AUTOGRAPH

The brown leather cover is still rich, though the golden embossed title, “Autographs” has faded.

The first printed page summons:

To keep my friends

Is my delight

So in this book

I pray you’ll write.

Autographs from teenage girls fill the dulled blue, yellow, white, green and pink pages that follow.

Delightful words and sentiments penned – in perfect script – a few short years and months before the beginning of World War II.

 

Silly and insightful phrases written for Jane, who died this past November, three months shy of her 90^th birthday.

Read their words. Hear their voices. Imagine their faces. Bear witness to a generation’s sentiments, wishes and dreams.

8/23/1937: When you get married and live across the lake, don’t forget to send me a piece of wedding cake.

In your chain of friendship, consider me a link.

8/24/1937: I hope some day you’ll be dressed the color of this paper.

Yours till Niagara freezes.

4/27/1938: When your work on earth is finished, and the paths you no more trod, may your name in gold be written, in the autograph of God.

Yours until the window pains.

4/28/1938:  Blessed are they that sit on a hatpin, for they shall RISE.

On this sheet of yellow, I wish you a handsome fellow!

5/2/1938: Hope you never feel as blue as this page!

5/15/1939: Remember me, a summer stream, flowing casually along.

6/12/1939:  Yours till Lake Erie wears rubber panties to keep her bottom dry.

6/13/1939:  There are big ships in the ocean, there are small ships in the sea, but the best ship is friendship!

When you and your lover are at the gate, love is blind, but the neighbors ain’t!

Your friend till hell freezes and the devil comes skating home!

Yours till the foot of Main Street wears stockings.

When you get married, and your husband gets cross, pick up the rolling pin and show him who’s boss!

B flat or B Sharp, don’t let no boy pierce your heart!

6/14/1939: Bread is dry, so is cheese, what’s a kiss, without a squeeze?

Green with envy I shall get, if you’re not my special pet!

To your mother you’re an angel, to your father you’re an expense.

To your teacher you’re a problem, without a bit of sense.

To your preacher you’re a devil, but the boys will all agree, you’re an angel sent from heaven.

But you’re more than that to me!

Yours till the Sahara desert freezes and the camels come skating home.

If I were a little bunny and had a tail of fluff, I’d sit upon your dresser, and be your powder puff!

…. Put your name in my heart, where it will always remain and never depart.

Yours till a bobby pin gets seasick on a permanent wave!

 

6/15/1939:  The higher the mountain, the cooler the breeze, the younger the couple, the tighter they squeeze.

Yours till the kitchen sinks.

Hair is made to hang in curls, cheeks are made to blush, eyes are made to wink at boys, and lips are made to Oh! Hush!

Yours till you forget me!

Be good to every mortal, and yet select a few, to bear the name of friendship, and tread the road with you.

Yours until Germany gets Hungary and fries Turkey in Greece.

9/6/1939: Twinkle, twinkle little star, powder puff and cold cream jar, eyebrow pencil, lipstick, too, makes a beauty out of you!

12/31/1945:  When the golden sun is setting, and your mind of care is free, when of others you are thinking, will you sometimes think of me?

 

QUING Hereby Decrees:  Write, and bestow the privilege of presence.