Spence School - Yearbook (New York, NY)

Text from Pages 1 - 88 of the 1948 volume:

eo i a : J B Rei: We one “Lif. — v4 | PSE i Tue YEARBOOK OF The SPENCE ScHOoL ‘non scholue bed vitae discimus’”’ 1948 TWENTY-TWO EAST NINETY-FIRST STREET NEW YORK, NEW YORK DEDICATION Ce aux efforts continus et patients du “French Department” notre étude de la langue francaise a toujours été extrémement vivante et intéressante. C'est donc avec une reconnaissance profonde et affectueuse que nous dédions notre “Yearbook” 4 Madame Héry, 4 Madame Bertrand, et a Mademoiselle de Commaille. MaDAME E. D. HErRyY MADAME JACQUELINE-MARTHE BERTRAND Q 2 = = = e) O Q Q a x 2 ea} Z Zi xq oa] 4 Ss joo) 2 eS) a Q (a) pa hig ae ge ra eth i ig cae ah ide ae ee 4 a | | Dear Members of the Class of 1948: It is with special pride that I send my best wishes to the Yearbook Board and to all the members of the graduating class. Some of us have worked together for many years. Now that you are ready to bid us good-bye, I must tell you some of the unspoken thoughts that have been in my mind over the years. You are a class of energy and ability, and I am sure you will be successful in college and in your future careers. You have intelligence, humor, curiosity, and generosity. You have persistence, a fair amount of patience, kindliness, enthusiasm, and a good balance of self-assurance with humility. You are a class of spirit and optimism and yet are prac- tical and realistic. I think you have many characteristics which will make you high- minded and useful citizens, and at the same time good wives and mothers. Because your teachers and I have helped cultivate these virtues, we feel that you belong to us, and that you are indeed Spence products. We send you out into the world with pride and confi- dence. We judge you now as adults and find you to be a delightful and worth-while group of students. My best wishes go with you and my hope that, as we look on you with pride, you in turn will always look on your school with pride—and loyalty. Always affectionately, B Oi Venue Head M11S1VeSS ee Class of 1948 President Vice-President LEONE OLLIFF-LEE MARY HICKS AUDREY ELIZABETH AGATHON 55 East 86th Street Entered 1936 Vice-President of Student Government Photography Editor of the Yearbook Vice-President of the Camera Club Member of the Glee Club Member of the Science Club Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth, Sing away sorrow, Cast away care. NADINE MICHELLE ANNE BERTIN 1035 Fifth Avenue Entered 1943 President of the Glee Club Member of the Science Club Member of the Debating Society Member of the French Committee 15 East 58th Street Entered 1945 President of the Boarding Department Vice-President of the Athletic Association Member of the Stage Crew a ial Imagination wanders far afield. © d Fresh and full of faith. LUCY WARREN BLOUNT 960 Park Avenue Entered 1945 President of the Athletic Association Member of the Glee Club Member of the Stage Crew x KATHERINE LASCELLES DICKASON 10 Sinclair Terrace Short Hills, New Jersey Entered 1946 Chairman of the French Committee Vice-President of the Glee Club A good laugh is sunshine in a house. Mo My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France. - � (H”’ a y A Se OF 4 yf j “2 | x | PK. one. mA FRANCINE LUDMILLA DU PLESSIX f ay t we ; ’ caeN 7 o L 2 es : Q 173 East 70th Street xs Vn ( pHintered 1941 ) ; ae - s CT ae “ Y � Editor-in-Chief f I Spenceroso x a V P , 4 Member of the Drama Club , : Member of the Debatitg Society - Y fh MY, ’ . af 4 ? wf ’ j ie Pom . f “VA r ) ‘ p ad .y + t o ar oo - . “4 yy , 4 ¥, J iy, n on ( ‘ t, . 4 } pes Mf _ ’ o y, A { ‘ rv , 1} , f ¢ ' 10 fr : ¥ JEANNETTE MABLE GRAEF 4 East 70th Street Entered 1942 President of Student Government Member of the Drama Club Member of the Studio Club Great in the LS a OuS In Ag f fields a —. r I only ask for information. | Cue K QGroar Ga , MARY ELIZABETH “ae 136 Ancon AvermeX V2 Pelham, New York Entered 1945 Me can of Vice-President of the Senio Class Captain of the Gold Team Treasurer of the Senior Class Member of the Glee Club Member of the Stage Crew Race ALICE CAMPBELL KING fi 6) 11 Cedarcliff Road Biltmore Forest Biltmore, North Carolina Y Entered 1946 President of the Studio Club Library Representative Art Editor of I Spenceroso Art Editor of the Yearbook As good as gold. es ae Lig: rey KIP oe ; 520 East 86th Street % ow? ad Entered 1944 ac gs D we . ON dent of the Drama Club ye t- S53 vw Member of the Glee Club , “VY Member of the Press Club ik re Dies ov Yr ie ar. ie . 0” Oe: X Oia ae ee | Nee oP, Aw : AS q ae ot ee - Reet keen € ier x wy ¢ J A By ; r SUZANNE PARSHALL LAROE 5 Brooklands Bronxville, New York Entered 1947 Co-Editor of the Yearbook Member of the Glee Club Member of the Press Club Member of the French Committee Cool, and quite English, imperturbable Vai lag hs ld Yu F otae Adve CO Vo top oe Variety, that 1s my motto. 72) soe ae a ea Le cee a. LEONE HONORINE OLLIFF-LEE oe oe 159 Highland Avenue WS fi YO Montclair, New Jersey as Gas te , Entered 1939 Latino CLES OSs pat z, President of the Senior Class a resident of the Senior Class bar S, Z Member of the Studio Club Member of the Debating Society Captain of the Stage Crew SAL DA mare sg ne oe head ( Chis, BARBARA GILE LORD 60 East 96th Street Entered 1937 President of the Library Committee Member of the Glee Club Social Service Representative or, of y Stage Crew = a Ps ¥one™ t ’ me, . wae MS N wr iN + Ni sr” ¢€ wwe ee ( , � And such society as 1s qutet, wiseers @ ‘ ' . : cS. = eg and good. Fates mones SE ag rey c — . ‘. . BE eae ee ow! ONS Ss of J S e “gh } . ° . ' sf w NS . ‘ en 5 , � , .s o4 w= 5 ‘ a we a) r XX we Cs : N K a9! as S x4 Thy folded secrecy doth like a charm compel to thought. I ne ae ark mcr 14 ELLEN PECKHAM SEAGLE 22 East 80th Street Entered 1942 Business Manager of the Yearbook Secretary-Treasurer of the Science Club Member of the Glee Club Surely, surely, slumber 1s more sweet than toil. The innocent are gay. — Cae MEd abbans : ‘9 SUS Q_ ae ANNE SULLIVAN SSS 4y wonderdy | ; ‘ 137 Last 66th Street Ne ARS H SS eS Entered 1940 and 1946 A, IS JJ A. Editor-in-Chief of the Yearbook Secretary of the Student Council Member of the Press Club saa - on ae ba Vio. maa Tradlantent Quad ray | — Auan rf So wm Aino OND Ure ULI Line, ; ape LO Ate Wi. an oA ee ay , CS Whee. ° om ro Asad i oy ie Tad Prnok €- Mo UU voill , Hast Fer Supa Li ane, Oo� o. Nenite ua reali. a a noA 1A OW oe ol tn fate. _ ‘PATRICIA A. O. WEENOLSEN -— WMOrdA0uatahk : f e tego FB lisa wd “rey enka ho . : oa 3 108 East 86th Street Lede. ° hs Ma) vt ae a oc Entered 1942 lek _ f you. Assistant Editor of I Spenceroso ULads. Vice-President of the Drama Club Member of the Studio Club | Gutaa— A. {how A mind not to be changed by place oy � or time. “ 00” e ND so o NS; JOAN CRANDALL WICKMAN 9 East 96th Street os ade vere 1936 i RY so” Business Manager of I Spenceroso ; “e Member of the Drama Club at ren 0) the 9 ° en A yor em A = CCRT matey — PUBLIC OPINION CHARACTERISTICS Best All-Round Typical Spence Girl Done Most for Spence Most Likely to Succeed Most Athletic Most Popular Most Beautiful Most Sophisticated Class Radical Best Disposition Wittiest Happiest Best Actress Most Sincere Friendliest Most Original Most Versatile Teacher's Blessing HOW THE FAC- ULTY SEE US Lee Hicks Kip Graef oy a Weenolsen Hicks Graef du Plessix du Plessix Wickman Blair Seagle Blair Lord Kip Weenolsen Blair Wickman Kip King T HOW THE SCHOOL SEE US Blair Lord en: Sullivan Blount Blair Hicks Kip Bertin du Plessix Seagle Agathon Agathon Blair LaRoe Kip Lee Rockefeller Blount Lee Dickason King Kip Seagle HOW WE SEE OURSELVES Blair Dickason Graef Sullivan Blount Blair du Plessix Bertin Wickman Agathon Blair Rockefeller Weenolsen du Plessix Kip Seagle PATIENT Agathon Bertin Blair Blount Dickason du Plessix Graef LaRoe Olliff-Lee Lord Rockefeller Seagle Sullivan Weenolsen Wickman CLASSIFIED AS Lil Audrey Nads La Blair Luce Kathy Nikki Mary ACK Trink Suzi Leo Barby Rocky Ellen Annie Pat Joan DIAGNOSIS SYMPTOMS Puns Talking (period) Perpetual Motion A sprained knee A big stack of books Long words Neatness Interrogatoryness Eating Sullivan’s desserts Dilatoriness That Pepsodent smile That perfect diction A frantic hurry Batting Eyelashes The perpetual giggle Sleeping in class Broad ‘‘A’s”’ Faraway look 18 ALLERGY The lack of a crack Boys! Dullards Assembly Announcements Chaos Adolescent boys People who don’t read the rules Apple polishers An apologetic attitude Men Alarm clocks Marmalade Exams in general Those little snowflakes Novocaine Chimes Mental Stagnation Facts a ee ae Sit ieee aa SEDATIVE Civilization You Go to My Head Embraceable You I Wish I Didn’t Love You So Just One of Those Things I Can’t Give You Anything But Love Body and Soul Someone to Watch over Me Begin the Beguine Love for Sale (Bargain Prices ) I Can’t Get Started All the Things You Are I'm Always Chasing Rainbows Stardust So Far Need Somebody to Love Smoke Gets In Your Eyes Thanks for the Memories DIAGNOSIS ENVIRONMENT A darkroom Home (on Monday morning ) That beautiful blue Buick Gym Department With the Rosin bag Museum of Modern Art The realms of parlia- mentary procedure In her Thesaurus 12 East 88 Street Mrs. Berry’s doghouse The station with Rockefeller In the saddle Iceland 3:40 Commuter Central Park 7th floor sitting-room couch The Poets’ Corner In a perennial mood of despair FIXATION Gotta go home and take care of the baby Bue Never says the same thing twice Sh-u-u-ure What a howl! I’m sorry, but I couldn’t finish my... Oh, terrific! Get that! That little ol’ jigger How divine! I met the cu-utest boy Jeepers Oh, honestly! The box will be... You know what time I got to bed last night! I’m absolutely starving! My father made me go to bed last night Oh, I don’t agree... SENIOR PROPHECY Audrey =A gathon 6:25.5005 oe ee New owner of Delar Studio Nadine Bertin ......cscscc: SE ee Te Ry ee OS Fee A permanent stripe at El Morocco Betty; Biaie sh hoon 650 Ra ele ee ae ee Understudy for Ethel Merman Lacy Blotint ....Doing big business blowing up basketballs for Spence Katherine Dickason) 2 ee Usher at the Ballet Russe Francine di Piessix santa. ee ee ....... Author of a book expounding Marx’s theories Jeannette Gract 222. ne RE see ele ee Clare Booth Luce of 1960 Marty Hicks aon tas asta hee ere Newest of Billy Rose’s long-stemmed “‘Roses”’ Alice: Campbell hing 2 cane ee en Southern Salvador Dali Ratrinka Rips. 222 scpuat nectar ie ee Housemother at a boys’ school suzanne’ LaROe: st See ce) ee ee ee eee On every boxtop of Halo Shampoo Leone ‘Lee: wasnt oie hate act Pony girl at the Ascot BatbatasLord amwenGaae eo ee ae eee Head ice sweeper at Rockefeller Center ete Patricia Rockefeller..Spearheading the collection of soap for the Pennsylvania coal miners Eller Sear be nis 55 geet snes vc his Sa en The Mad Scientist Anne Sullivan oie inally awakened from twenty years’ sleep Patricia Weenolset .cccececwscsmeesniunenmmnmmmceine Fei aPean ode to mental stagnation Joan Wickman ................. aie coouePresident of the Sir Walter Scott fan club 20 1B Led Guess Who? LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF THE CLASS OF 1948 We, the Senior Class of Nineteen Hundred and Forty-eight, being of unsound minds and weary bodies, do hereby publish and declare this to be our last will and testament. We bequeath to: JatecAslar Roe eee 8 sc ddgoulatice agile aoa BAN ee eee Sullivan’s slumber secret Bertrande Benoist ................ ROE Oy gh SO ees oe ae Nadine’s knowledge of French {oar Conor ..2 ee ahd ere a ae, Nadine’s permission to attend proms Carolyn ‘Damp sess J) oi chscimeageeespaded ate eee Kathy's enthusiasm Ellety Dawes ccecscsciccscc cnc oe eee Betty's vim and vigor Mary Dillon ............ BOLT, CORD EONS. coh eee aie. ...Sue LaRoe’s biological experiments Mary Draké 2.5 Jeannette’s fiery temper Alice Ehrenclou ................. of Santoku Peon: If Wickman’s dissenting opinions Gourtenay Gentry qecn3 .. ah aen eadl Seagle’s straightforward style Claude Goffart ................ MTR SRM LRTI TCG fe Fiske fe Lucy’s concise paragraphs Nancy Keogh i qesicc28 4h a ecient ladies ican ene a aie ae Pat W.’s purple patches Meadie McAlphin ..... eee Fer ORE ee Ok ee re eee Ee Hicks’ height Nina Martianoff................. EE Rien EME eMC ee Me, Pat W.’s ethereal complexion Teady: Martity, «8c wsclnt ee Akos ie ee Pat R.’s Bronx(ville) accent Janice Merriman o.¢.042. 23ers Ellen’s giggle Héléne: Rapaport tecsicaee oer trees Ja isp na eee a eae Sy. Lucy's joie de vivre Barbara, Shuttleworth 2. 385..3 20, 2 eee ee bites ACK’s artistic ability Sally: Steele: jaca cece a Ao al oe Trink’s theatrical voice Charlotte Van Bomel .................. stsiancs picid nce eae Eee tater eee Audrey's unsophisticated charm Wer Wari tler Ret ,.cecscad eaececcc natin Wee tees eee ne ee Leone’s wealth of health Patsy Williams's. os.ce-¢ spastta: 5 ea ee ae | Lee’s saddle Minn? W itstot: Ate ea Se oe Paanee ns Ay os Ure e | Ae hd Nikki’s fabulous excuses Dorothy Witte en ee ee ERIE LE CER AT MWS BE td Barbara’s tranquillity Mes. Berry SS. Bes Soh Gs Ren eR om LAU a PN a neat study hall CLASS HISTORY SEVENTH GRADE— We discovered how hard ice can be in our weekly trip to Iceland. And we learned that life was not all play when we first encountered examinations. In our initiation to singing class, we found it to be a mixture of frolicking fun and terrifying solos. EIGHTH GRADE— Our trouble with Algebra that continued to the end of our Junior year began. Our English teachers were especially inspiring, and as a result we composed some truly fan- tastic and fanciful stories. We delved deeply into the intricacies of science, discovering how a car ran. We learned, however, that it would be several years before we ‘could actually make it run. NINTH GRADE— Between long discussions as to whether the Nile flows up or down we were ex- tremely pained (?) when classes were interrupted for air-raid drills, As a result of reading the Odyssey, swarms of us (two) started, on our own, to learn the Greek alphabet. TENTH GRADE— In Biology class, between our experiences with the fumes of frogs and formaldehyde, we found time to give a Pet Show. That year many class parties were given, and a raging (or at least smoking) fire and the accompanying firemen brightened the first of these innumerable hen-parties. ELEVENTH GRADE— This year we convinced our teacher that the algebraical portion of our brains was completely missing. To make up for this lack, we dieted daily with double desserts at lunch, and extraordinarily large portions of vocabulary throughout the rest of the day. Then, one muggy morning in June, we discovered to our surprise (and everyone else’s), that we were now Seniors. TWELFTH GRADE— In our Old-girl-New-girl party Baby Snooks was found wandering in Allen’s Alley, and the result was hilarious. As Seniors, we were amazed to find that once in a great while the rest of the school permitted us to enter and leave the elevators first. We watched the opening of the coffee shop around the corner with great interest, and it was added to the list of our haunts where we find some much-needed relaxation. If we have seemed especially angelic this year, it is because we are saving our energy for the years following graduation, ie ts Ws 24 PAGE 25 THE 1948 YEARBOOK IS DEDICATED NELS RIDDLE Who bids ‘‘good morning”’ every day, Whether skies be blue or grey ? Who greets us with a friendly word ? Who tells us that it’s quite absurd To cross the street against the light ? Who helps the girls from cars alight? Who runs the sound for A. V. E. And shows us world geography ? Who first addressed us all as “Miss,” And filled our childish hearts with bliss ? Who makes our parties a success By helping clear the after mess ? Who bears our bags with n’er a sigh? Who at the door bids us ‘“‘goodbye”’ ? It’s NELS to whom we give our cheers, For all his five and twenty years at The Spence School Zo 26 ae : | ee : lr : s ie “x Mi eg LSS OS USLIE { ACen Ace ADC oo) ae wre (VO beeu PUY JUNIOR CLASS i er: 1 LAA. 6 i - | SN TOLLE Uc | ee (a= re] | hat 9 about (o-n2Y Kereta - iad : 4 ( IC a Row: naee tonal | ; A 1 @ are Bottom Row: Bertrande Benoist, Caro yn Damp, Esther McAlpin, Mary Dillon, otk ¢C Alice Ehrenclou, Nina Martianoff, Ellen Davies. ° } j . : . | Sy i , ff j ™ I¢ | | P yd ‘ i | 4 : Need Se NA AV 4 C) rh role MIDDLE Row: Janice Merriman, Patricia Wi liams, Sally Steele, Mary Drake, Courtenay | | aj? | . .Gentry, Vera van der Reis. ! ‘ ‘ | lA | ( Top Row: Gertrude Martin, Nancy Keogh, Jane Allan, Mary Winston, Joan Comfort, Héléne Rapaport, Barbara Shuttleworth, Claude Goffart. | : ( OU RT a 6) J ’ os 2 y ‘ eee See bat | ie ' { | — | : ; ; ABSENT: Charlotte Van Bomel. Dati, Whar Rac yBankbana} al Cong rok oN accom lara GIENSS OEMO19n cow cat ea Youse Guin Bus First TERM Sam nee no ® oreaw ton President se ee Ree ae, 8 Be pee ee Sally Steele ‘ Deets PVE SIG CLE ee ois etek aot 2a ae RL ce plac Sl ONS er eee ee PV CNTA CHE ens Pesan, UMMM DL nen ee Me hr esha treed Oth con Bees RAEI IG Fa ee ge eh tesa aa Se Bonne ct ccnbetnvseospochirncncbncenanten You'll never see... Jane Allan arriving at school early— Carolyn Damp in a grey blazer— Mary Drake missing her brother’s squash matches— — ajo? Claude Goffart reading a comic book— 5 wo ae. cf a 2 ae + ° . me! oe On = ss ‘ vss Nancy Keogh being serious— ox Soa 14 ol eee CE UEDA a heee Janice Merriman in bobby-sox— (x0 ee od owe Cae SOON Patsy Williams rooting for Harvard— wee ve Re es Mimi Winston without Meadie McAlpin— Meadie McAlpin without Mimi Winston— Joan Comfort at Princeton— Sally Steele drawing people— Charlotte Van Bomel in a short skirt— + ' Wera van, der Reis agreeing— a tte oe Héléne Rapaport leaving school Friday without her lipstick— : Bertie Benoist saying French 1s easy— Be Ue -, 6 Nina Martianoff doing Latin vocabulary the night before— Oe a � ” Courtenay Gentry going anti-Shakespeare— 2a v ver G ee cota ee Alice Ehrenclou cheering for the Yankees— 2 Barbara Shuttleworth living in Manhattan— ot cae R32 : Sy” Trudy Martin voting Democratic— 7? a, - w cag oF Ellen Davies refusing ‘‘seconds’’— N os ‘age oF _ | a Mary Dillon in the back row in Math— of ae oo F — Dotty Witt in Northern California. PG 29 | CLASS TEN Bottom Row: Perry Morgan, Isabelle Davis, Joan Kirkland, Mary-Jean Taylor. MippL—E Row: Maude Haulenbeck, Judith Paige, Jane Walker, Elinor Myers, Margaret Shand. Top Row: Sherry Cogan, Frances Stanton, Kathleen Coxshead, Anne Millett. ABSENT: Lily Emmet, Sandra Stralem. 30 CLASS OF 1950 First TERM [BORE Bi Tbe OY 2: ens Orn to cr, hie Be cen ee a Perry Morgan Vice-President Sherry Cogan SECOND TERM REVICUGT forte Pe csteee ok se oe a Oe EE I ee Perry Morgan VEE ON RIC C77 Teer a ae eae! poe eee Oe Nc Anne. Millett SEIREDS: Anne, Lily and Ellie our rivals for “A’’s, Judy’s soprano “he-he,”’ Isabelle’s “views” (our panic for days), And Peggy’s sweet “Bubbles” with nary a flea. Joanie’s page-boy always in place, “M. J's” biology plus, Kathleen our wonderful basketball ace, And Maude’s month’s “‘chit-chat’’ no fuss. Snoozie’s love of snowballs in math, Perry's sweet voice surpassed by none, Smo Francie’s drawing such genius hath, And Sandra’s birthdays such good fun. For these things may not all remain, At least not last for long, for long; = : So out of them more fun to gain, We've put them in our Sophomore Song. Mu, hove. SR et CLASS NINE BottoM Row: Peggy Polikoff, Wendy Gilpatric, Betty Finley, Sylvia Agathon. SECOND Row: Marianne Crocker, Elise Heck, Evan Burger, Lelia Wardwell. THIRD Row: Evyne House, Susanne Barbour, Lee Kinard, Sylvia Farmer. FOURTH Row: Patricia Schulte, Phyllis LaFarge, Virginia Faesy, Ann Hastings. Top Row: Gioia Vlahos, Dale Dorman. ABSENT: Donna Webster. We NO GNSS: OB 195) First TERM DEL PCI NES ge Ses ae 08h p bao oO tiny secs toh el, eat PR Mall: , fet coke eae ey Sylvia Agathon RPI LIME TI GTE Sox oe cis Sv ia cotton Bas OR ee ce ay SE A Re Evan Burger LIAS WAT eae Ok 2 oe were ton 5 WS 9 Steen it OE SN A oer oR Sylvia Agathon Vice-President . Virginia Faesy THE FRESHMAN CLASS The scene: The Ninth Grade Study Hall. The time: Any school Monday just before the bell. Freshman are scattered liberally around. Sibby, our president, has just finished re- minding us that sitting on desks and hair-combing in studies are not allowed. Pat S.: Peggy, may I borrow your comb? The bell is about to ring as Evan B., Dale D., Virginia F., Wendy G., Gioia V., and | a few other stragglers come panting in. | Evan B.: Wasn't the Latin hor-r-d ? Wendy G.: Phyllis, did you get that last problem in Math? Phyllis La F.; Yes. It wasn’t very easy. (She proceeds to give a long and involved ex- planation which Wendy does not understand.) So, you see, x equals y after all. Wendy G.: (Doubtfully) Y-yes. Gioia V.: 1 went horseback riding Saturday. Betty F.: Are you coming up to the Armory this afternoon ? Gioia V.: Horses! O-h-h-h. (She swoons) Sylvia F.: Ann, let’s go down to the gym and shoot for baskets. Ann H,: Sure. Marianne C.: Perry, Perry. I finally got a letter from him. Lee K.: Robert Q. Lewis, O-h-h-h. Lee W.: Pul-lease bring your money. This is accompanied by dramatic gestures. (Lee is our Social Service representative.) Donna W.: Is anybody going to do anything this afternoon ? Elise H.: I got a code in de head, Peggy P.: Has anyone seen my Math book? Virginia F,.: Has anyone seen my mouse ? Dale D.: It was last seen running around the French room, I believe. Sue B.: 1 got another letter from... Evyne H.: Does anyone want to be psycho-analyzed ? With our ever-shepherding president’s “Get in line. Get in line,” we end our pre- curricular remarks and settle down to the school day. Dale Dorman he, STUDENT COUNCIL natters more quickly and e ey is is a government of the dents, for the students. Cc SOCIAL SERVICE COMMITTEE Chairman. ......... Oise eat Patricia Rockefeller CLASS REPRESENTATIVES bee eo ee ee i Dal bdatas Lord b.O AIS Clee a Hee See anice Merriman ee hee BRL i) | aed eee SF Isabelle Davis LES 2, PO Oe ae Lelia Wardwell Ad eee eae ie Je eee oe to Lynn Geri lee eee ee eee teal Kocoler | | i | | XII | SOCIAL SERVICE CALENDAR ol allt | 8) iets een ee ener wowuBooks for the Kentucky Mountain Schools © Fea) 5k ee dee SRE Ae nee PN peer ede es. United |Hospital ‘Drive Newarnber i) if See : Thanksgiving Baskets Seamen’s Church Institute Christmas Dolls i - SSN Se 2 Sea eee i ae Toys for Police Athletic League i NETS) a a ie ee Ane A Oe eee ae a vue March of Dimes L Bebraicy) ere ee Ree Te neh ST ee i ae peas | Red Cross | Mittal eee te ae oie ee eee ot _....Our school in Epinal rjNelyl mene Re ees ee eg PE i OR eh ah Se, Glee Club Concert EN as, OS SI oT Oe Ui nC eee ce ee ere _......Junior Alumnae Drive LE COMITE FRANCAIS Vous pouvez facilement trouver Epinal sur une carte de France: puis, chercher les Vosges ou Epinal est située. C’est 1a que se trouve l’école adoptée par Spence. Dans cette école il y a des jeunes filles comme nous; des jeunes filles qui aiment les mémes distractions, les mémes vétements; mais ces jeunes filles n’ont pas grand’chose maintenant, pas méme une bonne nourriture. C’est pourquoi nous avons adopté cette école: pour aider les jeunes filles qui sont devenues réellement nos amies. Rien ne les ravit plus qu’un grand envoi de riz, de sucre, de farine, de thé, et d’autres choses de ce genre. Avec ces choses, la directrice, Madame Brault, leur fait faire de bons repas et elle leur fait servir le thé 4 quatre heures. Quelquefois, pour les fétes, Madame Brault leur fait faire des petits gateaux, et elle partage le chocolat entre celles qui en ont le plus besoin. Ces jeunes filles ont toujours besoin de vétements, et elles manquent aussi de savon. La laine que nous envoyons va leur faire des tricots et des chaussettes, donc nous espérons qu’elles seront trés contentes. Le bazar qu’on va avoir en mars est au bénéfice d’Epinal. Tout le monde vient pour bien s’amuser et pour faire de belles emplettes. Il y aura toutes sortes de bonnes choses a manger qui seront preque toutes faites chez nous, et il y aura aussi une piece comique. Quand on vous le demande, donnez, en pensant au bonheur de vos amies en France. Et n’oubliez pas de leur écrire car ce sont les lettres qui leur font le plus plaisir. FRENCH COMMITTEE Cpa Rat hc ee Katherine Dickason MEMBERS Nadine Bertin Esther McAlpin Mary Winston 38 Ss oy ene? ae CRA A eek a Roy sa. eto | tes ee ee en Datbara- Lotd CLASS REPRESENTATIVES ET tn ae ee ee Bes. eee one he ee eee es _Alice Campbell King EX Dee oo kee eeu gh es Rea ein eor Oe Sek ne era. eee Courtenay Gentry te ene ee atest ps ener ee. he ee ee elon Anne Millett jo. edt Wem TR BET. 2: UE Sar nein ee ri Be eee ene eee tee eee gree Phyllis La Farge “Realms of gold” we have in the Library. It has been the aim of the Library Com- mittee to guide to these realms and to exhibit the “many goodly kingdoms.” Of the goodly state of women authors Miss Scoggin told us in a talk arranged by the Library Committee. Have you read Young Miss Burney? Ask some of the eighteenth-century- studying Elevens how charming it is! Your Committee has tried to bring to you by means of Lfe’s picture exhibits the Middle Ages, Fifteenth Century Venice, the Renaissance, and the Age of Enlightenment. Of great value to the Committee was a little research, by trial and error, on the center of gravity of Life’s posters so that they could be displayed without injury to passing spectators. From the Public Library the Committee secured a loan exhibit on India—this before the death of Mahatma Gandhi. Therefore, through book and picture we knew something of the conflicts in that unhappy land which led to the assassination. The French Committee joined with the Library Committee in arranging an exhibit of pictures and souvenirs from our adopted school in Epinal, France. For the “Audio” side of our Audio-visual education, we are going to have a Record Library. Acquisitions to this are recordings by Maurice Evans of Hamlet and Macbeth. To Miss Cutter, who has been a most helpful and cooperating guide in all the Com- mittee’s activities, we express our thanks and that of the School. oh, i | Janveryy Pagy 3 40 YEARBOOK BOARD Editor-in-Chief ..... ea oS 5B Uno tel cd iaales ae aac, Ene es Anne Sullivan Co-Editor ie : Suzanne La Roe MAGE EMG OP ceanecssssneoe ee, Te. Nae ee pee eae ee Alice Camppell King Photography Editor ' LA tr et oy Re oo ee tdrey A pathon Ellen Seagle Basiness Manager. op. -nitoe E our contributions we have judged. EK very little vote we've counted, And for ads the earth we've trudged. R ough-print photos we've discounted. B aby pictures we've collected. ‘@) wing to a lack of bards, QO bscure rhymes we all confected. KK eep this now with our regards. To Audrey Agathon, the Photography Editor of the 1948 Yearbook, thanks from all Spence for the pictures she arranged for, the countless candids she herself took—in fact, on almost every page you'll see Audrey's work. Last but not least, Mrs. Berry, we thank For saving these pages from being a blank. 41 LEST WE FORGET October 1—Alarins go off early this morning. . . ..,Back to school after a WONDERFUL summer, .. . Old friends and new faces... . October 23—Terrified new girls become old girls. . . . Baby Snooks immortalized. . . . November 25—First report cards....Nocomment.... November 26—Thanksgiving program in Assembly. . . . Third Grade and Drama Club. , LeaWere outi. 4. December 1—Back again. . . . Counting the days until Christmas vacation. .. . December 19—Eighth Grade outdoes itself in annual Christmas production, . . . The long-awaited day has arrived. ... !!! January 5—Sleepy faces. . . . “So glad to be back”??? . . . Cramming for midyears DEDINS As EXAMS!!! February 12—“Fourscore and seven years ago.” . . . Fathers, uncles, brothers, . . . Cur- rent Affairs Test. ... February 23—Well-earned holiday... . Thanks, George. .. . March 19—At last! ... Bursting with spring fever, we thought we couldn’t wait... . March 31—The final stretch begins. . . . EXAMS!!! June 2—Commencement. .. . The end and the beginning. ... Au revoir. . DRAMA CLUB Bashfully we admit that our audiences had a very good laugh this year. Modestly we attribute it all to the stupendous performances of our niembers. Shyly we are taking several curtain calls. Our first play for Thanksgiving, called ‘“A Note To Myself,’ combined a little moraliz- ing with a lot of slapstick to the approval of the alumnae and ecstasy of the third graders. Next, our abilities were turned to the Lincoln’s Birthday program, in which the life of Lincoln was stirringly traced in poem and play from boyhood to presidency. Although we could have used Raymond Massey here and there, the program was moving and highly appreciated. After the usual “war,” “She Stoops to Conquer’ by Goldsmith became the spring play. Since the gay comedy had not been produced at this writing, with the aid of our imaginations we feel that “She Stoops’ was the success to end all successes. Whatever it was, the cast, the stage crew, and, we hope, Miss Bradshaw, had a wonderful time with it, and with all our attempts of a year. DRAMA CLUB 44 Presid OMB vicki iota ens wis Te Kip Vice-President ose Patricia Weenolsen GLEE CLUB You've often been told of what the Glee Club sings at concerts. You have probably attended some of the concerts yourself. But are you aware of the months of extra rehearsals and pr eparations for the big night? You are probably vaguely aware of some kind of preparation when you find that the Assembly Room on Mondays and the sixth- floor drawing-room on Thursdays are closed to all except “musicians” until five o'clock. You hear strains of pleasant music as early as November and probably wonder why we bother to call so many more extra rehearsals as time goes on. What goes on behind those closed doors—‘‘hic labor est.” First, we all have our music in front of us. It’s easy enough to go on endlessly, just reading music and words. But try to do three measures correctly without those precious pieces of paper. Rule num- ber one is—o music at the concert!—However, while we still have time to cling to our librettos, we sing the notes and the words right (well, al- most right). During this time Mr. Ross patiently points out to us the value of intonation and feel- ing in a song; for days he goes through musical President Vice-President calisthenics to get us to produce the right ‘‘mood.” Yet the minute we sing by heart, everything 1s forgotten as we concentrate on remembering words and music. Mr. Ross will sit quietly, glance coldly about him, and say something to this effect: “I have been associated with music for years. Will you please explain to me what you were singing?” Thereupon we begin again, and sing again, and fifty times more after that. The concert of the year, the end and aim of all the rehearsals, was with the Williams Glee Club on March thirteenth, at the Junior League. We hope the audience felt that the rehearsals—and the extras—resulted in a musically satisfactory and delightful performance, Many of the audience did say these complimentary words. In turn, the Glee Club wishes to thank both Miss Prohaska and Mr. Ross for their pat ence, their inspiration, and their devotion to the Club’s musical training. Finally, as the Club’s President, I want to thank all the members for the spirit with which they have sung all the year through. STUDIO CLUB EE ERE Ee cs dee NON cet MeO ib Me faker PE Pm Alice Campbell King BS ice pian eI. See Ree ee era NUN CS KS In the Studio Club paint and paper have combined with amazing results. Not only in subject matter has there been much variety, but also in the use of different mediums. Leone Olliff-Lee has great ability in drawing dogs, and, to her surprise and joy, Miss Woodward brought in a darling cocker spaniel one afternoon. Speaking of models— every once in a while one of the members dresses in a costume of her choice and poses for the others. Besides the realists in the club, we have two outstanding imaginists, Patricia Weenolsen and Joan Wickman. Their paintings with brilliant colors and excit- ing themes add as much to the Senior Gallery Exhibition as Jeannette Graef’s panels over the supply shelves do to the Art Room. J. G.’s gay fish and colorful abstract sea- weed make that corner of the room a bright spot. Along the experimental line, Alice Campbell King has tried applying water-color paint with a rubber sponge on paper that has been soaked. The results look a little like textile designs. Besides the work in water color, interesting effects have been obtained with chalk, charcoal, and oil. In addition to .afternoons in the Studio, the club members visit art museums or current exhibitions. The Frick and the Whitney are favorite haunts, and the Museum of Modern Art. Miss Woodward's help and ideas are always an inspiration to the members. We all want to wish her success in her own work and with next year’s Studio Club. 46 Drac Dhuitlu7 T'm qiawung of a “2” bud with Hour Heng off the Snps, of Thr Scaincr Aen, and the basKxit - 1 aqow @laying ©2161 bound fy csin | Ball, and norANo President Mary Dillon Secretary-Treasurer Ellen Seagle MEMBERS Audrey Agathon, Nadine Bertin, Alice Ehrenclou, Courtenay Gentry, Ann Hastings, Barbara Shuttleworth. REMINISCENCES OF A RODENT One of the greatest shocks I received upon my arrival at Spence was to find that I, a Hamster, and a royal rodent, had been dubbed “Snooper.” My feelings on this subject are too strong to be expressed, so I will continue this brief résumé of my Spence Sojourn. When we arrived, my dear wife, Perpie and I, people we later found to be mem- bers of the Science Club placed us in a rather large and moderately comfortable cage. From here we noticed that several of the girls were carrying flasks of liquid into a place that they called the “Dark Room.” Thinking that they were feeding another animal, my wife and I made a secret journey to this mysterious place. We were somehow separated ; I had some fantastic adventures down gigantic stairs. When we were finally caught and returned to our cage, I discovered my wife was very ill from some liquid in a tray in the “Dark Room.” The following evening she died. The Science Clubbers had not dis- covered our trip to the accursed room; and fearing that they might find out through her death, I felt compelled to devour her. The Science Clubbers since have accused me of cannibalism! Perish the wretched thought! These humans called Science Clubbers are very weird and quite peculiar. Their Club meets for about twenty minutes every two weeks to discuss either my fate, or what new pet they wish to acquire. I noticed that once or twice there seemed to be some financial problems, and I trust these were solved. Audrey Agathon CAMERA CLUB Presid pt tc ee Nina Martianoff ViCO-PHOSID CID cecccoccsscnnesssneseccnveeeee Audrey Agathon MEMBERS Carolyn Damp, Mary Dillon, Alice Ehren- clou, Betty Finley, Elise Heck, Nancy Keogh, Héléne Rapaport, Margaret Shand, Barbara Shuttleworth, Frances Stanton, Sandra Stralem. 48 DEBATING SOCIETY President Joan Comfort Vice-President Margaret Shand MEMBERS Nadine Bertin, Francine du Plessix, Evyne House, Leone Lee, Nina Martianoff, Patricia Schulte, Sandra Stralem. Should High Schools be Co-Educational ? This was the question for our debate. We had been Icoking forward to this event, planning for it, and know that the best side won. Every Tuesday we meet on the fifth floor with Mrs. Ryan, our faculty advisor. Each girl has gathered during the week the material for her speech. Each member reads her speech; her team members criticize and improve it. The team captains and the president collect extra material and give it to the girls who need it. Each team meets in a separate room; the points are unknown to the other team until the day of the debate. Mrs. Ryan has helped us a great deal by teaching us the rules of debating. We have asked Miss Cutter for reading on this subject; in future years we hope to have a shelf of books on debating. The Club also decided to have notes on our speeches this year, which we felt would make the speeches more informal. We decided to have a chairman to present the ques- tion before the debate, to introduce each speaker, and tell which side she represented. Our hope is that our first debate will be so successful that we shall be able to hold a second debate. In any case we look forward next fall to a debate on the presidential elec- tion issues. The members of the Debating Club will be preparing for this during the summer, for we expect to have it early in October. Our ambition is to develop our Club to the point where we are trained enough to challenge another school—eventually a boys’ school! 49 ._.=- + nm Ty _ =a mire ATHLETIC ASSOCIATION A “Super’’ athletic year 1947-1948 has been at Spence. Under the inspiring leadership of Mrs. Vigeland and Miss Hodgson everyone has shown a great interest. The White and Gold Teams, urged on at every moment by the team captains, Mary Hicks and Meadie McAlpin, have battled fiercely in every sport for the coveted cup, the biggest struggle of all, however, being the President of A. A.’s efforts to pronounce “athletics” correctly in assembly. In the fall we started off with tennis and hockey for the outdoor type, and volley ball and both modern and square dancing for our more urban athletics. Even the tennis players who were pretty good at wielding a tennis racket had to answer Miss Hodgson’s quiz on rules and etiquette of the game. If you didn’t know your loves and foot faults, you were out of luck. When the weather grew colder and we shivered more and more on the courts, we moved inside to take up basketball, ice skating, and our new sport, fencing. We do not cee much of the fencers’ performance, but we at least know they have learned to use the words “touché” and “en garde.” The highlights of our basketball season are the games with Miss Hewitt’s and Lenox, as well as the team games. 52 Deal Grutiete, - . ee Conarass SN Ao Lee) eee ahr adolf Fecumn CoanJarwr, De Can r an Wad QU Ma nag. Maal Rear WIS WO Norse ask O2 aun Geek in We @.R. County Ucn pir mek LR MORAN GoNKQintaemante. Kom a our 2S we Crow whak Yaak okounds Par) Nee YORU Ln Grouk' Sou. Bas Bond WIS WR ke. PICORL Gow! lp bua Sores Lathan wm Arn, Ada TERN | “Ueax. Our spring program is interesting and so varied that everyone finds a sport to her) Hiawsd SSS “Ereuase! oS liking. We offer soccer and or volley ball, softball, swimming, tennis and dancing. SORT ‘ Soe xCceXren step up and take your choice. Baby in a high chair Who put her up there Ma, Pa, Sis boom ba Spence, Spence, rah, rah. Dr eae ay a SP ek siesta eer i Seea eee Lucy Blount ies ERS oe ee SC Betty Blair CA FFE hy MEET AG CY. 1 | SO ee Mary Hicks Captain of White TVeant nic Op RON rice 2th a Oey MRO Me eae Esther McAlpin | A 17 At | ee ee ne ee eg Se Betty Blair So you’re coming to board at Spence next year? Like all prospective boarders, I know you have thousands of questions and so here goes. Don’t forget to bring one of your favorite animals—my bear loves someone to talk to when I’m downstairs. Speaking of downstairs, we spend almost the whole day there. We're up at 7:25, breakfast at 7:45, walk a little later in red taffeta petticoats for the “new look” instead of in red flannels as they did in the old days, and then back just in time to see if the mail is in before school starts. The next big break is lunch at 12:40. The boarders always bring troops of day-girls up to their rooms afterwards for a fleeting half-hour. Out come the needles and the Argyle socks, and the chatter and radios mount higher and higher. When school is over at 3:00, there are walks and gym or, if you’re a Senior and are free, you dash down to Schrafft’s for the afternoon. The Seniors live a “life of Riley’ — room study, no chaperones and loads of other privileges. As for rooms, most of us are lucky in having roommates as there aren’t many singles. Some of the girls decorate the w alls with pennants and banners—St. Marks, Princeton and Yale are well represented, and all the dressers sport pictures galore—and not just those of mama and papa! 54 { Almost everyone has a radio, and those who haven't get a steady stream of music rang- ing from “Just One Of Those Things’ to Beethoven's Sth! The gaiety and homelike atmosphere everywhere make one forget the word “homesickness.’’ And even if you do get a bit “blue,” there’s ping-pong to dispel your mood. At dinner, the girls all dress, and everyone looks lovely in the soft candlelighted dining-room. Thursday nights are especially gay as the Seniors invite two members of their class as guests. And, while the season lasts, the “lucky seven’’ who are going to the opera appear in evening dresses of all descriptions. After dinner, there is coffee in the drawing-room for Juniors and Seniors. The group is always interrupted by girls dashing to telephone calls as this time is known as the “telephone hour.” After a brief respite, the bell rings for study -hall which all but the Seniors have in the library on the third floor. No sooner is it over than everyone dashes up to the Milk Bar for crackers and whatever may be on hand. Again the radios blare forth, bright Argyles pervade the rooms, the day’s letters are re-read, and last-minute peeks at home- work taken before the 10:00 bell. The days are packed whether you are a 5-day or 7-day boarder. On week-ends, there is lunch and a movie with some of the day-girls, and the symphony on Sundays. Before you arrive in the Autumn, you will have from one of the “Old Girls’ a wel- coming letter which will tell in more detail of “Boarding Life’ at Spence, for these two pages are only an introduction. 55 YEARBOOK CONTEST CLASSES XII, XI, X First PRIZE ESSAY orncrscnscrensccrnseiteinitsatoachgchn nner eter sires tan enn hepe aah tee Ra ar Joan Wickman ee Lily Emmet Pea | eaceecccs ke Ee ee et erate ee Joan Wickman CLASSES IX, VIII, VII FIRST PRIZE SLA} eee er ene Er ENERO ct bar MOROR emetic ere rere meme ote St og AREY Phyllis La Farge Narr dhivie ccc ee ee ee ee Gioia Vlahos PO CHE 2B owt le ee ee al ee ETE ee ee Frances Ewing THE VOICE OF PAN (Prize Poem) The warm and misty August evening air Was filled with memories of the careless spring, And promises of fruitful autumn-time. I heard the lazy slapping of the waves, And sleepy songs from little birds nearby, Yet somehow was my heart unsatisfied— This beauty seemed to me no part of God. Then suddenly I heard a mocking laugh, And from behind a tree a strange man stepped, Of wild appearance, bright and slanting eyes. And in a merry voice he said to me, ‘So Nature has no place in your God’s heart ? Why, then, not worship other gods, like me?” “Like you?” I cried. ‘There is but one true God!”’ And then he spoke with scornful ringing words That seemed alive and haunted me till now. “Before your God was born, the earth was ruled By spirits of the lakes, the trees, the sky. And spirits, though forgotten, never die. Is your stern God so jealous of the past? Is there not room for more than just one God ? The grass, the leaves, small flowers of the spring, The waters of the lake, the clouds, the birds— They know the voice of Pan—now yow shall hear,” And then the gr eat god Pan spoke of the past, Of gods and nymphs that ancient lands once loved. He told me of the strong eternal hills, Of hills that cradled pagan altars grim, That hid the fairy rings and Druid stones. 56 He spoke of trees—of dark and lofty pines, Of long-haired willows weeping in the brook, And silver birches, delicate and slim. He told of cool spring rains that fill the streams, Of mighty rivers rolling to the sea; Of purple flowers trembling in the shade, And painted butterflies that dance in light. He spoke of birds whose songs at dawn’s gray hour Brought love and peace to men of ancient lands, As now today they ease our troubled hearts. He told of silent deer with quiet eyes, Of chattering squirrels, and rabbits shy and white. And then he spoke of pagan creatures strange— Gay elves, wild fauns, and merry, bright-eyed nymphs That dance and laugh and play deep in the woods, Unseen by man, believers of no God, For they themselves are gods of earth and air. ‘Is there not room for more than just one God ?”’ The great Pan cried, ‘And shall not He—your God Whose name is Love, love gods not strong or cruel ? O listen as I tell you of the truth !— If fearful man must worship, let it be The Earth, which is his heaven, if he but knew. Then God and I would smile, for we are both Gods of the earth, of beauty, and of truth.” Pan disappeared into the darkening woods, So I went on with singing heart and soul, For walking through the misty evening air, And listening to the slapping of the waves, I knew the earth was my God’s living heart— It’s strange a pagan spirit taught me this. Joan Wickman, XII ORGAN GRINDERS As elusive as the spring that brings it, and as wist- ful as the red-capped monkey's eyes, is the tune the organ grinder grinds. He appears suddenly, as if beck- oned by the balm of first spring days, as if materialized from the thin air and a few wishes. “What is he in wintertime?” one wonders. Perhaps he dresses up as Santa Claus; or sells hot chestnuts; or perhaps in win- tertime, he simply isn’t. For the organ grinder is a creature of the spring. There, at the corner, he has taken his first stand. He turns the handle wearily, as if his were a Herculean labor; but on his face is an elusive smile. The tune 1s ground out and fills the street with strident strains of music. The monkey, first sitting grave and cringing on the organ, is made audacious by the lilting melody, and hops down. What bliss, when one gets around to it, to forget the potential bond of the chain, and to skip about at liberty, red cap extended and eyes askance. Passers will come and go, but a little crowd gathers -about the monkey. They laugh at him. for mankind seems to be amused at a parody of itself. His wizened face is that of an old man, and his sometimes wistful, a7 sometimes maudlin eyes are those of a temperamental child. Poor beggar now, stretching his hand for pennies, he who could swing blithely from limb to limb of his native woods, breakfasting at random as he passed. Organ grinders have intuition—they know a face vulnerable to their performance, and give that passerby a special smile, a beckoning look that some fools cannot resist. How well I know, since I am one. But the lilting strains go on, the handle turns incessantly, and _ chil- dren too young to remember any other spring gaze at the organ grinder in wonder. The child offers to the monkey his stick of candy; the older one, the cunning future businessman, gives his bad penny. There are no curses for the mean, only blessings for the ones who give. Windows are opened, and eager faces look out, and the air is made even purer by this sight and this sound. Soon, the organ grinder moves on, wisely, know- ing that spectators in time will weary of the most pleasing sight. But he will come back, to the same corner, another day, as surely as spring comes back. Francine du Plessix, XII PALESTINE PASTORALE — 1948 (Prize Narrative) The hot sun beat relentlessly down on the young boy as he stood watch on top of the mound, and thick, growth. Be.oze him lay the city, Jerusalem, with covered with rocks stubby desert its gray walls and ancient stones. He could faintly hear the cries of merchants selling their wares, and far off in the distance, from the dome of a mosque, the voices of the faithful being called to prayer. He was about sixteen years old, His thick, dark hair was pushed back from his perspiring fore- head, stowing a clear, tanned face, and deep watchful eyes. Beside him was a packet wrapped in old cloth, which contained his uneaten lunch; and over his knees, in sharp contrast with his shabby, faded shorts, lay a dark-portable machine gun. It did not seem to strike him as unusual that someone as young as he should be keeping armed vigil at one of the entrances to a large city. He had been doing guard duty like this ever since he had joined the Haganah, a little over a year ago. Inspired with the intense national feeling that possessed all the inhabitants of this little land, he had welcomed the opportunity of being able to further the cause about which he felt so strongly. Ever sicce the U. N. decision for partition of Palestine, violence had fiamed between Arab and Jew. Blow for blow, this unofhcial warfare had afiected the lives of all concerned. Now here he was, armed with a machine gun, with orders to } shoo: 02 sight anyore—man, woman, or child— who should come out the gate just ahead of him. So far, everything had been quiet, almost as if the Arabs sensed the presence of Haganah guards. Glancing up at the sun, he saw that it was almost time for him to be relieved. That, at least, was good. Another day had gone by; he had not had to kill anyone. Deep underneath his tough outer- celf, which had been hardened; first in the years before the escape from the Nazis, then in the con- tinued pressure of being ah illegal imrvp-ant, and now in this bloody half-war—deep under this hard crust, lay the part of himself that he wanted to hide. He loved nature and the outdoors, and 58 the beauty of life. He loved to sit and think of things other than guns, and shooting, and death; but coupled with this, was an overwhelming feel- ing of duty, and a reverent devotion to the soil which his. ancestors had ruled in the days of ancient glory. He felt ashamed of his shrinking soul. No one knew of the struggle that was going on within him. He knew that it would almost kill him to have to shoot anyone, and yet—if anyone left the city—he had his orders. By this time the sun had almost gone, and the cool blue-gray air of evening hung over the land. Sitting musing at his post, the boy was startled by the sound of voices below him. An old woman and a nice-looking youth about his own age were com- ing out of the wide gate. The woman was dressed in a long white robe, and she carried a bundle of sticks on her bent back. She walked in a slow, halting manner, supported by the boy. Here ‘was the test. If he was to carry out the command, he would shoot on sight; but yet—he could not. The woman was so old and frail; and the boy looked as if he might be a friend in other times. He hoped that they would hurry up and get out of sight before the relief guard came. Just then his reverie was broken by a voice behind him. “It has been a hot day. You get along. Get some sleep; you will be needed again tomorrow.” On seeing the two Arabs, the new guard stopped short. “Before you go, you must carry out your orders. Shoot—and do not miss. We can’t afford to waste bullets.” Turning around, the boy looked into the face of his comrade. It was a hard, set face, and in those eyes he-saw a grim look of determination. He gritted his teeth, adjusted the gun. The quiet of the night was broken by the sound of two shots. Then the boy turned and stumbled off into the darkness. Lily Emmet, X eT a ERIE ET THE VOICE WITHOUT A SMILE I've always been afraid of telephones. Not that they mystify me, for my only pleasant contact with telephones came at a time when I had a crush on a lineman and used to pull out the wires in our phone so he would come and fix it. (That's probably where my idiosyn- crasy of unscrewing the mouthpiece while I talk origi- nated.) My hatred of Alexander Graham Bell’s inven- tion stems from my early childhood when my mother instructed me to cultivate a voice with a smile. My voice not only lacks a smile; it possesses a definite leer. I have never learned to talk naturally into a telephone, but instead shriek and bellow at the obstinate instru- ment, and if the conversation becomes too difficult or complicated, I yield to temptation and slam down the receiver. The process involved in reaching someone via the telephone completely floors me. I approach the vile apparatus deliberately and spend as much time as pos- I regularly make several sible looking up the number. mistakes in dialing and am forced to start again. Then I wait, terrified, secretly hoping that no one will answer. It’s usually a wrong number, anyway. Answering doesn't present problems, as a cule. I simply say “Hello.” There was a time when I used to respond with a cheery “Dr. Sullivan's residence,’ but, as my midwestern monotone cannot be understood by any- one, this only resulted in confusion, and I was forced to abandon it. (Anyway, Emily Post frowns on it.) ] envy characters in the movies who are allowed to growl “yeah?” or “For whom does the bell toll?” I even wish I was in England so I could say “Go ahead,” “Are you there?” (or whatever it is they say in England.) “Hello” sounds so prosaic. Any previous troubles I may have had with the telephone seem tame compared to what | endured this summer. I was working in a summer theatre, and my particular job was to call up all sorts of peculiar peo- ple to ask if the theatre might borrow various articles. As these articles were unusual, I frequently had trouble making myself understood. Once we received a small eagle (stuffed) when I had asked for a minature easel. There was alsc the horrible time I had convincing the Danbury Railway, Station that I only wanted to borrow a signal bell and not the entice engine. | still have nightmares when I imagine the astonishment displayed by the manager of a dry-cleaning establishment when, on the hottest day of the summer, he heard a small voice entreating, “Hello! I wonder if you can tell me how to make steam!” My antipathy to phones is intensified a thousand times by a pay phone. The idea that the monstrous ma- chine is consuming my money with a never-ceasing ap- petite, combined with an inability to get along with the operator, makes a booth a virtual chamber of horrors. However, I can point with pride to the fact that once I caused an operator to lose her voice-with-a-smiule. That was the day I called every furniture store in Con- necticut for garden furniture, and used so many nickels that no more would go in. ‘Deposit five cents, please,” said the operator. This was virtually impossible, and I screamed in ter- ror, thinking the awful machine might blow up. ‘It won't go in!” “Deposit five cents, please,” said the operator, a trifle more firmly. ‘T tell you it won't go in!” I shouted in a roar that could be heard throughout the entire building. ‘Then use dimes!’ The operator shouted back, losing her composure. We finally reached an agreement w hereby I was to receive two calls for a dime. But it never worked. They still owe me forty cents. What really conditioned me against telephones for the rest of my unnatural life was the incident of the antique dealers. In the space of one hour, on a day when I was particularly distressed—since it had been discovered that -half the props for the coming show were in the car of a fellow who had left the day before to be married—three antique dealers called up and threatened to take legal action against the theatre. It fell upon me to placate them. To the first I was polite and full of remorse; I listened vaguely to the second; and I informed the third that “That girl who went around borrowing things and not returning them’? wasn't in and was not expected to return. As a result of this appalling experience I still have to be convinced that it isn’t an antique dealer before I will come to the phone. Maybe it was all good for me—who knows? But, from now on, I'll put my faith in the pony express. Anne Sullivan, XII MAKE MINE VERSES The place that I shall write about Is ‘cross a magic SCa— Where pure prose blooms on every bush And every verse is free— The houses all are pink and white, The sky is always blue; At sunrise every golden day, Trochaics sing to you. And all the little children You meet along the street, They speak to you in couplets And never miss a beat. If I could linger there awhile, A month or two at most, You'd think I was inhabited By William Shakespeare’s ghost. Lucy Blount, XII EACH AGE IS A DREAM (Prize Essay) There is an inexpressible joy in dreaming of the past. The evils of our tumultuous time sink from the mind when one ponders civilization alive only in the memory of history. For although we feel that our troubles are serious and world- shaking, the troubles of the past are simply the substance for study and romance. Therefore, when we escape into dreams of ancient times, there is a satisfaction and a certain fulfilment in finding qualities and ideals that we lack today ruling all men’s hearts and lives. But is this escape ignoble, is it cowardly? Perhaps, but do not, do not ques- tion it! These dreams are too dear a delight. Come, I shall show you what this delight is, and together we shall peek into my dreams. But you must forget all the duty, all the useless energy, and all the vain hope of the present as we sink into the misty past. Half-obscured by the magical gray mist, there is, on the right, a graceful Greek temple with slender marble columns. I can dimly hear and see a group of white-robed men standing on the porch of this temple, discussing the meaning and value of life with an ability and understanding un- equalled by any succeeding generation. To the left, a shimmering fountain leaps to the air, then falls with tinkling laughter and a shower of changing gray and white colors. A swift, graceful figure suddenly darts from behind the fountain. After standing before me a second with hand upraised, the nymph turns and chases the blue-green brook that winds from the fountain deep into the woods. Oh, that the serene peace, the lofty contemplation, and the worship of nature that existed in those calm classical times existed in this world today! How much we are missing in this age of rush and noise! And how—but stop; before we once more become confused with the hard thoughts of real- ity, let us hastily escape into the glorious time of the Renaissance. Here is Venice, with its great palaces, sliding streets of water, and riches gathered from both the West and the Orient. The city throbs with the bustle of trade and the color of magnificent pag- eants. All this vibrant life is surrounded by the clear beauty of the crystal air, the deep reflecting streams, and the glowing wealth of many lands. And there are still more visions of Italy’s Renais- sance. Before me stretch rich green fields and thick purple vineyards, while on the swelling hills grim castles frown upon the earth and reach towards heaven. And then there is also beauty- 60 loving Florence, turbulent and sinful, yet a city filled with more loveliness, more lasting art than even this day-dream can picture. Such vitality, such delight in life as I have seen in these dreams! Would we not know true happiness if in reality we could see as much color and warmth, and have as much love of beauty and love of life as in those visions ? In my next day dream there is peace and nobility and loveliness. In a long white ruffled dress I am sitting on the steps of a porch waiting for a party to begin. It is in the days of the South before the Civil War; warmth and pleasure seem to fill the earth. From the carefully tended garden comes the mingled fragrance of roses and magnolias. The wide lawn is splashed with sun and shadow- patterns of the trees. The breeze whispers drowsily in the warm stillness as I wait for the guests to arrive and the dance to begin. I know it will be light-hearted and lovely, and that there will be gay conversation about the chivalry and nobility of our dear South. Yes, the romance and indolence of those days are truly enviable. Why do we not place the emphasis in this age on loveliness and nobility instead of business and industry? Indeed, how very beautiful was the old South, and how we all secretly yearn for its peace and its romance! These dreams that we have seen have been an escape, for in the past we have found the quali- ties that we need today—the serence contempla- tion of classical Greece, the vibrancy and beauty of the Renaissance, and the peace and chivalry of the old South. Can we possibly reach into these dreams and bring the greatness of the past into the present? Are my dreams of any use? No; for I must remember that “each age is a dream that is dying or one that is coming to birth.” And the past is made up of dreams that are dead, while this present reality is “a dream that is coming to birth.” If I cannot find the romance of olden times in this life, I must realize that this age too will one day be but a dream of the past, that I am now living in a part of history, and that it too has its beauty and greatness. O yes, I know how foolish I am! I know how much time I waste in in these vain dreams. And I wonder . . . I wonder if I shall ever turn to reality with hope and de- light. I wonder if I shall ever cease longing for the useless beauty of the past. Yes, often I have wondered that, but never, never have I wished it. Joan Wickman, XII LADY CORISANDE TO LADY SILVANA Cornwall Terrace, 12 May I have just met the most eccentric person in London, Lady Anaplan. No doubt you have heard of her exaggerated love for those ancient Greeks and their philosophy, but I shall tell you more about her now since I know her. My Lord William Dandilion accompanied me to make this most ex- traordinary visit. I am sure that you must be quite shocked since I mention him to you so often in our correspondence, but, dear Silvana, he is the handsomest young man I have ever met, his ties and his perfumes are enough to make any girl's heart feel faint, and every time we pass together in the streets of Pall Mall and see that silly Lady Pinewood, she turns green with envy. She also cherished him avidly, but my charms drew him away from her clinging affection in the space of the big London ball. Returning to Lady Anaplan, darling William (you should hear his ‘‘plaisantries’’: always min- gled with the right amount of sarcasm and pique! ) and I arrived at a large mansion on Queen Anne's Street. Instead of being ushered into the usual morning-room, we were taken to a large ballroom. William whispered, very close to my ear, that this chamber reminded Lady Anaplan of a Peristyle. I don’t think so in the least—not my conception of a Peristyle, but of course there was the right number of Greek statues. It was rather a lovely room, with ornate ceilings of Greek design in gold, and two Corinthian columns, near the simple door, also painted finely with gold. However, I must say that the countenance of Lady Anaplan spoiled it all. My dear, she was reading a book in Greek! I almost had a fit of laughter, but Lord William, with a very ‘“degagé”’ air and a ready smile, rushed off into a stream of most lovely compliments— almost as lovely as the ones he pays me. I must tell you here that I found Lady Anaplan not only strange because she has a predilection for Greek, but especially because she also, in our time, adores the exact opposite of what I have heard the Greeks to be: to have an affection for Lord William, for instance—no Greek would ever have looked, much less talked with such wit, such sarcasm, such charm, such boldness—such foppish- ness. I have also heard it said that Greeks prized moderation; well, my Lady Anaplan is quite exag- gerated, and for well-known reasons. Tis said 61 that, like our beloved Queen, she loves her food to a more than rational extent. Likewise, she is very illogical—does not all this prove it? She should have been born in the Eliza- bethans’ time! Silvana, dear, having naturally en- gaged upon a discourse about Greek art (the like you know me to be rather badly educated in, having a more thorough “connaissance” with the Ace of Spades), I was making a charming com- ment upon how Cicero surpassed Praxiteles in his groupings, and my Lord William was smiling, a twinkle in his eyes, at my knowledge, when her little nephew came in, breathless, asking for the hour, “for the clock, my lady, is broken; my brother aimed the darts at it and the glass splin- tered.”” Lady Anaplan, like a queen, sitting in her much decorated French fauteuil, gold with petit point, her rich, scarlet damask robe glittering in the sunlight, said: “Richard, my man, Socrates said, ‘Know thyself!’ Now the clock knows that it should avoid Thomas’ darts because its glass breaks when hit. Do you apply the same to your- self!’ With this, Richard, his eyes rolling, fled. Poor little rascal, instead of telling him the time, she had to make him feel that he was quite un- wanted, with this continual outburst of Greek Anafkn! That is the only Greek word I know— my brother had me embroider it on a half dozen of his fine handkerchiefs. After more than an hour of such learned conversation (every young lady in London is dying to become Lady Dandilion, and to think that maybe I. . .), Lady Anaplan rose, and, pointing to a beautiful statue of Amphytrion, said to me: ‘“My dear, remember, this is art, this is the kind of man I should like to meet nowadays, not bursting cockerels like Walpole—excepting of course my Lord Dandilion,”’ she smiled graciously. I again almost fell into a fit of laughter, thinking about how Lady Anaplan would look, surrounded by a crowd of Amphytrions. William took my arm so that I should not slip on the shiny, uncarpeted floor, and thereupon we left. Do not write back to me, dear Silvana, that you know a more ec- centric person than my Lady Anaplan, or I shall again flood you with letters exposing her ever- increasing pretensions. Ever and affectionately yours, Your friend, Claude Goffart, XI “A SIGHT SO TOUCHING IN ITS MAJESTY” The light of dawn breaking through the dove-grey mist gently envelops the outskirts of sleeping London. The morning breeze whispers through the endless rows of houses that it is time for the city to shake itself into consciousness. A few windows are slammed shut, and water boils for the morning cup of tea as the work- ers of London prepare for another day. The light swiftly speeds through the tortuous streets, catching the swinging sign of an old pub, a bobby’s high helmet or a belisha beacon. And now one can distinctly see Ken- sington Gardens, the Broad Walk, the Round Pond, and the once fashionable Rotten Row; soon the children of the city will flock with their nannies to play games beneath the gnarled trees. The mist clears; the light sparkles on the figure of Eros poised above Picadilly Circus. The sun almost obliterates Nelson, but there are the four massive lions, a symbol of strength. A new day has dawned on London, touching, with its light, historic places, streets, and homes as it has countless times betore. Today, however, in the awakening city there is a cer- tain tingle of excitement, which can be felt in fashion- able Mayfair, in colorful Soho, on the banks of the Thames, in every corner of the city. Today the beloved Princess Elizabeth is to be married. Forgotten are priva- tions, queues, and shabbiness, for today there is to be a great procession. The coach drawn by the Windsor greys, His Majesty's guards, the milling, cheering crowds and Westminster Abbey awaiting—all this is London too. This important day is as much a part of London and her people as is the Tower of London, the Houses of Parliament. The traditions of royalty and pomp of pageantry that this day will reveal are also the soul of London. Leone Olliff-Lee, XII REMORSE When yet a youth, I loved a slender girl Of tender grace and charm, and she loved me. Many the day we spent together, and We often told how fortunate we were. One night, malignant flames consumed the house, (Just as we told how fortunate we were). My face was burned out of its very shape And feature, and my eyes and lips were scarred. I could not see myself within that face— So strange it seemed to me; I knew that love, Though strong, might flee with horror at the sight. I banished from my door that slender form, Nor would let her see me as I was. Strange that she did not cry her love to me, Just called my name, and when I answered, ‘‘Go,” She went without a murmur or a tear! But not so strange, for many years ago, Though many after, (O, the years slip by, The countless, dim, commemorative years), They told me the malignant flames, that tore Away my face, had drawn away her sight. 62 Patricia Weenolsen, XII “HE FELL NOBLY DARING” (Prize Narrative) “He fell nobly daring,” but hard! As I look back on it now, it seems quite funny, but at the time, it was far from that. I’m a retired cowboy, but once I was the best broncho-buster west of the Rockies. I had just finished my third round trying to whip the buck out of one of them range-bred horses, and was on my way to sit down under the shade of a tree. A boy came up to me; finally finding the words to express himself, he blurted out, “Gee, you sure can ride.” We started talking about what he wanted to be when he grew up, and sure ‘noff he wanted to be a cowboy. He said he rode one of them big fat weaner calves in the next corral and got throw’d twice before he got to ride him, and said that he would like to show me for proof. Then this ten-year-old picks up a rope, and is off to the corral. I got kinda worried, but figured I wasn’t boss, so I mounted my bronc and started out for a good bumpy ride, thinkin’ that maybe he’d leave the weaner and watch me. But I guess that was wishful thinkin’, for I looked over my shoulder and sees he’s just roped hisself the big- gest and fattest of the bunch. He tied a rope around him to hold onto, and waited for me to dismount my bellering mount before he began the show. As soon as he seen me settled, he climbed on the calf and started fanning him. That little son-of-a-gun sure went to a heap of a lot of trouble to show off his riding. He was riding loose and reckless, and I figgered he’d only last a couple of jumps. But I guess I figgered wrong ‘cause he stuck there like glue through the wickedest twists. Suddenly something hap- pened too quick for the eye to see! In half a second the kid was standing on his head over the calf’s withers, but before he landed, that mean calf kicked him to the far side of the corral. I seen him land in a heap “nobly daring!” Gioia Vlahos, 1X A LITTLE MAN’S DAY (Prize Poem) Once I saw a robin, A gay and lovely robin, I jumped upon that robin And flew, flew away. I flew up in the treetops, The tall and queenly treetops, I sat up in those treetops All day, day, day. But soon there came the night-time, The dark and horrid night-time, 63 The cold and lonely night-time, And I cried, cried, cried. I left my lovely treetops, Now cold, unhappy treetops, I left my sleeping robin And went home, home, home. Now, under my own covers, My nice and cosy covers, Warm under my thick covers I sleep, sleep, sleep. Frances Ewing, VIIL HOW I LEARNED TO WRITE A BOOK REPORT One snowy day, when I was supposed to be writing a book report, a strange thing happened. { was staring out of my window when an invisible voice said, “Daryl, write your book report!’’ I was going to write my book report on Far From Marlborough Street by Eliza- beth Philbrook, but, somehow, I just didn't feel like writing. After an hour or two, the invisible voice spoke again. “I am your grandmother,” it said. ‘Follow my light and I will show you how to write a book report.” I was startled. I hesitated a moment and then followed. Whe n I started to walk, a golden ladder appeared before me, and the voice told me to climb it. When I reached the ceiling, the roof vanished! I kept on climbing though my legs were getting very tired. In the distance I saw a cloud with the words ‘Authors’ Land”’ printed in gold on its side. The golden ladder stopped at the entrance. I went in and, to my amazement, I saw the characters from all the books that had ever been written! Again the voice spoke. “Watch closely what happens.” My grandmother's voice was so queer and crackly, a shiver went down my spine. But I did as she told me. My astonishment was beyond bounds when I saw the characters from Far From Marl- borough Street step in front of the rest of the characters. Immediately they started to act their parts! I did not dare to move for fear of harming this fairy-like place; the characters looked so real, yet their clothes were so delicate. The story started out when Nancy went away from her home on Marlborough Street to help her Uncle Jonathan get some land. Her mother gave her a little box and the key to it. The heroic little negro boy, Jezebel, was as real as Grandmother Pettingill’s will and the blue teapot. The play gave all the details and closed with Nancy’s returning home and Uncle Jonathan’s getting out of trouble. As soon as the play was over, the invisible voice said, “We must be getting home now. Follow my light.” As we descended the ladder this time, I was not as frightened as I had been. The roof went back to its usual place when we were safely under it. All this time I had been fol- lowing my grandmother’s light. She led me back to my seat by the window, and there before me lay the piece of paper and pencil, just as I had left them, except that the paper had the book report all written on it in my own handwriting! Daryl Beckman, VII FRIENDSHIP (This essay was influenced by Ralph Waldo Emer- son’s essay on Friendship, which I have just read.) What a strong feeling friendship is! What it would mean to the world if all people were friends! With a friend every little secret and inward feeling may be made known. You can talk with him and know he un- derstands. A friend will comprehend with sympathy the deep things which a mere neighbor might pass over. You can trust a friend you love. With him you can talk over with interest what another might consider monotonous, what would cause him utmost boredom. A friend brightens life where it is dull; and where life is already bright, adds something more precious than can at first be realized. Friendship is like an iron cable which can be broken only when rust has worn through. So friendship, at least between mortals, can be broken only when death has worn through. Friendship shares its feelings in love and hate and peace and war. When death takes its toll, the intangible friendship passes on down through the ages between others, just as a cloud through which a bird may fly, remains undissolved. Mary Katherine James, VIII 64 HOW WIDE SHOULD IT BE? (Prize Essay) Staring does not help. I had stared fixedly at the same problem for fifteen minutes, but it was still the same sensible nonsense. “Mr. Parker decided to have a border for fiow- ers along both sides and across the rear of his back yard, which was sixty feet by forty feet. If the border is to be of uniform width and occupy one fifth of the yard, how wide should it be?” At that moment I didn’t care whether the border occupied one fifth or five fifths of Mr. Parker’s yard. My eyes were heavy with sleep, and I longed to leave the elusive x and y, if only till the next day’s math class. Suddenly the problem came alive! I understood at last. It had nothing to do with algebra, nothing to do with numbers, for that matter. How could it? For the problem belonged to the Parkers, not to First Year Algebra. Last March, when bald, raw patches of brown mud were beginning to disfigure the winter’s snow, Mrs. Parker said to her husband, “John, don’t you think we should do something with the back yard this year? Everybody else has flowers or vegetables or shrubbery at least.” Mr. Parker looked up from the mystery he was reading. ““A flower border would be nice. We could have it along both sides and across the back of the yard. How wide do you think it should be?” “That depends .. .”” said Mrs. Parker. That was how the problem started. Mr. Parker asked friends and relations, cousins and aunts, and they all had very definite ideas. Mrs. Spixit, the lady next door, said that nastur- tiums were nice, but they needed a lot of room. Mr. Parker’s mother-in-law liked climbing roses; they needed almost no room. Mrs. Parker advo- cated a narrow border because she didn’t want to crowd the garden furniture. The children said, “Remember the croquet set. That has to fit, too.” The dog, thinking in terms of a large bone- burial ground, was in favor of a wide border. During all the weeks of debate, Mr. Parker never lost his temper; a sunflower could not have been more cheerful. But he was tired of the feuds over phlox and petunias. The very thought of a hoe made him nervous, and his sleep was troubled by visions of cut-worms and slugs. Finally he gave up. Mrs. Parker could have the garden if she wished, but he never wanted to hear of it again. Though Mrs. Parker tried valiantly, she never could decide how wide the flower bed should be. And neither could I, But the math teacher could. Without considering the Parkers, she used a magic equation which immediately told how wide it should be. Phyllis La Farge, IX VOCABULARY “These words in themselves are night”: Shadow, dark and pale moonlight, Silver, star-dust, shadow, pool, Graveyard, nightmare, dungeon, ghoul, Spectre, silence, dream, and groan, Black and still and warm and moan, Strange, mysterious and kind, Long and quiet, slow and blind, Empty, echo, lonely, fright, These words in themselves are night! Courtenay Dewey Gentry, XI “These words in themselves are fair’’: Shining, auburn, lucent hair, White neck, arms, light feet and hands, Blue, green, pinkish rainbow bands; Light, creation, thought, ideal, Painting, music, steadfast zeal; Stained-glass window, shaft of light, Church, and choir, and Christmas night; Joy and sorrow, solitude, Dancing, singing, quietude; God, and Earth, and loving care, These words in themselves are fair! Claude Goffart, XI “These words in themselves are home’: Children, parents, dogs that roam, Tantrums, temper, sobbing fits, Smiles and laughter, humour, wits, Silver, napkins, dinner plates, Flowers, fences, white-washed gates, High-backed chairs and sagging couches, Mumps and measles, father’s grouches, Dripping raincoats, muddy floors, Cats and dogs and scratched-up doors, Lizards, toads, and mice, and birds Home makes up these simple words! Patricia Williams, X1 SEA FANTASIA Fantastic sea of checkerboard: Red from the Red Sea, black from the Black, Shades of azure and turquoise from Mediterranean shores White from the river through Lake Geneva, _ Green with bitter salt from Atlantic and Pacific, Yellow from a muddy Chinese river. Enchanting. Star-shaped is the ship that sails this sea With every point a tale of past adventure. Center of fantasia. Norseman’s proud curving masthead With eye of rugged sailor for a prow; Egyptian trireme—bronzed, sweating backs Straining to the mighty oars; Paddle wheels of a river boat thrash The vari-colored water; Dim small boat which for a dime Gladly takes one for a trip to Welfare isle; Gun-metal gray of present warship With mounted hatred in its turrets, Thousand masts and simple sails. Skull and crossbones, the Jolly Roger's omen Whirling, whirling, point counter-point Far-off Brittania rules the waves. No captain for my star ship Except any free sail who deems to try. But this is my dream And knowing the dreadful end From this point counter-point, The sinking of my ship into a Charybdis, N’er to rise up, I have made no human. For who can live long in “Fantasia” ? Sherry Cogan, X 66 $$ LES TAPISSERIES FRANCAISES Les tapisseries francaises au Musée Metropo- litain sont arrangées selon les siécles depuis le quatorzieme. Elles viennent des vieux chateaux francais. Autrefois, les dames tissaient ces tapis- series pour les murs nus des chateaux. Au quatorzi¢me siécle, on faisait des tapisseries qui représentaient des faits religieux, tels que la vie de Saint Etienne et ses miracles, ou la vie de la Sainte Vierge. Les visages sont expressifs et les costumes sont intéressants comme forme et couleur. IL y en a de beaux rouges et de beaux bleus. Les fonds sont simples et d’ordinaire d’une couleur. Comme les siécles passaient, la tapisserie deve- nait plus ornée, plus grande, et elle perdait sa simplicité. Les visages devenaient plus développés, plus modernes, les vetements beaucoup plus ornés et détaillés. Il y a plus de personnages dans les tapisseries, et maintenant il est plus difficile de distinguer leurs actions. Les fonds sont de di- verses couleurs. MON CANARI, CHIRPY Mon canari, qui s’appelle Chirpy, est jaune et gris. Il ne chante pas, excepteé a midi. Il a juste fini de muer. La semaine derniére, on lui a coupé les ongles parce qu’ ils étaient trés longs et il était pris sur son perchoir. Chirpy mange beaucoup et il est trés gras. Il mange un biscuit d’ceuf et deux différentes graines pour canaris tous les jours. Sa cage est tres grande et Chirpy l’aime. C’est un canari doré, entraineur d’opéra. J aime beaucoup mon canari. Est-ce que vous l’aimez ? Daryl Beckman, VII La Chasse de la Licorne est l'une des séries les plus connues. J’aime le feuillage vert et jaune, les mouvements gracieux, l’uniformité, et le sym- bolisme qui s’en dégage. Je trouve que cette série est plus artistique et délicate que les autres. J’aime aussi l’Apocalypse et les tapisseries qui repré- sentent la vie de Louis XIV. Par ces tapisseries on peut apprendre les événements quotidiens du peuple et de la royauté a cette €poque. Avant que les tapisseries deviennent tout a fait modernes, il y a une série qui représente des mon- tures pour les tableaux. Il y a toujours des anges, des trompettes et des arabesques. Elles sont jolies, décoratives, mais elles ne veulent rien dire. Les tapisseries modernes sont horribles, 4 mon avis. Elles sont comme les peintures modernes abstraites. Les couleurs sont trop vives et ne sont pas harmonieuses. La plupart expriment des sen- timents qui ne semblent pas honnétes et sinceres. Peut-étre faut-il étudier l'art abstrait pour les appreécier. Patricia W eenolsen, XII UN PORTRAIT Peut-étre ne me connaissez-vous pas. Je suis petit, out, trés petit! et j'ai six longues jambes et six grands pieds. Mes oreilles sont bleues. Jat les yeux rouges et les cheveux courts et verts. Pensez . . . Qui suis-je? Je suis le microbe dans la salle trente et un. Frances Ewing, VIII LES DEUX ARBRES Il y avait dans une forét pres de Paris deux arbres; l’un était un pin tres grand et majestueux, et l’autre était petit. Mais les Oiseaux aimaient mieux le petit arbre parce qu'il était plus aimable que l'autre. Le pin disait toujours: “Quelque jour, je serai grand et beau, et tout Ie monde m’admirera.”’ C’est pour cette raison que les oise- aux n’aimaient pas le pin. Un jour, trois hommes entrérent dans la forét et regardérent les deux arbres en réfléchissant. Finalement, un homme montra le pin et dit aux autres: “Voici le meilleur arbre de la forét. 67 Coupez-le.” Alors, les hommes coupérent le pin et l’emporterent loin de la forét. Le petit arbre regardait tout avec envie et surprise. Le lendemain les oiseaux vinrent et s’ intalléerent dans les feuilles des arbres. Le petit arbre leur posa des questions au sujet du pin et ils lui ré- pondirent: “Le pin qui parlait toujours de la renommeée sera un arbre de Noél dans une maison de Paris. Aprés Noél il bralera et ce sera sa fin. Maintenant, vous aurez plus de soleil et vous croitrez grand et beau. Nous ferons nos nids dans vos branches et vous nous protégerez. Elinor Myers, X EL SIGLO DE ORO EI siglo diez y seis es el Siglo de Oro de la literatura espafola. A continuacién nos ocupare- mos de dos de los genios que figuran en esta €poca. La novela esta representada por la obra maes- tra de Cervantes: Don (uijote. Miguel de Cer- vantes Saavedra nacid en Alcala de Henares y fué bautizado el 9 de octubre de 1547. Estudi6 en Madrid con Juan Lopez de Hoyos y mas tarde fué a Roma. Después de pelear en Lepanto, donde perdié la mano izquierda, estuvo cautivo en Afri- ca durante cuatro afios. Después de regresar a Espafia, escribid La Galatea, una novela pastoral, en 1584. Después de muchas aventuras, volvid a dedicarse a las letras. Escribid también Obie tea- trales, pero la mayoria de ellas se perdieron. En 1605 su obra maestra fu¢ publicada en Madrid. Era muy popular pero Cervantes continuaba sien- do pobre. Cuando Ceravntes principid a escribir Don Quijote deseaba componer una parodia de los libros de caballeria, pero a medida que escribia se interesaba en los personajes que estaba creando y el resultando fué una de las mas grandes y pro- fundas filosofias de la vida. Los dos personajes principales de esta novela son Don Quijote, un pobre hidalgo que, después de leer muchos libros de caballeria, se ctey6 él mismo un gran caba- llero. Su compafiero era Sancho Panza, que Ile- vaba en vez de armas una bota de vino y un saco de provisiones y en la cabeza la realidad para contrarrestar las fantasias de Don Quijote. Los dos encuentran muchas aventuras fantas- ticas, divertidas 0 tragicas. Don Quijote lucha por LA CLASE El segundo timbre para la clase de espafiol de la tarde, toca. Nancy por lo comtn, llega tarde. ‘Buenos dias Sefora’’ ‘Buenas tardes, Nancy” “Ahora, pagina 148, :Como forma usted el imperfecto de subjuntivo del verbo ‘ver’? — Y Maude contesta :Si?, pero no dice mas. Después de un rato, Sefiora trata de nuevo. ‘‘Empiece Ellie” Dado que tenga dinero, lo compraré”’ “No, a compraré’”. — :Por qué a Senora? Se- hora dice: ‘La bicicleta, naturalmente’’, Ellie ex- clama desesperada: ‘No hay una bicicleta en esta frase”’ “Pero se aludio a ella antes” Patricia esta resuelta, se prepara a escuchar una discusi6n de media hora. Después de ese tiempo, la cuesti6n no esta arreglada todavia. Llegamos a la segunda frase. :‘Hallé usted que una ilusién: la de arreglar el mundo a su gusto. Representa las aspiraciones de la humanidad, una figura mas tragica que cOmica. El producto mas tipico del Siglo de Oro es la comedia, y el padre de la comedia y el drama espanol es Lope de Vega. Lope Félix de Vega Carpio nacié en 1562 en Madrid. Empezo a escri- bir cuando era. muy joven. Su discipulo Juan Pérez de Montalvan dijo que habia escrito mil ochocientas comedias y cuatrocientos autos sacra- mentales. Muy grande fué la importancia literaria de Lope, pues de todos los dramaturgos él fué el que invento el mayor numero de argumentos y situaciones dramaticas y cOmicas. Sus personajes y argumentos sirvieron de base para los creados después por otros escritores. Al aparecer Lope de Vega empez6 una lucha entre las dos escuelas dramaticas: una defendia el teatro popular y combatia las normas clasicas; la otra, la escuela clasica, se adheria a las reglas griegas y latinas. Lope de Vega introdujo inno- vaciones y cred con su genio el teatro nacional. El genio de Lope de Vega fué principalmente su poesia lirica. Sus mejores comedias son las de capa y espada. Su genio era tal que cuando se realizaba algo imposible, se solia decir: “esto parece cosa de Lope”’ La muerte de esta gran figura literaria did oca- sion a una demostracién de duelo nacional. Nadine Bertin; Betty Blair, Spanish II DE ESPANOL 68 la comedia del teatro ‘““Cosmos’’ era interesante ? — Nancy hace su acostumbrada traduccién me- dida silaba por silaba. Maude la interrumpe entre las dos eles de ‘“‘hallar’’ y pregunta a Sefora. 2Vid Vd. “Annie get your gun?” Por consiguiente surge una discusion de quince mi- nutos sobre los méritos de las comedias, mantillas y corridas de toros. El tiembre va a tocar, Claudia toca a Nancy con el codo, siempre entre dos eles, para ver la hora. Ellie, que no siendo por sus chirridos, con- torsiones, gemidos, etc. etc. esta silenciosa, dice al cabo de un rato: “Asi todo, no creo que era una bicicleta, Senora’’. — Sefora se agarra a la mesa: — ‘‘No importa, dije que no importaba nada” ‘Pero, Senora, si la bicicleta. . . El fie toca. Claude Goffart, Spanish I SONGS OF SEVEN Where, O where are the havoc-raising sevens, Where, O where are the teacher-dazing sevens, Where, O where are the ever amazing sevens, Safe, now, in the next year’s class. They've gone out their study rules neglecting, They've gone out their laziness perfecting, They've gone out intelligence rejecting, Safe, now, in the next year’s class. Where, O where are the ever scribbling eights, Where, O where are the cookie-nibbling eights, Where, O where are the always quibbling eights, Safe, now, in the Freshman class. They've gone out their sophistication airing, They've gone out their nylon stockings tearing, They've gone out their boy friends a-scaring, Safe, now, in the Freshman class. Where, O where are the notice-posting nines, Where, O where are the snow-coasting nines, Where, O where are the chevron-boasting nines, Safe, now, in the Sophomore class. They've gone out their multi-colors flaunting, They've gone out all the Seniors a-taunting, They've gone out the drugstores haunting, Safe, now, in the Sophomore class. Where, O where are the rapier-mending tens, Where, O where are the page-boy-tending tens, Where, O where are the voice-rending tens, Safe, now, in the Junior class. They've gone out the drama adoring, They've gone out their baskets scoring, They've gone out their order restoring, Safe, now, in the Junior class. Where, O where are the perfume-reeking Juniors, Where, O where are the knowledge-seeking Juniors, Where, O where are the photo-peeking Juniors, Safe, now, in the Senior class. 69 They've gone out in every college dancing, They've gone out their good looks enhancing, They've gone out in Vogue fashions prancing, Safe, now, in the Senior class. Where, O where are the faint and weepy Seniors, Where, O where are the sad and sleepy Seniors, Where, O where are the quaint and creepy Seniors, Out, out, in the cold, cold world. They've gone out their lipsticks blaring, They've gone out the new look daring, They've gone out for college preparing, Out, out, in the cold, cold world. Where, O where are the standard-erecting teachers, Where, O where are the grammar-perfecting teachers, Where, O where are the school-directing teachers, Resting up for the next year’s class. They've gone out their meetings attending, They've gone out our announcements amending, They've gone out fewer privileges extending, Resting up for the next year’s class. 70 CELEBRITEES “Bes. U.S. Pot. OF. aaa gee. 7 HANDKERCHIEFS Exquisite handkerchiefs from all over the world. Fine embroideries from Madeira, Ireland, Switzerland . dainty Belgian and Swiss laces... inspired prints created by top American and Swiss designers. Found wherever Fashion is foremost. 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