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Page 15 text:
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1920 ECHO 11 FOUR SHORT YEARS By Helen Lydon N a warm day in autumn four years ago, your friends reluctantly and slowly en¬ tered the Everett High School. They met there a multitude of superior beings, known as Sophomores, Juniors, and Seniors, who assumed toward them an attitude of patient toleration and apparent amusement at their “greenness.” Each of the friends went his own way, suf¬ fering the trials that every Freshman undergoes, frequently becoming hope¬ lessly lost in the wilds of the corri¬ dors, until the space of nine months had elapsed. Then came a long, delightful inter¬ val of rest and recreation, after which the four friends returned, just as re¬ luctantly, but not as ignorantly, as before. This time they entered with assurance and familiarity, and, taking advantage of their increased in¬ telligence and experience, they im¬ pressed the poor newcomers to their midst with their importance by vari¬ ous means, passing before them in the filing lines, while the humble “Fresh- ies” stood hack in realization of their own inferiority. The year was largely one of earnest work and study, with¬ out much participation in social events, and when at last June arrived, each one felt grateful at the prospects of a long vacation. The following autumn they entered upon a new term with enthusiasm and interest. Their studies were relieved by enjoyable class meetings, delight¬ ful Glee Club entertainments, thrill¬ ing football games, a lively and inter¬ esting Prize Speaking Contest, and the added distinction of a Junior Prom. Thus the third year was quickly and enjoyably spent, and each one looked forward to the next autumn, in spite of the tribulations of the first year. The fourth year was one of mingled effort and. pleasure. The happy quar¬ tet enjoyed to the full their superior station as Seniors, working with an ambition to be a credit to the school which they had come to love, partici¬ pating in all the social activities, evincing an active interest in all the affairs of the school, until at last the year drew to a close. The four friends, one an aspirant to a college education, another an effi¬ cient stenographer and bookkeeper, the third a skilled technical worker, and the fourth a competent scientist of domestic arts, capable of making any man happy, anticipate with genuine regret the prospect of future separa¬ tion from Everett High, and fully be¬ lieve that— When the Future becomes the Present, And the Present becomes the Past, When School becomes but a memory, And we’re out of it at last, Then will the voices of Echoes Come crowding to our ears, Making us wish we were back again, Living over the years. IFE without labor is guilt,” says Ruskin. He expresses a great truth. He points out a philosophy of life. Did you ever think of what happens to the “leis¬ ure class” of nature? The idle limb weakens, withers, and drops off. The unused organ is the first point of attack by disease. Likewise the idlers are the cancers of society and in the process of its growth must be cast off. Some of us expect to get by on “pull,” or else we envy the person who can. The only “pull” that counts is the “pull” we pull ourselves. In life as in grammar the only proper use of “pull” is as a transitive verb and in the active
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Page 14 text:
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10 1920 ECHO can tell? In chemistry there is a law known as the Law of Mass Action. When two substances are taking part in a reaction the concentration or mass of the reaction substances determines which way the reaction will go. The world is a great vessel and a tre¬ mendous chemical reaction is taking place in it. The reacting substances are the ' forces of good and evil or, if you prefer, of construction and de¬ struction. The mass of good is made up of many individual atoms of good. The mass of evil is made up of millions of individual atoms of evil. On which side shall we take our stand? —Carl J. Wennerblad THE REALITY OF IDEALS HE prevailing opinion with many ' people is that, when a man is possessed of ideals, (or, as they say, obsessed by them) it is a sign of weak¬ ness. When they wish to say that a plan is impractical or impossible, they say that it is “idealistic.” When they mean that a person is a dreamer, they smile and remark, “He’s an idealist.” Altogether the terms “ideal” and “idealistic” have come to convey the impression either of youthful inex¬ perience or of gullible old-age. Ideals, it seems, are not meant for this prac¬ tical work-a-day world. If they do exist, they are merely illusions, sooner or later to be dispelled by the cold, hard facts. This opinion has been substantiated by the fate of ideals in the war. America was raised to a high pitch of idealism. We dwelt in the hope that the Peace Conference would be in¬ fluenced by the same spirit. It was not. Our faith in ideals received a severe shock. We want no more of them—at least not now. Yet the failure of ideals to be re¬ alized does not alter their usefulness. An ideal is a ' picture of a perfect state. It is a goal toward which we are con¬ stantly striving. But, since our con¬ ception of a perfect state is chang¬ ing continually, ' it is a goal which we never attain. It leads us on and on, up and up. It guides a Columbus out across an unknown sea. It strength¬ ens a Galileo in his belief that the earth was round even though he had to say it was flat. It steadies the hand of Socrates as he raises the deadly hemlock cup to his l ' ips rather than teach that there was not one God. Then, too, an ideal is never wholly lost. Though our ideal League of Nations has not come out of this war, it will never be forgotten. By the idealists of the future it will be vis¬ ualized. It will grow and—in the ful¬ ness of time—there will be a League of Nations. Ideals are real because they lead to realities. The great discoveries of the world have been made by men who could see into the future and who, seeing into the future, had the courage to face the trials of the pres¬ ent. It may be true that ideals belong peculiarly to young men and women. It may be that knocking about the world will knock out most of the ideals, too. But while we can have them, while we can make them serve us, let us not hesitate. Let us not be ashamed of them. Above all, let us not hide them. —Carl J. Wennerblad “Is this a fast train, conductor?” said an excited old man. “Of course it is,” said the conductor. “I thought so. Would you mind get¬ ting out to see what it is f ast to?”
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Page 16 text:
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12 1920 ECHO voice. Prom a reflective contemplation of the scenery former Secretary of the Treasury, Leslie M. Shaw, glanced up with a familiar twinkle in his eye. “Do you know, Joe,” he commented, “I was thinking of these old battlefields we are passing. Did it ever occur to you that no monu¬ ments are ever erected to pleasure? No flowery road leads to glory The virtue lies in the struggle—always. Isn’t that an encouraging thought for young fellows starting out in life?” —Carl J. Wennerblad SCHOOL ALPHABET Dorothy Arnold, a blonde little lass, Has a high rank that few can surpass. William Mitchell Hawkins Beck Junior has a name he can’t reject. Marian Curley by nature and name By writing may some day win fame. The Dolloffs, both Urmah and Fred, Have on their heads bright crowns of red. Alfred Eames, football captain elect, Has put many chandeliers in a wreck. M,ay F ' otrslind, has always a scare, That out of place may be one little hair. Lillias Ginder, is so very prim, We can’t imagine her having a “him.” As for Lucile Hannum, can’t she talk? Can you imagine her lips in a lock? Annie O. Isenman, an ex-Maldenite, Is beginning to think Everett all right. William Janscy, a football lad, Thinks study for one’s health is bad. Le Roy Kelley, ah! here’s the boy, That fills feminine hearts with joy. When Ruth LeBaron rolls her eyes, Then you hear heart broken sighs. Clifton Marks isn’t very tall, But then prize packages are always small. Florence Nelson believes in persis¬ tence, Not following the line of least resis¬ tance. A cigarette you’ll surely see burn, Between the fingers of Robert O’Hearn. Frank Porter’s use of slang, Causes his teachers many a pang. Lillian Quimby is very precise, In fact she indulges in no form of vice. We hope von Rosenvinge’s little, bald spot, Won’t interfere with his line of thought. Herbert Splane prefers Philomaths, To Jove and Juno and their wraths. James Talbot’s very slick hair, For sliokness is beyond compare. As for U, as you like, do— Now if a striking lad you see, Albert Vanderhoof it surely must be. When Carl Wennerblad begins to orate, People take notice, for he’s first rate. X Y Z unknowns, we have not— For everyone shines in some little spot. Try This Gne Why is a bee-hive like a bad potato? Because a bee-hive is a bee-holder, a beholder is a spectator, and a specked ’tator is a bad potato.
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