Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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BEING A SENIUR 'PKI ss? Q! J 'Og 'rt l 9 of - Q- L4 1- mE?-44 'ff All a senior. Notwithstanding many other things that the fairy who presided at my birth forgot, she did give me an appreciation of accomplishment. I do not remember when I first began wanting to be a senior, yet the realiza- tion strikes me with real force. I enjoy being a senior. I enqioy that delicious and novel feeling of being somebody. Hack in the dark recesses of my soul there is a dark little spirit who persists in reminding me that I will be a fresh- man next year, but I am too busy to notice him. There are other sensations incident to this higher stratum of student life, among which is a strange conti- dence in my ability to do certain things, like writing this essay for in- stance. Not only is this true in my own case, but it is frequently mani- fested in other upper-classmen who take to editing well-known periodicals and other dillicult literary tasks. Again it is only with membership in the senior class that a true appre- ciation of Shortridge spirit comes to one, for then with dazzling sudden- ness, the reverence and affection for Shortridge, resulting from three years of constant association, is borne in on one. I should probably like being a senior almost anywhere, but to be a Shortridge senior is to nie the veiw' highest of all attainable honors. Ileing a senior gives one that large, fatherly feeling toward all the world, and toward underclassmen in particular, which is so enjoyable to youth in that period of development called, by the learned, adolescence. -LLOYD EVANS, '21 I J 1 ' ' it dctpt st thing tiit we may feel: 1 s e cc ctsf 1 s her seal. 5 . c no ont t 1 is tiund or foe, 'at iom t ie fept is expression shields, .' 1 other 1 1 ever ki ' The influence deep, which silence wields. T '- IC CANNOT let another see . 'l Tl i H ' js la An open book we cannot be, Fo'.'il n--sn' ii us f. -Xnl 2ll2 ' I . II l l l l s N1 out L in iow , .4 ---lltllltl'l'HY UIIUSIZY, '23,

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so loudly that he could not understand. Never before had the Rich Man been so near the throbbing heart of life. Never before had he felt so inade- quate, so powerless, so small. No superlicialities here, no illusion of self- importance to hide behind, no spacious, sunny oflice and roar of traflic from the streets. Stripped of his back-ground, the Rich Man quailed before reality. And then, all at once, and yet quite naturally, he turned and saw a man pacing along beside him. The shadow rendered his dress indisting- uishable, and his face was entirely hidden. But his uplifted head, his con- fident bearing, his hrm step, cried out power. The atmosphere which he created affected the Rich Man strangely. New and deep emotions stirred within him. He found himself longing for the right to walk thus openly and unashamed under the stars. This man is living, he said to himself. How I wish I were alive! Hall' fearfully, he eyed his companion. Immediately the stranger turned and looked at him. The Rich Man thrilled under that glance. He imagined that through the dusk that sepa- rated them, the stranger was smiling-tenderly. You are alive. You have just been born. But what shall I do? How shall I begin 7 Iiewildered, the Rich Man groped for his companion's hand. It is so dark. How can you see your way? By the stars! The Rich Man felt a strong' hand grasp him. New strength surged through him. Look up! the stranger commanded in a ringing voice. Slowly the man's gaze travelled from the dewy fields to the gray hori- zon, then to the sky. There above him, in the unlimited blue, millions of blazing worlds were moving steadily on, and on-as unswervingly and as majestically as they had moved in the beginning. The heavens were bur- dened with the weight of them. The music of the spheres, murmured the stranger, softly. The Rich Man staggered. and clutched the figure at his side. It is too-too-big! He was trembling. I cannot look at them. Ah, but you can, returned the stranger, quickly. Big'? Yes, it is big. It is without beginning and without end. But you are a part of it all. You are needed in this great harmony of the universe. Nothing can harm you. You are as immortal as the stars. Wake up, man Z Suddenly the Rich Man understood what the night silence had been shouting to him. Immortal-immortal-immortal! it cried. Awake-this is real- ity! And now- the strang'er's voice was low, but vibrant with feeling, you must go back. I will. The Rich Man straightened and lilled his lungs with the pure night air. A burden had suddenly fallen from his shoulders, He was free. Turning, he started back in the direction from which he had come. But was it the Rich Man. or the Stranger? Surely there was only one man to be seen in the winding little road. And that man. although in face and form he resembled the Rich Man, yet walked with the easy, conlident stride, at once humble and powerful, of the Stranger. Ile disappeared in the gray dusk. The shadows had swallowed him up. And high, high above, the stars sang together. --ll0l.I.lS PIATT, '22,

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fl ML Q D Aw 'V A I fp Ex. 1 '1,, l i ll ' , n,'rinf:willyfil'ii1iwii!! 94 , , . . She rises lrom her misty hath Ol' opaleseent hues, and dons A gown ol' pearl. This pleases not The variable fancy ol' the maidg She turns from pearl to green, to rose, 'l'o amber, pink, and gold, and hlue- With each in turn arrays her lorm. She hlushes, lrowns and hesitates, Quite like a maiden new in love. She heekons to the merry Hours, And lrolies on the fluted clouds: She hreathes upon the glassy lace Ol' sleeping lakes, and softly glides 'l'liroug'li forests with low, whispering' sounds And takes a tithe oi' resinous sweets. She easts abroad with lavish hand ller dewy jewels on leaves and grass, And drab, eold stones, and lazy wehs Ol' spiders, till the whole world seems Like one great diamond, shining hrigght. For Phoehus, then, she decks herselfg lint with the eoming ol' the god, She turns, and, woman-like, she llees. -MAlltl.'Xlll'I'l' W.-X'l'l'll S '