Bethel University - Spire Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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1922 - Blue Gray - 1922 SENIOR CLASS POEM When first we came to Bethel dear, We were but freshies green, I fear, We thought we knew what teachers know And teachers see, And battled every earthly foe But victors we. But time went on. The freshies passed. A year is all those glories last. And Sophomore’s ranks by us were filled A comely class. At Fall we all were really thrilled It came to pass. Of all the years in school we spent No time was more to proud ness lent Than proud and selfish sophomore year With freshies green Who must be taught respect, and fear Our powers keen. As Juniors, classified the third Our minds by Senior thoughts were stirred. We dreamt of one great closing day When toils are past, Next fall would find us, after summer’s stay As Senior’s classed. The year we call our senior year Our school grows very, very dear. Tho’ soon we’ll leave, to toil and care We still arc here And pluck the fruits of Knowledge fair, In Senior year. Hail, Bethel, Alma Mater true, We thank our T.ord, dear one, for you And tho’ we leave, our thoughts will pause A moment stay At sweet melodious time that was, But passed away. Four years, too short a time, but still Tho’ life may give us more of thrill And more of joys but hardships, too, We ne’er regret The joyous time at Bethel true Or her forget. Receive our thanks from hearts sincere May God still bless you, Him you fear, And take our greatest gift, our heartfelt thanks, Our wishes true We’ll fill each one the honor ranks To honor you. 25

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1922 - Blue Gray - 1922 We all remember our first social gathering, how Russell Palmquist was discovered as a story teller. Ever since, he has kept our class in good humor whenever he is around. At that gathering, Lester MacMillan rendered his first and only piano solo, and long may it wave. Another unique feature of that meeting was that Carol Taylor was there, this being the first and last social she attended during her career at Bethel. The Sophomore year finally came to a close and we parted with a determination to return again in the fall and bring others with us. Canto III September 14, 1920, found the class of ’22 back in the office of the principal signing the registration cards, and renewing old acquaintances, and meeting many new students. Co-operation and system became the characteristics of this new Junior class. Early in the year, the class was organized, electing the necessary officers and committees. One of the many virtues of the Junior class was that it was always sociable. Remembering Sophomore days, we invited that class twice during the year, to have joint meetings with us. Then we surely had some good times. Extemporaneous debates were very popular at our gatherings, and some of the deep, highly elevating, philosophical topics discussed were: “Resolved, That the Swedish language should predominate in Bethel,” and “Resolved, That a chicken has more intelligence than a duck.” Talents had been increasing in our class so that we now had orators, preachers, house-maids, butlers, athletes, poets, evangelists and singers. We would just mention Enoch Johnson’s name and everyone immediately thought of a second Caruso. Toward the close of the year, Russel Palmquist foretold our future positions twenty-five years hence in a class prophecy that caused the Juniors to reel with laughter. The later days were spent preparing for the Junior-Senior banquet under the able direction of our class advisor, Miss Freda Swenson. This banquet has gone down on the pages of history as the greatest ever held in Bethel Academy. Thus closed the happy Junior year. Canto IV In the fall of 1921, just after the great fifty years jubilee celebration of the Swedish Baptists of America had taken place, the class of ’22 again alighted from the Como cars and walked five blocks north to Bethel to finish their academic curriculum. At last we were Seniors and oh, what an exalted feeling crept over us when we walked around the halls and saw so many new Freshmen. The Seniors were to take a prominent place in school affairs this year. In athletics the Seniors took first place, winning the inter-class basket ball tournament. Many class socials with splendid programs were given throughout the year. On Monday evening, April 10th, the class entertained the faculty at a banquet given in the Commodore hotel, St. Paul, the first of its kind ever given by a Senior class. On Saturday evening, April 22nd, the Seniors gave their annual class entertainment, to the largest crowd that ever attended a Senior doings. The auditorium was crowded to the doors. The big features of the entertainment were “Back to the Farm” by Herbert Peterson, and the “Class Reunion Twenty-five Years from Now” given by the entire class. To show our appreciation to good old Bethel the class has decided to install a Radio receiving apparatus to be used in connection with the Science Department, and which we hope to have installed before graduation. At the time of this writing the class is looking forward to graduation, and after that has taken place, all school life at Bethel will be a matter of history, but ever to be remembered with a joy in our hearts by all members of the class of ’22. Archaeologists: (Signed) Herbert L. Peterson, Compiler Carol M. Taylor, Esther Bodien, Russell Palmquist, Willimine Thompson. 22

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1922 - Blue Gray - 1922 SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY Old Father Time sits by and watches ages upon ages roll by. His hair is white, his brow is furrowed, his benevolent countenance expresses joy. The great clock of time is striking year 1950. As is his custom. Father Time opens his great diary to again record the deeds of the children of men. His face brightens and his voice as the sound of many waters pours forth. With a smile he says, “Blessings on thee. Bethel Academy Class of 1922, posterity salutes you! As I gaze over the wide world I find your members everywhere, performing the work of the world. My old eyes are dimmed with tears as I behold in a wretched hovel in the slums of New York City two busy women, Carol Taylor and Hannah Wiggman, fighting filth and disease, spreading cheer and the love of Chris: everywhere about them. All the children know them by the name of the ‘ladies who tell us about Jesus.’ The ambulance appears, and with an anxious look Hannah is sending little Johnny to Hope Hospital. I’ll follow along to see what happens. Lo, and behold, the door of the hospital is opened by no one but the great Dr. Enoch Johnson. That can't possibly be the fellow they called Red years ago; but that’s just the fellow. He is considerably changed, however. His hair is tinged with gray, and a small moustache adds to his manliness. What strikes me most, though, is the look in his eyes as he gazes upon little Johnny on his bed of suffering. The doctor is evidently directing the care of the boy to a sweet-faced nurse, who immediately trips lightly ahead of the stretcher and puts the small patient in a clean, white bed. After making him comfortable, she takes his temperature. But what is that ring she has on her finger? Why. I could have guessed it; it’s one of the B. A. ’22 rings, and this smiling face is Esther Bcdicn’s. But what has this messenger to tell someone at the door of the dietitian’s office? ‘The superintendent of nurses would like to see you, Miss Land-berg.’ What, another familiar name? I’ll follow Miss Landbcrg to Miss Bodien’s office and hear what they say. ‘Hello, Esther, what is it?’ ‘0 say, Eva, there’s a little fellow up here whom I am giving a little personal attention for the first days. Kindly give him an extra dish occasionally. His name is Johnny, one of Hannah’s boys.’ ” Father Time meanders, “Well, if I haven’t met with five members of ’22 in connection with this hospital. Birds of a feather flock together. “Perhaps, traveling westward, I shall find a few of ‘mv chosen tribe.’ I’ll stop here in Cheyenne. Beside a pretty little stream stands a beautiful home. The home is worthy of an artistic inmate and so it has Mr. Burriss Richardson. Upon a rustic bench sits a man before a canvass with a brush in his hand. His dreams make marvelous pictures, and the golden sunset, the green trees, and the winding rivulet make an excellent setting.” The speaker turns a page, and his trembling hand makes the paper rustle. He turns his head still farther westward and his eye is arrested by a large crowd of people in a bookstore in Seattle. He sees a middle-aged man with an amused and good-natured smile on his face watching what seems to be a bargain counter. Upon looking closer he finds it to be a counter where a new book, “The Passing of the Garage,” by Sigfried Sandberg, is being sold and going like ‘hot cakes.” Father Time speaks: “Why, this onlooker must be, and is, the author, he who is known over land and sea.” The seer turns his eyes back to the east and they rest on a great meeting. An international assemblage of bards is in session in one of the buildings of Bethel University. The assemblage has just elected a peer of poets. “They are introducing the new peer, I notice, and it is none other than Professor Herbert Peterson. He is preparing to speak, and see 24