Mynderse Academy - Myndersian Yearbook (Seneca Falls, NY)

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Class Prophecy Members of the Class of 1925 Mynderse Academy ATTENTION ! ! .ire you coming to the reunion? IVhy?—To celebrate rur twenty-fifth anniversary of course. IVhere?—Seneca Falls. IVhen?—June JO, IQJO. Such was the message that came winging its way by air-mail to my Los Angeles home one bright June morning in 1950. Would I attend a reunion of the class of '25? Well I guess so! And that is how I happened to step off the train in Seneca Falls a few weeks later. Everything seemed changed, and my village had become a city. However, as I passed down the street a familiar face appeared on the horizon —that of my one-time school mate, Charles Wessell. He was unaltered (even his blush was the same) although he had become a world-famous comedian. Yes, the most innocent looking little boy” in our Senior Class was in far greater demand than Charlie Chaplin had ever been. Even ten years before, when I met him in Hollywood, his name was already an atraction to America theatre-goers. I continued on my way to the Gould (it was still on the same corner) and as I crossed to the other side I joyfully encountered two ladies, both of whom I endeavored to hug at once—Grace Bowell and Jeannette Dutcher. The former was a prima donna, while her friend travelled with her as her accompanist. They were widely known and had spent many successful seasons abroad. At luncheon I met two more old friends, Helen Nearpass and Dorothea Russell the one (laugh!) a matron in an Old Ladies’ Home, the other a dietitian. I am happy to say, however, that Dorothea never ruined any one’s digestion by ordering for him her own favorite luncheon combination, cream puffs and sour pickles. We five proceeded to view Main Street before going up to New Mynderse ('twas new twenty-five years ago). Over Conboy’s store was a sign which read “Conboy anil Tennant.” Just then a beautiful limousine drew up at the curb. The door opened; a tall man alighted and turned to assist with oldern gallantry a rosy-cheeked little lady. We recognized these grand folk as Mary and Herman, and some one remarked that Herman had been in partnership with his father-in-law for eighteen years. Without further delay, we made our way to Mynderse where we found the class assembled in the auditorium. During the glad reunion that followed, I learned how the years had treated these friends of mine. Our august president had lost all his extra avoirdupois and was quite lean, but he had become our honored ambassador to China. You remember how he used to devour Chinese novels? This was no passing interest, and when he met the famous Dr. I while taking a course at John Hopkins Medical College, they became fast friends. Horace proceeded to make a study of Chinese conditions and was soon so famous for his research work in China that he was appointed minister to the walled country where, he said, life just suited him. Paul Simson (Say, you know) had qualified as a heart specialist, but sad to say, he was not immune to diseases of that delicate organ, for on his return from England he had brought home a fair-haired maiden who answered to all descriptions of Shakespeare’s blond heroines. Barbara Follette, our most serious-minded classmate, being the only boy in the family and bound in honor to keep up the dignity of the house, had at last followed in her father’s footsteps, bent her energies on pill-box and medical book, and gained for herself the proud title of Dr. Bob, the best little sport in town. Betty Rolfe—you know how she adored bugs? Well, she married a buggy man, that is to say, a naturalist; and so interested had she become in his work that she spent most of her time ensnaring creepy specimens and mounting them for future use. Harold Kuney was exactly what no one would expect him to be—a science professor in a woman’s college. He said that at first he had a few doubts about accepting such a position, but that there is nothing like getting used to a thing—girls in particular. Mary Medden, our sober little friend, had come from far off India where she had been engaged in missionary work among the heathen. Truly, it was a long distance to travel for a class reunion; but Mary made it very nicely, for she arrived only an hour late. Helen Byrne was a zealous politician and devoted all her energies to the advancement of her city and state. She was the leader of the Woman’s Party in New York. But her national activities, as well, were so numerous, that her aeroplane was kept continually travelling from one coast to the other. Page 22

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Class History Listen, my children, and you shall hear of a group of folk who, lar from celestial in thought or inclination, entered the sacred precincts of Mynderse .Academy in the year 1921. They came as Freshmen, and they rejoiced that this was so. Ah, many years remained for untold acts of joyous expression, not repression. Why repress? Let pandemonium reign! But there must be a king in this jolly little kingdom. So they cast about for one, and found him. They installed Herman Tennant upon a regal throne. His subjects cast dust into their eyes, the dust of happiness. They danced, sang, and laughed the joyous hours away. Study ? 11 did not come in the regular schedule of life, only in the school schedule, and what was that!—Thus passed the first year, light-footed and gay. Know you that they represented themselves by the colors orchid and silver. It was a happy choice. As sophomores they once more sought for a leader, and chose the queenly Dora. She was fair and earnest. They liked her. Dora Clary became the idol of that fickle mob. Eagerly then they fretted for something tangible to do, something that would furnish fun and show their wit. Presto! They had a Christmas party in the gym. They arrayed those newly planed boards with decorations gay. They cast red splashes on astonished white and christened them the class colors. The party waxed merry, truly. A nonsensical shadow play was given, and Bob Follette endeared herself to the hearts of the Sophs by her gay rendition of “Don’t Bring Me Flowers When It’s Shoeses that I Need.” Then Horace Knight as Santa Claus jingled merrily in, and each Soph received his or her present. (By the way, 1 got a monkey on a string and knew not how to take it, as flattering or otherwise.) After a final fling at dancing, the Sophs called it a night and went home to dream—of nothing in particular. Why waste energy that way? The party over, the Sophs became restless again and went in for athletics. Field Day came in all its splendor. A breathlessly interested crowd attended, and the Sophs were out in full regalia. Harvey Dutcher, their cheer leader, won half the battle by his persevering yells and contortionist’s antics. On that eventful day the Sophs swept on to victory and won a silver cup as reward. Thus ended the second year, with rejoicing. The Juniors assembled for their third year. A bit more sober were they, bui not one whit less bright. Quickly Herman was again made king and all were merry. A Hallowe’en party started the tun. There was mystery and spookiness in that affair. Everyone felt it. Witches, elves and sprites entered into the merry-making, and continued to romp long after the party was over. Never before was such a time, and never again will be! That year may it be said, the Juniors truly studied a bit, but studying grew boresome. I hey again threw off restraint—it chafed—and eagerly made preparations for a Junior play. On that night of nights that the “Dangerous Experiment” was given, the Juniors found renown. Charlie Wessell proved to be a great find, a true comedian. Who can forget Herman as the woman in scarlet? After the play which was an undoubted success, the orchestra struck up, and the dance was on. Followed an interim of comparative quiet, interspersed with scattered parties. Then came, oh say it breathlessly with just the right amount of awe, the Junior Prom. What glorious planning was then in order! What topsy-turvy delight, even in thinking of it! Dancing, music, punch! Under the shifting lights as merry a crowd as ever I hoped to see, and the glory—the glory of being a Junior! Days rushed by. Now came Field Day with its multitudes, its dust, and its tension. I hat cup, that glorious silver symbol, passed once more into our hands. Our class had made good! Then summer. Now we are Seniors, and dignified, according to popular tradition. That is why we have chosen Horace Knight as our sob;r representative. Under his tutelage, and that of Miss O’Brien, who has always been our class advisor and friend, we have produced three stupendous social successes;—s ailver tea, the .Senior Play, and the Senior Ball. Now our term is drawing to a close, but before I end the story of our bright meteoric reign in Mynderse, there is one more thing just shouting tor mention, so 1 shall put it here where you all may read. Tis so very importart—Year Book, make your bow! We’ve put our best in you, but we know you’re worth it. We, the class of 1925, were the first to appreciate your true worth, and beauty. Hail! Long may you live, for in you we live also! Page 21 Historian—E. M., ’25.

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Grace Van Riper, whose disposition was ever of the placid type, kept a private orphan asylum. In this delightful place, the children played all day, wore their Sunday dresses, and enjoyed ice cream twice a week Lester White, who was always trying with his wise counsel to wake the world up to its possibilities, had attained the high position of political boss. Yes, Lester was the Republican ring-leader, and his convincing lectures were broadcasted throughout United States. Jane Wilson, that flint-hearted Miss with eyes a-twinkle, had at last succumbed to the charms of the popular Flint agent, Maynard Winkle. The years had touched them lightly; even their brown locks showed no ravages of time, for Jane’s study of the subject had enabled her to guard against the terrible disaster of Maynard’s “ever losin’ the hair on the top of his head.” Eleanor Warren had gained renown as an actress. On account of her early success on the stage, she had taken up this profession and was so gifted that she could play any role from that of a gay flapper to the stern grandmother. However, she was always best in the part of the mother-in-law who made life uncomfortable for her daughter’s unhappy husband. Our gifted friend, Eva Messer, was a second Elinor Glyn whose charming novels had admirers all over the world. Her brilliant talent had reaped a fortune, and she now owned so many beautiful establishments in Europe and the United States that one could never be sure where her home really was. Doris V'osburgh, whose interest in sociology had been furthered by the study of that interesting subject, economics, was a valuable member of the social service force on Ellis Island. She said that she hoped to continue in this noble and helpful occupation until the end of her days. That mild young man, Harvey Dutcher, had turned out to be a colossal success as a private detective. His diligent study of Cicero’s disclosure of Cataline’s conspiracy had aided him in his first cases, but he usually followed the tactics of Sherlock Holmes. Elizabeth Dilmore, whose pen was ever ready, was a noted essayist and magazine editor. Her work, flawless, virile, “to the point,” commanded the praise of even the most severe critics. Dora Clary, who loved to study Latin, had become a translator of ancient manuscripts, and from this delving into the classical past, she had brought to light many a long lost treatise. One of them was an essay of Virgil's which had not been seen for a thousand years. Romayne Vigars was the only member of the class not present. He was engaged in digging up Egyptian mummies which were his latest fad. As he had always been an inveterate globe-trotter, this wild-goose chase to northern Egypt surprised no one. As a rule he stayed less than a month in a place, but on this occasion he travelled so far and became so interested in his musty occupation that he never even read our invitation until it was too late to come. Margaret Guion, the fickle-hearted, had taken up aesthetic dancing, and many were the admirers of her airy grace. She had long since decided to live in single blessedness that she might enjoy to the full the numerous suitors who courted her hand. This course, she said, was the safest, because a husband “encumbers one so.” “Bud” Burrell—he prefers that familiar epithet—had won world-applause for his prowess on the baseball diamond. He never played on a defeated team, because, when he was with them, they always won. Babe Ruth was the seventh wonder in the sports world; Bud was the eighth, for he was equally proficient in football and could make as many touchdowns as home runs. Dorothy Brown was an interior decorator whose artistry proved so bewitching that her services were in constant demand. She possessed a large establishment and had “fifty brave men” on her pay-roll. There was also a fifty-first man. This person was not on the list of workmen and was Dorothy’s reason for no longer being called “Miss,” but he took orders just like the rest (so they said). Mary Wood had left her happy home fifteen years before to become a domestic science teacher in the Hawaiian Islands. The little brown children were so delighted with her cooking that she was never at a loss for some one to instruct in the toothsome art, and she was so taken up with her work that this was only her second visit home in all that time. We found that she could play the ukelele charmingly. Oh well, you can’t spend fifteen years just cooking, and Hawaiian moonlight is seductive to music. Audria Patterson had made loads of money by giving swimming lessons to the vast number of people who used to spend the summer camping on the shores of Cayuga Lake. Of course a few of them were naturally “fish,” but Audria had to teach the majority how to use their “fins.” Rosetta Thomas kept a flower farm which became a mass of bewitching bloom at the advent of summer. People came from far and near to admire and purchase her choice blossoms. She was especially famous for her acres of “roses” unrivalled for their size and beauty. Ella Bookman who had elected to make the world laugh, surpassed Sidney Smith as a cartoonist. Serious affairs and funny ones alike, were portrayed by her so cleverly that she was known as the Distillerof Page 23