Franklin High School - Laurel Leaf Yearbook (Franklin, NC)

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CLASS SONG (Tune—Bonny Blue Flag) We sing of power and glory, We sing of might and fame; We sing to the class of ’29, Illustrious is it’s name. With pride we march along, With pride we lift our heads on high, As members of this throng. Chorus: Hurrah! Hurrah! for the class of ’29 Three cheers for the Senior Class, The class of ’29. The future is before us, We’re ready for the fray, Our hearts beat high with hopes of youth, We face the world today. Yet we will never falter, For the years we’ve spent with you, Have given us, dear Franklin High, The will to dare and do. —Margaret McGuire. Page Twenty-three

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THE LAUREL LEAF CLASS POEM ’Tis eventide, the day is done, High school days o’er—life beckons on, No poignant words hath power to tell, The saddness of today’s farewell. We scan the backward path and sigh, Life’s hills ahead loom mountains high. Dear faculty, each one true blue Should we succeed, all praise to you. Yours was the firm, but gentle hand, That pointed to a promised land, Yours too, the head and heart amain That set us new goals to attain. The lighted torch held high by fame May someday blazon Franklin’s name, The keeper of the future scroll Some name for ’29 unroll Bright future stars, illume our sky, Adieu, farewell, to Franklin High. If down the dim and distant years, We meet with dangers, pitfalls, snares, Keep the faith and falter never, True to White and Gold forever, Let the light from our example shine, O’er those who follow class’29. —Mary Sue Cunningham 4 Page Twenty two 1 929

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CLASS PROPHECY It was a pretty little ball, round, smooth, and clear as a crystal with a tiny object in the center that scintilated like a diamond of the purest variety. I turned it over and over in my palms admiring it, as I did so— Presently a curious sensation came creeping over me. I began to float upward. “Goodness me,“I muttered, “I must be a bird.But flying doesn’t make a bird dizzy,” I reasoned. “Perhaps I’m Alice. I can’t be her though for this isn’t wonderland. It’s wonder air. Then I stopped to think. “Well, what are you doing here?” Some one asked me in a far away voice. “Oh, nothing,” I murmured, without opening my eyes. “Who are You?” “Who am I indeed?” Idiot I’m the greatest aviator of the world. I flew from the earth to Mars. This is Mars.” “Oh, then you’re Lindbergh.” “Lindbergh! Why, he never did anything but fly across the Atlantic ocean. Any nit-wit could do that.” With an effort I opened my eyes. There before me covered with medals, stood my old class mate George Jones. “My wife and I spend our summers here,” he told me. “Your wife! I didn’t know you were married.” “Yes, I married a famous astronomer, Elizabeth Meadows. Come take a look at the earth through our telescope.” Elizabeth turned the telescope an angle to the right and I gazed down on the earth. I found myself looking into a theatre. On the screen, a red haired, pink cheeked, little sprite was holding the audience spell bound. “I didn’t know that color could be shown up on the screen,” I said. “Phil McCollum, the famous movie director found a way to do that.” “Clara Bow’s just as peppy as ever,” I said admiringly, watching the figures on the screen. “Are you blind as well as dumb? That isn’t Clara Bow. That is Agnes Smith!” Grant Place in New York City came next into my view. In an attic studio a group of artists and musicians, Margaret McGuire, Mary Snyder, Nancy Patton, Mildred Cozad and Nell Hudson were giving a studio party for Irvin Straine, the famous critic. The scene was shifted and in a poverty stricken attic, at an old bat¬ tered desk which was covered with returned poems sat Lora Talley, typing away at her masterpiece. In the exclusive residential section, I saw a magnificient mansion: the home of Thomas Henson, multi-millionaire, and his wife, formerly Gen- I’age Twentv-fcur