Emmerich Manual High School - Ivian Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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Class Play THE January ' 04 ' s have always ranked among the first in original ideas and the class play written by Ethel Snlz and Will Kappes was no exception to the rule. The slage repre- sented a temple of Apollo. Pythia and her attendant priestesses were dressed in the white flowing robes of ancient Greece. The attendants marched solemnly and silently before Pythia and finally deposited a floral offering before Apollo. To the Muse, seeking advice, came representatives from each phase of school life and lasT: but not least, Mr. Emmerich. Senior (in cap and gown) — O Prophetess inspired by Phoebus ' potent will, To augur well what fate and time fulfill, A Senior bold, I stand before thy shrine And ask that thou my destiny divine. Pythia — O Senior, thou who dares to ask thy fate, To thee Apollo ' s will I now relate : — Through four short years thou ' st struggled o ' er the road Which starts the youth toward Wisdom ' s fair abode, And for your guidance that you may succeed M. T. H. S. supplies your need. Manhood, Truth, and Honor, Sincerity: the path of light will to you show As onward to the goal you go. Go now and make an early start While faith and high ambition rule thy heart. Z. Z. Z. — O oracle great I come to thee, ain ' t it ? To find all about the future, don ' t it ? I ' ve come across the great blue sea With a Taggart ' s lunch for company, From a great big High School in the west Which people all declare the best. M. T. H. S. is the school as you guess, From this red and white, you ' d know no less. Now tell me the fates, already yet fl p y £Qp The jolly three Z ' s are likely to get. Pythia — Dear little Dutch girl, jolly and good, I ' d tell your future at once if I could. At Taggart ' s lunch I am greatly surprised — Dutch girls are good cooks as I ' ve been advised. Something tells me no future you ' ll have at all ; IndigesTdon, in youth, will pay you a call If you don ' t immediately learn to prepare, Dishes well cooked and that taste pretty fair. Oski Wow — I ' m a chieftain, great and mighty Chieftain of a mighty nation Of the great and strong Oski Wows, From across the big sea waters In my small canoe of birch bark I have come, O great Apollo, Com e to learn the future of my mighty tribesmen. Pythia — Listen, O thou noble chieftain, Take unto thy mighty tribesmen This the message of Apollo. Soon will come into your nation, To your great and mighty nation, One day when they all will scatter Unto all the winds of heaven. Many farewells will be spoken, Very sad will be the parting, But where e ' er your tribesmen wander And what e ' er their occupation Indian grit will force them onward.

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O Music, child immortal , Born of boundless sympathy Behold me at the portal Of thy mystery. Behold and do not leave me, For lo, you then would grieve me ; O Music ne ' er deceive me With decay. Thy soft sweet sounds relieve me, And thy melodies, believe me, Drive soul-depressing thoughts Along their way. So, Music, take thy golden harp And gently play. Ha, the wond ' rous harp is lifted, And ah, there come to me Rare sounds like sunshine sifted Thro ' a leafy tree, Where steals across the vibrant strings, In clear-voiced melody, A whispering of the higher things, A joyous ecstacy. Hark ! the melody is ending Forth in clearer notes is sending Gracious notes forever blending With delight. Beauteous notes forever tending To God ' s height. Ha ! again the harp is lifted, Ah ! again there comes to me Mournful sounds like thunder rumbled O ' er a desert lea, Where emanates from throbbing strings, In deep-voiced harmony, A feeling of profounder things, A painful ecstacy. A steady waning of a solemn sound And a note that dies Where broken lies The string unwept in silence vast, profound.

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Ran-Chero — I ' m just an ordinary cow puncher, come from the Ran-Chero outfit. We heard tell of a Mr. Apollo over here in Delphia who dealt out prophecies through his stenographer. So the outfit delegated me to strike for Delphia and hit the stenographer for a bit of futurity. Now, miss, I hain ' t got the slightest intention of paintin ' your town red or any other color, that not bei n ' my kind, but I ' d thank you for a bit of enlightenment. Pythia — Listen, cowboy from the ranges Close to Mother Nature bred, Ease thy mind, thy future happy. Can ought else be done or said ? Say unto your trusty outfit These words from Apollo ' s fame, Always stand upon your honor, Sacrifice it not for gain. Colonial Maid — O Pythia, before you see A Colonial Maiden on bended knee, Sent by my sisters to ask of you The fates for us you have in view. Pythia — Arise, sweet maid ! Great will be the fame That comes to those who bear the name Of your sorority. To you and to all other Frats I say Let all your mottoes be what e ' er they may With one exception, — Society. Society — that giddy whirl of pleasure Helps not the High School boy or girl To reach the end, they all intend. Enough ! Quaint Maid ! If with your increased numbers You strive with all your hearts, Upon the great stage of the world You ' ll nobly play your parts. Mr. Emmerich — Most mighty prophetess, I have come here mainly as the escort of this band of pupils from my school and also to ask the future of that institution. The classes at graduation have always left their pictures and a gift. The increasing size of the classes has an attendant difficulty. What shall I do with all these gifts? I cannot put them in my vest pocket. Pythia — Thou ruler of two thousand lives, To my advice give heed. And this an ancient maxim You ' ll find will suit your need. Oh ! never trouble trouble Till trouble troubles you. And then you keep the upper hand And that ' s the way to do. Among the High Schools in your land M. T. H. S. the firs! shall stand. And by whose effort ? Yours indeed Has placed your High School in the lead. By command of Phoebus, a god divine, Draw near and receive thou this sign Of his approval. With this band ' Of laurel, I now crown thee Chief of all teachers in your land. WILL KAPPES AND ETHEL STILZ