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

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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

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(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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Marian’s melting smile and unfeigned joy at seeing me told me plainly that personality was among the talents which had won them recognition as musical artists. Louise insisted that we had time for a little gossip, and that she must tell me about the attainments of Raymond Pittman and of Thelma Jones. Raymond was a noted architect, and Thelma was a COMPELLING, professional reader. That both of them, after enjoying a breadth of experience, fame and friends had decided that “old things ARE best.” They had l een quietly married and after having toured the world, they, from choice, went happily home to Frankfort. Harriett Jacobs, bless her honest heart, had frankly asserted that she was shocked by Raymond’s marriage, but in face of the facts, she was glad that Thelma was his choice. Harriett had given herself with absolute abandon to scientific investigation, hoping to work out a remedy for all social maladjustments. Then wonder of wonders, I was in Modeste’s Shop in New York, and Ressie Howells came forward to meet me. She was leading Sylvia Rains, who was dressed in a marvelous “creation” of ermine, which they said was an opera cape. Bess told me that she owned the establishment; that she did dress design work; and that Sylvia was her ’most perfect mode1. 1 felt the kind of surprise one experiences when one reaches an unexpected denouement in the last line of a novel, and I had to admit that it was a natural and an appropriate expression of their native abilities and studied practices. Mave Parker, contrary to all prophecy and plan, had been literally carried away by her partner. And their interest in America’s biggest business —the making of a real home and the training of efficient citizens was inspiring. Maye is happy in her choice of “values” (?) and the world has profited. Next I found myself speeding up Fifth Avenue in a limousine with Ruth Dillon while she poured into my attentive ear her proofs of the fact that dreams do come true. For now, she was being solicited from all parts of the country to lead an educational campaign, designed to inspire an appreciation of the value of Aesthetic influence in enhancing popular life, and advancing civilization. Julia Mikalauckas was presented to my mind as president of Wellesly Col'ege—my congratulations were abundantly extended to the l oard of trustees upon their choice. Frank McAuley had already attained success and a fortune, cartooning. He lived as a gentleman of leisure in millionaire row in Pasadena, Cal-ilornia. and just drew pictures when he pleased to entertain himself by gratifying his native love for the satirical by showing us “what fools we mortals be.” 1 awoke to find that it was not all a dream, and I resolved to call a class meeting that in open day wakefu'ness we might compare our advancements and possibly accelerate our progress toward our Castles in Spain.