Hartford Public High School - Classbook Yearbook (Hartford, CT)

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THE CHRONICLE 287 THE CLASS PROPHECY Part I 1' AST Wednesday morning, at fifty-nine minutes and twenty seconds past ten, I was standing before the noble edifice which even now shelters my head. It was necessary for me to ride dow11 to the police station, so I looked for a jitney. Soon I saw a huge, new, shining Ford approaching, driven by an exceedingly handsome chauffeur dressed to match the car. Ile stopped at my signal and I climbed gracefully in, then the driver opened the throttle and we shot into space at a rate which must have been nearly six miles an hour. In scarcely a second we were hurled under the bridge and by the park, but then with a terrible crash which has echoed through the bare, empty passages of my brain ever since, with a noise like the impact between the Titanic and the iceberg, the Ford hit a banana wagon! Out of the wreckage of bananas and tin I shot skyward. Up, up, up I went dizzily and then fell back into absolute blackness. When the blackness cleared a little, I found myself sitting on the soft asphalt, with a large crowd standing around laughing at something. From my recumbent position I could not see the joke, so I haughtily arose and made my way to the sidewalk. I found myself in front of the drug store of Hartford's magnificent new hotel, so I thought I would go in and see what new varieties of college ices they had. But when I saw myself in the soda-fountain mirror I shrieked, for in all my life I never saw anything so out of style as my clothes! All about me were women dressed in such startlingly mannish costumes that at first I had mistaken them for men. I thought I must have gone crazy, so I stepped up to the nearest clerk and asked him how long women had been wearing these styles. What styles? he asked, in surprise. They've been dressing this way since 1918.9 1918 ! I cried. Why, what year is this F 1925, of course, he answered very suspiciously, and turned to wait on a customer. I was too surprised to speak, but my thoughts were soon interrupted by a loud burst of laughter, and looking around

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L.. 286 THE CHRONICLE of 1915 is the greatest, in all respects, that has ever graduated from the Hertford Public High School, and that to all appearances, it will re- tain its supremacy among graduating classes to come. They say that 'the history of a soldier's wound beguiles the pain of it.' I must admit that I have been sorely afflicted by the haunt- ing realization of 1915's superiority, that I have been 'touched and grieved' by the possible doubts of the world at large as to the correct- ness of such an opinion. Consequently, I have done my best to guard against such hesitancy, and to compel every man to share my con- victions, if these attempts, poor as they are, can be of any help to that class as recommendations, my work has not been in vai11. My only regret is that I have but one hand to devote to writing its praises. Of course, next year it will be the duty of the Senior Class, and of its historians especially, to outdo 19115 in blowing, whether it can be done safely, justly, and without criticism or not-and every grad- uating class after that will have to boast a little more and puff a little harder than the preceding one. It is altogether fitting, then, that in conclusion I should leave for the benefit of the undergraduates a homely bit of advice: not to cast any reflections or desecrations o11 this dearly departed class-which they could, with perfect safety, use as a model for their future thought and deed. And, copying in part the phraseology of the greatest speech of one of the greatest men of all time, I would suggest that they adopt this resolution, applying it as seems best, to themselves, to their school, and to the Class of 1915. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the under- graduates, rather to devote ourselves here to the unfinished work which they who struggled here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to here concentrate ourselves to the great task re- maining before us, that from these honored graduates we take in- creased devotion to that school for which they showed the last full measure of devotion, that we here highly resolve that these graduates shall not have worked in vain: that this school, under their example, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that the memory of the work of that Class, by that Class, and for that Class, shall not perish from the earth. MARION T. KOFSKY, RICHARD W. GRISWOLD.

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288 THE CHRONICLE I saw that Dudley Marwick was having convulsions over one of his own jokes which he had just made up. I hastened over to his assistance, but found that Rubin Cohn and jacob Yellen had gently lowered him on to the scales-which im- mediately broke. As the scales were supposed to weigh as high as nine hundred pounds, I did not see why they should have broken, but then I noticed that the maker was William 'Foord, so that explained it. just now I heard a melodious voice behind me, singing VVaiting for the 'Laura B. Lee', and I bolted for the door, for I well knew that Agnes Lawyer must be in 1ny near vicinity. When outside, I took my bearings and found that I was on my old friend, Asylum Street. But how it had changed! Beautiful tall new buildings rose on every hand and effectually shut off my view of the blue sky and the black smoke from the rail- road station. Directly opposite I saw a large crowd standing about the base of what appeared to be a lighthouse, watching Beatrice Burr, Florence Miller, and Marion Brown whitewashing the upper stories without the use of stepladders. Seeing Gerald Segur standing near by quarreling with Douglas Seelye as to which had the larger feet, I asked him what this strange edifice was. He said that Marjorie Monroe had just built it to keep her captured suitors in, and a royalty of ten dollars a head was offered for every new suitor caught alive and uninjured. Fearful of the meshes of the siren, I hurried away, but almost immediately I was roughly seized by the collar, and, looking around, saw that I was in the clutches of Policeman Seltzer. Young lady, he roared in a voice of thunder, I accuse you of having stolen willfully, deceitfully, and with malice aforethought Russell Keep's brains. I was just about to call on Edith Douglas to testify that I had no brains, when Joseph Ryan came up and con- fessed that he was the culprit and was using the brains in addition to his own. He said that with their aid he had secured an M.D.P.I. L.L. at the Middletown Medical College. Seltzer now arrested Ryan and whistled for the police patrol, which was driven up by Leon Harris, and which already contained Arvey VVood, who had been caught using old sick-passes for jitney transfers. I decided that this was no place for a nervous person and hurried on, but almost immediately came face to face with Irving Leahy, who was staggering under the weight of a huge aluminum cross pinned to his coat. As Harmon Barber now came up and began to examine the