Hellgate High School - Halberd Yearbook (Missoula, MT)

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least a few to choose a profession as instructors—and so it is. Georgia Knott and Cecil Carrol are in South America, near the Amazon, teaching the natives in their vicinity the rudiments of civilization. Let us hope they are enjoying themselves. It is a noble work. In Mexico is a colony of members of a new sect—a new faith founded upon the teachings and inspirations of Angie Andrews. Angie is the champion of the cause and numbers among her converts a few of her former classmates. Della Hamilton and Audrey Crabtree fell for the new and attractive doctrine like ducks for water. (Pipe that simile). Willard Jones has followed a somewhat different career from any of the rest. After his brilliant record as an athlete in high school he added still more laurels to his name at Yale and later at the Olympic games in France, where he established a record for the quarter that has never since been approached. He has been, for the past few years, coach of the Riverside High School. Of all those thirty-six members of the class, only three are yet in Missoula. Sadie Shaffer is one, and she has become the society leader of the city, with teas and balls in the “game of precedence with her neighbors.” Ruth Woodford (small, but O my!) is serving at the old Minute Lunch, of which all the boys have fond memories. The Minute is still noted for its hamburgers—and waitresses. Ruth has upheld its reputation for the last ten years, but it is rumored that she has other plans for the rest of her life, for she intends to quit soon. We can draw but one conclusion—someone has fallen for that smile. The third one who remained in the old town is Leroy Lebkicher. His life has been a sad one. From the first he has lived in wastefulness of his intellectual abilities and in the full indulgence of his “spontaneity.’’ Alberta Stone lived in Missoula until about five years ago, when she journeyed to De Smet to join her other half. Her name now is Mrs. Pucunini—something—or—other. Mrs. P. wields a pick and cuts the grass on section No. Nine of the N. P. R. R. Of the rest of the class I know less. Elva McDaniel is, at present, private secretary to the president of the Women’s National League. Hazel Swearingen is living a quiet life in Woonsocket, Texas,—that is, figuratively quiet, for she has a host of youngsters continually at her feet. I have not heard of Laura Taylor for two or three years, but at that time she was editing a “Heart to Heart” column in the Missoula Sentinel. There is only one member of whom I have not spoken,— Harold Jones—chiefly known as being related to his brother. After a period of unsuccessful rivalry with Stuart McHaffie, he worked his way abroad in the vain endeavor to forget his troubles. In turn he tried various occupations, and eventually landed at the Iowa State Penitentiary—as gate keeper of that efficient establishment. Well may the world rejoice that it can boast such an insti- tution as the Missoula High School, with its annual output, as it were, of those as well fitted to wage the battle of life and pro- mote the well-being of society as were the several members of the class of nineteen-thirteen. -19-

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A year or so ago I happened to be in a little town in south- ern Colorado, and, wanting for amusement, I attended a circus billed for that afternoon. And as I sat on the hot benches list- lessly gazing at the performance, I was surprised and inexpress- ibly delighted to recognize, in the person of an antic clown, no other than Jay Duquette. I hesitated to believe my eyes; but I was positive that it was he,—I would have recognized his hide hanging upon a pole. After the show I revealed myself to him, and for the rest of the afternoon we .swapped reminiscences. He told me of a few of our graduates of whom I had lost track. Burke Allen, he said, had applied for work in the circus, but soon left to begin the study of theology, which seemed to be his inevitable fate. At the time I received the information, he was pastor of a church in a little negro village in the South. Upon my inquiry concerning Foster Cox I was pleased to hear that the old boy was doing well. He was employed by the Hinds Co., peddling their patented face cream. Then Jay produced from an inner pocket a business card which, he informed me, the owner gave him in Kansas City. On it was printed: “Lawton A. Beckwith, Expert Chiropodist.”—I asked no questions. Speaking of such a pitiable circumstance reminds me of the sad fate of our esteemed class president, Alice Boles. The stu- pendous responsibilities connected with her official position, especially her duties in the chair, weighed upon her mind until she lost entirely the use of her mentality. Year in and year out she sits with a copy of Howe’s Handbook of Parliamentary Usage continually before her, poring over its pages. You remember Everett McSpadden,—Mac is conducting a vigorous campaign against the present system of education and the housefly. He declares that they are evils of the same class and should be exterminated. With him, among those who possess marked tendencies of initiative, I would mention our alumni in England, Irene Seifert, Myrtle Parmalee, and Lenore Hemmick. They are devoting their entire lives and energies in the hopeless cause of militant suffragism—militant in its extreme literal sense. Indeed, they have become well known as a result of their spectacular antics. But of the class in general we may well be proud. One of the most noted essayists of the present day is Elizabeth Hershey. Her works are to be seen in all the current, periodical literature, and in a recent number of Life she cleverly discusses the leading question of the hour, “Who put the Ham on Hamlet?” Less than five years after Ernest Prescott started on the path of life, he made a wonderful invention which assured him a place in the annals of scientific history. By it he was awarded the great Noble prize for that year. The invention, itself, is a small, complicated device which he is pleased to call a “potato- bug extirpator.” You have undoubtedly heard of the famous Italian artist, Spiget. Lilian Longfelt is his model, and has, indirectly, been an important factor in the winning of his fame. Spiget’s repro- ductions of her likeness are to be seen in every art collection and j yen.pld M. H. S. owns one as a souvenir in her memory. In the natural course of human events, we would expect at —18— rr-

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CLASS HISTORY. Truth, crushed to earth, even though it has been held there for almost four years by the combined weight of thirty-six dig- nified SENIORS, has risen again; and now, in spite of all our trouble, it confronts us in more hideous proportions than ever. For proud and arrogant as we may be; however self-satisfied and self-important we appear, the unavoidable fact remains that once, not very long ago, we were a motley, awkward and shuffling herd of fearful, apologetic sheep, exemplified only in our loved ones of the present, the FRESHMEN. Yes— FRESHMEN we were, once; we were not always SENIORS, dear undergraduates, but we have passed through all the stages of evolutional develop- ment in which you now find yourselves; we, too, have been FRESHMEN, SOPHOMORES and JUNIORS. We are now almost at the close of four happy, profitable years in high school. There is very little here that remains before us; it is now for us to turn our eyes momentarily backwards; to bring up once again the scenes through which we have passed; the troubles and pleasures which have comforted us in the short four years that we have spent here. Although several of our members have been willed to us by classes who entered previously, the loss, for the most part, made its apologetic entry in the fall of the year 1909. Our feelings, when we first became connected with the school, can best be described by the words of Addison: “Speechless with wonder, and half dead with fearU—a mix- ture of curiosity, wonder and terror for the much-famed tortures which awaited us. The entrance, however, was not so fearful ae we had imagined it would be; we all escaped alive and unhurt, though perhaps a trifle humiliated. And once safely within the gates, you may rest assured, our first two years were exceedingly quie.t ones. So long as we were unmolested by others, we would have been the last ones to stir up trouble of our own accord. Perfectly willing, we were, to allow others to manage school activities, although several of our classmates distinguished them- selves in athletics and in other ways greatly to our credit. Dur- ing our FRESHMAN year, our president was Marie Gibson, who has since been obliged to leave us. During our second year Ernest Prescott, who has since so distinguished himself in ath- letics, had the helm. It was in this year, with no discredit to us, that the thrilling croton oil escapade was “pulled off.” Perhaps the less said about the affair, the better; we merely mention it. The showing we made at a “circus”, given by the school in that year, and especially the vim with which we entered the FRESH- MEN initiation, inflicted upon the present JUNIORS, adds very much to our fame and honor. IN our JUNIOR year, we began to assume some importance in school acairs. We felt keenly the responsibility resting upon us and realized to the full extent the fact that without us the whole school system would inevitably be a failure. We realized also that it was our solemn duty to give the then SENIORS a “Prom” which had never before been equalled. And to accom- plish this, we realized that we must have the “wherewithall” to —20—