Smith Cotton High School - Archives Yearbook (Sedalia, MO)

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SMUITH:-QCOTTUN HIGH SCHOOL -............- So slzal yow both enreich yowr tzmge with wonrdes, and yozcr wylle wiih mrzllerg and judgement will grofwe as yeares growyth in yow. Page 7

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ry .... EE. REMEMBER HE branches creak against the windows, and the wind mourns complainingly around the corners of a grand and stately building. Approaching nearer, we see SMITH-COTTON in big letters over the door. XVe enter softly, and go into the corridor. The hall is wrapped in gloom and silence: through the gloom we discern the stairs, and go up to the balcony. There we stand and look down--down into the auditorium where once youth sat and labored over numerous books and papers. But now in the darkened place there is no sign of joy, only a blank space and many seats and a long empty stage. The heavy curtain hangs motionless, in the whole place there is no sound, no motion. And then we seem to hear a voice saying, I know you all enjoyed the pro- gram this morning, and now you may go to your third-hour classes. H. Fisher, of- course. Through all the dust and gloom, we can see that it is H. Or is it? No, it seems to be only a shadow, and no living person at all. And the seats, they are filled with shadow people, all laughing and happy and eager. It is all so confusing. - VVe must leave now. The dead air is not good for us. Out in the halls once more, we hear the echoes of the past. Echoes of lockers being banged and slammed, recitations, glee club singing, joe hammering, everything. Only echoes of years ago that are now so dim and muffled. A boy in a bright red sweater goes around the corner. A red sweater. lYho was it? Alas, memory fails us, so many years ago it was. VVe look into the library. It looks just the sameg only the table tops and the ponderous-looking volumes are covered with dust. At one table sits a little light- haired girl, talking and giggling. Now who would that be? Before we can think back though, the shadow has faded away. Softly we go out into the deepening gray twilight. It is getting late, and soon lights will be on, and people will be hurrying homeward. XYe see an army of phantom figures leaving at four-fifteen. They trudge silently on through the gloom until they reach the sidewalk, and here they part forever. For this is the walk of life, and each goes a different way, some to one occupation, some to another, and some to go the dark, unknown way that is called death. But they can never all be together again, once parted. Vlle do not look back again until we are ready to turn the corner. But we will always remember it as we saw it then-a huge, dark silhouette against the gray sky. It will sleep so until youth calls it again in the fall. All summer it dreams, and waits for youth to return again. It has dreams, but we have only memories. If we are dreamers, we will go often there, and talk again to the phantom figuresg but if we are not, we can not understand. There are so many things that only a dreamer can see and understand. CoRL1ss MAJOR, '28 Page 6

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MR. HIEISISR U. HUNT S1zjJcrMi11te11de11i Qf Sflmolx -I. 'l'. MCJNTCQIJBIIEIQX' . . President A. L. PRINGLIC . VI.f6-lDl'CSI'll1l'71f Glcomslf l315R'1'11oUlsx .... . Treasurer M I-IMBIQRS DR. F. B. LUNG A. L. PRINGLIC Lox IZ. LESLIE E. VV. DUGAN Bum S. 'I',xx'1cxN1zR, Srrretfzry - 1 - i