Central High School - Central Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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Class History $reaibent’s: peecf) This is class night, and probably my last opportunity to address the Class of 1911. Commencement night, some dignified member of the Board of Education will preside. Then for once we must be serious. But tonight we can have a good time. Tonight we can lay aside care for the morrow and can recall the pleasant memories of yesterday. Four years ago we came to high school to become wise. Now we have succeeded. We are about to depart. How changed we are! Recall what you were four years ago—so young, so innocent of knowledge! We have learned much, too, from things not in books. The best thing that can come into our lives, at this time or hereafter is, I believe, the personal contact with those around us. In high school, more than anywhere alse, we form those lasting friendships which are so precious now and become more so as the years go by. We shall travel various paths in the world outside, yet we shall never forget the friends we have found here. There are other associations pleasant to recall. We shall never forget the kindly influence of one club or another in this great old school. Many a classmate has been coaxed from his shell of indifference into various other school activities which have developed in him the ability to cope with men and events. This ability may mean his future success in some position of honor in the world — as, possibly, Chief of Police, or a member of the Ohio State Legislature. But we have one friend whom we shall never forget. Who is the one who has in so many ways fostered our various friendships? It is Mr. Harris, who has kept the class together. He has, moreover, taken a personal interest in each one of us. For Mr. Harris, our principal, we have nothing but the sheerest gratitude, respect, and love for all that he has done for us. Whatever may befall us in life, we shall ever remember his guidance and his care. Enter Marcia (left box) breathless. “Oh! I’m late! What’s that about Mr. Harris? I missed it.” Chorus (all): “You missed it, all right; it was great!” All consult programmes. Philip: “Here comes the History.” (He tears his hair in mock alarm.) “I hope Grace will be discreet in relating it.” Class J storp N the high tower of Central High School sits the Belfry Owl brooding. He is puzzled, for it is eight o’clock, and he still does not hear that long bell ringing. There are no sounds of the boys, as they take three steps at a time in their frantic effort to reach the room door before its peal ceases, nor of the girls, as they rush breathlessly in, their hats awry, perhaps only to be greeted by Mr. Bath-rick, who is accustomed to hold receptions in the office for late comers. It is not Saturday nor Sunday, and so the owl is worried. With a sudden flapping of his wings, which sends a shower of dust through the darkness, he leaves his high abode and descends to discover the cause. At the third floor landing he pauses, and peeps into Room twenty. No.merry sound of laughter greets his ears, and once inside, the walls look bare and strange without the usual array of the latest spring fashions. Bewildered the owl flits down to the big hall, where silence reigns supreme. It is dark and dreary, and in the absence of the merry throng of students, all seems strange and unnatural. The office door is closed, and eagerly — 24 —

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program Setting—New Opera House (by anticipation.) Time—Tonight. May 19, 1911. Performers — Class day committee and officers: Philip Darnell, George Baldwin, Grant Fewsmith, Marie Finley, Marcia Henry, Elizabeth Lyman, Bernice Hart, Miriam Culp, Marguerite Crighton. Enter Philip (left box, happy): ' Hello everybody. (He looks blank at discovering empty boxes.) “Oh, how nice of all the officers to come early! Enter Betty and Miriam and Martin Maurer (right). In establishing themselves in the box they place a box of candy on the box railing. They wave to Philip. Philip: “After Mr. Harris has gotten the opera house for us, we ought to be here on time. Miriam: Yon might collect some dues while you wait, for Denton ” Philip (he looks significantly at box of candy) : “The way to a man’s industry is through his sweet tooth.” (Reaches vainly for candy, as the girls offer it teasingly.) Enter Bernice (talking to someone outside. Left box. She bumps into Philip. Both exclaim, “Oh, excuse me. Bernice: “Oh, Philip, is that you? But you know one really couldn’t miss you.’’ (At the same time Philip speaks.) Philip: “Wonder you wouldn’t look where you were going! This isn’t the gymnasium.” Miriam (pounding edge of opposite box) : “Order, order over there!” Enter George and Marie (left box). They wave to the others, exchange greetings; at the same time Grant and Marguerite enter right box. George (surveys the class in the audience proudly) : “Not a bad looking class, is it ?” Grant: “No, since you’re not down there. All look down; point out people to each other. Betty: “There is the class athlete!” Girls (in excited chorus): “Where?” (They lift opera glasses and scan the audience eagerly. Boys exchange glances.) Philip: “And there’s the class beauty!” Boys (in excited chorus): “Where?” (Grant pulls out a huge telescope and gazes through it. The girls exchange glances this time.) Miriam: “What makes this box so empty ?” Marguerite: “Why, Marcia isn’t here yet!” Marie: “While we are waiting, let’s have a speech.” Chorus: “Let George do it!” (Applause, as George steps over the edge of the box and comes forward. He assumes a mock dignity and begins.) “This uncounted multitude before me and around me, proves .the feeling which the occasion has excited. These thousands of human faces, glowing with sympathy and joy, and from the impulses of a common gratitude, turned reverently to heaven, in this spacious temple of the firmament—firmament—’’ (Groans from boxes.) “But your agitated countenances and heaving breasts inform me that this is not an unmixed joy and. therefore, I turn from it.” Chorus: Please do.” He begins, seriously—a real address to the class. — 23 —

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peering through the transom he finds that here too is desolation. The vigilant eyes in the oil paintings now stare only on vacancy. Mr. Freese from his dull black frame looks down with that same calm expression on the Monthly desk, tidy as usual—but alas!—no longer are the books of George Baldwin and Grant Fewsmith strewn over the top, amidst the pile of Exchanges. Where are our athletes, who usually hover around that desk in the corner? Not even Mr. Feil sits working, making out those fatal tardy slips. But he is no doubt busy in the halls. How strange it seems without Miss Thompson’s cheery “Good morning,” as she glances up over her typewriter with a pleasant smile! A sudden sound causes the owl to turn hastily, ashamed to be caught away from his abode so early in the day. He flits quickly back to the stairs and then to the tower again, pausing only long enough to hear the janitor remark, “Yes, last night was Commencement. ‘Commencement’ repeated the owl, perching again in a corner amidst the cob-webs. So that is the cause.” For a long time there is silence, at last broken by words, almost inaudible. The owl slowly muses to himself over the class of 1911. “It scarcely seems four years ago I watched them as they came up the front walk. I sized them up as usual, for who better than I knows the ways of classes that have made records in this building? They were a proud, independent looking set that bright September afternoon. If handsome faces and pretty clothes had been the steps to high scholarship, or gaiety and good humor the requirements for success, I would have vouched for that class anywhere. They had a fearful time of it that first year. Such thoughtless creatures they were. They couldn’t even remember the orders given them regarding the use of the stairways, let alone Latin rules. Day after day they were greeted at the top of the stairs by a stern faced teacher who remarked severely, “How many more times must I tell you to keep to the wall going up, and the baluster coming down? You can’t fall up the stairs.’’ They were slow to learn that they were insignificant ‘flats’ who knew not and knew that they knew not. By the discouraged looks, I judged that sum-esse-fui-futurus and sagen-sagte-gesagt were mastered with difficulty. I knew it would be hard for them” he added with an ' I-told-you-so sort of an air.’ The old owl paused, lost in thought. “But persistency ought to win success,” he continued with a nod of his wise old head, “and again in 1908 they returned to continue their efforts. Sophomores!—wise fools, who still knew not—but alas! knew not that they knew not. Bravely they labored with Caesar in building that complex structure across the Rhine, and when they reached the other side, they gladly set fire, not only to the bridge, but also to all knowledge they had of its construction. Proudly indeed did some few, whose averages had risen and passed that terrible barrier, seventy-five, wear the Psi Omega or Beta Kappa club pins. “I watched them with interest in 1909, that same happy throng, now juniors, who knew but knew not that they knew. Room sixty was then added to their programs for one hour a week, and ‘Friends, Romans and countrymen,’ although haunting them in their sleep, utterly forsook them as they stood on the platform in oratory. Pleasure-loving, they never missed an opportunity for a lark, however. What a merry crowd gathered here for the junior informal! Junior cloak rooms became witnesses of hard studying, but also of light lunches. Some had been admitted to the home of the immortals and were enjoying the pleasures of Mt. Olympus, if sight reading in Ovid might be called such. Others were sharing the benefits of the G. L. S. (originals for instance) of the Art, Shakespeare and Faraday clubs. But as I feared,” continued the wise old owl with an emphatic nod of his head, “pleasure came before study with them. One afternoon, flitting down by chance Class History — 23 —