South High School - Tiger Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

Page 15 text:

“June 12.” and Mr. Jorgens entered South High School at the fame time. After four strenuous years 'June 12” has “made it.” Mr. Jorgens after four laborious years is still ‘at it.” Both have accomplished much. For the benefit of South High, we ardently hope that our principal never will succeed in accumulating thirty-two credits. 'May there always be a conflict in his program.” is a selfish but an affectionate toast. Four years ago 'June 12” congregated at our entrances and patronized our home industry elevator to the A. H. They have successfully passed the Bellum Helveticum, and the Lex Exponentium stages. They have witnessed Symphony Concerts and Championship Foot Ball Games. Their development has been comprehensive. 1 heir success has been, in a large measure, due to to the following reasons: ' June 12” spirit; Athletic and Literary Cham- pions; a progressive faculty; and enthusiastic Alumni support. As a climax of their efforts and their records they offer you this Tiger. The magazine is not a literary effort, but an attempt to give the class a book whose perusal in the future will revive many happy recollections among its members. It is a students' book, and as such let it be judged. Be merciful for its childish expressions, and liberal in your appreciation of its more mature thoughts. As the perpetrators of this outrage, we expect some little criticism, but we are not afraid of it. On the contrary, we relish it. we enjoy it. we thrive on it. it amuses us. We are not seeking an immunity bath, but if you consider a personal injustice has been committed in your name, charge it to human error, and— Let the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe. Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth.” P gr Nine

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H Coast to tbc Class of 1012 (From One on the Outside.) Here’s to the health of you— Here’s to the wealth of you— Long may your spirit of loyalty rule, Brave is your record made— Baycrowned the games you’ve played Winning the championship for the old school! I hough you win world success. There is a blessedness Nothing but memories loved can bestow: School days and friendships dawn. Prowess of brain and brawn Will bring you happiness more than you know. May your Life Trail be free Yet blazed on every tree. Marking the way for you straight to the height; What you at length will win Rest firm on what has been Glory lies everywhere—saving in flight! —QUENTIN.

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abc Regular Gbing In these modern times it is the custom for a school to publish a small book which is made up of compositions submitted by its marvelously bright students. There is a set formula for these publications. There is always, of course, the time-honoied class history, without which, it seems to be understood, an annual could not exist. They always start something in this manner: Four long years ago there entered through the portals of this grand and dignified edifice a band of raw, green-eyed, pigeon-toed, bashful youngsters who were destined, in their time, to become the most wonderful, brightest, best-behaved and altogether the most extraordinary class in the history of this famous institution. They passed the character-moulding stage known as the Freshman’ year and entered into the semi-civilized state of Sophs.' And so we ramble on through the cut-and-dried stunt of the class history business. Equally, of course, there must be some poetry, and it must be written by our own dear students. If there is any nuisance at large that causes more annoyance than a rabid dog, it is the amateur poet. His stuff runs something like this: “Oft as I sit in the morning Chewing a cling-stone prune, The thought it comes without warning, ‘Oh where will I be when tis noon.’ No, ladies and gentlemen, I am not responsible for this composition. However, 1 refuse to reveal the name of the recreant who is the author. The chances are. of course, that he will be at the same table with the same red table-cloth, struggling with more cling-stone prunes, but it would never do to say so in poetry. I refrain from committing the crime of poetry such as this for I am of a very peaceful disposition. Then for the wit and humor page. It seems to be a rule that all jokes, to qualify for publication, must have had at least ten years experience before the public. This is an excellent idea, for in this manner no chances are taken with new and untried jests. A Freshman bashfully trips up to the Editor's desk and anonymously submits the following original side-splitter: Freshman: Do you like doughnuts? Sophomore: No, I do not. If this joke is too deep for any person, kindly call at the Editor’s office and we will be glad to show you the original from the book of Genesis. All that is left is the art (pronounced ahtt ). This, you may be able to understand, cannot be done in words, so I leave it to the Art Editor of the book to illustrate this division. In conclusion let me beg forgiveness for the cynical attitude I have taken on this question, but this is written against my own inclination, and if I discourse pleasantly I must have pleasant thoughts. PAUL COLBURN. ’ I 4. Page Ten