La Grande High School - Mimir Yearbook (La Grande, OR)

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Page 28 THE MIMIR iscences, for it has been a real pleasure to talk of our High School career.” “Well, that’s an idea. Let’s do it!” And so we give it, classmates, to you, with the wish that we may often meet in the future. CLASS PROPHECY Carol Currey and Lenore Hughey Illustrating the wonders of my original brand of hair bleach, with my own charming person, I at last found myself blown by the v'inds of care, so to speak, into the far-off land of Egypt. But I had failed to attract the dusky natives, and my pack was heavy with unsold goods. The sun was rapidly peeling the enamel from my once youthful cheeks, and it was with a feeling of relief that I sought the shelter of a crystal-gazer’s retreat in the top of a tall pyramid. Ye gods! worse for worse! As I climbed, the air reminded me more and more of the Chinese mission in Hong Kong, now superintended by Edith Welch. Crouched in a far corner, was the dishev- eled figure of the high priestess, whom I recognized as “that rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore.” This unexpected meet- ing carried us back to the class of 1915, and Lenore offered to show me— free of charge—what our distinguished classmates had accomplished. 1 gladly accepted her offer, and soon we were eagerly gazing together into the sparkling crystal. First, a noble figure appeared before our eyes, and we recognized our former classmate, Harold Newton, decked in garlands won thru his marvel- ous interpretation of the Jones-Mulkey drama, “Won by Waiting.” The crystal cleared, and we now perceived a gay, pivoting couple, lightly swaying to the strains of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band, with Variations,” Arleigh Kammerer’s latest musical success. These graceful creatures were indeed our beloved friends, Helen McDonald Becker and her husband Clarence. Again the scene shifted, and we saw the noble mayor of Island City, Gilbert Hunter, swinging into place the cornerstone of a massive building whose honored designers we knew to be Nell Bradley and Walter Young. In contrast to the busy city street, we now seemed to look into a quiet corner of a country church yard, where we read the solitary inscription, K3 H2 O. This, we, without hesitation, translated into the name of Elizabeth Bond. And now we recognized in a portly figure surrounded by busts of Caesar and Virgil, our dear comrade, Marjorie Snook. She was initiating a class of freshmen into the mysteries of supines and gerundives. At my side I heard Lenore murmur, “Dear old Snookie! May she never hear of my con- dition.” This brought me back to the present, and I remembered the havoc the sun must have wrought upon my complexion. Bearing in mind that my fortune was in my hair and face, I made what repairs I could. Then as we returned to the globe, within it, seemed to gleam the White House, wherein we saw, President Shaw, pleasantly conversing with his Secretary of War, Ellis Williamson. Feeling justly proud of our friends, we looked once more into the crys- tal, and saw a solitary figure walking back and forth before the doors of a

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THE MIMIR Page 27 he is too modest to have his works read, as he is in the English class.” “Now, let’s look at the Sophomore roll. Here is Minna Ash in the lead again. Why does she continually say, ‘prunes and prisms’?” “Well, it’s this way. Her aunt thinks she laughs too much, and made her promise to do it to give her mouth a dainty shape.” “Oh, I see! I’ll do it before I have my picture taken for the Annual. Going back to the roll, this is the year Katie and I entered. I remember the first ones with whom we became acquainted were Nellie Storey and Kathryn Riddle. They entered that year, too, and we all sat at the same table in Botany Lab. We thot them two of the most splendid girls we had ever met.” “And you did not judge wrongly. Pete entered that year, too—he and his gum. He certainly is the bane of the teachers’ existence, isn’t he?” “Lucile Rees joined us in 1913, as dainty and mischievous as now. And here are Ellis and Jay—a very welcome addition to the class.” “Ellis doesn’t look natural since the football season without his skinned nose or black eye, does he? Jay was always too much concerned about his delicate frame for athletics.” “Now, where is last year’s roll? Oh, here it is! We sat in Room 15, and Miss Riddle was our assembly teacher. We were certainly proud of being Juniors, weren't we? Just notice the additions to our ranks, will you! First, Clarence Becker. Our old assembly room certainly will be silent next year without him! And here is Nell Bradley.” “She is a natural leader, isn’t she? How she attends to everything, and makes the highest grades in the room is beyond my comprehension.” “Gilbert Hunter is next, vice-president, isn’t he ? And he was popular as football captain this year. And then Nita.” “Everyone says Nita Hunter is little and cute—she’s little, but oh, my!—You say Lucile Mulkey is next? She is our class optimist. Her sense of humor is well developed, and what she doesn’t laugh at, isn’t worth laugh- ing at.” “And here is Edith Weaver. Her talkativeness will never be missed, but, rather, her rweet face. And Edith Welch, whose ambition it is to ‘teach the young idea how to shoot.’ Also Marjorie Kuchenthal—” “Wait a minute! You are going too fast for me to get their names down. However do you spell Kuchenthal?” “Oh, just put down ‘K I think the teachers do. You know she thot she would have to have her cards for the commencement invitations made longer than ours! Now that’s all of us, isn’t it? Oh, no! A few more en- tered this year—Elva and Olga, the Inseparables, and Elizabeth. “Lucile Mulkey thot she was a chemistry shark before the coming of Elizabeth. There! I have all the names. Haven’t we a splendid class? And we shall soon be parting now; that is the most unpleasant part about graduating, to think that it is goodbye to many of our dear old classmates. I begin to believe what many have told me—that the last year in High School is the best of our school days.” “So it seems.” “But now we have the names, how shall we write the history?” “Oh, a history is so dry. I wish we might give the class our remin- iX-.J ,v. '' u,r u,r uni h nfft

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THE MIMIR Page 29 vast institution, over whose door hung the sign, “Spinsters' Retreat.” Was it possible that Katheryn, for whom we had cherished such fond hopes, had at last come to this most dreaded end? But great as was our sorrow, we could but rejoice when we next beheld our honored president of the class of 1915, seated before a massive pipe or gan, accompanying La Grande’s world-famous vested choir. Among the singers we recognized Louisa and Katie Counsell. Toward the front we saw Nita’s flaxen locks. Her eyes were starting from her head in an endeavor to keep her chin above the railing. Following this inspiring vision, we saw in the quiet dooryard of a mod- est manse, a dignified old minister surrounded by books and friends. As he turned his peaceful countenance toward us, we looked into the kind eyes of Melvin LaVerne Larson. On a telegram which he held we read the postmark “Terra Del Fuego.” Turning our thots toward that place, we saw a burial procession, made up of sorrowing maidens, wending its way slowly across ihe desert. Borne in state behind the body of the departed Myrton, was his 'ast invention of a self-filling notebook. This notebook turned our thots to Leona, and we found her making ar- rangements for the publication of her “Improved Shorthand Manual.” By her side our honored Editor of the Mimir sat at a high, roll top desk, which was covered with the books of her immortal poetry. A lady reporter was clam- oring to reach her side, and in this business-like person we discovered Elva Conklin. The globe was now clear, and only the barber pole effect of our inter- twining locks reflected on its surface. But slowly even this stupendous vision faded, and in a luxurious room furnished in black and orange, we perceived the great athlete, Earl C. Rey- nolds, now the president of 0. A. C. He held a copy of the La Grande Observer in his hand, and smiled as he read an elaborate announcement of the appearance of Olga Johnson witn her train of chorus girls in the “Follies of 1910.” As he cast aside the first few pages, we were attracted by the glaring headlines announcing the completion of the Submarine Passenger between Astoria and Honolulu. Reading further, we discovered that it was managed by Edna Perryman. Ruth Taylor, the distinguished social worker, who had made La Grande a “slumless city,” was to christen the first vessel which would make the trip. Now even this rich picture faded, and out of the globe’s shadow ap- peared in a ring of sawdust, a gaily prancing steed. On its back we saw the fairy form of our frolicsome Marjorie Kuchenthal. From this gorgeous spectacle we seemed to enter a home-like kitchen, where Lucile Rees, in the midst of spotless pans, was preparing a bountiful meal for a comfortable-looking farmer. This individual we knew to be one of the under-classmen of our school days. Stupified by the sight, we watched them consume the tempting viands, then don wraps and sally forth. They climbed into a Ford of the 1915 model, and rolled majestically up to the stately portals of the Arcade Theatre. We were not surprised to find Edith Weaver, sole owner, strolling up and down the aisles. But now the globe had become almost dark, and it was with difficulty