Grant High School - Memoirs Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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But no! The proofs deal the first vanity-crushing blow. We open and unfold them rather apprehensively. Woe is me! we exclaim despairingly. My mouth! Can it be so large? And my neck so long? We even appear in two of the proofs to be slightly cross-eyed! Desperately we grasp at one remaining hope: These are but proofs: the picture must be better. But the final portrait is almost as bad. Our mouth still looks enormous: our neck is still scrawny. And we hope we only imagine it, but there still seems to be a slightly diagonal cast about our eyes. We can't believe it. It seems too incredible. Can we possibly look like that? The most cruel blow of all awaits. This is the final straw. Why, say our friends as we apologetically submit the atrocity to them, this is very good of you. You look very natural except that your hair is not usually so neat!” . . . Douglas Lynch. STARGAZING All is silent, night has come: Stars are shining: day is done. Here, on a bed of boughs and fern I lie to gaze, and dream, and yearn. High above, through pines so tall I see a star, or comet fall; And here in the light of moonbeams bright, Dreaming and thoughtful on this still night, I see the Arab on his sandy waste Upon his rug, no thought of haste: In Paris gay in a garden cool Two lovers meet by a silent pool; In mystic Spain a troubadour sings Strumming softly on mellow strings To his lady-love who so dark and gay Sits on a balcony above the bay; Away in Venice, on waters clear A gondola glides, forever dear To Italian youth and maiden sweet In their aimless way on this water street; A little north in Switzerland Silently guarding their sturdy band The Alps tower high above the vale And stand aloof in moonlight, pale. Soon, in my dreams, I have wandered far Gazing intently on this, my star. . . . Margaret Wells. THE OCEAN Who can behold the sight of the mighty ocean without feeling an emotional response within him? To me the glorious sea with its beautiful sunset, its great horizon, its booming waves, and its deep mystery is the most wonderful work of nature. As the ocean points, so my moods will follow. The awe-inspiring sight of a glorious sunset on the ocean can hold me spellbound till its last tiny giimmer can be seen disappearing into the far horizon. Imagine the peace and quiet felt when the sea is calm and the reflection of the azure sky makes the sea one large jewel, which the gods have sent to the mortals for a time. Moods are supposed to change with the weather. So do the emotions change as the great ocean storm confronts us in all its wild fury. What a thrill is created when we, mere mortals, behold so stupendous a sight as Father Neptune in a blind fury. How little and insignificant it makes one feel! . . . Mary Stewart.

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 A PICTURE IS WORTH TEN THOUSAND WORDS” Had Charles Lamb been the subject of a graduation photograph, his essay would have read something like this: A portrait photograph—is the most irrelevant thing in nature, . . . —a preposterous shadow in the noon-tide of your prosperity, . . . —a perpetually recurring mortification ... a triumph to your enemy,—an apology to your friends,—the one thing not needful . . . —and we would add—the world's greatest devanityizer. Not even slams about our personal appearance dampen our self-approval so much. If we are accused of being a funny looking fellow or of having a very conspicuous mouth or a pug nose, we can console ourselves with the thought that our accuser is an ignorant slanderer whose aesthetic appreciation, if any, is incurably stunted, and who undoubtedly is only jealous of us. Anyway, our nose is not pug: it is retrousse, and large mouths indicate generosity of character. Only one thing approximates a portrait photograph in devanityizing. It is one of those very surprising images we glimpse as we pass some store-front mirror. Becoming vaguely aware of an awkward fellow with a smudge cheek and disordered hair, we realize with a start that it is our own reflection! This is unexpected and embarrassing, indeed, for our dressing-room mirror was somewhat complimentary just before we left home. It may be that store-front mirrors are of a different species from dressing-room mirrors. Though it is very changeable, our mirror at home is rather flattering sometimes. Yet I have never known of a storefront mirror to be anything but the opposite. (Speaking of uncomplimentary mirrors, could you ever dine in front of a restaurant mirror without becoming so self-conscious that you felt the desire to sneak out and hide in some dark place until you learned to handle a knife and fork less clumsily?) But for creating lasting chagrin there is nothing like our photograph. At the worst, mirrors cause but a temporary embarrassment, and we soon learn to ignore them completely. On the other hand our picture is a perpetually recurring mortification smirking at us from the piano top, and in years hence probably will provide no end of merriment for our grandchildren. Several years ago when we first became aware of some mysterious attraction possessed by young ladies, we would stand before our mirror and wish ardently for a higher, more noble brow, a more vigorously chiseled nose, or any of a few hundred similar facial enhancements. But no matter how ardent, wishing seemed not to improve our appearance a whit. So, realizing that we could never hope to be a John Gilbert, we gradually assumed a great indifference toward our looks, though the feeling secretly grew on us that we, very likely, were as handsome as the next one. But alas! We can never hold contentment when we have it. We have had our picture taken! While we wait our turn in the photographer's reception room we suppress our stage fright as best we can and nervously wonder if our hair is maintaining proper order. From past experience we know that it is almost too much to hope for, but we feel that perhaps this time our picture will resemble those soft, shadowy, artistic portraits of musicians and actors which adorn the showcases of photographers. If they can do it with actors, why not with us? we reason. Our turn comes, and the deed is done. We have performed our part as best we could: perhaps they will turn out good after all.

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2« Irvin Cooper Bernard Asheim Cora Anderson Bill Davis SEVENTH AND EIGHTH TERM SEMI-ANNUAL DEBATE In a closely-contested and highly interesting debate, the Eighth Term was victorious in the semi-annual Seventh and Eighth Term debate, given Friday, October 3. The debate was greatly anticipated because of the fact that the topic was withheld and kept secret until the actual occurrence. When finally revealed, it proved to be: Resolved: That the present school day should be lengthened one hour and no home work required. Not only was the subject timely, but it also was of such gre'at importance to the whole student body that the attention of everyone was held throughout the entire debate. The affirmative was upheld by the Eighth Termers, Cora Anderson and Bernard Asheim; while the Seventh Termers, Bill Davis and Irvin Cooper, upheld the negative. Both teams spoke unusually well, but the final decision was quite satisfactory to all. After much deliberation, the judges, Mr. Willard Rouse, Mrs. John H. Lewis, and Mr. Harold B. Wharfield, rendered their decision in favor of the affirmative. Because of his ease of speech and his excellent delivery, Bill Davis easily won the position of best speaker and the first prize of five dollars. Cora Anderson's cleverness, quick repartee, and convincing manner won for her the second prize of three dollars. If every Senior debate could have such an intensely interesting topic and be as enthusiastically received as this one, the Senior semi-annual debate would be one of our most cherished traditions.