Jackson High School - Osky Wow Yearbook (Jackson, OH)

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SENIOR CLASS SONG. CLASS OF FOURTEEN.. Tune—[Juanita.] [. Now comes the dawning;, Of a larger, brighter day; And then the conning Of life’s tasks for aye. In the depths of wisdom I.ies a ripened, untouched store. May we each in earnest Daily seek for more. 1st Chorus. Fourteen, class of Fourteen, Beloved class, we hold so dear;; Fourteen, class of Fourteen, Onward, upward, steer. II. Oft in the struggles And the toils and cares of life. Come High School mem’ries, With success still bright. Then with vigorous ardor Strive we ever more and more. To reach higher visions Than we have before. 2nd' Chorus. Fourteen, class of Fourteen, Ever lead us on afar; Fourteen, class of Fourteen Be our guiding star.

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AN ACCOUNT OF THE GAME FOR THE (Eliamjiumahip of the J. £. las? lull Crogur. Written by “Water Boy.” Approved by the “Official Umpire. After much ’’bullying’’ and ’’coaxing,’ Manager and Captain Allen, of the Senior team, was finally persuaded to seta date for the ’’Senior—Soph. ” game—the game that was to decide the championship of the ’’Inter-Class League” for the seasoen 1914. He chose, with his usual bad judgment, the most disagreeable day in weeks. Evidently, the Seniors were afraid of Abraham, of the Sophs., so Allen, crooked and strategic as he is, took advantage of Abraham’s sore arm to play on a cold day. The Seniors, of course, appeared on the diamond late. The fact was due, because Captain Allen had stopped on the way down to bribe the umpire, Alfred Evans, a very modest and quiet but near sighted youth. After the preliminary “warning up,’ Capt. Marshman, of the Sophs., announced as his batteries, Scurlock, in the box, “Boothy” catching. Captain Allen, having no real pitchers, decided to use Art, Roberts, while Blaine Matthews was the only one fool-hardy enough to stop his wild heaves. In the first inning Evans, the umpire, had an opportunity to show his genius. A man having been passed to first, Roberts, the Senior pitcher, endeavored to catch him sleeping off the base. Umpire Evans, who at the time was engaged in pinning a dan- delion on his manly breast, did not think it: necessary to observe the play but in a deep bass voice pronounced the runner out, before the ball had reached the first baseman. The Seniors showed weakness in batting. Very few hits were made off Abraham and Scurlock, tho the former merely tossed the ball over the plate. Roberts, with the aid of Evans, held the Sophs, very closely to a “no-hit” game, tho in the absence of an honest score-keeper no reliable statement can be made. A feature of the game was Allen’s crooked playing, coupled with Evans’ unerring umpiring. In the fourth inning with the score 0 to 0, Allen attempted to go home on a ground ball. Booth tagged him before he reached the plate, but Allen, always up to some crooked play, kicked the poor defenseless catcher in the stomach, causing him to drop the ball. Later on a like run was scored upon a similar play. As the Sophs, disdained to resort to such dastardly playing, the score stood at the end of the game, 2 to 0 in favor of Evans and and the Seniors. Yours resentfully. The Water Boy, T5. The Osky Wow’s Correspondent at the front. THIRTt-FOLR

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 OHIO. I was born in Ohio, and I state the fact with pride. I am proud of all her hill-sides, and her fertile valleys wide; Proud of her majestic forests, of her placid rivers h ue; Proud of all her wealth of blossoms, of her sons and daughters too Happy is the man or woman who, like me can proudly say, “I was born in Ohio, and it’s there I'm bound to stay.” Oh, those Ohio hills, tugged, rocky, high and steep! They are solemn in the twilight, when the somber shadows creep; They are fairest in the morning when the rosy sprite of dawn Lays her finger on their summits, ere the shades of night are gone. Oh, those mighty cattled hills, rising high and stretching far, Hiding-place of evening sunbeams, and of morning’s latest star. Oh, Ohio’s virgin forests,— slender maple, stately pine, Mighty oak and beech and chestnut; round whose trunks the wild vines twine! And the scarlet-fruited cherry, and the locust, white wiih bloom, And the cedar, drooping sadly, o’er (perchance] a forest tomb. Oh, those leafy, silent forests, with stray sunbeams sifting through. Where soaring, wild birds send their songs far-echoing to you! Oh, those Ohio rivers, and the lesser valley streams. Dashing, leaping, down the hill-sides bright with many hues and gleams! Dear old Maumee, ‘‘Peacefull water,’’ fair as any meadow-rill, Moaning, sighing, laughing, singing, in my dreams I hear you still! Quaint Ohio rivers - each still hears its Indian name l amed in legend, and deserving, to the utmost of their fame. Oh, those Ohio blossoms! Sweet arbutus in the spring — Anemones,—lady-slipper, these in turn their offerings bring. Daisies, white and blue and yellow; poppies, red and larkspur blue, Honeysuckle, sweet of odor; gentian with the sky's own hue. And in Autumn, glowing fields of gleaming golden-rod. By the lavish hand of nature, strewn upon this woodland sod. I was born in Ohio—in the greatest, grandest state -In the buckeye of the Union - best of all the fortv-eight; As a gift our state has given, to the claim of Uncle Sam Six of our most honored presidents, and they the worthiest of men. Proud and happy’s the man or woman who can say, “I was born in Ohio! rho I’ve wondered far away.” THIRTY-N'