Johnson St Paris High School - Parisian Yearbook (Saint Paris, OH)

Page 21 text:

(] H £9 P A Ro I of I N Alphabet A is for Allton So neat and trim B is for Boyd Not quite so thin C is for concentrate Which we all do I) is for Delma Who likes things new E is for Esther The Algebra wit F is for fame We’ve made a big hit G is for Goode (His name’s a lie) H is for Hunt He’ll do or die I is for Improvement We mustn’t pretend J is for Jo A regular friend K is for Kizer Whose work is never done L is for laughter That suits everyone M is for Mahan She is always jolly M is for Mid Never melancholy P is for Procter With a business head P is for Prince Whose favorite is Red R is for Robert Always ready to bet S is for Sturgeon The teachers’ pet S is for Smith So short and sweet T is for thinking The Seniors—nobody can beat V is for the victory We have attained W is for winners For which we are famed Z is for Zirkle Last but not least Who like the rest Enjoys a good feast —Ethel Boyd 17

Page 20 text:

H Wd IP A Ro I cT I N Senior Class History One bright September morning in the year of 1917, the old school bell rang out to the children of Saint Paris and thirty little tots answered its summons. We were taught how to read and write our A B C’s by Miss Helen Fry (Leffel.) We were still small children in the sec- ond grade. Though thoughts of her are a memory now, well do we remember Miss Ruth Berry (Klapp.) The first two years of school were spent in a two room school building. The old school grounds are now known as Harmon Memorial Park. During that time a new school building was being erected on East Main sti-eet. It was near enough comple- tion for entrance in the fall of ’19. We studied our lessons until we reached the sixth grade. For some reason, Miss Neva Wiant (DeWeese) could only send twenty-two out of the thirty-eight to the seventh grade. (But this is not as bad as it sounds. Only twelve failed, the others acquired working certificates.) Miss Bertha McBeth made this period one of the most attractive years of our history. In the eighth grade we worked hard. But somehow two or three of the “most studious” boys were sent to Mr. Turner and Miss Wilgus threatened to send two of the girls. Geography and Arithmetic being mastered our diplomas were given to us, saying we were eligible to any high school in the state. SPRING In the year of 1925, nineteen Fresh- men enrolled at Johnson-St. Paris high school. During the first week we met and elected the following officers: President, Robert Goode; secretary, Jeannette Smith; treasurer, Evelyn Allton. The teachers soon found out what our class could do. After the first month we were called the “most studious class” of High. Upper classmen treated us as their equal and began making “eyes” at some of the girls. Practicing the rule “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” we enjoyed good times, having more class parties and weiner roasts than any other class. SUMMER The fvaorite expresion of the Sopho- mores this year was “Prove it;” due to the fact that Mr. Turner always used this re- mark in Geometry class. Caesar’s wars and World’s History were passed on. By the end of the “summer,” we knew every- thing. AUTNMN Now as upper classmen the following officers were elected for our remaining two years: President Robert Han back; secre- tary and treasurer, Martha Prince. Our new principal, Mr. Winters, attracted some of the girls’ attention, but they concealed their feelings as jolly Juniors should. By the end of the first month it was decided, by us, that we had lots to learn. Miss But- terfield feared it would be necessary to serve lunch in History class, as some of us were hungry by that time. Class parties were numerous, however, they did not interfere with our studies. We wished, at times, that Virgil had burned his Aeneid. But it was conquered as well as English, Math, etc. WINTER And now as dignified Seniors we have come to the last year of our high school career. All through high school, we have maintained the name of being the most studious group. Mr. Turner points us out as his ‘model class.’ Cicero, English and Physics have taken up a great deal of our time, but time for other activities has been found. This question has often been ask by pupils. “Why are graduation exercises called Commencement?” Indeed it seems to be the end. Leaving a school we love so well and the parting of friends. In reality, it is only the commencing of a new life, without the guidance of loving par- ents and teachers. So— Departing we leave behind us, Many friends, so dear and true, To seek our fortune in the world of fame, Life’s adventure to pursue. —EVELYN ALLTON. 16

Page 22 text:

I i 1 !• j |J A Rd I dT I M M Glass Prophecy As I walked down the streets of Algeirs, enjoying the various scenes of hustle and activity centered about the Place Royale, I felt a touch upon my arm, and a voice talking rapidly in very poor Arabic. Not heeding, I passed on through the motley crowd, listening to the babble of voices in the various languages about me. I had seen enough of the city and long- ed to return to my rooms, but because of that queer streak of curiosity evident in every person's character and because it was ered for a while. My thoughts were interrupted as I again felt a hand upon my arm. Looking down I gazed into the countenance of a quaint, wierd looking, old woman, the chief features of whose swarthy face was a pair of dark gleaming eyes, which when they rested on me, seemed to pierce into my very soul. Her mutterings were unintelli- gible to me, and reading from the look upon her face, I reached into my purse, but she shook her head and made a movement which I took as a means of indicating that I should follow her. A traveller, alone, I knew must run no such risks, so I hurriedly turned away. But her repeated insistence aroused my curiosity. 1 “Surely,” I thought, “she means no harm” so I turned to follow her. For one of her seemingly age, her agil- ity quite surprised me, for I had to walk extremely fast to keep within sight of her. Down a dark, narrow, ill-smelling street we went and soon I saw her stop at the bot- tom of a narrow flight of steps. Then only did she turn to me and beckoning with her fir.ger bad me stay close beside her. We passed through a narrow hallway and en- tered a low dark room. At first my eyes accustomed to the light of day could not distinguish a single object, but soon I per- ceived a table before me on which were several small bowls and a larger one of crys- tal. All at once it dawned upon me what this queer, evil-looking creature wished of me, I laughed aloud in my relief. She motioned me to a seat. I sank down upon a low, comfortable divan, wondering what would happen next. The prophetess spread a chocolate- colored powder on a plate and set fire to it. From the burning powder, arose a thin bluish vapor, which curled and twisted and spread till it obscured everything from my gaze. The woman began to chant in a low monotonous tone. A queer aching sensa- tion, caused by the fumes, assailed my eyes. Suddenly, out of the smoke a face ap- appearel—pale—lovely. It was gone—it re- appeared! A woman seated at an organ playing. Behind her a vast auditorium filled with faces uplifted, expectancy writ- ten upon every feature. I turned my at- tention to the organist. A strange feeling stole over me. Surely this was my imagina- tion working upon me—in a strange land, far from friends. But no! I looked again. It was there. A striking resemblance to my old chum and classmate, Evelyn Allton. I closed my eyes and tried to picture her as she was in school. When I looked again— it was gone—the room was in darkness. The prophetess threw more powder into the dish. The cloud of vapor increased and a new picture gradually grew out of the curling wreath of smoke. I saw a large class room filled with attentive stu- dents. Upon the blackboard I discerned several unmistakable diagrams. Standing to one side, I beheld an older and taller re- plica of Esther, the mathematician of our old high school class. A tall stranger next appeared to me. but was he a stranger? His movements seemed familiar, and yet, his garb of khaiki was strange. As he turned completely around, a pair of field glasses glued to his eyes, a lock of black, wavy hair fell across his forehead and I recognized him as a for- ester, Joseph was evidently living next to his idol—Nature. The scene changed, I was looking into a richly furnished office, resplendent with every luxury imaginable. That dark head bent over the desk seemed familiar. As I was waiting for him to look up or make some movement whereby I might recognize him, a slender finger reached out and touch- ed a button, then I knew it was none other than Bob Goode. I had no sooner hit upon this conclusion, than a door opened almost instantly and a well-dressed secretary ap- peared. Those specs were inmistakable. It was Ruth. Just an instant the vision lingered and then it disappeared. (Continued to page 79) 18