Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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6 THE SENIOR MAGNET last .ten years, and at one time, too. In the confusion of voices, I learned that not one of them was living now in Springdale. They must all be married, I thought. Another fragment of their gossipy conversation caught my ear. Irma Hansen was now teaching dancing lessons, at night, and “trying-out” Standard Eights, during the day. Two excellent positions, I heard the girls say, and she was quite a master in both positions, just as she had been in everything in school. When the train pulled into Butler, I was one of the last to leave it. As I stepped off the train I was grabbed by both arms, my grip was yanked out of my hand, and I was plumped down into the back seat of a touring car. Beside me were Marvin Anderson and George McClelland. In the conversation that ensued I learned that Marvin and George had entered the ministry and their congregations were the largest and wealthiest in the state. As we drove along, Marvin pointed to a learned-looking man on the court-house steps and said, “That’s Judge Kenneth Bailey. He was elected the fall after we graduated, and it looks as though he is going to get the bench again. He is talking to the Mayor.” I looked closer—why, it was my old friend Baylor Goen. I got out to speak to them, and almost stumbled over a little lady of much dignity, and recognized Dorothy Davis, known in the long ago as “The Heart-Breaker.” I stood talking to her for a few minutes and then went to speak to Bailey and Goen. Bv the time I got to them a lady of portly dimensions, with a stenographer’s notebook, and another with a Journal and Ledger under her arm, were claiming my attention. A minute later they were introduced to me as two more of my school-mates, Mildred Rowen and Edna Zimmerman, court stenographer and city clerk, respectively. Ralph Gossard joined us there on the steps. He was the author of that “nine days wonder,” “The Loves of an Editor.” He made me promise to go with him to hear the Prima Donna of our class, Mae Thompson, who was to appear that night at the old Majestic. My mission in town that day was to see the races at the fair-ground. People came from all over the world to see them. I took my lunch at the Y. W. C. A., and found, to my surprise, Alberta Scott to be the secretary. She was so good as to give me an extra piece of cream pie. From there, I took a taxi, driven by a girl with the cutest dimples. I didn’t recognize her till we were almost at the grounds. It was Helen Hobaugh, and to think, she used to be the most backward girl in the class, too. She laughed merrily when I told her my reflections. Ten years is a long time I had begun to think. Herman Badger dashed over to us in uniform, to tell me not to flatter Helen too much. In answer to my questions he told me he had decided to stay in the army and was now a Colonel in the famous “Red Devil” regiment. He had one of the “Red” cars with him, and took me around the grounds in it. We stopped near the band stand where the crowd seemed awed by che beautiful music. “Who’s playing?” I asked. “Don’t you know? Rhea Shaffer is playing the piano, Bertha Jacobs and Grace Oswald are the Violinists. They are one of the famous trios in the world and have played in all the great cities of the world.”

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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

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THE SENIOR MAGNET 7 I had hardly recovered from this information when he said, “Come over to the art gallery. Richard Russel has his masterpiece on exhibition. You’ve surely read of his remarkable ‘War Scenes.’ He got the ideas when he helped drive the Huns from Grove City College.’’ A great shout rose from the grandstand. The races were starting. I looked at my program as we took our seats. Harry Graham had entered his car “Rattles” and a little farther down “Buzzer” was entered by Raymond Kesselman. The final races were on. Ray and Bus were in the lead. Wheel to wheel they raced. They came to the grandstand and stopped. It was a tie. I went down to speak to them and to look over their cars. I almost fainted when I recognized the cars as the same ones they had used in 1919. ONLY A DREAM Kenneth Bailey The advance patrol of a division of the German Army was advancing through a thicket and were, without a doubt, following the path which led from one side of a ravine to the other. On either side of this ravine was situated a group of houses, among which was our house. Never before in my life was I so dumbfounded as when my eyes looked upon this terrible scene. “Surely the Germans had invaded our land and were making right for our house,” I gasped as I watched them advance. For, if some one had dealt me a blow, my breath would not have been lost any quicker than when I sighted those Germans. Onward they came, seeming to me to be every bit of ten feet tall, laying waste every obstruction that chanced to be in the path. Soon they appeared over the top of the hill just near our neighbor’s house. By this time I was racing from one room to another in absolute confusion. All of a sudden there was a crash, followed by screams of terror, and I hurried to the window only to see our neighbor’s house crumble under the blows of the heavy field pieces which were part of the patrol’s equipment. Bewildered, I was at a loss to know just what to do in order to escape the Hun. As I watched the proceedings, I became motionless, speechless, and almost thoughtless. The only sense I had left was my sight, but that was enough. When at length I could move again I made a quick dash for the door leading to the basement, and didn’t stop until I had placed myself in a secluded place, with an iron stove poker in one hand and a hatchet in the other. As I ran, the Huns also continued their advance, so that they were now so close that I could hear them talking. From my secluded spot, I saw through one of the cellar windows a big gun pointed towards our house one moment, and then, turned completely around, pointing toward a smaller house across the road, the Germans seeming not to know just which dwelling should be dealt the fatal charge. As I stood trembling and gasping in my place of hiding, I chanced to turn