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

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Four years Within the Walls at Manual a dramatic and eventful four years - - - have induced the June ' 38 senior class to edit the following pages, marking the most pleasant years of our lives. JIMMIE ANGELOPOLOUS Editor-in-chief RUTH MORGAN Assistant Editor WILLIAM PATTERSON Business Manager

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If A Nil A Id 1938 SENIOR BOOSTER Published by 1938 SENIOR CLASS Emmerich Manual Training High School Indianapolis, Ind.

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FAREWELL TO MANUAL Fair Manual, my boyhood school, Where learned I math and grammar rule; For four long years I ' ve heard your sounds That go with schools the world around. The clang of lockers, the tread of feet, As pupils from the class retreat; The echoing band and glee club clear, The lunchroom and student cheer; The parents ' pride on Open Day , When first they view their child ' s display, And hear the prof as he relates Their offspring ' s fine and virtuous traits. With all these echoes that I ' ve heard Go many pleasures you ' ve conferred; The happy friendships I have made, Which, through the years, can never fade; Those times I thought myself in love, And how in class my thoughts would rove, Until from out my reverie The prof, amused, would startle me ; The sports events I would attend In company with all my friends ; How we would cheer the home-team on Until our speech was all but gone, How when On team the band would surge We ' d thrill with patriotic urge ; Then lastly disappointment ' s fill Which made the joys seem better still. For many years, school I know, You ' ve seen the pupils come and go; Some have acquired a noted name, While others live unknown to fame ; But all, with memories sweet, recall The days when they did walk your hall. And now I too must leave your door, Oh that I could return once more ; Oft have I wished to leave behind The toil of class and homework grind, Have often mocked with hidden smirk The profs, severe, who made me work; Yet, looking back, the profs were right, And hated class seems pure delight; W T e value little the best we get, Until we are deprived of it. You ' ve taught me much, school of mine, Of manners, books, and culture fine; But though this learning dies away, These memories will ne ' er decay; Unstained they are by selfish aim, God grant they ' ll always be the same. — Boyd Collins.