Central High School - Centralian Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

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to be a very good prophet. The class decided to bestow upon Mr. Brush their worthy patronage, and he has turned out some very creditable pictures, considering the subjects with which he had to work. Graduation is now at hand and soon “Old Central’’ will be replaced by a new, modern structure. May the future students have as pleasant experiences in the new school as we have had in the old, and may there be in the “New Central” an “A” Room and an “Uncle Mac.” ETHEL HOSKINS. SB Secretary’s Report Ever since our organization in September, this January class has given evidence of marked capabilities. It was for this reason that Prof. Greer allowed our class (the first January class to receive the privilege) to have half of the Annual. Various committees have been appointed, and it is needless to say that they have performed their duties to the minutest details. After due deliberation, the class decided to give Mr. Brush the order for the class pictures. Then came the all-important question of “caps and gowns,” which was debated upon continuously for two days and finally decided in the negative. The class entertainment has been given and, like everything else that the class has done, with the greatest success: a success which the June class may justly share. We have yet to choose our memorial, and in a few more days we will “go forth into the world as have our predecessors.” AGATHA TUTTLE, Secretary. Treasurer’s Report Starting out with a very successful dance in our Junior year, which left a substantial sum in the treasury, the class has experienced great financial prosperity. The proceeds from the recent entertainment will be shared by the two classes and will be used for a memorial to be placed in the new school. WEBB LASLEY, Treasurer. 29

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Class History IN January, 1909, we entered “G” Room as High School students (we didn’t like to be called Freshmen). That first day, how disappointed we were to be dismissed at ten o’clock. Although we were scorned by the upper classmen, treated like hot-house plants by our teachers, and although we wore out many a coat carrying books to and from school, we did not mind, for we were rewarded each month with a card blooming with double-plusses. Fifteen minute periods were usually spent in thoughtful preparation for our next classes, once in a while relieved by the announcement of some dignified Senior or indifferent Junior. Sometimes we were so wicked as to whisper in a vacant period, but after a motherly talk from Mrs. Allard we never repeated the misdemeanor. Although we were not prominent in debate or athletics during this year, we were quietly preparing for the wonderful ability in these directions which was to be exhibited later. All responsibility that we were deprived of as Freshmen was heaped upon us when we became Sophomores. We made out our own programs, marked the attendance and learned our lessons well, so that it seemed that marking the cards was all that the teachers had to do, and we would gladly have done that for them. A music committee was appointed which supplied us with weekly entertainment at the fifteen minute period. Either gratitude or pity for the modest orators who came to make announcements led us to applaud their efforts, thus breaking the command of our room principal. Even his own oratorical attempts were drowned in wild expressions of appreciation. We seemed to recover our lost dignity as we passed down the stairs to “B” Room, for then we became Juniors. The Junior year more than any other brings out the capability of a class for organization and progression. In this direction our class showed marked ability. Towards the last of the year we elected class officers with little electioneering. The result was: Clifford Rugg, president; Helen Jordan, vice-president; Harriet Berry, secretary; James Barrett, treasurer. Some of the acceptance speeches will be remembered, especially our treasurer’s two-minute address. Our class meetings were interesting if you were lucky enough to have a front seat to hear the modest remarks of our president. Class pins next occupied our attention and the unique pin chosen seems to have set an example for the other classes. The ingenuity and talent of the class was demonstrated in the most interesting Christmas entertainment ever given by a single class. How can any one forget Mr. Richardson as Buster Brown? The last of the year was blighted by the departure of Mr. Richardson and as an expression of our respect for him he was presented with a remembrance to carry with him in the business world. We had always had hopes of attending the new High School during the Senior year, but they were not realized. When we returned to the old building in September, we found some improvements,—an enlarged campus and the “Central High Annex,” a most imposing structure. Not until our second term as Seniors did we reach “A” Room. Re-election came first, with much electioneering. James Barrett was promoted from treasurer to president, Jessie Smith was elected vice-president, Agatha Tuttle, secretary, and Webb Lasley, treasurer. Then came the football season, and the class certainly showed their athletic prowess by the number of their men on the team. Occasionally at the fifteen-minute periods, Mr. McWhorter would give his opinion as to the outcome of the season’s games, proving 1913 I 28

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Prophecy of the Class of January 1913 MY children, listen to the words of the Mighty Mogul. I have returned from a journey to the underworld. I went down into that abyss of darkness and have returned, a mighty prophet. When once I looked upon the years, now I look upon the ages; when once I looked upon the hills, now I behold the vastness of the universe; when once I looked upon you, my companions, delighting in idle foolishness, now I look upon your destinies. Let me state to you my experiences. I dreamed that I was walking in a forest, when whom should I meet but my old friend Virgil, that grand old poet of antiquity! Do you know, I had always had it ‘‘doped out” what I’d do to that man if I ever caught him alone, for all the hours he made me toil over his blankety-blank blank verse. Well, I changed my mind; if I’d kicked him, with those dreamy, vague, Roman-style clothes on, I should have been held for murder. I spoke to him instead and he returned the compliment, speaking in Latin something that sounded like, “Carthage must be destroyed.” Finally he pointed in the other direction, and when I remembered that Virgil had taken Dante and somebody else down into the underworld, I came to the conclusion that I was being politely requested to “go to hell.” I asked him about getting back over the Styx, but I said wood-pile or lumber-yard; it was crude, but Virgil laughed and said, “I get you. Stephen.” I saw a lot of familiar faces down there, but we hurried along to the Elysian Fields. I asked Virgil if he had many friends down there. “Well,” he said, “strange as it may seem, I am not very well liked. I have only one friend in all this host; that is Saint MacWhorter. Do you know him?” What a foolish question to ask me! However, I said in a sort of blase way: “I have a faint recollection of the man.” Then I kicked myself, for I heard a deep gurgle, let us call it a gutteral roar: “Get to your fifth hour classes.” Did I jump? Wow! Yes, it was Uncle Mac. Finally we came to the river Lethe, where the souls of future heroes were soaking, in preparation for the life on earth. And the first shade I saw was that of Harold: probably because his name begins with “A. Harold was a dentist or a lawyer, Virgil said that it made no difference, as they both pull you for something. Then I saw what I would term a whole “gang” of shades. They were talking volubly, while playing on a tennis court, getting off some remarkable varieties of ping-pong. “Who is this rough bunch of suffragettes?” I asked Virgil. “These are some of your old classmates, he said. I groaned heavily. “They will play tennis till they are at least seventy. See yonder Ethel Hoskins, Vivian Groves, Dorothy Brooksby, Florence Broker and Marie Barrett. Then I saw three serious persons in earnest consultation. “Who are they?” Virgil answered, “That is the third triumvirate, Messrs. Deane, Ecton and Butts. They will all become rich some day, by cornering the walnut market.” This made me think of something and I asked, “Is not Webb Lasley to be a rich man? I never saw any of my money after he got it.” “Do you see that bald-headed man over there. and he pointed, “he is wearing a wig; that is Lasley. the salt king.” I heard quite a noise over to one side, and turning, saw Farmer Douglas at a baby grand piano, pounding out, The green grass grew all around.” Baker was assisting vocally and evidently trying to do the whole thing himself: and it was rare harmony. 1913 30