Jacksonville High School - Crimson J Yearbook (Jacksonville, IL)

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FR ESHMEN The first meeting of the freshmen class was held Monday, September 18th, 1911. The following officers were elected: President—George Coe. Secretary—Carrie Mackness. Treasurer—Roland Kiel. Colors, blue and white. At the second meeting Miss Balcke, who was chosen class officer at the first election, declined taking the position, as she was class officer four years for the class of 1911. Miss Day was then chosen to fill the position. This is our first year in the High School, and our class, at present, is the largest in the school. Yes, sophs, we’ll admit that we are verdant “freshies,” but there’ll come a time when we can look down from your lofty WHY DON’T YOU LAUGH? Teacher—“What is the capital of Ohio Think carefully; it was named after one of the greatest men that ever lived.” Small Colored Lad—“Jack Johnson! I’ve just bought the most beautiful thing—if you only knew the money it cost me. It’s a real Rembrandt.” “Indeed! How many horse-power?” Collector—“'Picket, please.” Passenger—“’Aven’t got it; lost it. Collector (making out ticket)—“Six and five, please.” Passenger—“Hie—eleven! A suggestion for manufacturers— Fry Aerofood for that Dizzy Feeling. Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly for the heights. But we will endeavor to show you our speed. We have life, and we can do things. You know we all have to live and learn, and how could we get into J. H. S. without going through that epoch known as the “Green Era?” Wait, look and listen. We are entertaining serious fears that this section of the paper will not be as mirthful as it sounds this month. The classes have not responded with very much material this first month, but they will be more accustomed to the work later. We hope to make it a success, as it is our first venture along this line. “How I wish.” moaned the half-starved moth, “I had a political pull! I’ve not had a square meal for years. On account of the tariff on wool.” courts to render decisions which the people can understand. A new version of man and woman—man and superman. Jorkins—“How did you ever come into possession of such a cheap-looking umbrella as that?” Dorkins—“Why, 1 got this umbrella in a very peculiar way—I bought it.” Aunt Mary (horrified)—“Good gracious, Harold, what would your mother say if she saw you smoking cigarettes?” Harold (calmly) — “She’d have a fit. They’re her cigarettes.” Fools argue. Wise men talk it over. Ye readers of the Nautilus, don’t knock. Come right in, sit right down, and make yourself at home.

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 beamed on us for three succeeding years. We have wondered how it would feel to be in those distant rows. Now, we know. It does seem wonderful, does it not, to be as far across the study hall as is possible without moving out of the windows? But our cares are heavy. Through all the glamour of our newly acquired dignity, we can see senior orations, debate, senior play, etc., peering at us out of the distance with a mocking smile. A sigh for this, and a sigh for that, yet nothing can efface the fact that we are seniors. Does the term grow monotonous? Not to us who bear it, does the repetition dull the stupendous fact one whit. It looms up as the mighty pinnacle, the summit of which we have been striving to reach. So it is our duty as well as our paramount wish to reach this height and discharge each duty devolving upon us in an enthusiastic and irreproachable manner. The seniors held the first class meeting of the year and elected the following officers: Everett Weeks, President; Irene Straight; Vice President; Edward Bullard, Secretary and Treasurer. 1 he seniors are discussing the pin problem. The “sages” prophesy a “hot time” in J’ville pretty soon. (Jet behind your Nautilus, seniors; Let’s make it a go! So’s when the last year’s grads go to bragging, We can truthfully say, 44 ’Taint so.” Some one please tell Lura Wiswell that Am. Hist, is not the place to try on shoes. Heard in senior English: ‘‘If Macbeth wasn’t a man, he wouldn’t have acted like n one. The melancholy days have come. Oh, yes, we know they’re here; The rain has poured, the wind has roared. Now, doesn’t it seem queer to think The melancholy days are come, The saddest of the year? School has begun to end our fun; Vacation seems not near; The melancholy days have come, And oh, what joys they bring— Demerits, scolds and reprimands, With lectures untiring. The melancholy days have come; Pray, sing it sweet and low— Those melancholy days to us Poor mortals here below Seem but a drop from off the tip Of some great teacher’s pen, But in the spring w’ell graduate— And so, adieu till then. —From “'The Senior’s Lament.” SOPHOMORE The sophomore class reorganized by electing Andrew Rogerson, President; Homer Reed, Vice President; and Warren Maddox, Secretary and Treasurer. As Andrew could not serve, Homer took the place of the President, and the class elected Robert Strawn as Vice President. I he class of 1914 is very large, but each one works for the good of the class. Our class does things. 1 he boys enter into all the athletics. Some of our men were record breakers in the Track and Tri-State Meet last May. Quite a few of our members have gone out for foot ball and made the hrst team. 1 his is a good showing, and we hope it will grow better each year, as by the time we are seniors the High School will honor our dignified classmates. 13

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My thoughts are like Duke’s Mixture; When evening comes around, My mother draws the curtains And shuts out every sound. She piles my books before me In columns straight and high; I always feel, behind me, Her anxious, watchful eye. 1'here stands my ancient hist’ry, My tattered science, too; The algebra and English— Gee! they’re a gruesome crew. My mind with definitions Is creaking ’neath its weight. My brain? It seems expanding Under its load of freight. 1 see a line of axioms Come crawling ’neath the door. And cunning little test tubes Go spinning o’er the floor. My soul, there’s Cleopatra! And Julius Caesar, too! And there goes William Shakespeare A’ floating up the flue. I fear I need a tonic; I want it good and sour. To chase away these callers From my quiet study hour. ' LITERARY CALENDAR (Confined form page 8) “Hello! Did you get into the Dramatic Club?” “Uh, Huh!” “Were there many up there?” “Uh, Huh!” “Say, will you please take that gum out of your face and talk to me?” “Uh, Huh!” “Aw, be a sport! You can get on my nerves the worst. I want to know what they did. I couldn’t learn my stuff, so I backed out.” “Huh, you turned yellow, didn’t you? Well, it was this way: The different scenes and the ones doing them were called out in turn by Mr. Cook, and, believe me, I felt pretty nervous when I had to walk up on that stage before the bunch of kids. I thought to myself, ‘Brace up, old boy; this is where you go in for dramatix. Be nice, now, and give your little spiel; it won’t take long.’ That sounded nice and cheery, but, say, those minutes dragged by like hours. I was all feet. They got mixed up considerably, and nearly spilled me into the FF.ET-LIGHTS. I struck a pathetic pose and began as follows. I mean I thought I’d begin as follows, but the words stuck. I was confident from the start that I’d never be an actor man. In some miraculous way, however, I finished midst the roaring applause of the multitude. Yes, I did, too. I retired gracefully with a sweeping bow and almost swept up the steps. But what cared I? My speech was over and awaiting the decision of the judges. But, to come back, I’m positive that the club will be a success. We are to meet every Thursday night from 7:15 to 8:00. They are going to put on a play Christmas week and the big senior play in the spring. “You ought to have been there. Why didn’t you learn your lines? It wasn’t half as bad as I expected. Think of all the practice we’ll get. That uneasy feeling will vanish as does the daylight. See, I’m launching on my career already. Oh, I’m strong for the Dramatic Club, aren’t you?” “Uh, Huh!” 15