St Joseph Academy - Sajoscript Yearbook (Columbus, OH)

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S A N D A L P H 0 N Class Prophecy FRANCES BRADLEY, .,' Graduate HE last goodbyes were said, all the available rice in thc city thrown after the departing couple, as Catherine Lyons and her husband, a tall dark man, drove away on their wedding trip. NVith a small portion of wedding cake in my hand, I left the scene of the festivities a11d went home. Determined to test the morse1's traditional power in the land of nod, I placed it, that night, with the utmost confidence, under my pillow, hoping to dream of all sorts of romantic knights and princes, but little did I bargain for the most complicated and hectic dream of my life. At first I seemed to be in the Coliseum up at the Fair Grounds, and while I watched some exhibition or other, a group of dancers, i11 typical Spanish cos- tumes, glided in, and they, with their leader, who to llly surprise, was my old school chum, Dorothy Young, began a marvelous interpretation of El Jamon y el IIuevo , which Dorothy told me afterwards was her ow11 creation. She told me to be sure to see Gertrude Dehner and Elizabeth McDonald before I left the Fair, as they were handling the Art Exhibit that year and each had several portraits and drawings which were attracting much attention from the public. Then, as dreams do sometimes, the scene shifted, and I was on an ocean liner bound for India. There were several girls of my class at St. Joseph's on beard, sailing for diiferent places. Mildred Douglas was on her way to Ger- many and Italy, accompanied by Margaret Jennings both of whom frequently entertained their fellow-passengers with some clever violin duets which had just taken New York by storm. The other two girls, Margaret Zettler and Dorothy Hill, had just received their degrees at Trinity College, NVashington, D. C., and were now bound for Europe, Dorothy to attend the University of Paris, to begin the study of Criminal Law, and Margaret preparing to continue her music at the very conservatory where, Mozart himself had been a pupil. llippity-hopping along the deck, the fimoonlight silhouetted to me very clearly, two young people who were waxing eloquent on the wondrous night. The path of the moon over the dark sea rippled and shone gloriously. It was truly a night for romance, and the, two figures, on closer inspection, proved to be a young woman in the official garb of the Red Cross Nurse, her blue cape Hung over one shoulder, and the Captain's son. As I approached, I heard a merry voice say, Oh, David, how 'cu-et' -so I knew that it was Mary Mar- garet Dodd, even though I had not recognized her. After my arrival in India, I treked through the interior and one day came upon a most curious sight. Standing knee high in tall grass, and waving a. squirrel skin triumphantly in the air, was Eleanor Maurer. She was dressed in a white linen coat and knickers, and had a vicious-looking rifle slung over her shoulder. Eleanor said she was having the time of her life, and had so many squirrel skins around her cabin that she was thinking of sending them all to the Fuzzy Fur Factory in Labrador, now operated by Elizabeth Enright. All at once I was back home again and seated at my usual table in Lazarus' Tea Room. As I waited for my order, Mary Catherine Green sauntered in and at my invitation joined me. She was quite enthused about her latest achieve- ment-a book entitled Marvellous Cure for Stammerersf' just olf the press. Mary Catherine asked me if I had seen the latest copy of Vanity Fair. Since I had not, she showed me hers, and on the front pages, among the theatrical page one hundred forty-three

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AUTOGRAPHS folk, was a lovely study of Mary Brennan, who was now the ingenue in A Ten O'cloek Scholar , from the pen of Marie VVinkel, a promising playwright. As luncheon progressed, the entrance of two very attractive young ladies caused quite a. stir among the masculine diners. To our surprise, they were Elizabeth Ilinterschied and Mary Rodenfels. Then and there, we had a grand reunion, for they had but recently returned from a Teachers' Tour of U. S. A. Both were prominent figures in the educational world, Mary, having conquered her algebraic difficulties, was head of the Mathematics Department at Ohio State University, and Elizabeth, Supervisor for the City Recreation Department. In Kansas, they found Gertrude Ansel, whose husband had just been ap- pointed Congressman from that state, very busy getting ready to enter the political and social life of Washington. They had attended one of the NVomen's Club lectures in Omaha, and discovered the speaker to be Catherine Weiland, who was giving a most interesting and animated talk on Why Elephants Carry Trunks. At Reading they stopped to see Geraldine Zack and Lucille Fuller who, now Notre Dame nuns, were teaching Latin and Physics respectively to the young barbarians of the Academy. Our delightful party broke up, and as I glanced at my watch, I was greatly surprised that the hands already indicated three o'clock. Even busy women of the world cannot resist an inviting walk out East Broad Street on such a beautiful spring day. Toot, toot! sounded a collegiate horn. We turned and our eyesight was blinded by the brilliancy of a brand new, red roadster. Who was at the wheel but Virginia Harold, a popular member of the younger set, wearing a chic, all white sport outfit. She regretted her in- ability to take us for a spin, as she feared she would be a trifie late for her twelve o'clock luncheon engagement at the Country Club. Then, again, the scene of my dream changed, and I was listening over a radio. Turning the dials at random, I got IVSAI, broadcasting the new Metro- politan Opera Star, Mary Ritchey, who had usurped Marian Talley's place on the operatic horizon. Her voice came through clearly and perfectly, and for an encore, she sang Dear Old Pal of Mine. After that I got Benson's Orchestra, and as the announcer enunciated the names of the members, I was surprised again. Ann Leonard was the pianist, with Ruth Ilinterschied, first violinist. The other members I did not know. Their selection was applauded vigorously by their unseen audience. The last number I heard was a bed-time tale, Little Peter Rabbit, told by Meldreth Moore, in a soothing, lullaby tone. That scene faded away, and I was in a dense forest, wandering about pick- ing hare-bells and other wild flowers, when I came to a big stone quarry in some obscure spot, a.nd down in the pit was Frances Staudt, chipping off pieces of granite and marble, in search of a new kind of stone for her father's jewelry store. After that I found myself in a long, dimly-lighted corridor. Out of the gloom, as I reached the end of the hall, a material shape presented itself. Clad in spotless white apron, heavy rubber gloves on her hands, was Mildred Burns, now a celebrated surgeon, on her way to the operating room, to perform one of those seemingly impossible tasks for which her fame and skill were wide- spread. As all great people have their eccentricities, so too Mildred who would not set foot in the room until Mary Jackson, her chief assistant, appeared to accompany her. The next scene that my active mind conjured up before my subconscious vision was in the very heart of California. It was the summer opening of page one hundred forty-four