Oakland High School - Oak Yearbook (Oakland, MD)

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1929 — CLASS PROPHECY HAD traveled a great deal since my graduation from the Oakland High School—in all foreign countries and now, in my own America. 2 In all my years of travel I had never met one of my classmates. It “seemed as though they had all disappeared from the face of the globe and that I alone survived. Travel is wonderful, in a way, but there were times when traveling that I felt as though I would give my entire fortune to go up to someone, kiss her and tell her it was a pleasure to see her. I have become cynical and selfish and long often for the old days —such things as a breezy climb to the top of the hill so I wouldn’t have to go to the office for a late excuse. As I sat reminiscing I suddenly realized that the curtain was going up; that I was in the Metropolitan Opera House in Hollywood; that all around me were famous actors, people of prominence; and that I must listen to the fine and great pianist, for I shouldn’t waste my fifty dollar orchestra seat by dreaming of the days of long ago. As the curtain slowly, slowly moved upward, the great Helena Veraan came gracefully across the stage and I recognized my old friend Helen Leighton. I could have screamed for joy! She sat down at the piano and played as an introduction to her very classical program, ““Your Land and My Land,” just as she used to in the O. H. S. Glee Club. (She told me afterwards that she had seen me in the audience and played it for the sake of “Auld Lang Syne!’’) I could scarcely realize the extreme pleasure, and with much difficulty I managed to see her behind the scenes. I per- suaded her to cancel her engagements and go with me to my apartment at the hotel and have a long chat, just like we used to in the back of Sturgiss’ drug store in Oakland. We turned on the radio, and Bernard Gonder was broadcasting from his own station news of classes of the Oakland High School. We waited, trembling, and finally the class of ’29 was announced. The television showed Bernard in his own broadcasting room, reaching the various places from which he wanted to present us this program. First, the great meadia from Paris, Birdie Harris. He was disguised so we could scarcely believe our eyes, but there he was, performing his sleight-of- hand acts with quickness which proved him a master. Suddenly the scene changed—Washington, D. C.,—so near our own dear Oakland. A fat and dignified professor was strolling down Pennsyl- vania Avenue followed by a group of girls giggling and searching for bugs. He is a bugology teacher in the Hilton Arms, a select girls’ board- ing school, and would you know—William DeBerry? A street car keeps the group of people from our sight and a stunning couple alights, fol- lowed by a maid and two charming children—Lester Winters and Gertie Aronhalt! Lester is a great financier and his private secretary and (private) admirer (still) is—but the television moved and we could not see who it was. A large office building. We see Elim Hawkins, general manager of the group of chain stores, and flitting around the busy office are Wilda Adams, Avonelle Savage, Monica Maroney and Cleo DeWitt, his assistants. 29 SAX Ws

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=—F 1O2OD m— CLASS HISTORY S I sit, pen in hand, on this warm spring afternoon, dreaming remi- niscently of the incidents of the past four years, a melancholy feeling D takes possession of me. I am hestitating on the edge of “that un- Mes discovered country from whose bourne no traveler” can tell—Life. To turn back is impossible, to hesitate may be fateful, to pass on—who knows ? But why should I be downhearted? That illustrious personage, Profes- sor Foster Owen Speicher, says that there is one method by which one can foretell a tribe’s destiny—that one is through history. On the first Monday of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and twenty-five, an assorted crowd of rabid students was admitted as the Freshmen class to O. H. S. The class contributed largely to the athletic squads of the school and just as largely to the social activities. From September 1926, to June 1927, the class reigned supreme as the wise fools of the school. We redistinguished ourselves through the efforts of the girls in their play, ‘““Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Mo,” and the dia- logue of Winters and Lohr, the future Weber and Fields. So far not much—but good. With the opening of the term of ’27-’28, we gave our good ship the gun and soared to unprecedented heights, handing to the school a championship team in cattle judging, A. Ridder and W. DeBerry; four members of the soccer team, Captain Casteel, Winters, Spoerlein and DeBerry; two mem- bers of the volleyball squad, Helen Leighton and Martha Gonder; the win- ner of the Fraley Declamation Contest, Dorothy Stevenson; and three sees basketeers of the county, Winters, Stemple and Lohr (first team). Under the name of Seniors we continue just as strong. Casteel, De- Berry, Spoerlein and Winters on the soccer squad, with Richard Stemple holding the helm as manager. When the basketball season started the Seniors were represented by five men: Stemple, Spoerlein, Casteel, Winters and Lohr. On December 19, we “swang” a real Christmas party and opened the social activities of the year. Now we are entering upon the period of commencement activities. As we go on through the institutions of higher learning, some to colleges, some to the school of hard knocks, we shall look reminiscently back over our days spent in O. H. S. and hail any old classmate with delight. —K. Lohr. 28

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In an adjoining building we see a court room. A distinguished judge is announcing his decision in a divorce case. We cannot see the man, but the woman is Anna Slabaugh. The judge, Kermit Lohr, pompous, impressive in his judicial robes—how we laughed. If he had only had a robe like that in high school, how impressive he would have looked at the Senior class meetings. He advises Anna to go to Reno. Her lawyers, Iona Kelley and Gladys Sanders, protest. We leave them still arguing. Then Walter Reed Hospital and the angels of mercy in their white uni- forms—Alice Holtschneider and Ethel Fike—are the soldiers’ attraction. Paris. An opera house. A group of young girls in the front seats chaperoned by a tall, dignified woman who still giggles quite charmingly — no need to look twice. That giggle—Dorothea Sturgiss—principal of a girls’ boarding school training girls for social service work and trying to reform the world. She feels a draft, beckons an usher and from force of habit says, ‘““Welba put that window down.” As she recognizes Welba Casteel himself, she faints from the shock and is carried out. We hear her giggle and know she is all right. In the Louvre in Paris, by Raphael’s Madonnas, we see three pic- tures painted by the great American artist, Adeline Sincell. How proud we are of “Tinkie!” | A street fair in Terra Alta, nearer our dear Oakland. Two girls are speaking from soap boxes—the Calhoun Sisters—selling “improved erasers for typewriters.” Mr. Humbertson steps forth and buys the whole fac- tory for his commercial students. Next Oakland! How beautiful; just the same. Hark! the strains of a wedding march. Louise Lauer is playing it. The preacher, Bud Stemple, enters; the maid of honor enters—Blanche Gilbert; then the bride, beauti- ful and fair—Martha Gonder. The groom ? ? ? The lights flicker and go out (so typical of Oakland) and we could not distinguish the groom. Helen and I are alone! Time—where are we?—and we realize we are there in Hollywood, and it has been just ten years since that wonderful day in Oakland when we graduated. Then we begin to babble, babble, babble, all over again. —Dorothy Stevenson —Helen Leighton. LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT K, the Senior Class of the Oakland High School, Oakland, Garrett County, Maryland, being of sound mind and body, but fearful lest Maney Our last desires and wishes are not carried out, do hereby and hereon ease! dieclare this to be our last will and testament: ARTICLE I. Item I. To our own dear Mr. Rathbun, who has made possible the past happy days for us, we leave all of our stocks and bonds so that he may build high schools as he would like and have all the buses he wants to bring “unfortunates” to high school. Item II. To the County Board of Commissioners, we leave our best 30