Chicago State University - Emblem Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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The prison authorities, of course, desired beautiful premises, but desired these at the expense of those prisoners who proposed to be Nature Study Fak- irs. On sunshiny days, near-by residents were almost moved to tears at the sight of a long line of convicts, armed with shovels, moving in lock-step fashion, slowly, ah, so slowly (as Keeper Smith can well testify), down the avenue, to dig up Ye purple asters and ye golden rod, With which to deck the grassy sod. What a dark and grewsome mystery was held in the closet of Eoom 207 is only known by those who shook the venerable hand of Brother Jones— or was it Tomkins ! Some claimed that it was George Washing-ton at the age of twenty-five, but were argued against strongly by believers in Alexander the Great ' s bony pres- ence. Whosoever it may have been, we all learned how to do the Adoration ex- ercise before his shrine. From thence we passed into the realms of Little Nemo, not a slumber- land, though (oh, no!) but a place where one might learn to digest a meal without eating it. Then came the time for a change about of conditions. The convicts were called in from the stone yards, their faces all scarred and wiinkled from ex- posure to the weather, now to be confined within doors to take up tasks for their own betterment. The heretofore indoor laborers were now sent out to try their mettle in the yards. We all worked with might and main, for in twenty weeks we knew we would be released and left to paddle our own canoe, as it were. At length the glorious day of freedom arrived. We threw back our shoul- ders and sniffed in the fresh air, in advance. We walked forward, freed of all our irons, up to the prison turnkey, received our pardons, and burst forth from the prison walls. Disguised in a new suit, with our pardons in our hands, we tii - ' idlv re-entered the world and mingled with our fellow-mortals. Some of us regained our former manner and seemed of the world, but some of us, alas, to this day bear the prison taint, and will, to the end of time. The Prophecy A MASK portraying five distinctive types of girls characteristic of the Normal School— given on class day. A prologue in verse describing a scene on Mount Olympus wherein the Gods and Goddesses, representatives of the College Faculty, discuss the tj pes of girls most pleasing to them, introduces the presentation. First appear the scientific girls, surrounded by the signs and sjT nbols of their favorite pursuit. The athletic group follows : the tennis girls decked in their outing costumes, the sturdy basket ball girls, the nimble gymnasts and the graceful dancers. The jolly girls next rush on the scene in a tumult of joyous laughter and while away ' the passing moments with quips and cranks and wanton wiles. Gowned in rustling fabrics and dainty colors, the society girls wheel and courtesy in the stately dance, sip their tea nnd chatter the latest Parir? fash ions. With jubilant burst of song the Muses of Art, Music, and Poetry bring the series to a dramatic close. The Epilogue portrays the decision made by the Rulers of the Universe, that no one type is supreme, but a well-balanced variety is necessary to make a happy world.

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expected of us, and a little bit more, perhaps, -whicli is known here as social effi- ciency (a very elastic tenn), we would he released upon the following June. The monotony of our prison life, however, was somewhat relieved by the advent of a new sheriff upon the promotion of our former one. He was a pleas- ant-faced, good-natured individual, and we immediately dropped some of our re- sponsibilities, thinking to give him a view of, if not how much liberty we had had, at least, how much we would like to have. And did it work? Let this suffice: he knew what was good for us ! It was now, also, that we became divided. There was need for laborers in the stoneyards, of which this prison had three. They were called the Harri- son, Carter and Normal yards, and contained stones in varying c onditions. Not only was the stone to be broken by the laborers, but plans must also be made for the care of the stone, the bettering of existing conditions, suggestions for the development of a better grade and so forth. And here— here of all places, were our grinding tasks almost beyond belief. Unto each poor prodigal was allotted the work of breaking stones into various shapes. Some were blessed by being al- lowed to cut the hard-heads into lumps like Little Gypsy Dandelion or I ' m a Beautiful Red, l ed Drum on Mondays and Wednesdays, then on Tiiesdays, Thursdays and Fridays these self-same lum])s were to be slivere l into the causes of the French and Indian War, or Why did Napoleon cross the Rnbicon and not the Delaware? Other less well-faring inmates were appointed to powder smaller stones in- to the inevitable idols of School Gardens or What kind of a leaf does an oak tree have? Last, but not least, came the drill in stone cutting to the count of one— one- one— one— one— ready, break! Sixty cracks to a minute, with a curve of the body. It was not, however, merely the task of breaking the crusted earth ' s sur- face. Imagine if you can— an individual standing before a pile of rough stones, all sizes and grades; about the lower ankle is elapsed a ball, a ball of fear, dread and self-consciousness. In the right hand the convict holds a mallet. At a table not far distant sits the boss of the realms before you. At the sound of a gong, a deep, hollow, gruesome-sounding clang, the convict commences to knock. Slowly, oh, so quietly and ghost-like, the door opens, and the clanking of an officer ' s spurs are heard crossing the cold stoney floor of the yard. Almost as if by magic, enters the sheritT of the great ])rison, followed by the turnkey of the stone yard. Bear in mind, the knocking of the stone continues— until the bell announces quit- ting time. Then the convict limps to the table at which the grand conference is held. Here, he finds out, that the stones he has brok( n are all of the wrong size, the turnkey says that he swings his arm with too slack a force, the sheriff, that he does not hit in the right direction, that he does not stand properly, and what not and whatnot. Is it a wonder, friends, that you behold before you a class of al- most ex-convicts, from which the springy step of freedom has completely van- ished? While half of our nunilier were out working in the stone yard, the rest of us were still within the walls of the prison, jireparing for our future tussle with the stones. We studied the nature of stone, its development through every little stage, what men in bygone years thought of it, what they had done for it, and also the result of environment upon the grade of stone. Keeper IcManis held the iron lod over our heads, directing us in our labor. Ding dong liell ! Kittens and Miss AVells! It may not be iiistory but it surely was hers! From the ( aic of Small Cats we worked nut Immigration, Then the treatment of ])ovs and how we built our nation.

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CLASS SONG Perfume of flowers softly floats on the air, Voices of springtime sound everywhere, Earth, like glad youth, greets the future with song, Melody sweet and rare. Fair is the laud where we ' ve wandered so long. Joyous, exultant, light hearted throng ; Faint are the echoes that linger of laughter. Once ringing clear and strong. Vanished the hours that fled silent and fleetly, Hushed are the voices that caroled so sweetly; Smiles fade in tears as grief wells in each heart; With slow lingering foosteps, we sadly depart. Wide lies before us a land strange and new. Bathed in the morning ' s silvery dew, Mystic, alluring, shimmering strand Gleams in our wondering view. One fleeting glance bael o ' er youth ' s golden shore Where our dancing footsteps shall trip never more. One parting sigh for the joys that are sped. Dream-laden days of yore. Forth, then, to gather Life ' s thorn-hidden roses, Withering each flower its sad message discloses. Glad hours must pass as the rose fades away, And evening ' s soft dusk hides the sweet light of day. Tho we may part in the Misty Beyond, Tho we may long for scenes passing fond ; Cherished each word that was breathed in the past, Safe in Love ' s fadeless bond. Air— Kubiustein ' s Melody in F. Lenore a. Dolan. J