Chicago State University - Emblem Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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CLAS HISTORY AS a preface, perhaps it would be well to lay the blame for the birth of this manuscript where it properly belongs. It was a dismal, dull, drearj- day (note the alliteration), when a member of the faculty (mentioning no names), on her way upstairs, glanced out upon the court of the school, and turning to a party of girls near her, said, Doesn ' t that view of the building make you think of a prison! Then with a laugh, And we, the faculty, are, I suppose, the jailers. Aha ! A few idle words, and behold the result. This merely goes to show that it is not always the students but sometimes tlie irreproachable faculty that are to blame. CHAPTER I. The trial was over— and we were declared guilty. We could not yet real- ize the truth. Our feelings seemed dulled, our brains in a mist. Could it be true? Were we really condemned ? The words the judge had ]ironounced were still ring- ing in our ears. Guilty! Guilty! Of the terrible frime of being cut out for a school teacher. Oh, awful fate! And the punishment, alas— two years at hard labor and (if we still exhibited the tendencies) a life sentence. CHAPTER II. Our first orders came one day in August. We were to appear before the ex- aminers who were to file our records. Here we were put under the third degree and compelled to answer such questions as the following: 1. VVTiy did your grandfather die ? 2. Has your brother had the measles? 3. How much older will you be two years from now ? Then our eyes, ears, and hearts were tested ; our measurements taken running and jumping; the squares of our bases, and our diagonals, times pi, calculated. On the eighth of September, 1908, we were bundled into patrol wagons, and were at last on our way to prison. We soon arrived at our destination. (Do you know, they say Sixty-ninth street cars stop at Stewart avenue from force of habit, without any effort on the part of the motorman?) We entered the stately halls of Normal Prison. Behind us lay Liberty (probably a position as a stenographer)— before us lay the terrible task of uplift- ing the young mind at sixty-five per. What a terrible future! To begin with, our cells were assigned us. As the newest jirisoners we were sent to the third floor so as to liave the most stairs to climb. Then a scliedule of our work was handed to us and we began to work out our punishment. We were sent to workshop 211, where Little IMathematics sat in a corner. Spouting big words galore. He idioscyncrasized most of our habits. And svllabused us bv the score.

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CLASS POEM The shadows soft are falling, The evening embers burn, I can see thee, dear old Normal, Happy memories now return. Thy stairway and thy pillars, Thy dome so clear I see, The goodly trees have now grown tall, And hid thy face trom me. I linger on thy portals, While morn is fresh and bright, And watch the maiden faces. As they trip the airy flight. Again I tread these marble stairs, WTiere merry footsteps fall, Again I hear thy faithful bell, To happy maidens call. Again I wind my happy way, Down through the lunch room door, And seat myself with girlish friends, As I have done before. They talk of clubs and college chums, Of baseball, gym, and math, And tell how in their practice work, One youngster used to laugh. Again I cross the Bridge of Sighs, And join the dancing Graces, Tripping lightly as I go, ' lid hosts of unknown faces. These happy faces everywhere. Are not the ones T know. The fairy footfalls ne ' er are ours, Nor murmuring whispers low. But ours were happy faces then, And cheery voices too. With hearts bound round by bands of Love, To thee fond Mater— true. So— when the twilight dreamy, Steals my soul from me, I float along the pleasant past. With happy thoughts of thee. Edna F. Carky

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But the adult mind is prone to overestimate and exaggerate, e found that bv rooting-out squares, and by standing every time our number was caled, we were able to make a cross-cut to Liberty without the use of similar triangles. Hey diddle diddle, the next was a riddle. King Cole in cell one hundred ' leveu, By administrating his patented fluid. Was sending poor earthworms to heaven. Our time here was pleasantly spent and we began to wonder if perhaps our punishment was to be lighter than we had expected. Our protoplasm was daily examined our temperature tested, and when we had become profieient m hang- ing keys on the proper hooks, we were passed on to the soulful science. Little Cy Kology, come blow your horn, As Gabriel blow, for these prisoners forlorn. Oh, blow it so loud, and blow it so deep. For it seems every prisoner has gone fast asleep. After peacefully resting amidst instinct and reasoning, we were marched ■ Little Miss Mutfet sat on a piano stool. But she didn ' t sit there very long. For we volleyed and thundered. Up in three hundred— But they say ' ' Even ' soul hath its song. Now, where are you going, my convict niaidT I am going to Art, she perspeetively said. Do you high-light designs, or weave atmosphere? We construct possibilities, nothing else though, I fear. One of the necessary characteristics which we were obliged to cultivate in order to obtain freedom, was agility. , , , Now Jack, be nimble, and Jack, be cute, In a minute and a half, hop into your suit. First polka like babies, then swing clubs like men. With a one, two, and three and a hop out a gain. Oh, yes, we developed an agility wHch would have put lightning change artists to shame. . , „ , t But hist ! Be still ! We approach the tragic side of our dreary lives- Oh where, oh where is the Iliad gone? With a heigh and a lo and a heigh nonney no. ' Tis gone, packed in memory ' s faithless storehouse. Ting-a-ling, sweet students love the spring. Special orders from headquarters, a new jailer suddenly entered our lives. What, was it possible? A new theoiy was now to be put in practice. It was thought that if we learned to move our arms in a different way, for example, ac- cordhig to the Patiner method, our dispositions might be changed. Well, the refonnation was badly needed in most cases. It was See saw, new jailer Dows (pronounced Daws) The convicts shall have a new master. Six sheets of foolscap we write every day. Oh, ' twas an awful disaster. Here we learned to make fancy curves, to hold the body straight, and to count— up to one. Our Secn)id Year of Imprisonment. , ■ .■ It is customarv to i ardon prisoners and release them before the expiration of their term, upon good behavior, but not so here. It was with somewhat forcM energv that we took u]-i our tools for our second year ' s term, but our hearts light- ened as we looked forward with the assurance that if we did everything that was