Hillman College - Pioneer Yearbook (Clinton, MS)

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THE PIONEER, 192 1 Page liventy-six Senior History EORGE ELIOT said, “The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.” If this be true, the Class of ’20- 21 can rightly be included in the list of the blessed. For serene and happy have their college days been; marked by no cataclysms nor outstanding disasters, and by no evils other than characterize the ordinary routine of school life. Since the year ’17 our class of thirty-two has been gathering from seventeen counties of Mississippi and one of Arkansas, to drink from Hillman’s fountain of knowledge. Out of this number sixteen high schools are represented, four being agricultural high schools. Some came in the year ’20 from other colleges. Our real “pioneers’’ are Huella, Della Mae, Pauline, and Jessie, who have progressed from “preps’ to seniors through a long and honorable career. During the evolution of this Senior Class they have passed under the chastening hand of three lady principals, and but four of the faculty who received them “in the raw” remain to see them pass from “Hillman portals” as finished products? Out of this splendid class of thirty-two we have literary graduates, twenty-nine; piano graduates, two, Jessie and Tirsa; expression graduates, one, Gladys Gilmore. During these years we have been delving in science, logic, philosophy, and history. We have read and studied into and beyond the midnight hour; read until our eyelids have refused to open; studied until the machinery of our cranium was overheated with friction. We have invetstigated the mysteries of the human soul; we have studied philosophy of all kinds, and have even practiced it. We have fallen in love with Wisdom, and have assumed the vows of an evangel to go out into the world and proselyte the disciples of Ignorance. While the history of cur class was in the making, the world was passing through an upheaval and readjustment, every phase of which has left some impression on our own careers. It is the worthy ambition of each one to fittingly meet the call of a new day and reflect credit upon our Alma Mater.. HISTORIAN.

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P age ttoenly-fivi THE PIONEER, 192 1 Senior Prophecy NE, day, having a much harder English lesson than usual, I went to auntie, hoping in vain that she would excuse me from school that day, but alas, she only smiled and poured out a large spoonful of red liquid from a curious-looking green bottle. She commanded me to swallow it, which I did, making a wry face and groaning in anguish according to time-humored custom, though the medicine, to tell the truth, was quite agreeable to the taste. Then she sent me back to class where, as soon as I was seated in my usual corner, 1 fell aslep and dreamed I saw arising from the fumes of the green bottle a spirit who took me by the hand and led me into the future. It showed me Hillman, where I saw Bess Oliver loved and honored by all the girls as lady principal, and Lona Rushing, the wife of the new vice-president. In the old English class room I found Bernice Herring teaching, together with others, the bright children of Mrs. Ray Dykes and Mildred Hackett, who had become the wife of an M. C. profess 01 -; Della May Wilkerson, as history teacher, and Cleo Bowling, directing athletics While passing through Clinton, I looked through a window of a beautiful home and there I saw Ruby Westbrook reigning as queen of an American king’s home. I hen the spirit danced out to a large city, where I saw Norma Potter busy in her studio as a famous artist. Farther down the street we passed the magnificent hair-dressing establishment of Emma Sue Gross, where Lora Sharp worked as her competent stenog- rapher. Just outside I saw a large billboard announcing that a celebratetd lyceum group, consisting of Elizabeth Stovall, vocalist; Tirsa Johnson, pianist; Gladys Gilmore, reader, and Annie Johnson, violinist, would play at the Century the following Friday. Bess Montgomery with her wonderful dancing, and Isabel Dees with her marvelously trained animals, were there amusing the audience. On looking around I saw Ermenia Parkinson reading the billboard over my shoulder, e told me that she was still an old maid, which conclusion I had already drawn from her appearance, as she was dressed in our-of-date clothes and a long vermilion feather sticking jauntily through her old rusty hat. I asked her where her good friend, Edna rown, was, and she told me she was director of French in one of the well-known univer- sities of the North. She also told me that Maude Edwards, Elizabeth Lassetter, Alyne Barksdale were teaching in the mountain schools of North Carolina. P s iri en me down to the seashore, where I saw Louella Landrum and Virgie Eddlemen embarking as missionaries to Africa, accompanied by Jessie Harding as their interpreter. Aulsy Stewart was sailing for Paris to get new hats for her millinery establish- ment. In her hands she carried a book written by Sarah Robinson. There, also, I saw Pauline Meyers and Ethel Jackson, who were returning from a tour of Europe, where they had enchanted large audiences with their beautiful voices. b rom here the spirit led me to the land of the golden west, where I found living peace- fully with their husbands, Margaret Butler and Hattie Rae Shackelford. They were at the station bidding farewell to their friend, formerly Cora Lou Butler, but now the wife of a famous physician, who had been visiting them. I he vision vanished, and suddenly I was aroused from my slumber by the voice of my teacher, “Huella Niven, stop moving and pay attention to the lesson.”

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Page tl»ent -seven THE PIONEER, 192 1 The Pioneer Were I to form a string of pearls To hang on Memory’s wall, I d treasure our old PIONEER, The rarest gem of all. Sweet memories of youth and joy, Of girlhood days gone by. Of dear old Hillman, loved of all, Will last until I die. The years may disappointment bring, As far from here I stray, But the Pioneer will bring back joy And memories of the day. The sound of Hillman’s dear old bell Its pages will recall. And many a face I would forget Twill hang on Memory’s wall. C. E. M.