Bement High School - BIM Yearbook (Bement, IL)

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JbetohiiLx)X k3 3 SENIOR HISTORY Our High School days are fast drawing to a close and as is customary, we, the class of ’25, will leave our brief history on the pages of this Annual. We entered High School in the fall of ’21 with an enrollment of twenty-eight. Out of this number six had passed the first eight years of their training side by side in the Bement schools. Before achieving anything we found it necessary to organize and Selby Clark was elected as our head with Carleton Smith acting as Secretary-Treasurer and Miss Tinkham as our Class Advisor. Almost before we realized it our first year was at an end but our experiences during this period had given us confidence so that we looked forward to the coming year with a great deal of enthusiasm. As Sophomores we were raised to a high plane of intellectual supremacy, for during this year our class had the highest average, the most A s, and the fewest “flunks.” This year Lew Wilkinson was elected President, with the following officers: Armand Richard, Vice-President; Dallas Hill, Secretary-Treasurer; Class Advisor, Miss Barker. We were joined by Ruth Stoerger and Ellen Nolan, but several of our members left us. We had ceased to be timid Freshmen and began to take part in the social activities of the school, enjoying the usual parties and the annual picnic. Thus our Sophomore year was spent. At last we were real honest-to-goodness upper classmen! As Juniors, we again chose Lew Wilkinson as our Presiding Officer with Florence Dunn serving as Vice-President and Dallas Hill as Secretary-'freasurer. We were guided in our undertakings by Miss Bancroft. Three new members were added to the class, namely Aimee Brandenburg, Frances O’Brien, and Blanche Longbons. We were sorry and yet proud to see one of our members, Carleton Smith, leave us and graduate with the class of ’24. His credits were such that he was permitted to graduate in three years. There were two outstanding events during this year: first, the Junior-Senior banquet, which was a genuine success, and second, the publishing of the first Class Annual since 1914. Of course, there were parties held in the homes of different members, and a picnic in the spring, which delightful event ended our Junior year. Seniors! and only one more short year of High School life. Our officers this year were: Dallas Hill, President; Blanche Longbons, Vice-President; and Clarence Marlow, Secretary-Treasurer. Mr. Harrison and Mr. McClellan were appointed to advise us. During this last year of our High School life we were forsaken by Ellen Nolan, Marguerite Cannon and Armand Richard, but as if to make up for them we welcomed Ruth Stirrett, Dorothy Noe, Mildred Catlin, Raymond Quinlan and Donald Ryan. During this year several of our members distinguished themselves in athletics. The main social event of this year was a Hallowe’en party at which we entertained the Juniors. And now we shall soon separate, each to play his part in the outside world but I am sure that not one of us will ever forget the happy times and beautiful friendships enjoyed in dear old B. T. H. S. B. M. L. Twenty-one

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jbetohiiL9k1XI x 9 rs - f SENIORS Thelma Priestley Delphian ’25; Philomathean 24; Glee Club ’22; Operetta ’22; Orchestra ’22, ’23, ’24, ’25; Basketball ’23, ’24; Minor Honors 1. Claude Walker “Slim” Delphian ’25; Orchestra ’22, ’23, ’24; Glee Club ’22, ’23, ’24, ’25; Football ’22, ’24, ’25; Utter ’25; Minor Honors 4; Comm;. Club ’25; Operetta ’22, ’23, ’24, ’25; Editor-in-Chief School News; 'Senior Play ’25; Cir. Mgr. Commercial Booster; Joke Editor Senior Observer. Donald Ryan “Tuffy” Philomathean ’25: Glee Club ’22, ’25; Operetta ’25. Lewis Wilkinson “Levi” Delphian Pres. ’25; Football ’25; Class Pres. ’23, ’24; Annual Editor-in-Chief ’24; Class Play ’25. Twenty

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 PROPHECY Foreword: 1945! Good old Father Time has certainly wrought great changes in the last two decades. Where is the old One-Horse Shay? And where is the Locomotive with its network of rail? And, still again where is the Automobile? Gaze up into the sky and you will no longer ask these questions. Above all the large cities fly twenty-four-hour coast-to-coast dirigibles, equipped with the latest of modern traveling conveniences. Here comes a buzzing squadron of army planes with several observation balloons in hot pursuit and there goes a loaded moving van aeroplane, preceded by a de luxe special air liner for the wealthy directors of some aeroplane route. And here and there and everywhere, flitting in all directions, in and out amongst the larger craft like humming bees, are innumerable private planes of every conceivable description. The conquest has been made by air and the ends of the world lie at our feet. Where are the telephones and cablegraphs with their millions of wires and cables? They have been abolished by the astounding utilization of radio, which, like the aeroplane, has also conquered the ends of the globe. We, as a nation, day by day, and year by year, are growing weaker and wiser. We are living in an age of wisdom and revolution. We are getting fickle; life is becoming too easy for us. Industry has been revolutionized and simplified and we are lazy. Luckily, some of us premeditate the destruction of our nation by the great outburst of civilization, and try our hardest to overcome existing evils, foreshadowing the downfall of that civilization. But, how like some of us to live only for the present, never glimpsing into or worrying about the future. We are seized into the whirlwind of life and we choose the smoothest paths and think more of the gilded than the worth-while byways of contentment and happiness. Remember these few foregoing lines of philosophy as we follow our classmates through the twentieth milestone of their self-dependence. The sun had set and dusk was just setting in, when we rounded a bend in a lonely country road. We were afoot—tired, footsore and weary. That morning we had been dispatched by a social aspiring woman of the East on a secret mission, which was to take us across the continent, so we were required to walk to a nearby city to procure an aeroplane for the trip. Just as we had rounded the bend, there sprang out of the bushes by the roadside, with lightning-like rapidity, the hurling figure of a burly, raw-boned man. He stood before us attired in green corduroys, a flaming red jersey, and an ill fitting felt hat, that concealed most of his features. A grimy handkerchief covered his black-grizzled beard. A low gutteral command issued from his throat, “Hands up, you bums!” Again, the familiar voice spoke a harsh command and all at once it dawned upon us that our old classmate, Lew Wilkinson, was standing before us. At the same moment, he recognized us and before we could speak he darted back into the bushes and vanished. We never saw him again and to this day, the intent of his ambush has to us remained a mystery. We camped that night in hobo style under a large spreading oak tree by the wayside. The following morning at daybreak, we entered the large middle western metropolis from which we were to proceed by aeroplane. We were not only dirty and tired but ravenously hungry, so the first place we struck out for was a restaurant. Behind a counter, was a sleek black Twenty-two