Charlotte High School - Delphian Yearbook (Charlotte, MI)

Page 13 text:

DELPHIAN ' 01 ZI Class Prophecy By Marie Merrick The dreary twilight was drawing to a close and the shad- ows of night were lengthening in the room, transforming familiar objects into grotesque goblins. I sat by the dying firelight dreamily musing on the past and probable future of the greatest Juniors, the Class of 1902, when, suddenly on the side of the fireplace, loomed a tall figure clad in a flowing robe of pale gray, and, on his brow in shining characters, I read, 191 2. As I gazed, -speechless, the apparition glided toward the window, beckoning me to follow, which I did with- out the slightest hesitation. We passed through the window and found ourselves in the National Capitol, standing in front of the White House. A light shone from the window of the President ' s private library, so, omitting the formality of knock- ing, we entered through the window and I recognized in the great man, the sole occupant of the room, my former class- mate, Fred Morey, who began his presidential career in the High School. Almost instantly the room faded and we were standing in the Legislative Hall of a far western State just as the Gov- ernor arose to speak, and I saw the face and heard the well- remembered voice of Don Carr. The next room we entered was the dining-room in the Governor ' s mansion. The table was set for two, and I glanced expectantly at the door when it opened to admit the Governor with his wife, whom he playfully addressed as Pat. Another swift transition and we stood in the Laboratory of a large High School, where we found Vern Cooper unrav- eling the mysteries of Heat and Light to the rising gen- eration. Upstairs in the same building we came upon Ruby Vick- ery, busy with her history class.

Page 12 text:

DELPHIAN ' o I Class of 1902 By Roy McAlpine Long years have passed And generations come and gone, In perfect time To the marching of the mighty throng Has civilization e ' er pressed onward. At times it stopped; But, like the gath ' ring tidal wave, The pathway clear, It rushed again, with front so brave, And added impetus far upward. And as the spray Dashed high above the seething deep. It lifted some. Till they could catch the straw of fame. And climb to immortality. But stronger waves Placed others on an equal plane. Or lifted them. Till they surpassed the former aim. Exalting all humanity. But even with The highest mark of former time. And rolling up, Another comes to pass the line, Our class, the Class of 1902. .

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12 DELPHIAN ' o I Our next visit was to a white, vine-wreathed cottage in the suburbs of New York. At the open window sat Maud Griffin eagerly awaiting the coming of the Joy of her life. Passing on, there loomed up before us the gray, forbidding stone walls of a convent, through which, however, I presently found myself passing with perfect ease, to where a nun knelt alone by the chancel rail ; and when she raised her head we saw the pale, spiritual face of Etta Berger. We continued our travels from here to an imposing church edifice just as the evening service was over. The great doors swung open and the people came out in little groups, talking over the wonderful sermon to which they had just listened, and looking inside we saw, descending from the pulpit, the Reverend Don Collins. The next moment we were standing in a little clearing in the wilderness of Central Africa, where, in front of a small stone mission, sat Hazel Robinson, surrounded by a crowd of little black children, listening open-mouthed to the words of wisdom that fell like priceless pearls from her lips. Again the scene changed and we found ourselves in a brilliantly lighted ballroom. The guests of honor, I learned, were a noted French count and his American wife, who proved to be none other than our friend, Mable Casler, but the acknowledged belle of the evening was the beautiful debutante, Jessie Krebs. In an elegantly appointed gymnasium on Broadway we found Roy McAlpine, about to enter the ring with a famous French lightweight. We hurriedly withdrew from the scene of combat to the deck of a United States war vessel anchored in the Bay of Manila. The white-clad sailors stood deferentially in the back- ground while their Commander impatiently paced the deck. A moment later there was a sound of oars alongside and another man in immaculate white ducks sprang over the rail,