Florence High School - Husky La Bran Yearbook (Florence, CO)

Page 23 text:

Senior Class Prophecy Continued In screaming headlines a newspaper proclaimed a lawsuit over an opera composed by Mary Tucker. Alberta Myers claimed she had written at least one half of it and my but the fur was flying. As a sideline Miss Myers was operating a dentist’s office which has become very famous as the Painless Pain. Next I see that Ruth Grant has developed a renowned falsetto voice and is singing Whitney’s latest song hits at McConnell’s 3-to-16-cent store. Again scenes shifted and Australia was pictured. A slim, old maidisli looking dame, clad in coveralls, was coming out of a long building, on the roof of which was painted in staring, bold faced letters, L. Marco’s Puppery—Pug-Nosed airdales a specialty. Mary Dailey was orating at length on Women’s Rights in Shanghai, China. It is rumored in dark alleys that she has aspirations for the presidency of the Chinese Republic. The mist dispersed. The sun plunged behind the horizon. Thunder growled and lightning flashed. I came to myself quickly. I must hurry if I’m to escape this storm. The vision again became plain and whom did I see but my old friend Dar-wyn Spencer. He was returning homeward, tired and careworn from the scene of his labors in a coal mine at Stringtown, Colorado. He was greeted on the doorstep by his charming wife, whom I immediately recognized as Anna Katnig. Then the clouds re-arranged themselves and scene after scene was portrayed before my eyes. First I saw a crowd of people viewing a beautiful lady, dressed in glittering spangles, doing a thrilling trick upon a tight rope. Beneath this was written, “Come and see Sybil Price, leading lady of Sells Floto Circus.” Next I saw Hilda Job, principal of the Brewster eighth grade, trying to explain to a farmer lad that pulling girl’s hair, throwing spit wads and putting tacks in people’s seats were not the acts of a perfect gentleman. From the look on her charge’s face, she was not having much luck. Following this I saw Russell Tanner, now a prosperous looking gentleman in the prime of life. He was appearing before the city Council of Chicago, expounding the doctrine of pure milk for babies. Then I saw on one of the main streets of Denver two of my old friends, Leslie Hereford and Cornelia Turney. They were dressed in the garb of the Salvation Army and were busily engaged in collecting funds for the education of the heathen Chinese. Cornelia was singing heartbreaking little melodies and Herf was collecting the coin in a battered tin cup. Next I saw Lindsay Dawson, he who dreams of being a commodore. He was busily engaged in repelling a squad of marines who were trying to board the vessel in which Lindsay was smuggling booze in to the United States. As I watched he fell mortally wounded and as his men carried him below I could hear him exclaiming, “Don’t give up the Hootch.”

Page 22 text:

Senior Class Prophecy 22 With much labor and difficulty, I crawled out on the head of the Statue of Liberty. Turning about and facing the westering sun I beheld yes, what was it I beheld? Was I a victim of vertigo, sleepy or hypnotized? In spite of this sensation I was secure in my precarious position. For up between the sun and myself, a fine white, silvery mist arose. Its sheen was blinding and outlined on it was a figure. The figure became distinct; its features were those of a god. This wondrous figure opened its mouth and spoke in words of thunder. “Thou art now to behold thy classmates of the year ’22 of F. H. S. for thou was’t one of them, was't thou not?” My voice seemed insignificant and weak in reply as I answered, “yes.” The figure faded. The mist came closer. It seemed to be a curtain of fleecy rose-tinted material, over which the sun in its descent shown as the searchlight of eternity. A figure appeared on this luminous screen. It was that of a man, a bit stoop shouldered, long sensitive nose, with a lion-like mane of hair. Details identified themselves and it could be seen that the man was a painter. He was designing labels for Colorado grown cactus pear cans. The name he signed on the work of art was R. F. Fleeger. In another part of the same building a gentleman whose moniker was Bill Harlan, was expertly gluing those self-same labels on the cans. Across the thorofare from this edifice was an office building. A noticeable shingle that depended from a second story window, was the following: John It. Taylor, Professor and Specialist in Cootology. The office boy said that the boss was becoming efficient and had a trade, and had trained some of them to come when he whistled. The scene again shifted. This time to a state fair. A large crowd was gathered around a very curious device beside which stood a tall and voluble man. He was demonstrating an electric orchard heater and seemed to be making quite a hit. He was addressed respectfully by the attendants as Mistuh Edwards. A teeming business street. A flat-topped building. In the office sat a rawboned man dictating a letter to a clever stenographer. “That will be all Miss Betts,” said he. In an alarmingly short time the letter was typewritten and ready to be signed. The rawboned man affixed his signature, Mr. Maurice Milner, Esq., President of the Sudless Soap Co. Then I saw a jungle thru which came the eminent Herb. A. Hughes, botanist, at the head of a long safari. He was smoking a pipe as big as life and lazily brushing his teeth.

Page 24 text:

Senior Class Prophecy Continued Following this, the clouds became a jumbled mass and for some moments I could make out nothing. Gradually the form of a husky, bewhiskered man, standing on a stump, became visible, in a gutteral voice he was telling a small group of listeners just why Debbs was a martyr of freedom. Then the truth dawned upon me. My old pal, Roger Sweet had let his whiskers grow and joined the Socialist party. The scene shifted and I saw him groaning and gnashing his teeth because of his exile in Russia. Next I was given a view of a full page ad in the Denver Post. In it were the pictures of a man and woman whom I recognized as Walter Martin and Lucille Jack. Inscribed in glaring headlines was the following: Greatest living dancing instructors, Mr. and Mrs- Walter Martin—specialists on the Snail Sneak and Kangaroo Twist—prices reasonable—cash in advance. Next I saw coming down the alley of a large city, the well known form of James Vegher. He was driving an old delapidated wagon which bore the name of a prominent junk company. As he drove along he kept shouting, “I buy rags, bottles and bones.” Katherine Cologne was the proprietor of an elegant beauty parlor on Broadway. Her customers include some of the most prominent people of the world, including the well remembered Jennie Watson. She has stepped into the shoes left vacant by the peerless Mary Garden, whose style she emulates. At this point the visions closed but I was filled with a desire to know what had become of our teachers. Therefore, I questioned the God, trying to appear as solemn as a judge. Immediately there was flashed upon the screen this simple phrase, “They have gone to their reward.” As I slowly descended the staircase I recalled their traits and I could only express this desire, “May their souls rest in peace.” —MAURICE MILNER and ROGER SWEET.