Hendersonville High School - Laureate Yearbook (Hendersonville, NC)

Page 12 text:

10 THE MOUNTAINEER Class Song—1916 Old Lang Syne Oh, Comrades dear we come today To say farewell to you. To say farewell to teachers too, And days of Old Lang Syne. We’ve worked together thru the years, We’ve played and studied to, In coming years we’ll e’er be true To friends of Old Lang Syne. And here’s a pledge, classmates, to you Now give we each a hand, We’ll e’er remain a loyal band For sake of Old Lang Syne. Then here’s farewell to each and all, To each a sad farewell. Our love for you we ne’er can tell Oh, friends of Old Lang Syne. Chorus. For days of Old “Lang Syne,” dear friends, For days of Old “Lang Syne” We’ll take a cup of kindness yet For days of Old “Lang Syne.” “0 calm Loee, 0 brave Loee, 0 studious Senior fair, Pray help me on my Cicero that I your A’s may share.” Thus spoke Lee to the eleventh grade star (of Cicero he’d despaired) And she who was kind as well as wise, his next day’s Latin prepared. “Sed si vis” she translated on, while Lee through the door did look, Thinking that she in the usual way would write it all out in his book. However she didn’t, and when she was through she handed Lee his book, While he now feeling very safe, homeward himself betook. Next day on class he cried, “Let me be the first to read.” Miss Bessie, surprised at this new turn, pleasantly agreed. But woe unto Lee when he turned to the place and found not a pencil mark; He thought at first he had the wrong page, but he hadn’t. The room went dark. “All right Lee, start off. Leave the Latin alone. We’ll only take English today. “Why, what is the matter?” Miss Bessie asked, as she saw his look of dismay. “Ub-m Sed is to say and er si is er to see. Don’t vis er-er mean to look?” Then, “0, I can’t do it! It’s all her fault. She wouldn’t write it out in the book.” Miss Bessie soon saw what a fix he was in and kept him in school until four. The next time he’s helped by the star of his class, he’ll look at his book, not the door.

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THE MOUNTAINEER 9 short, dark gentleman, with a tendency to stoutness, a big black cigar protruded from his lips, and hp was, with quite a lordly air, directing the operations of several white-clad clerks who evidently stood in much awe of him. “I surely ought to know that man,’’ I muttered. “That,” said my small companion, “is Dr. Lee Allen, leading druggist and club man of the thriving city of Henderson¬ ville.” “Gracious !” I exclaimed, “is that Lee ?” And I burst out laughing, for the contrast between this lordly “monarch of all he surveys” and the Lee of High School days, when “Miss Bessie” had dragged him over the coals in Latin class, was irresistibly funny. When I looked up another picture was forming: A crowded street appeared, and standing on an elevated platform was a tall, thin, be-spectacled female of uncertain age and a severe mien. She was “laying down the law” to the assembled crowds. Camera men were taking snap shots at this widely distinguished personage. Suddenly the lady turned her face fully toward me, and what was my horrified surprise when I recognized the one-time Valedictorian of the class of 1916, the gentle, retiring Miss Loee English, whose idea of torture was the fourth Friday of each month when the Senior class had charge of the Chapel exercises. Then this scene faded and another appeared. I immediately recognized the interior of our national Capitol,—it was in the Sena¬ tors’ chamber. A slim gentleman was on his feet frantically ges¬ ticulating, the tails of his frock coat flapped wildly; in his hand was a voluminous document, the headlines of which were, “Resolved, That Women be Deprived of the Ballot.” And this gentleman was none other than my shy old friend, Mack Jones, once president of the Senior class, now Senator Jones of North Carolina. The fourth scene now appeared,—a large, airy school-room ; rows of boys and girls ; and before the desk stood a long, lanky individual; a pointed, Frenchy moustache adorned his upper lip, and a pince-nez was astride his nose ; in his hand he held an instru¬ ment of torture; it was labeled: “Chardenal’s Complete French Course,” with which he was evidently torturiug the unfortunates before him. “Who’s that ?” I asked. “That ? Why, you simple¬ ton, don’t you know yourself ? That is Arthur English, Professor of French and Modern Languages in the H. H. S !” And the shock was so great that I must have fainted, for when I regained consciousness the piazza was empty, nor was there any sign of my little visitor. Was it a dream ? I know not, but that is what I saw.

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THE MOUNTAINEER 11 Valedictory Dear Teachers, School-mates, Friends: I am conscious of mingled feelings of joy and regret as I stand before you this morning to bid you farewell, in the name of the class of 15-16. Of joy, because our four long years of arduous work are ended, and the goal so ardently longed for, attained. Of regret because we must sever the links formed thru long days and months of com¬ panionship, both in play and work, and because our accustomed places will know us no more. And yet, tho we shall, in the coming- years miss the daily communion that has been so pleasant, we hope and believe that the years will but strengthen the friendships. “The years have taught some sweet, some bitter lessons. None wiser than this, to spend in all things else, but of old friends to be most miserly.” I also have a very realizing sense that we, the Seniors of Hen¬ dersonville High School, shall never again meet as school and class mates in these familiar halls, and, so it is, that the joy of this, our Commencement Day, is blended with regret—aye, and something of fear and questioning too, for we realize that this is indeed a Commencement Day, and we stand with our faces turned to an un¬ tried, unknown future, in which, somewhere, a life work awaits us, and we fain would draw back the curtain that veils the future, and know What and Where. I trust that as we glance back at the record of these years of High School life, we may each be able to say “I have fought a good fight” for “The moving finger writes, and having writ, Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit Can lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all your tears wipe out one word of it.” Classmates—These four years have left their impress on our lives. We have w orked and played together, and now, ’ere we sep¬ arate to go each his appointed way—some, perchance, to renew your studies in higher institutions, some to “learn to labor and to wait” in the great School of Life, I ask you to share with me some