Dear Classmates,

Paul and I sat beside May and Charlotte Jones, last night at the Goucher Senior Play, in which two of the daughters of 1903 took part, - Margaret Vliet (Claire Ackerman's daughter) and our own daughter, Janet. The college has a regular dramatic instructor now, - a Mrs. Gertrude Ommen, and the Senior Play certainly showed the result of her very able and conscientious instruction. I have never heard better voice work, by the way, in an amateur performance. Margaret and Janet have been good friends at Goucher; they have been in Junior and Senior plays together, and now are admitted together to Phi Beta Kappa. I expect to attend their initiation soon.

As Janet's major subject is history she will have excellent opportunities for research work here at home, and intends to arrange for her master's degree at George Washington University.

I have reflected, since reading Round Robin upon what an iron clad thing personality is. We can no more do a thing out of character than we can rise to the moon by our own power. Every letter was quiet the letter each particular classmate would have written. It isn't that we haven't developed; but no one has done or said a thing out of character. No doubt we have all felt 'Doesn't that sound like her?' as we read this or that contribution. And even if I tried (I am surely not going to) I could not make my letter sound like anyone else but myself.

My story is brief. I keep house and teach school, enjoying them both. For eleven years I have been in the English department at the Kinley Technical High School, in charge of the oral work. My pupils are boys for the most part and I like them immensely. Paul and I find our chief diversion in reading and walking. We belong to no clubs - no movements. My hair is still red and still long.

I look forward to seeing most of you in June; I know the five mothers of the graduates will be there, as well as their Baltimore aunts. With the thought of those that have died, it will be a sad time as well as a glad time. We shall come together with sympathy for those who have lost their dear ones. During the summer my own mother died, after a very painful sickness, and I feel that the hound of sorrow is strong indeed.

Best love to all,
Eda Briggs Frost

P.S. In certain red-letter days I see Dr. Shefloe at school and have a brief chat. There never was a finer honorary member.