Valparaiso High School - Valenian Yearbook (Valparaiso, IN)

Page 24 text:

18 HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL Class Prophecy. IPON one of those rare days in April, which occur so frequently, when the wind pulls your hair and the soil comfortably deposits itself in your eyes, I sauntered up to the High School with languid steps. 1 entered that spacious temple of learning and located myself before one of the windows. Listlessly I gazed out upon that most inspiring scene which presents itself before the aforesaid windows, when suddenly I fell into a mysterious trance. Of all the rapturously philo- sophical, psychological, reverential moments I ever spent, those were the greatest. A peculiar, superhuman, prophetic power held me in its clutches and I realized at once that I was destined to be the hated rival of Calchas, the soothsayer, and of Jeremiah, that wise seer of yore. To me in those moments appeared the brilliant future of the class of ’08. If you will kindly extend your ears or your glassy orbs, it matters not which, I will impart to you what I beheld in those prophetic moments. A series of visions floated past my mental optic, and in each I recognized some valiant comrade of the Senior Class. A tall, lean man first greeted me. lie was endeavoring, by means of a happy combination of fish-poles and garden-hoes, to determine the shortest distance between Flint Lake and the equator. Glen was still delving in mathematics. An automobile next sped through the thoroughfare of my vision, and in it were seated Lee, and the fair damsel, at whose facsimile he had so often gazed in English. A public platform floated before my eyes. On it was perched Mabel. With her eyes blazing and her arms widely gesticulating, she was eloquently adressing the world upon the subject of “Woman’s Rights.” I next heard the sweet strains of “Love Me and the World Is Mine,” and saw Mary deftly fingering the keys of her piano. A moment more and I heard Ralph’s manly voice softly singing those well-known words. Mary was his sole audience. I readily realized that the world was his. A business office then appeared. In a large and comfortable chair I recognized “the boss,” a corpulent, rosy-cheeked man. He was reading an article on Basket Ball, and above him hung an artistic sign, which read: “Schenck, Attorney at Law Office Hours 7 :15 to 7 :20 Every evening except Sunday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.” And it was our boy, Ben.

Page 23 text:

HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL 17 wish to win a suit, you do not employ a drunken lawyer; neither do you wish to send your children to drunken teachers; nor do you trust your life in the care of a drunken engineer. These are the things you ought to think of. You do not know but that you are sacrificing the happiness of your own home, the honor of your child, and perhaps your own soul by approving High License. On the other hand, what will be the effects of High License upon the liquor business as a business? We know that High License means money. ' Phis then will diminish the saloons, but make of them regular centers of perversion, completely protected by the law. You will find in them all that a refined man loathes, all that a good man hates, all that a patriotic citizen fears. They will be handled with care because they furnish so large an amount of public revenue. They will become places that the police will be inclined not to notice; so you see High License will simply serve to consolidate and strengthen the saloons. Are we then inconsistent in refusing to accept High License which is within our reach, and grasping for Prohibition, which many think beyond us? State and national prohibition is what our conscience demands. High License will not do, for that which is wrong in principle can not be good policy, and no question should ever be settled until it is settled right.

Page 25 text:

HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL 19 A thin, serious-faced woman was seen emerging from a parrot store. Mable was still looking for Polly. A festive scene then came. A maiden arrayed in dazzling white stood beside a man, who wore the “conventional black.” Many eyes were rivited upon them and before them towered a sober individual. One instant and then I recognized — Isa, the man-hater — a bride ! A tall, pale-faced man was dramatically delivering an address to the faculty of his alma mater. Dartmouth had graduated a second Daniel Web- ster, who responded to the name of Davis. Soon I looked upon a brilliantly illuminated sign, hanging before a large building, which read: “N. E. Funk — Daily Exhibits in Athletic Feats, Dema Timmons — Manager. ’ ’ Marguerite next fled past me, carrying a small hatchet under her arm. I realized that I was looking upon a Carrie Nation, the second, in all her glory. Blanche had followed her own advice, “We are going the same way, let’s go together.” And she and Dow were happily marching toward Wheeler. I then gazed upon the spacious stage of a large theatre. A deatli-like silence seemed to hover over the audience. Then I heard the boards of the stage floor creak, and Bess rushed in, the tragedy queen of the hour. A large building glided into view, the home of the Christian Scientists. In one window I saw Lena, with a thoughtful look on her fair face. Lena, a Christian Scientist! And her father was a doctor, O! Edna’s azure orbs peered at me over her typewriter. She still had the stenographic fever and she informed me that she even “typewrited in her slumbers. A school building next loomed up before me and I saw emerging from the same an array of fair pedagogues, armed with rulers and dunce-caps. A tall, statuesque brunette led them. Her hair was drawn tightly back, bringing into view her wonderfully developed forehead. One set of phal- anges flew up in the air and a sudden short-stop followed. Five schoolmarms halted for inspection — and I saw before me — Fern, Janet, Pearl, Dollie and Ellen. Then I heard the clank of chains and Gracia tripped past me with a burly convict at her side. 1 knew immediately that she was bound for the County Jail, for I read upon the brilliant star, which lodged on the lapel of her coat — “Deputy Sheriff.” I gasped with amazement. I next beheld the jungles of Africa with Harry Conan Doyle in their midst. He was wandering around loose, singing at the top of his voice. The air sounded rather familiar and as I listened more intently I recognized the mystical dali-da-da-da of the “Merry Widow Waltz.