Hendersonville High School - Laureate Yearbook (Hendersonville, NC)

Page 9 text:

THE MOUNTAINEER 7 Class of 1916 The other day in council grave, The Class of ’16 sat, Said they to me, “Now look here, Lee, You’ve got to be Class Poet.’’ Then, Fellow-sufferers, down sat, I wildly tore my hair. The Heavenly Muse, She did refuse, To shed her light on me. Alas! A poem there had to be, I did not dare refuse; Tho to be a poet, You all do know it, One must have inspiration. So should my meter faulty be, I beg you to remember, That to make a rhyme, At any time, Is hard for any fellow. First on the Roll of ’16 stands The name of Loee English. A gentle lass, Who leads the Class; She’s the fair Valedictorian. Second in line stands a quiet lad, Mack Jones he is entitled: A knowledge of Math He surely hath, And he’s our Salutatorian. I i Then comes a tall and limber lad; His name is Arthur English; He’ll never blench, Except in French, He holds the place of Prophet. Last, but not least is a dark-brow¬ ed boy, Who’s cognomen is Allen; He is the Poet, Alas! You know it, Whose tortured you today. And now, kind friends, I’ll say farewell, My rhymes are all played out. But alas, alack! ‘Tis an awful whack, To know you’ll speed my going.

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6 THE MOUNTAINEER who stands and waits, to him who seeks confident and unafraid. Disraeli, an English Statesman and Great Thinker declares: secret of success is constancy of purpose.” If this be so, we may reach the goal and carve our destiny upon the rock of Time. Classmates, as we each perform our part in this day’s exer¬ cises, as we listen to the words of the speaker, as we hear the words of farewell spoken by our Valedictorian—as we look into the faces of Teachers, Friends and Schoolmates from whom we must part—let us keep in mind the words of our great American scholar and thinker. Benjamin Franklin. He says: ‘‘Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time for that is what life is made of”— and let us.resolve: ‘‘To be true—for there are those who trust us; To be pure—for there are those who care; To be strong—for there is much to suffer; To be the friend of all—the foe, the friendless; To be humble—for we know our weakness; To look up, and laugh, and love, and lift.” W. Mack Jones

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8 THE MOUNTAINEER Class Prophecy of the Class of 1916 A few evenings ago, I was seated on the piazza lazily enjoying the beauties of a spring night and, incidentally, wondering how on earth I could write the class prophecy which our august president, Mr. Jones, had demanded. Whether I dreamed what followed, or whether it really happened I do not know, but suddenly I heard a queer, cracked voice, exclaim : “Good Gracious, man, don’t make such awful noises !” I sat up and looked, rubbed my eyes and looked again, for there stood the queerest, funniest little being I ever saw—something like a Hop-o-My-Thum and a Rip Van Winkle combined. He was no bigger than a minute. His nose was long and sharp ; little black eyes looked out from under bushy white brows and sparkled like stars in a winter sky ; a long grey beard covered his breast, while his face was so wrinkled and brown it reminded me of a hickory- nut. “Who are you?” said I. “Who am I !” he answered, and swelled up till I thought he was in serious danger. “My goodness, man, are you a simpleton ? Haven’t you ever heard of me ? My name is Rapunzell.” “Oh, excuse me,” I answered, most politely, “It is very dark, you know, and I did not recognize you. Of course I have heard of you. Who has not?” The little fellow seemed molified. He suddenly gave a nimble jump and perched himself on the railing in front of me. “And now,” he said, “why did you give that awful groan ?” Did I groan?” I said. “Well, I guess I was thinking of that class prophecy that I have to write for the class of 1916.” “Umph,” he sniffed, “Is that all ?” “Isn’t that enough ?” “Well, I guess so—for you,” he returned, with a rather unflat¬ tering emphasis on the “you. ” Suddenly, “Look there, ” he said, pointing to a corner of the veranda. A soft mist seemed to envelope everything—one moment it was gorgeous with every color of the rainbow, the next filled with flitting shadows. As I looked those shadows seemed to takq definite shape, and slowly a picture emerged of a handsome drug store. Leaning upon the marble counter of an imposing soda fountain was a rather