Coquille High School - Laurel Yearbook (Coquille, OR)

Page 19 text:

LMI'kJjshil I, Flossie Radabaugh, will to Frances Kistner three of my best curls, including the “Merry Widow,” which grows down the middle of my forehead, provided she never rats or abuses them in any way. I, Helen SherWood, leave to Adrienne Hazard, my art of casting coquettish glances. I, Eunice Perkins, will to Wilda Clark my ability to trip the light fantastic. I, Rosanna Schroeder, will to Leland McGilvery my extreme bashfulness in public. I, Veva Varney, bequeath to Audrey Fraedrick my ability to ask intelligent questions and appear brilliant when I have not studied and do not know my lesson. I, Viola Knife, will to Gertrude Bogard, my power to attract precious jewels—especially diamonds. I, Mary Bennett, leave to Harriet Gould my radical views on “Woman Suffrage.” I, Myrtle Newton, will to Jennie Price my musical talent, which ranks second only to Paderewski. I, Dorothy Newton, bequeath to Polly Moon my extremely cool and collected manner on all occasions. I, Lowell Simpson, will to Lorin Schroeder my power to blush and act innocent just at the right time. I, Bessie Finley, bequeath to Ellen Baker my ability to vamp in the dark. We, the Senior Class of ’21, request that this, our last Will and Testament, be faithfully executed by our executors in every detail. We, in witness hereof, do hereby set our hand and seal on this 30th day of April in the year of our Lord, One thousand nine hundred and twenty-one. Signed and witnessed by: Ima Joker. I. B. Witty.

Page 18 text:

SENIOR CLASS WILL We, the august Seniors of Coquille High School, feeling that the time is drawing near when we must leave the haunts of youth and the paths of our childhood, and wishing to show no partiality in the disposing of our worldly possessions, do hereby make and declare this our last will and testament. To the faculty we leave the sincere wish that they may sometime in the dim and distant future have the honor of teaching another class of students as brilliant as ourselves. To the Juniors we bequeath the privilege of occupying the ancient and honored row of seats near the windows, provided they follow closely in our footsteps, which already echo in the distant corridors of time. To the Sophomore we leave our dignity and hope they will use it on all state occasions as we, before them, have done. To the Freshmen we can leave only our heartfelt sympathy for their hard lot. To Janitor Johnson we leave our sincere thanks for the faithful and uncomplaining service he has rendered us in these revered halls. I, Almond Martin, will to Mr. Baker my last bottle of hair restorer, hoping he may profit thereby. I, Gertrude Butler, do bequeath to Flossie Knight the interest I once had in the Freshman row. I, Wayne Woodward, do bequeath to Fred Lafferty the four wads of gum, which he will find plastered underneath my desk in the Library, hoping he may derive as much pleasure from them as I, before him, have done. I, Dorothy Bean, will to John Holman, Smith’s latest essay entitled “How to Grow Tall.” I, Alice Barker, bequeath to Nellie Morgan my rats and ear muffs, since I feel that my time of vanity is past.

Page 20 text:

I SENIOR PROPHECY “No, it can’t possibly be the Almond Martin of our High School days.” The speaker was Gertrude Butler, who owned an exclusive shop in New York, and was a famous designer of French gowns. I had gone there shopping and upon asking to see the head of the shop I was greatly surprised to find my old school mate. “Well, here it is. Read for yourself,” I said, handing her the paper. She read aloud: “Greatest invention of the Age! Almond Martin! inventor! has just completed the construction of an airship in which he intends to sail for the planet Mars. Instead of gasoline it utilizes electricity from the positive and negative ions of the atmosphere. Mr. Martin, it is said, believes that he has distant relatives residing on that planet.” “Well of all things,” she exclaimed, “that boy always did have queer ideas. What do you suppose has become of all the rest of our old classmates?” “Why,” I said, “you surely have seen Veva Varney’s picture in the society columns of the Coquille Sentinel. Poor thing, her husband was a Coco Cola fiend and soon after their marriage died from excessive use of the strong drink.” “Oh, how depressing. Don’t you think a show would revive our spirits?” We acted upon the suggestion and started over town. Just as we stepped off the street car a huge poster caught my eye. It read: “The awe-inspiring and tear-provoking Flossie Radabaugh in ‘The Murderer of Death Valley.’ ” “Look, Gertrude, let’s go here,” I said. “I read her ‘Beauty Chats’ every Sunday in the Times.” We went up to the window but as there was a full house we went on, hoping to find another near. It began to get late, so more for curiosity’s sake than