East Tennessee State University - Buccaneer Yearbook (Johnson City, TN)

Page 32 text:

OLD HICKORY was a bakery and I asked the proprietor, a small, dark, fat man with a de¬ cidedly aquiline nose, if he knew the sleeping lady next door. „ “Oh, that is Delpha Meredith, an old classmate of mine in ’19.” There in the inner doorway stood Yetta, his wife, now a fat and cheerful dame. She took me hospitably into the living apartment. There on the dining-room table sat thirteen blue bowls await ing the morrow and on the window-seat were thirteen piles of school books, while before the fire were thirteen pairs of little shoes toasting their toes preparatory for a warm wel¬ come to their owners. I entreated her to go to Anne s and Estelle s succor, and set out to find Sister Smith as she had directed. She was starring in the Tollies and I found her in her dressing room, having just returned from her act. She wore a much abbreviated dress of gold brocade. Cassie Smith, now a movie actress, was calling on her. They were preparing to go see Georgia Taylor and Ora White, who were with Ringling Brothers, then in winter quarters on the outskirts of the city. I was amazed to find Ora featured as the fat lady—the only one in cap¬ tivity weighing five hundred pounds. And Georgia was the snake charmer, and Ora proudly told me that Georgia had the most promising future before her of any in that profession in any American circus, as one look from her quite cowed them for a week. I had hardly gone two blocks from the circus when I saw someone shak¬ ing a door and loudly demanding entrance in the name of the law ' . There was something familiar in the tall figure. “Why hello, Essie Kiser,” I cried, “are you a policeman?” “Oh no,” she whispered confidentially, “that is just a ruse to get inside. That is the only difficulty I have. If I only get in they always buy one be- fore I leave. I am selling the most marvelous book that has ever appeared before the public. It is a treatise on “Hookworm vs. Tennessee” and other equally interesting and timely topics. It is compiled by Lewis Land and Hubert Huff, who have become ardent disciples of Mr. Buice. Mr. Land is making a house-to-house campaign and is selling medicine which will cure any disease. He can safely recommend it because he invented it himself. He is doing it solely for the uplifting of humanity. But you should have a half dozen copies of this wonderful book for your library, so that when you have worn out one you will have another to fall back upon immediately and will not have to wait till you can locate me to procure it.” She grasped me firmly by the shoulder and I should have had to invest heavily, but at this op¬ portune moment my lady of the broomstick jerked me unceremoniously up behind her and we whirled away at a dizzy height toward the South. We hovered over a beautiful little town nestled among the foothills of my beloved home state, Tennessee, then dropped lightly up on the majestic campus of one of the South’s bst Universities. Within the hall of the build¬ ing before me I could see a blue-overalled figure busily scrubbing the mo¬ saic floor. I stepped to the door. “Could you tell me whether any of the class of 19—why Dawson King, in overalls?” . .. . . . T “Oh yes, I am head janitor here, quite a responsible position, I assure you. I handed in my application for the presidency six years ago when Uncle Sid was called to Harvard, but someone else had gotten theirs m be¬ fore me, but they had this vacancy, so I took it.” “Good-by,” I said, and turned away. . , ... “But wait, don’t you want to go to the theatre tonight? Two militant suffragettes who are running for the senate are to speak. We hurried o . I stood spellbound, for there upon the platform were Bill Fulton and Page Thirty

Page 31 text:

OLD HICKORY group gathered on the curb-stone and heard the ringing of the tambourine and the strumming of a banjo in a sweet old-time hymn. Dominating all was a clear soprano voice that somehow had a familiar ring. I pushed my way through the crowd and there, with the scoop-bonnet of the Salvation Army on her bright hair, was one we all loved—Helen Lacy, ably assisted by Ethel Thompson, who passed the hat. I could not restrain myself and fell on her neck, drew her to one side and— “What, oh, what,” I cried wildly, “are you doing here?” She promptly burst out crying. “Uncle Sid did not do his duty and protect my susceptible young heart and it was crushed by one of those S. A. T. C. boys. So hearing of the Sal¬ vation Army doughnuts, I determined to join the band and dedicate my life to doing good.” I felt that time pressed. “Do you know of any others of our class in New York?” “Have you seen Tom McMurray? He is in that building making a speech. ” I hurried on. As I entered the door I stopped in sheer amazement. “Down with kings, down with tyranny, and most of all down with presi¬ dents. No one knows them any better than I. We had one at the Normal!” Tears came to my eyes. Was this our trim and debonair Tom? A bushy beard lay upon his chest, his hair stood out in the approved Bolsheviki ringlets, but to my practiced eye they bore the traces of the curling iron. He was coatless and his trousers, some three sizes too large, were supported by large red suspenders. He was accompanying his speech by a weird Bolshev¬ iki dance in which a large butcher knife figured strongly. His speech was telling on the mob and some were in tears. He retired to recuperate from his efforts and I summoned my courage and joined him “Tom, do tell me, are there any more of our class in town?” “Why yes—there ' s Anne. Go right upstairs, you ' ll find her in the attic.” 1 was panting by the time I reached the top of the ninth flight and quite discomfited to find myself in a large empty garret with no sign of human habitation. Then I perceived a small door at the far end. I knocked per¬ sistently and was turning away when the door swung slowly open and Anne stood in the doorway. But not the buxom lass of T9. She looked, to be frank, quite cadaverous but had lost none of the old-time pep. In fact, she brandished a nine-pin in my face energetically and proclaimed that I might as well go away as she had no money at all. Then she recognized me and we fell into each other ' s arms. She dragged me inside, pushed me into a chair and began to read manuscript to me. “Oh, Anne, Anne, I can ' t stay! Tell me what you are doing here.” “Why I am a play-wright, but on account of the unreasonableness of the editors 1 have had nothing published as yet. But I am sure this will be the hit of the season. You must dine with me.” She went to the cupboard, but alas, it was utterly empty! She dropped into a nearby chair and wept bitterly, explaining between sobs that she had been too busy to think about food all day and now she was hungry and ab¬ solutely broke. I found Estelle Pair in much the same condition, as she was striving to earn her livelihood by writing the wit and humor column for the papers. Hence I started in quest of a baker. In the next block was a brightly lighted window in which lay a person in a hypnotic trance. Something in the profile and thick black hair made me stop and look again. Could it, oh, could it be Delpha Meredith? Next door Page Twenty-Nine

Page 33 text:

OLD HICKORY Maude Grigg. Willie made a speech on “Why women should have all the responsible positions in the government,” accompanied by much cheering. Then Maude rose and declaimed that she intended to go to the senate or blow up Gay street, that the mines were all laid and could be set off at a moment’s notice. (She was clearly addicted to Bolsheviki methods). Some one be¬ side me clapped vigorously and I was overjoyed to see Tera Harshbarger and Barbara Haire, elegantly gowned, standing beside me. “What have you achieved in the last twenty years ? 1 should say that you were society leaders.” “Oh, no,” they answered in unison, “we taught for the first three years after graduation. By that time the wages of domestic help so far excelled that of teachers that we determined to hire out. So we have cooked for the last seventeen years and are now ready to retire and are going to travel the rest of our lives. But have you seen Madge and Lucille? Come with us and we will take you to see them.” As we started around the corner to where their car was parked we saw a man balancing upon a packing box haranguing a crowd of small boys and loafers. “Why there’s Dewey Humphries.” He came down from the box to give us the glad hand and explained that he was in partnership with Lewis Land and Hubert Huff for the improvement of the health of the people of Tennes¬ see. He presented each of us with a box of liver pills for old times’ sake, and we went on our way rejoicing. I was delighted to find Lucille Sylvester and Madge Ripley, the matrons of a large and thriving orphan asylum, where they taught the children in¬ ductively and deductively and raised them psychologically, according to the precepts laid down by Professor Alexander, so that you could never tell that the finished products had been raised by hand. “You should go to see Professor and Mrs. Burkhart while you are here,” suggested Madge, and I eagerly assented. Mr. Burkhart was now superintendent of schools for the city and had proved himself a very capable one, while Mrs. Burkhart interested herself mainly in caring for their beautiful home. While we were there the door bell rang and who should it be but Evalena Link, balancing a large basket of clothes on her head. “Why Evalena,” I cried, “what are you doing with yourself now?” “Ruth Moon and I are taking in washing and like it tremendously. You should try it.” But I could not stay at this pleasant gathering as my travel¬ ing companion and her broomstick appeared at this juncture. Our next stop was in Johnson City, directly before the home of Helen Browder. I was glad to see her, though it quite touched my heart. She looked so thin and wan, so much more so than in her girlhood. She tried to be as cheerful as ever but her old-time enthusiasm was completely gone. I found out later that she was slowly pining away from a broken heart and already had to wear a board down her back to keep it from breaking in two. She pointed out Miss McDavid’s home up the street where she was happily married at last and made an excellent home for her dumpy little hus¬ band and seventeen cats. When I went to see her she regaled me with the amazing story of Mrs. Rogers’ “Call.” She had suddenly decided that it was her duty to go to Africa as a missionary and forthwith deserted her family and had set out, but upon arriving there had taken up lion hunting. Far back in the hills of North Carolina I found Chloe Baker presiding over a one-teacher school of 135 pupils. She employed all the latest methods of punishment and even had an excellent ducking stool rigged up in a nearby pond, which with the sticks were her favorite modes of punishment. She Page-Thirty-one