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Page 39 text:
Cutting Classes I F IT had not have been for you, my dear English teacher, this essay doubtless would never have been written, and to you I transfer all the blame for whatever comments are made on this masterpiece. However, I know of no human (by that I mean the average person) who is better acquainted with the subject of this essay than myself — unless it is my best friend. Nevertheless, I have taken upon myself this delicate subject and in the following paragraphs I will endeavor to reveal the methods used, causes of, and cures for “cutting class.” Now, first of all, by cutting classes we mean being present somewhere else while the roll is being called in a certain class when you are supposed to be there answering it. Of course , you all know that classes are those sixty-minute intervals in which one can always find time to think of something else, instead of English, history, or whatever the case may be. There is no direct cause for the cutting of classes. It is simply the natural desire a person has for a coca-cola, a “camel,” or gossip, instead of listening to what Chaucer wrote or why he wrote it. This desire is not confined to any certain lad or lassie; it affects both young and old. But, on the other hand, one has to be equipped with something more than the desire for a “dope” if he expects to forget Chaucer and get the “dope” at the same time. Now we come to the methods. The method most commonly used is lingering awhile putting up your books, then shyly peeping over the up- stairs railing to see if the Principal is using the hall below at the moment, at last tripping lightly down the steps, hoping you can reach the side door before your absence has been detected. This method may have its advantages; still, for myself, I strongly advocate the following method, and may I add that this method has not only been tried during the last period of last year but proved successful, not only by some of my closest friends but by some of the high school’s outstanding students: The first step is to walk briskly to your desk and place your books, or, if you prefer (or should I say, if you are good enough), you can stand in the 31
Page 38 text:
A Midsummer Nights Dream T WAS a night in midsummer. The moonbeams were soft, the star- light divine as they strolled down Lover’s Lane side by side. Then he slipped his arm around her neck, and the caresses he gave her caused even the nightingales to pause in their melodious night song to smile at Tonight he was happy, yet there was a growing sorrow in his heart, for on the morrow they must part, perhaps forever. As nearer the house they drew each trail, tree, and star seemed to sigh — sighing of past memories, of dreams and days gone by. Soon they reached the gate; her neck he released and his sweet words of love ceased. As he took one last look at her down his cheek stole a tear and he stood as one in a dream. Then he turned and quickly hastened from the gate — and her. Yet not once had he paused to kiss her full red lips. “Goodnight,” he whispered, thinking only of the morrow and her coming fate. “Gosh,” he thought, “I’m gonna miss her a lot. And to think I almost kissed her good-bye! And wouldn’t people have laughed if I had, and some one had seen me — me only a poor farmer’s boy and she, she a rich young Jersey cow. J. C. Lefew. ' Way out west where men were men And most of them couldn ' t count to ten; Their spry little ponies didn ' t do any balking , And their six shooters did all their talking. He was a rider for the “ Pony Express, " Who carried the mail and the news from the press; He killed a leader of a red band Whose name was “Big Chief Yellow Hand.” The man ' s deeds shall long be remembered ; He was killed one day in bleak December. Tie is now buried on Lookout Hill; This great cowboy was “Buffalo Bill. ' ' the two. The Cowboy Charles Mashburn, ’37.
Page 40 text:
doorway and lightly toss the four of them into your seat. I cannot guarantee that they will land in a neat pile or without noise on the top of the desk, but that has nothing to do with the subject. It is just a matter of one’s choice. Next, button your coat securely, adjust your muffler, assume a dignified and important air, and w r alk loudly down the steps. I may suggest stopping and pondering thoughtfully at the bulletin board a bit and then walking out the front door. The advantage in this is that every one will think you don’t have a class, for if you did, you wouldn’t have nerve enough to use the front entrance. The only catch is, to be certain that one certain teacher doesn’t see you; otherwise this method is flawless. Once outside you can do as you please. There is no known cure for this mania of “cutting classes,” unless it is that little slip of paper issued every June 10. I think they call it a diploma or something. Of course, once you acquire that you have no use for this method of procedure. Speaking of my colleagues, I once knew a certain J M who was practically a “pro” in the business. Naturally there were some who hadn’t acquired the correct technique. Now, take me for example. I am considered one of the best, if not the best, “class cutter” in the school, and I am positive that if every reader will carefully study my method, in no less than ten days he will acquire “Why, yes, Mr. Eckman. Me? I had no intention of skipping English class whatsoever. I was just reading the bulletin board. Well, isn’t that odd? My watch must have stopped. You were going up to English class too?” Well .... I’ll be! Dawn Purvis Lyons, ’37. 32
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