Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 28 text:

MEMORIES OF OLD SHORTRIDGE r C . .fi CHARLENE HEARD it 4 g LD Shortridge!-What memories of our freshman days do the old vine-covered buildings recall to us-we who are the last class that remembers being a part of it, and can call to mind the hallways and dilapidated class- rooms that made up the old and new buildings. How strange the crowds of students seemed to us, who first began our high school life there! It was so hard to find our rooms on the first few days! It was more puz- zling than ever to the Harrison group, who were so exclusively alone during the morning, and who were plunged into the be- wildering chaos of the real Short- ridge during the afternoon. How -Q - 1 familiar the rest of the students seemed to be with all its be- loved crannies and nooks, and soon we, too, strode about with more assurance. We grew to know the auditorium, the mammoth old study hall, the bridge, the old stair- case, the lunch room, and even the dingy press room. A few of us can remember the cubby hole and its traditions. Gradually we became conscious of a growing love and loyalty for these new surroundings. Let us go back today into the small old building, into the wide hall from which the lovely stairway rose. To the right was the old book ex- change, with two small windows, where the floor-boards were worn into great curves from the impatient feet that had stood in line there. Nearby was the sloping corridor, which led to the baffling annex, where more great, spacious rooms were located. They looked out on the alley, where screeching, noisy trucks often interrupted a Weary class. Now you can almost hear the stamping feet that dashed out at the sound of the bell. Arm in arm, four and six abreast, they crowded up the picturesque old stairway, at the top of which stood the old grand- father clock, as well as the trophy case. At the head of the next flight was the popular old study hall. Row after row of desks stretched from side to side. Great, wide Windows looked out on all the sur- rounding landmarks and down into the court. Before class, the base- ment window sills were crowded with boys sitting on them, or stand- ing about discussing the coming football game. What a promenade it was between classes! Here, also, were parked the cars of the faculty. It was a different picture on snowy or rainy days-then indeed was the bridge o' sighs a crowded thoroughfare! This narrow passage from the old building to the new one was such a historical place and so novel to us. In the new addition, which had now grown as seasoned and ancient as the old one, was located the gym and the lunch room. Crowds of students dashed down every day to wait in line until they reached the U-shaped steam-tables, and who of you has not been tempted by one of the great, brown rolls, filled with white cream? There was always a

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GADS ' I - THE R ff I K 11 A 7130 . ei X L-..,, If gd! 'V i s f r wg-,MGI K V ffl' . fj- ' Q mf'7:L4f2 f by f ,gg H ' ' 11,1161 1,1 4 1.1.- 1 'Z Ti' , I V ur ., 05,1 -,LMCS -.f ,.'. Li ' .: 1, L ,V H V'-.i:::'?..4-KST. ,,,, .. . A A'.' is, . f ag, F, I -1 ,, Q F 'A f rr 9'3 I W - Q 3?- if f 544 ref , . V, ,-5,5 2.1-:v,.L.::f. 4... There's adventure on the highway Where the traffic hums and roars, But there's romance on the by-way And the best of out of doors. Oh, the white glare of the high road Stretches far from sea to seag But the rose-embowered by-road Grips and holds the heart of me. I love the blessed silence Where the racket is unknown, Where the stillness is unbroken Save for bees' calm, steady drone. And where you least expect it Is a bend, and growing tall The creamy, plumy alder lifts Its lacy parasol. There's adventure on the highway Where the traffic hums and roars, But there's romance on the by-way And the best of out of doors. -Marian Dorthy Laut

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MEMORIES OF OLD SHORTRIDGE scramble to find chairs to place around the long, bare tables. Many of us, even freshmen, were allowed to eat elsewhere and what experiences we can recall of those places! Here also was the original Caleb Mills Hall, a place used for study, entertainment, and conversation. Here, first of all, we were wel- comed to Shortridge. This was the starting point of our high school career, which has now drawn to a close. To this place the Harrison freshies marched to auditorium. They were thrilled by the pep meet- ings and stimulated to attend the games and root for the school heroes. On the same stage we saw our first Junior Vaudeville. And who among you has not tried to count the lights in its great dome? Early arrivals always sought the auditorium, where pedagogical guards placed each pupil inconveniently two seats apart. However, more liberty was en- joyed at lunchtime when everyone sought seats nearest his best friends -or friend. Here the football stars have autographed many a ticket. Will we let the memory of those huge lockers which were such a problem during the first days slip from us? Now it hardly seems possible that at one time we could manage to share a locker with so many others. Can't you just see those spacious wooden cavities with the black and white paper labels stating the hour of locking and unlocking? There it was that we met our friends before classes as we gathered to jam our wraps into those dark depths. Our last memory of the old Shortridge might be considered the last auditorium exercise that was held. Then Mr. Buck told us of the new building, its arrangement, and the lovely new furnishings which were to be treated with care and not to be marred. All during the talk a clat- ter of the seat numbers could be heard dropping from the hands of some eager students, who were trying to secure a keep-sake of the old school. As a final ceremony, two boys stood at either side of the stage, one with the American flag, the other with the Shortridge flag, while the student body sang the Shortridge song. This, indeed, was a dramatic close for a dramatic year. Even then Wrecking was going on around us, and gradually the great Wrecker reached across to tear out the bricks of the old build- ing. Now as We ride past, the black, bleak windows of the empty new building look hauntingly at us. We are the last class who, as a whole, have cherished memories of those old buildings, and who understand the traditions and feelings that center about the Old Shortridge. SETH THOMAS Tick, tock, tick, tock, Sings the old Seth Thomas clock, Closed with door of frosted glass Rich in memories of the past. Tick, tock, tick, tock, Sings the old Seth Thomas clock, Burnished pendulum of gold Swings out tales of days of old. -Gerelda Landreth