Hellgate High School - Halberd Yearbook (Missoula, MT)

Page 12 text:

She gives us the piece of paper, And then she ascends the stair. Alas, we know well what is coming, And if, to escape, did we dare, She’d almost devour us with scoldings. Detentions about would fall, Till we’d think of the Bishop Bingen, With the mice falling over his wall. Do you think, oh learned teachers. Because you have fixed us now, That we can’t play hookey some time, And stir up a great big row? You may have us fast in your fortress. In a small detention hall, But is that a reason why we’uns Cannot be a match for you-all? In our hearts we will keep you, Forever and ever and a day, While detentions are burning to ashes, And scattering in dust away.

Page 11 text:

At a word from the coach, Ivy took the vacant place. The Peoria team sent lip cheer after cheer, for the game seemed to be in their favor. The cheering made Ivy nervous. She fumbled the ball, threw it into the hands of Peoria’s center, and Peoria had scored on Rockford when the whistle blew and the first half was over. When the second half began. Ivy was in her place, determined to bring up the score. She played as she had never played before, and the girls, catching her spirit, played harder, too, so that Peoria could not score again. When Ivy finally threw a basket and tied the score, there was only one minute left to play. The ball was in Peoria’s hands, when Lois grabbed it, and threw it to Matilda, who in turn passed it to Ivy. As she lifted the ball high above her head and tossed it towards the basket, the referee raised his whistle to his lips. The ball hung on the rim of the basket for an instant and, as it fell in, the whistle sounded. The game was over, and Ivv had won Rockford the cup. Yet, even in the midst of all the cheering that followed, never once rlid the little Junior think of her own glory. She had done it for the honor of the school. THE DETENTION HOUR ALPHA PIERSON, ’12 Between the light and the twilight. When the night is beginning to lower. Comes the happiest time of the school day, That is known as Detention Hour. I hear in the chamber above me, The shuffling of many feet. The sound of a door that is slamming, And voices far from sweet. From the basement we watch with trembling. Descending the broad hall-stair, With her pad and her busy pencil, A teacher with soft gray hair. A question and then a silence. Yet she knows by our guilty looks, We were laughing and talking together, Of things, that are not in our books. A sudden scratch of the pencil On a piece of paper white. We know it’s the word “Detention,” And that we deserve it all right. The Bitter Root Page 11

Page 13 text:

A HIGH SCHOOL HAMLET IN 1911 B. I. B., ’13 To do—or not to do, that is the question. Whether ’tis better in the Spring to study And get our lessons and our recitations; Or sit and think, by some wide-open window, Of how our track team’s coming. To muse, to dream Of all. And in that dream to say we win The shot-put and the other track events That we must fight for. ’Tis a great victory Which we will surely gain. To muse—to.dream—• And then, perchance, to wake—aye, there’s the rub! For then our visions sweet fall to the ground. And we must know our field’s yet to be done And we must do it; and all work hard To aid the people who will try to .win The victory we’ve just been dreaming of. And now we realize that we must work Together here. Who’ll bring along the tools And grunt and sweat, and build a nice new fence ? And next the plow and horses come in line To do their part in this important place. No one must pike, but all be there. Anon The girls come, too. and bring along the lunch—- Pickles and other stuff we know not of, The while their cheers make workers of us all. And thus the former look of Higgins field Is changed by those who wish to do us proud. The Bitter Root Page 13