Banning High School - San Gorgonian Yearbook (Banning, CA)

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It seems hard to believe that I was a school teacher before the war. It was my first job, or rather, position, teaching school my first year out of normal. My school was some school: Three Texas farmers boys, the two Walch girls, sweet little things both six feet tall and as ungainly as jumping jacks, and both dunces, about a dozen urchins ranging from ten years down, four little Mexican kids and 2bcut twenty pickaninnies that were worse than dumb. A few days after war had been declared I received a letter from my brother. He wrote me that he was going to enlist im- mediately and asked me if I would like to enlist in the same com- pany. Here was a chance to get away from this backwoods town and get back to civilization again but, I had signed up 9 teach a year. Nevertheless, I started out immediately to hunt up the hayseed farmers that comprised the school board. The first place I came to wa's the Walch farm. There on the front steps was seated “Old Man Walch,” a short, heavy set, bald- headed man, puffing on his corn cob pipe. “Good morning, Mr. Walch,” I said, and put on my most diz- nified air. “How are ye?” he replied, nodding his head towards a chair near him. “Mr. Walch,” I began. ‘You have no doubt kept pretty wel posted on the war news since war was declared?” “Yes,” he drawled out, ‘““What’s that got to do with you?” “Well, you see, Mr. Walch, my brother is going to enlist in the army and I was thinking————”’ “That you want to quit your job teaching school,” he broke in, “Well, I can’t say as how you’re much of a teacher anyway. i think my oldest daughter can learn those ‘younguns’ about as much as you can at that. So you can just pack up your grip ana beat it any old time you want to. You're fired. Get me?” “Did I get him? Did I? My dignity had beea insulted. I feli like choking the old fellow, but as he was also justice of peace, constable and so forth, I deemed it wiser to swallow my insu!t and quit. Quit, yes sir, quit. I wouldn’t be fired, not by a jugful PAGE SEVENTEEN

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It’s a Great Life If You Don’t Weaken (HARRY HUNT) Yes, folks, I’m out of work and naturally broke, I have had only one job since I was discharged from the army and now, I’ve lost it. It wasn’t anything to brag about either, a car repairer working in the P. E. shop in Los Angeles. PAGE SIXTEEN

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That afternoon found me on my way to Victoria where I ar- rived about dark. It was too late to telegraph to my brother, so I went to a hotel and went to bed. Bright and early the next morning while going to the telegraph office I met farmer Walch’s oldest boy. “Good morning, teacher,” he said, as he grinned at me. “What in the deuce are you doing here?” I almost roared at him. “I’m going down to Fort Worth to enlist in the army,” he replied. “What, you, you litthe runt! why they want men in the army, not babies, men with brains and common sense, able to do a man’s work.” “Well, I'll tell ’em you’re coming,” he said as he walked away. I went on to the telegraph office where I sent a message to my brother to meet me at the Palace Hotel in Fert Worth. Three days later found us both in Fort Worth and en route to the re- cruiting office. A neat, well mannered officer met us at the door with a “hello boys, come right in and sit down.” In a few minutes we were attentively listening as he explained aLout the different branches of the army and how easy an educated man could climp and all that line of bunk. “My brother and I want to enlist but we both want to enlisz in the same company,” I informed this smiling officer. “Certainly, certainly, I’ll fix your papers right up, meanwhile step into that side room and have the doctor examine you.” Believe me that doctor certainly examined me, he tested my heart and lungs, he punched me in the ribs, he made me hop on one foot until I thought my leg would crack, he pulled my arms, he twisted my neck and as a fitting climax he stuck his thumb in my eye and said, “Read those letters.” “Ouch,” 1 gasped. “Fine ” he said, “‘you’ll pass.” I stepped out into the main room aagin and signed the papers the recruiting officer had prepared for me. “You said you were a mathematics teacher, did you not?” asked the officer. “Yes.” I answered. PAGE EIGHTEEN