Glasgow High School - Hootman Yearbook (Glasgow, MT)

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Tibbie Drinker, don ' t you dare call me country bred, just because you ' re from the city. Why not the blue shallon? ' Tis vastly unbecoming. Janice Faunce! Can ' t thee let the men alone? 1 will when thee will, airily laughed the girl. Do unto others quoted Tabitha. And suddenly the voices died out as suddenly as they had come. Tick-tock, tick-tock ... 1 again heard, or seemed to hear it telling me some of the interesting affairs that had been carried on under its face ... of grandmother ' s wedding, and feasts and stately company ... of children ' s patter . . . Johnnie, Johnnie, come quick, and see this sword! It ' s all mouldy and dirty and it ' s half in the ground! 1 can ' t get it out. . . . Little girls playing dolls, and little boys playing soldier with shining swords ... of spinning and weaving ... of carding wool ... of sewing and quilting bees ... of births and deaths, and soon another generation of youth passed beneath its time-worn face, with new joys and sorrows, loves and disappoint- ments, while the grandfather clock calmly and unhurriedly ticked on until yet another generation, loud of speech and careless of manners, ultra-modern and amazing, arrived. Well, little one, what ' s the secret sorrow you have on your chest? Won ' t father buy you that dress you want for the sorority dance? N-No, it ' s nothing like that, 1-1 just like the way you dress and act, that ' s all. That ' s simply noble and notorious of you and appreciation of your re- mark is something, I haven ' t anything else but — what ' s under the aureate curls? H-How to be popular? What makes you think 1 know? Do you picture me as having to use tear gas to keep the men away? I ' ll just bet you do. Well, supposing you win your bet, what makes you think you aren ' t? When a girl hardly ever gets any bids to parties and sits out most of the dances when she does, and when nobody honks outside her door, she knows. There, there, honey lamb, maybe there ' s something to be done about it. I ' ll tell you something, wee Jane, that your best friend wouldn ' t tell you. Your breath is as sweet as a cow ' s — and w hile that may not sound like a compli- ment, it is one. For one thing, you don ' t travel the boy ' s speed. Another, be yourself. Come on, let ' s go get some ice cream and talk it over. To spin, to weave, to knit and sew Was once a girl ' s employment. But now to dress and catch a beau Is all of her enjoyment. Again the words died out and 1 was just getting more than interested, too. And whether outworn, or in scorn, the clock looked down as if to say, I ' m out of date. This pace is too fast for me — and stopped. — M. H. ' 29. — 43 —

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K t P : THE PERFECT JUNIOR AND SENIOR GIRL Height Lillian Button Weight Eleanor Hagen Carriage Margaret Murray Hair Harriet Christophersen Eyes Callie Peterson Lips Dorothy Hovey Teeth Mildred Johnson Complexion Evalyn Michel Dimples Fern Moore Voice Maybelle Cotton Manners Ida Disrud Hands and Arms Thelma Helgerson Feet Velma Spangler Smile Irene Hilden Laugh Helen Harebo Grin Erna Hansen Giggle Frances Walker Deliberation Mary Pointer Good Nature Marjorie Hurly Wit and Humor Loucile Finney Mind Peggy Morton Friendliness Shirley Bohan Quietness Tena Nielsen Romantic Evelyn Bohan THE PERFECT JUNIOR AND SENIOR BOY Height Orville Stomsvick Weight Joe Martinkoski Carriage Robert Spears Hair Warren Gamas Eyes Paul Etchepare Lips Roy Johnson Teeth Rubin Lewow Complexion Russell Scott Dimples Travers Harman Voice Cyral Walsh Manners Ronald Baker Hands Dick Hoppin Feet Eugene Forsman Smile Shorty Parke Laugh Norris Kjos Grin Leslie Bjorstad Giggle Charles Hoffman Deli beration Bob Cornwell Good Nature James Christinson Wit and Humor Roy De Haven Mind Eldon Schuster Friendliness •: Smithy Quietness Byron Armstrong Romantic Clayton Button THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK The grandfather clock stood in the corner near the portrait of great grandmother and great grandfather. It had been standing there ever since grandmother was married. Tick-tock, tick-tock was all the clock had ever said, but today I seemed to hear it telling me some of the interesting affairs that had been carried on under its face ... of loves and disappointments ... of great balls, and belles of other days dressed in rustling satins and brocades dancing stately minuets. . . . Hark, I heard some voices, quavery at first, and gradually getting louder. Tibbie, shall I wear my light chintz and benton kerchief, or my purple and white Persian? Either are smart enough for a country lass, was the answer. — 42-

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P4 WHAT I NEED TO MAKE ME HAPPY How many times haven ' t I heard that popular jazz song, so characteristic of this pleasure maddened age, — I want to go where you go. Do what you do. Love when you love, Then I ' ll be happy! Indeed 1 have heard it from young and old alike, large and small. Prob- ably not all mean it, 1 hope not, but 1 v rill admit that I ' ve heard it sung in such an ardent manner and with so much fervor that I feel as if 1 ought almost to believe it. Yes, I know, some really do believe it. Do 1? Maybe I have sung it, but it just comes from hearing it repeated so many times. But as for the feelings behind it, — they ' re far, far away. What then, my friends may ask, would it take to make you real happy, utterly contented and completely satisfied? Is there anything in this wide old world that would be capable of such an orgy? Indeed — and very little, too. Riches, piles and piles of money — money to buy gorgeous clothes, fine limousines, mansions for homes and parties and cocktails and wonderful jewels! Some may pause here, aye, even stop and not want to go any farther, but as for me, what would I do with riches? True, 1 could satisfy all worldly desires, but do they really count? No! Fame? Fame by which my name would ring from, sea to sea and from shore to shore, whereby 1 would be praised and glorified and worshipped? No! That would be too unreal, too unlike living. It would be merely existing. Power? Force through which 1 could humble people, indeed, — nations, and make them kneel at my feet and say, Master, our lives are yours! No! Such force is brutal and far below what God intended. In such a state, 1 could never be happy. Knowledge? Would all the learning in the world, knowledge of all things, crammed into that very small brain of mine make me happy? No, No, never, 1 would surely be miserable then! What good could that do after I have left this earth, taking it with me? No, my desire can never be compared to any of these. You may be sur- prised, were 1 to tell you out of a clear sky that all in this world that could ever make me purely happy through and through, would be an everlasting Montana springtime with its warm, sunny, golden days, its soft green grass and exquisite sunsets, a vast Montana rangeland, swept by a warm breeze, dotted with tiny prairie roses and with gently rolling hills which appear like velvet folds as far as the eye can reach; a fiery, beautiful Montana mustang that could feel my mood, know my voice and be a real companion, and a peace and quiet that can only be found where Nature is as God created her. That, all that, to me, would be needed for sheer joy. A strange desire? Maybe for some one else but not for me, when one considers that 1 was born and raised on the open prairies of Montana with a — 44 —