Andrew Lewis High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Salem, VA)

 - Class of 1936

Page 30 of 68

 

Andrew Lewis High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Salem, VA) online yearbook collection, 1936 Edition, Page 30 of 68
Page 30 of 68



Andrew Lewis High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Salem, VA) online yearbook collection, 1936 Edition, Page 29
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Page 30 text:

4 4 The pioneer of 1936 _L_ 4 Alice wept at the pitiful tale, but the Red Queen sniffed, “Huh, when I was her age I worked for Harold Craig for twenty-nine cents per day.” “Yes, it looks like Shirley Graham, the Coca-Cola king, is the only magnate who pays his help decently, unless it be Moomaw and Wimmer, the beauty salon operators.” Just then the White Queen bounced up and exclaimed, “ I have just been reading about a boy, D. R. Rice, who has made a pile of money renting himself out to people having big weddings. You see they shoot him out of a cannon at the bride and groom and, in this manner, Rice is thrown on a large scale. Let’s see .... Dorothy Dean, Eileen Darnell, Mildred Cunningham, Margaret Huff, Ruby Jones and a lot of others used this new method when they were wed.” Alice wasn’t listening; she was watching, outside the window, an airplane which was writing in smoke letters, “Keesling and Sowers—Elocution Lessons.” A horn honked and one of the fleet of Chapman and Dunahoo Quick Delivery trucks tore up the street bearing the dress shirt of R. Franklin Hough who was scheduled to address the Grant, Sale and Hash School of Physical Education that night on the subject, “What To Do With Unemployed Hop-Skip- and-Jumpers.” The Red Queen said, “What ever became of Elizabeth Janet Martin?” The White Queen said, “Oh, you mean Elizabeth Melva Martin, don’t you?” They were off again. Alice sighed. It was terrible the way they argued. If it wasn’t the Martins or the Fleshmans it was the Dillards, Agnes and Frances. It was terrible, and Zola Holland was the only one who could do any¬ thing with them! Again she turned to the window, for Paul Eller, the Arthur Tracy of his age, was crooning beneath it. Suddenly from across the street came one of those juicy cream puffs from the Gardner Bakery. It struck Eller on the nose. Billy Turner laughed and laughed for he knew all the time he did it. A second cream puff, not from the hands of Turner but his partner in crime, Acy Adams, found its mark on the mouth of Virginia Grant, and the latter’s cries of indignation could be heard above even the wails of her companions, Miriam Garst and Madge Davis. Such was the life of a pedestrian in Wonder¬ land! There was a muffled roar dying away, in the distance, which worried Alice at first but the Red Queen tartly remarked, “Only Jim Taney and Billy Sellew bent on relieving the distress of the weaker sex!” Below, on the street, Senator Garland Bruce and Governor Pershing Collins were talking. “Say, Collins, a group of women were in to see me yesterday trying to see if I couldn’t do something about the abolishing of party-line telephones, and I sent ’em over to see you.” “Who were they?” “I think the list ran something like this: Eula Overstreet, Elizabeth Perrow, Sybil Pardue, Margaret Poff, Madeline Price and Beatrice Ramsey.” “Well, they’re all wealthy. I’ll have to do something about it.” This tickled Alice and she began to laugh. “Hush child,” the Red Queen said, “you remind me of Leo Whiticar and Charles Williams, the radio comedians, laughing at their own jokes.” A quintet of the town’s leading young women had stopped across the street to admire the show window of Kime and Mitchell, clothiers. In the group were Hazel Arthur, Rosa Altizer, Mary Bowman, Ellen Coffey and Ruth Fralin. Alary spoke up: “Let’s go down to Annabelle Hobbs’ tea room and have a bite to eat.” “Certainly, and we can read some of Virginia Fuqua’s newest free verse.” The tea room was crowded, but Douglas Johnston, the millionaire head waiter, found the party a table. Nearby were seated Attorneys Ralph Morgan and Henry Willard, dining with two influential clients, Mary Louise Stoutamire and Nancy Lee Seanor. Perhaps you think that Alice couldn’t see this but you mustn’t forget the magic looking glass. “Watch Robert Goodwin, Julian Mowles, and Eugene Overstreet eat,” Alice said. The Red Queen shrugged her ivory shoulders and sighed, “Yes, it reminds me of the old days when Robert Butler, Riley Scruggs and Russel Vest used to clean out the Andrew Lewis Cafeteria.” “Ah, there’s the Red Dog Mouth-Wash Trio, Doris Hollyfield, Alargaret Johnston and Gertrude Kingery, and beside them sit Clayton Burton and Ruel Watkins, the sound effect men.” “That’s nothing. Here comes Homer Scott, the orthographic expert, with Andrew Richards and Fern Young, the comedy team.” As Alice turned from the looking glass she didn’t observe the entrance of Virginia Staples, Hazel Alowles and Frances Miller, a trio of female efficiency experts. The little girl started to retreat across the room, when suddenly she tripped over the chess board and “Bang!” she went right through the looking glass again! A queer feeling went over her as she brushed the ashes from her dress and then noticed how tiny and still the Red Queen and the White Queen looked lying on the floor. Somehow Alice felt strangely alone without her chess-board friends and all the interesting personages of the Senior Class to help her while the hours away. Twenty-Six —John Thornton

Page 29 text:

andrctt) Cctois itiigh School 4 4 4 4 4 4 Senior Class Prophecy “That’s funny, it didn’t hurt at all,” Alice murmured as she stepped through the looking glass. What were these queer figures? Oh yes, the chessmen—lying just as they had fallen in the ashes of the fireplace. Alice started toward them, or rather away from them, for because of some peculiar happening ever since she passed through the mirror everything had to be done backwards. Just then the Red Queen arose majestically from the ashes and dusted herself off. “Well, little girl, what are you doing here? Don’t I have enough trouble with this lumbago, and that Virginia Williams throwing me on the floor every time Elizabeth McCormick beats her at chess?” “No, not Lorraine Williams, the banker’s wife, nor Louise Williams, the divorcee, although they treat me rough, too, sometimes.” Just then Alice heard a noise outside the window and she backed across the room and looked out. Up the street came the end of a circus parade. My, how the band proudly backed down the street! There was Francis Shockey whanging away on a big bass drum, but all of a sudden the strap broke and down the street rolled the drum, much like a giant hoop. The crowd roared and even Drum Major Sears had to stop prancing before Doris and watch. On and on the drum rolled, knocking down three bystanders, who later proved to be Flora Bolton, Anita Benois and Mildred Wimmer. Finally, after it had smashed through the plate-glass window of the Guthrie, Gilbert and Wright Grocery, the drum came to a halt in front of a huge pickle jar bearing the inscription “Aldridge’s Famous Bitter Sours.” By this time the parade had caught up with the drum, that is everyone except Guilford Huff, the piccolo player, who was always late. Leading the indignant procession, which arranged itself in front of the pickle jar, was Turner Ashby Graves, president of the Amalgamated “ Good Night” Club of America. Beside him stood Pauline Martin, whom the newspapers termed “The Carrie Nation Of Her Age.” Alice gasped as she watched the sight. What was happening to the drum? For all of a sudden, from tlie huge rip in its head appeared the queerest sight she had ever seen. She could catch at a distance only a few words of explanation, out of the torrent of volatile phrases which poured forth from the mouth of Edith Hubbard, the country’s best known and often heard congresswoman, who chanced to be standing on the street corner thumbing a ride. “Why, Jack Slusser, what were you, John Thomas, Harry Clark, George Baker, John Davis, Lee Akers and Boyer Hall doing inside of that drum?” She was dumfounded and could go no further. Slusser, always the spokesman for the crowd, cried out, “We couldn’t help it. We were only touring the bass drum factory, when the managers, Bob Blackard and Billy Coffey, pushed us inside one of the unfinished drums and before we could say ‘Hilda Alwilda Thomas’ the drum was sealed up and we were on our way to the Turner (Charles) Music Shop.” By this time the parade was ready to continue, but then someone (Detective William Kellner) discovered that one of the band, Carey Breithaupt, was missing. However, he was soon found standing in front of a sign labeled “Katherine Lewis, Trombone Lessons While You Wait.” Now Alice directed her attention to the crowd milling around in the street. There was the dashing boulevardier, Sam Hutson, in earnest conversation with Geraldine Hatcher, th e country’s latest music sensation, whose newest piano pulsation was sweeping the land with as much fire as was Lamar Grissom, the swing violinist. Just then up the street swung Richard Cormell, John Naff and Raymond York, recently back from England where they had represented Eton Academy in the National Cricket Tournament. Cormell was waving a letter from Sarah Fleck, proprietor of the new Grey Rock Spring Summer Resort. In this she said that John Thornton and Bob Woltz, co-owners of the “Home For Aged Spanish Athletes,” had announced a change of policy for the coming term and stated that hereafter Professor Herbert Hodges would be in charge of all preliminary training for those wishing to continue the study of the sport. Alice was slightly bewildered but she had not time to remain in that condition long, for before her eyes purred a long, sleek Rolls-Royce with the letters “Ferris and Farris, Names Re-euphonicised.” A book dropped from the window of the car. It was titled “Verbose Expressions Sadly Misused and Why, ” by Ruth Murphy, LL. B., A. B. A woman darted out from the curb and picked it up, scanning the pages. It was none other than Virginia Rezek, internationally known literary critic. She was accompanied at the time by Professors J. A. Harr and W. L. Moorman, holders of the Nobel Prize in Mathematics and Chemistry. The milling throng below the window suddenly grew quiet and every person in the great crowd seemed to be straining his ears to catch every word from a dramatic, melodious, entrancing, enthralling, gripping, thrilling voice which came from the window of a tall office building. A few of the bystanders, namely, Clayton Burton, Frances Jobe, Nell Coleman, Melba Calloway, Dan Finley and Harry Gwinn were moved almost to tears at the lachrymose tale which ended with the following climax: “Oh, please, Air. Bain, raise my salary to just four dollars a week!” “I’m sorry, Miss Barnard, Air. Pierpont and I have talked the matter over and decided that you’ll have to be satisfied with three-thirty-nine.” T Twenty-Five



Page 31 text:

2ndrctt) Xcvnis iftigh School President . Vice President Secretary. .. Treasurer Junior Class OFFICERS .Jack Stone . .Caroline Maxwell . .Margaret Trent Colleen Sanford Junior Sentiments One of the many thrilling adventures experienced by Alice was the journey with the Looking-Glass Insects. She found herself seated on the train with such fellow-passengers as a Goat, a Beetle, and a Gnat. The Guard put his head through the window: “Tickets, please!” Alice was terrified. Again, “Show your ticket, child!” .... “I’m afraid I don’t have one,” said Alice. “You see, there was no ticket office where I came from” .... “Don’t make excuses. You should have bought one from the engine-driver. Why, the smoke alone is worth a thousand pounds a puff!” .... There’s no use speaking, thought poor Alice. After looking at her through telescope, microscope, and opera glass, he remarked, “You are traveling the wrong way!” A voice that sounded like that of a horse said something and an extremely small voice kept whispering something in her ear. Suddenly there was a shrill scream from the engine, and someone announced that the train was merely jumping over a brook. There was comfort in the thought that this would take them into the Fourth Square. As she felt herself rising, Alice caught at the Goat’s beard, which seemed to melt away and she found herself sitting quietly under a tree. Oh, if she could only reach the Fourth Square! .... She traveled on until she finally came to the cross roads. Which should she take? Three years ago, we Juniors, a group of promising-looking young things, greeted the teachers of Broad Street School. On that September day, in the autumn of 1933, we seated ourselves in the Coach which was to transport us through High School, finally to bring us to Graduation and Success! Like Alice, we were curious to explore untried paths and frequently were made to suffer chagrin by being told that we were “going the wrong way.” Indeed, we have been reprimanded so severely sometimes that one might have wondered if there were Goats even among us! Many times we have felt that it was no use, so scrutinizingly have we been examined along the way, but the small voice within kept whisper¬ ing words of courage. As we venture through the dangerous section, Halls, we are constantly confronted by someone: “Building pass, please!” .... “Why, you see, I have none, I forgot. . . .” Then, “Do you have your work prepared?” in class we are asked. “Er—No,—last night I had to go to . . . .” “Don’t make excuses!” and we are sent to report to the office where we are told: “You are traveling the wrong way; I will not have such behavior!” And now, we have come quite a distance. We are happy that, although the journey thus far has been hazardous, we have reached safely the Third Square. Someone announces that our train must “jump a brook.” (Two we have already crossed, both of which were so perilous that we feared the Coach would be upset.) We feel ourselves rising in the air and we grasp eagerly the opportunity to cross this third brook successfully. If we can only reach the Fourth Square! We feel now that our troubles, like the Goat’s beard, will have “melted away,” and that we shall find ourselves “sitting in the shade of the trees” when we have reached the Senior Square —but then, of course, in the distance, the cross roads also await us. Who knows the way that we shall choose? —Sibyl Stump Twenty-Seven

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