned arrows. He depended on it much in battle, and called it his trusty Ocotillo. Kwonesha had a beautiful young daughter named Wanewis, the pride and joyof the tribe. On the opposite side of the valley the Ojawebos lived, a fierce and warlike tribe. But Mahnomonie, the son of their chief, was, though fierce in battle, kind in heart. He had asked her hand in marriage, but Kwonesha would not consent to his daughter's marrying the son of a hostile chief. Then one morning Kwonesha awoke to find Wanewis gone from the camp. At first he hoped that she had only wandered away for a walk, but after the hills were searched and she was not found, he decided that she had' been kidnapped by Mahnomonie, Kwonesha was enraged and deter- mined to follow them himself to bring Wanewis back. Thereupon Kwonesha went to his tent and took down his quiver of arrows, his great and trusty Ocotillo. For days and days Kwonesha followed his daughter's trail across the hot, sandy desert, but never did he even catch sight of the runaway pair. Occasionally he would come upon signs of them, but that was all, every day he grew more bitter toward the man who had stolen his daughter. He determined to kill him the moment he saw him. On the last evening, almost within sight of the Ojawebos camp, Kwon- esha lay down to sleep. Before lying down he carefully stuck his quiver of arrows, his Ocotillo, into the ground to keep them safely, saying as he did so, Mighty Ocotillo, tomorrow I will send one of your arrows into the heart of Mahnomonief' As he slept a gentle rain came and gave new life to the desert. In the morning when he awoke, he found that his arrows had taken root and were growing. A delicate tracery of green leaves covered the shaft of each arrow and the red poison tips of the arrows had turned into long clusters of vivid crimson flowers. Taking this as a sign from the Great Spirit that he was to allow his daughter to live with Mahnomonie, he sadly gave up the chase and re- turned home, saying, Farewell, my trusty Ocotillo, as he left the beau- tiful plant in the distance. To this day the Ocotillo, with its tall and slender stalks and its flam- ing tassels of gorgeous red, attracts visitors to our southern desert and reminds them of the gentle Wanewis and her warlike lover, Mahnomonie, of her angry father, Kwanesha, with his mighty quiver, The Ocotillo. One Hundred Fifty-eight