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

Page 33 text:

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

Page 32 text:

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

Page 34 text:

Page 30 THE MIMIR that we discerned Nellie Story inspecting high piles of boxes of jello for the U. S. government in Porto Rico. As the light flickered and almost died away, there suddenly appeared in a flame of splendor a gracious, bowing maiden, throwing alms from her limousine to the adoring mobs. In this animated face we were proud to recognize our long-loved Minna Ash. And now the crystal was wholly dark. The shadows gathered still more deeply in the obscure corner of the pyramid. Turning from the globe 1 heard Lenore sniffle, and to soothe her sorrow I generously gave her a large- sized bottle of my hair bleach, for which I had often heard her sigh. w GRIT (Leona Newlin) “Speed up a little, Joe, don’t delay the game,” yelled the coach of the Camden High School to Joe Williams, as he fell behind in the 440 yard dash. “Come here,” he called when the race was over. “Now, look here, Williams, you’ve got the stride all right but what you want is more grit. Get a little more pep.” “I ran as fast as I could,” Joe replied. “No, you didn’t, and that’s where the trouble comes in. You think you are doing your best, but when you see the other fellows pulling away, you don’t grit your teeth and put on more speed—you slacken up and let them beat you.” Joe walked away with his head bent low. He was beginning to get discouraged. “Brace up,” called Max Henry, the fastest runner and the best pole vaulter on the team. “Don’t look so blue. You’ve got a good chance yet.” “Oh, what’s the use of trying,” he muttered. The next day in the try-out for the interscholastic meet, Joe won third place in the 440 yard dash. “Guess I’ll try for a place in the relay,” he said to the coach. “All right, and you can do it, if you’ll run on your nerve.” The next event was the 220 yard dash for the relay try-out. Six were started off. Joe was running close to Max Henry. “If I can only get second,” he thot. “Come on, Joe, that’s fine,” he heard some of the boys shout. His eyes were brightening with hope, when suddenly he became con- scious of one figure creeping by him, and then another. The light died out of his eyes and his step dragged. He came in fifth. “Too bad, Joe, maybe you can do better next year,” consoled the coach. “Don't let this make you lose your grit.” The events in the inter-scholastic meet were going off swiftly. Glad- stone was ahead by a few points with Camden a close second. Max Henry was competing with a Gladstone man for first place in the pole vault. The bar was at eleven feet, and the crowd in the grandstand had awak-