Mrs. MacCannell didn't even apply
to host Nancy's friends from Old Stoneham High.

  She was chosen unanimously
  by us the majority--
  by Dickie and Peter and Mary Lou G.
  and Alfred and Bette and Mary Lou C.
  and sometimes the whole gang from P.F.
  plus stragglers and wanderers and guests of guests.

Each afternoon in her kitchen by 3:00,
we must have drunk gallons of hot Lipton tea.

  (Like Arthur Godfrey, we'd sip no other type.
  It was the fifties. We believed TV hype.
  Pat Boone was our hero, along with McCarthy!
  Though Dick T. loved Elvis, we thought he was nasty.)

Each afternoon in her kitchen we'd find
home-baked marvels--cakes, squares, cookies, or pies.

  We got rather picky after awhile,
  Leaving orders for specialties that made us smile.
  "We don't care for this cake as much as the last."
  And not once did she say, "Oh, get out, you brats!"

She stayed calm, that saint, smiled and seemed to enjoy us!
When we'd do something dumb, she'd just shrug her shoulders--
and continue to neatly fold towels and sheets
or iron her clothes--amid guffaws and bleeps.

  Her small family circle grew to much more
  as we, uninvited, joined in the score.

   Marilyn and Whitey's romance we loved,
   and we danced at their wedding as if it were ours.
   When they were gone--off to Air Force land,
   their letters we passed from hand to hand.
   Marilyn's pregnancy we endured without dread
   and rejoiced en famille at the birth of "our" Deb.

Only graduation took us away,
and now, looking back, we can't help but say--

  Yes, each afternoon in her kitchen at 3:00
  She put up with our books tossed all over the floor,
  with our coats and our scarves flung and draped on the doors,
  with our noise and our nosiness, our mess and our greed,
  with our self-styled invasion of 9 Kays Road.
  We took her for granted, foolish kids that we were...

    Only teens of our own made us so late aware
    of the wonder of her--a lady so rare.

To Mrs. MacCannell we raise high a cheer
and belatedly vote her the Mom of the Year--1954, that is!

      --Bette Tsoutsouras