Northrop Collegiate School - Tatler Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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THE NURTHRUP WUMEN I We are the Northrop women We are the culted women Living in a world of powder blue Blouses and pencils Changing the filling of our headpieces From straw to silver We are the Northrop women We are the stuffed women Sitting at lunch Eating Shepherd's pie and lemon fluff Talking Feeding each other's emotions We are the Northrop women Swinging hockey scythes Reaping ankles All for the ribbon And Cyrus Bear Cheering for our Blake brothers Ready with our suitcases For the weekend away Tuo Nisu Progredere We are the Northrop women We are the women Filling with knowledge Spilling with questions Sprouting ideas Hugging stacks of books chin-high home. II Off to college you must go You must go you must go Off to college you must go My fair la-dy. We are the senior women We are the gaunt women At first with all our homework done Then with none But still the books The ideas The laughter, the chatter The scrambling in our undomesticated room The slipping from reality And the tumbling back. We are the erratic women Monogrammed in red Leaning on each other Gasping with giggles Sobbing with frustration Radiating dreams. We are the Tailor women We are the haunted women Blind with inexperience Seeing but figments of glory Sun! hie etirzm sua praem We are the Tatler women We are the recorders Working together Recreating the Northrop Land In our locked and private room Clearing the way through time, Paving the way with ads ia laudi . . . Treading on the gravel of friendship crushed Then born again in laughter Tinkling among teacups sunt lacrimae rerum ez mentem mortalia Between the conception And the creation Between the idea And the reality Between the emotion And the response Between the existence And the essence Must evolve our oneness In purpose, effort, mind Must evolve our understanding Of the Northrop Land And of ourselves, its women. IV We are the senior women We are the Tatler women Remember us-if at all-not as Violent souls, but only tagunt. lost As stepping to the wisdom of Acheron To the power of Clotho Of Atropos and Lachesis Remember us as stepping To our dream kingdom For our lives in the Northrop Land are done. This is the way our year ends This is the way our year ends This is the way our year ends Yes, with a bang! and zz TATLER. With affection and relief, And all due apologies to the recipient of the 1948 Pulitzer Prize for Literature, Betsy Howard Editor

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The year of 1960-61 was like a painting, a canvas framed by once-ivied brick, blue uniforms, and a sloping back hill covered with sun-bright trees. Each of us views this painting with different perspective. Each has her special place in regard to the whole. The Tatler is a guide to the things we all shared and recognize---the outlines of a person, the tones of varied discussion, the color of a season, the shape of a holiday. We think of this painting of our year as a masterpiece, a masterpiece begun with the bare, black sketch of the calendar and slowly filled in with the lines of our action, the tints of our thoughts, the shifting hues of our days. We formed per- sonal patterns and placed ourselves into the design of Northrop life, that rococo de- sign shaped by the artists of time, circumstance, and experience. Northrop has not changed us completely, but in this fitting-in process she has tempered us, as an art- ist mixes colors too intense for use. Now the patterns are set, the canvas is finished, we are leaving its frame forever, for wider canvases and larger frames. The sense that helps us recognize this year as a work of art, the sense that helps us discern a masterpiece from a mere assemblage of paint and canvas, is fragile. The prosaic may trample it, trivia strangle it. lt needs protection and training. It is precious, for it can make life wonderful in good times and bearable in bad times. In some of us this sense would never have grown at all if not for the efforts of one who has cheerfully suffered noise, disorder, and spilled paint to find it and develop it in us. She it is who has done her best with every student, no matter how literal- minded or insensitive-seeming. She it is who has brought to all an appreciation and an understanding of the wonderous thing,creativity'. She has taught us to find merit in the clumsiest efforts, even our own, and to find flaws without disliking the whole work, and to know the good from the bad, and the great from the good. Her imagi- nation and talent have added gaiety to all the endless Northrop specialties-bazaars, plays, and dances. For these things, and for the vast amounts of help, advice, and sympathy that she has given an always-harried, sometimes panicky Tatler staff, we dedicate this book to FRANCES CHAPMAN MAGUFFHN