Northrop Collegiate School - Tatler Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

Page 10 text:

The Tatler Staff Marcy Haucfn, Editor-in-Chief Molly DlHavkn, Business Manager Carolyn Laymon, Business Manager Joan Akcltsincfr, literary Editor Susan W heeler, Literary Editor Sally Kinnard, Senior Editor Louisi Andrews, Photography Editor |i dy Os an. Art and luiyout Editor Betty Borman. Publicity Manager Kxkin Molanper, Secretaiy The T.4TI.EK Stuff wishes to gi ale fully acknowledge the assistance of: Mrs. Ralph Paetz and her invaluable guidance and encouragement throughout the year. Mr. Bob Pritchard and Mr. Richard Pond of Pritchard's Photography. Mr. Art Segal of the Bureau of Engraving. Mr. Abner Carlson of Lund Press. Mrs. Myhrcn Peterson, judge of the literary contest. Mrs. Frances MagofHn and her essential counsel on the art and layout. Miss Janet Gray, Miss Lois Nottbohm and their constant understanding and diplomatic advice. Mrs. Elizabeth Bryan and her indispensable help with the Lower School section. Mrs. Lyman Wakefield, donor of the picture on Lower School division page. Susie Baker and Helen Read, persevering and capable typists and researchers. Northrop Students and their enthusiasm ami support for the ad contest, the literary contest, ami the photographs contest. [63

Page 9 text:

Sweet music swelling, voices merging in prayer. Sight of blue sky, ,i bird’s bold fluttering flight And the great and golden day’s brilliant beginning. Here, in this calm, in this place. This is our school. Here is our hockey field Loud with vociferous enthusiasm, Sharp clap of hockey sticks. Blue and white pom-poms, brownies, candy, noise. These were our Fridays — Swiftly mounting excitement, a bell, temporary insanity. These were our Mondays — Slow awakenings of half-shut lids From week-end exhaustion. These, our exams — terrified tremors. Last-minute cramming, moans of despair. Doom’s Day, Then freedom, release — Parties and skiing, black and blue jubilance. This is our life, and these our memories. Hundreds of days brim-full of busy living, And each of these is Northrop, every one. And Northrop all of these, and Northrop us. Our forks and knives were always different patterns; The consistency was that every one was bent. The drinking fountain wept an erratic trickle. There were numerous strange mosaics of cracked cement. We looked at it all through ebony-colored glasses; To beauty in it we generally were blind. But looking back on every loose-held minute We see what a wealth of beauty we leave behind. Green of ivy, red of brick, blue of sky White of the apple blossoms on the hockey field. Orange of the sumac on the hill. Yellow of sun and the first bold dandelions — These were the brilliant colors of our world. Books dropping, feet running, showers splashing. Tinkle of jacks, clear voices of children at play, Toll of cathedral bells in the still afternoon — These the remcml ered sounds of our everyday. This is our sch x l. Here in this place, in these brief golden hours Our separate lives have crossed, our minds have touched And each of them is different for the touching; None can now lie quite separate from the rest. For part of each of us has molded Northrop And part of it has molded each of us ... This is our school. And sometimes it was sad and sometimes gay And sometimes it was dull and sometimes fun And sometimes it was loved and sometimes hated But always it was Northrop, and our own. C5]

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These are our teachers, Who through the long days patiently guided our minds And focused our wandering eyes on the world of truth Waiting to be explored. . . .