Bement High School - BIM Yearbook (Bement, IL)

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H E T O H I 24 19 were on the same train returning from a honeymoon in the Pacific states, the bride being Mary Wilkinson, as I learned later. The next afternoon as we neared El Paso whom should we see on guard at the International Bridge but Judson Poundstone, Virgil Smith, and Raymond Moreland, all of them carrying enough guns to whip Mexico by themselves. We were disappointed at not getting to speak to them, but nevertheless we were glad, even, to see our old classmates once more. My four fellow travelers bade me a speedy trip and good-bye, as they jauntily swung off down the station platform towards town. A resultant bunch, I remarked to myself as I returned to my chair in the observation-car. I sat in a stupor watching the ties of the track gliding from beneath the rear of the car, when I was suddenly aware of someone occupying the chair opposite mine, and, looking up, saw Dorothea Hicks. She told me she was living in Alamogordo, New Mexico, and was just returning from El Paso. After a few moments of conversation I learned she was conducting a dancing school for cowboys and getting rich at it, with the aid of a former Monticello girl. I then asked her if she know where any of our old classmates were, and this was her reply: “Joe Reading is the owner of an aviation school in Alamogordo and is working on a motor that will be better than any known to the world’s motor circles today. He is leaving for Englewood, Kansas, in an aeroplane tomorrow, anyway, that is what I heard.” The time rolled swiftly by and we reached Alamogordo at nine o’clock that night. I left Dorothea immediately and started out in search of Joe. At nine-thirty I found him and when he learned of my trip, offered to take me as far as Englewood in an aeroplane the following morning at daybreak. We left accordingly, and flew all day, making but one stop for oil and petrol at Matlock, Texas. At three o’clock in the afternoon we reached Englewood. Joe was taking a student back to his school on the following day, but he failed to mention his name until I started to leave. Then he told me it was Harry Kelley, who was preparing for the aerial mail service. That evening as I left Joe I made my way towards the stockyards to loaf in some buyer’s office until morning. As I was walking along I came to a well-fitted office which looked warm, so I walked into the lobby, b it no one was there. At the rear of the lobby was a frosted glass door with this name on it in bold letters: “J. S. Daugherty, Mgr.” I rapped on the door and waited. Presently it was opened and there stood the same old Joe, now a typical stockman. He had a black, evil-smelling cigar tilted skyward in one corner of his mouth and a pencil over his right ear. Joe was more than glad to see me, as he was in trouble. He wanted to ship a trainload of stock to Kansas City, Kansas, and could find no one to go with his crew of men, so he hired me for the trip. As we sat and talked he told me that he and Edith Fristoe were married the week before in Denver. In the course of our conversation I learned that Lowell Bowen was a banker in Englewood, and Irene Gregory had chosen him as her ideal of a model husband. For an hour we sat and exchanged news. He then found me a place to spend the night, and departed. I lay for some time thinking of the old class, back in ’24. Suddenly I knew nothing more until Joe called me at three o’clock the next morning. Page Twenty-six

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B E T O H I 19 24 CLASS PROPHECY: 1924 Since my graduation from Bement High School I have been guard on a pipe for the Hopkins Oil Company of Southern California. On the last day of December, 1936, I lay down in the afternoon and had the following dream: It was on New Year’s Day, 1937, the following wager was made— I was to hike across the country from Los Angeles to New York and back by the Fourth of July the same year. The conditions were few and not hard to comply with, as the only restriction was, pay for no ride enroute. The boys of the oil company gave me a fifty-mile ride, then sent me off on my long tramp, which proved to be a delightful, weary, foot-sore and interesting one. I reached the small town of Beaumont, California, just as a cool dusk was setting in, and as I was growing cold, being attired only in a light hiking suit, 1 began looking for a hotel. After a few moments of walking, I came to a brilliantly lighted roadhouse with an electric sign reading, “England Inn.” For a short time no one was visible, but presently 1 heard a door open and our old friend Orval England came swinging down the corridor, followed by an auburn-haired waitress, who to all appearances, was Marguerite Malkus. Here were the first members of our class that I had seen since 1925. Orval threw a fit as usual,” and called out: “Bernice, Bernice! Come and see who is here!” From another door there appeared a familiar face, and it was none other than Bernice White, now Mrs. England. The next morning they sent me off with good luck and a bounteous lunch for the following day. In two hours time I was riding a “ventilated side-door Pullman” for Yuma, Arizona. The atmosphere had a dreamy effect upon me, and I soon fell asleep. When I awoke the train was just slowing down in the yards at Yuma. In a short time I jumped to the ground and started looking for a train going to El Paso. While walking along I was accosted by a policeman who commanded me to halt. On looking around I recognized my old friend John South, but he no longer knew me, for he asked what business I had in the yards, bumming around; whereupon I told him I was looking for a man from Hammond, Illinois. He then grasped my hand, and he was highly interested in the wager I was trying to win, for with a wink to the conductor, and a hearty good-bye he put me on a limited passenger going to El Paso. I strolled back through the drawing-room of the observation-car and saw four young men at a game of cards, probably “blackjack.” They were no others than Jack Barnett, Glenn Smith, Wayne Body, and Donald Pitts. Jack was the first to see me and from then on until we reached El Paso we had a grand time. I told them of my trip, and I learned they were operating an irrigation project in southern Arizona. They were now on their way to Texas to buy some equipment for a big job they were putting over. I asked them about other members of the class. Jack told me that Everett VanVleet had completed an eight-year course at the Colorado School of Mines and Engineering, and was now consulting engineer for their company. He also told me that Don Mathews and his wife Page Twenty five

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H E r 0 ll I 24 19 I partook of a hasty breakfast and was soon rolling eastward, toward the rising sun, with Joe’s trainload of stock in my charge. For two and a half days we lumbered across the rolling prairie and finally reached our destination, where I speedily took leave of the stock train and turned towards the yards. I had not been walking more than ten minutes when 1 was arrested for vagrancy and sent to Ft. Leavenworth to work out my fine there on a prison road gang. The moment I was shoved through the door of the warden’s office my hopes soared skyward, for there at the desk sat Russell Seitz in all the dignity of a Chinese idol. Again my story was repeated and Seitz was glad to see me, for he was very lonesome there in Leavenworth. He told me “Rusty” Bodamer was the owner of thirty threshing machine outfits in Kansas, and a three-hundred-acre farm near Topeka. During my short visit 1 learned the Wall sisters were running a large poultry farm near Topeka. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him watching me very closely. Presently he spoke: “Well, son, how do you like being a prisoner?” “Fine,” 1 replied. “Yes, but you won’t win that wager sitting there. I am going to ship you East. Whereupon he arose and went into another room. He was gone for some time before he returned, and when he did this is what he said: “Parker is an engineer on the Wabash from Kansas City to Decatur.” He then handed me a letter and said: “Now, Hash, give this letter to Parker and tell him that I sent you.” He then turned and called a chauffeur, who drove a beautiful maroon-colored speedster up to the door, and gave him orders to connect with Forty-Four at Kansas City. This the driver did in a very short time. Parker was surprised when I handed him the letter, and so was I. He was so weak he could scarcely drive the engine. I did not notice the fireman with his dirty face until he called me by name. It was Joe Voightritter, the lvesdale boy. Once more I went over my story and from then on Parker did the talking. It was apparent that he was nervous and broken, and his speech was filled with pathos as he enumerated the following in short, jerky sentences: “Bernadine Tabaka, poor girl! married a good-for-nothing man, and he left her. She is at home with her folks now. Ralph Oiler is conducting an agricultural school near Lincoln, Nebraska. Mary Manny and Bernice Tabaka have a swell little cottage in a secluded village somewhere in the Swiss Alps. Here he refused to talk for several miles, smoking cigarettes furiously all the while. This was followed by another pause. Presently he went on, fists clenched: “Mary Kerns and Katherine Lash are living in Indianapolis, close to Hazel Hadden, who is a dressmaker there. Katherine Driskill went back to Tennessee to write stories of southern scenes.” this followed by another pause. I sat and watched him closely as he started to speak again. “Leona Arnold is living in Detroit, working at the Durant motor plant. Opal Durst, Vivian Hoyt, Nellie Burnett, Ruby Doren, and Ethel Dobson have a beauty parlor in Cleveland, and are making a fortune. Someone said they owned a fine home and five large sedans, a Cadillac, Pierce-Arrow, Emperor Special, Peerless, and an imported machine. “Ida Cannon is engaged to a young man from Boston Tech, fine fellow with plenty of money; he is also a writer of some ability. Hazel Dobson Page Twenty-seven