Central High School - Central Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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ORATOR. Miriam: “Wonder if Mark Antony had a Miss Bruot to train him!” (Consult programmes.) Martin: “Ah, the vocalist!” Philip (singing to the tune of “Flow Gently, bweet Afton”) : “Sing gently, sweet Sissle! (Stops himself suddenly.) VOCALIST. Miriam (sadly): “Noble’s last Central song. (Consult programmes.) (All begin, Grant starting it.) “Here Kitty, Kitty—” Class igoem (With apologies to O. W. H.) Has there any strange person got mixed in with us? If there has, take him out without making a fuss. For this is the night which belongs to the class; 'Tis the last one of fun altogether, alas! Just four years ago, in the month of September, (This is not nineteen-forty, you’ll kindly remember) Great stores of fine knowledge we thought we'd amass, And we started out boldly, this brave, fearless class. And so we assembled, to find out our doom; Our first meeting together, in this very room; Will you ever forget how we climbed all the stairs And sank down exhausted upon the front chairs? And the fall to our hope, when on coming again We took the same seats and were plainly told then: That the place for a Freshman up here, was the rear; And the looks of those Seniors stood out very clear! Still that was the least of our great load of cares: The Seniors’ disdain, and the Juniors' proud stares. Twas the name that they gave us: base Flats we were dubbed. And because of the term were right properly snubbed! The next year we came back to continue our way; No longer “fool youngens” as Riley would say; But this time we entered old Central’s big doors We entered distinguished, as wise Sophomores. Oh how haughty and proud did we stride thru the hall With that look of the Sophomore: “I know it all”; ‘Those Freshman, how tiny! If we looked like that It s no wonder they nicknamed each one of us Flat!’ And next we were Juniors; we hardly believed That so soon such an honor we’d really achieved. Clubs kept us so busy, that scarce time we had To get all our lessons, which made us so sad! Closs Poem — 27 —

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Class History for a look about the building which I supposed to be empty, 1 saw twenty-four boys sitting in Room eighteen. Afternoon session fell with a heavy hand on that class of 1911.” The owl shook himself slightly and after some time continued, “But in spite of all, they came back ten months ago for the last time. Tall and dignified seniors, who knew and knew far too well that they knew. Then indeed began the busy days. Tennis tournaments, senior themes, debates, club spreads, and rhetoricals were constantly discussed. How I longed to go down and enjoy an appetizing lettuce sandwich with those who thronged the hall on the day of the sale! How too I wished that I might enter and discover the mystery of that cosy corner or the attraction in Room four at the senior dance. From conversation later, I judged the Philomatheons must have had a jolly lime at their banquet, where a salad fork so mysteriously disappear- Marie: We have a brilliant past. I wonder what our future will be?” Grant: “That’s easy—this bunch is doomed to a theatrical career.” Miriam: “We’ll start an ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ troupe and let Philip be the bloodhound.” Grant: “I '11 be Little Eva.” Marcia: “I’ll be the ice.” Miriam: ‘Order, order—let the music sound.” Violin Solo. Marie: “That’s as fascinating as the ‘Pied Piper’s’ music.” Philip: “What an opportunity for—” Marguerite: “Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats.” (Girls wildly clutch their puffs. All consult programmes.) George: “I think I sec Mr. Scher in the audience.” (He looks about inquiringly— ed, and after when they visited several dreamy places of especial interest to the boys. As the day went by they talked of the ’Philly’ dance, the Shakespeare play, the home concert and class day, and at last these are all gone, and even Commencement is over.” Slowly nodding the old owl turned with a misty look in his eyes. “But after all, they have achieved more than I predicted that bright September day, and they are going forth well fitted by this worthy school, to take up their duties in the world. With that motto forever before them, ‘Tene bene et alta pete,’ may they reach with success the highest round of the ladder of life.” The last words were almost inaudible, as the wise old head of the Belfry Owl nodded, the eyes closed, and he sank into a sweet sleep which brought him pleasant dreams of the fame and glory of the class of 1911. Grace R. Murray, 1911. points his finger at W. S.) “Will, won’t you come up and give a few parting words to the class? Last chance, you know, Will!” Will S.: (standing up as if in recitation): “Really, Mr. President, I’d like to, but I’m not prepared—as usual.” Elizabeth (with stately mein): “Behold, the jester cometh to sport before King George. HUMORIST. Philip: “Bye, bye Carus.” (Consult programmes.) Marguerite: “Welcome, Blumfield.” PIANIST. Bernice (musingly): “I wonder if Julia will play the baby-grand in heaven, instead of a harp?” Grant: “She’s a suffragette; maybe she won’t get there.”. (Consult programmes.) Marie: Shades of Mark Antony, here’s our orator!” — 26 —

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Class Poem For afternoon-session the Board did hatch-up That pupils delinquent at once might catch-up; A horrid device, which it grieves me to mention. And I fear I am losing all students’ attention. So I’ll leave that and speak of the time when as Seinors, With dignified airs and right lordly demeanors, We strutted about with all things in our rule, Were to all lower classmen decidedly cool. And the parties we had, could one ever forget them, When all went just right, not one thing to upset them? The fun that they caused is most hard to explain And I know I’d attempt that great subject in vain. But memories sweet of the joys we’ve had here, Will recall them again throughout many a year; Soon even this night, our own class-night, will be To each one of us here, a fond memory. Even now looking into the future to come, We foresee a fair day when we all shall come home; And changed though we be, our reunion shall prove We’ve not changed toward old Central, her memory we’ll love. —Kathryn Abbott, 1911. Marguerite: “But where is the prophecy? Aren’t we to know our future?” Philip: “An hour ago ’twas nine, and in one hour more ’twill be eleven. We haven’t time.” Grant: “Deliver me from prophecying one hundred and—fates—my own is bad enough.” Marcia: “I’d rather die young and spare the class the agony.” Marie: “Let’s have the Glee Club Seniors warble us off in lots!” All: “Good idea. Splendid.” (Enthusiastic calls for the Glee Club, who come up and sing the prophecy.) flroptjecp jfeong To the tune: “Kelley’: Now your future you would know, You would know, you would know; What you'll do, and where you’ll go, Oh, oh, where? We can’t tell you very much But what we do let it be such That you may take warning Of ills that are swarming, Of every plot-----beware 1 Oh girls, you’ll many conquests make, Conquests make, conquests make; Many are the hearts you’ll break, Oh, oh, Sir! Gone to Kingdom Come.” Where e’er you go, what e’er you do Mark these words we tell to you: Do not forget The lone suffragette, No wedding bells for her! The boys will deal in stock and bond, Stock and bond, stock and bond; Of whirling tape they’ll soon be fond; Ooh, ooh, ooh! Of prices you must be discreet, For from the lair of great Wall Street Come the bulls and the bears Which you meet on the stairs; Look out! or they’ll get you! 28 —