Fort Wayne Normal School - Annual Yearbook (Fort Wayne, IN)

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OUR Yissrizanays 4 1 CLASS PRGPHECY In these years siuce 1930 what wonders have not been wrought in the field of science. It is one of these wonders of science that I am indebted for a great deal of pleasure. A friend of mine, Chella Allmon, had been working for years in her psycho-analytical labo- ratory trying to accomplish something, I knew not what. She came to me one day and told me that she was now able by tests which she had standardized after years of research to determine the relative force of thoughts passing through the human brain. Moreover she was sometimes able to project the dominant mental action through time and space into some supreme form of realization. I-Iomesickness occasioned by long years of absence from Fort VYayne and the sudden appearance of my friend, made me rash. I asked her to prove her power by demonstrating on me. VX'ithout consciously removing myself from the room, I began recognizing places which I knew as a girl. There was the church on VVashington street. A woman was at the door shaking hands with the members of the congregation as they came out of the door. Her face looked strangely familiar. I asked Chella if she knew who she was. She replied, Yes, her name used to be Dorothy Mitchell. Then I heard the woman ask someone a question, and I knew immediately that it was Dorothy. So -lerome was a minister! For a moment there was a blur before my eyes. As it cleared I saw a large new build- ing in a poor section of the city. And what is this? I asked. Fort VVayne's new set- tlement house, replied Chella. :'One minute and you will be inside. VVatch carefully, you may see someone whom you know, Inside I noticed a door standing open on which were the words Superintendent's Office. VVhom do you suppose I saw seated at the desk? Martha More! She had time for only a word of greeting, but a glance about the place told me how bravely she was working to right the wrongs of society. The vision faded and I found myself in the hall of the new North Side High School. Coming toward me was a woman who stepped along with poise and dignity. This is the principal, murmured Chella. Look carefully, do you know her? She swung past me, then turned around, and called my name. VVhen she smiled, I knew her. VVell, Florence Rohrer, do show me around your school. She explained to me that the school included all the grades from the primary through High School. She opened the door of a room and motioned to me to go in. The room was filled with visitors observing a demonstration lesson. Afterward a supervisor talked to the visitors about the fme way in which the les- son had been presented. However, I did not hear what she said, for I was wondering why Florence had slipped me into this particular room without making any comment. My ques- tion was answered the next minute when I was aroused from my reverie at hearing the supervisor say, I hope you will come to observe Miss Tucker whenever you have a chance, for she is doing some very fine work. So she wasn't an understudy to Miss Holland for nothing! I found myself in a richly furnished drawing room. I could scarcely move my lips, but I managed to wlnsper, VVhere am I? A woman pushed aside the portieres and came toward me. At the same time I heard Chella's voice saying faintly, Think and you will remember her. Slowly the features and movements seemed to become familiar. Then at the sound of her voice, I knew her. Ramona Smith, I gasped, To think I- should see you since you are a famous authoress. After modestly changing the subject, she invited me to have tea with her. On the table I noticed some of her books which you may have read: My Four Years in School Teaching and From the Basement to the Drawing Room or the Poisoned Potato. Again the scene was changed. I was in the midst of a public meeting. A woman was speaking on How We Should Raise Our Children. I said, I do not know who this is. Listen to her carefully, I could hear Chella saying, If you do not know her when she has finished speaking, I will tell you. VVho could she be? She had finished talking. My mind was still a blank concerning her identity. I heard Chella's voice, It is Faith VVagner. Immediately I went to speak to her. I said, I suppose you got your ideas on children from your teaching. She replied, Yes, and too, I got some ideas on the subject from my own six. VVould you have believed it? The next thing that Hashed before my eyes was a Calhoun street window on which was printed the words: M, Osborn-Matrimonial Agency. In one minute I found myself in- side the building in Marjorie's private office. I expressed my surprise at finding her in this business and asked her how she happened to do such a thing. She said she got the idea while in Normal. She wished she might do something for her class mates and had tried in this way to accomplish her wish. She was certainly carrying on a prosperous business. I wondered how many of the girls had patronized her, but I could not ask her to betray her professional secrets. Again the scenes shifted. I was in front of a farmhouse. In every direction I could see chickens, white chickens. A woman came out of the house. As we talked she seemed more and more familiar to me. VVhen she laughed, I knew her. It was little Ruth NVhit- tern, really and truly grown up. But what of the teaching profession? I asked her. She had deserted it, she told me, for a man, a mere man, and a flock of chickens.

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42 OUR YESTERDAYS VVhom should I see next? Although the process was wearing, I could scarcely wait to see the other girls. VX'hat would they be doing? Suddenly everything was black before my eyesg there was a terrific roaring in my ears, my head was swimming. I screamed in terror. Everything will be all right in a minute, said Chella. You are making a change. The next people you see will be in New York. My vision was clear again, the roaring had ceased. Before my eyes Hashed the name Yelma Holt on a large 'Broadway sign. The next moment I found myself inside the theatre. On the stage was Velma swaying gracefully to and fro in a beautiful dance. This was her twenty-fifth night and the audience was mad over her, I found myself in Greenwich Village. In a studio I saw Helen Scott working at a canvass on which the outline was peculiar. tModern art, I supposedj. Her hair was hobbed and had mysteriously turned to a reddish shade that was most becoming. Who would have thought that Helen would have ended here? VVith haste that made me feverish I passed from scene to scene. I was in a fine play house. For years I had not heard any music so beautiful. Although pipe organ music is much different from piano music, there seemed something so familiar about the touch of the keys. And no wonder, for as I glanced at my program I read, Miss Henrietta Ross at the Organ. Then I recalled the old- Normal days when she used to play all the music popular and classical that she knew as we danced and sang or listened. The dream of her life had come true for she was a renowned musician. As the scene changed again I found myself in the opera. I sat enraptured with the prima donna's singing. At the end of the first song, I realized that she was none 'other than Dorothy Griffith. I sent my card back and was told that I might see her. VVhen the maid opened the door of the dressing room, the girl who greeted me was the same old Dorothy. We did not have long to talk. However she told 1ne that she was going to give this all up in a few weeks for the Doctor had waited much longer now that he wanted to. Now my vision rested for a moment in a beautiful home. In a living room I saw a woman reading to four children, I could hear Chella's voice saying, It is Grace Longs- worth. But the children? I asked. They are orphans, said Chella. Oh, the sociology lectures were not wasted. I heard a buzzing sound which gave me a peculiar thrill. Chella, seeming to know my feelings, said, This comes before you see one who is famous. In a vast assemblage of people a man was introducing a well-known woman, the International Secretary of Educa- tion. The audience was silent as the woman rose to speak. Last but not least I had seen Helen Rapp. The lines of the play which I was learning demanded attention. The force of my mental yearning had spent itself. Chella laughingly announced that my mental project was ended. -MARY EUNICE EATON. BASKET BALL The reader who has thus far perused our little volume, may wonder if we have in two long years entirely neglected to re-create our bodies as well as our minds. May we answer with an emphatic, Nay. We leave behind us no such reputation as did the class team of '15, but we carry with us memories of many a happy afternoon when we played for all there was in it, and then trudged wearily home to an evening of study. During our Junior year there were several match games, the Alumnae and the Lincoln Life being among our oppo- nents. As Seniors we were not so forunate. Our small enrollment as a first hindrance and disability of several girls as a second, left us a very limited number from which to work up a team. Therefore we contented ourselves with practice games. But help came from an unexpected source. VVhat was our surprise when after a spirited Captain Ball game in which we were the victors, the Faculty made known their intentions of organizing a basket ball team, And thus it came about that every Wednesday, and frequently on Friday, the gymnasium was the scene of a heated contest in which hand and brain went ever paired. How we did enjoy those games! Those wl'To were not among the players were often among the rooters, and we are sure that several times Mr. Mason and Mr. Clear peeped in just to see how the game was going. Rapp and Andrews made the scrappiest little centers that ever donned the middy and bloomers. Little Ruthie Whittern managed to put the ball in no matter which of the dear teachers guarded her, though she said more than once that Miss Cooley stuck like glue. Would space permit, we could go on indefinitely telling what we owe to this one and that one for her part in the game-but we'll say just this, It all goes back to the patient effort and never-ending enthusiasm of our coach, Miss Williams! ' Miss Ruggles-- I never attended a picture show until I was 25 years old. Ramona- There probably were none before that.