Produced by Alicia Williams, Sam W. and the Online
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Produced by Alicia Williams, Sam W. and the Online
SCHOOL days are joy days; days filled with the pleasures of friendships and the gladness of intimacy, with the satisfaction of work well done and the pride in having done it for one’s school. And we at Northrop School have been blessed with such days from the time of four entering as kindergarteners, up through grammar school and our subsequent joining of the League; on through these last days when, as high school girls, we took a real part in the activities of school life, and felt ourselves to have each one a share, however small, in the great whole, our Alma Mater. And it is to recollection of these joys and to the memory of our school days that we of the senior class wish to dedicate the 1926 Tatler.
|Evelyn McCue Baker||Mary Barber Eaton|
|President of the Senior Class||President of the League|
|“She’s as good as she is fair”||“She who feels nobly, acts nobly”|
|Margaret Louise Newhall||Virginia Josephine Leffingwell|
|Editor of 1926 Tatler||Vice-President of League|
|“Young and yet so wise”||“The soft, bright curl of her hair and lash|
And the glance of her sparkling eye
I saw, and knew she was out for a dash
As her steed went prancing by.”
|Bernice Alyne Bechtol||Mary Elizabeth Brackett|
|“Her hair is not more sunny than her heart”||“She has a natural wise sincerity and a merry happiness”|
|Esther Mabel Davis||Lydia Mortimer Forest|
|“The glass of fashion and the mold of form”||“She giggles when she’s happy, and one might even say|
That when there is no reason, she giggles anyway”
|Marion Josephine Hume||Ann Wilder Jewett|
|“For she’s a jolly good fellow,|
Her school mates all declare,
She’s out for all athletics,
There’s nothing she won’t dare”
|“True worth cannot be concealed”|
|Beatrice Myrtice Joslin||Marion Harriet McDonald|
|“There is mischief in that woman”||“Happy I am, from care I’m free;|
Why aren’t all the rest contented like me?”
|Josephine Reinhart||Marion Jean Savage|
|“Nothing is impossible to a willing heart”||“The will can do|
If the soul but dares”
Nancy Morris Stevenson
“A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, to command”
A SHIVER ran down my back as the last chords of the Ivy Song were played. It was actually a reality—our dream had come true for we were at last garbed in those precious white robes for which we had been striving for four years. Memories of these years rushed over me. How burdened we were with our importance in being Freshmen; Seniors seemed very old and distant. Suddenly we slipped from cock robins to conscientious Sophomores. By this time rumors were heard of a financial problem that we, as Juniors, must meet. Immediately we began to save all our pennies in order to startle the Faculty and the Seniors of 1925 with a luxurious Junior-Senior ball. So our Sophomore year closed with many peeks into the class treasury.
Dancing, fortune telling, freaks, and so on, came to our rescue in preparation for the J. S. We Juniors, as financiers, staged a Junior carnival—and it was successful.
May the twenty-ninth, in the year of our Lord, one thousand-nine hundred and twenty-five, was the red letter day of our Junior year. Our hopes, not our fears, were realized. Gayly we danced to “Tea for Two” in the green and white decked ballroom (alias the dining room) and promenaded in a garden in Japan, otherwise the roof garden. Sadly—ah, yes—the music hesitated and then ceased—as we unitedly sighed, perhaps with relief, perhaps with weariness. Who knows? Our Herculean task had passed, and our eyes were turned to the magnetic red ties. Honored beyond recognition we were the first to abide in the new Senior room, south-west parallel room 40, on the third floor. June quickly slipped near and we fixed our hopes and ambitions on the now approaching goal, graduation.
THE CLASS PROPHECY
The year of our Lord, A. D.,
I sat me down, and put my specs on,
An epistle of length to see.
And that you may understand this better,
I’ll herewith disclose the news of the letter:
I’m feeling that life is far from slow.
As Mary B. Eaton, instructor in war,
My military academy’s not such a bore;
Between drills, and luncheon, and chapel, it seems
That this life is not all that it was in my dreams.
Prefers to smuggle them food, and candy beside.
By the way, did you know that Virge Leffingwell
Has given up art and horses as well?
She’s opened a school, the dear old scamp,
To teach all the young ladies the best ways to vamp.
I passed a familiar figure in black;
’Twas irresponsible Lydia, our giggler so jolly,
Gone into seclusion to atone for past folly.
She lives all alone, without any noise,
Without any jazz, and without any boys!
She told me with horror and pain in her gaze
That Bee had turned actress, in movies (not plays)
And that very same week was playing down town
With R. Valentino in the ‘Countess’s Frown.’
To go to Bee’s movie and see how she’d rate.
So I left Lyd and started, and the first thing I met,
Or rather bumped into, was a fair suffragette,
Covered with signs ‘E. Baker for Mayor’.
So many there hardly was room
To see our progressive young democrat Hume!
Yes, ’twas none other than Marion, our businesslike girl;
She’s adopted the slogan of ‘Death to the curl!’
And she’s canvassing the city, with a terrible row,
To get votes for Ely, who’s in politics now.
The last thing I know they had each found a mate.
One of them’s handsome and young, but no money,
The other one’s rich, but crabby and funny.
But each one is happy in marriage, they say;
And that’s what really counts, say what you may.
For Bernice is proud of her good-looking guy,
And Andy knows the old man will soon die!
As Sunday School superintendent I’ll bet she’s not bad.
And, Mike, yesterday on some errands,
I encountered another of our old friends.
I’d hired a cab because I was tired.
I thought the driver was reckless and ought to be fired;
So I leaned over to express my opinion, you know,
And if it wasn’t our Esther, the pedestrian’s foe!
That makes five times now, oh, woe to the men!
Jean’s spoken to her now, a couple of times,
Of reforming herself, but do you think Marion minds?
Jean’s slumming committees have had lots of work,
Directed by Joey, who won’t let them shirk.
Are there exactly nine hundred and nine of them still?”
And with this, Tony closed, and Ted
Henry, Oswald, etcetera, I sent up to bed.
FRIDAY, THE THIRTEENTH
WE worked feverishly and hoped that there would be no more disputes concerning the chairs. Some thought the ones from the dining room ought to be used; others thought not. The chairs were brought down and then taken back with much strife along the way. Would anyone want to play bridge? We wondered. Would anyone bring cards to play bridge with? We wondered again. The fact that wax was being applied to the floor caused a good deal of worry, for we were afraid we would fall and break our necks if too much was put on. However, even in that predicament, we were determined to be gracious and smiling. Did everyone know that all the autumn boughs in blue and silver were tied on with red string? We fervently hoped they didn’t, for we were in no condition to do anything about it if they did. Thus our thoughts ran as we slammed down tables, tied on table cloths, and practised our Spanish dance in uniforms and low heeled shoes. At five-thirty we went home, thankful that we didn’t have to wash the windows and clean up the furnace room.
Much credit must be given to those few guests who realized that the gym was supposed to represent a cabaret. We greatly appreciate their penetration. They perhaps didn’t know that fortune-telling and fishing for tin automobiles in the telephone booth were a part of the procedure at a cabaret dance. But if they didn’t know these things, they had much to learn, for that’s what they did at our party and who were we to spurn their filthy lucre? They also danced and ate heartily of the ice cream and cake we served. Many thought the popcorn balls were a holdup, but they refrained from throwing them at us when we asked ten cents.
An attempt was made at amusement when we gave two dances; one with castanets and tambourines and much swirling and swooping; another with Spanish shawls draped on us. This latter one was more or less of a failure, for we couldn’t seem to get into step when we did it a second time. The audience, however, applauded, regardless of the fact, and didn’t see that the dance was any worse than it had been the first time. About eleven-thirty it was gently hinted that the time had come for the party to break up. We went on aching feet, hoping that since the party had been a success financially, the guests were not making too many derogatory remarks about it as a social function.
Dawn broke, and blushed to see the sight at Northrop School: packs of cards scattered in fifty-two different places, tables every which way, covers off, cake and popcorn balls scattered liberally on the floor. A few of us came to clean up, and cleaned with many yawns. After a few hours the gym began to take on its natural air of bleakness, and we left it to the tender mercies of Clyde and Mullen, hoping that the Junior-Senior would be a good one.