Southwest High School - Roundup Yearbook (St Louis, MO)

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would look just too divine. Before I had a chance to protest, my skirt was carried off down the hall and so to oblivion. When Mother heard that I was to go to the spring formal, she sent me a beautiful gown. I thought it much too nice for the part it Would be takingg those chairs were usually so dirty. The girls had fixed my hair and I looked quite stunning if any- body bothered to look up that high. I had even stretched the point a little and had bought a pair of silver shoes with one-inch heels, leaving me one inch before I reached the six-foot mark. When Susie and I came down the stairs to meet our dates in the parlor, I had the usual urge to run away, but Susie pushed me on. When I saw the two boys standing there, my hopes went up a little, for one of the boys was quite tall. He, of course, would be my date, I thought. However, as I went over to be introduced, I heard Susie say, I'd like you to meet Arthur Hitchcock, who will introduce you to your date. Right then my bubble burst. I gazed down at the little fellow and knew we'd get along wellg all I had to do was to keep seated and no one would know, as I slouched down in my seat, that I was at least five inches the taller. He was a very nice fellow and I am sure, if he would have spoken louder, I, too, could have enjoyed his jokes. Would you care to dance ? he asked me as the band began to play for the first dance. Yes, I said, making the only response I could. We made quite an unusual couple-so unusual, in fact, that I could feel the eyes of all the other couples upon us. That helped my nerves so much. He was trembling slightly and his face was a scarlet red. As I was used to dancing with girls, when I discovered that he couldn't lead, I took the situation in my own hands. After all, what difference does it make who leads! After a few dances, I managed to scramble off to the powder room, which is always a refuge for those who are not having a good time. Finally, I decided that I had better go back, so I gathered up all my courage and burst outside. If I hoped he would be waiting for me, I was disappointed, for he was nowhere to be seen. This should have made me unhappy, but instead it gave me an opportunity to look around without causing another scene. Just then I heard footsteps behind me and I thought my vacation was short-lived. Oh, well, I might as well be polite. So I quickly turned around, looked down, caught my breath, and looked up. I was so surprised at the height of the boy standing before me that I am sure my stare frightened him. After the first momentary pause we both began to laugh, and for the first time in myglife a tall boy had really asked me to dance. This time it was I who did the trembling. If I ever had to dance well, it was then, but my feet always seemed to be in the wrong places. At the end of the dance I waited for the inevitable to happen. He would probably have to see a friend or some such thing and so quietly escape. The inevitable did not happen. Call me Randy, he said, as he whirled me back onto the dance floor. I was in bliss. We got on much better after this. He seemed so inter- ested that I forgot my height, my lack of poise, and had a good time. When the band struck the last note of the last dance, I was really sorry. I glanced around to see if Susie and Arthur were waiting for me. Perhaps Randy wouldn't take me home: perhaps he would thank me for a lovely time, walk off, and there I would be. Oh, I'd walked home before. None of these things came true. Not only did he take me home and squeeze my hand, but he asked me if I would go to his school dance the following Tuesday. Yes, I think Father was right, perhaps five feet ten isn't so tall. Twenty-nine

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FIVE FEET TEN fPrize Winning Short Storyj By GLADYS LEILICH Five feet ten isn't very tall, Father always tells me. One thing you never have to worry about is being unable to see when you're in a crowd, you just look right over the top of people's heads. Some people may like that sort of thing, but as for me-this is my story: I suppose that I should begin by telling you that I go to a college for girls. Father wanted me to go to a co-ed school, but I put my foot down on that point--too bad I couldn't have put it down deeper fabout five inches, in facti. Somebody said that tall girls have poise-guess I got left out on that, too. The first day I arrived at school, I began to sum up the situation. I was to have a lovely room, it had said in the folder. When I got upstairs my three roommates had already begun to overhaul the room, I was to have the bed by the window so that I could get a lot of that nice fresh country air. As I made my bed I could feel that gust of wind blowing past me, and it didn't take much imagination to visualize the stiff necks I was to have. Yes, it was a great room. My bed proved to be a little short but, by tucking the covers in closely, I could stick my feet out between the bars. This method proved successful as long as I remained on my back. There are a lot of things you have to know to be tall successfully and I've learned quite a few. Susie, Mary, and Jane had placed the mirror at just the right height, they could get a last-minute view of the tilt of their hats by merely glancing into it, if I wanted to see myself, all I had to do was to get down on one knee. I had the ideal drawers, the bottom two. The girls promised to rub my back with liniment whenever I became stiff from bending down. The great event of the school year was a spring dance- Gosh, I could hardly wait. The boys to be invited were cadets from Norwood Military School and I could just visualize the little boys. The rumors spread around that some of the boys were six feet tall, but I don't believe in rumors-or miracles, for that matter. My only hope was that I would develop an attack of something or other. That had worked well before. Or I might say that, in response to a telegram from Father, I had to go home immedi- ately to help him care for my poor sick mother, whose only ailment was an occasional sneeze. That had worked too except that Mother felt rather strange when the girls sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a warm cheery note. For this particular dance, I had begun to run out of excuses. Unex- pectedly Susie informed me that she had arranged a blind date, and I knew that I Was doomed. Of course, he might find out about me ahead of time and manage to develop something himself. This had happened before, too. In spite of my hope and speculations, the fatal day arrived. The crown- ing point arrived when little Nellie down the hall asked me if she might borrow my darling blue skirt because her formal hadn't come back from the cleaners-she said she thought it might drag a little, but she'd turn up the hem so she wouldn't step on it. With her white dinner jacket it Twenty-eight

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BARBERS f Prize Winning Essay Q By WILLIAM CONWELL About once a month, when it begins to be dangerous for me to venture abroad without a dog license and when my hair begins to inter- fere with my hearing, I begin to think, just think, mind you, of going to the barber. It is not until two or three weeks later, though, that I suit the action to the words and pay a visit to that small brick building upon whose sides is firmly affixed a peppermint-striped pole designating the shop of my barber. There are thorns on every rose, fleas on every dog, dandelions on every lawn, flies in every houseg so it must be-the good with the bad. One thing always makes for imperfection. In the barber shop that thing is-you guessed it-the barber. Now don't get me wrong. I enjoy the attention, the tilted chair, the foot- rest, and the idleness of it all, I enjoy a few moments away from humanity, but not to the extremes I find in the barber shop. When I come to the totem-pole billboard, I am usually in high spirits, because here I can sit doing nothing without arousing adverse criticism. Furthermore, I grin at the stir I shall cause at home without my coat . Not even the line of waiting males can dampen my spirits. On the con- trary, as I contemplate the literary treat in store for me, my spirits actually rise. Seeing me peering through the window, the barber usually waves his comb enticingly at me. Come in, say his gestures. I enter, disregarding the look on his victim's face, which sorrowfuly says, You'll be sorry. The fiend greets me as the spider did the fly. Hello, I meekly reply and stiffly sit down. I'm trapped. As he resumes his chatter at the agonized human in the chair, I thumb quickly through Fuming Flickers, the title of which proves to be no misnomer. Swiftly I pass over Ronald Romantic's suit coat physique and those of the other stars that abundantly adorn the magazine and presently come to spicy pictures of Harriet Heartfiutter and her sisters. But just as I settle down to revel in Harriet's blonde beauty, the barber points his gleaming scissors at me, with the shrill battle cry, Next ? As I wade through the shorn locks covering the floor, I think of our living-room rug after my dog has just shaken himself. Bravely I sink into the arms of the barber's chair. At my head, a barber usually frowns. and after running his fingers through the dense growth, he glares, and finally he fumes at me with the sarcastic purr that perhaps I had been on a long hunting trip or maybe on a life raft in the Pacific to have acquired so much hair. I just mumble. This is the only way I can answer. If I quip, he doubles his already doubled price, and if I don't answer he'll really cut itg so I just mumble. Apparently satisfied with my mumble. he deftly throws a huge striped sheet over me. He surveys me critically, and then, like a dive-bomber pilot pushing a lawn mower, he attacks with the clippers-Bzzzzzzzzzz. To me it sounds like a buzz saw. And as it zooms over my neck, I think of Marie Antoinette, and become convinced that my barber must be her Thirty