East Huntingdon High School - Mirror Yearbook (Alverton, PA)

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some of the Juniors took part in debate, which was something like the arguments your mother and father have every morning. The fourth year was the busiest of their whole period of training. They had to publish a book called 'The Mirror,' besides taking part in athletics, class plays, operettas, and the like. They became more proficient in all these activities, constantly Winning new laurels for themselves. Finally, on May twenty-third, 1930, they received their diplomas symbolizing the fact that they had at last reached knighthood-that after four years of hard work they had become real knights of learning. Aunt Sophie leaned back in her chair, thinking of those far off, happy days when she, too, had been a high school student. Tell us what happened after they became knights, the chil- dren eagerly cried as the story had greatly aroused their interest. But Aunt Sophie looked at the clock and kindly but firmly said, Not tonight, children, for it is bedtime. Perhaps I shall some other time if you Wish. She kissed them all goodnight and they reluctantly climbed the stairs to bed. Joe Myers CLASS SONG We're the class of 1930, And our aim is living right, We cast OH all the unworthy For what doth become a knight. After all our fights and failures We have Won a victory at last- VVe now reap joys and pleasure In bounteous measuresg All hail to the blue and white! Music by William Medsgar Words by James Frey

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CLASS HISTORY It was a cold wintry evening in December 1980. Mother and father had gone out, leaving the children in charge of Aunt Sophie. They had amused themselves in various ways, but now were sitting around their aunt. Aunt Sophie, tell us a story, Mary Lou begged as she af- fectionately placed her arm on the kind old lady's shoulder. The aunt put away her embroidery and regarded the chil- dren with amusement. What shall it be, 'Red Riding Hood'? Oh, no, was the instant response. Tell us one about knights-a story that really happened. The old lady thoughtfully surveyed the eager faces and then began: A long, long time ago, in September 1926, seventy small boys and girls slowly found their way to Alverton where East Huntingdon High School is situated. They were about to start their training to become knights of learning. When they reached the school, the boys and girls who had already spent sometime there began to make the newcomers' lives miserable. The new students were called 'Greenies' and 'Fresh- ies.' The boys were even forced to run a gauntlet formed by the older students. However as they bore themselves bravely through these trials, they were finally allowed to go their ways unmo- lested. During this first year they were only pages. They did not have much to do outside their studies, although some entered sports. In those days they played football, basketball and en- gaged in tests of strength and speed called track meets. The second year in training they were known as Sopho- mores, or squiresf' What's a squire? interrupted Junior. Aunt Sophie regarded him with a hurt look in her soft blue eyes. Junior now looked so genuinely sorry that his aunt kindly told him he was forgiven. As I was saying, she went on, they were now known as squires. This year again they entered sports. They also joined singing societies known as glee clubs. These clubs gave a musical show called an operetta in which the squires were allowed to take part in the singing and dancing. They began to enjoy themselves more and more as they entered various of these activities. The third year Qthey were now known as Juniorsl they had to further satisfactorily prove that they had the necessary qualifi- cations of knights. On December eleventh of that year they achieved the greatest success they had had so far when they pre- sented the play 'The Whole Town's Talkingf Later in the year

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CLASS PROPI-IECY Los Callas, January 4, 1940. My Dear Classmate: After spending some seven or eight years in traveling I find myself in this hor- rible city on the island of Nogrub in the Pacific. Here I am homesick, almost penni- less, and a drug addict. I had a funny dream the other day and it made me think of you. I shall probably never see you again because I fear that I have not long to live. It is my desire that you should know the contents of this dream even though it be of no importance to you, so I am resorting to the only means that I have of telling you-by letter. Several days ago I, Samuel Hasken, was hungry, disgusted, and without a white friend in this large city. It was chilly, for this is the winter season. True, I haven't a white friend here, but I do have a friend. I mean my friend Mato Yam a Chinese opium-seller who lives in the dirty section of the city. Mato would welcome me any- time. His house was warm, he cooked his rice well. I decided to pay Mato a visit. On my Way to Yam's house I passed several of the wealthy American inhabit- ants of Los Callas. None of them even so much as looked at me. When I arrived before Mato's house I marvelled at the thought of my best friend being of a differ- ent race and dwelling in such a place as he did. The house was of Oriental design and one would never mistake it for anything other than what it was, the home of a k fl stone and red Chinaman. From where I stood on the crooked sidewalk of bro en ag brick I could almost touch the black tile roof where it protruded over the low, ele- gantly carved window frames. A twelve-inch strip of hardwood in which were cut, by hand, a thousand beautiful designs, was half hidden in the shadow of the eaves. How skillfully and patiently some industrious Chinaman must have labored to pro- duce that work of art. The front of the house was divided into squares by long strips of two-inch boards. Weather boarding ran diagonally in these squares. Mato's home was a true example of Chinese architecture, grotesque yet beautiful, dismal yet inviting, for therein dwelt a friend. Three loud raps made at measured intervals brought my friend to the door. He carried a small kettle of steaming rice in his right hand and greeted me with a, Hom Slam. The gentleman of the almond-eyed race asked no questions but imme- diately produced my chandoo and a quantity of opium. But I am without funds, I protested in vain, for after several minutes of ar- guing I was forced to accept the gift or lose the one and only friend I had in Los Callas. Reluctantly I entered a half-darkened room of silk walls. I did not like to ac- cept charity but Mato insisted. I lighted my chandoo and stretched myself on a black leather couch the draperies of which consisted of several hand-woven Chinese shawls of fiowery designs. Silence reigned, disturbed only now and then by the occa- sional tattoo of Mato's chopsticks on his rice bowl. Lazily the smoke rose from my pipe, stretching into ribbons till it almost reached the ceiling when it would make a sudden dive toward the fioor then reverse its course just as suddenly to be drawn, as if by human hands, through a small opening into the attic. The patches of light that I was able ot see through that opening revealed to me the cause of those strange antics of the smoke, for the patches of light were holes which provided a draft. For some minutes I amused myself by observing these antics. There followed a period of time of which I can recollect nothing. The next thing that I remember was when I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was standing on the main thoroughfare of what was evidently a large city. The names of several firms disclosed to me that that city was called Alverton. How much more pleasant it was than Los Callas! I felt like a child again. Why even the alleys that led from the main streets of Alverton were more beautiful than the parks of Los Callas. What a quiet town, I thought. But my thoughts were suddenly interrupted. Bang! That noise could have been made by a Colt .45, nothing else. It was fol- lowed by a deathly silence, then several reports rang out as from an automatic. The shooting was taking place several hundred feet away from me. Everybody was try- ing to see the fun. I seemed to have lost for the moment that most outstanding characteristic as the human race-curiosity. I made tracks in the opposite direction from the shooting. I soon stopped short in my flight, however, when I suddenly saw a large brick