Cloverdale Union High School - Spectator Yearbook (Cloverdale, CA)

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kindly; he is speaking. “If I could only round up my old classmates and take them as characters for a story, my success would be assured. But I have neither seen nor heard of them for ten years.” The old gentleman was deep in thought. Finally he suggests—“Why not try the radio, broadcast some sentence that any of your classmates would know and also your address? I will gladly pay for this, as the opportunity of seeing such a group of people united after all these years is worth more than money.” The young man is overjoyed and very much excited; “I will send out the words, ' Class of ’22, C. H. S. Remember the O. V. L. and come to 185 Park Avenue, N. Y.’ I will disguise myself so that they will never know their old classmate.” Two weeks later we see the young man seated in a room, in the old gentle¬ man’s apartment; he has on a mask; a butler stands at the door. A knock is heard; the butler opens the door and in steps, or rather, in sweeps one of the most beautiful women ever seen in the history of the world. But alas! the mark of vanity and greed is seen on her proud face. The butler announces Madame Galli Schuman, the famous prima donna. The young man starts; surely he is not seeing right, for here before him stands his classmate, Bernice Haehl. He begs her to be seated. All those who enter are asked to keep strict silence and speak with no one. The young man is overjoyed; his scheme is surely working. A second knock is heard and the door is again opened; a strange pair enters—a tall man and a large, portly woman,—and the butler announces—Dr. C. Holland Barker and Miss K. Smith, head of the Smith hospital for little children. Dr. Barker is the head physician of the institution. The man in the mask is nearly over¬ come. Here is his old pal, a physician, and the other classmate, a nurse! Ye gods! What strange things happen in life. From then on, the people come in quick succession. Judge Frates, fol¬ lowed by Mary DeLaney, who was Mary Boody, and is now a famous actress. Then Vina McGahan, the city manager of San Francisco, and her friend Freda Hibberd, a prison reformer. Mary Louise enters. No need to ask her fate she is the happy wife of B. Warren, who is a garage man on Auto Row, Clover- dale. The next is Eulah Adcock, who is now a poet; then Isabelle Tile, as quiet as of old, yet a famous designer of frivolous fashions. Only two of the old class are now missing. After a few minutes, in which all the people present are keeping a strained silence, the door agains opens and Arcada Williams appears, bringing with her two Great Danes which she had brought from Europe for her kennels. When these are all seated the young man rises, and speaks in a voice choked with emotion: “Hello, gang, for the love of Mike, break over and let’s have a real reunion!” with that he whips off his mask and we see Tod, the only unsuccessful one of the group. Everyone starts to talk at once. The girls all cry and even the hardened prima donna is now the jolly schoolgirl she used to be. The men have turned to boys again, and are crazy with joy at seeing each other. Old quarrels are forgotten and some formerly unsuccessful love affairs begin again. From all appearances the Judge and the prima donna are quite content to let bygones be bygones and sail on the matrimonial ship together. Barker and Tod look at each other and grin; long years ago they said Frates would be the first to marry. As yet these two are bachelors.

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(Hass Jp r 0 P c ? itjroke again,” the man muttered to himself as he walked along Broadway, JD life of an author was ever thus.” It was New York City, in the winter of 1937; fifteen years ago this man had been a proud Senior in a little high school in California; today he was nothing. See how keenly he glances at the passersby, as if trying to read their thoughts; suddenly he stops, a smile lights up his face, he plunges his hand into his pocket but withdraws it empty. The smile vanishes; plainly, this man is in need of funds. An old g entleman who has been watching him for some time, approaches. “My friend,” he says, “if I am a judge of appearances and also of the various emotions registered in the human face, you are in need of money to carry out an idea suddenly come to mind.” “Correct!” the ragged individual replied; “with a few hundred dollars, I could make a fortune, and, most of all, become the man I used to be.” The old gentleman brings forth his pocketbook, but after a moment he says, “No, my boy, you need food and clothing at the present time, more than you need the money. Come with me and we will talk more of your idea.” They enter a taxi and drive off. The next time we see the pair, they are in the apartment of the elderly man but what a change has been wrought in the appearance of his protege! His face, though not handsome and though stamped with the mark of some past sorrow, is

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But what of the Old Man? Tod rushes into the other part of the house and brings him in. Who do you think he is? Mr. Peters!! So we have the old class of ’22, and their professor, brought together after fifteen years. As yet we do not know whether Tod has made a success of his story or not. What is your opinion, dear reader? Class Will W e, the Senior class of ? 22, do hereby will and bequeath the following to our various understudies: I, F. J. Frates, do will and bequeath to Merlyn Pearce, my set of four volumes, compiled with much experience, on “How to Retain Women” in fond hopes that he will use them with discretion. Also to Mike Koskela my fame on the athletic field. I, Eulah Adcock, do leave to the Sophomore class my supply of chewing- gum, to be found under various desks. This gum is not worn very much and should last a year at least. Also to Mary Bassetti my attitude in the chemistry class. I, Vina McGahan, will to Bill McChesney my aptitude, inclination and desire for study, on condition that he keep it in good repair by constant use. I, Roy Tod, do will and bequeath unto Ralph Finney my soft, well modu¬ lated voice. May it never weaken. To Harold Hiatt I leave my ability to argue in any subject whatever, but I warn him never to use that art in order to cover up a badly prepared lesson. I, Mary Moody, leave to Ethel Smalley my love of English, hoping she will use it to the best advantage. To Betty Bentley, my loving personality. I, Isabelle Lile, do bequeath to Jane Kleiser my ability to exercise my lungs in recitations. To Irnita McPhail I leave my vampish inclinations. I, Bernice Haehl, leave to Alice Grace Yordi my stateliness and dignity, in view of her admiration for said accomplishments. To Pauline Domine, my renowned title “Beautiful.” I, Kathleen Smith, will to Marion Simonson my disappearing eyes and the art of using them, so that he will be able to vamp a Freshman girl. I, Clififord Barker, will and bequeath to Forrest McAbee my reputation of sterling quality, with the fond desire that he keep it as stainless as it is remitted to him. To Elbert Gibbins, my chemistry apparatus, realizing that he, as I, will steadily increase it at the expense of the other students. I, Arcada Williams, do hereby will to Gladys Reed all rights and reserva¬ tions over a certain Freshman boy, for whom she is suspected to have a weak¬ ness. Also to Aldice Saunders my position on the staff of the Spectator. I, Freda Hibberd, leave to Bernice Grant my love of ranching and with that my extensive vocabulary, knowing she will need it in the naming of various cows, pigs, chickens, hi everything. I, Marie Louise Weidersheim, will to Norma Mazzini my “bob,” which I have trained so diligently. To “Doc” Sutton, the art of being at all times in sympathy with the teachers.