Grants Pass High School - Toka Yearbook (Grants Pass, OR)

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CLASS POEM Up to the doors of Grants Pass High. Four years ago did come A class that now is quite well known. The ( lass of Tweny-one. Oh. then they called us Freshies green. Because we’d just begun; But also they did number us The Class of Twenty-one. Next year as Sophies we were known. And then began the fun. hor we were on to High School ways. The Class of Twenty-one. As Juniors we did surely win A place within the sun. We started many precedents. This Class of I wenty-one. And now we end our senior year. Our Diplomas we have won. And, so we leave dear Grants Pass High. I he Class of Twenty-one. Since now you know our history. Our little tale is done. We bid you alia last farewell, I he Class of I wenty-one. —Elsa Doerner. 2 I 27

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 ir TB 28. We do bequeath Myrtle Ford's angelic disposition to Helen Lister. 29. We do bequeath Mary Reed a man. 30. We do bequeath “Abe Tolin, one grain of common sense. 31. We do bequeath “Card Knapp, a new set of brains. 32. We do bequeath Landa's part in all the love scenes to Keith. 33. We do bequeath Heston's jazz and general popularity to Newell McKinstry. 34. We do bequeath William Barrow’s effusive spirit and antagonistic nature to Carol Hussey. 33. We do bequeath Ernest Calhoun’s preliminary ah's to Arda Isham. 36. It isn’t our fault but Stephen Woodin, wouldn’t. As executor of this our last will and testament we do appoint Superintendent Imel. We do hereby declare all previously devised wills and testaments void. In witness hereunto we have set our hand and seal, this 10th day of May, A. D. nineteen hundred and twenty one. Signed, CLASS OF ’21 Charles A. Hollowell Bertha Greene ) ) Testators Witnesses: Hazel Barr Marie Kerley Dorothy Stidham Myrtle Ford Velma Everton Hortense Hough Elsa Doerner 26

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PROPHECY OF THE CLASS OF 1921. WE were walking along at the greatest resort on the western coast, located at the Wilderville swing, and now owned by Madame DeFoe, formerly Miss Flazel Barr. We strolled along, clothed in the thought of how. ten years before, we had come to this very spot, with the spell of the wilds about us—the wilds that knew no harness. Above us soared the buzzard while in front of us stretched the waters of the great Applegate, which gleamed and sparkled in the fast setting sun and reflected back the phantom shapes of the pathless forest on yonder shore, inhabited only by Robinson cattle and the carmverous digger. Far in the distance could be heard the terrible shrieks of the locomotive as they shot over the rails of the C. O. C. Suddenly a light beamed upon us as if the sun had burst forth in all its splendor. Half dazed, half stupified and hardly able to contain ourselves as we strove to overcome the stupendousness of the shock. Could we believe our eyes? No.—Yes.—Is it not was? Can it not were? Yes, it was Mrs. Gunnell, the Gibraltar of G. P. H. S., and the advisor of the Class of '21. ‘Twas the rampart of De Foe’s mansion that she was standing on, as beautiful as the dawn of evening. After the attack of greetings we swept her to a seat and were soon talking of our friends in that good old Class of 21. We soon discovered that we were not talking to the teacher of Shakespearian plays but to the retired dictator of the modern drama. The conversation soon drifted to the events of our school days and to the whereabouts of our former classmates. Between the three of us we could locate everyone except Floyd Parsons and Ernest Calhoun. Mr. Calhoun, the world s famous bugologist. once said. Ah, woe is me. I-ah-never could-ah-understand-ah-these women. Why do they-ah-treat me so? But in the act of pursuing a rare specimen of the pink wood rat, on an unknown island in the South Seas, he was vamped by a forest maiden and has never since been seen. 1 said we do not know where Floyd Parsons is. 1 will explain myself. Four years ago Myrtle Ford murdered him for breach of promise. She fled to the Philippines but was brought back to the Lmted States and sent to San Quentin for life. So, of course, we aren’t quite sure where Floyd is. Frieda Gebers has just embarked upon her third matrimonial venture. This time it is with the author of “Greasy stories, who lives in Nevada. Harold Lundburg has lost his interest in the First National Bank and has gone to Arizona where he owns a bank—a sand bank. Mrs. Harry Young, formerly Miss Maryl Muir, who married the seventeenth son of Brigham Young, is now shadow dancing for the Folliesand is undisputed leader in this profession. Remoh Tryer and Gretchen Clemens, being exceedingly bored with worldly things, including men. have finally yielded to the call of the wild and taken up a homestead on the headwaters of Jones Creek. They say that this is the ideal life. 28