Frankfort Community High School - Red Bird Yearbook (West Frankfort, IL)

Page 24 text:

(Class nf 2ll Ambition’s goal at last is reached. And Seniors we are called, While many a Freshman’s wistful heart Within our fort is walled. And Sophomores pay tribute too, While Juniors strangely stand Longing for days when they shall be The head of a High School Band. Each of these stages we have passed When we were Freshman green Grand Senior-ship seemed far away. Though heights were dimly seen. To which we climbed thru wisdom gained. When we were Sophomores With dignity and ease we learned. Passing thru Junior doors. And now this honored place we hold Well earned by years of work For, tasks so pleasant, yet, so hard We e’er refused to shirk. Soon our beloved school we leave. To which thots e’er will cling, “Dear Alma Mater F. C. H. S.” —Our hearts will always sing.

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Scmur ffitatimj Well do we rememl er our first day in H. S. Not daring to go up to the huge looking building alone, groups of threes and fours met on corners, and awe-striken slipped quietly into the assembly room. The dignified Sophomores were talking to the teachers and upper classmen and seemed to have things well in hand. If we had expected the teachers or upper classmen to take notice of us we would have been sadly disappointed, for they left us entirely alone to speculate upon our coming hardships. However things were not as dark as they had been pictured, for we soon held our new studies well in hand and were able to entertain crowds of eighth graders by reciting Latin phrases for their amusement. As our class was not organized the first year we devoted our time to study rather than social entertainment. Although the leading parts in the High School play were filled by members of our class. Thus comes our second year, and feeling our superior knowledge, we hastened to school to renew old acquaintances and talk over plans for the year. We organized our class early this year and chose Sylvia Rains as president, and Louise Smith, secretary and treasurer, and now felt equal to any emergency that might present itself. We devoted our time this year to our school work and our social events were limited to participation in the High School play. Early in the Fall of 1918 the Junior class of W. F. H. S. showed signs of awakening by meeting early and electing Harnett Jacobs, president and Don Jones, vice president, and Raymond Pittman as secretary and treasurer. The first social event of this year was a box supper given by the Junior class, early in January. This was followed by a Fool’s party given in honor of the Senior class. But the crowning event of the year was the Junior-Senior reception, which was a social evening spent in the enjoyment of games, followed by an unrivaled banquet. This year we are Seniors with Raymond H. Pittman president, Julia Mikalauckas, vice president, and Ruth Dillon, secretary and treasuerer. The first class to go out from the newly organize F. C. H. S. We started our fun early this year by giving a truck ride to get acquainted with our teachers. This was followed by a farewell party in honor of the impending departure of one of our number, but as Frank decided to remain a member of our class we had our evening’s pleasure and did not lose our classmate. Although we are glad to lie Seniors we envy the Freshmen with his High School life before him. We feel that we have done our part in making the F. C. H. S. bigger and better and we hope that the classes to come will not fall short in their duty.

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8 rmor (Class JJrnphrrii It was a hot afternoon in the summer of 1928 when I, in pensive mood “sought to drive away The lazy hours of peaceful day,” by going to my “retreat” on the banks of the brook, in the wood neai my home, where I loved to indulge myself in the luxury of undisturl ed leisure. 1 took some needle-work and a daily paper with me—from force of habit - but I was not in a mood to work, or to read. Feeling drowsy, I lay on the grass, watching the water flow by while waiting for it to lull me to sleep. The genial influence of the time and place, combined with my mood to revive in memory some of the most pleasant experiences of my life— those associated with the Frankfort High School Days. I fell asleep; unbridled Fancy led me through Dreamland. In happy idealization I met each member of F. C. II. S.’s brilliant class of ’20. Incidents of their g'orious records were recalled; their present attainments were revealed; and glimpses of their rose and amethyst futures were accorded me. I tell this experience that you may share the joy afforded by knowing of the work and worth of our classmates. I was transported to the midst of a crowd of busy people on a great aviation field. I heard a fimaliar voice. I looked al out and despite his portliness, and his air of confident assurance as he issued orders and directions to hundreds of workmen, I recognized Conrad Ellis. Upon inquiry I learned that he had not changed his mind about being an M. D. or changed his plans either. But that he became a doctor, and contrary to practice, it was not his mistakes, but his efficiency which defeated him. He had effected a cure for every known disease, and was now led by the spirit of initiative into the unconquered aerial wor’d. For some reason which, doubtless none but the geds can explain, with Conrad in mind, thoughts of Ruby came. And not daring to dissociate Ruby and Genevieve I was gratified by a vision of them as most capable teachers in our alma mater—Ruby teaching Latin, and Genevieve teaching English. But Genevieve told me that much of her time was spent in trying to suppress the mumbled half whispered tone of “amo, amas, amat; amo, amas, amat,” which the pupils brought like a contagion from the Latin room: Ruby said, however that her greatest teaching problem was to overcome some measure of the dramatic tendencies developed in the English classes, that instead of doing the necessary drill and routine work, the Latin students were prone to follow Genevieve’s directions to “impersonate,” to “relive” and to “make their own” even amo, amas, amat. 1 was next in a large church, the bigness, the beauty, and rich suggestiveness of which inspired both awe and reverence. The feeling of strangeness which I experienced at first was soon dispelled by familiar music, wonderously rendered, for none other than Ixmise Smith presided at the great organ, while Marian Kelly’s trained voice attended its measures slow and high. Later when I went to speak to the “girls,” Louise exclaimed with her old time fervor, “My John! where did you come from?” And