Goshen Central High School - Yearbook (Goshen, NY)

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6 THE PIONEER Harold Jackson, the illustrious president of our class, is passing the 12th year of his life in the Goshen Schools. His school life has been throughout very successful and enjoyable. It is hoped his future will be the same. Natalie Scott, our secretary, entered the first grade of the Goshen Public School at the age of seven. She -has passed successfully each year, until she is now a member of the Class of ’17. Elsie Hutan. who is now completing her eleventh year in the public school, has contributed largely toward the social life in the school. Her pleasant smile has caused her to be popular and attractive throughout her entire high school course. Harold Knapp, our talented editor, began school in the first grade of the public school, 12 years ago, and in that time, has blazed his way through the Grammar and High Schools to his goal. Philip Wilcox entered the Goshen schools in the eighth grade and has taken an active part in all high school affairs, especially those pertaining to the student body. This year he has been business manager of the Pioneer, manager of the track team, and a member of the tennis team. Our treasurer, Eleanor Pise, has been a very valuable member of our class. She has spent the last three years in Goshen High, coming here from Atlanta. All through the three years here, she has been a delight to her teachers, as well as a joy to her classmates. until now she holds the coveted place of valedictorian.

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T II E I’ I O N E E R 5 Eleanor’s wisdom fills all with curiosity, Which they can’t restrain with no matter what pomposity. She can read German and Latin at sight, So you see that is why she is so bright; And even as valedictorian, honorious, She holds the first place most victorious. That lass, Elsie, most thriftily, Can dance away most kniftily; And my, but she can talk cleverly To her many friends foreverly. A teacher she’ll be some day, Who will win great renown, they say. And now that all is said most heartily, I hope it’ll not make you feel too startily, For if I’ve stirred your quiet solicitude With this outrageous, irregular nonsensitude, I beg you free me from any fatality And I will at once leave the locality. —N. S., ’17.

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T II E PI 0 N E E R 7 THE CLASS PROPHECY My Diary In France in 1917 July 20—The Magnolia arrived safe at Plymouth on the 15th. Reached here, Lille, this morning. Germans had retreated a few days ago. Houses and buildings in ruins. Hundreds of homeless people, crowded at the station, to receive the provisions from America. Kept busy all day distributing food and clothing. July 30—At field hospital. First initiated into present-day warfare. Bombs are flying overhead and the noise is deafening. There are men .... At this point a bomb exploded near me and from the gas, which it gave forth, 1 was knocked “sinsible,” as the Irishman says, and remained so for ten years. Evidently they sent me home, because this morning I woke up in my room as of old, and went out to take a walk. Everything was about the same except that the houses looked a little rusty and a new man seemed to be running the steam roller and overseeing the gang of workmen on South Street. As I came near, I saw another man standing by the engine, and the two seemed engaged in a hot discussion. What in the world can be the matter, I thought. If I didn’t know that Philip was at Stephens, I should say that was his voice. I’ll walk up and investigate. When I came up to them I recognized Philip Wilcox and Harold Knapp. “Where in the world—” I began, but stopped, for both had turned as white as could be and acted much as I imagine Macbeth did when he saw Banquo’s ghost. “Why, I thought you were still asleep,” one of them managed to say. “Oh no!” I replied, “I have made up now all the sleep I lost in my serior year, studying the ‘Aeneid’ and ‘Die Journal-istin.’ But tell me, how long have you two been tearing up this street!” “Oh, about five yeai-s,” Harold said. As soon as I get it laid out one way, Phil rolls it wrong and has the cement put in so badly it all has to be fixed again.” “Not a word of that it true,” Philip hotly replied. “Harold’s plans, that I am obliged to follow, are so poor that as soon as I get the street rolled, the village trustees are disgusted and make him do it over.” Each one looked as if he wanted to knock the other over, so I left them quarreling, and I suppose they are at it still. I then went on toward the center of town, and soon there came toward me the queerest-looking car that ever war, in comparison with the others on the road. It looked somewhat like a Ford, but rather the worse for wear. Suddenly I recognized Elsie Rutan running it (for it was their same car), and I hailed her. She was gorgeously attired in yellow and white, making her way to a meeting she was to address, as she was running for Governor on the suffrage ticket. She stopped, and was very much surprised to see me. After talking a little while, I asked, “But what is the latest news about the Kaiser?” “Why, haven’t you heard?” she said. He was poisoned about three years ago by