University School for Girls - Castanon Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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rg... so much to do this week-end it makes me dizzy even to think about it. I have to go to the opera tonight with Johnny, and oh, speaking of Johnny, I must tell you- The other day when he called up from Montreal to ask me about tonight, I had just come in from a ride. I had been up pretty high, and you know how cold and windy it is up there. Well, I was a perfect wreck, you can imagine. My face was as red as a beet and my hair was streaming all over the place. I didn't have time to fix it, or powder my nose, or anything. You should have seen his face when I answered the phone, because, you know, I've always had the luck to be dressed up when he's seen me. I honestly bet he didn't think it was me-I- pardon me. What was I talking about anyway? You were telling all you had to do, answered one of her companions. Oh dear, yes. I'm wearing my new orchid sunrise dress tonight, and I have to go to the hairdresser's this afternoon to have my hair tinted to match it for the evening. Tomorrow morning I have a ballet rehearsal from nine to ten and fencing from ten to eleven. After that I'm going to lunch and the matinee with a friend of mother's and I must get in some shopping sometime. 'Then last night my brother radioed that he would be coming home tomorrow with some friends from college and wants me to go to New York with them in the evening and dance somewhere. Of course he would want me to drive them back to North Carolina Lo school Scpnday aftlerncioigl. Goodness lixrjlowsi wherg Icgll git home and fkjust ave to stu y or an ang is examination on ay. n -o yes-some r1en s from California are stopping off here sometime this week-enid on their way to Europe where they are going to spend a few days. I don't see how you're going to make that tri to North Carolina Sunday, . . . P . if you have to study English, one of the glrls declares. Believe me you, that exam is going to be the .... I don't see either, is the reply. lim not so keen about that trip anyway. Last time I made it, I bumped into a bunch of birds on the way home. They bent the bumper and I nearly went through the windshield. But I was more worried about the birds than anything-poor things. Say, Helen, is it all right if I don't land you? I'm in an awful rush, y'know. Take one of the parachutes on the Hoon The handsome little yellow plane slows down and swoops lower over house- tops and apartment buildings. One of its occupants jumps out, holding a dainty yellow parachute over head .with one hand and waving a gay adieu to her com- panions with the other-a difficult feat when laden with a Latin book, a French reader and a couple of important-looking notebooks. . The other two girls are dropped off in a similar manner. Our very pretty girl then speeds home, lands on the roof of the apartment building where she lives, puts her plane away, and takes the elevator down to her apartment. vii lk lk wk Ill 'Tis Monday morning, and we are back at U. S. G. again. Helen is talking to her friend. Did you get everything done you had to do, darling? I've been worrying about you all week-end. She is answered by a sheepish smile, and a rather small voice saying, Oh, I went to Japan with daddy. The chauffeur took us Friday afternoon in the big plane, and we didn't get home until late last night. Moral: Don't worr toda about what ma never ha en tomorrow. Y Y Y PP JEAN FARLEIGH, '30 69

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eassonne to begin his kuightly training. He feels a man already and keepeth a bold front. though I think he is a bit frighted at leaving me. It is hard to let him go. It will be lonely without him. I have had no more letters from my lord and I have dreamt of the black pilgrim. july 20- Have inspected the manor during these past few days. The ravages of Clisson are quite repaired ..., A page has just eome to say that Jkntioch fell to the arms of Christendom in klune. Praise to the most high! .... I must keep on for the sake of my small Pierre. I must,even though I have seen that the pilgrim who stands without is clothed all in black . . frlihis is the last entry.l IXIARY Youxo. '31 TH IC PILOT Whizzingfzipping--rushing- Roaring into infinity, Wide as nothingness-deep as the sea: Brushing the tips of unseen wings, Skirting Iilysian playgrounds bright, Passing, heedless, through fairy things I rom red-gold sunset to blue-blaek night. And yet a man can conquer space, Can count a minute by a milef Inlinityfand he can dare To light a cigarettefand smile , . . Xltxkv QI.X1,l.l7INDIER, '30 A If' U 'I' Ii R I ST I C' F A B Ir IC Behold Chicago in IQSO-its towering buildings, its superla- tive parks and boulevards, the grandeur of its lake drives ex- tending miles without number north and south. At the Lini- versity School for Girls at Oak- dale Avenue plans are being made at last for a new and up-to- date building. And now pieture, if you please, a very pretty pupil of this same school driving home on a Friday afternoon in a yellow monoplane sport-model with three of her friends. two of whom are seated in the rumble seat. Ileavensl, the pretty girl is sayiti as she deftly pilots her little plane in and out, over and under, other planes in the stead- ily increasing trafic, I have GN

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If -il . WHERE DREAMS WILL COME TRUE You are the pilot- Your plane is your own, If you can guide it And dare to alone. Once land is below, You soar into air. Through storms you must go- All Life is not fair. But where storm clouds lurk, Behind, sun is too- Beyond the horizon Your dreams will come true. So give me my plane- I long to fly high! Hope-my propeller'- Sends me off to the sky. My compass is Truth, By my Dreams I'll steerg Storms are just Living- Of Life I've no fear. For I know brightest sun Darkest clouds can break through. Beyond the horizon My Dreams will come true. Donornv BRAUN, '30 .,..i ' KlTUD77 He never did anything famous unless you consider roping and throwing a calf in twelve seconds a famous accomplishment. He never was well known except in Johnson County, Wyoming and yet, to me he was wonderfull When I knew him I knew nothing of his life and even now that I have heard it, I doubt that it is any different from that of all western boys. For he was just a cowboy named Tud Smith. He was born in Story, Wyoming in IQO2. He was the sixth of fourteen children. Little has been known about his childhood. I suppose it was school and helping father as all ranch children did. It might have seemed a drab existence to us who live in the city of bright lights. 70