Blake School - Reflections / Call O Pan Yearbook (Hopkins, MN)

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Head of School Class Treasurer, ’25-’26 Class President, ’26-’27 Class President, ’27-’28 Junior-Senior Dance Committee, 28 Christmas Dance Committee, ’28 Spring Dance Committee, 29 Reply to Seniors, '28 Thorpe Cup Contest, ’28 Williams Theme Contest, second prize, ’29 Union Dance Committee, ’29 Choir, ’27, ’28, ’29 Property Man, Dramatics, ’29 Football. ’27, ’28 Baseball Squad, ’29 Class Basketball, ’26, ’27, ’28 Hockey, ’28, ’29 Union, ’27, ’28, ’29 Varsity Club ROBERT WARNER MACGREGOR Entered Blake 1914 “Bob, “Mac Dartmouth “I have fed like a farttier Robert Warner Macgregor, Head Boy of Blake School, is about to yield his august position to a younger and more vigorous youth, as he passes out of these cloistered halls, his work completed. No more the acclamations of the Lower School, no more the glory of assisting the Headmaster to build a better Blake, no more the stirring addresses on “What Blake Has Done For Me. Ah, the pity of it! Oh. yeah? Yeah. But let us look more closely into the hidden facts of his existence. Hockey, Football, Public Jawing, to say nothing of all forms of masticatory athletics, at which he is the wonder of that blase crew the Waiters—all these show Mac to be a star. His long arguments with Mr. Cleveland or moral and sociological questions--as if he really knew anything about them!—have frequently saved many members of English VII who had sacrificed their Chaucer to the harsh dictates of the hardboiled taskmaster who affects to teach mathematics. With his habitual gaze of blissful unconsciousness, humming Dutky Stevedore in five different keys (including several that sound like skeletons), Mac is wandering in the general direction of the windswept slop?s of Hangover. N. H., where a plunge in a ten-foot snowdrift may bring him around. Pjge Twent y-nine

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-9H itfc O’ PANf Debating Team, '28 Williams Theme Contest, ’29 Cum Laude Valedictorian Union, ’29 French Club, ’27, ’28, ’29 President, French Club, ’29 THAD BARTLETT LAWRENCE Entered Blake 1919 “Tadpole,” “Shylock U. S. Military Academy “ Young in limbs, in judgment old.'' Trade with Tad—this resounding slogan has become a household word, often calling forth man words from the heads of households whose little offsprings have been beguiled by the oily tongue of our debater into purchasing red sweaters, under the impression that he was selling them articles of the true Blake Brown. By virtue, among other things, of this same smooth manner of delivery in the dass-room, and also of a certain amount of native intelligence, Our Thad has fallen into the role of Valedictorian by default. The commercial genius of Blake School has, in true military fashion, thrown a bombshell into the camp of Manly Boys by the expression of his firm determination to sacrifice his potential plutocracy to the interests of our national defense. One may often see him striding martially down the corridors in perfect time to the office typewriters, frowning fiercely at frightened Fourth Formers, and belligerently attempting, with threats of grave bodily injury, to collect recruits for the Otizens’ Military Training Camp, while twirling imaginary mustachios. He plans to recuperate for a year, after the shock occasioned by graduation, at the University of Minnesota, whence he will make his way by forced marches to West Point-on-Hudson. Thad, you leave these cloistered halls with our blessing if you will only promise not to come back a mathematics teacher. Page Tverity eight

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Union, ’28, ’29 Treasurer, Union, ’28 President, Union, ’29 Football, ’27, ’28 Swimming, ’27, '28, '29 Captain, Swimming, '29 Secretary, A. A. Treasurer, Class, ’29 Choir, ’24, ’25, ’26, ’28, ’29 Choir Leader, ’29 Dramatics, ’27, ’28 Thorpe Cup Contest, '28, ’29 Williams Theme Contest. First Prize, ’29 French Club, ’28, ’29 Varsity Club ROBERT INSKEEP RIZER, JR. Entered Blake 1922 “Bob, “Rizzer “Rosy Princeton “ Tis a naughty night to swim in Bob fought his way into the Old Alma Match bade in 1922, and. discounting lapses into coma which occur at frequent intervals, beginning about nine o’clock each morning and continuing till three-thirty P. M., he has been fighting ever since. Once out of his daily fit (we might work in some pun here, but we’re afraid it won’t fit) he plunges into work with a gusto that is fearful and wonderful. Whether it is swimming, pounding huge dents in the library table with the Union gavel, getting down under punts without tripping over the white lines, thinking up excuses to get out of French Club, or jerking Connell out from under the piano where he is untying Mr. Geiser’s shoelace. Bob has acquitted himself creditably. Nevertheless, Our Captain is not undistinguished in the realms of literary endeavor, as two massive volumes on the life of Lincoln (often used, we sadly fear, to hurl at cats when their courting interferes with his healthful slumber) will testify. He intends to finish his course in somnambulism at Old Nassau, and if he doesn’t stop by the wayside to practice the breaststroke in every railroad water tank along the line, perhaps he may reach there next fall, maybe, huh? Page Tforty