Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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Zo Caloitel William (Lluimpson iWechlint Long-time President of Butler School Board, Ardent Supporter of Butler High School, Optimist, Vision-sighted Builder for To-morrozv, Counsellor and Friend of High School Students, Late Our Ever-welcomed Guest Here, Now Our Silent Monitor There, THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

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AN EVENTFUL JOURNEY Mary Doerr St. Valentine’s Day found me seated in a B. O. train, and my eyes wondered idly over the noisy scene outside. Could I believe my eyes? Yes, surely, there, in the blue overalls of the noted road, was the once debonair Campbell cf foot-ball fame, kicking suit-cases and trunks around just as well as he ever kicked the pig skin over the gridiron. “Say, Bricker, roll that baggage truck over a little, so I can throw ’em without so much chance of spilling the contents,” he shouted. And verily, the other famous football star of my class, Bricker, stood not six feet away from tbe car window. I shouted to them but the shriek of the train whistle drowned my voice and my train bumped out of the station. Across the aisle two fussy women were talking of the relative merits of glasses and suffrage. “Hazel, do you know, I’ve never had such good glasses as the ones I had when you and I graduated,” said one. Hazel Brown and Inez Dougan, famous suffragettes, were each trying to out-talk the other. I bowed, but both of them turned coldly away. Good heavens, they didn’t know me. A man, a tall man, came in and sat down beside me. I glanced sidewise at him and my eye rested on a tiny pin in his lapel. Ye gods, another of the class of 19. Vernon L. Wise, the world-famous inventor, sat next to me and—he hadn’t recognized me either. Well,' he never did look down, in the old days. The train stopped at a tiny station. Well, what was the matter? Why didn’t the train start? I stuck my head out of the window. A girl—Willard Lasher, I do believe—was holding up the train. Not with a gun, though; she was only talking to the conductor. An automobile stopped a moment on the brick road near the train, and Genevieve McKee called “hello” to Willard, and the conductor escaped. A minute later Gen’s car flashed past the window, she was keeping up her reputation of beating everybody, to it. In the front of the car a bevy of girls were becoming quite noisy. I rose in my seat. As I live, Beatrice and Uldene Nicholas, Winny McGrody, May Wilson, Julia Wise, Lucille Patterson, and Frances Ringer were all trying to tell the experiences of the