Athens Area High School - Athenian Yearbook (Athens, PA)

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most was the serene, contented and. indeed, exalted expression upon her face. Of course, I next looked to see what it was that she so enjoyed. In an instant I had grasped the situation. Helen, dear child, was writing poetry. The next scfene, however, was most appalling. At first sight, it seemed to be night. But soon, my eyes having become accustomed to the dimness, beheld the interior of a base hospital, in which there were many wounded soldiers and many doctors and nurses hurrying to and fro. And then whom should I see, but my happy-go-lucky chum, Laura Jane Campbell? But alas! I would that the curtain had dropped at that instant. For Laura, bearing a tray loaded with medicines, bandages, etc., suddenly STUBBED HER TOE, and deposited herself, tray and all upon the floor. And in my vision of Jo Gori, I detected a characteristic for which I. at least, was thankful. There in the office of the Ulster Creamery, with the sun streaming through an east window, with the large timepiece indicating that it was seven o’clock, sat Josephine Gori, busily adding accounts. How glad I am that, at last, Josephine has outgrown the habit, which held her so strongly while in high school, of being late! She would come at a little after seven in the morning. Now a railroad station appeared before my eyes. Almost immediately an engine steamed and puffed into view. And. surprise of surprises! There at the throttle stood our wise student of languages, Margaret Sabin. She had realized her greatest ambition—she was an engineer! But Maxine Salsman! There she stood, in her garden costume hoeing vigorously on her piece of ground. The garden was really quite large and little sprouts of green could be seen coming up. By replacing the coxswain with Paul, she was imitating Mrs. Aleshine. and raising onions on shares. Joseph Francke. always so choice of his strong, immaculate hands. I found working in the chemical department of a munitions plant. I was pleased at seeing Joe so cheerful under such trying circumstances. Just at this moment. I beheld a beautiful bouquet of roses (I can’t imagine who sent them) being carried by an usher down to the platform of a large opera house. There on the stage, a very charming lady was bowing, smiling and acknowledging the applause of her audience. Then as the young woman, whom I now recognized as Lillian Taylor, moved toward the piano. I realized that a classmate of mine was conducting a very pleasing and much appreciated recital. The next picture was of a large schoolroom, occupied by children of. perhaps, the second grade. And at the front of the room stood a teacher, whom I knew at a glance was loved by her pupils. This teacher was none other than the vociferous Myra Tompkins of the class of ’18. Now I seemed to enter a large library. It was cool and restful. But suddenly my eyes alighted upon the librarian and I was astounded. I soon recovered my wits, however, when I remembered how capable Katherine Lynch was in keeping track of her books at school. Honora Coveney was the next personage I beheld. And. indeed, she was a personage of a very rare kind. There in the big ring rode Honor upon a sorrel horse, now standing upon its back, now dismounting, and then going through many new and unheard-of stunts. It seemed to be a very long time before I saw anything else; then slowly, dimly, but gradually becoming more distinct. I beheld our dear friend. Lucile Prince, whose ambition it was to be a missionary in India., patiently mending a small hole in a man’s sock. Lucile was bluffing us about her future. Evangeline Francke, so stately and dignified, proved herself to be “game” for anything. In my vision I saw her as a conductor, taking up the tickets in a passenger train. Then Marguerite Newman appeared on the scene. Evidently she had carried out her ambition, as a missionary to Alaska, for she seemed to be playing tag with several small Esquimos. Wesley Vannoy, our dimpling and brilliant president. I found in the state senate chamber, delivering a most convincing address. So. “Sid,” don’t waste any time by attempting to study medicine, because that may not be your calling. Then Harold N. Leverton. whose melancholy disposition so depressed us, came into view. As a horse jockey, he had much time for argument, his hobby, and as he went flying by on his steed I saw the beginnings of a much greater renown 17

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To the Athens High School we give and bequeath all of the rest, residue, and remainder of the real, personal, and mixed property to be used for the purchase of pictures for the new building. To the Junior Class we bequeath our perseverance in order that they may obtain as high a standard as we have obtained, and that they may, in no way, lower the spirit of dignity of the Class of 1918. To the Second Year class we leave our spirit of ingenuity, in which they are already well blessed. To the First Year class we leave our class average, being assured that they will need it before their high school course is completed. To Bert Squires we bequeath Cathryn Flanagan’s attentiveness, in order that his mathematical powers may be strengthened. To Muriel Carner we bequeath Harold Leverton’s ready smile. To Grace Smith we give Laura Campbell’s solemn demeanor, hoping that she will become more studious as she enters upon the duties of her Senior year. To “Tibby” Page we bequeath Beatrice Rothloff’s restlessness, that she may not become too sedate. To Mildred Carmer we leave Sibyl Macafee’s superfluity of laughter. To Genevieve Brown we bequeath Elinor Curtiss' ability to expound the knowledge found in books. To Harold Tonkin we give “Kay” Lynch's ability for remembering, which was bequeathed to her by the Class of 1917. To Thelma Brown we leave Mildred Stevens’ happy disposition, that the Senior Class of 1919 may not lack that essential quality of merriment. To Marie Salsman we bequeath Evangeline Leighton’s early rising powers. To Halleck Kaup we bequeath “Zeb” Luckey’s charming manner, which we hope will be as useful to him as it has been to “Zeb” in squeezing through many difficulties. To Hinton Cook we leave “Sid’s” timidity, hoping that he will not be so outspoken in the future. To Rheta Samson we bequeath Josephine Gori’s oratorical ability, which has aided us many times in our Senior year. To Hilda Morey we give Marjorie earner’s quality of sobriety, believing that it will make her a more dignified Senior. To Wayne Howland we bequeath Margaret Sabin’s ability to really know German. To Walter Lunger we bequeath Mildred Gerould’s pleasing disposition, that he may never do or say anything that he will be sorry for. To Paul Stevens we bequeath Lucille Stevens’ name, that he may never be without one. To Esther Crompton we bequeath Donna Mills’ ability for writing stories, in order that the Senior class of 1919 may not be without a novelist. To Mildred Sherman we leave Marguerite Newman’s poetical abilty, believing that the Senior class of 1919 will also need a poet. We do hereby set our hand and seal this fourteenth day of June. CLASS OF 1918, LUCILE PRINCE, '18. THE CLASS PROPHECY Before entering upon this utterance concerning the class of 1918, let me say that this prophecy is an inspired prediction. A short time ago, as I was studying the students in the Senior class, trying to discover by their characteristics thus far in life, what they would be doing, say ten years from now, a most extraordinary incident occurred. It was both supernatural and prophetic. I was at a loss in attempting to analyze it. Finally, however, it dawned upon me that I had seen a most uncommon and remarkable vision. Of course, the significance of this fact, since none of you have seen a vision, is lost. Nevertheless, I will portray to you the future of each member of this class of 18 as it was shown to me. Helen Luckey, always so quiet and shy, was the first person whom I saw. She was sitting at her desk in a large, bright, cheerful room cozily furnished. Many papers were strewn about the floor. That which attracted my attention 16

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than that which he would have obtained, had he followed the career of a politician. I wanted to kiss Lillian Burns when I saw her. but of course I couldn’t, as she was only visionary. She looked so sweet and demure in her white Dutch cap and white apron, and she was feeding some chickens that were so tame that they would eat from her hand. I think she must have been on John’s farm, don’t you? Laura Seidell, beloved by a freshman. I found in a large restaurant serving the people most courteously and timidly. Again I became aware of a large stage in an immense theatre, which was literally packed with people. As the curtain slowly rose, I beheld Cathryn Flanagan entertaining her audience with a clever dance. The next scene was very alarming. I could quite distinctly see an aeroplane madly careering among the clouds. Finally, after several hairbreadth escapes from certain death, the machine swiftly descended to earth. And whom should I see on the seat of that flyer but our own basketball captain, Evangeline Leighton? Now Sibyl Macafee thinks she is going to study drafting. But she will not study it long, for in my vision, I saw her cleverly sticking to her horse as it rushed wildly down the road, evidently in pursuit of something, for smoke kept issuing from her gun. Finally she overtook a guilty-looking fellow, in whose hands were two heavy bags, probably of stolen money. And at that moment her sheriff’s button flashed before me. Elinor Curtiss, our valedictorian, I discovered as an excellent private secretary. As always, she had carried out her own definite plans. Then came Leland Grenell (who always tilts his head on one side like a sparrow) as a contractor. And indeed, I believe he was just putting the finishing touches on our high school building. Then I saw Anna Catlin, always noisy, when in school, standing in a kitchen, kneading something which, I think, was intended to be bread. I here extend my sincerest sympathy to Clarence. Beatrice Rothloff. another noisy schoolgirl. I found in an office, busily engaged as editor of a large newspaper. And the next scene was apparently a box party in a city theatre. I really be-there was a French gentleman there, judging by the deference paid him. On scanning the participants of this little party, I beheld Mildred Stevens, magnificently gowned, cleverly acting the part of hostess. Now I beheld a charming little tea room in which many people were gathered And then I saw Lillian Gerould as the owner of this little shop receiving her customers in a most benign manner. But now I could hardly believe what I saw. There in a limousine, wearing a liveried costume, and driving the car swiftly and unflinchingly, sat Lucille Stevens, rapidly bearing her employer out of sight. The next view was of a large art gallery. Some clever artist was having an exhibit. Upon examining a beautiful portrait, I saw the name. Mildred Gerould. The last scene in my marvelous vision was at the Fair Grounds. Of course, there were all kinds of amusements. There in the ticket office of a merry-go-round, stood our quiet, bashful, unadventurous Donna Mills, very excited and working industriously at this new job of hers. This Is the last of my vision of the class of 1918. It is my sincere hope that no one will take it other than seriously. MARJORIE CARNER, 18. CLASS FOIBLES We, the class of 1918, have faults few and virtues many. But one thing surely can be seen; of boys we have scarcely any. Those we have, they are no frauds; there’s Grenell with that upward gaze. And Leverton with a smile so broad, and that far away look on his face. Joe, he is so fickle, he thought it would be fine To Join the troop of Liberals, and then changed his mind. Now Sid” Vannoy is a good little boy, who tries very hard not to smile. But his teachers sometimes he does annoy, for he’s smiling all the while. There is a girl named Catlin, who is extremely quiet, And with her hair is battling, e’en though there is a riot. 18