Commerce High School - Commerce Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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JJrotfjerfjooti of tfje €mptp UuU I SAT in my old time playroom dreaming of bygone days. Among my playthings I found a dear old tattered tin soldier. One arm was out of the sleeve, but he still carried his gun. His nose was battered and his eyes had a look as dull as lead. He looked as if he would collapse. I took him in my hands, straightened cut the dents the best I could, repainted his face and eyes, and brushed his dusty coat. Then I looked admiringly at him “My dear playfellow, you look too good to stand here useless. Go out into the world and fight in its battle for fame. Just then a brightly lit coal fell out of the fireplace, and immediately things took on a brighter aspect. I seized the light and placed it in his gun which he held. Immediately a bright look came into his eyes and his lips curved into a smile. Bestir yourself now, my comrade, and put on a bold front.” “Shoulder your gun and go forth fearlessly.” The soldier stirred not from his place. “What, get you gone, you coward, you numskull! Think you I took such pains to renew you only to have my work in vain. Go forth and dare not return until you have performed some deed that will repay me and show your gratitude.” This so frightened the soldier that he tottered toward me a few steps. “Good,” I cried, “Try again, you will do better each time. Thus encouraged the poor fellow took a few steps more, each time more certain, until you could hardly tell him from a real live soldier. “A soldier need not talk much, only a few commands in a voice that is clear and to the point. Therefore I bid you speak! Speak! Left face! Shoulder arms! “That was splendid, you are learning rapidly,” I cried with joy. “Any time you are surrounded by difficulties, just use your voice of command and you will gain your end.” Now go, dear comrade and bring me good news of your success. But be careful not to let your light go cut. If it grows dim, cry, ‘Replenish, O Light,’ and the light will replenish, but if you let it go out you will again become nothing but a Tin Soldier.” Then I let Comrade out the front door into the street. He walked with a left, right, that made one feel preud of him. Along the street he strode looking straight ahead. “My, he looks like a General1 at least,” said some passerby. “Look how he holds up his head! He will surely make his way through the world.” Comrade, as he walked down the street, passed a blustering fellow who was abusing his little dog. “Halt! Right about face!” said Comrade’s commanding voice. The blustering fellow was so frightened he took to his heels as fast as he could run Next, Comrade met a man beating his horse. “Halt! Right about face! Shoulder arms!” cried he with such a commanding voice that the man stopped at once. But alas, poor Comrade was so heart and soul in his work, he forgot to watch his light. It had gone out. It was too late now to replenish it, for 116

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“Hi, Hi, shack a da ru, Shack, Shack, Shack, Shack, Shack a da ru, She bi, She by, She by Gal Bu, High School of Commerce, Rah, Rah, Ru” JOHN McTIGUE, 1911. 3n 3nk Bottle’s j oliloqup U H how glad I am that it’s Saturday. Maybe I can rest a while today and I think if anything on earth needs it, I certainly do. I wonder how I happened to be put in this big study room, anyway- It is always so quiet in here, and yet even when I yell as loud as I can no one seems to hear me, but maybe they are studying so hard that they can’t. Sometimes I see some of them looking up at a queer looking object upon the wall which makes a little noise every second. Something in it moves back and forth and so many of the children look at it, and so often, that I think it must be some fine decoration or basket-ball trophy. Every little while I hear a big noise that sounds like an ambulance or fire-engine gong, and a few minutes later I hear three or four of these noises and all the children in here jump up and hurry away, and others come in. They all look to be nice and pleasant but most of them that I have had anything to do with, are very rude and unkind to me, for they jab their sharp daggers, or whatever they call them, right into my sides. They hurt me so that I yell as hard and as loud as I can, but they go on jabbing me just the same and I feel awful. I wish I could jab them once and show them how nice it is, but I guess they don’t know any better, poor children. I pity them so because they have to carry so many books, and seem to study so hard; but I would rather be one of them any day than what I am,— a tired, old, black ink bottle. Sometimes the children take my nice cream colored hat and play with it. They always get it dirty, and sometimes they forget to put it on me again and then I catch a cold in my head. Sometimes they get our hats mixed and yesterday some one gave me a hat that belonged to a red ink bottle. Sometimes they tear up some of the white stuff that they write on, and shove it down my neck. It makes me feel awful choky and hoarse. Oh! I’m so tired and hungry that I can’t rest at all. I’m always so busy during the day and at night my sides ache so that I can’t sleep. I’m sure I’ll get appendicitis if vacation doesn’t come soon. Oh I wish that man would come and give me something to eat. I’ve been hungry ever since Wednesday and I only get one meal a week, but I get so much then that I am full up to my neck. If I could only yell louder I’d tell them when I’m hungry, but I can’t. Oh, here he comes with my dinner, so I guess I’ll quit talking and get busy the way the kids do in the study room ” emma APPLEBY 1912 115

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Comrade was beginning to feel faint. He soon fell to the ground a lifeless, shapeless, Tin Soldier on whom all looked with pity. How many people are like poor Comarde. They have, really, little good solid stuff in their composition, but even this might not be fatal to them if they only kept their light burning, the light of purpose and determination to win whatever they undertake. EDWARD TUMA, 1911 JCfje ;§ torj tfje € lb tone ZEolb ON a warm summer day about the middle of June, when the bees were buzzing and busily extracting the honey from the myriad colored flowers, and the crickets were chirruping and the very air seemed alive with The songs of the birds,—Tom sat alone. He was musing and gazing at the little patches of azure sky which showed between the leaves and branches of the trees, and trying to collect the unimaginative wits sufficiently to think up a plot, setting, characters, and so forth, for the story, which he was that day obliged to write. Tom felt romantic. Yes! that was just the word for it. And, though a senior at the High School with the business-like name, in other words the High School of Commerce, still, at this period of the year, he could not shake off this feeling. Languor and dreaminess simply overpowered him, and in consequence he was always having day dreams, or so his unsympathetic English teacher called them. So he sat, dreamily, wistfully gazing about him. He noticed a small, beautiful, many colored butterfly fluttering about and saw it alight on the huge, red rock in the northeast corner of the school yard, the object on which his eyes had been riveted for the last half hour. This particular stone had caused him to speculate with a great deal of awe about the wonderful, beautiful tales the stone could tell, and thus help him out of a bad predicament, if only some good fairy would give it the power of speech. Softly he stepped closer to the little creature, now poised so daintily on a small pinnacle of the old rock. As he gazed rapturously at this little queen-ruler of the air, suddenly she spread her glorious wings and for a minute appeared before him in all her magnificent splendor, then before he could say “Jack Robinson,” she was gone. Tom of course did not know why Miss Butterfly had taken “French” leave, but surmising that she had in all probability very good reasons for seeking other society than his own, he promptly stretched his tall, lanky form on the mammoth rock and proceeded to forget all about her and actually began to think. Thus he lay at rest, and yet not at rest, for although he was physically at 117