Fairbury Cropsey High School - Crier Yearbook (Fairbury, IL)

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History Dirge I work on history every day In just the hardest sort of way; But when my grades come out, you see, I find I’ve only got a D. Now why this is I do not know— The reason that my grades are low. Unless it is that I’m too young To remember when the wars begun. Or when the Constitution was made. Or how its principles were laid. The “Open Door’’ is Greek to me. No wonder that my grades are D. Now when my next report comes out, There’ll be another D. no doubt. And so I'll end this silly rhyme, Hoping to find an A some time. ROSELLA VON BERGEN. Utopia Ten lonely teachers sitting in a row. All of them wishing for some place to go. Along comes Chenoa. dressed up so fine, One goes away, and now there are nine. Nine lonely teachers, one just can’t wait— Hears his children crying—now there are eight. Eight lonely teachers, one thinks she’s in heaven; Along comes the minister, and now there are seven. Seven lonely teachers—a big blast of air— Where there were seven, now only six are there. Six lonely teachers, but hear that blast of jive; One trucks off playing trumpet, and now there are five. Five lonely teachers, along comes poor Romeo; She plays his Juliet, and now we have but four. Four lonely teachers, one cooks a luscious lunch; “A man’s heart is in his stomach,” so only three are in the bunch. Three lonely teachers, but that will never do. So along comes a gas station boy, and now there are but two. Two lonely teachers, they think the other fine; And so he asks to take her out somewhere to dine. And now that they are gone we kids can have some fun; For instead of ten teachers, we don’t have a single one. A SENIOR. T wetity-otte

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Dedicated to Ivan Kortkamp It was about four years ago that I first met him. If I remember right he looks about the same—that moustache and a dark suit. I think I liked him from the start; I know I have ever since. I was im- pressed — I guess he must have had something there. He was one of the fellows in the glee club room and I sup- pose he knew what we felt, at least that’s what I’ve always presumed. I can truthfully say that I’ve never ap- preciated anyone so much, in times since or before. We worked — I’ll say we worked; and we won and we can prove it! Every year we won more — don’t get us wrong; I’m not bragging. We had fun and it was fun. but we respect him the more for his broad-minded ap- preciation of our pranks and our whims. I!e is a friend and an example of friend- ship to all, and a pal of all students who have use for a pal. Of the few of us that are left that have known him so long, I’m one among many who can think him no wrong. VINCENT AMBROSE. The Tale of the Terrible Typist All black and shiny my typewriter sits. But I could grind the thing to bits. While others gain in speed, my friends, I gain in errors by the tens. To some it’s plain as plain can be, But to me it is a mystery: How to make your fingers move And hit the letters in the groove. I try to tabulate, you know— And make it even in a row. But something usually goes amiss, And then, oh, dear, it looks like this! In making errors I take the prize, I get mixed up on “e’s” and “i’s.” It makes no difference: words short or long, Experience has taught me they can be wrong. So how in the world will I ever make A very competent secretary, for pity’s sake, Won’t someone make QWERTYUIOP Something more than Greek to me? V. FULTZ. Dear Wilma: I have just spent a most pleasant af- ternoon looking through my old 1940 Crier. Remember that year—we were seniors—and the book was a product of our class. It was a wonderful year, so unlike the first year we spent at old F. T. H. S. We held a lofty place that we had never before attained, and I am sure that we have not been such rulers since. For three long years we had eagerly awaited the time when we would be seniors. But once that time arrived, my, how the year sped by. Remember the day our rings came—it practically broke us up paying for them; but, oh, were we proud to wear them! And then we had our pictures taken. We thought they were simply awful then, but now I find mine was quite good. Almost before we knew it, semester exams rolled around, and the year was half over. How worried we were that Smith would flunk us in history. And if it was possible, it seemed that the last part of the year went even faster than the first. How we worked on The Crier. Then came the finals— wo sat up all night cramming history, with no results, except we were all too sleepy to write what little we did know. Then all the hubbub of Prom and Alum- ni. And last of all, Commencement. How important we felt in our caps and gowns, and yet we were a little sad to think it was the end. When you heard Mr. Watson call your name and you walked up there and got that all-im- portant diploma, you wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. And then it was all over. Many times during the past ten years I’ve wished to be back at F. T. H. S. It certainly was the best year of my life. Love, VALERIE. A Dirge Here am I. without a doubt The smartest girl the school’s turned out! I can cook and giggle and eat and play, I can dance and laugh. I’m plenty OK— There’s just one thing that lacks, I guess, That God in his goodness forgot to bless Me with brains for shorthand, typing and stuff. In plain simple English I'm just one big bluff. CHATZ BECKLEY. Twenty

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On Anything The Three of Us “Write me a poem,” said Chatz to me. “On what?” said I to her. “On anything,” she said to me. So, on “anything” it will be. Now “anything” covers a lot of space, And space for me is confined. So what can I write of Anything, When nothing comes to my mind? Brooms and dustpans, pencils and pens, Books, and desks, and rules Are all classed under “anything”; And how am I to choose? Seven words in a hat; I draw one. Aha! It is “school,” my good man. But you know all about school I’m sure. So I’ll stop here—where I began. EDITH ROBINSON. Say, students, don’t you think it’s wrong. It seems that way to me. That in this Crier we seldom mention A most important three. There’s one who’s always up at four To fix the fires on chilly days. It really seems that Mr. Bastion Deserves the student’s praise. Then Dewey cleans with brush and broom, (He also plays good basketball). He never tells the students’ tricks For he’s a right good friend to all. And don’t forget “Efficiency.” Miss Steidinger’s work would knock me dead. But without all the work she does The school would end up in the red. To Future Students When orders are given, always obey, Although the rules are tough, Agree to th5ngs with a willing “OK,” ’Cause out here you can’t bluff. If Smith says, “Around the field ten times,” Around you’d better go; For when athletes are kicked off the team It brings the school much woe. And the time to really sit up and take heed, Is when Kortkamp’s bark you hear— For he means business with you kids, “So trot to bed—“You little dear.” ROSS E. HILDRETH. Twenty-two