Bexley High School - Bexleo Yearbook (Bexley, OH)

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CLASS POEM Onward, class of twenty-three! Excelsior let your motto be! Do your duty, great or small, Do it well and do it all. Bexley’s loving gates no more to enter, Leaving for a more learned center; Concentrate, be true and staunch, Ambition calls; success you’ll launch. Our life before us is an ocean wide, Unknown to us what brings the tide; Mystery to us, for naught know we What fate has destined our future to be. Time flies by; the day draws near, We leave thee, Bexley, to begin our career; Oh! my classmates, to part ’tis sad, Leaving you and the happiness we had. But onward, class of twenty-three! Excelsior let your motto be! Live up to that word, Strive to do! Make life worth while and Bexley proud of you. MARION GILBERG, ’23. -

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THE BEXLONIAN ■ SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY The New Year’s chimes had just an- nounced the advent of 1923 and along the streets echoed the cheery voices of light-hearted revelers returning to their homes. I was of an age which was past the frivolities of my youth and the arrival of this year brought to me serious thoughts, for it would be probably the last of my life. I was musing, thinking back to the days of my youth, when we were all so jolly and gay at Bexley High. I had survived the rest of my class on this dear old earth, where they all had been scattered so broadly after graduation. I was pondering, comparing their vari- ous successes, when I noticed that the lights grew dim and a soft, roseate hue filled the room. I seemed in a stupor. The door opened, and through it I could see into a chamber in which sat one of the persons in my thoughts, dear, plump, jolly Josephine Atkinson. She was in a handsome office, busily reading correspondence, and on the door was a sign reading, Mill’s Restau- rants, Manager’s Office. This picture faded and another took its place. Here was a modern, ivory-painted beauty shop, with people coming and going continually. From the office, marked Private, came laughing Bee Barton, who had made her fortune as a beauty expert. The next picture showed a packed theatre, with the Shakespearean dram- atist, Robert Edwards, receiving cur- tain call after curtain call from his many admirers. Then, as the scene faded, a similar one took its place; but instead of the theatre the building was a concert hall, and the principal was fun-loving Ma- rion Gilbert, the well-known prima donna, who was smiling and bowing to her cheering audience, while ushers brought her armfuls of flowers. An entirely new picture presented itself this time. At a high desk of honor in a court room was seated Harry Kuhn; he was passing judgment upon a noted criminal and his fair decision was greeted with much favor by the reporters who thronged the doors. This faded and I saw a beautiful suburb laid out with winding drives and landscaped esplanades. On a huge signboard the fact that B. E. Legg, the surveyor and real estate magnate, had laid out the addition was announced. Then I saw a typical American home, cheery and prosperous looking, and on the lawn, dressed in a dainty frock, was Louise Lloyd (now Mrs. Stiver- son), reading to her two children. A New York broker’s office now ap- peared, and at the desk reading the ticker I saw William McConnell, who had made millions manipulating stocks and bonds. And now the Bohemian scenes of Greenwich Village revealed themselves, and in the most originally designed and luxurious-looking studio was Marion Office, busily painting one of the pic- tures that had made her famous. The next vision was of Mrs. Sophia English, and I saw her in her office, reading a newspaper which told of the wonderful success that she had made by combining business and marriage. Then the ball room of the Ritz ap- peared, where people were gliding around the floor to the rhythmic music of Ruth Poole’s famous orchestra. As this faded I saw Edna Pyle sit- ting writing, writing, writing, compil- ing her book of psychology, which was declared the wonder of the age. When this disappeared, I saw an aeroplane glide gracefully to a stop on a landing field crowded with cheering people. Out of it climbed Vernon Ridgeway, who had become noted as a dare-devil aviator. Next the office of a well-known and reliable construction company pre- sented itself, and through the door marked President came Arthur Stocker, who had worked up from the position given him when he graduated from en- gineering school to this one of honor at the head of the firm. The scene which followed this was one full of pathos. People crippled up with aches and pains were entering an office in front of which was a sign, Dr. C. E. Russell, Chiropractor. Clar-